Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999)

by Nichols, Mary

  What the two men said to each other, Kitty never knew, but it resulted in a grudgingly given agreement that she and Judith could stay there while Jack went out to try and locate James and conduct some business of his own. ‘I have to go to the market and sell my produce,’ he said. ‘It is important to keep up appearances, and the market is a good place to hear the latest news.’

  Kitty bade him au revoir with a grateful heart; rough-hewn he might be, bad-tempered at times and not apt to spare her maidenly blushes, nor her pride, but he was strong and fearless and, for some reason she could not fathom, his deeds belied his words when it came to caring what became of her. She really did trust him, which was why she was dismayed when he had not returned by nightfall.

  Jack’s non-appearance seemed to bother Jean Clavier too, for, after a frugal meal of salted herring which they all shared, he paced restlessly about the room, while his wife sat knitting by the fire, her needles clicking in the silence. A log dropped in the hearth, sending forth a shower of sparks, making Kitty jump. Jean pushed the log back with his clogged foot and stamped on the hearthrug which bore testimony to a great many sparks from previous fires; it was pitted with little black holes.

  ‘Well, he’ll not come tonight,’ he said, as the tocsin sounded over the city. ‘He’ll not risk being out after curfew.’

  His wife put down her knitting on the table at her side and stood up. ‘Come with me, citoyennes.’ She lit a candle with a spill from the fire, set it in a holder and led the way out of the room and up a narrow staircase to a room in the attic. ‘You may sleep here tonight.’ She set the candle down on a chest. ‘Snuff this out as soon as you can, candles cost a fortune and we cannot afford to waste them. Goodnight, citoyennes.’ With that she left, shutting the door behind her.

  ‘She’s not exactly welcoming, is she?’ Judith said, surveying the narrow bed, tucked under the sloping roof and wondering about bugs.

  ‘I expect she is afraid. She sees us as dangerous and she expected Jack to come back for us long ago.’

  ‘Where is he, do you think?’ Judith asked, as the hours ticked by and neither could sleep.

  Kitty sighed. ‘I wish I knew, Judith, I wish I knew.’

  Chapter Four

  Jack was sitting in the back room of a café in the Palais Royal, gambling with as evil-looking a bunch of cut-throats as anyone would wish to meet. They had all been drinking heavily on thin red wine, laced with cognac from the bottle Jack had brought with him. Kitty had saved it from the guard at the barrière and he was putting it to good use.

  The Palais Royal belonged to the duc d’Orléans, who had converted the ground floor into a colonnade of shops, clubs and cafés. Even though it was near the noisy market of Les Halles, the once-quiet precincts had become popular with idle Parisians for gambling.

  The upper classes dared no longer show their faces, but gambling still went on there, and that led to other things: plots, counter-plots, rumours of plots. Here agitators and journalists congregated, talking sedition, writing posters, printing pamphlets and exchanging gossip. It was said that the Revolution had started here in 1789.

  Over three years had passed since then and though the Legislative Assembly had tried to govern the country on behalf of the people, nothing much had changed; prices of bread, soap and candles were still exorbitant and taxes as crippling as they had been before. Now the government called itself the National Convention, but stability was as far away as ever and everyone was angry and afraid.

  What could a government prepared to execute a king be capable of doing? Mere nobles had no chance at all unless, like the duc d’Orléans, they embraced the new regime. They were arraigned, found guilty and executed, all in the space of a day or two, but still more were crammed into the prisons. Jack, who could find no sign of young Harston, was beginning to wonder if he were one of their number.

  He was acutely aware that Kitty and Judith were waiting for him, but what he would do if he did not find James he had no idea. Take them back to Lucie and hope they would be safe? He certainly could not go back to England with his mission unaccomplished. Drat the women!

  He had spent some time in the market, selling cabbages and asking questions, but had learned nothing except that France had, while they had been on the road from Calais, declared war on Britain and Englishmen were certainly not safe in Paris. James, who loved to play dangerous games, would not have let that stop him. He had told Jack he meant to infiltrate the meetings of the Enragés, an extreme revolutionary party, and find out what they were up to.

  ‘Our Government will pay handsomely for such information,’ he had said. ‘I will prove I can be of use to them and that will persuade them to give me other assignments. If you go to Horse Guards when you arrive in London, tell them that.’

  Jack, who had been given instructions by the War Department to stop James from acting the fool and pack him off home, had been sitting at the gaming table most of the night, steadily losing money, hoping to hear news of the young man. The men he played with were Enragés, but obtaining information from them was hard work and time consuming, especially as he could not ask them outright.

  ‘Sugar and soap doubled in price,’ one of them said, in an interval in the play. ‘Coffee up to forty sous a pound, candles twenty. The people will not stand for it. It is all a plot to bring us to our knees and restore the aristos.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it, then?’ Jack growled, shuffling the cards before dealing.

  ‘Put the food stores in the hands of the people, control the prices, punish hoarders and speculators.’

  ‘Very commendable,’ Jack commented drily, dealing expertly. ‘But how will you keep law and order? More trials, more people imprisoned? Aren’t the prisons overflowing already?’

  ‘Who needs prisons when we have Madame Guillotine?’ another said, running a thin finger across his throat.

  ‘And you think that will satisfy the people?’

  ‘No, how can it?’ the first man said. ‘The lust for blood is insatiable. There are traitors behind every door and even those who are hailed as patriots today will be traitors tomorrow, you mark my words.’

  His words were chilling, but Jack recognised the truth of what he was saying. ‘But what of the war? How can we hope to defeat les Anglais if we are continually watching our backs?’

  ‘Les Anglais will defeat themselves. The Revolution will spread to England and King George will soon know what it is like to bow to the will of the people.’

  Jack had to tread carefully now. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘From an Englishman.’ He paused to lay a card, while Jack held his breath. ‘Young puppy full of fire, hates all aristos, even English ones. He told us all it needs is the spark to ignite it.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  The man shrugged ‘Who knows? Gone to light the spark, perhaps. I haven’t seen him this last week. We have enough to do looking after our own. Until we are rid of all the aristos, we shall not rest. The Austrian whore must follow her husband to eternity, along with the bastards she has spawned.’

  ‘When will that be, do you suppose?’

  ‘Soon.’ He looked closely at Jack. ‘What interest do you have in the widow Capet?’

  ‘None at all.’ He paused, knowing it was risky to go on, but remembering his promise to his father-in-law, he decided to risk it. ‘My interest is in the ci-devant comte de Malincourt,’ he went on, fingering the handle of a wicked-looking knife he had stuck in his belt. ‘I have a score to settle with him.’

  ‘Him!’ Another of the four broke in, contempt in his voice. ‘He fled with his family to England, in ‘eighty-nine, cowards and traitors all of them. I spit on them.’ And he spat on the floor at his side before taking another mouthful of wine from the glass at his elbow.

  ‘His daughter married an Englishman, so I heard,’ the fourth man put in, then laughed. ‘Cuckolded him with a citizen from the French Embassy in London, who brought her back to Paris.’

&nbs
p; ‘That so?’ Jack asked lazily. ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘If the father has escaped, then the daughter will do.’

  ‘I hate to disappoint you, mon vieux, but Madame Guillotine got there before you.’

  ‘She’s dead?’ For a split second he let his shock and horror show, but quickly took control of himself. ‘Mon Dieu, and I had been looking forward to doing the job myself. How did it happen?’

  ‘The diplomat had ambition, he wanted to join the élite of the Jacobin Club. The price was the lady’s head. He paid it gladly.’ He looked down at the card Jack had just discarded. ‘Fool! Why throw away your best trump? Anyone would think you felt sorry for the bitch.’

  Jack pulled himself together to answer him. ‘No, it’s one less Malincourt in the world.’ But he felt sick. Gabrielle, the beautiful, the enticing, the siren, his faithless wife, was dead. She had been taken from prison in a tumbril to the Place de la Révolution where, surrounded by a howling mob, her lovely head had been severed from her body. No woman deserved that fate, whatever she had done.

  The game ended and the winner scooped up the pot, just as the tocsin sounded the lifting of the curfew. Jack pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I must go to my work.’

  ‘What work is that, citizen?’

  ‘Clerk to citizen Blanchard, the brewer.’

  They laughed. ‘A good job, citizen. You should hang on to it. Bring a few extra bottles with you tonight.’

  He said he would, though he doubted he would see them again. He had to find James Harston and the sooner the better. Life for an Englishman—or an Englishwoman—in France was set to become very uncomfortable; the sooner James took his sister home to England, the better. He told himself that he would be well rid of the pair of them.

  By the morning of the third day Kitty was beginning to despair and Madame Clavier was growing more and more tetchy. On one occasion Kitty heard her telling her husband they should turn the Englishwomen out before they themselves were denounced for harbouring them. To give him his due, Jean had turned on her angrily, saying Jack was his friend, a brave and honourable man who had important work to do, and he would not turn his back on him. But even he had sounded worried.

  ‘I think we are a burden to them,’ Kitty said, when Judith remarked once again that madame was lacking in hospitality. ‘It is clear they are very poor.’

  They were dressing in their garret room, which was so cold the inside of the windows was patterned with frost and there was a layer of ice on the jug of water which stood on the table beneath it. ‘Offer them money, then, for I am heartily sick of fish and vegetable soup.’

  ‘If Mr Chiltern is not back by mid-day today, I shall assume he is not coming and we will leave.’

  ‘You think he has abandoned us?’

  ‘Madame thinks so and he did threaten it.’

  Judith stared at her. ‘But do you think it?’

  Kitty sighed. She had done nothing but find fault with the man ever since she had met him, but until he had left them, she had not appreciated how much he had done for them, much of it to his own inconvenience. Now, she wished she had showed herself more grateful. Without him to make decisions, to tell her what to do, she felt lost.

  And deep down inside her, so deep she refused to acknowledge it, was the memory of that kiss. Had she really reacted so warmly? What must he have thought of her? No wonder he treated her with so much contempt; she deserved it. But she wanted him back. She wanted him back for all sorts of reasons she dare not analyse.

  ‘I don’t know what to think, but I cannot just sit here and do nothing,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he has been taken into custody for having forged papers, perhaps he has been waylaid by cut-throats and thrown in the river, perhaps something terrible has happened to James and …’

  ‘And perhaps you have a lively imagination, miss.’

  ‘What would you have us do?’

  ‘Me? Why ask me?’ the maid said huffily. ‘You did not ask my opinion before you left home, or I might have given it. You chose to trust a complete stranger, who is most decidedly not a gentleman, so what can I say? You must do as you please.’

  ‘Oh, Judith, please don’t let us quarrel, we have troubles enough without that.’

  Judith softened. ‘I am sorry, my love. It is all this waiting about and idleness. I never could abide being idle. But if we leave, where could we go?’

  ‘To the British Embassy. They must know the whereabouts of all English people in Paris.’

  They sat in their room in the cold rather than get under Madame Clavier’s feet, but they went down in the middle of the day and were given a bowl of soup made of fish bones and onions, which was so thin it had little nourishment.

  Afterwards they offered Jean money and told him they were leaving. He protested they should wait a little longer for Jack, but his wife contradicted him.

  ‘He must have been discovered,’ she said. ‘He’s in prison or dead. And we shall be next if we give shelter to France’s enemies. Let them go.’

  It looked as if there might be a serious falling out between husband and wife which Kitty solved by putting a gold sovereign on the table and leaving, followed by Judith. Once outside, Kitty hesitated, wondering which way to go, then decided to walk towards the centre of the city, where they would be able to ask directions.

  The noisome alleys were busy and they walked close together to avoid being separated. Bands of women were flocking along the streets, shrieking obscenities and carrying bags of flour and sugar. Some were armed with pikes and knives; a few had muskets. Nervously Kitty and Judith pressed themselves against the wall to allow them to pass.

  ‘I never saw such a bloodthirsty lot,’ Judith said after the women had passed on. ‘Where are they going with all that stuff? Do you suppose they’ve looted it?’

  ‘Perhaps, but it need not concern us,’ Kitty said, anxious to be away from what was obviously a very unsavoury area and to find somewhere more wholesome. ‘Let’s hurry.’

  But there was no escaping the rioting women. They were everywhere, dashing into shops and coming out loaded with food, shouting, ‘Vive la République!’ as if that justified what they were doing. Kitty and Judith, trying to make a way through the crowds, found themselves carried along with the tide.

  ‘Please let me pass,’ Kitty said, pushing against the shoulders of one woman who barred her way.

  The woman’s answer was to knock her to the ground, so that she was almost trampled underfoot.

  ‘Have a care!’ Judith shouted, wading in to push aside the women who surrounded her mistress. ‘Let my lady up. You will trample her to death.’

  ‘What do you say?’ another shrieked, stopping in her tracks. ‘What language is that?’

  Judith did not understand, so she ignored the harridan and bent over Kitty to help her to her feet, revealing the hem of a warm flannel petticoat beneath her peasant kirtle.

  ‘Mon Dieu, what have we here?’ the woman cried, lifting Judith’s skirt and flinging it over her head. ‘Look at this! Petticoats and drawers!’ And with that she kicked Judith’s backside, toppling her face down into the mud, amid raucous laughter.

  ‘And this!’ another said, pulling Kitty to her feet and subjecting her to the same treatment. ‘Two petticoats, one flannel and one fine cotton trimmed with lace. And look here, a corset! Citoyennes, I do believe we have found ourselves a couple of aristos.’

  All this was spoken idiomatically and very quickly, so that Kitty’s French was unequal to the task of translation, but she did recognise the word ‘aristos’.

  ‘No,’ she said in halting French. ‘We are not aristocrats, but ordinary British citizens.’

  ‘Anglais!’ One of the women spat at them. ‘Enemies of the Republic. Enemies of France. À la lanterne!’

  The women seemed to have forgotten their original purpose and abandoned the flour and sugar. They grabbed Kitty and Judith and forced them to march with them, shouting
, ‘À la lanterne! ’

  Kitty struggled in vain and Judith’s invective against the heathen scum, as she called them, along with other names Kitty was shocked to hear, only served to inflame the mob even more and Kitty was obliged to tell her to be quiet.

  At regular intervals all along the banks of the Seine, facing the Palais de Justice, there were posts erected to hold street lamps, but it was clear they were used as instruments of execution, for many of them held dangling corpses. Kitty was sickened by them and terrified when she realised that the women meant to add her and Judith to their number.

  ‘No! No!’ she screamed, trying vainly to break free. ‘We have done no wrong.’

  Somehow Judith threw off her captors and hurled herself at those who held Kitty. ‘You let her go! Let my darling go, you imbeciles!’ The last word was easily translated which increased the women’s fury; several of them flung themselves at Judith, holding her while others found a rope. In front of Kitty’s horrified eyes, they fashioned a noose and put it over Judith’s head, then flung the rope over the projecting arm of the lamp post and hauled the struggling woman to the top, screaming with triumphant laughter. ‘Voyons l’aristos! Crache donc sur l’aristo.’ And, suiting action to words, they spat on the hem of Judith’s skirt as it passed them at face level.

  ‘Oh, God have mercy!’ Kitty cried, as others grabbed her and marched her, stumbling, to the next lamp, leaving Judith’s still-twitching body swinging in the breeze.

  ‘No! No! No!’ Kitty screamed as they slipped a second rope over her head.

  ‘Wait, citoyennes,’ one of them said. ‘Let us not spoil those beautiful petticoats.’

  In seconds Kitty’s clothes had been stripped from her, leaving her in nothing but a shift. She felt the rope tighten about her neck as they began to haul on it. The breath was forced from her body and blessed darkness closed in on her.

  The women who crowded the streets impeded Jack’s progress. He encountered them everywhere he went: the Palais Royal, the Palais de Justice, the Tuileries, scene of so much destruction and bloodshed when the King was arrested, along the rue Saint-Antoine to the Arsenal and in every connecting road. It was clear that this was what his fellow card-players had predicted, probably incited.