by Unknown
"Where are the others?" Danielle appeared breathlessly at the cart. "I have made some most interesting discov—" She gulped at the sight of Linton's face and her heart plummeted to a resting place somewhere in the region of her toes. "Wh . . . what is the matter?"
For answer, he seized her upper arms, slamming her backward against the cart where he held her, imprisoned by his body. "You dare to ask what is the matter?"
Danielle stared into those eyes, burning like red hot pokers, and as she struggled for words her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
"If you ever ever run off like that again, Danielle, you had better not come back, because, so help me,
I will ensure that you regret the day that you were born!" His fingers squeezed her arms as the words came with slow fierce emphasis. "Do you understand me?"
"I am sorry, I didn't realize you would be so frightened." Danielle, knowing her husband as she did, had no difficulty understanding the reason for this blind rage any more than she doubted he would make
good his promise.
"How could you not have realized?" he rasped, for the moment unappeased by the apology. "You disappear without a word in the middle of this hell on earth! It matters not that you are at home in this city, more so than the rest of us, you may not take unilateral action. Is that clear?"
"Yes . . .yes, please. It is quite clear," she stuttered. "I am sorry, I will not do such a thing again."
Justin drew a deep breath as the anger flowed from him and relief at having her safe again took its place. "You had better not," he said quietly. For some extraordinary reason he had a great desire to kiss her,
and the thought of the absurd image of a scruffy sans-culottes kissing a disreputable urchin in the middle of a crowded marketplace in this revolution-torn city of terror brought a shout of laughter to his lips.
"Now what is amusing?" Danielle demanded, relief that the storm had passed mingling with annoyance
at this bewildering volte-face that merely added to her disadvantage.
"I am not going to tell you," Justin declared. "And you may count yourself fortunate that you have escaped further reprisals."
"Is it safe to come back?" Philip's voice, deliberately plaintive, sounded at Justin's back.
"For the moment," Justin said, releasing his wife. "Until the next time my brat decides to do something outrageous."
"You do not quite understand, I think, milord." Danielle spoke with an assumption of dignity. "I could
not bear to face the spectacle in La Place again. I ran without thought at first, and then decided that I should do something useful. I have some information about Citoyen St. Estephe."
"I understand your explanation," Justin told her, "and while I respect it, it changes nothing of what I have said." He pinched her cheek, looking steadily into the brown eyes until satisfied that his point had been well taken. "Now, I think we should go in search of our supper. It will be less than adequate, I daresay, since we can hardly appear to have more than a few sous to spend."
"If you will follow me," Danny offered, "I will show you where we may eat quite well for a few sous. Unless, of course, you would prefer, milord, that we follow you?" Her eyebrows lifted fractionally. Jules turned away, hiding his snort of laughter under a spasm of coughing. Had she no sense of self-preservation? The thinner the ice, it seemed, the faster she skated.
Justin wished as he had so often done that he were alone with her, but since he was not he chose to ignore the challenge. "Let us go then."
Danny was as good as her word. In a small dark room full of bibulous customers they ate a rich vegetable soup, sausage, ripe cheese, and crusty bread, washed down with a rough wine that convinced Justin, at least, that his liver would never be the same again.
"No one seems at all interested in what I have discovered," Danny stated, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand—a gesture that caused Justin to wince reminiscently, even as he recognized its authenticity in the part she was playing. "I have also a plan—a good one, I think. It is perhaps not foolproof, but then what plan is?"
"We cannot talk here," Tony remonstrated.
"There is nowhere better," she said with a tranquil smile. "No one is interested in listening to our conversation." She gestured around the noisy room. "Why would they be? We are quite unremarkable."
"I think, as far as you are concerned, infant, that that is probably the wrong adjective," Justin murmured. "But enlighten us, pray."
She shot him a look so out of keeping with her disguise, a look radiating sensual promise, that his body rose, stirred in inconvenient response. "Depeche-toi!" he insisted.
"Very well." She told them in a few words what she had discovered, prudently leaving out her near miss with St. Estephe. "I think it will be possible to conceal ourselves in his apartment. Citoyenne Gerard took a kindness to me, and I think I may be able to draw her away from her post tomorrow. There will be an interesting spectacle in the streets nearby . . . a lynching or some such." She shrugged carelessly. "So long as it is sufficiently violent it matters not what we invent. I will offer to take her place while she goes to view the excitement. She is lazy and bored and will accept such an opportunity with enthusiasm. St. Estephe's apartment is directly above hers— that is how she hears so clearly the strange noises ..." A
look of pain scudded across her face. It was not hard to imagine those sounds as St. Estephe played with whatever little putain had been unlucky enough to take his fancy. "Anyway," she went on, "it will not be difficult to identify the apartment. We overpower whatever servants he may have and await his return."
"And how do we gain entrance to the apartment in order to overpower the servants?" Jules inquired, taking another swig of wine with a grimace.
"Oh, but I thought I would leave some part of the planning to you." Danny smiled sweetly as she nibbled a crust of bread. '"It should be simple enough. There are few people around in the daytime and we watch until St. Estephe departs for the Parliament House. There are four other tenants and it would be best to wait for them to go about their daily business, also. A servant or two should not present too many problems." She licked a finger and absently picked up the crumbs littering the stained planking of the narrow table. Just in time, Linton smacked her hand in the process of carrying the crumb-laden finger to her mouth.
"You do not know what has been on this table," he snapped. "It is not necessary to carry your part to quite such extremes."
"Oh, pah! You do not know what has been on the platters or in the tankards before they came to the table. It has not stopped you eating and drinking," she retorted.
"I think it is time we sought our beds, such as they are," Philip said diplomatically. The tension was affecting them all and Danny's continual provocation of her husband, while clearly simply reaction to strain, was not helping.
They all rose with relief. Justin surreptitiously took a firm hold of Danielle's belt as they strolled back to Les Halles and the cart of straw that would be their resting place for the night.
But when they rolled in their cloaks beneath the straw, she crept against him as if they were in their own bed in the privacy of home and whispered her apology with a soft kiss against his ear. He held her tightly as she fell, with all the ease of a cat, into a dreamless sleep where she hovered just below the level of. unconsciousness but ready to wake, instantly alert, at the slightest hint of danger.
By seven o'clock the next morning the streets were again alive and the April sun, though still low in the sky, promised a good day. They breakfasted on warm bread and the bitter coffee of the working people and Danny maintained a steadfast cross silence. Justin had taken a not so playful revenge earlier, when she had made an inappropriately sharp remark, and held her head under the cold water of the pump in
the center of the market square with the comment that it was the only appropriate treatment for hot-headed hoydens who were ill-tempered in the morning. Now she nursed her wounded dignity while the five of them, apparently s
ublimely indifferent to her fit of the sullens, made their plans.
Her naturally sunny temper could not be held down for long, however, any more than could her bursting need to participate in the discussion. "We cannot be too rigid," she broke in. "If strategies are not flexible, then they stand in danger of fragmenting at the point of impact."
"How true, mon general." Justin gave her a teasing conciliatory smile. "Where do you see the danger of rigidity?"
"I think it best to plan one stage at a time and adapt according to circumstance. We will remove
Citoyenne Gerard without doubt, and we will gain entrance to the vermin's apartments, without doubt. What we then decide will depend upon what we find."
Justin regarded her thoughtfully. He knew that secretive, excited gleam in those brown eyes. Danielle
had her own plans. "What is it that you have in mind?"
Danny pulled a wry face. "It is disconcerting that you can read my mind, Justin."
"Not your mind," he stated. "But I can read your eyes."
"Very well. I wish to confront St. Estephe alone . . . No, pray listen," she said urgently, seeing denial on every face. 'Only initially and only if it is possible. If, perhaps, there are two rooms then you may conceal yourselves in one. I will have my pistol and the advantage of surprise. I have to see him just ance more alone, when I am without fear," she explained simply. "Afterward, you may do as you wish."
"If it is possible," said Justin, "then we will act in that manner. If it is not, then you must also be flexible."
"D'accord." Danny shrugged easily. "Shall we then begin, mes amis?"
No one remarked on the six sans-culottes mingling with the pedestrians in the street outside St. Estephe's lodgings. They were quite undistinguishable from the rest except for the sword sticks concealed beneath their jackets, the pistols hidden beneath their shirts. They behaved in no unusual fashion as they hung around the cafes, and no one was aware that six pairs of eyes watched the comings and goings in the narrow house on the banks of the Seine, overlooking the crenellated cathedral of Notre Dame.
St. Estephe came out at nine, unaccompanied, and walked briskly in the direction of the Right Bank and the Parliament House. Within the next hour, four others left the building, wearing the red, white, and blue cockade standing in proud declamation against their tricorn hats, its brilliance seeming ouriously. at odds with the somber jackets and britches of respectable citizens.
Tony wiped the sweat from his brow in a flamboyant gesture, the bright checkered neckcloth flinging its message to Westmore across the street. Westmore did the same and the message passed to Jules who waited on the corner.
Danny, engaged in idle conversation with a group of youths, heard the sharp report from the street corner. "Tiens, done! Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" She was suddenly alone as her companions hared in the direction of Julian's firecrackers now creating a rat-a-tat of noise and smoke. A great shout of excitement went up from the excitable crowd. Danny ran into the courtyard of St. Estephe's lodgings and hammered on the door of the concierge's apartment. Citoyenne Gerard appeared instantly.
"Citoyenne," Danny gasped. "There is much excitement. I think they have captured the aristo who escaped the guards this morning. It will be a great spectacle. Venez vite!"
"Mais, la maison," the concierge said, even as her bloodshot eyes lusted for the sight so close to the door.
"I will watch for you," Danny said. "I have seen s.uch sights many times and can go again to the executions this afternoon. Depechez-vous, chere citoyenne."
"Ah, but you're a good lad." Citoyenne Gerard made haste to don her bonnet rouge and scurried off in search of food for her hungry soul.
Danny shot across the courtyard and through the main door, waiting at the foot of the stairs, whose littered condition bore ample witness to the concierge's housekeeping. The others joined her in minutes with Jules only a little later.
"It is amazing," he said. "There is nothing to see, but they are determined to find something. They are
off on a wild rampage."
"It takes little to stir a mob," Justin said. "Particularly one with an insatiable appetite. Let us find what
St. Estephe's apartment holds."
The five men shrank against the wall on either side of the door as Danielle pounded with her fists. "Citoyen, j'ai un message d'urgence de Citoyen St. Estephe."
The door flew open and a burly manservant in a leather apron appeared. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, gargon?" She ducked beneath his arm and was into the room before he realized it, the . excited words babbling from her lips. In the instant of his bewilderment, turning toward this bouncing urchin and away from the door, the hapless manservant found himself overpowered from behind. As he opened his mouth to shout, a clenched fist made contact beneath his chin and the star-shot blackness hurtled to meet him.
"That was well done indeed," Danny said admiringly to Tony. "Your left is quite as punishing as Justin's. I had not realized."
"Cease your comparisons, brat," her husband instructed. "Find something to bind the man. He will not
be out for long and I think it unlikely that our quarry will return before the evening."
"Well, we must not make him too uncomfortable," Danielle demurred, rifling St. Estephe's wardrobes
and drawers. "We do not know what kind of man he is, and maybe he is not of the vermin's ilk."
"Unlikely," Justin muttered, catching the hank of rope she threw him. "But far be it from me to destroy your faith in human nature."
Danielle gurgled with laughter at the ironic tone and found one of St. Estephe's cravats. "This will do for
a gag, I think."
The manservant was bound, gagged, and rolled into a capacious wardrobe. The apartment yielded bedroom, parlor, a cabinet de toilette, and a slip of a room for the servant. Danny's plan was clearly feasible and her companions, despite their reluctance, agreed to hide in the bedroom while she waited
for St. Estephe, pistol in hand, in the parlor.
It was a long tedious wait. Citoyenne Gerard reappeared eventually, hot and flushed. The mob, set off
by Julian's firecrackers, had careened through the streets and found a wine barrel toppled from a delivery cart. The blood red liquid jozed from the cracked cask and was seized with yells of excitement by a crowd deprived of their expected diversion and uixious, therefore, for another. Shoes, hats, and hands were pressed into service in the absence of more utilitarian vessels o scoop the wine into eagerly open mouths. Those lucky enough to live in the area of this unexpected bounty filled pots ind tankards as the cask split apart and the wine, in a crimson or rent, ran across the cobbles and into the kennels. Citoyenne Gerard was unable to do more than curse the absent urchin who had not fulfilled his promise to remain in her place, before ailing onto her cot and subsiding into a stertorous sleep.
St. Estephe left the Parliament House at six on that evening of Saturday, April 13. It had been a momentous day. The Jacobin, Marat, had been impeached by the Girondist majority in the Assembly
and St. Estephe's head now clung to his neck by a frail thread. At last forced to swing down from the fence, he had picked the Jacobins, the party of Marat and Robespierre. The Girondists for the moment held the majority in the power house, but St. Estephe had felt the strength of Robespierre, the quiet fanaticism that tugged an empathetic cord.
He had gambled and now it looked as if he had lost. With Marat's indictment the parliamentary strength of the Girondists stood undisputed unless the people of Paris decided to take a hand. Their voice in the Assembly was the most powerful and the tribunal extraordinaire before which the impeached Marat
would appear was the voice of the sovereign people. If they supported the Gironde, then Marat and all
his associates would lose their heads. If Marat were acquitted, then the Girondist would go to the guillotine. It was a black and white game, no compromise, no gray areas. Life, and power versus death and St. Estephe had declared his hand and could only wait
.
But he was a past master at the waiting game and, besides, he had plans for this evening which would take his mind away from politics and events that, while highly possible, might never happen. The little Lisette would afford much amusement. She cringed in the most enticing way when he ... His step quickened. Five men of the National Guard, loyal Jacobins, followed at a discreet distance, unwilling
to impose their presence on the citoyen, but kept their eyes and ears open for the hint of attack.
Danielle, keeping watch over the courtyard from behind a curtain, alerted her companions as St. Estephe strolled through the gate. He cast a disgusted glance in the direction of the powerful snores emanating from the concierge's apartment before mounting the stairs.
"Bernard!" He bellowed for the manservant as his key turned in the lock. Stepping into the room he
found himself facing Danielle de St. Varennes. She was sitting on a low table opposite the door and held
a small silver-mounted pistol. On the table beside her were two epees—his own, he recognized dreamily, as his mind fought to adjust itself to this extraordinary visitation.
