In the Commodore's Hands

by Mary Nichols

  The other three were waiting for him in a private room at the inn with two bottles of wine and glasses in front of them. They were cheerful and eager to put their plans into action. He sat down, poured himself a glass of wine and took a mouthful.

  ‘Why so glum, Jay?’ Harry asked. ‘You look as though you are about to go to the scaffold yourself. Quarrelled with Lisette, have you?’

  Jay paused before answering, took another mouthful of wine and told them of his fears. ‘You three had better make all haste to leave the country,’ he ended. ‘Leave the matter to me.’

  ‘And what do you think you can do on your own?’ Harry retorted. ‘Are you tired of life?’

  ‘If Lisette betrays us all, it is for no other reason than she expects Wentworth to use his influence to have Michel released. If he keeps his word, then all I have to do is take the pair of them to England. I have safe conduct for Commodore and Mrs Drymore to leave the country, but I cannot do that with a clear conscience if you three are all still in France.’

  ‘And do you honestly believe Wentworth will keep his word, or even that he has enough influence to do so?’ Harry said. ‘I would not put it past Robespierre to play him like an old fiddle. And your safe conduct can easily be cancelled.’

  ‘I know, but I have no choice but to hope for the best.’

  ‘Supposing, instead of freeing Giradet, Danton arrests Lisette? You will have two to rescue then and I do not give much for your chances.’ Harry turned to the others who had been silently listening. ‘What do you think? Do we turn our back on our friend here and let him be the hero on his own?’

  ‘He’ll be a dead hero if we do,’ Nat said.

  ‘If you think I am going to leave you alone in this Godforsaken country, Commodore, you are wrong,’ Sam said. ‘I would never be able to look Lord and Lady Drymore in the face again.’ He turned to Harry. ‘You may do as you wish, my lord, and you too, Nat and Joe, but I am staying here.’

  Harry laughed. ‘You are outvoted, Jay.’

  ‘Then what do you propose to do?’

  ‘Carry on as before,’ Harry said. ‘We do not know that Lisette will betray us. She may be relying on us to put our plan into action before it becomes necessary.’

  Jay breathed a sigh of relief. They were all brave men, fools, but brave. ‘Then it might be wise to bring everything forwards. Can that be done? I have told Lisette to be ready as soon as the carriage comes for her. I do not think she will let me down. After all, she is expecting us to reunite her with her brother and telling Wentworth about us would be a last resort, should we fail.’

  ‘Then let us hope you are right,’ Harry said.

  ‘Nat, do you think you can bring it off?’ Jay asked him. Nat had been chosen to take Lisette through the barrier to the rendezvous because he was about the same height and build as Jay and younger than the others.

  ‘I reckon so, if the lady plays her part.’

  ‘She will when she understands the necessity.’ Jay gave a wry chuckle. ‘We are so out of sorts with each other, you will not need to be pleasant or even speak much.’

  ‘I have been schooling him to act like you,’ Harry said. ‘He is not much of a thespian, but he will do in the dark.’

  ‘I don’t see why we have to change places at all,’ Nat said.

  ‘Because I have no intention of leaving this city until I have secured Michel’s release and I will not sit back and let you do it. I have told you that half-a-dozen times. If they do make an attempt to arrest you, you must say I forced you to change places with me. When Wentworth hears of it, he will tell everyone it is the sort of cowardly trick I would play and you will be allowed to go.’

  ‘As for the rest of us,’ Harry went on, ‘I have obtained a tumbril and a skinny old pony and our disguises are ready in the corner there. We will plan to be at La Force at half past four and, give or take a few minutes, here soon after five. Horses will be waiting for us here with fresh clothes and we will only be minutes behind the coach. Timing is everything if we are to be convincing.’

  ‘Then I had better go back to the Embassy and tell Lisette to be ready.’ Jay rose to go.

  ‘Do not quarrel with her,’ Harry called after him. ‘We want her compliant.’

  Jay strode down the street, ignoring the cold wind which threatened to lift his hat off his head. Above him the sky was dark with impending rain which might be a godsend later that evening. Darkness and bad weather could hide so many things. He was feeling more optimistic. The plan was intricate and daring. The tumbril would arrive at La Force to take the prisoner to the Conciergerie for his trial, but it would disappear on the way. That would be the most risky part, spiriting it down an alley and changing it into a common farm cart full of cabbages under which the prisoner would be hidden. They would not risk taking it through the barrier like that; the guards were wise to such tricks and always searched such loads. Remembering how they had fooled the guards at Honfleur, it was Jay himself who suggested that they should dress in the uniform of maréchaussée and pretend to be in hot pursuit of the carriage. The change of clothes, which had been purchased by Nat from a corrupt army quartermaster at great expense, would be made at the Cross Keys. After they had left, Madame Barnard would destroy all evidence they had been there and would have the added bonus of a cartload of cabbages with which to make soup.

  If they could pull it off, all might yet be well. So much depended on Lisette. His earlier anger had evaporated; he could not stay angry with her for long and he admitted to himself he had been rather dictatorial, not telling her everything. His vow never to trust another woman seemed vain and pointless in the face of her courage. The way she had tended his sore feet, the way she had returned his kisses, her tears and her concern for his safety even when they were arguing, had all seemed genuine, not the act of a woman out to deceive. He desperately wanted it to be genuine. He wanted to trust her. You could not love without trust.

  Lisette let herself in the Embassy and hurried up to her bedchamber, fetched out the masculine clothes she had bought earlier and stood breathing deeply to calm herself. Then she stripped off her own clothes, put on the shirt, breeches and stockings and her new blue-silk gown over them, lacing the bodice tightly over the shirt. She had planned to put the coat over that, but it was much too tight and she abandoned it; Michel would be wearing a coat and she could use that. Taking the scissors to her hair, she cut it to the length Michel wore his and tied it back with a length of thin black ribbon.

  That done, she sat down to write a letter to Jay. That was the most difficult part of the whole proceeding. It was damp with tears by the time it was done. Having signed it and dusted it, she tucked it into the top of her bodice. Then she pulled another sheet of paper towards her, sat a moment with her pen poised over it, wondering what to write. Smiling to herself, she folded it and inscribed the outside with Mr Wentworth’s name. Finally she slipped into her own shoes, stood up and looked in the mirror at a woman laced too tightly into a gown that appeared too small for her. A man’s shirt filled the square décolletage and its sleeves protruded from the sleeves of the gown. If it had been a game she was playing she might have laughed at the apparition, but this was in deadly earnest. Topping this strange ensemble with her burnous, she went downstairs to seek out Madame Gilbert.

  ‘If the gentleman who was here yesterday should call after we have left, will you give him this?’ she said, handing her the second of her missives. ‘Do not give it to him before that.’

  ‘Oui, madame. Am I also to shut up the house?’

  ‘Yes. We will not be needing it again.’ She retrieved a bundle of assignats from her purse and gave them to her. ‘We are grateful for the trouble you have taken to look after us.’ And with that she left the house for the last time. There was no time for regrets, no time for anything except to go back to the Palais de Justice and her rendezvous with her fate. Outside she stopped. Go in or turn away? It was the decision of a lifetime because whatever happened as a result of what she did
now, it would colour the rest of her life, however long or short that might be. Regret or gladness, remorse or satisfaction that she had done what was right? Did she have a choice? Could she let them all die? She took a deep breath and made her way into the building.

  Her uncle was waiting for her in the anteroom just where they had met before and for one heart-stopping moment she wondered if he had never left and the whole thing had been a trick. ‘You have courage, I will give you that,’ he said. ‘I was afraid you would persuade Drymore to leave at once.’

  ‘And leave my brother behind? You do not know me very well, if you thought that, sir.’

  ‘Then he means more to you than your husband.’

  She let that pass. It was her deep love of both that was the driving force behind what she did now. ‘You have permission for me to see Michel?’

  ‘Yes.’ He handed her a sheet of paper signed by Danton. ‘The list?’

  ‘It has been left with the concierge at the Embassy with instructions to give it to you after we have left.’

  ‘You do not trust me.’

  ‘I am simply being cautious.’

  He laughed. ‘Touché. Come with me, then.’

  He led the way across The floor and through a door on the far side, along a series of corridors and down two flights of stairs. The grandeur of the upper rooms was left behind and there was nothing but bare stone walls and worn stone steps, lit only by lamps in brackets at intervals which only made a small pool of light in their immediate vicinity. The deeper they went the colder it became and Lisette shivered.

  At the bottom they were stopped by an armed guard in front of a barred gate. From beyond it a babble of voices reached them and the stench of putrid food and unwashed bodies. ‘The citoyenne has permission to see and speak to the prisoner Giradet,’ Wentworth said in poor French.

  Whether the man could read or not, Lisette did not know, but he certainly recognised Danton’s signature on the paper she showed him. ‘Come with me,’ he said, taking a bunch of keys from his belt and unlocking the gate.

  ‘You will forgive me if I do not come with you,’ Wentworth said, putting his handkerchief to his nose. ‘Urgent business elsewhere.’ To the guard he said, ‘She may have ten minutes alone with him, then send her back up to me. I shall be waiting in the foyer.’ And with that he scuttled away.

  Lisette smiled, glad she did not have to suggest he might prefer not to go any further. She followed the guard along a corridor and down more steps, and with each step the noise grew louder and the stench stronger. She was more convinced than ever that no one could ever be rescued from there. She found herself in a long room lined with cages, each of which was filled with humanity, men, women and even little children. Some who had been there the longest were filthy and dressed in rags; the more recent arrivals still wore the finery they had on when brought there. As the warder and Lisette passed them hands reached out to her, some in supplication, others to grab at her cloak. Some to swear, some to moan. She had eyes for none of them, being more concerned with searching out her brother.

  ‘Giradet!’ The turnkey shouted. ‘Giradet, come forwards.’

  There was a general movement in the far cell as people made way for a ragged skeleton to come to the front. The turnkey unlocked the cage and pushed Lisette inside. She turned back to him in consternation. ‘I am not to be locked in here and I am to speak to the prisoner privately.’

  ‘You may make what privacy you can there,’ he said. ‘When you have had enough, let me know and I will escort you back.’

  Lisette turned to face her brother. She hardly recognised him. He was thin, his face grey, his eyes lifeless and his hair matted. Her heart sank; this was not going to be as easy as she had thought. Michel was staring at her in disbelief. ‘You too, Lissie,’ he murmured.

  ‘No, I am not a prisoner and you will not be for much longer, but you must listen to me.’ She took his arm and almost dragged him into a corner. ‘Can these people be trusted?’

  ‘Depends what you have in mind.’

  She turned to a woman in a faded pink dress and a girl of about thirteen whom she supposed to be the woman’s daughter. She did not think they had been incarcerated long; neither was as thin or ill kempt as the rest. She held out a handful of assignats, knowing the money could buy extra food and comforts and perhaps even a good lawyer. ‘Will you stand guard?’

  The woman snatched the money and stuffed it in the top of her stays and took up a stance between Lisette and the rest of the cell’s occupants. Lisette took off her burnous and handed it to the woman, who beckoned to the girl to hold one side of it to make a screen. Everyone else began to laugh, imagining what might be going on behind the cloak. Well, let them laugh, she did not mind that.

  Michel was standing with his back to the wall in a kind of daze. Lisette smiled at him and reached over to kiss his cheek. ‘We are going to change places, you and I,’ she whispered. ‘Take off your coat.’ She began undoing the bodice of her gown as she spoke. ‘Remember the games we played as children when we pretended to be each other to deceive our friends? You are going out of here as me.’

  ‘And leave you behind! Never!’ It was said vehemently in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘There is no risk. I am to stay here for an hour or two after you are gone, then someone will come and let me out. Have no fear.’

  ‘Who? Who has the power to do that except those monsters who put me in here?’

  ‘My husband is an envoy of the British Government and has a great deal of influence here in Paris. They will let me go.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘I am certain. The French Government cannot afford to make an enemy of the British. They have too much to lose.’

  Once the lacing of her gown had been undone, she was able to take it off; the petticoat underneath was easy to step out of, leaving her dressed in a man’s shirt and breeches. Trusting her, he removed his once-fine coat of burgundy silk, which was now filthy and torn, and Lisette helped him into the petticoat and gown and laced the bodice.

  ‘Now put the cloak round you and keep the hood up,’ she murmured. ‘You are Mrs Drymore, remember, and expect to be treated with respect, but don’t speak unless you have to. If you see an Englishman, flamboyantly dressed, on the way, avoid him at all costs. He is our uncle, but he is not to be trusted. Go to the British Embassy and wait for my husband to come. Give him this.’ She tucked her letter to Jay down the front of his bodice. ‘It will prove I have sent you. And this is the permit for Madame Drymore to visit the prisoner, Giradet. You may need it.’ She gave him her gloves. ‘Better wear these, too, or your hands will give you away.’ Then she slipped his ragged coat over the breeches she wore and the transformation was complete. ‘I will come to the gate with you.’

  ‘Better not,’ the woman said suddenly. ‘You are altogether too clean and well fed. Better crouch against the wall and put your head in your hands in despair. I will summon the turnkey.’

  The occupants of the cell watched the woman and Michel make their way over to the gate. Lisette did not think they were deceived for a minute, but no one raised a voice in betrayal. Everyone of them would have taken advantage of such a means of freedom had they been offered it.

  The turnkey came slowly along the corridor when he was summoned and unlocked the gate. ‘Had enough, have you?’ he leered, because Michel was holding the edge of his hood to his face.

  As Lisette watched, Michel’s whole demeanour changed and he became her; he had not forgotten their childish game which had always ended in laughter. No one was laughing now, even the occupants of the cell had stopped their ribaldry. Accompanied by the turnkey, he walked away, past the other cages and up the stone stairs and was lost to her sight. She did not have to pretend her despair. It enveloped her like the cloak she had wrapped around her brother’s slight frame, it swamped her like a great tide running in from the sea, it overcame the euphoria of her success and left her in tears.

  Ja
y’s optimism lasted no longer than his walk to the Embassy. Mrs Drymore had come in and gone out again, Madame Gilbert told him.

  He swore under his breath. ‘Did she say when she would be back? Did she leave a message for me?’

  ‘Not for you, sir, but she left one for her gentleman visitor.’

  ‘Give it to me.’

  His stony face and angry eyes told her it would be wise to obey. She went and fetched it for him.

  He broke the seal and unfolded it. If he expected a list of names, he was wrong. The paper was blank. He was puzzled for a moment and then began to laugh. His laughter was verging on hysterical and the concierge became alarmed.

  ‘Sir?’ she queried.

  ‘Oh, do not mind me, madame.’ He refolded the letter and handed it back to her. ‘When did my wife expect her visitor to come for this?’

  ‘She did not say, but to give it to him after you had left this evening.’

  ‘I see. Thank you, madame.’

  She turned to go, changed her mind and turned back. ‘Sir, there was another thing…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When we went shopping for clothes, madame bought a man’s suit of clothes—for her brother, she told me—but this afternoon I noticed she was wearing the breeches herself under her cloak. I saw her legs as she came down the stairs. And she had cut her hair.’

  He groaned, knowing perfectly well what it meant. ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Half an hour, maybe a little longer.’

  ‘If she comes back, tell her to get in the carriage when it comes for us and not to wait for me, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, monsieur.’

  He turned on his heel and went out. He was almost running as he made his way along the river bank and up Rue St Antoine to the Rue du Roi Sicile. He had to catch her before she reached La Force, knowing what she intended. It was madness, utter madness. He was angry, angry with Lisette for her foolhardiness, even more angry with Wentworth who was using Lisette to destroy him, but most of all angry with himself for assuming she was like Marianne and not to be trusted. She was nothing like Marianne, who thought only of herself, loved only herself. Lisette loved her father and brother with the kind of single-minded, selfless devotion his dead wife had been incapable of. If only she could spare some of it for him, but why should she? He had been at fault for not taking her into his confidence and explaining exactly how they were going to free Michel. If he had done so, and if he had told her the whole truth about Marianne, she would not have trusted Wentworth and this whole sorry mess could have been avoided.