by Mary Nichols
‘Is this your first visit to Paris, Mrs Drymore?’ Lisette had not been paying attention and was startled to be addressed in English by Robespierre. She glanced up at Jay, who was looking closely at her, as if telling her to be careful how she answered.
‘Yes, it is,’ she said, also in English. ‘I had heard so much about what a beautiful city it is and indeed that is true, there are some very grand buildings, but it has been spoilt by the dreadful violence. I was very frightened when we arrived in the middle of a riot and would have fainted if my dear husband had not shielded me.’
‘Just lately the populace have been up in arms about the shortages of food and the conscription,’ he explained. ‘Hard as it is, we need men to fight the war.’
‘Can you not control them?’
‘The people are free to express their displeasure,’ Danton put in. ‘That is what the Revolution is all about.’
‘But they are so bloodthirsty.’
‘Unfortunately that is the inevitable consequence of revolution,’ Robespierre told her. ‘We cannot detain the whole population, but the ringleaders will be arrested and tried and will suffer the consequences. We can only control them with fear of reprisals.’
She refrained from saying what was in her mind when she saw Jay surreptitiously shaking his head. ‘I am afraid I did not understand,’ she said. ‘What little French I learned in the schoolroom was quickly forgotten.’
Jay appeared to be choking and covered it by drinking from his wine glass. No one else seemed to think this statement anything but the truth and Robespierre was apologetic. ‘I am sorry, madam, it is discourteous of us to converse in a language you cannot understand. I have been explaining to your husband that the French are a peaceful nation at heart and only go to war when there is no alternative.’
‘Please carry on with your discussion,’ she said. ‘I am sure you must prefer to speak French. Do not mind me.’
‘Thank you, madame. Citizen Danton has little English and it is important we all understand the discussion. Commodore Drymore’s French is excellent.’
She smiled and continued to eat, listening to their talk about their peaceful intentions, though the Frenchmen deprecated the refuge Britain was giving to fleeing nobles and refactory priests, who had been ordered to return. ‘If that were not bad enough,’ Danton said, ‘there are Englishmen in this country actively aiding nobles and priests to escape.’
‘If there are, they are acting on their own account,’ Jay said smoothly. ‘They do not have the support of my government.’
‘It would help to convince us of good intent if the British Government forbade such a thing,’ Robespierre put in.
‘Do you know who they are?’ Jay asked.
‘Unfortunately no, except for one who calls himself James Smith. He abducted the ci-devant Comte Giradet and smuggled him out of the country when he was on his way to his trial. But there have been others. I am told they call themselves the Piccadilly Gentlemen. If they could be brought to book, it would certainly help diplomatic relations between your country and ours.’
‘I will put the problem to my government,’ James said. ‘But I am sure they will say no English law has been broken and it is up to the French government to find them and arrest them.’
‘We would if we had their names…’
‘I am afraid I cannot help you there.’
It was an effort on Lisette’s part not to appear too interested in this, but it looked very much as though the success of the negotiations would be dependent on Jay supplying details of anyone helping the émigrés. And that included himself.
The meal ended and she retired with the ladies to take tea, which Jay had had the forethought to bring from England and present to their hostess. Still pretending she did not understand French, they spent an hilarious hour trying to communicate in sign language and the odd word of each other’s language. When the gentlemen joined them, the whole charade was replayed for their benefit.
They were still laughing when the evening came to an end and Jay took her back to the Embassy. ‘They want names,’ she said, suddenly serious, as Sam drove them through the streets, quieter now after the tumult of the day before. ‘You can’t give them names, can you?’
‘No, of course not. I shall have to hedge and say enquiries to identify the men could take some time.’
‘How long will it be before they put two and two together and realise James Smith is John Drymore?’
‘Not before we are safely on our way, I hope.’
‘Then it is becoming urgent to find Michel and make our escape.’
‘Not so urgent we make foolish mistakes. I know how impatient you are, Lisette, and I can understand that, but whatever I do must be foolproof.’ He paused before going on. ‘Why did you pretend you could not understand French?’
‘It seemed a good idea. People might talk in front of me and say things I am not supposed to hear. They might not have spoken about the émigrés and what they expected of the British Government if they thought I could understand. Besides, if I have to adopt the disguise of a Frenchwoman, no one will suspect it is me, the foolish wife of a British envoy.’
‘What makes you think you might have to adopt a disguise?’
‘Well, you never know, do you?’
‘Oh, yes, I do. You will take no part in the rescue.’
‘You might need me.’
‘Never!’
That one word silenced her. The pleasure went out of the evening. She had been rejected yet again.
The carriage came to a stop outside the Embassy and Sam jumped down to open the door for them. Lisette preceded them into the house, made her excuses and went straight up to her room.
‘What’s the matter with madam?’ Sam asked, fetching the half-empty bottle of Calvados and a couple of glasses from the cupboard in the salon. ‘Did the evening not go well?’
‘It went as well as can be expected. Robespierre assures me that the French government has no plans to declare war on England, though we are in bad cess with them over our willingness to shelter émigrés. He would like us to force them to return, but I told him we could not do that. England is a free country, they are welcome to stay as long as they abide by our laws. They want the names of anyone helping them out of France.’
‘Lord Portman and Nathaniel Kingslake, for instance,’ Sam said. ‘And you and me.’
‘Yes. James Smith is the only name they have.’
‘Is that a sticking point?’
‘I do not think so. They are fully committed to war in Europe, they cannot afford to go to war with us. They haven’t the men or the money.’
‘What about Giradet?’
‘Ah, Giradet. What did you find out about La Force?’
‘It was once the residence of the Duc de la Force, but was converted into a prison twelve years ago. It is a warren of rooms and corridors, all secure and well guarded. Which one houses Monsieur Giradet, I have not yet been able to ascertain. If we are going to get him out of there, it will have to be by subterfuge—we’d need an army to fetch him out by force.’
‘My thoughts exactly. We could try the same method we used to free his father.’
‘You mean pretend to be guards conveying him to his trial? Do you know when it will be?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I suppose you can’t ask Monsieur Martin to find out.’
‘No. I have to keep my government business and the rescue of Giradet as far apart as possible. Unfortunately, Miss Giradet cannot understand that.’
‘Oh, I see. She is sulking.’
‘No, I do not think she is sulking, she is simply angry with me.’
Sam laughed again. ‘I am thinking that it is as well you are not married to the lady—your life together would be tempestuous.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. She is frustrated. It might help if I could give her something to do that will not involve her in danger.’
‘Buy her some knitting.’
Jay laughed.
He could not imagine Lisette sitting still long enough to knit. But it left him wondering just how well he knew the lady. Did she sew and embroider? Did she read? Did she like shopping for clothes? What was there to buy in Paris?
He put the suggestion to her the next morning. She seemed to have forgotten their disagreement and was anxious to please him. He was not sure if that boded well or ill. ‘We may be here longer than I thought,’ he said. ‘Two gowns and a skirt and blouse are hardly enough.’
‘It is more than some women have,’ she said, surprised that he knew the contents of her meagre wardrobe.
‘True, but you are not some women. If we are asked to another function, you cannot appear in the same dress. I will give you assignats to go shopping, but make sure you take Madame Gilbert with you.’
‘And what will you be doing while I am gone?’
‘What I came to France to do.’
‘Making peace with the monsters?’
‘Yes, but also trying to free your brother.’
‘You have a plan?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Not yet. I need to find out everything I can, whereabouts in the prison he is being held and the routine of the guards, when and where he will be tried and on what charge. Then I need to appoint a defence lawyer whom we can trust to help us.’
‘You mean to try and defend him in a court of law? You know the result of that is a foregone conclusion. He will be sentenced to death.’
‘I hope and pray it will not come to that.’
As soon as they finished their breakfast, he left to go about his business and Lisette and Madame Gilbert set off to look for clothes. Many of the shops had been looted, even those selling ladies’ finery. Lisette had seen several women in bedraggled gowns that had once been fashionable, the material of which was too fine to last in the hurly-burly life of a Parisian peasant. they were already so faded and grubby it was difficult to tell the colour they had originally been. She was not looking for finery and eventually they found a bolt of blue silk and a mantua maker to make it into a gown. Stays were another matter. There were none to be had except second-hand ones and she would not buy those. The dressmaker was instructed to make a simple round gown with a bodice that closed at the front. That done, Lisette went in search of masculine garments.
‘What do you want those for?’ Madame Gilbert demanded.
‘For my brother. He will be joining us shortly.’ She did not explain how or why; it was no business of the concierge.
They completed their shopping by buying food at exorbitant prices; the bread alone cost more than twice what it had when she was last in France and the assignat had been devalued by at least half. The country was close to bankruptcy which was why everything looked so run-down.
They set off back to the Embassy, making a detour along Rue St Antoine in order to look at La Force prison. It was situated in an alley, rising tall and grim above the buildings that surrounded it. There was a courtyard in front of it where two guards were marching back and forth before a heavy wooden door. Lisette stopped to look up at its many barred windows, wondering where Michel was and if he could see her if he were to look out. As they watched, a tumbril was driven into the courtyard and came to a stop. The door of the prison was thrown open and several men and two women were prodded out by armed guards. The women were crying and clinging together and had to be forcibly lifted into the tumbril. The men climbed in and stood stoically waiting for it to move off.
The concierge shuddered and crossed herself as the tumbril passed them, escorted by armed guards and accompanied by a crowd on foot, jeering at its occupants. ‘God have mercy on them,’ she said. ‘Let us go, madame, before we are made to join them.’
Lisette turned to leave. ‘Where are they being taken?’
‘To Madame Guillotine. It is the fate of everyone who leaves that place.’
‘Is no one found innocent and set free?’
The woman shrugged. ‘I have never heard of such a thing.’
Jay was not back when they returned to the Embassy and had not returned by supper time. Lisette ate a lonely meal and went to bed. She could not sleep. The sight of that tumbril and its white-faced, weeping occupants haunted her. If the mob had emptied the prisons in that dreadful massacre the previous month, they had soon been filled again. Did Jay have any intention of risking life and limb to get Michel out? He had never met Michel, so why would he? It was up to her. But how? Would the prison warders allow her to speak to her brother? Could she change places with him? If she did, how could she get out herself? Was she prepared to die in his place? In the quiet of the early hours, when the house was silent and even the noise in the street had quieted, it was easy to contemplate doing it. But in the light of a new dawn, would she feel so brave? Was there any other way?
Chapter Eight
Jay was at breakfast when Lisette went downstairs the following morning. He looked tired and was reading some official-looking papers while he ate. He laid them aside to greet her. ‘Lisette, good morning. Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee which, like the tea, had been brought from England. ‘What are you going to do today?’
‘I am going to attend a court session to see how the justice system works. You may come with me if you wish, but only if you promise to remain silent.’
Wanting to know what it would be like if Michel were brought before a court of law, she decided to ignore his hint that she could not hold her tongue and go with him.
The court sat in the great hall of the Conciergerie on the Île de la Cité. It housed the Palais de Justice as well as the oldest prison in Paris. If the accused were not already held there, they were transferred there in the days before their trial and brought up from the dungeons to attend it. It would not be an easy place to effect a break-out, Lisette decided as they made their way to the courtroom.
There was ample room for hundreds of spectators. Most of the prisoners were political, but not all. There were also thieves, arsonists, blackmailers and prostitutes. These were dealt with swiftly and fairly, but it was those accused of plotting against the Revolution who fared worst. Neither judge nor jury was inclined to leniency—certainly the vociferous public were not. Time after time the judge had to call loudly for order. Witnesses were called, but they came in fear and trepidation.
‘She has been bullied into it,’ Lisette whispered to Jay as one housekeeper gave evidence against her employer, who was accused of writing pamphlets against the Revolution. Another was arraigned for allowing a refractory priest to say mass in his home and his own tearful daughter was required to give evidence against him. Lisette was reminded that her father had done the same thing. Thank goodness he was safe in England.
They had seen and heard enough long before the day’s business was done and left to go back to the Embassy. ‘Michel will have to be freed before he is brought here,’ she said. ‘We could not take him from here with all those people around.’
‘Yes, I agree,’ he said, then stopped as they came face-to-face with a tall, broad-shouldered man who might once have been handsome, but whose features had become flabby with good living. Instead of moving to one side to allow them to pass, he stood, feet apart, in front of Jay and laughed. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t John Drymore,’ he said in English. ‘You are a long way from home, Drymore. Feeling brave, were you? Did you think you were safe from me in Paris?’
Jay’s face was stony. ‘Out of the way, Wentworth, and let us pass.’
‘Wentworth,’ Lisette gasped.
‘That is my name,’ the stranger said. ‘Gerald Wentworth à votre service, madame.’ To Jay he said, ‘Are you not going to present me to your friend?’
Jay, who had been staring at the man with loathing, turned to Lisette. ‘Elizabeth, this is—’
‘I think I know who he is,’ she said. ‘But does he know me?’
‘I am afraid I do not have that honour,’ he said.
She turned to Jay. ‘Tell
him.’
‘My wife, Mrs Drymore. Elizabeth, Mr Gerald Wentworth,’ Jay said tersely. ‘Now will you allow us to pass?’
‘Your wife, eh? Well, I never.’ He stepped to one side, removed his tall hat and gave Lisette an elaborate bow. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Drymore. No doubt we will meet again ere long.’ He went off, chuckling to himself.
‘Why did you not tell him the truth?’ Lisette said when she and Jay were out of earshot.
‘Because you are in Paris using a pseudonym and it is as well to maintain it to everyone. You never know who might be listening.’
‘But if my guess is right, he is my uncle.’
‘I was under the impression you had no love for your English relatives.’
‘Nor have I. I was curious to know what his reaction might be on learning my identity.’
‘No doubt he would find it comical.’
‘You dislike him, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You once said you would tell me why one day. I think that day has come, don’t you?’
‘Perhaps, but I cannot speak of it in the street and I have arranged to meet Pierre Martin later. We will talk this evening.’
At last, she was going to find out what made Jay Drymore the serious, uncompromising man he was, and perhaps she would be able to soften him. She tucked her hand under his elbow as any wife might, half-expecting him to move away, but instead she felt a slight squeeze. That was a good sign, surely?
They were almost at the entrance to the Embassy when they were accosted by a miserable-looking beggar dressed in dirty rags. Old and bent, his hair was unkempt and his face filthy. The only bright thing about him was his red cap. When he grinned at them he showed blackened teeth. Lisette shuddered at the sight of him, especially when he caught hold of Jay’s coat. ‘A sou for a drink, citizen,’ he whined. ‘I’ve had not a sup all day.’
Jay reached into his pocket and handed over a small coin. The man bit into it and began to laugh. It was such a curiously joyful sound for one in such dire straits that Lisette found herself staring at him in puzzlement. ‘The devil it is to get you to part with money, my friend,’ he said to Jay in perfect English. ‘I shall keep it as a souvenir.’
