by Joan Smith
They proceeded quickly into a district that was poor and dirty, but had the desired quiet. There were no large buildings, no recognizable landmarks. He had no idea where they might be, nor was Sally in any shape to figure it out. They hastened on for an hour at a walk that was short of a run, with Degan pulling Sally along, through cobbled streets first, then into rougher uncobbled ones, the neighborhood unkempt and poor the whole time, finally dwindling to fewer buildings, and those of a large, rough nature, warehouses he thought. At a corner, he saw a river just south of them, and headed toward it to try to find his bearings. Looking across, he saw one of the barriers, and knew they could go no farther.
They retraced their steps west. He wanted to put that river between themselves and their pursuers, but bridges were few and far between, always densely populated. A small rowboat was anchored under a tree, and without a word he pulled Minou into it, untied the rope and rowed across to the other side. To the west La Salpétrière belched smoke from its unending manufacture of saltpeter for gunpowder.
They left the boat and darted off, southward. “I must rest. I can’t walk another step,” Minou said at last, panting.
“We’ll find somewhere to sit and make plans. We have to do something about finding Henry and rescuing him. There’s some noise and light ahead. One of those cheap taverns. We’ll go there. We’re far enough away now that they won’t find us in a hurry.”
The room they were soon entering was such as Degan had never seen before—decrepit, dirty, with a mangy cat slinking between uncovered tables. The customers one could only describe as rabble, but they were a discreet rabble, as a result of Paris’ turmoil. No one behaved ill to them, or made any unsavory remarks. “Do you have a private parlor?” Degan asked, using the best French pronunciation he could muster.
“Par ici, citoyen,” the waiter replied, and they were suddenly in privacy. A little cubicle with a table and fourchairs, no fire, nor even a window, but at least a door, which could be soon closed. “Have you any brandy?” Degan asked.
There was a bottle of what the man chose to call brandy set before them, with two not very clean glasses. Uncomplaining, Degan poured the suspiciously light liquid out, and he and Minou sat and drank a moment in silence, too overwrought and tired to even speak till they had rested.
After a few moments, Minou looked to him with an expression between grief and a sorry smile on her face. “My poor Degan, what have I done to you?” she asked, shaking her head. “I never thought to see the very proper Lord Degan in such straits. Nor dealing so adequately with them, either. Thank you, my friend. I went to pieces. I will be all right soon. As soon as I have had another glass of this much-diluted eau-de-vie. I have brought you even to that, drinking brandy. Deleterious for the health, you told me.”
He was greatly relieved to see her spirits recovering. “My health must take its chances tonight. It is our lives that are at stake. And Henry’s.”
“Yes, we must think. Form a plan. Oh, it must be a formidable plan, Degan—nothing can go wrong. First we have to discover where they have taken him. One of the homes of the nobility, if we can trust what that proprietor said. I thought I would die when that vaurien at the hotel asked if we were not with Citoyen Mérigot’s party. I knew then the jig was up. He shouldn’t have come, that Henri.”
“You were admirable, my dear. Not a single muscle twitching, except your fingers on my arm to warn me. Your mother mentioned it being very dangerous for him to be here. What is it, exactly? You are all in danger—on the list for execution. His family is noble, I take it? The man mentioned the word ‘comte.’ Henry uses no title.”
“We are of the English nobility, we Harlocks, in danger only because of Grandpère Augé. Henri’s father was a Virais, a very old and noble family from the Rhône Valley. They were always active in politics, influential at court. They were among the first to go, even before Louis. The Tribunal made it a special point to eradicate all the Virais. Henri is the only survivor—he is the comte now, though he never thought to inherit the title. His father was only a younger son. The estates too would be his if... But his situation now is only a curse, at such a time as this. He purposely avoided using the title in England, hoping it would be thought here in France he was dead, for they have been known to kidnap French noblemen from England and bring them back for execution.”
Degan listened to this, nodding. “He shouldn’t have risked coming, in that case. Why did he, Minou? I can’t believe it was only concern for your mother, a female relation, that brought him. He did it for you?”
She shook her head. “He did it for all of us—we are a close family. He lived with us as a brother years ago, you know. It is very like him. He is afraid of nothing, Henri. I must be afraid of nothing too, and free him.”
“We’ll do it somehow. Let me go to the—”
“Degan—it is kind of you, but very foolish. Now we need all your wise caution. Two words and you would be recognized for an anglais. You remember Cap Gris. Even in the provinces you couldn’t pull it off and in Paris—impossible.”
This was true, and there was no point in being gallant about it. It would end up with Minou trying to rescue the pair of them if he went off half-cocked. No, they must work together, and how was it to be done, the both of them so very easily distinguishable?
“The garde who picked Henry up will have a description of us from the hotel man,” he mentioned. “With that red hair of yours, Minou, you’ll be easy to spot.”
“How about you, looking ten feet wide in that padded jacket, with those two bandages on your face, and speaking broken French. Some disguise will be necessary,” she said, setting, her face in a pose of concentration.
“The best disguise would be for you to become a boy again, and change your hair color,” he suggested. “Could we buy some hair dye and boy’s clothing, I wonder? You kept François’ card.”
“It can’t be done before morning, and you, Monsieur Philippe Ferrier, will become again the sans-culotte, slumping your big shoulders forward, with your hair hanging over your eyes, to hide at least one bandage. Mon Dieu, it will be dangerous, and without Henri to be our porte parole too—to speak and manage for us. It is not fair of me to ask you to do it.”
“I have already promised Lady Harlock to look after you.”
“You said you didn’t tell her I am here!”
“I didn’t tell her, but I have received very specific instructions that you are under my protection.”
“That Mama, she never stops! Already she is trying to make a match of it. I might as well warn you, Degan, that is her scheme.”
“I warn you, it is mine as well.”
Minou looked at his tired, tender face, and felt very close to tears. “Corpses, especially without their heads, make very inferior brides and bridegrooms,” she said. “We shall speak of this another time.”
“You may be very sure we will. Now, what is to be done tonight? A place to lay our heads. Some food, if you feel like it, and tomorrow we get into our new roles and get busy. We’ll walk along until we come to a small hotel, and risk taking a room. How are we fixed for money? I gave all mine to your mother.”
“I haven’t much. Henri had most of it. That was poorly done of us, not to split it up evenly in three. And I could eat something by now too. This is no time to become weak with hunger, when we have so much to do. Come, we go.” She arose, straightened her shoulders and preceded him out the door.
They decided to put some distance between this stop and their new hotel, just in case it was discovered they had been here. They walked a mile, finally taking a chamber at the edge of the city, in an insignificant little maison that catered to countryfolk in town for a night. Degan, the model of propriety, hired only one room, though their slim funds could have afforded two. He didn’t think Sally was fit to be left alone, and was resigned to the floor for one night. The food proved inedible.
They slept in their clothing, Minou on the bed, Degan in a corner with a blanket and pill
ow. He rather thought he would have nightmares from his companion to contend with, but there were none. Each lay awake, thinking the other slept, and trying not to toss and turn to the point of rousing the other. Minou later heard long-drawn breaths, and thought Degan had dozed off. She felt utterly miserable, frightened and lonely.
The dark silence gave rise to grim thoughts. They would never free Henri. They would get caught; Édouard would die and Mama be sent off to prison. No bracing decision to die like a lady came to encourage her. She would die like a sniveling, sobbing child. Suddenly she was crying quietly into her pillow, to hide it from Degan, who needed his sleep.
Degan, tired as he was, was far from sleep. He too had his waking nightmares, his visions of being recognized and hauled before the Tribunal. His inadequacy in the language made him a poor support to Minou and her family at this time. All those wasted years he could have learned French better, but thought it pointless as he had no desire to go to France. He heard the soft sobs, and was immediately on his feet, going to her. “Minou—darling, what is it?” he asked, sitting on the side of the bed, groping in the darkness to find her.
She sat up suddenly. “Did I awaken you? I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of it.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, putting a hand on her head, to run his fingers through her hair slowly, in a soothing way. “Why do you cry? Is it for Henry?”
He felt the head shake in a negative. “No, I am too selfish. I cry for myself mostly. I am frightened, Degan.”
“So am I,” he answered, unashamed. “It’s only natural to be frightened. A man would have to be a dumb brute not to be afraid at such a time, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try to save them. We must be careful, that’s all.”
He felt a warm hand grasping his fingers in a tight hold. “You are so calm, Degan. Papa was the same, but he was not so brave as you. Never once did he offer to come after Mama himself—and you, to whom she is so much less, came without being asked.”
“I didn’t do it for your mother. You know why I came. Minou, I must know about Henry and you. How are things between you two?”
“It is time to tell. Tomorrow might be too late, and I want you to know. He is not my lover, if that’s what you thought. Well, I know you did, and I let you think it on purpose. I am without conscience. Terrible. He is my brother—half brother. He is Mama’s son; that is why he insisted on coming to save her.”
In all his conjectures, this thought had never once occurred to Degan, yet when she said the words, it explained everything. The closeness between them, the affection stronger than would exist between cousins, even cousins who had shared a roof for a few years. It explained too John’s dislike of Henry, and Mérigot’s determination to come to Paris, whatever the risks. “He is illegitimate, I take it?” he asked, without a hint of censure in his tone, though he was a little shocked.
“No! How could you think it!” she asked, offended. “He would not be the comte de Virais if that were the case. Mama was married before she married my father. Her husband died in a hunting accident when Henri was a year old, and Mama was ill with grief. The husband’s family, very influential, took Henri, and Mama went home to Augé’s to recuperate. She was still very young, of course, and pretty. While she was there, Papa came along and fell madly in love with her.”
“I don’t see why John has this irrational dislike of Henry.”
“Ah, that is really Grandpère Augé’s fault. He made the arrangements with my father, told him nothing about the other marriage at first, and of course nothing about Henri either. He wanted to see Mama well settled, and introduced her as Mademoiselle Augé. It was very foolish of him, and wrong, but Mama did tell father about Virais before the marriage. The night before, I think, when he had to see the papers. There is a great deal of paperwork for everything in France. But she didn’t tell him about Henri. She intended to, she said, but somehow she hadn’t the nerve, as he was so very upset about the first marriage.”
“He could have cried off if he had wanted to.”
“He could have, but the notices were all sent out and the cake baked and everything. He hadn’t the fortitude to do it, and of course he loved her too. She thought it wiser to tell him about Henri later. It is easy to put off the unpleasant, and she never told him at all. Then the old uncle who was taking care of Henri died, and when some relatives were going to England to visit Mama, they took Henri with them, thinking she would want him back. And she did! She loves Henri. I think she loves him better than me and Édouard. Maybe she loved Virais better than Papa. He was more handsome. In the picture she keeps, he looks much like Henri. Papa went into a thundering rage, called her such names our ears were blue. He was jealous nearly to death. He said she must choose between Henri and himself, and she chose Henri, because she felt guilty for having abandoned him for so long, and anyway she never will be dictated to. She thought Papa would send to Paris for us all to come back to England, but he didn’t. Many times he asked the rest of us back, but never Henri. So when things began to turn sour in France, the Virais, who has some guardianship powers over Henri, had him sent to England. Mama was sure that when my father saw Henri all grown up and so dashing, for he was eighteen then, he would like him, and have him to live at Berkeley Square. I knew it wouldn’t work. Papa was more jealous than ever, to see him look so like his father. He never acknowledged any connection with him at all.”
“He certainly never gave me a hint, and I was closer to him than most.”
“He treated him like dirt. It made Mama so mad she kept us all in France to get arrested. She is very stubborn too, that one. Henri sneaked back over to France once to try to save Grandpère Augé, and to get us to go to England, but he was recognized before he ever got to Paris, and escaped arrest only by beating up two gardes and stealing a horse, and I don’t know what. It was too dangerous for him to return, and no point in it. He has been doing everything to try to find out where we have been this last year, but it is very difficult to get word across the Channel. The minute he heard where Mama is, he was determined to come after her. From the first day I spoke to him, he was making preparations and plans. I made him promise to wait a week to see if Papa could arrange it peacefully, but he didn’t like even that long a wait. He is really very nice, Henri. I wish you could like him, Degan.”
“I love him,” Degan said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? It would have saved a lot of worry and bickering.”
“It is Mama’s and Papa’s secret. Father is so ashamed of it he doesn’t want it known that he was tricked. He thinks his relatives will all laugh at him. Mama told only Georgiana, the duchess. You were about his closest friend, and as he hadn’t told you, I could not think it right. We all decided to say nothing. It was the least we could do to repay him for that little stunt of Mama’s, which was not at all the thing, but I think Henri was wrong to think it would make you dislike me. It is not my fault. Truly it is not!”
She heard an incredulous little laugh. “You don’t know how delighted I am to hear the story. Here Henri has been trying to protect you from me, while I have been convinced he had designs on your fortune. And person.”
“You have something to be forgiven too, mon ami! How I wanted to scratch your eyes out in London when you suggested Henri was a fortune hunter.”
“I thought you were going to. I never met such a headstrong, outspoken, outrageous...” He stopped in midspeech. “What am I saying?”
“Very bad things about me, I think,” she answered wearily. “All true. I am not at all the right kind of a girl for someone like you, my Degan.”
“You imply I am a stodgy stick-in-the-mud, but I take leave to tell you your mother has this very evening called me a gallant, not at all dull or proper. Besides, as you have just called me your Degan, I think that in your heart you must agree with her.”
“Did Mama say so? Ah then, it is settled. There is no point trying to outwit Mama. If she has settled on
you for her son-in-law, you might as well accept your fate. We are as well as married.”
“Good. I wish we were married. It is all settled now except to seal it with a kiss.” He took her in his arms and kissed her long and passionately, forgetting their predicament, the coming danger, even the impropriety of their present situation, which would have loomed as large as the other evils a week ago. He was about ready to forget they weren’t actually churched yet too, but she accidentally reminded him of it.
“I feel so safe here with you,” she said, in a trusting voice, as she lay with her head against his shoulder, in greater peril than she had been in the hayricks.
“Try to get some sleep, darling,” he told her, mentally condemning himself as a lecher for his thoughts.
She curled up like a kitten. “Degan?” she said after a moment.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know your name.” Then she laughed at the absurdity of it.
“Fawthrop,” he said. “You recall Marion? She is my father’s sister.”
“I know that. Your first name, I mean.”
“I’m afraid to tell you. Like your mother, I’ll save it till we’ve been married ten years.”
“But what is it? It can’t be that bad.”
“Yes, it can. It is very bad.”
“I think I have heard Papa call you Robert. That’s what you told Henri today, isn’t it?”
“Folks call me Rob.”
“That’s short for Robert.”
“Sometimes.”
“Tell me!” she commanded, poking him with an elbow.
“Careful. That’s where the Butcher dislodged my stomach.”
“Sorry, but you’re not sidetracking me with that stunt. What’s your name?”
“It really aches like the devil.”
“Degan, tell me. I’ll get it out of you. I am very good at making people tell all their secrets. It is Robber. Your ancestors were common thieves.”
