The Ruby Talisman (13 page)

Tilly nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. She must be brave and keep going. They stumbled on through the shadows, averting their eyes from the bodies stacked around them.

It was Juju who eventually found a way. She disturbed a rat, which fled down a side passage. Juju took chase, snapping her jaws at the rat’s heels. Henri followed, calling Juju impatiently. The rat, then Juju, took an unexpected shaft, scrabbling up uneven steps.

‘There’s a way up,’ Henri called excitedly. Tilly and Amelie felt fresh energy and hope flow through their veins. They climbed earnestly, Tilly counting ninety-six steps in all.

At the top of the steps, they emerged into a rounded chamber, shaped roughly like a beehive. Tilly’s legs trembled uncontrollably. Amelie collapsed against the wall, her hand on her heaving chest. Henri flashed the lantern over the walls and ceiling.

‘A ladder,’ yelled Amelie, pointing to a wooden ladder leaning against the wall.

‘An opening,’ cried Tilly, pointing to an iron manhole cover set in the ceiling.

Invigorated, they dragged the ladder closer to the manhole. Amelie held the lantern and Henri climbed, Juju whining below. It took all of Henri’s strength to heave the heavy iron manhole cover away. He slipped his arms, then his head, through the gap and heaved again.

A breath of warm, fresh air wafted down.

‘Mon Dieu,
we made it,’ Henri whispered back to them. ‘’Tis above ground.’

Henri climbed out and, in the space where his body had been, Tilly could see a crescent of dark sky and twinkling stars.

‘’Tis safe,’ Henri assured them. ‘You can come up.’

‘But Juju?’ asked Tilly.

‘I will carry her.’

Henri struggled to heave the huge dog up the ladder, Juju struggling and whining in his arms.

But soon all four were lying on the ground, looking up at the stars, breathing deeply of the warm summer air.

Tilly rolled over and looked around. They were not in the streets of Paris anymore, but what seemed to be a big park or wood.

‘I think we are in the Bois de Boulogne,’ mused Henri. ‘We are outside the city gates.’

Amelie sat up with interest. ‘Do you remember, Henri, when we used to come horseriding and have carriage rides in the Bois de Boulogne? We would see all the noblemen and ladies exercising and taking the air.’

‘Versailles is only about an hour’s carriage ride that way,’ added Henri, waving to the south-west. ‘We should leave, though. I do not think it is safe here at night with thieves and cutthroats lurking.’

Tilly checked all around them, worried that every shadow might hold a threat.

‘Is anywhere safe?’ wailed Tilly in exhaustion. ‘Definitely not Versailles or Paris.’

‘You told us yourself,’ Henri reminded her with a laugh. ‘Many times, if I remember correctly.’

Both the girls stared at Henri.

‘Non,
not England!’ moaned Amelie. ‘It is so far away and cold and rainy, and across the sea.’

‘Yes, but there are no murderous peasants or revolutions or burning chateaus,’ retorted Tilly.

Amelie collapsed back onto the ground groaning, staring up at the stars.

If we walk in that direction, we should hit the River Seine,’ Henri suggested. ‘The Seine flows north-west through Normandie until it hits the sea at Honfleur. There we may be able to buy passage on a ship to England.’

‘How about going north to Calais, and from there across to Dover?’ suggested Amelie.

‘It is much further to Calais, plus I do not know if you have realised that we have no horses, no carriage and very little money.’ Henri rubbed his forehead. ‘All I have is my gold watch.’

‘I still have Tante Beatrice’s jewels in my pocket,’ offered Amelie.

‘Let’s get going then,’ suggested Tilly, rising to her feet. ‘Before the cutthroats arrive.’

Henri took his bearings and then led the way, stumbling in the dark.

They found their way to the Seine by the stench. The water was filthy with pollution from the many industries along the riverbanks that spilled out their effluent – tanneries, slaughterhouses, dyers. Sewage flowed down the centre of the streets directly into the river, not to mention the dead bodies of rats, dogs, cats – even humans – that were tossed away into the Seine.

The three companions stumbled along the muddy riverbanks, straining to see.

‘Over there are some boats,’ observed Tilly, noting some dark shapes moored in the river.

‘They are barges,’ Henri added. ‘They bring food downriver to Paris, but it is too expensive and slow to take them back, so they are usually chopped up for firewood. We could board one and keep floating downstream to the coast.’

In midsummer, the river flow was low, so the barges were moored well out from the bank in the deeper water. Tilly, Amelie and Henri stood ankle-deep in stinky mud. There was no way to reach the barges except to wade.

Tilly stepped back and took off her shoes, stockings, petticoats and underskirts, until she stood in just her chemise, toes squelching unpleasantly in the mud.

Amelie gasped in shock. Henri turned away, embarrassed.

Bundling all her clothes inside a petticoat, Tilly made a package on her head and tentatively stepped into the water. She took a deep breath, her stomach heaving with distaste at what might be under the water. She splashed resolutely out towards the moored barges and what should be safety.

Amelie and Henri paused but soon followed, stripping off shoes and outer garments and wading through the water, Mimi perched on top of Amelie’s bundle, complaining loudly.

Juju whined on the bank before striking out after them, swimming strongly. The water grew deeper, rising over Tilly’s thighs, waist and chest. She reached the closest barge and flung her clothes on the deck.

Behind her, Amelie tripped on something submerged, dropping her bundle, her knife and Mimi. She floundered trying to recover her belongings and was swept by the current into deeper water, sinking below the surface. Mimi struggled and splashed. Amelie could not swim and panicked, swallowing mouthfuls of filthy water and choking. Henri clumsily waded after her.

Fast as thought, Tilly dived off the barge into the river and cut through the water towards Tilly, dragging her up from under the water. Amelie grabbed onto Tilly, threatening to pull them both down again. Surf lifesaving lessons returned to Tilly’s memory, and she broke free of Amelie’s potentially lethal grasp, clutching her around the chin and kicking off, sidestroke, back to the barge.

Amelie was hampered by long skirts and stays, which pulled them both down heavily, so it was fortunate it was not a long swim back to the barge. Tilly sighed with relief when she kicked the sand of the riverbed and could stand once more.

Henri gathered up Amelie’s sodden clothes before they sank, then helped haul Amelie, Tilly and Juju on board the barge.

Amelie choked and vomited, coughing up the putrid river water she had swallowed. Searching the barge, Tilly found a pile of hessian sacks, which she wrapped around Amelie, making a rough mattress under her.

‘Merci,’
groaned Amelie.
‘Merci beaucoup.’

Henri untied the mooring rope and the sluggish river current tugged at the barge, slowly nudging it free.

‘Mimi?’ croaked Amelie.

Tilly shook her head sadly. Amelie bit her lip.

‘What about Tante Beatrice’s jewels?’ Amelie suddenly cried in panic, patting under her sodden petticoats. She was relieved to discover the pocket still held the remaining jewels.

Henri and Amelie peered over the side of the barge into the dark water, searching in vain for the little monkey. A chitter. A scuttle. Suddenly a small shadow, wet and miserable, scampered across the deck into Amelie’s arms.

Amelie sighed gladly and snuggled down into her hessian sacks.

‘You try to sleep, Tilly,’ Henri suggested wearily. ‘I will keep watch and make sure the barge is safe. I will wake you in a few hours and you can take over.’

When Tilly awoke, it was to a soft whining and a paw pressed on her chest. In confusion, she struggled to open her eyes, which were glued shut with exhaustion. Her mouth tasted sour and dry.
Where am I? At home in my own room? At Aunt Kara’s?

There was a soft lapping of water and the sound of birds singing. Tilly could feel warm sunshine stroking her face. Opening her eyes, there was a big, shaggy, grey-faced dog leaning over her with large liquid eyes and warm doggy-breath. Juju.

Head aching, throat parched and stomach rumbling, Tilly struggled to sit up. Beside her were Henri and Amelie, obviously still fast asleep. The barge was wedged against a fallen log, grounded on a riverbank covered in long, green grass. A willow tree cast some shade over the deck, but the sun was now high in the sky, indicating that Tilly had been asleep for many hours.

Tilly looked around, then decided to climb up on the bank to check their whereabouts. There was no sign of Paris – or of any pursuit. The Seine no longer smelt like a sewer trench, but flowed along – wide, brown and sinuous. Nearby was a small, clear brook, flowing down to join the Seine. Tilly set off to drink its cleaner water.

In the distance she could see a church spire and cottages huddled around it, like chicks around a hen. Where there was a village, there might be food to buy. Then she remembered the violent reception they had received in the village on the way to Paris.

Tilly cautiously made her way to the brook. The water was fresh and delicious. She drank until she had slaked her thirst, then splashed her face, stinging eyes and feet, trying to wash away the filth of the river water and mud.

She decided she would wake Amelie and Henri, then try to bargain some of Tante Beatrice’s jewels for some food for them all.

Juju was waiting patiently beside her master, whining. Henri tossed and turned, groaning piteously. Back on deck, Tilly saw what she had not noticed when she first woke up. Henri was burning up with a fever, his skin hot and clammy. He struggled against his bedding deliriously, not answering Tilly’s frantic questioning.

Amelie, too, was ill. Her hessian sacks were stained with bitter green bile, and she smelt of vomit and river water and worse things. Tilly prayed that she had not contracted cholera or typhus or any of those horrible diseases found in filthy water. Tilly started to panic: she was all alone with two very sick people, and she didn’t know what to do.

Juju came over and stared up at Tilly with her beautiful, amber eyes. Her look seemed to say,
don’t just sit there, we have to do something.

Okay. Prioritise,
Tilly thought.
First, they need clean water. Then I need to bring down Henri’s fever with cold, wet blankets. Then clean up Amelie.

The barge was a flat-hulled boat with a rough deck made of timber to store sacks of grain, firewood and farm produce safely above the water. There was no cabin or storage compartment. At the stern of the barge, Tilly found a bucket, some rope and an earthenware bowl.

Carrying the bucket, Tilly ran back to the brook to fetch clean drinking water, which she gently dribbled into Henri’s and Amelie’s mouths. They spluttered and gagged at first, but eventually swallowed some water. Tilly used rags torn from her petticoats to wash their hands and faces, and drape over Henri to keep him cool.

Tilly took the soiled hessian sacks where Amelie had been sick and threw them overboard to soak, attached by a rope. Then Tilly refilled the bucket with fresh water at the brook. She pushed off from the bank, poling out until the barge was once more in the current, heading towards the sea.

The sun beat down, hot and sultry. Tilly was torn. Torn between heading to the village for help – for medicine and food – and fear of risking her friends’ lives if they were discovered to be fugitive aristocrats. Fear won. Memories of the violent scenes in Paris were too strong. Tilly let the barge drift, occasionally poling it away from a sand drift, bank or reedy shallows.

The day slipped by with Henri continuing to toss and turn. Tilly kept him cool by throwing the hessian sacks into the river and then draping them over his feverish body.

Amelie was suffering with stomach convulsions. Mimi patted her hand softly, then left her to sit in the shadow of the gunwale and play with her feet.

Juju lay shivering and whining next to her master, licking his hand, hoping for a response. All Tilly could do was keep sponging their faces and hands with her torn petticoat rags and dribble clean brook water into their mouths.

The sun sailed across the blue, blue sky. The French countryside slipped by with weeping willows, grassy banks, sheer cliffs, little stone villages and acres of deserted farmland.

At night, Tilly dozed, sleeping in snatches, then waking to check if the barge was still drifting along or if it had become snared on a sandbank or tree root.

Tilly woke up to a rose-blush dawn. She yawned and stretched, her stomach aching with hunger. She had not eaten now for two days. She looked over to see that Amelie was also awake, sitting up weakly, propped against the gunwale, hand draped across Juju’s back and Mimi asleep in her lap.

‘Good morning. How are you feeling?’ Tilly asked.

‘Terrible,’ replied Amelie with a shrug. ‘Well, better than yesterday. Yesterday, I thought I was going to die.’

‘Yesterday, I thought you were
both
going to die,’ said Tilly. ‘Leaving me completely alone in revolutionary France with no ancestor. Do you think I would just cease to exist?’

Amelie’s laugh was short and breathy. The sound made Henri moan and roll over sharply. Tilly crawled over to check on him. His temperature was still high, his face flaming and slicked with sweat. Henri called out piteously as Tilly felt his forehead with her cool palm. Juju cocked her head to one side with concern.

She dipped the rags over the side into the river and sponged Henri’s face and neck.

‘His fever is still high,’ commented Tilly, her brow furrowed. ‘I wish we had some aspirin or paracetamol. That’s what Mum gives me when I have a temperature.’

At the mention of her mother, Tilly’s stomach flipped.
Will I ever see Mum again? Will I ever see Tim and Auntie Kara and my friends? And what about Dad? What if I never see him again, and all he remembers is how horrible I have been?

Tilly’s eyes filled with tears. She swallowed hard and brushed the tears away angrily. Crying wouldn’t help Henri or Amelie.

‘We need to bleed Henri,’ Amelie resolved. ‘That is what the doctor would do. We need to find a vein and cut it open with your knife so we can release some of the excess blood.’

Tilly looked aghast at this suggestion. She remembered reading that doctors used to believe that many illnesses were caused by too much blood in the body, and that the blood should be released by cutting veins or using leeches.

‘No, we mustn’t do that, Amelie,’ cried Tilly. ‘That will just weaken him further. It may even be enough to kill him.’

‘Mais non,
the doctor always bleeds people who are feverish or ill,’ insisted Amelie, sitting up straighter.

‘Yes, but in my time doctors have disproved that method,’ Tilly replied. ‘We now know doctors used to kill lots of patients through poor treatment methods and lack of hygiene.’

Amelie looked inclined to argue, but she remembered that Tilly had proven to be right on so many occasions over the last few days. And so many things that Amelie had believed implicitly were no longer true.

‘Maman used to give me willow-bark tea when I had a fever,’ Amelie offered.

A while later, as they floated downstream, Tilly noticed a farmhouse standing on its own. It looked well-kept and prosperous.

‘Amelie, I am going to try to get us some food,’ Tilly said. ‘Will you be all right for a few minutes?’

‘Oui,
of course,’ she answered.

‘Do you have any money left?’

Amelie turned out her pocket. There was a pile of pearl bracelets, diamond buckles and hairpins – and the note from her mother.

‘No money – only Tante Beatrice’s jewels, although I would happily swap a diamond shoe buckle for a good meal now.’

‘Let’s try the pearl bracelets,’ suggested Tilly, picking out one from the pile.

Tilly ran her fingers through her tangled hair and adjusted her dirty silk skirts to try to look more respectable.

She steered the barge against the bank and climbed above, the bracelet clasped around her wrist. It was a short walk around a wheatfield to the farmhouse. She wandered through the farmyard with its clucking, scratching chickens and past a scruffy dog that barked a fierce warning.

The farmer’s wife came to the door, wiping her damp, red hands on a rag. She wore long, grey skirts, a white apron, wooden sabots on her feet and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her teeth were dark brown and her face wrinkled.

‘Bonjour,’
the woman said suspiciously.

‘Good day,’ replied Tilly in her most charming voice. ‘I was wondering if I could buy some food, please?’

The woman looked at Tilly from head to toe. While Tilly was dirty and scruffy, there was no hiding that the silk and lace of her dress were very fine, and her jewels were impressive. Tilly unconsciously drew herself up tall like Amelie, making herself look more gracious and graceful.