Before the Storm (30 page)

‘Madame,’ Citizen Roederer, the Procurator-General of Paris who was in charge of the defence of the Tuileries stepped forward from the group of gentlemen who stood at the fringes of the room and boldly addressed the Queen, who looked him over indifferently and looked as though she would have liked to turn away. ‘Madame, your family must leave the Tuileries and take refuge in the National Assembly at once. They alone can guarantee your safety.’

Dubouchage, the blustering, red faced Minister of the Navy stepped forward as the Queen shook her head. ‘Nonsense,’ he exclaimed, his lips frothing with rage. ‘Monsieur, you are proposing to hand the King over to his enemies!

‘Not so,’ Roederer retorted, clearly irritated and speaking very slowly as if explaining matters to a child or simpleton. ‘It is by the far the least dangerous course of action.’

Again the Queen shook her head, desperate to avoid placing them all in the hands of people that she had always openly despised. ‘Monsieur, we have forces here. It is time to find out who will overcome: the King and the constitution or the Revolutionaries.’

Roederer sighed ‘Madame, in that case, let us see,’ he said, clearly thinking of the enormous mob that had surrounded the palace and which outnumbered the defence ten to one. ‘However, do you really want to make yourself responsible for the massacre of the King, your children, yourself, to say nothing of the faithful servants that surround you?’

Marie Antoinette looked up at him in stonily. ‘On the contrary,’ she replied softly and with absolute sincerity, ‘what would I not do to be the only victim?’

Clementine did not wait to hear more and decided to slip from the room and take a walk around the royal apartments, which were in considerable disarray and full of exhausted, downcast people who leaned against the walls and tried to make themselves comfortable while doing their best to ignore the howls of rage and hatred from outside, where the crowd was increasing by the moment. The church bells were still ringing over the city and all of the faubourgs of the city had now been mobilised and were marching on the palace.

‘How long must we wait here?’ One woman whimpered as she stared down in mesmerised horror at the mob beyond the palace gates. ‘We’re just sitting here waiting to be slaughtered.’

‘Clementine.’ She reluctantly turned at the sound of her husband’s voice and waited patiently for him to come up to her. ‘Clementine, the royal family have agreed to take shelter at the
Ménage
,’ he said in a low voice, closing the door behind him so that they were alone. ‘The rest of us must remain here at the palace and take our chances.’

She stared up at him in horror. ‘They are leaving us here to die?’ she whispered.

Her husband looked impatient. ‘They have no choice, Clementine,’ he said. ‘Do not blame them for going without us. I would willingly give my life in their service and consider myself honoured to be able to do so.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, ‘ Clementine said, turning away from him. ‘No one is worth giving your life for, Charles.’

He flushed. ‘I am sorry that you feel that way,’ he whispered before clearing his throat awkwardly. ‘I want you to know reproach myself daily for what happened.’

She looked at him then. ‘You should do more than reproach yourself,’ she said coldly.

‘I know and I do,’ he replied, beginning to stammer. ‘I could die today and to have such a horror on my conscience...’

She looked away, feeling sick and wishing that he would go away and leave her alone. ‘I can’t forgive you,’ she interrupted, shivering as she remembered that terrible night when everything had fallen apart. ‘I know that I should, but I can’t.’

‘Damn you, Clementine!’ he burst out angrily. ‘You killed our child or have you conveniently forgotten about that?’ He jabbed a finger into her flinching face as she backed away from him, knocking over a chair as she went. ‘I will endure this no more, madame! Your hostility, insolence and lack of gratitude for the position which I have bestowed upon you defies comprehension and I will tolerate no more of it.’

Clementine stared at her husband, hardly able to recognise the gentle boy that she had married in this red faced raging man with his talk of gratitude and insolence. ‘You don’t know what you are saying,’ she said. ‘Charles, please recollect yourself.’

‘I know exactly what I am saying,’ he replied, grasping hold of her arm and trying to pull her towards him, crushing the delicate silk of her dress beneath his fingers. ‘You will behave as my wife or suffer the consequences, madame.’

‘You can’t ask the King for a
lettre de cachet
and have me imprisoned in some mouldering, provincial convent any more,’ she hissed, struggling to release herself. ‘Those days are gone now.’ She took a deep breath and shoved the thought of her mother’s disapproving face from her mind. ‘It is my intention to return to England as soon as possible and remain there.’

He looked shocked. ‘You can’t.’

She looked him in the eyes then. ‘I can and will.’ She managed to wrench her arm out of his grasp and gently pressed a hand to her sore flesh. ‘There’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted from a shout from the royal apartments, where the royal family had taken their leave of their courtiers before slowly making their way down the staircase for the last time. As the great doors of the palace closed behind them, a great cry of fear and despair swept through the splendid rooms from the hundreds of courtiers who had been left behind.

Clementine immediately went to the window and looked down on the vast crowd that howled and surged against the palace gates. ‘It’s only a matter of time before they get inside,’ she said.

‘You should leave,’ her husband said in a low voice. ‘It’s not safe here and I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’ He turned away to the fireplace and stared down into the empty grate. ‘After all, it is because of me that you are here.’

‘How can I leave?’ She turned to him impatiently. ‘There’s no way out.’

Charles took her hand, which she allowed to listlessly remain within his. ‘There’s always a way.’ He led her quickly through a door concealed in the panelling of the room which led to a narrow staircase that ran behind the apartments on each floor. ‘These stairs lead down to an apartment on the ground floor,’ he whispered over his shoulder. ‘From there we may be able to find a way out.’

She didn’t have much confidence in this projected escape route but obediently followed behind him as he carefully made his way down the rickety wooden staircase to another door at the bottom which opened into a pale blue painted sitting room that was in considerable disarray. From here they made their way through a series of small rooms that had clearly been only recently vacated - there was an interrupted breakfast still lying on the dining table and Clementine hungrily snatched up some pieces of bread and an apple, which she wrapped in a clean napkin and carried with her.

Now that they were on the ground floor, the ferocious mob outside the palace was closer than ever and there was no escape from the shouts, screams and cries of several thousand desperate people who thrust their arms through the iron bars of the palace gates and demanded hoarsely that the Queen be turned over to them so that they could rip her apart
 
with their own bare hands for what she had done to France.

‘Perceived slights,’ Charles muttered. ‘They are like ignorant beasts, baying for blood. Ironic really that every one of them has probably benefited from her majesty’s charitable endeavours at some time or other.’

It was as they reached a marble vestibule, strewn with discarded army standards, shoes and weapons that they heard an immense triumphant roar and a terrifying pounding that denoted the running of hundreds of feet. They were heading for the state staircase that led to the royal apartments above and all at once they heard a terrible screaming from the men and women trapped upstairs.

Charles turned pale and immediately thrust his wife through an open door that led to an abandoned kitchen. There they found a dark cloak thrown over the back of a chair and with shaking hands, Clementine fastened it over her beautiful silk dress then hastily removed the pearls from her ears, neck and wrists and shoved them deep into the cloaks pockets. ‘Where should I go?’ she asked, her teeth chattering with fear as the shouts and sound of running feet went on and on.

‘Straight to our house,’ Charles ordered as he drew back the bolt on a heavy wooden door that led to a small courtyard.
 
He led her across to another door, which opened on to a small alley just off the Rue de Rivoli. ‘Go directly home. Don’t stop. Don’t talk to anyone.’

‘Are you coming too?’ she asked, raising her eyes briefly to his face .
 

He shook his head, maintaining his distance. ‘I must stay here to protect those who remain.’

Clementine nodded then impulsively stepped up to him and took his hands. ‘Whatever has happened between us, Charles, I still wish you well,’ she whispered. ‘I will pray for you until you send word that you are safe.’

He lifted her hands to his lips. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply, becoming tearful as he looked down into her face. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and he went to wipe it off with his thumb before her instinctive flinch away reminded him that such intimacies were at an end between them.

Clementine cast one last look over her shoulder before she scrambled breathlessly, her heart pounding painfully, down the alleyway to the crowded, busy Rue de Rivoli. Although her husband had ordered her to go back to the safety of the Hôtel de Coulanges, she briefly considered turning instead towards Phoebe’s apartment further down the street but then just as quickly dismissed this idea before pulling the cloak closely around herself, turning off the main thoroughfare and making her way through the shadowy back streets to the Place Louis le Grand.

It was an uncomfortably hot day and so her heavily cloaked appearance drew some curious stares, but otherwise she remained mercifully unmolested. In the distance she could hear screams and gunfire and her heart ached for all who had been left behind at the Tuileries. She knew that to pause or turn back even for a moment could be fatal and so she pressed on until she turned a corner onto the magnificent Square and could see her home in front of her.

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the gloom into the sunlight then forced herself not to run but rather walk as slowly as possible across the sun-warmed cobbles to the marble steps that led up to the Hôtel’s front door, which to her relief was unlocked.

‘Madame?’ The housekeeper, Madame Blanchard was just passing through the hall as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. ‘This is private property and I must demand to know what your business is here.’ The woman’s voice was hostile and for a split second, Clementine balked until she remembered the heavy cloak that she had pulled up over her head.

‘It is I,’ she said softly, pushing down the hood and stepping into the light. ‘I have walked from the Tuileries.’

Madame Blanchard’s harsh face immediately softened into relief. ‘Madame la Duchesse? Oh, thank God. We have all been praying for you.’ She steered Clementine upstairs with promises of a long hot bath, fresh clothes and the most delicious meal that it had ever been her honour to serve. ‘But what of Monsieur le Duc?’ she asked at last as they went into Clementine’s gorgeous pink and gold bedroom that overlooked the garden at the back of the house. ‘Is he coming back soon?’

Clementine wearily shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘He remained behind to defend those who were left. The royal family have already gone to seek protection from the National Assembly, but everyone else was left behind.’

The housekeeper crossed herself. ‘To face the mob?’ she asked with a look of alarm. ‘
Mon Dieu.
’ She rang for a maid to heat the water for Clementine’s bath and another to let the cook know to send a tray of food up then bustled about the room, gathering fresh clothes, pouring a glass of water and turning down the bed, while her mistress sat wearily in a chair by the window, staring listlessly down at the colourful flowerbeds and trying not to think about what was happening only a few yards away.

Her disordered thoughts were interrupted by a frantic knocking on the front door and she immediately sprang to her feet and ran to the door. ‘Charles!’ she cried as she hurried down the stairs. ‘Oh my God, please be safe.’ She shook her head at a footmen who stepped forward to open the door and instead pulled it open herself before recoiling in shock at the sight of the anxious looking man standing on the doorstep, his long dark hair falling untidily around his face and one hand raised ready to knock again.

‘Clementine,’ he breathed, staring at her. ‘Oh thank God. I was with my father when I heard about the palace and immediately came to make sure that you are safe.’

She gazed up at Antoine, unable to believe that after all these years, here he was, standing in front of her again. ‘You came back,’ she whispered stupidly. ‘I didn’t think that I would ever see you again.’

‘I arrived back in Paris two days ago,’ he said with an awkward look. ‘My father wrote to tell me that there are plans to penalise emigrés and so I thought it politic to return to France.’ She stood aside to let him into the house and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped inside. ‘So, you married a duke then,’ he remarked with a wry smile. ‘My sister wrote to tell me all about your wedding.’