Daughters of the Storm (57 page)

‘We use the other gate, more often than not; we have friends that way.'

‘So.' The guard was not convinced. ‘Get down.'

Sophie obeyed and stood waiting while the second guard proceeded to search the load on the cart. He was rough and uncaring and thrust his pike deep into the spaces between the barrels. The force of his blows almost splintered the wood.

‘Tell him to take care,' Sophie pleaded with the first guard. ‘He will cost us money.'

The guard appreciated this argument and issued a command to his companion, who desisted. William inspected the damage. The guard gestured at him. ‘Talkative, ain't he?' he remarked.

‘He leaves the talking to me.' Sophie opened her eyes wide. ‘Can we go now? I think our papers are in order.'

But the guard kept them a while longer. Clearly, he considered that something about this pair that did not smell quite right. Perhaps it was the woman, apparently in charge of her silent companion, that stirred his suspicions. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to let them go yet.

‘I need to examine your papers further,' he announced, and withdrew into the cabin that lay abutting the wall.

All traces of her light-hearted mood quite vanished, Sophie stared after him. The normal traffic went to and fro around her, and comments were being exchanged by the pedestrians crowded into the sides of the road. She felt very vulnerable and was glad when William finished checking the ropes and rejoined her. They exchanged a glance but said nothing.

William fiddled with his neckerchief. The two guards were obviously examining their papers minutely, and there was rapid discussion inside the cabin. William indicated a side-street with a jerk of his head and Sophie understood him to be saying that that was the route they must take if they had to run for it. She nodded.

She was checking over the provisions provided by Sir Robert in the basket when the guard returned. He held out their papers and with relief Sophie heard him say that they could go, providing they returned within twenty-four hours. Sophie agreed at once, even going so far as to tell the guard that she was looking forward to renewing their acquaintance. The guard leered and, when William wasn't looking, made an obscene gesture in Sophie's direction. Sophie blushed, giggled convincingly and nudged William to whip up the horses.

The cart rolled forward. Sophie clung to the side as William negotiated the narrow gateway and out into the road beyond. There was only just enough time for her to mutter a brief farewell under her breath to the city in which she had seen so much, and to say a prayer for Héloïse. Then they were away, plodding northwards.

She only looked back once. The guard had followed the cart through the gate and was staring after them. Girdled by its walls, the city faded, remote and beautiful – a place of the past. A memory of gilded rooms and gay, extravagant people. They had all gone, she thought. Fled abroad or in hiding, or crowded into prison. The shutters had closed in the grand houses and the music was silent.

William whipped up the horse. He was anxious, more anxious than he had allowed Sophie to suspect. The way ahead was not easy, and he was concerned for Sophie's health. Jogging about in a wooden cart was not the best mode of travel for a pregnant woman. She already looked tired.

He concentrated for the next few hours on finding his way. Once or twice he stopped to consult a rough map that Sir Robert had provided, and then urged the cart onward. Late in the afternoon, they stopped to eat and fell upon their provisions. Towards nightfall they drove into a small village. William helped a stiff and battered Sophie to alight and went to enquire at an inn for a bed. He re-emerged five minutes later looking worried.

‘They are very suspicious,' he said in a low voice. ‘Something to do with the papers.'

‘I can't go any further,' said Sophie, rubbing her stomach. ‘We will have to stay here.'

Luckily, the innkeeper's wife took pity on Sophie and bore her off to the bedroom with a scolding directed at her surly husband for being so uncharitable. Soon Sophie was settled on the bed among woollen blankets and being fed a cup of soup. She sipped at it gratefully, feeling its warmth chasing some of the tiredness from her bones, and permitted her dress to be loosened. She sank back on to the hard bolster as if it were the softest of pillows. She was dozing when William came back. He stood smiling down at her.

‘So far, so good,' he said, and sat down to remove his shoes.

‘This is a strange wedding night,' remarked Sophie, running her hand over his shabby coat.

William sat up.

‘When we reach America, I shall give you a proper wedding night,' he promised.

‘If we do,' said Sophie, shaken by a sudden doubt.

‘Listen to me, Sophie,' he said. ‘When you reach America there is a house waiting for you. It lies at the end of an avenue of trees, and beyond it stretches the forest, as far as the eye can see. Inside, there are rooms – beautiful rooms – and they are waiting for you to take possession of them. There is peace, there is quiet, there is plenty. That is where I will take you for our proper wedding night. I want you to think of that, to think hard and remember in the days to come.'

Touched by his fervour, she smiled and tried to comfort his disquiet.

‘It is only my condition that is making me like this,' she said. ‘It's nothing.'

He began to kiss her. After a moment he stopped. ‘Do you want this?' he asked. ‘You are very tired.'

Sophie understood. ‘Yes,' she replied. ‘Yes, I do, William, very much, more than I can tell you... we must take this moment – just in case.'

He was very gentle with her, turning her on her side to avoid the baby. Damp and entwined, they lay, cradled in tenderness and wrapped in the aftermath of desire. Before she drifted into sleep, Sophie reflected that, strange as it might seem, she wanted no other kind of wedding night. What she had shared and enjoyed with William in the small dim room of a countryside inn was more than enough.

After that, their luck was sporadic and the hard realities of moving through a country where the people were nervous and restless became increasingly apparent. They abandoned the cart and its exhausted horse in the town that Sir Robert used as one of his many depots, gratefully accepting the meal provided by one of his efficient contacts. They changed into a second set of clothes and hid their first set of papers in William's shoes. No questions were asked, and they spoke very little. It was safer that way.

At noon of the same day, they wended their way to the centre of the town, and waited for the diligence to Calais. Their papers now proclaimed that they were a certain Monsieur and Madame Rutant travelling to Calais on legal business. William was dressed in the sober clothes of a typical notary, and Sophie, accompanying him to visit relations, wore a serviceable blue dress suitable for her station.

They boarded without any incident, and sat uncomfortably cheek by jowl with farmers and housewives returning from market. Sophie was fortunate enough to obtain a place by the window, and she occupied the time by staring out of the window. Revolution hadn't changed what she saw. Bordered by their untidy hedgerows and winding lanes, the patchwork fields merged into clumps of woodland and forest. Groups of men and women worked at the crops or sat talking under the shade of a tree. The flowers were everywhere, in splashes of red, blue and palest yellow, clumped under hedges or sprinkled in dots amongst the grasses and trees.

Serene and lovely. Serene and lovely? How could one ever trust what lay on the surface ever again, she asked herself.

At Amiens the diligence clattered to a halt. A uniformed National Guardsman poked his head through the door and ordered them to descend. Sophie alighted first and waited for William, and they were told to present their papers at the guardhouse in the adjacent Mairie. In the Mairie, a small, irritable clerk sat at a desk stacked with papers. He motioned to William to add his documents to the pile and pointed to the wooden bench where the passengers were to sit. William and Sophie did as they were bid. Presently, a more senior official entered the room. He wore the obligatory trousers and short coat and sported a tricolour sash across his chest. Sophie's heart sank. Petty officials such as this one were becoming familiar and increasingly difficult to deal with.

Her apprehensions were justified. The official was not going to let anyone go quickly. He took his time to work through the list. At last it was their turn.

‘Name?'

William obliged.

‘Where are you going, and why?'

William gave as brief an explanation as he dared.

Their interrogator cleared his throat. ‘Your relations in Calais?'

‘My wife's aunt.'

‘Where do they live?'

‘In the Rue Jacob,' supplied Sophie, thankful yet again for Sir Robert's prescience.

‘I know Calais well,' the official said thoughtfully, ‘and I don't remember anyone living in the Rue Jacob of that name.'

Sophie shrugged with a charming little gesture. ‘Perhaps monsieur forgets,' she murmured.

The official frowned. ‘It is not in my nature to forget,' he countered sharply. ‘I would like to question you further. You will wait.'

With growing unease, Sophie watched while the remainder of the passengers departed, one by one, to rejoin the diligence. Under the pretext of searching in the basket that Sophie held on her knee, William managed to whisper.

‘We shall have to run for it.'

Sophie nodded.

‘Just follow me.'

An hour ticked by, then another. Sophie thought of Héloïse. She thought of the baby.

At last the official returned, accompanied by two guardsmen. ‘I don't like the look of this pair,' he said to the soldiers. ‘Take them, if you please, to the house of the citizen deputy.'

William gave Sophie a meaningful look and squeezed her hand.

‘You will walk between us,' ordered an official, indicating the open door.

The town square had filled up since their arrival and the afternoon traffic was heavy. Their captors cleared a path and escorted the two of them towards a building situated on the north side of the square. In order to reach it, the party had to pass by a narrow alley which opened onto a small street. Just as they drew level with the row of houses that flanked it a shriek went up from the middle of the square. A carriage had careered into a fruit vendor's stall. Screams filled the air and the maddened horses thrashed this way and that. William wasted no time.

‘Run Sophie...' He pulled her into the alley. Fear lending her wings and praying that the baby would take no harm, Sophie obeyed. Down... down the alley they ran and darted out of sight down yet another side-street.

Obviously, it had taken the guardsmen a second or two to realise what had happened – precious, vital seconds that gave them a lead. Not for long. From behind them came shouts and the sound of running feet told them that the guardsmen were gaining.

At its furthest end, the street widened and a river ran at right angles to it. Faster than Sophie, William waited for Sophie to catch up and propelled her down to the water's edge and along the towpath that snaked beside it. It was a dank and muddy place and the houses, which huddled almost to the water, hampered their progress. Sophie was panting hard and her breast heaved painfully. She stumbled over a log that lay on the path and, with a moan, sank to her knees. William jerked her upright and searched for somewhere to hide. His eyes lit on a small boat moored to a wooden post by one of the houses. He dragged Sophie down the bank and pulled on the rope. The boat came swinging in towards them, sticking a little in the black mud. William pulled harder. He splashed into the water, dragging Sophie with him. Get in.'

With her bulk, she nearly didn't make it but, with a heroic effort, she hauled herself on the plank that served as a seat.

‘Hurry,' she called.

William let go of the rope, jumped aboard, seized the oars and began to row down the river. Luckily the current was strong and the river fairly wide at this point. They were just in time for they heard the guardsmen gaining on them. Then, mercifully, a bend in the river hid them from sight.

William rowed steadily onwards, guiding the boat under a bridge and around a second bend. Suddenly the town dropped away and they were gliding between empty water meadows. Sophie was shuddering with exhaustion and fright. William rowed on, not daring to stop and comfort her, determined to put as many miles as possible between them and the town.

It was dusk when he pulled in his oars and slumped over them, too tired to speak. The boat drifted towards a bank and nudged into the shallows. Having got his breath back, William sloshed through the water to tether it to a convenient tree. Then, a little unsteady on his legs, he shepherded Sophie over the side and up into a field.

Chilled by a cold white mist that rose off the water, they huddled together under a tree. Sophie chafed William's hands and they endeavoured to get their bearings. To their right lay a large wooded area and a little further to the right of that she could make out a church spire and the outline of a village.

‘Have we any papers at all?' she asked.

William pointed at his wet shoes. ‘The Lacroix papers,' he replied.

‘Good,' said Sophie, ‘we can at least use those.'

William counted his money. ‘We have enough for food, but none extra for travelling,' he announced. ‘I shall have to sell my watch.'

Sophie got shakily to her feet.

‘You will have to help me,' she said, and stretched out her hand. He took it in silence.

Their progress was very slow because Sophie held them back. The baby pulled at her muscles. Her breasts ached and her nose ran and she was tired. So tired.

‘Are you sure you are all right?' asked William for the tenth time. He was supporting as much of her weight as he could. Sophie had no energy left to reply. They skirted the wood, and made for the houses. The village lay in a flat plain encircled by fields. A broad, well-made road ran towards it.