Daughters of the Storm (58 page)

‘We'll follow the road,' said William – still not sure of his bearings. Crossing a final field that ran up to the outlying houses of the village, they turned left on to the road which William thought might be north.

It was a relief to be no longer hampered by earth and grass. Sophie's dress was streaked with mud and heavily water-stained. She tried to repair the ravages as best she could, but felt too weak to do more than dab perfunctorily at the material.

William brushed down his coat and tried to pull his hair into its usual neat order. Glancing down the road, his eyes narrowed.

‘Sophie, soldiers. Get off the road.'

Tears of fatigue pricked at her eyelids and her knees threatened to buckle.

‘Sophie,' said William grasped her hand. ‘Don't give up. I beg you. Look, over there! There's a barn.'

Can I? thought Sophie. Can I do it? I think I have come to the end.

‘Come on,' said William. ‘One.'

Her limbs responded, each step taking an age to perform.

‘Two.'

Her arms jerked and her legs moved.

‘Three.
Come on,
Sophie.'

She plodded on, head bent, half-fainting, cursing the treacherous body that threatened to betray her.

They reached the barn and William set his shoulder to the door. With a groan from its rusty hinges, it yielded to reveal an interior heaped with hay. He pushed Sophie inside and eased the door shut behind him. After the panic and shouts, the peace in its interior was like a balm. Sophie collapsed on to the hay.

Its smell was sweet and musty and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift into a blankness just as the detachment of soldiers clattered by on the road outside.

*

When Sophie next opened her eyes, it was to see a rose-coloured dawn framed in the small window above the door. Where was she? Then she remembered. Her clothes were damp and she felt heavy, useless and frightened. Turning her head, she discovered that William was watching her.

‘You're very beautiful when you sleep,' he remarked, leaning over to kiss her, and grimaced.'It's all right,' he said at her alarm. ‘I'm only stiff. The real problem is these.' He held up his blistered hands for her inspection.

She exclaimed in horror and, with tears running down her cheeks, cradled his poor raw hands.

‘Don't cry Sophie.'

What could they do? Here they were, trapped in a barn, without food, with little money and forged papers. It would take such an effort of will to get out of this impasse, such courage and luck; and, although she knew William would act for both of them if need be, her spirit was at the lowest ebb. Not to mention her body. . If it all went wrong, what then? The indifferent stares of some petty Jacobin bureaucrat, the officious bundling into a conveyance to Paris, the dank enclosing walls of a prison... dirt, disease, death. And the baby? She shuddered and buried her face in her hands.

‘Listen to me.' William spoke with an angry determination she had never heard before. ‘You are not to give in. I've known you many things, weak, foolish, unfair even, but never a coward. Sophie Luttrell a coward. Never! In all times we've shared you have never been that, and I am surprised at you now.' His blistered dingers dug into Sophie's shoulders. ‘Remember Héloïse and how she smiled at us as she was taken. Think of Louis doing God knows what. Even de Choissy – wherever he may be. They did not fail us, or themselves, so why are you weakening on me now? As Sophie Luttrell, it surprises me. As Sophie Jones, it angers me.'

What he said had the force of a slap on her cheek.

‘Angers you?' she flared up at him. ‘Have I ever let you down? Is it so very surprising that I feel as I do?'

‘That's better,' he said unexpectedly. ‘I wanted to make you angry.'

Sophie glared at him. Then her rage subsided and she was repentant. ‘I'm sorry,' she managed a wan smile. ‘ You're right. It's just that...'

He slipped his arm around her swollen waist.
‘Courage,
my lady wife. All is not over yet. I'll find someone in the village to help us.'

‘Sorry... sorry...' She felt the beat of her heart above the baby and the blood returning to her limbs. ‘Sorry.'

William settled himself beside her and said, ‘Rest a little more and then we will go.'

Chapter 13

Héloïse laid her finger on Louis' lips.

‘No,' she told him. ‘We have no time. Forget he was here.'

With a sigh he drew her towards him.

Her dress was abandoned on the floor. Louis bent over to kiss her, drew back and looked long and hard.

Hair like a raven's wing, spread over coarse ticking that should have been silk. A narrow waist, bones that were too sharp, ankles so small he could circle them with a hand, and pale, pale skin which should have been flushed by the sun.... Louis tried to hold all of the things that were Héloïse and capture her for ever. ‘I love you,' he said more than once.

Héloïse's replies echoed in counterpoint. ‘I love you more than life.'

‘Don't,' he said sharply. ‘Don't talk about life. Or death.'

‘But I have too, Louis. Don't you see?'

When it was over, Héloïse lay quite still. ‘How can I fear death when I have had this?' she asked him.

Her lips brushed as light as thistledown over his mouth, and he caught at her wrist.

Sleep was impossible. There was too much to say and the hours were to be experienced with thankfulness, and the imprint of body on body. Never to be forgotten.

At last, Héloïse stirred.

‘Louis, I have one request to make of you,' she said.

He raised himself on his elbow. ‘Ask it, Héloïse.'

‘If tomorrow brings the worst, will you be with me? Will you stay until the end?' She faltered, and then continued. ‘You need not worry that I shall be frightened. I will be... a little, but if you are out there somewhere, I can bear it.'

He did not reply at once. Wild schemes chased through his mind: of rescuing her. Somehow. Anyhow. Of dying with her. Of snatching her away if the tribunal acquitted her. None of them, he knew, would be possible. What Héloïse asked of him was no light thing. It would mean watching as she was driven through jeering crowds... watching her mount the platform steps...

‘You don't have to watch, she said. ‘Just be there. Will you do this for me?'

‘I told you, I promised Sophie I would not abandon you. I told myself that I would never abandon you.'

Héloïse was content. She could ask no more of the strange adventure that had been her life.

‘One more thing,' she said. ‘A priest. If you can find a priest to bless Marie-Victoire and me as we go, then we can die with clean hearts.'

Louis ran his finger down her neck.

‘If you
are
to die, then I will do as you ask,' he said. ‘But I haven't given up hope yet. Nor must you.'

Their voices filtered through to Marie-Victoire outside. Her head fell forward on to her breast and she dreamt her old dreams of Pierre and Marie. She awoke with a start and the dreams fled. It was time that Louis went back to the men's quarters, and she wondered where Monsieur le Comte had, in the end, spent the night. She knocked on the door and went inside.

They were already dressed and they turned at her entry. Marie-Victoire blinked. She did not think she had ever seen such happiness before. Louis buckled his belt. Héloïse reached up to arrange his hair.

‘Au revoir, Héloïse.'

‘Au revoir, Louis.'

He took her hand and kissed it in the old manner. Then he nodded to Marie-Victoire, thanked her and was gone.

In a simple room in the Rue St Honoré furnished only by a table, a chair and some deal bookshelves, a man in an apple-green coat bent low over a notebook. His hair, swept neatly into an old-fashioned style, was white with powder, and small flakes of it dropped on to the table in front of him. His thin lips were set and his eyes were sharp.

‘What is our aim?' he wrote, and gave the answer.

‘It is the use of the constitution for the benefit of the people.'

‘Who are likely to oppose us?'

‘The rich and the corrupt.'

‘What other obstacles are there to the achievement of freedom?'

‘The war at home and abroad. ‘

‘How can we end the civil war!'

‘By punishing traitors and conspirators, especially those deputies and administrators who are to blame; by sending patriot troops under patriot leaders to reduce the aristocrats of Lyons, Marseilles, Toulon, the Vendée, the Jura and all other districts where the banner of royalism and rebellion has been raised; and by making a terrible example of all the criminals who have outraged liberty, and spilt the blood of patriots.'

Robespierre smiled to himself and continued writing well into the night.

Chapter 14

‘I love you till death and beyond,' Héloïse told Louis.

‘I love you as no other,' he had replied. . ‘Do you understand? There will never be anyone else..'

She took his hand. ‘It is enough. All else matters little.'

Héloïse was reliving each word, each gesture and murmur of the night, when at nine o'clock precisely she was led with the other prisoners up the stone stairs and into the Grande Chambre. So preoccupied was she, that she barely noticed the crowd swarming in every corner or the shops set up wherever they could attract custom. Nor did she register the cat-calls that greeted the prisoners' appearance.

Walking beside her was Marie-Victoire who felt tired and ill, and ached for Marie. But Marie drew further away with each step, until her tiny ghost vanished into the noise and confusion.

The crowd was especially excitable today. They pushed and shoved to obtain the best seats in the spectators' gallery inside the Grande Chambre, and called out abuse. The clerks rushed to and fro and ferried papers to the judges. This was the largest batch so far to be tried in one sitting and they did not possess the resources to cope with it. The prosecutor-general was seated in his chair in front of cartons of documents, his large pock-marked face impassive. He looked up as the women were escorted to the banked
gradines
which had been built for this process on one side of the room.

He looks very satisfied
, thought Héloïse. For the first time, Héloïse she felt hatred towards those who were responsible for bringing her here – but, equally, she was determined not to show the slightest fear.

Two rows behind her, Marie-Victoire prayed that it would soon be over.

Five minutes or so later, the male prisoners arrived, among them de Choissy. He waited until the other prisoners had settled before indicating that he wished to be placed by his wife. His request was received with scant attention, but de Choissy persisted until one of the guardsmen shoved Héloïse's neighbour aside and ordered her to make room. De Choissy sat down. He was pale and composed, but his eyes were bloodshot and fatigued looking. He held a sheaf of papers in his hand.

‘I've arranged for Monsieur Vilain de Lainville to defend us...' He turned to Héloïse and there was no reference to the night before in his level tone.

‘How?' Héloïse was surprised that de Choissy had worked so fast.

‘I have my contacts, my dear, and this is the time to use them.' He shifted slightly to get a better view of her face. ‘Are you well?'

Before she could reply, the chief clerk got to his feet and began to call out the names of the accused. Héloïse answered to her name mechanically and heard Marie-Victoire breathe out her answer.

The five defence lawyers sat in front of the prisoners. Sitting behind the clerks on the opposite side of the room was the jury. To the left sat the president of the court and the three judges while the public prosecutor positioned himself at the foot of the judges' bench.

Detached and impersonal, their faces seemed much of a muchness to Héloïse for they were safe in the knowledge that it was not they that faced this court. The jurymen took their oath, accompanied by encouraging shouts from the public gallery. The president raised his hand for silence. The hecklers subsided and settled back to enjoy the spectacle.

Athenée de Thierry was the first to give her name, occupation and address. She was cool and composed. The witnesses called to testify against her were led in, one by one. Since the court had had less than twelve hours to assemble them, they were mainly composed of paid volunteers from the street. Documents relating to her case were read out, her lawyer gave a peroration – and a little smile played around Athenée's features.

When she sat down, the second woman prisoner was called and the procedure was repeated. Then the third, and the fourth. Roped in behind the partition, the crowd was in high spirits and called out frequently to the vendors for more drink. The better-dressed bought oranges from the orange-girls and sipped at liqueurs while they chatted to each other behind their gloved hands. Héloïse searched for Louis among them, and when she saw that he wasn't present she did not look at the spectators again. They reminded her of animals at the kill. She turned once to reassure Marie-Victoire who smiled at her.

From time to time, De Choissy muttered in her ear, explaining the legal points that he felt needed clarifying. He swore a couple of times under his breath when some particularly obvious travesty was allowed to go unchecked. Héloïse made no comment and concentrated on the jury who, she concluded, were neither bad nor malicious, merely ordinary men caught up by events they perhaps did not fully understand. As such, she sensed, they were doubly dangerous.

‘Marie-Victoire Bonnard.'