TheEnglishHeiress

by Roberta Gellis

  It was not only Roger and Leonie who were being pushed into an interest in refugees. When the royalist uprising in Brittany was defeated at the end of July, the convention sent commissioners to extirpate any further seeds of rebellion. Pierre Restoir had taken no part in the uprisings, for he had no greater affection for the king’s government than for that of the “people”. Neither had ever troubled him, for he had no love for show and lived quietly in a small Breton fishing village. The large profits he made from his illegal enterprises had been turned into gold pieces and hidden safely so that neither king nor people could rob him for the “good of the nation”.

  Pierre was annoyed when war was declared on England in February. The immediate reaction, he knew, would be to make everyone—even the men with whom he had done business for years—think of him as a “Frenchman” and possibly as a spy. Thus, from February 1793 through end of July of that year, he confined his activities actually to fishing. What with the disruption in the country, food was scarce and he was getting an excellent price for his fish.

  The bloody terror inflicted on Brittany after the defeat of the royalists was something outside Pierre’s normal experience. He was accustomed to injustices of government, to oppression, high taxation, even to a judicial murder now and again, but the wholesale imprisonment and slaughter taking place in Brittany added a new dimension to Pierre’s conviction that all government was bad. He did not change that view, only came to the opinion that some governments were even worse than others. He was not inclined by this conclusion to attempt to establish a better government—Pierre did not think in such terms—but he was impelled to do whatever he could do to disrupt and irritate the officers of the present detestable regime.

  Just about the time that Roger was drawn into de Rocheville’s schemes, Pierre began to smuggle again—only now his cargo was human. Most of the time, to his pleasure, he did quite as well financially from this enterprise as he did from carrying wine and lace. For one thing, the émigrés were so eager to leave that they provided Pierre more profit per hundredweight than an equal load of brandy. For another, the exhausted and terrified human freight he carried was not unwelcome to the authorities of England. For the first time in his life Pierre did not need to dodge naval and revenue vessels. Sometimes the refugees would be taken aboard English ships; sometime he was escorted to the nearest port to discharge his passengers. This made his channel crossing short, swift and sure, and permitted him to make more frequent voyages.

  However, other areas of France had developed an equal distaste for their present leaders. The idealism that had choked off Pierre’s tax-free supply of liquor had waned sharply. By November 1793 word came through the old network that, if Pierre wanted it, a substantial cargo could be assembled. Pierre considered the fact that, in all probability, his old customers were bone dry by now, and the wine and brandy would fetch a handsome price. In addition, he had been wondering for some months how Roger’s venture had turned out. It had been a long time, he thought, since he had seen his friend. Thus, in the first week of December, after his cargo was unloaded, he made his way quietly to the Soft Berth. His approach was cautious. He did not wish to be taken up as a French spy. However, his welcome by the landlord was hearty, if private, and he was given Sir Joseph’s original letter plus a second one that had been written in September.

  In the quiet of the landlord’s own parlor, Pierre read both letters. The first made him frown and whistle worriedly through his teeth. The second made him curse, luridly and obscenely. In it Sir Joseph reported that he had received further news of Roger by word of mouth. One of the émigrés had been personally known to Leonie and Roger had taken the chance of sending a message to his father. Sir Joseph now knew the address of the shop in the rue de la Corderie, and he passed this along, together with the information that he was very much worried by the use to which the token he had given had been put. If anything, Pierre was even more worried than Sir Joseph because he did not discount, as Sir Joseph did, the horror stories told by the émigrés. Pierre had seen the commissioners of the Committee of Public Safety at work.

  He did not communicate his fears to Roger’s father in the note he wrote to say he had received his letters, only assured him that he would do his best to obtain news and pass it back. However, he revolved the problem in his mind, came to the conclusion that Roger had gotten himself into real trouble, and decided he had better be dragged out of Paris as fast as possible. Pierre was unable to act on this resolution immediately. When he returned home, he found an urgent message awaiting him concerning a new boatload of refugees. As much as he wished to rescue Roger, it was impossible for Pierre to ignore the more acute and perilous situation of his prospective passengers, or the substantial sums they were offering for transportation.

  Pierre made a quick trip although the weather was foul, and while he was battling the storm on his return voyage a brilliant idea occurred to him. Why shouldn’t he sail right into Paris? Not in the Bonne Lucie, of course, but in a small fishing vessel that could navigate the Seine. If he had been fishing and was blown off course by a storm, it would be perfectly reasonable for him to unload his fish in Paris rather than have them go bad while he beat his way back to his usual home port. It would be much easier, Pierre thought, and quicker too, to arrange Roger’s escape by boat. There was no trouble obtaining a suitable boat, but Pierre had to spend three weeks fishing and selling fish before the right kind of storm blew him in the right direction.

  Long before Pierre made his decision, Roger and Leonie had been in considerably more danger than either Sir Joseph or Pierre realized. Despite their lack of interest in the fate of the queen, they found themselves involved in her affairs again. On the night of August twenty-seventh Fifi again warned Roger and Leonie that someone was coming down the alley. It was already late and they were preparing to go to sleep. Roger hurriedly bundled up the quilts they used as a bed and hid them while Leonie rushed upstairs to warn the guests already in the house. Roger waited tensely. Perhaps it was only a thief or someone who had a reason to visit secretly one of the other houses that backed on the alley. If not, it was trouble. De Rocheville had never before sent two groups of guests at the same time, and he always provided warning in advance when the guests would move on.

  It was trouble, but not the kind Roger was braced for, not the kind Leonie waited for, pistol in hand, not the kind that trembling guests expected, crouched under the trapdoor, ready to climb out the moment they heard Roger’s voice raised in the protesting cue words—”There is no one above but my wife, and she is in bed, asleep.” It was, instead, de Rocheville, tense with excitement, talking softly as he pulled his boots back on.

  “I will move the people tomorrow,” he said, “and there will be no one else until the night of September second. You will have only one guest that night, a lady—a great lady.”

  On hearing the soft voices, Leonie had peeked down the stairs. Now she came all the way down and her eyes met Roger’s over de Rocheville’s head. “It is a long way from the Conciergerie to this house,” she said.

  “That is no problem. She will be accompanied by Michonis, who is a well-known officer of the gendarmerie, and two gendarmes—myself and Baron Friedrich von Trenk. He—”

  “Michonis is a commissioner of the commune,” Roger interrupted. “Is it wise—”

  “This is not the first time he has tried to help the queen,” de Rocheville replied. “He was in that business with Toulon.”

  “Yes, and that was betrayed,” Roger said sourly.

  “It was not betrayed. In any case, not by Michonis. It was abandoned because Simon became suspicious. He is the man,” de Rocheville’s lips twisted in angry distaste, “an illiterate shoemaker—and a bad one at that—who is now president of the Temple, and believe it or not, he has sole charge of the queen.”

  “Why did Simon become suspicious?” Roger persisted.

  A faint unease passed across de Rocheville’s face. “I am not sure,” he conceded, “perh
aps some careless expressions… But certainly there was no deliberate betrayal. The fact that Toulon and Lepitre are alive is proof of that.”

  That might be true, but Toulon and Lepitre were men with powerful connections in the Jacobin group. An attack on them might have been considered an attack on their whole party. Also, conditions now were far worse than they had been then. Watch committees had been established to certify the loyalty and background of every person. Roger and Leonie had barely managed to pass the investigation. Fortunately, the shopkeepers near his previous residence, whom he had helped protect from the mob, had been willing to swear that the statements Roger made about himself and his wife were true. They had no way of knowing, and of course, the statements were a mass of fabrications, but they remembered what Roger had saved them from and were grateful. Roger and Leonie had cleared the next hurdle also. When general conscription was ordered in August, they were afraid he would be shipped off to the front to repair weapons. This time his services to the commissioners stood him in good stead. Roger had been allowed to remain in Paris, but his private business was severely curtailed. Now he serviced the guns of the gendarmerie.

  The latter was another problem. These days the gendarmes were in and out of his shop constantly. They came singly and also in groups. “I have no way of knowing,” Roger pointed out to de Rocheville, “whether a group of men is coming to have guns worked on or to search my house. Is the queen capable of climbing onto the roof and lying in the hot sun or in the rain? Do you want to take this chance with so great a lady?”

  “She will not be with you more than the one night. Mademoiselle Fouché—”

  “Who?” Roger gasped.

  “Mademoiselle Fouché,” de Rocheville repeated with a smile. “Yes, the daughter of your friend. How did you think I learned of you? Monsieur Fouché is—never mind that, but his daughter has for a long time visited the priest and nuns who are imprisoned in the Conciergerie to bring them what comforts she can. She has managed to see the queen. On September third, Mademoiselle Fouché will come here escorted by a gentleman—me—to pay a visit to your wife. Thank God it is summer and she can wear a large hat and carry a parasol. She will change clothes with her majesty, who will leave after a suitable half-hour visit. During the afternoon, Mademoiselle de Conyers should make several trips to shop or visit, alternating her use of the front and rear doors to come and go. One of the trips, Mademoiselle Fouché will go out instead. No one will remember how many times Mademoiselle de Conyers came and went. Obviously, if she is at home, she must have returned each time.”

  Leonie nodded. “That will work, except—I have heard the queen’s hair is white now. Be sure there is a wig to match Mademoiselle Fouché’s hair color and one for Mademoiselle Fouché to match mine.”

  A broad smile illuminated de Rocheville’s face. “Thank you, madame. That was one thing we had not thought of. You also have a large hat, I hope?”

  “Yes, one moment and I will fetch it so that you may get another to match. It is very common.”

  She ran up to get her hat, and Roger shook his head at de Rocheville. “I wish I were as sure you will be able to free Madame as Leonie is that this exchange of women will work.”

  “It shouldn’t be difficult,” de Rocheville said. “Most of the people who have come here have been taken from the prisons. The jailers are such drunken, depraved animals that a few coins will buy a prisoner out.”

  “But the queen is not ‘any’ prisoner.”

  “Then the coins will have to be gold,” de Rocheville said cynically.

  “There must be gendarmes specially ordered to guard the queen,” Roger insisted.

  “Michonis is an officer of the gendarmerie,” de Rocheville countered. “He will be sure that there is no trouble with the men who are supposed to guard her. And the chief jailer will give no trouble—although he pretends to be vigilant, he only obeys Michonis in everything.”

  Leonie had come back with the hat, and de Rocheville lowered his eyes to it and began to study it with, Roger felt, more intensity than it deserved. He felt decidedly uneasy, for all the assurances he had been given, but he could not bring himself to refuse. This time his cooperation really was necessary. It was not likely that Mademoiselle Fouché, who could come to visit Leonie without raising suspicion, was also acquainted with others in de Rocheville’s escape route. He said nothing, watching de Rocheville hand the hat back to Leonie and begin to pull on his boots.

  “I will go with the queen,” de Rocheville said, his eyes fixed on what he was doing, “so you will not see me again on this business we have been doing together. Someone, however, will come. You will know him by your father’s gun.”

  Roger closed the door after him and went wearily to get the makeshift bed from where he had hidden it. Leonie watched him, then said softly from behind him, “You think this will fail.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” There was no protest in the question. Leonie too, had sensed something in de Rocheville’s manner.

  Roger shook his head. “I suppose because it seems so easy. Madame will just walk out of the prison. Well, others have done so… Yet…”

  “He does not really believe it,” Leonie said. “He said he would not see you again—but if he comes with the queen, he will. That was a slip, wasn’t it? Does he expect to be betrayed?”

  “No. He would not have involved us if he thought that. I don’t believe we are in any special danger, Leonie. No matter what happens to de Rocheville, he will not drag anyone down with him Perhaps he just wants it too much or—I have heard Michonis is a great one for a jest—perhaps he thinks his tongue will slip.”

  “I am sorry for the queen,” Leonie sighed.

  It did not occur to her that Roger could be wrong, and indeed he was not. On the night of September second they waited and waited in vain. At twelve they doused their lights and sat together in the dark. At three Leonie went slowly up to bed. The guard changed at midnight. No matter which set of guards was supposed to have been bribed, it was now long past the time it would have taken to come to their house from the prison, even on foot. On September fifth Roger heard from a customer that Michonis had been arrested for complicity in a plot to free the “widow Capet”.

  He kept his eyes on the gun he was working on to free a jammed lock-mechanism. “All by himself?” he asked caustically. His voice gave no indication of any interest deeper than a relish in gossip.

  “The chief jailer will be removed, and the gendarmes who took the bribes will be shortened by a head, but Michonis says there was no plot. He insists it was a joke, a mistake, a misunderstanding… You know the kinds of things they say.”

  Roger asked another question or two, but idly, as if he had little interest. He was relieved that de Rocheville seemed not to have been implicated. He expected, indeed to see him or to have another group of guests arrive any day, but this did not happen nor did anyone else bearing his father’s gun come to see him. He could only assume it was because the whole situation was growing steadily worse and worse.

  Life in Paris had become a nightmare even to the people who had nothing to hide. Shops closed early, which was reasonable because it was illegal to carry package after dark, so that it was pointless to buy anything after the sun set. In fact, only the direst need could bring a person out in the streets at night. To be caught on even the most innocent errand by a night patrol generally meant imprisonment—which led in short order to execution, regardless of whether or not a crime had been committed. Not that barricading oneself in the house was of much use. It was quite usual for a night patrol to burst in and examine everyone in the household. To entertain a guest was equivalent to engaging in a conspiracy.

  Because Roger serviced the guns of the officials and gendarmes in the area, he was well known to them and—unless there was some good reason—it was unlikely that his house would be invaded. Still, the atmosphere was horrifying. Ten, then twenty, then more were guillotined each day. Again and again Roger thanked God fo
r Leonie’s courage. It was marvelous to him, not so much because she showed fortitude in the face of danger but because she was cheerful, almost merry, going about her daily tasks and laughing as often and as easily as ever. It was more marvelous because it was not gallows humor, either. Leonie made no jokes about “sneezing into a basket”.

  Had Roger known the source of Leonie’s placid good humor, he would have been appalled. She did have courage and would have faced even certain death without hysterics. But Leonie did not even think of death or imprisonment. She was so convinced that Roger would find a way out if danger became imminent that she was able to stay alert to any sign of suspicion or odd behavior without any real fear. To her mind the worst that could happen was deprivation and discomfort. Perhaps they would have to flee and go hungry and hide in the dark. Naturally, she would rather continue to live in relative comfort, but she was not afraid of running and hiding.

  She saw Roger was worried and put up with his occasional sharpness without impatience. It never occurred to her that he was personally afraid—in which she would have been reasonably correct, considering a slip on either of their parts would get them guillotined, and he had no more wish to die than any other healthy young man in love. However, Leonie did not think in terms of the guillotine. She blithely assumed that Roger was distressed because he did not want her to “suffer”. She never forgot how he had reacted to the idea that she should go hungry or the way he insisted she must sleep alone in the bed at the inn. Although that had annoyed her at the time because she did not wish to sleep alone, she did not forget how grateful she would have been for Roger’s self-denial if she had not already loved him. Her heart swelled with tenderness at his foolish concern for her, but she said nothing. It was useless to tell him she would not mind what he called “suffering”, that to her it would be no more than an irritating inconvenience. That would make him feel even worse.