“What?” Nana’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not going anywhere. No, absolutely not. I don’t wish to leave Paris.”
“It’s not safe for you here now,” François said quietly. “Robespierre is going to be in a panic when he doesn’t find the boy at Le Havre. He may have let you go tonight, but tomorrow he’ll start with a vengeance to rout out all who might have had a part in the boy’s escape. I’m sure he’s already sent men to the Temple to pick up Pirard, and the National Guard may be at the Café du Chat waiting for you.”
“Good, then they’ll pick up that bastard Raymond. I could scarcely tolerate him these last weeks.” Nana scowled. “Dieu, I hate the country. Can’t I go to Marseilles? It’s not Paris, but at least there will be people.”
“It’s only for a little while,” Catherine said. “And you may like Vasaro better than you think. When it’s safe for you to come back, we’ll send for you immediately.”
Nana hesitated, then shrugged wearily and turned. “Very well. I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She walked out the front door.
“She didn’t argue as much as I thought she would.” François frowned. “And she doesn’t look well.”
“How do you expect her to look? She’s borne the brunt of Dupree’s malice for the last few weeks,” Jean Marc said.
François nodded. “But she said he did nothing to hurt her.”
“We shouldn’t have believed her,” Catherine said. Nana had done so much for them. François had told her how Nana had suspected Raymond Jordaneau of being the traitor in the group and had contacted the Comte de Provence supposedly to ally herself with him in order to verify Raymond’s guilt. When Dupree had appeared on the scene she had insisted it was her place to turn Dupree’s plan against himself. Well, she had done it. But at what cost to herself they would probably never know. “Dupree managed to hurt all of us. Why should she have been different?”
“Dupree’s dead, Jean Marc,” François said quietly. “Nana saw him guillotined.”
“Thank God.” Jean Marc’s lips tightened. “I wanted to slice him into pieces myself this afternoon when I saw Juliette in that armoire.”
“You know you couldn’t do that. We would never have been able to get the boy out of the Temple without Dupree’s help,” François said. “Nana’s sent a message to the Comte de Provence saying the boy is dead. The count’s assassins won’t be searching for him. Robespierre won’t be able to make an overt search because he’ll not be sure if there’s any other evidence linking him to the escape. It was the best possible plan and you were right to play dead until Dupree left the lodgings.”
“You can say that now.” Juliette came into the room and smiled ruefully at Jean Marc. “But Jean Marc nearly frightened me to death. How could I be sure Dupree had used the same potion that Nana had switched? You were entirely too convincing, Jean Marc.” She turned to Louis Charles. “How do you do? My name is Juliette.”
“Hello.” Louis Charles drew closer to Catherine. “Catherine says you knew my maman.”
“Very well.” Juliette smiled. “And you too. You liked me very much at one time. Of course, you were too young to have very good taste, but I’m sure I’ve improved since then. Did Catherine tell you how we’re going to get past the barriers and out of Paris?”
“Yes.” His expression was suddenly eager. “What a splendid idea.”
“I think so too. You’ll find Jean Marc is always very clever.” She turned to Jean Marc. “Why don’t you take him out in the garden and show it to him?”
Jean Marc looked inquiringly at the child.
Louis Charles straightened away from Catherine. “I’d like very much to see it, please.”
“I believe I’ll go too,” François said. “It’s time we lit the fire.”
Catherine nodded, her gaze fixed on Juliette. A moment later the two men and the little boy hurried out the back door.
Silence settled on the room. The two women looked at each other.
“Jean Marc says it may not be safe for us to return for a very long time,” Juliette finally said. “I wish you were going with us.”
Catherine shook her head. “You know that’s not possible.”
“I know.” Juliette blinked back the tears. “François wishes to save all of France. I don’t know why I encouraged you to love such a paragon of virtue. A man of ideals is much harder to live with than a roué like Philippe.”
Catherine laughed. “François is no paragon of virtue.”
“What is he, then?”
“Joy, strength,” Catherine said softly. “Gentleness.”
Juliette averted her gaze. “When will you return to Vasaro?”
“When there are no more battles to fight. When we’ve earned our garden.”
“I’ve changed my mind. It’s you who have become the paragon of virtue.” Juliette came toward her across the room. “Now I know I shouldn’t leave you. You and François will probably become martyrs.” She grimaced. “Or the most pompous of prigs. Either way, you clearly need me at hand to prick your consequence.”
Catherine rose to her feet. “Juliette, stop talking nonsense and let me tell you how much I shall miss you.”
“You always were overly sentimental. I refuse to turn this into a tearful parting. It’s not forever, you know. What’s an ocean between friends? I’m sure we will see—” Juliette suddenly rushed forward and hugged Catherine with all her strength. Her voice was thick with tears when she continued. “Send for me if you have need. I’ll come. I’ll always come to you.”
“And I’ll always come to you.” Catherine’s throat tightened painfully as she hugged Juliette. So many years together, so much laughter, so many tears. “Go with God.”
Juliette laughed shakily as she stepped back. “I go with Jean Marc, who is not at all godlike, but I hope le bon Dieu will be there with us too. And with you, Catherine. Au revoir,“ She turned and walked quickly across the room and out the door leading to the back garden.
The huge black balloon was beginning to inflate and the wire brazier in the basket burned brightly as Juliette stepped out of the house. Jean Marc strode toward her across the clearing. “We should leave now.” His gaze searched her strained face. “It may not be forever, Juliette.”
“And, then again, it may.” She smiled tremulously as she took his hand. “One never knows, so we must make the most of every moment. Where’s Louis Charles?”
“He’s sitting on the bale of straw in the basket.” He smiled. “He can hardly wait to get under way.”
“Then we mustn’t disappoint him. I have to say good-bye to François. Where—Oh, I see him.” François was on the other side of the basket, waiting to release the lead ropes.
Juliette marched up to him and into his arms. “Au revoir.“ She whispered fiercely, “You are not to let either Catherine’s or your own head be cut off. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” He solemnly kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll endeavor to do all possible to obey you.”
She stepped back. “And you must do one other thing for me. Jean Marc was forced to give that canaille Dupree the Wind Dancer to save my life, and we had no time to retrieve it from his mother’s home. I don’t want you to endanger yourself, but the statue has great value to Jean Marc.”
“I’ll find a way of getting it for him,” François said. “Though it may take time.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Merci.” She turned and moved toward the straw basket in which Louis Charles stood, his hands clutching the edge, his eyes wide with eagerness. “We’re going now, Louis Charles. Did Jean Marc tell you what we’re going to do? He had Monsieur Radon, who was a pupil of Montgolfier, build this fine machine for us. This is a balloon like the one I saw at Versailles when I was a little girl. It’s black so that it can’t be seen easily against the night sky and we’ll soar up and up—”
“And over the barriers,” Louis Charles said. “And then when we’re safely out of the city we’ll come do
wn to earth and Jean Marc has arranged to have a carriage with fast horses to speed us to the sea.” He frowned. “But what if we land in the wrong place?”
“We have lanterns to light after we cross the barriers. The carriage will see the lights and follow our passage until we reach a landing place,” Jean Marc said as he came to stand beside them. “Our ship’s docked at Dieppe, and Robespierre’s men are searching at Le Havre, which is over a hundred miles distant. So we should be well out to sea before they begin to consider other ports.”
“Won’t the fire that propels the balloon be seen from the ground?” Louis Charles asked.
“Possibly.” Jean Marc grinned. “But how often do soldiers on guard duty contemplate the heavens at one o’clock in the morning? If they do see it, they’ll probably think it’s a shooting star.”
“A shooting star,” Louis Charles repeated, his gaze on the night sky. “We’ll be a shooting star.”
Juliette saw Catherine come out of the house and walk toward François. The light from the lantern she carried lit Catherine’s face with a soft glow that made her look as young as the day Juliette had first met her at the inn at Versailles.
Juliette could feel the tears sting her eyes again and determinedly looked away from Catherine and down at Louis Charles. Those times at Versailles and the abbey were in the past; they must both think of the future.
Jean Marc lifted Juliette into the basket before climbing in after her. “Release the ropes, François.” He poured more straw and chopped wood on the flames in the brazier and the balloon billowed, tugging at the ropes even as François freed them.
Jean Marc turned to Juliette, a broad smile on his face. “The fog’s beginning to clear and there’s a strong west wind. Someone once told me that was a good sign.”
“That someone must have been very intelligent.” Juliette clutched desperately at Jean Marc’s hand as the balloon began to rise from the ground. She could see François and Catherine standing together, waving to them. Their images blurred and then became lost to view as the balloon soared high above the rooftops of Paris. “It’s a very good sign.”
TWENTY-SIX
The golden Pegasus shone in the candlelight, its beauty pure and terrible as virtue itself.
‘This was found in the Dupree woman’s cottage?” Robespierre tried to smother the wild burst of eagerness exploding within him. The Wind Dancer. This statue had to be the Wind Dancer. All his life he’d heard tales of the Wind Dancer, and now it was before him.
The lieutenant nodded. “We searched but found no papers or information regarding the dauphin.” He glanced casually at the statue he’d set on the table before Robespierre. “But finding a statue so valuable appeared suspicious, so I brought it to you instead of taking it directly to the offices of the National Convention, as we usually do with confiscated property.”
“You behaved correctly. No doubt the traitors were given this prize to pay for their perfidy.” Robespierre wished desperately to reach out and touch’ the statue, but he carefully restrained the impulse. The lieutenant clearly had no inkling of how great was the treasure he had brought. On no account must he find out. “Naturally, this discovery must remain as secret as every other aspect of tonight’s happenings. The safety of the republic depends on it.”
“Of course, Citizen Robespierre.” The lieutenant hesitated. “But should we not tell the convention that the child has escaped the Temple?”
“No!” Robespierre tried to temper the sharpness of his tone as he continued. “I’ve no doubt we’ll recapture the boy very soon, and it would do damage to the honor of the republic if it was learned the Capet boy couldn’t be held by the entire National Guard.”
The lieutenant frowned in puzzlement. “But everyone will know he’s no longer in the Temple.”
“I’ve already sent a delegation to the Temple supposedly to take over custody of the boy from the Simons. We’ll issue a statement that the boy’s now in solitary confinement and no one will be permitted to see him.”
“Won’t the Simons—”
“You think the Simons will not obey me?”
The lieutenant suppressed a shiver as he met Robespierre’s cold eyes. “I’m sure they’ll obey you, sir.” He started backing toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if there’s any report from my men who are searching Le Havre.”
“You’re excused.” Robespierre waved his hand, his gaze still on the statue. “Just remember that no one is to know of this on pain of execution.”
“You can trust in me, Citizen.” The lieutenant inclined his head, turned on his heel, and hurriedly left the room.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Robespierre reached out with a trembling hand and touched the Wind Dancer, symbol of a power that was the ultimate virtue.
Throughout all Robespierre’s years he had sought to teach the ignorant world the power of virtue and the terror that was its protector and friend. Now it was as if some higher entity had looked down and seen the light he’d brought to those around him and rewarded him with this glorious gift.
But there would be those who wouldn’t understand that he was the only rightful guardian of the virtue embodied in the statue, he thought with a frown. They would call it theft from the coffers of the republic. The mere idea filled him with outrage. He, Maximilien Robespierre, a thief? He, the man who had sent thousands of traitors to the guillotine to keep intact the virtue of the republic? It only showed how wise he was to keep this symbol from the hands of those who would not know how to care for it.
But he must be very cautious and make sure no one knew the Wind Dancer had come into his guardianship. He would put it on a pedestal in his bedchamber so that his eyes only would fall upon its beauty and draw inspiration for the work in the days ahead.
He knew the enemies of virtue would delight in any excuse to send his head rolling from his body.
The wagon moved slowly up the winding driveway of lemon and lime trees toward the front door of the manor house.
Nana’s legs dangled from the back of the wagon as she lifted her head and gazed out over the fields of golden broom just beginning to bloom. No houses or cafés anywhere in sight, she thought gloomily. No music. No boats floating down the Seine, no cheerful chatter of tradesmen. Just wind and flowers and sunlight. Why had she ever consented to leave Paris for this wilderness?
But she knew why she had agreed to come to Vasaro. Even Paris had seemed drab and ugly after those weeks in the dark, twisted world of Dupree. This place was as good as any other.
Robert stopped the wagon before the front door and looked back to grin at her. “Did you ever see such flowers, Nana?”
She would far rather have seen them on a flower cart on the Pont Neuf, she thought. But the old man seemed so happy, she forced herself to smile. “Well, there are certainly a great many of them.”
Marie jumped down from the wagon, her slim, wiry body brimming with energy. “Why are we sitting here? It’s growing late and this wagon must be unpacked before dark. I’ll go see if I can find you some help, Robert.” She marched up the steps and knocked briskly on the door.
Nana stayed where she was on the bed of the wagon. It would be time enough to move when they all began the laborious task of unpacking the paintings and furniture Jean Marc had sent to Vasaro for safekeeping.
“Hello.”
She looked down to see a small boy with curly black hair and eyes as clear and blue as the Seine on a sunny day standing a few feet away from the wagon.
“You must be Nana.” The little boy smiled at her and Nana had the odd feeling the darkness inside her had suddenly been touched by sunlight. “Catherine sent a message ahead to tell me you were coming. My name is Michel.”
Juliette, Jean Marc, and Louis Charles arrived in Charleston on March 3, 1794. On March 7 Juliette and Jean Marc were joined in marriage by Father John Bardonet and took up temporary residence in a pleasant red brick house on Delaney Street.
On May 21, 1794, Jul
iette received her first communication from Catherine.
Dear Juliette,
Let me tell you the good news first. No one knows the boy has escaped. Robespierre has thrown a cloak of silence around the Temple and it’s assumed the child is in solitary confinement.
There is no other news that is in the least hopeful. On April fifth Danton was guillotined. François was stricken and said that the last sane voice in France has been silenced. It appears to be true, for Paris is in a frenzy of terror of Robespierre. We have left the Temple and gone into hiding, for everyone connected with Danton is suspect.
We still manage to continue our work, but only le bon Dieu knows how long we can go on. Still, we cannot leave Paris for Vasaro while Robespierre lives and the Terror goes on. François has a plan he hopes may turn the convention against Robespierre. When trying to locate the Wind Dancer for Jean Marc, it came to his ears that Robespierre may have possession of the statue without knowledge of the convention. If that’s true, a few whispers to influential members might turn the tide against Robespierre.
You mustn’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a long while. François says we must be cautious lest any message fall into the wrong hands. I only dared write so frankly this time because we found a messenger who was absolutely safe.
I think of you constantly and hope all is well with all of you. Pray for us as we pray for you.
Always,
Catherine
“Jean Marc, I’m so frightened.” Juliette put down the letter, her eyes bright with tears. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have left them. Is there nothing we can do?”
Jean Marc drew her into his arms and held her tightly. “Pray for them, ma petite. Just pray for them.”
The second letter arrived on September 3, 1794.
Dear Juliette,
Forgive me for writing so short a message, but we have just arrived and I’m so weary I can scarce keep my eyes open to put pen to paper. I promise I’ll write in detail at a later time, but this letter must be sent off tomorrow or you’ll scold me. Dear God, I wish I could hear your voice railing at me again.
The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds Page 91
