Surrender to a Stranger (6 page)

“You done it yet, lad?” the woman demanded as she grabbed Jacqueline’s grubby hand and pressed it to her ample breast.

With a stifled cry of horror Jacqueline wrenched her hand away. She felt Citizen Julien wrap his arm tightly around her shoulders, and the woman laughed.

“Shy, are we?” she snorted. She turned her attention back to Citizen Julien. “It’s been a slow night. I’ll do the boy for half price.”

“That is very generous of you,” acknowledged Citizen Julien with a nod. “But the lad and I are in a hurry and simply cannot spare the time. Perhaps another evening,” he suggested as he continued to steer Jacqueline down the noisy, crowded street.

“To hell with you then,” snapped the woman, clearly insulted. She turned away in a swish of crushed satin and cheap perfume.

Two men who had been watching the exchange now started to follow them. One of them carried a half-empty liquor bottle, which he lifted high to drink from with every few paces, while the other mimicked the hunched and shuffling gait of Citizen Julien, much to the amusement of the prostitutes who watched from the side of the street. It was obvious to Jacqueline that the men were drunk and looking for a little distraction. Citizen Julien ignored them and continued to guide her down the street. The men and women standing outside the café began to call out to the little procession, laughing heartily at the antics of the two burly men behind them. Fear began to creep up Jacqueline’s spine. She wondered if the men would soon tire of their game and want to do more than simply mock them. If they were attacked, Citizen Julien was far too old and frail to protect either himself or her, and she did not think she could defend herself against two men. If it was discovered that she was an escaped aristocrat, she did not want to consider what this crowd might do to her.

Citizen Julien did not seem to notice the two drunken, heavyset men behind them. He continued to shuffle along in a slow and steady pace, keeping his grip on Jacqueline and leaning heavily on his cane. They came to the end of the street and started down another empty alley. The men followed them, and Jacqueline wondered how Citizen Julien could not be aware of their threatening presence.

“Citizen Julien,” she whispered nervously as she leaned in to him, “I believe we are being followed.”

“What? What’s that? Followed?” he cried out loudly, looking around in obvious confusion. He turned, noticed the men, and smiled. “Oh, good evening, Citizens,” he said pleasantly. “Going our way?”

One of the men stepped forward, took a long draft from his bottle, and then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his stained jacket before speaking. “Seems to me you and the boy insulted Lucille,” he drawled out. “What do you think, Georges?”

“Saw it with my own eyes,” agreed the other in slow, slurred words. “She looked mighty upset.”

“Good Citizens, no insult was intended, I can assure you,” rasped Citizen Julien hastily as he released his grip on Jacqueline’s shoulder and slowly moved in front of her. “If I have offended either of you, please accept my sincerest apologies,” he continued humbly.

The man named Georges burst out laughing. “Apologies?” He sneered in disbelief and took a menacing step forward. “Tell you what, old man. Give us your money, and we’ll just forget the whole thing.”

Citizen Julien considered for a moment and then sighed. “These times of change are difficult for all of us,” he remarked sympathetically. “How can I refuse to share my meager earnings with a fellow citizen in need?” He reached inside the deep folds of his enormous overcoat and produced a small, worn leather purse. He opened it up and calmly extracted a few notes.

“All of it,” commanded the man with the bottle.

Citizen Julien stared at his purse regretfully a moment, and then tossed it onto the ground, where it lay at the feet of the man named Georges. He bent and greedily snatched it up to examine its contents.

“I trust we may go now?” asked Citizen Julien, still appearing quite tranquil as he leaned heavily on his cane.

“Not just yet,” said the man with the bottle. He stared at Citizen Julien. “That looks like a very warm coat you’re wearing, Citizen. Give it over.”

“He will freeze!” protested Jacqueline, outraged by the man’s demand.

The man shrugged his shoulders. “That’s his problem, not mine.” He stepped closer to her and spat on the ground. “I’ll have your jacket, too, boy. And your shoes.”

Jacqueline hesitated. She had no idea how much further they had to go, but without her shoes and with Citizen Julien freezing in the November night air, she did not think they would make it.

“I said hand them over boy,” repeated the man menacingly. “Now.”

“No,” she snapped, her heart racing with fear and fury. She realized she had no choice. She would have to fight these men, and she looked about desperately for something to use as a weapon.

“Now, now, Jacques, let us not be selfish,” interjected Citizen Julien in a soft, scolding tone. “Such behavior is unworthy of a true citizen.”

Jacqueline stared at him in disbelief. He actually seemed to be more concerned about her behavior than about the fact that they were being robbed of their money and their clothes. She wondered if perhaps his mind was weak from age.

“It is evident to me the needs of these men outweigh our own. We must try to help them,” he soothed as he slowly began to undo the buttons on his coat. “After all, what is a coat or a pair of shoes between brothers of the revolution?” he asked philosophically.

“Shut up and be quick about it,” snapped Georges.

Citizen Julien appeared to be having some trouble with his buttons. “I fear my fingers are too aged to manage the last few,” he murmured apologetically. “Perhaps, my friend, you would be kind enough to assist?” he asked the man with the bottle.

The man stepped toward him, leaned down, and began to fumble with the last few buttons. As soon as he bent his head to see to the task, Citizen Julien swung his cane high above his head and brought it crashing down on the back of the man’s skull. The man groaned and slumped onto the ground.

“What the hell—” shouted his companion furiously as he lurched toward Citizen Julien.

Jacqueline reached down and grabbed the liquor bottle the other man had dropped. As Citizen Julien pulled his pasty fist back to drive it into the face of his attacker, Jacqueline lifted her weapon into the night sky and then smashed it down on the assailant’s head. The bottle broke, blood gushed into the wool of the man’s red cap, and without the slightest murmur he fell to the ground beside his friend. Citizen Julien, his fist suspended in midair, stared at her in amazement.

“It would appear you really did attack a captain of the National Guard with a chamber pot,” he remarked with surprise.

Jacqueline turned over the body of Georges and searched his pockets for Citizen Julien’s purse. She put it back into Citizen Julien’s coat and quickly did up his buttons. “Let’s get out of here,” she said as she grabbed his arm and offered her support. “They may have friends who come looking for them.”

They hurried down the dark alley and wove their way up and down several more. No one followed them. They trudged along together in the cold for what seemed like miles. Freezing and exhausted, Jacqueline was about to ask Citizen Julien if perhaps he was lost when he finally stopped in front of a narrow, decrepit building. Its stone front was pocked and crumbling, the shutters over its windows were peeling and hanging at haphazard angles. A sign indicated that it was an inn, although if not for the sign, Jacqueline would never have believed people actually paid to stay here. Citizen Julien banged the knocker against the cracked wood door, and after a few moments a thin, mean-looking little man appeared. He stared at them suspiciously a moment, his eyes shining in the light of his candle like two tiny black beads, and then an expression of recognition crossed his face.

“So you’re finally back,” he muttered irritably as he held the door open for them.

“Unfortunately, Citizen Dufresne, the work my grandson found took longer than we expected,” explained Citizen Julien apologetically. They followed the innkeeper to a small desk in the hall, where he opened a drawer and selected a key.

“Water’s up there, like you ordered, but it’s cold by now.” Dufresne shrugged. His tone indicated he had absolutely no intention of reheating it.

“That is fine,” replied Citizen Julien with a nod.

The scrawny innkeeper lifted his candle high as he led them up the stairway. “Did you hear how many heads they cut today?” he asked.

“No,” replied Citizen Julien.

“Thirty-two,” Citizen Dufresne told him with satisfaction. “Thirty-two heads in just twenty-five minutes. The people’s ax grows more efficient every day.”

“So it would seem,” agreed Citizen Julien.

The innkeeper unlocked a door, stepped into the room, and lit a candle on a small table beside the bed. He turned, holding his candle at his chest. The dim glow it threw onto his sunken face gave him a ghoulish look. “My wife went down to watch. Said it was beautiful. A whole family of aristos brought to justice. Husband, wife, and all their brats. Said the mother insisted the children go first, so they wouldn’t have to watch their parents die. Sanson refused to let the mother accompany them onto the platform, so she stood and sang to them from the steps.” He laughed, a whining, nasal sound that made his bony frame quiver with enjoyment. “Can you imagine that?”

“No,” whispered Jacqueline in horror.

Dufresne looked at her with amusement. “You should take the boy down to have a look one day,” he told Citizen Julien as he moved toward the door. “Toughen him up.”

“I’ll do that,” agreed Citizen Julien. “Good night, Citizen.” He closed the door and locked it.

“I cannot stay here,” Jacqueline announced the minute they were alone. “I will not sleep under the same roof with that horrible man and his evil wife.”

Citizen Julien slowly turned from the door, leaning heavily on his cane. “You have no choice,” he stated calmly.

“I would rather sleep on the street,” she protested.

“I doubt that,” remarked Citizen Julien as he walked past her. He laid his cane on a wooden chair beside the bed and removed his black felt hat.

“At least on the street one can fight back,” argued Jacqueline angrily as she paced the floor of the small room. “And as you have seen, I am quite capable of defending myself,” she boasted, thinking back to their skirmish with the two drunks.

“You did not do such an admirable job of defending yourself before the Tribunal today,” commented Citizen Julien as he began to undo the buttons on his heavy overcoat. “I seem to recall you being sentenced to death.”

“That was different,” Jacqueline returned irritably. “My sentence was a matter of the corruption of the law, predetermined before I even stepped into the courtroom. Surely you can see that is not the same as fighting in the streets.”

“Mademoiselle de Lambert,” began Citizen Julien, using the ancient title that had been banned from usage for over three years, “what I see is a roof over our head and a bed that has relatively clean sheets. On that stand is a pitcher of clean water and a basin to wash in. Since this room is fully paid for, and since we do have a choice about sleeping in the streets or not, I believe I would prefer it if we decided to stay.” Without waiting for her to respond, he began to unbutton his jacket and tugged on the end of his cravat.

“Perhaps you are right,” conceded Jacqueline as she looked longingly at the basin of water. A threadbare towel with a sliver of soap lay on the stand beside it. She suddenly remembered that she was covered with filth from the prison floor, and the idea of removing it was overwhelmingly appealing.

“Of course you must have the bed,” she offered generously as she poured some water into the basin, knowing full well that the old man would never accept.

“If you insist,” replied Citizen Julien as he sat on the mattress and removed his boots. He looked up to see her holding the jug and staring at him in surprise. “Naturally, you are welcome to share it with me,” he amended, gesturing to the side against the wall. “I can assure you that you need have no fear of your honor. Other than ourselves, no one will ever know of our sleeping arrangement.” He dropped his heavy boot to the floor.

“Very well,” replied Jacqueline slowly as she turned away from him. She did not like the idea of sharing a bed, but the bare floor was cold and hard and she did not believe that under these extremely unusual circumstances the rules of propriety could be applied. After all, Citizen Julien was old and arthritic, and she really should not expect him to sleep on the floor. They would both simply keep their clothes on and there would be nothing improper about it. Somewhat assuaged by that thought, Jacqueline removed her woolen cap and jacket, rolled up her shirtsleeves, and set to the task of washing herself.

“I would like to thank you for freeing me from La Conciergerie,” she told him as she closed her eyes and soaped up her face and neck with the harsh-smelling sliver provided. “I never dreamed that anyone would be sent to rescue me.”

“It seemed fortunate I arrived when I did,” commented Citizen Julien.

She knew he was referring to Nicolas attacking her, but she was too embarrassed by the incident to discuss it. She splashed herself with cold water and soaped up her skin again, convinced that one washing would not remove the stench. “Of course I realize, Citizen Julien, that you must have a plan in mind, but if you intend for me to leave Paris, I should tell you there is something I must do before I can go. As you are aware, my brother Antoine was arrested at the same time I was. I will not leave until I find out whether or not he is alive.” She rinsed herself a second time with water and then began to rub her skin vigorously with the coarse towel. “If he is alive, then I intend to rescue him. Naturally I do not expect you to risk your life for my sake yet again. Although you were successful today, I hope you will not be offended if I tell you that perhaps you are too old to be engaging in such dangerous ventures. The need to move quickly is vital, and I am sure you will agree that your advanced age does not allow you to—” She stopped suddenly and stared, confused by the sight that greeted her.