The French Bride (32 page)

What would become of it, if it survived …? She closed her mind to that; fear for the child was the only thing that could arouse her now, and she dreaded anything that brought back memories or responsibility. She was a dead woman who would soon be buried. Sometimes she put her thin hands over her womb and wept, without making any sound, but most of the time she lay inert, wide-eyed and withdrawn on her bed, the food untouched beside her, not even turning her head when the turnkey came in and took it away.

The old man had not been unkind; according to his lights he had shown this particular prisoner a great deal of mercy. He could have complained to the governor about her special treatment and urged him to take away the wretched bed, and forced the fetid water and foul prison food upon her, but he had held his tongue, grumbling bitterly all the time. She had never given him a moment's trouble and she would soon be dead. On the rare occasions when women had given birth in the fortress, they had all died of infection and neglect, and if the child was born alive, the executioner strangled it. This one would be more fortunate; he had gained that much from the surgeon's wife; she meant to take it for herself. Watch for the first sign of restlessness or pain, she told him, and then send for the surgeon. In the prisoner's condition it could begin at any time.… He unlocked the door and came over to the bed; the girl lay still as usual, her eyes open, not seeing or hearing anything. It was a common phase among prisoners; with some it lasted for years, while others lingered on for a few weeks and then quietly died.

‘You've eaten nothing,' he said, as he said every day. She turned her head very slowly.

‘I'm not hungry, thank you.'

She always thanked him, but the voice was slow and faraway as if it was an effort to speak.

‘What waste,' he grumbled, taking the plate away; there was a little meat and some rice on it, the daily ration sent in by the surgeon's wife, and a cup of fresh water. Most days the turnkey ate it himself.

‘You have no pains?' he asked her, staring suspiciously into the sunken, jaundiced face. She shook her head. ‘Call out if you feel anything,' he said. ‘I'll hear you. Call out at once, understand?'

‘I will,' Anne whispered. ‘Will the surgeon come?'

‘If he can,' the turnkey muttered. ‘You're not the only one here, you know. He has other things to do besides deliver you.… His wife will be here anyhow. She's got an interest in you, after all.'

‘She's going to take my child,' Anne said flatly. ‘If it lives.'

‘Aye,' he said. ‘Nobody does anything for nothing in this world … it's all she's waiting for. She'll be in some time today to see you, I daresay.'

He went out, locking the door behind him and shooting the thick bolt into place. He would be sorry when this one died. God knew what kind of troublemaker would be sent to the West Tower in her place. He settled down on his stool in the dim passage and began to doze.

‘You're going to the King,' Jean said. ‘Let me go with you!'

‘No,' Charles said again. ‘No one is going with me.'

‘You think you'll move him,' his sister said. ‘You must be mad … the only chance might be with a woman. I'll weep, I'll go on my knees.… Let me come with you, I might be able to help!'

‘You will mind your own business,' he answered coldly. ‘Anne is my wife, and she's my affair. It's through me she's in the Bastille, and by God, I'll be the one to get her out of it.'

Jean turned away from him; her pretty face was pale and there were shadows under the eyes, from tears and lack of sleep.

‘What a death that creature De Vitale died,' she said. ‘And all to keep you. She must have been insane. It's a pity you were ever born! Oh, my God, when I think of Anne in that place I could go mad. And she was pregnant too, and never said a word!'

‘Don't speak of that,' he told her fiercely. ‘Don't you suppose I'm nearly out of my mind thinking of her, thinking of the child too? I'll get them out in time if I have to tear the walls of the place down with my own hands!'

As the result of Katherine's pleading, the Du Barry had done them one last favour; she had managed to find out from the Governor of the Bastille that Anne was still alive, and it had taken all the duc's influence as well as her own to get him to admit that much.

‘She has probably miscarried,' Jean said. ‘In a way I hope she has.… What time is it, Charles, isn't it nearly time to go to him?'

‘Five minutes more,' he said. ‘Don't worry, my dear sister, I shan't keep His Majesty waiting.'

The King was in his anteroom in the
petits appartements,
standing by the window with his back to the door when Charles was shown in. He heard the name announced and still he did not move; one of his hunting dogs was beside him and he stroked its head and let it lick his hand. He had not wanted to give this young man an audience, but the Du Barry had wheedled him against his will. She was difficult to resist these days; wicked, laughing, lascivious little enchantress. He had only to think of her to smile, and relent.

When he turned round, Charles dropped on his knee. He wanted a position, the King supposed wearily, or money, or some favour. He supposed it would be easier to grant it than upset the sunny humour of his mistress. She was in a strangely demanding mood these days, primed by that arch intriguer D'Aiguillon, but the King was too tired and his happiness too precarious to refuse her anything. He had been free of depression for weeks; it was worth a few orders for banishment, even the loss of two ministers to keep the shadows in his mind at bay. Only the day before he had signed an order exiling the Comte de Tallieu to his estates for life and levying an enormous fine upon him because Du Barry said he had offended her.

‘You asked me to receive you privately, M. Macdonald. What do you want of me? You may rise and approach.'

Charles stood up and came towards him; the King's dark eyes watched him warily with a glint of hostility in them.

‘I have come to ask Your Majesty for justice.' Charles spoke calmly, and he held the King's look without faltering.

‘There is always justice in my kingdom,' Louis said icily. ‘Explain.'

‘My wife disappeared from Versailles six months ago, sire. I have only just discovered where she is. She is a prisoner, and I need your order for her release.'

‘Where is your wife, monsieur?' The voice was flat and cold. ‘And what was her crime?'

‘She committed none,' Charles said. ‘She is in the Bastille, under a
lettre de cachet.
You alone can rescind that order, sire, and right a most terrible wrong. I beg of you, on my knees; have her released at once.'

The King did not answer immediately; he said something under his breath and the dog moved away and lay down, watching him. He took a small pinch of snuff and sneezed into a lace handkerchief.

‘No one is in the Bastille without cause, monsieur,' he remarked. ‘If your wife is imprisoned there by the means you suggest, then she must deserve to be. You have been misinformed.'

‘My wife is there because of a woman's jealousy. She obtained the order of arrest from you. I know that beyond doubt.'

‘You know a great deal too much.'

Louis said it in the same flat tone, but now the black eyes were narrowed and angry. ‘You contradict me, monsieur. You say you have come here to ask for justice. Justice has apparently been done. If I signed an order for your wife's arrest, then I wished her to be punished. I have not changed my mind. I have no intention of changing it. Your petition is dismissed!'

‘But sire, you didn't know … you didn't know who it was for – if you will let me tell you what happened, the injustice and horror of it.…'

‘I neither know nor care,' the King's voice cut in. ‘Those who are in the Bastille are there at my orders. I remember nothing about your wife and I advise
you
to forget the whole affair. Do not persist, monsieur, I warn you! You have gone far enough. Page, show Monsieur out – the audience is over.'

He turned his back on Charles and the double doors were opened for him to back away and leave. For the first time in his life, Louis felt the touch of an inferior's hand upon his arm and he was so surprised, he jumped.

‘My wife and unborn child are in that prison, sire.' Charles said it very softly. ‘Now I warn you; I'm going to get them out!'

He bent his knee again and then backed out towards the door. In the anteroom he came face to face with the Du Barry, the duc a few paces behind her. She didn't even trouble to ask what had happened.

‘I told you you were wasting your time. I hope to God you didn't anger him!'

‘I told him I'd get her out in spite of him,' Charles said. ‘And I meant it. I'll go further; I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me!'

He pushed past her without a word. For a moment the Du Barry paused and looked after him. Then she smiled at the duc and shrugged. ‘Arrogant fool,' she said. ‘I'll have to stop the King from having him arrested now. Why do you let me get myself involved with all these people?'

‘I can't stop you,' D'Aiguillon said gently. ‘You're incurably interfering and you have the kindest heart in the world. Go in and pacify him.'

CHAPTER NINE

‘No, I don't think any of those will do; show me something else, something much better.'

The little jeweller raised his brows and shrugged; the gentry were notoriously difficult to please and he had spread out the finest pieces in his stock for the gentleman to see. But still he and the lady with him shook their heads and asked for something better, always something better. They did not strike the merchant as having the wealth to indulge their tastes, but he had done as they asked. Now he had begun to give up hope of making a sale at all.

‘I have shown you everything, Excellencies,' he said. ‘This necklace.' He picked up a collar of blazing diamonds. ‘Rings, this magnificent brooch.… If you were buying for the King, you couldn't ask for better!'

‘We are buying for Mme. du Barry,' Jean de Mallot said. ‘And you haven't shown us anything that will please
her.
'

The little man's brown eyes opened wide with surprise and then half shut as he began to smile; he reminded Charles and his sister of a monkey. ‘Excellencies, why didn't you say before … the Du Barry! Ah, this must be expensive then, but something different, something unique.… One moment! One moment!'He put his jewels away, sweeping them into a black velvet bag and carried them into the back room.

Bribery was the last resort, but nothing was left to Charles now except the hope that he could please or tempt the favourite into helping him once more. Her intervention had averted his immediate arrest, but none of his parents' powerful friends at court, nor even his own minister, to whom he went for help, offered the slightest hope that the King would change his mind and order Anne's release. Everyone gave the same advice. Accept the inevitable; it may just be possible to get the child if it is born alive and save it. But for Anne herself, there was no hope. Even his mother gave up at the end of fruitless pleadings and enquiries; she broke down and wept and the sight shocked him; even she, so indomitable in her efforts, believed that all was lost. But Charles would not accept it; there was one hope, one last link with the King that could give him all he needed to rescue his wife. And that link, that hope, was the Du Barry. No, he interrupted his parents when they interposed, no, she wouldn't ask for Anne's release. He wouldn't expect that of her. All he needed was one thing, and she alone would get it for him needed a letter to the governor so that he could get into the fortress. That was all. The rest he must accomplish alone.

He had sold everything he possessed, his jewels, including, ironically, the diamond pin Louise had given him; his horses; he had borrowed under promissory note on his estates in Scotland from everyone who would consent to lend him money, and he had collected nearly a hundred and fifty thousand livres with which to buy a present for the Du Barry.

‘He won't have anything,' Jean whispered. ‘We've seen the best. My God, Charles, we've been to every jeweller in Paris! Are you sure we shouldn't compromise and take the necklace.…'

‘No,' he said obstinately. ‘She has a dozen better. Wait and see what he brings out. De Renouille said he always does this until he knows the buyer is determined on the best.… Ah, at last!'

The merchant folded up the black cloth on which he displayed his jewels and in its place he spread a white one. He looked up into the worried face of the young woman with red hair, and from her to the dark man. They were very anxious; they would perhaps pay more than they could afford. Indeed, they'd have to, if they were going to find anything beautiful and rare enough to tempt the richest woman in France. He took out a small box and opened it between his hands, and laid what was in it in the middle of the white display cloth.

‘There, Excellencies,' he said softly. ‘There is something Mme. du Barry will appreciate.'

After a moment Charles picked up the single jewel that lay like a gleaming coal upon the dazzling white. It was a pearl, a pearl as large as a pullet's egg, shaped into a perfect pear and absolutely black. It hung on the end of a plain chain connected by a single black diamond as a mount. It was incredibly beautiful. Its dusky surface gleamed with a flawless patina, its sides were smooth and without the slightest crudity or bubble. Charles passed it to his sister; Jean held it swinging to and fro for a moment in the light.

‘A week ago I was approached by a gentleman acting as agent for the dauphine,' the merchant said. ‘But the price was too high. If you can buy it, I think Mme. du Barry will appreciate it even more when she knows that Marie Antoinette wasn't able to afford it.…'