Surrender to a Stranger (14 page)

“Come, Mademoiselle,” he called down to her. “The hour grows late and we have work to do on you before we set out.”

With a little groan she slowly sat up on the trunk and rubbed her aching neck. She had not meant to fall asleep. For the longest time she had waited to hear the sounds of Justin entering the kitchen again so that she could try once more to persuade him to open the door. But he had not returned to the kitchen, and finally she had curled up on the trunk and closed her eyes. The events of the past two days had obviously left her more tired than she realized.

“Make haste, Mademoiselle, we do not have all night,” said Citizen Julien impatiently.

“I’m coming,” she muttered crossly as she dragged herself up the stairs.

She had to squint as her eyes adjusted to the late-afternoon light in the kitchen. She judged that Citizen Julien had been away for two to three hours at least. With a little frown of irritation she turned to complain to him about leaving her locked in that cold, damp cellar for so long.

One look at him made her eyes grow wide and she forgot all about her irritation.

Gone was the handsome, imposing captain of the National Guard who had single-handedly rescued her from a bloodthirsty mob. Citizen Julien had been transformed into a filthy, aged peasant. His hair was his own, she was sure of it, but it had been carefully dusted with powder until it was as gray as ashes. A mixture of carefully applied cosmetics gave his complexion a ruddy, weathered appearance, and his facial lines had been enhanced by smudges of dirt. He wore a loose-fitting coarse woolen shirt, trousers that had been mended at least a half-dozen times, a ragged blue coat, and a filthy red cap that was pulled down low over his forehead. He smiled at her, revealing an apparently rotten mouth, with several teeth so completely black they appeared not to be there, and the ones that remained so brown they looked like they should come out any moment. He was truly a work of art.

“Why a peasant?” she asked curiously as she continued to study him. She had to admit, the man was certainly a master of disguise.

“Because every night the peasants who have come into Paris to sell their produce during the day must pass the city gates to return to their cottages in the country. Each one of them is questioned, and some wagons are searched, but if we play our parts right, we should be able to make it past without incident,” he explained.

“And what part am I to play?” she demanded. “That of the farmer’s son?”

“Too predictable,” he replied with a shake of his head. “The authorities know you have been disguised as a boy, so they will be highly suspicious of any youth trying to leave the city. I am afraid we will have to be a bit more creative than that.” He smiled. “For the next twenty-four hours, Mademoiselle, I intend to turn you into a proper farmer’s wife.” He lifted a coarse brown dress, yellowed blouse, and shapeless petticoat from the back of a chair and held them out in front of him. The dress was at least twice as wide as he was.

“I will never fit into that,” she protested.

“With a little padding you will,” he assured her. “Come, we have work to do.” He held open the door to the hallway and gestured for her to go first.

For a moment she hesitated, wondering if she should just make a dash for the back door and try to escape him now. But Citizen Julien was right, after her encounter with the mob this morning, the sansculotte outfit she wore was probably no longer an effective disguise. She decided it would be to her advantage to let him create a new identity for her. Then, once they were outside and headed toward the city barricades, she would find a way to get away from him.

“Mademoiselle?” he inquired with a lifted eyebrow.

With a little start she focused on the task at hand and preceded him out the door. She mounted the stairs and entered the bedroom before turning to take the garments from him so she could close the door and change. Much to her surprise Citizen Julien stepped into the room and closed the door, and then handed her the clothes as if he expected her to put them on right in front of him.

“Citizen Julien, I require privacy to change,” she pointed out.

“And you shall have it,” he remarked agreeably. “If you turn around, you will see Justin has been thoughtful enough to install a screen in here so your modesty can be protected. I must say, though, I did have a devil of a time convincing him you really were a woman.”

“But why is it necessary for you to be in here with me?” she demanded. She could see a jug filled with steaming water had been set on the washstand in the corner, and she longed to give herself a more thorough washing than she had the night before.

He sighed and went over to the washstand to examine the contents of a smaller jug beside the basin. “Unfortunately, Mademoiselle, given the remarkable talent you demonstrated today for climbing out of windows, I find myself in the rather difficult situation of not being able to let you out of my sight.” He picked up the jug and sniffed it before stirring it with the spoon that was resting in it.

“But I have already made it clear that I will be going with you to England,” protested Jacqueline lightly, trying to trivialize his concern. If Citizen Julien did not leave her alone, even for a minute, how would she get away from him before they left the gates of Paris?

He put down the jug and regarded her seriously. “No, Mademoiselle, it is
I
who have made it clear to
you
that you are going to England,” he corrected. “You, on the other hand, have lied to me about your intentions, and then turned around and tried to bribe poor Justin into letting you out with some fanciful story about how I was kidnapping you. I must say, he was most upset about your allegations.” He walked over to the bed and stretched out on it, his massive frame causing the mattress to sag heavily under his weight. He laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. “I think perhaps you ought to apologize to him before we leave,” he suggested. “Justin does not take criticism of me lightly.”

“He is lying,” replied Jacqueline indignantly as she turned away from him. “I did no such thing.” It was most important that she get Citizen Julien to believe she could be trusted. That way there would be a moment when his guard would be down and she could get away.

His leap from the bed was so swift it startled her. His hands clamped around her arms like bands of steel, and he spun her about with a force that made her teeth chatter.

“Don’t ever, ever lie to me about someone I trust,” he warned in a soft, savage voice. “Do you understand?” He gave her a violent shake.

She wanted to deny that she was lying, but the furious intensity of his stare made her think better of it. “Yes,” she stammered. “I understand.”

Abruptly he released her. “Good,” he replied curtly. “Now get changed.”

She rubbed her arms where he had held her. Then she picked up the jug and basin on the washstand and carried them with her behind the screen.

Several minutes later she had washed as best she could and donned her new peasant outfit. If it was at all possible, the rough dress and blouse was even coarser and scratchier than her sansculotte outfit. She found herself wondering how the peasants could stand to wear such uncomfortable clothing. She was certain her skin was going to be rubbed raw before the evening was out. She stepped out from behind the screen.

“Much better,” commented Citizen Julien as he looked at her critically. He had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “Come and sit here.” He gestured to the chair placed in the center of the room.

Jacqueline obediently sat in the chair and waited for him to start applying the cosmetics he had laid out on the washstand. Instead he moved behind her and she felt a comb start to rake through the tangled remains of her hair.

“I wish I could wash it,” she remarked wistfully as Citizen Julien lifted a lock and began to work through the tangles.

“Unfortunately there isn’t time,” he replied. “However, if you are not overly tired when we board
The Angélique,
I will order a hot bath for you.”

“The Angélique?”
repeated Jacqueline.

“That is the ship we will be taking across the channel.”

“Is it Sir Edward’s ship?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “She is mine.”

She turned and looked at him in disbelief. “You own a ship?”

The faintest trace of amusement lit his eyes. “Does that surprise you, Mademoiselle?” His tone was lightly mocking.

“I suppose it does,” she admitted. She turned around again. “The rescuing business must be good,” she commented dryly.

He gave the tangle he was working on a sharp tug, causing her to yelp.

“Sorry,” he apologized, his tone not particularly convincing.

He worked on her hair a few more minutes until all the tangles were gone. Then he lifted it up and draped a towel around her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he went to the washstand and picked up the small jug.

“I am going to change your hair color,” he explained as he stirred the contents of the jug.

“To what?” she demanded, not at all sure she liked the idea and at the same time wondering why it mattered to her. She was not going to live much longer anyway. Who cared what color her hair was?

“To a dark brown.” He began to drizzle spoonfuls of the liquid in the jug over her head. “The authorities are looking for a woman with short blond hair. It is too dangerous to leave you fitting that description.” He began to massage the foul-smelling solution through her hair with his fingers. “You need not be concerned, the color will wash out when you have your bath tomorrow night.”

The bath she was not going to have, because she was not going with him. Illogically, that struck her as unfair. Because of Nicolas, she was not going to finally have a bath. She added that to her list of grievances against him.

“We’ll let that set for a bit while I do your face,” said Citizen Julien as he deposited the jug on the washstand. He washed the brown dye off his hands before picking up a small jar and a sponge.

For the next fifteen minutes he sponged and stroked and blended and powdered, staring at her critically each time he paused to put down one jar and pick up another. Every now and then he would ask her to smile, or raise her eyebrows, or pucker her face into a frown, and as she did these things he would fill in the lines her expressions created with a tiny brush. Jacqueline found herself most curious about the new face he was creating for her. It was clear from the disguises he had made for himself that he possessed an unusual degree of skill.

“Where did you learn so much about cosmetics?”

He was busy painting a dark shadow around one of her eyes. “A friend of mine taught me,” he replied vaguely.

“Was he an actor?” she asked.

“It was a she,” he corrected. “And yes, she is an actress. Close your eyes.”

She obeyed and the small brush began to make feathery-soft strokes across her eyelid. The heel of his hand rested ever so lightly on her cheekbone as he worked, and she found herself uncomfortably aware of the heat and power contained in that hand. She was not used to having a man so close to her, performing such intimate tasks as combing her hair and applying cosmetics. She could sense the strength and form of his body as he leaned into her, and suddenly he seemed too close, too masculine, too intimate. She shifted restlessly in her chair.

“Stop moving,” he ordered as he firmly grasped her chin and set it at the angle he needed to work. He resumed the feathery dusting of her eyelid.

“Is she Angélique?” she blurted out, trying to fill the quiet space between them with conversation.

His brush stopped in mid stroke. “Who?”

“The actress,” she replied, wishing she had asked a different question. This one seemed far too personal, as if she had some interest in who he named his ship after, which she most decidedly did not.

He did not answer. She knew he was studying her, she could feel it, but she kept her eyes firmly shut.

“No,” he replied after a moment. “She is not.”

There was a finality in his tone that told her not to pursue that particular line of questioning.

Neither of them spoke again. He finished with her face, neck, and hands, and then he rubbed her hair with the towel, removing all the excess dye and causing it to matt and tangle all over again. He patted it down and plunked an ugly cap on her head before standing back to survey his work.

“Well,” she demanded curiously, “how do I look?”

He smiled at her with evident satisfaction. “See for yourself.”

She went to the mirror that hung on the wall above the washstand and gasped with surprise.

Nothing about her seemed familiar. Her pale, translucent skin was rough and reddened, and filled with lines that spoke of years of hardship and exposure to the elements. Her eyes seemed to be set closer together than they really were, and one of them was blackened and bruised. Her normally bow-shaped lips were pale and thin, her cheeks were flat and lacking in definition. Everything about her face looked tired, worn, and slack. Her darkened hair hung in ratty clumps underneath the filthy little cap, looking like it had never been washed or combed. There was no doubt about it. She looked absolutely awful. She spun around with delight.

“Not even Nicolas will recognize me like this!” she burst out enthusiastically.

“He won’t get a chance to,” he remarked, his voice slightly threatening. He held out a little pot. “Your teeth are too white. Rub some of this on them.”

She took the pot and began to rub some of its contents on her teeth while Citizen Julien tidied up the jars on the washstand and packed them into a little leather pouch. Then he went to the bed and removed one of the feather pillows. Pulling out a knife from the back of his waistband, he made a small cut in each corner of the pillow and then threaded a sash through the slits.

“Tie this around your waist underneath your petticoat,” he ordered as he held it out to her.

“Is it really necessary that I be with child?” she asked delicately. The idea was repellent to her.

“Farmers’ wives are almost always pregnant,” he told her matter-of-factly. “And citizenesses who are expecting are admired as breeders of the new generation of free citizens. That could be helpful if we are stopped along the way.”