After holding his first day’s session in the court, he took an evening walk round the city. Boyhood’s memories are strong; he saw a dozen people that he could definitely identify, because they were still occupying the same shops, and a number of others whose faces he knew yet could not place. All of them looked at him with curiosity and fear, then swiftly averted their glance; but in the eyes of none was there a flicker of recognition.
As he passed the Church of St. Malaine he recalled how he used to wait each Sunday with swiftly-beating heart near its font, to offer Athénaïs Holy water as she came out, and the almost unbearable thrill of joy that the light touch of her fingers on his had given him as she took it. Near by lay the Jardin des Plantes, in which, during midday recesses at the lawyer’s office, he had laboriously taught himself German, and where, on summer evenings, he had endeavoured to console himself with the embraces of half a dozen pretty light-o’-loves when Athénaïs had left Rennes and he had given up hope of ever seeing her again.
At the other end of the town he crossed the Champs de Mars to look at the Hôtel de Guesclin, to which he had come with old Doctor Aristotle Fénelon on his first night in the city. The hostelry looked much smaller than he remembered it, but it had not altered. Up in an attic there the poor old quack had been murdered, and he had fled from it in terror with Fouché pounding after him down the stairs shouting that he was a murderer. Half-a-mile away, behind the barracks, were the crossroads near which Athénaïs’s coach had been standing in the semi-darkness. Like a hunted hare going to earth he had leapt into it; and it was she who had saved him. She had then been only fourteen; so although that night seemed a whole lifetime away, she could now be only twenty-four. But how much had happened since! His travels had taken him to Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Russia, Italy and Spain, and he had married twice. He wondered about her marriage, and if it had proved the success that he had hoped. In order to enable her to marry the Vicomte de la Tour d’Auvergne, whom she liked, instead of being forced to wed an immensely wealthy but repulsive noble of her father’s choice, he had, at the age of nineteen, fought and killed one of the finest swordsmen in all France. He had loved her terribly—more than life itself—and he could still never think of her without a stirring of the pulses.
On taking his seat in court on the second day of his session he received an unpleasant shock. Although he had not been told of it, the lawyer who had acted as Public Prosecutor the day before now transpired to have been deputising for his chief, owing to that official having been absent in Nantes. With a sudden catch of his breath Roger instantly recognised the new man as Hutot, the great, stupid, brutal oaf who, while senior apprentice at Maître Léger’s, had bullied him so savagely during his first months as a member of the lawyer’s household. That such a man should have secured such a post was typical of the Revolution. Knowing that any attempt to evade Hutot’s eyes for the whole of several days’ sittings must prove futile, Roger stared at him with a cold impassive gaze, as he ingratiatingly smirked his apologies for his previous day’s absence. During the morning Roger kept a covert watch on him, but by midday he was quite satisfied that Hutot had no idea that they had ever met before.
For two more days Roger held his bloody assize. To his great relief, Dan’s secret associates had succeeded in rescuing the Légers and his other old friends, so that worry was off his shoulders; and as he took a final look through the cases he was to try on his last day in Rennes he could see no name that even faintly rang any bell in his memory.
Shortly before the midday recess, the name Marie Tourney was called, and a slim, black-haired young woman was led into court. Roger glanced at her only casually, and turned to Hutot, who had jumped to his feet and was now crying with revolting eagerness:
“Here, Citizen Representative, we have a case of the very type of lice of which you have been sent from Paris to rid us. This bitch you see before you is a scheming aristocrat. Under a false name, as we have just discovered, she has been concealing the enemies of the Republic and caused an honest patriot to be done to death. No special pleading by me is needed to ensure her receiving justice; the bare facts are enough. The penalty is death, and I demand it!”
Roger looked again at the thin, proud face of the girl. It was her jet-black hair that had temporarily blinded him to her identity. He was staring at his beloved Athénaïs.
CHAPTER XVII
THE “QUESTIONING” OF ATHÉNAÏS
As Roger stared at Athénaïs he saw recognition dawn in her eyes. Love had imprinted his features too firmly on her mind for her to be deceived, as others had been, by his revolutionary plumage. Her oval face, hitherto impassive and resigned, had suddenly become alive, and he could see the emotions chasing one another across it—amazement at seeing him in such a guise, hope where there had been none before, then elation and relief at the certainty that her old lover would never send her to the scaffold.
Swiftly he averted his gaze, praying that she would have the sense to say nothing which might compromise him and make it more difficult to aid her. His heart was hammering wildly and he had to clasp his hands to keep them from trembling. As though from a long way off he heard Hutot giving particulars of the crime of which she was accused.
For some weeks she had been living in a small house on the outskirts of the town under the name of Madame Tourney, but that morning she had been identified as the ci-devant Vicomtesse de la Tour d’Auvergne. Suspicion had been aroused by the frequency with which people had been seen entering and leaving her house either late at night or very early in the morning. A domiciliary visit had been ordered, and a man discovered in one of the upstairs rooms; he had been recognised as M. de Charette, a retired naval lieutenant who owned property in the Marais and had become one of the leaders of the rebels. Athénaïs had managed to delay the search party long enough for Charette to dress, but not long enough for him to get away. As they entered the room he was about to climb out of the window; turning, he had shot one of them with his pistol, then leapt into the branches of a tree, scrambled to the ground and escaped.
It was a case in which Roger dared show no mercy; even to have postponed sentence would have provoked unwelcome comment. He could only pray that condemnation by him would not shock her into some violent plea or protest which would reveal to the crowd in court that in the past he had been the lover of this high-born beauty. In the hope of preventing any such outburst by rendering doubtful her recognition of him, he looked straight at her again; but this time he narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth in a ferocious grin. Then, without even referring to his colleagues on the bench, which he usually did as a matter of courtesy, he drew the side of his hand across his throat and said hoarsely:
“Madame la Guillotine is ever thirsty, and best of all she loves to drink so-called blue blood. I am happy to provide her with this treat on behalf of the Sovereign People.”
Athénaïs’s blue eyes opened wide. He read in them a flash of incredulity, then horror, but lastly doubt. She half opened her mouth to say something, but, evidently shaken by uncertainty, closed it again. His cruel jibe brought forth coarse laughter and a murmur of approbation from the onlookers. Before it subsided Athénaïs had been seized by the arms and hurried from the court.
Roger put his hand up to his mouth to conceal the intake of a sharp, painful breath. He could feel the perspiration that had started out on his forehead, and with a quick sweep of his red silk handkerchief brushed it away: he felt sick almost to fainting point and knew that he must be deathly pale, but his past eight weeks’ work had made such a death’s head of his face that no one seemed to notice how ill he was feeling. With a stupendous effort he pulled himself together and managed to focus his attention on the next case.
At the midday interval he refused the meal provided for him at the Town Hall, and went at once to his lodgings at the Hôtel de France to find Dan. It was not until he arrived there that he remembered Dan had told him first thing that morning that he was going to Dinan that day to tie up loose
ends with the League before their return to Paris.
Fortunately only four cases had been left over for the afternoon session, and those were swiftly dealt with; so by three o’clock Roger was free to give unchecked rein to his frantic anxiety in the privacy of his own room at the hotel. He knew that, unless he took steps to prevent it, Athénaïs would be executed at nine o’clock the following morning. Dan could not be expected back before eight that evening; so they would have only a bare twelve hours to work in, and that was desperately little time in which to plan and carry out an escape. His agitation was further increased by the awful fear that, as they were about to leave Brittany, Dan might already have broken off contact with their secret friends there, and be unable to arrange a rescue. It was bad enough that Athénaïs should now be in a condemned cell, imagining that the man she had once loved, or someone extraordinarily like him, had deliberately sent her there; to allow her to die was utterly unthinkable. But if Dan could not help, how was he to effect her escape without making himself glaringly suspect to the Jacobin-controlled Municipality of Rennes? Given actual proof that he was betraying the Revolution, they would be within their rights in arresting and executing him, fully confident that the Committee of Public Safety in Paris would afterwards approve their act. As he paced restlessly up and down his room, he could not rid his mind of the horrid thought that the attempt he was determined to make to save Athénaïs might not only fail, but result in his head following hers into the basket.
Soon after eight Dan got back, and Roger at once ordered a meal to be brought for him to their private sitting-room on the ground floor. While it was being fetched he could hardly disguise his impatience; the moment they were alone he poured himself a glass of wine from Dan’s bottle and gulped it down, then in a low voice gave a swift account of what had happened. Within a minute his worst fears had been confirmed.
Dan gravely shook his head, and whispered, “This be bad, Cap’n. Had I but knowed the lady’s plight this forenoon I could ‘a’ fixed summat; but there b’aint none o’ they gentry ye wot of nearer than Dinan, an’ the Devil hisself ’ud be hard put to it t’ride there an’ bring ’en back here much afore dawn. ‘Sides, what then? Prison breaks take a mint o’ thought an’ plannin’. Specially since the night afore last, when they other friends o’ yourn were gotten away. I’se told they bloody varmints has doubled the guards, an’ the sentries be ordered to shoot anyone suspicious-seemin’”.
“I feared as much,” Roger exclaimed; “all the same, an attempt must be made. There was a time, Dan, when I loved this lady more than my life, and risked it for her; coming upon her in this desperate strait has aroused in me all those old feelings. Cost what it may, I’ll not let these swine take her to the guillotine.”
With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Dan helped himself to another big wedge of rich Brittany butter. As he began to spread it on the crusty bread, he said resignedly, “That bein’ the way o’ it, Cap’n, I’ll get she out for thee somehow. A bold bluff be our best hope, an’ I could say—”
“No, no!” Roger cut him short. “I had hoped that there might still be time for you to arrange something with your friends, but since that is impossible I’ll not let you imperil yourself; this is my affair.”
“Best let I make first cast, Cap’n; I’se more knowin’ wi’ the ways o’ prisons than you be. Should I take a tumble I know ye’ll be there t’ throw me a line an’ haul me aboard agin.”
Roger placed a hand affectionately on his henchman’s shoulder. “A thousand thanks, old friend, but I am resolved that you shall remain above suspicion. While waiting for you I’ve had ample time to think of a plan should your friends be unable to help, and this is what I propose. Normally, at midday tomorrow the whole of our hellish circus should take the road back to Paris. In the morning you will tell Captain Labord that having completed my mission I had no mind to travel at the slow pace of the death wagon, so I set off at dawn, leaving you in charge. That will explain my disappearance both to the Municipals here and to our own people. In an hour or two I will go to the prison; my authority is sufficient to demand that Madame should be surrendered to me for private questioning.”
“ ’Twas summat o’ the kind I had in mind,” Dan mumbled, his mouth full of chicken. “I’d need a signed order o’ yourn, tho’, to get she.”
“Yes, they would not hand her over without one,” Roger nodded, “but what then?”
“ ’Twixt the prison an’ here I’d tell she to take to her heels, then wi’ a mighty long face tell ye she give me the slip.”
“No, Dan, that’s no good. If we failed to report her escape at once we would both be suspect, and if we allowed a hue and cry after her to start so soon, all the odds are that she would be recaptured before morning. We have got to get her clear away to your friends at Dinan; that means one of us disappearing for at least ten hours. If you took her there after having got her out on my order I’d either have to raise the alarm when you failed to bring her here and have you hunted, or become suspect myself. As I have planned matters, no one can accuse you of knowing anything about it, and my own disappearance will be accounted for by the story that I am on my way to Paris.”
“Aye, but ye’ll have taken she from prison, an’ what’ll they Devil’s spawn be sayin’ when ’tis found that the pair o’ ye’s gone in the morn?”
“They can say what they damn’ well choose; I’ll be fifty miles away by then.”
“S’pose they send after ye to Paris?”
Roger shrugged, then his worried expression gave place to a smile. “You had best pretend to be greatly puzzled, then reluctantly suspicious of my motives, and offer to take the report yourself. But I’m not greatly troubled on that score. I’ll have plenty of time to think up some explanation, and if any account of the affair does get through to Paris you may be sure that the Comité will accept my word rather than the tittle-tattle of these little provincial Jacobins. I’ll probably say she bought her freedom by giving me valuable information about the rebels. Wait, though! Why should we not meet trouble half-way by using a story of that kind now? Gad, yes! That could be made even better cover for my disappearance. I’ll leave a note to the effect that I promised to spare her life in exchange for information, but do not mean to let her go until I’ve checked it; so I’ve taken her with me post-haste down to Nantes and mean to return to Paris independently from there.”
“Aye”; Dan nodded quick approval; “an’ meanwhile ye’ll have gone north to Dinan. That be a good trick to play ’en. ’Twill also save me an awkward bit o’ play-acting come mornin’. How do ’e plan to get she to Dinan, though, wi’out risk that a coachman or postil’on will betray ye arferwards?”
“We shall ride. She is, thank God, a first-class horsewoman, although not dressed for the part at the moment; but you can help me in that. Put out a spare pair of my riding breeches and boots, and half-stuff the boots with some soft material, so that her small feet will not slop about in them. Better have ready for her, too, a light cloak in case the night turns chilly, and make a bundle of things she may find useful—a brush and comb, a flannel, a couple of my soft shirts, a scarf, some handkerchiefs; and put in my flask of cognac and a slab of chocolate. Tell me, now—when we reach Dinan, where shall I find your friends?”
Dan gave careful directions to an inn called Le Homard Rouge on a by-road about a mile beyond the town, and described the recognition signs that Roger should make to its landlord, who would conceal Athénaïs until one of the English milors appeared again and could take her to the coast. Then he asked at what hour Roger intended to go to the prison.
It was nearly half-past nine, but the light of the July day still lingered. Now that Roger knew for certain that he must rescue Athénaïs himself, he was more impatient than ever to get on with the business; but the streak of caution which had saved him from disaster many times decided him against rushing matters; so he replied:
“I had best wait until it is fully dark. Should anyone who saw her in court
today recognise us together in the street it would set tongues wagging; and I am loath to risk doing that unnecessarily.”
Dan grinned. “They’ll do so tomorrow, Cap’n. These sewerrats’ll nair believe a Citizen Representative asked nought but information o’ so pretty a lady for her life. ’Twould be agin’ nature as they unnerstan’ it.”
“That’s true, and must be accepted. I am concerned only with reducing to a minimum the chance of the Municipality’s learning that I have removed her from prison until we have had time to get well clear of the town. It is most unlikely that it would ever occur to them that I was rescuing her; but these accursed Reds have such a passion for poking a finger into every pie that they would be certain to come running to enquire what I was at, did a report reach them that she had been seen in my company.”
After a glance out of the low window, Dan said, “ ’Twill not be full dark for an hour yet. I’ll hail the potman for another flagon, then ye can drink a glass while ye wait. Meantime I’ll set to packin’. Should I take all your things to Paris, or do ye wish aught for use on t’ road?”
“My trunk must go in the wagon, with you; but stuff as many of my things as you can into my saddle-bags. I don’t want you to saddle up yet, though. That must wait until I have Madame here, otherwise it might be said later that I had planned to make off with her. It should be believed that I decided to take her to Nantes only after questioning.”
Another bottle of wine was brought and Roger drank part of it while restlessly pacing up and down the room. The minutes seemed to drag by, and the street outside became only very slowly a little darker; but at twenty-past ten he felt that he could control his impatience to be off no longer. Pulling-to the curtains over the window, he had a last word with Dan, set his tricorne hat with the three great feathers on his head, and went out into the street.
The Man who Killed the King Page 33
