Daughters of the Storm (45 page)

There was a pause. Then she nodded.

‘It's becoming imperative that you leave France with or without Monsieur and Madame le Comte and Comtesse. When they leave is, of course, something for them to decide – although it may not be much longer that they have that option. But you, Sophie,
must
leave. If I'm not with you, you are to go to Sir Robert Brandon in the Rue de Richelieu. He knows all about you and has his instructions from me. He has become', William's face softened, ‘a very good friend of mine, and is a noble-hearted gentleman. He has lived for many years in Paris and built up a successful wine business. Trust him, he will do all he can to help you.'

Sophie stood back.

‘I see,' she said. ‘I thank you for your concern.'

Anger, baffled curiousity and a deep disappointment were battling in her breast, none of which made her feel like extending an olive branch. ‘But please don't return on my account. I shall be travelling to England as soon as I can.' She could hear herself saying the words at the same time thinking:
what am I doing? ‘
Alone. I'm sorry, but this is goodbye, Mr Jones.'

‘Sophie!'

She quitted the stables without a backward glance, leaving William to watch her retreating figure. He pulled himself together. Later, when this was all over, he would have time to think about it, but not now. Turning on his heel, he shouted for the groom to saddle up.

Within the hour he had gone, and was galloping up the main road towards the city wall.

*

Left behind to wait, Héloïse, Sophie and Louis discussed the position in the rose-garden: it was safer out of doors and away from interested ears. Louis outlined tentative plans to leave Neuilly and skirt south round Paris where he would strike out for Châlons-sur-Marne, Verdun and the border. Knowing that she could no longer refuse de Choissy's request to leave, Héloïse made Louis promise that he would head for Koblenz. For her part, she would make every effort to persuade de Choissy to aim for there too.

‘But I shan't do anything until Sophie is taken care of,' she added.

‘If necessary, I will escort Sophie to a port,' said Louis. ‘We cannot leave you to travel on your own if Mr Jones is not here and it would be foolishness to travel with Héloïse. You and I could perhaps try to make for La Rochelle instead of the north, but if the English are still blockading the coast we will make for Bordeaux.'

‘I had better travel light,' said Sophie, vainly attempting a joke.

‘What a strange ending to your French visit,' Louis stared across the fields that lay beyond the house. ‘You came when France had a king and occupied the highest position in Europe. Now France has gone mad which has made her the object of loathing in Europe. I ask myself how this can be. But I cannot find the answers.'

‘There are many answers...' Héloïse took his hand. ‘Which is bewildering. But we have only one path. We must keep faith and we must survive.'

Louis kissed her fingers one by one. ‘And if it goes badly?'

‘Then we die.' She smiled up at him. ‘Not so difficult?'

‘A stoic philosophy, Héloïse.
D'accord.
But I will add something to it. We must endure as long as we can. Of course, if we are called, we must die – but not without a fight. And we must restore the King.'

Héloïse cradled his hand to her cheek. They were in perfect accord.

Forcing back her tears, Sophie was conscious that she was out of patience with their sentiments which belonged in the past and to a different way of thinking. Of course, she condemned the execution of the king and abhorred the bloodshed - her memories of the latter would be with her for the rest of her life and she was disillusioned that change was bought at such a high price. But could they not see that France needed to shake out ancient malpractice and begin afresh?

William would have agreed.

Yes... William would have agreed.

She left them together and went to inspect the newly dug vegetable beds which exuded a damp, earthy tang and the rows awaiting their onions and potatoes looked reassuringly ordinary. Sophie stared down at them. Her adventure, begun so gaily at Héloïse's betrothal, had turned into a painful disaster which would result in her returning to High Mullions in disgrace. No one – least of all herself - could deny that it was of her own making but now she must forget William, leave France and return home. Alone and unhappy. How she would ever resume the life she used to think was all she ever wanted? How would she face her parents' disappointment, Ned's angry proximity and the enjoyment her imminent spinsterhood would give all and sundry.

William was not expected back until the next day, and Sophie got up in the morning prepared to ignore him. But as the hours went by and no William returned she grew anxious.

Héloïse did her best to comfort her. ‘These matters take time,
chérie.
When one negotiates, it is necessary to talk, to reflect and to be patient. One cannot be in too much of a hurry and William certainly must not look as though he is.'

Louis bent to put another log on to the fire. It was after dinner and the afternoon, although lighter than a few weeks previously, was beginning to get cold.

‘Reste tranquille, mademoiselle,'
he said affectionately, for he had grown to love Sophie. ‘If I know anything of Mr Jones, he will be back. He is a slippery eel that one, and he has many resources.'

Despite their reassurances, Sophie slept little that night. Her thoughts skuddered along like a mathematical formula. If William was a spy and he was discovered, then his life was in danger. If it was revealed that she was author of that stupid pamphlet and William was known to associate with her, then his life was in danger. So was hers.

William being herded into prison... William pleading for his life in front of a judge... William being led towards the bloodstained guillotine ...the images were so clear, so terrible, so final. With a star, she sat bolt upright. Shaking... she was shaking and attempted to light a candle. It took her some time but in the end she managed. Light flared and she was comforted. Picking up a book, she tried to concentrate, but it dropped on to the sheets unread. Why had she let William go without a word of support? Why had she not told him that she understood? That she didn't mind about his work, whatever it was? That what mattered was William? Why, oh, why had she not told him that she loved him?

Wrapped in the mysterious night silence, Sophie was forced to acknowledge the truth.

Slipping out of bed, she threw a wrapper round her shoulders and pulled back a shutter from the window. If she hoped to see a figure moving through the garden, she was disappointed. All was still, and an eerie light played over the walls and parterres. Sophie replaced the shutter and threw herself into a chair and stared at the candle with eyes that burned with exhaustion and worry.

Of course she loved William. How could she have been so blind and so stupid not to have seen it? What a fool she had been. If he failed to return, how could she live with the knowledge that her pride had sent him off into danger without him hearing what he had longed to hear?

By now, Sophie was shuddering with cold and emotion and she clutched her wrapper tighter and tighter across her breast in an agony of remorse. Questioning and cross-questioning, alternating between hope and fear, she remained sitting where she was until daybreak when, at last, she fell asleep.

She awoke, stiff and numb and Héloïse was rubbing her hands.

‘Sophie,
what have you been doing? You're freezing.'

Sophie tried to get up, but she was so stiff and cramped that she fell back.

‘You should have woken me, Sophie. I would have come. You must not upset yourself like this. Think of William.'

‘I
am
thinking of William,' said Sophie, and burst into tears.

Héloïse drew her cousin's tousled golden head on to her shoulder and cradled it.

‘I have been such a fool,' wept Sophie. ‘I let William go without...I sent him away...'

‘I have been meaning to tell you,
mignonne,
that this is no time for playing games,' said Héloïse. She had been intending to talk to Sophie about William, for she had sensed that her cousin was not happy.

‘You're right,' Sophie raised a strained and tear-streaked face from the comforting shoulder. ‘This is no time to dice with things that matter – with things that might mean life or death.'

‘Shush,' said Héloïse, stooping to kiss her cheek and holding her close. ‘It's not too late.'

‘Pray God it's not,' said Sophie, her tears falling faster. ‘For I owe it to William.'

‘Does this mean you will marry Monsieur Jones?'

‘Oh Lord,' said Sophie. ‘Will he have me... now?' She choked a little. ‘But yes. Oh yes.'

Over her cousin's head, Héloïse smiled.

‘Well, then, you must be patient.' She stood up. ‘I am going to send for some breakfast. Get back into bed and I will sit with you while you eat it.'

While Sophie forced down her roll and drank her chocolate Héloïse wrote a letter to de Choissy.

‘I shall instruct the cook to make a bouillon for your dinner,
chérie.
I think you are in need of something nourishing,' said Héloïse at last, when she had finished.

‘Thank you,' said Sophie, ‘but I won't want any.'

‘You will do as I say,' replied Héloïse.

Sophie smiled weakly. ‘Would you agree, Héloïse, that danger changes how we think and what we want?'

‘Yes, I do. Danger makes us more complicated.'

‘Yes,' said Sophie. ‘That's it.' She threw back the bedcovers. ‘I'm getting dressed,' she announced.

Héloïse glanced up.

‘I trust you are not planning anything unwise,' she remarked, folding her letter. ‘I don't trust that look on your face.'

Sophie fixed an earring into her ear.

‘Would you always use the same gate going from Paris to Neuilly?' she asked.

‘Probably,' said Héloïse, mystified. ‘It is the most direct route.'

Sophie adjusted a second earring.

‘You love Louis? Yes?' she asked a now wary Héloïse.

‘Of course.'

‘More than life?'

‘More than life.' The last was said with a great deal of feeling.

‘Then, you will understand,' said Sophie, disappearing into the dressing room that led off her bedroom in search of a pair of stockings. ‘Are you prepared to fight for him?' she called through the door.

‘In my way, yes,' replied Héloïse, thoroughly alarmed.

‘Then, we are agreed.' Sophie's head peered briefly round the door. ‘And I am going to fight for Mr Jones.'

Sophie was silent during an early dinner. Héloïse and Louis talked quietly and afterwards they retired to the salon where Louis began to plot a possible route on a map which he had found in the library. At three o'clock Sophie got to her feet and announced she was going riding.

‘I am coming with you,' announced Héloïse. ‘Wait for me.'

Sophie followed her into the hall.

‘Héloïse,' she said, and hesitated. ‘Héloïse, this is no ordinary ride.'

Héloïse stood with one hand on the banisters, poised to ascend.

‘I'm not stupid,' she said unhooking the first of her buttons on her sleeve. ‘I know that. That's why I am coming with you.'

‘I am going to the
barrière
to watch for William. If he is in trouble, he will probably wait until the last minute before the curfew when it is getting dark. If he doesn't come today, I shall go tomorrow. And the day after that, if need be.'

‘Of course,' said Héloïse. She leant towards her cousin. ‘On one condition. Louis is not to suspect. It will be dangerous and he is likely to insist on coming too, and I cannot allow that.'

‘Hurry, then,' Sophie said.

Twenty minutes later, the cousins, having denied the services of a groom, rode out of the stables and pointed their horses towards Versailles. The road took them down a gentle incline, but once the house was out of sight Sophie reined in her mount. Clad in a grey riding habit, cut in the most severe and flattering lines, Héloïse trotted up behind her.

‘Where do we go from here?' asked Sophie.

Héloïse pointed her whip to the east. ‘Follow me. I know the paths quite well from when I rode here as a child.'

‘If William has to run for it,' said Sophie, ‘we can provide a diversion, or if he is on foot, we help him get away.'

‘Yes,' said Héloïse. Turning her mount around, she led the way down the road until she found an opening. Beckoning to Sophie, she disappeared down a narrow track bordered by a high, scrubby hedge. Sophie followed.

Despite the circuitous route, the
barrière
was in sight within three-quarters of an hour. They picked their way cautiously along the side of a field and Héloïse indicated with her crop that they should make for a clump of trees two hundred yards or so from the city walls.

They urged their horses forward.

‘We'll wait here,' Héloïse announced when they were under the cover of the trees. ‘I think we are out of sight. But, Sophie, I warn you, as soon as the gates are closed we are going back.'

Sophie strained to see through the darkening afternoon and every nerve was primed with tension. In her youth, she had listened to, or read, stories of war and violence and they had belonged to a fairy tale realm – or one that existed far away over the sea. She had never dreamt that she would be confronting both those things.

Here.

Now.

‘Stay here with the horses,' she whispered. ‘I'm going to take a look.'

She slid down off her mount, tethered it to a branch and groped her way towards the edge of the trees. As far as she could make out, everything was normal. A few carts were making their way home after selling their wares in the market, their drivers cracking jokes with the guards who stood at their posts by the gates. A coach clattered down the road towards the city and stopped. A hand holding a sheaf of documents stretched out of the window, and within minutes the coach lumbered through the gateway and out of sight.