One Thing More (34 page)

‘No. It was Madame Lacoste who stopped them,’ she contradicted him. ‘I couldn’t see because of the smoke, but I heard her voice. Citizen Lacoste was going to help her also.’ Her mind was racing, wondering where Georges was, if Amandine had pulled herself together enough to get him hidden.

‘And who lit the candle?’ Menou went on. He was watching her too closely.

‘I did.’ She gulped.

‘Where was everyone, when you could see again?’

‘Marie-Jeanne had gone upstairs to the children. Citizeness Destez was by the far wall, Fernand was by the window, and Citizen St Felix was in the middle of the room.’

His eyes were steady, almost unblinking. ‘And Citizen Bernave?’

‘On the floor, just where you saw him.’

His eyebrows rose very slightly. ‘No one went to his assistance? You all knew he was dead?’

She must be very careful. St Felix’s guilt was enough to satisfy his need. He must not think it was a conspiracy.

‘No, of course not,’ she answered. ‘I was the closest. I bent down and touched his neck. There was no pulse. Then we realised he was dead, and Citizen Lacoste went to fetch you.’

‘And St Felix? What did he do?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t remember. Does it matter now?’

‘We still haven’t found the knife.’

She shrugged very slightly. ‘I have no idea.’

He was still watching her, as if he would memorise every flicker of her expression. ‘There was a rumour that you are hoarding food here, in this house particularly. Did you know that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Someone started it,’ he explained. ‘Someone was saying so. It was not an accident they broke in here—it was planned.’

There was a coldness inside her: she felt sick and miserable. She had not thought such deliberation a part of St Felix. Spur-of-the-moment, sudden anger was so much easier to understand.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said gently, then bit the words off, his face hot. A National Guardsman did not apologise. ‘Thank you for your time. Now, perhaps, you would fetch Citizeness Destez.’ It was an order.

‘Of course.’ Before Menou could suggest going with her, Célie went to the door and out into the next room, then across to the stairs and up them at a run. Where could Amandine be? Where would she take Georges? Did she even know anything about pursuit? Might she take him somewhere like the cellar, where if Menou found him he would be cornered?

Stop it! Georges knew more about running than anyone! Funny. She had admired Madame de Staël so much for hiding her lover from the National Guard, even at the risk of her own life. When she saw that, it was what had changed her whole mind and heart about having betrayed Georges. Suddenly she had known the courage and the nobility of it, and that was what she wanted to have, to be. Whether Georges had been guilty of Jean-Pierre’s death or not, revenge was no longer of any value. It had become shabby in the witness of a single act.

Now she had the chance to do exactly the same thing, which was what she had wanted all the time, what she would have prayed for, were there a God. And now that she had it, all that mattered was that Georges must be safe—whether she was a heroine, whether she measured up to her dreams or not was of hardly any importance at all.

She hurried up the stairs, her feet slipping in her panic, then up the next flight. Surely Amandine would take him up rather than down? At least that way there was a chance of escape if Menou searched the house.

She met Amandine coming down. Her face was drawn, and her hands gripped the banister as if she were afraid of falling.

‘Menou wants to see you,’ Célie said breathlessly. ‘For God’s sake remember, you don’t know about St Felix! There’s nothing you can do to help him. At all cost we must get Menou out of the house.’

‘I know,’ Amandine replied, but there was no life in her voice, and nothing in her face but despair.

Célie grasped hold of her arm, hard enough to make her wince at any other time. It seemed bitterly cruel, but she had to say it. ‘Try not to look as if you know! He’ll be watching you. Georges’ life could depend on it. Say you’re sick, anything you like, except the truth.’

Amandine did not look at her. ‘I know,’ she answered, but she still sounded as if she had no heart left.

Célie went down behind her. She must be there to do whatever she could to distract Menou from his observation of Amandine, even if she had to faint or pretend to throw a fit!

Menou was standing in the kitchen waiting for them. He regarded Amandine with interest.

‘You look pale, Citizeness. Has something distressed you?’

Amandine hesitated, not sure whether to lie or not, if so what lie to tell. She was too broken in spirit to think.

‘We are all distressed, Citizen,’ Célie answered for her, pulling out one of the wooden chairs from the kitchen table for Amandine to sit down. ‘There has been a murder in our house and we know that one of us must be responsible. Added to that, now Citizen St Felix has gone. It looks as if he has run away. We don’t know why, but we can’t help fearing the worst. Who wouldn’t be distressed?’

Menou smiled bleakly. ‘Citizeness Destez especially, it would seem,’ he observed pointedly. ‘You are very fond of St Felix, aren’t you?’

‘I admire him ... very much,’ Amandine answered without looking at him, but she was careful to put it in the present.

‘Do you? For what, Citizeness?’ He sat opposite her.

This time she did look at him and there was a flicker of anger in her. ‘For nobility of thought, Citizen Menou. For patience, tolerance and the ability to forgive others even when they trespassed against him appallingly.’

‘You are referring to Bernave?’ he asked, his eyes unwaveringly on her face, the colour pink in his cheeks.

‘I was speaking in general. Fernand was also offensive at times. Citizen St Felix was tolerant of him too.’

Menou looked puzzled. ‘Why do you think he was so tolerant of Bernave? Would you not have admired a man more who had stood up for himself, fought back rather than be bullied? Don’t you admire courage, Citizeness?’

Her chin hardened and she looked back at him. ‘Yes, I admire courage, but I don’t equate it with leaping into every quarrel, and placing your own vanity or hurt feelings before the common cause.’

‘And is that what St Felix was doing?’ he asked with interest.

‘Yes.’ There was no trace of doubt in her voice or her face. ‘Also he was a guest here, and his manners forbade him abusing his host, regardless of how much it might be warranted.’

‘And you admire good manners?’

‘I do.’

‘Something the revolution has not done much to encourage?’ He said it almost without expression, as a statement of fact. Looking at him, Célie was not sure if he meant to provoke Amandine into betraying some anti-revolutionary sentiment, but she thought she heard in his tone an echo of regret, as if something in him hungered for the days when grace mattered. Perhaps he would rather have possessed some touch of that past culture than to have destroyed it, but he was caught up in his time and choice was gone.

Amandine did not answer. She had no heart for verbal sparring. The flame of anger had gone as quickly as it had arisen.

Menou changed his line of attack. He leaned across the table a little. ‘Did you expect St Felix to run away, Citizeness?’ he asked.

Amandine drew in her breath sharply and for a moment she looked so deathly pale Célie was afraid she was going to faint. In her mind Célie accepted that St Felix had killed Bernave, even that he had had just cause to, or believed he had, but she hated Menou for his cruelty to Amandine, whatever he sought to prove now. If she had had a way to, and not been crippled by her own fear for Georges, she would have crushed him for that.

‘No ...’ Amandine whispered.

‘You thought he had more courage?’ he said quite gently, his voice strained.

Célie was desperate to intercede, and terrified that if she did it would only make it worse; perhaps then Menou would suspect Amandine of complicity, either in St Felix’s escape, or even in the murder itself.

Menou waited.

Amandine did not answer.

Célie could bear it no longer. ‘We thought he was innocent,’ she said abruptly. ‘We don’t know who killed Bernave.’

‘Why did you think he was innocent?’ Menou looked across at her. ‘More innocent than, say, Citizeness Lacoste? Or Fernand?’

This time she was prepared. ‘Because he worked so closely with Bernave,’ she answered. ‘They must have trusted each other in the battle against those who would undo the revolution. And also Citizen St Felix was a gentle man, willing to forgive those who were offensive to him. We have all seen it, time and again. He had no ill temper.’

Menou gave up and turned back to Amandine.

‘Where were you after Bernave was stabbed, and Citizeness Laurent lit the candle again?’ he asked.

‘Standing near the window,’ Amandine replied.

‘Then St Felix was between you and the crowd. You must have been looking directly towards him!’

She glanced up, meeting his eyes. ‘Yes, I was. He didn’t have a knife.’

He smiled a little sadly. ‘I thought that was what you would say. I wish I could believe you were as loyal to the truth as you are to St Felix, Citizeness. It is obvious that you cared for him very much, so I am sorry to tell you that he is dead.’ His face was pinched, his eyes surprisingly soft.

Amandine swallowed, her hands gripping in her lap. For several seconds she did not move.

Célie opened her mouth to speak, but Menou held up his hand, palm towards her. It was an unmistakable instruction not to interrupt. If she disobeyed she would be showing her lack of faith in Amandine.

Amandine took a long, steadying breath, then faced Menou.

‘How did it happen?’ Her voice cracked and she stopped.

For the first time he looked uncomfortable. There was a flash of real pity in his eyes, and when he spoke there was no satisfaction in him, no sense of achievement.

‘We followed him when he left here, but we lost him for quite a while,’ he said quietly. ‘We watched and waited, then saw him again almost by chance. He panicked and a National Guard in the Boulevard St-Germain challenged him. When he did not stop, he was shot. He was killed immediately.’ His voice dropped. ‘If it is of any comfort to you, Citizeness, he can have felt little pain.’

She tried to speak, perhaps to thank him, but her eyes filled with tears and she could not.

‘So what else do you want with us, Citizen Menou?’ Célie intervened, regardless of what he thought. ‘What else can you need to know?’

Menou turned to her, almost reluctantly. ‘You should be able to work that out, Citizeness. You heard Citizeness Destez say she was looking at St Felix when you lit the candle again, and he did not have a knife. Either she is lying, or someone took the knife from him in the dark.’

‘Or it was someone else who stabbed him,’ Célie responded before she thought of the consequence of that.

‘Then why did he run?’ Menou said softly. ‘Do the innocent fly before anyone accuses them?’

There was no answer she could give that would not make things worse.

‘Precisely,’ he agreed with a sigh, leaning back in his chair, and it scraped against the floor. ‘Perhaps I should ask the other members of the household once again what they saw, exactly where they were standing. Would you fetch them for me, Citizeness?’

Dare she leave Amandine alone with him? What might he say to her? But if she took Amandine away with her to fetch Madame Lacoste, he would suspect she was afraid of some truth she might let slip. She decided against it. She stood up and went out, obediently.

Menou questioned them all again. They sat in the kitchen around the table, except Fernand, who preferred to remain standing.

‘Célie told us you shot St Felix,’ Madame said coldly to Menou. ‘What else is there for us to say?’

Célie watched her, studying her face with its fierce, level brows and dark eyes. Her lips closed in a tight line. If she felt any sorrow or pity she hid it completely. But she was a proud woman. She would not have shown the National Guard any part of her emotions or allowed them ever to imagine what her feelings might be. Was it actually relief, above all, because now her own family was freed from suspicion? It would be natural enough. Célie could not blame her for it.

Célie glanced across to Monsieur Lacoste. Strangely there was pity in his face, and he looked at Amandine with a gentleness that was rare in him, as if he understood a helpless grief.

Fernand was angry. He resented Menou still being here, and saw no reason to hide it now.

Marie-Jeanne held the baby against her shoulder, rocking it back and forth very slightly, an automatic movement she must be very used to by now. The other two children were upstairs somewhere.

Célie tried to force the thought of Georges from her mind, as if he were miles away, and safe, as if the street were not full of soldiers and he could have escaped over the roof. She must betray nothing, even by a look or a shadow across her eyes, the slightest change in expression.

Menou sat quite casually in his chair, his legs crossed, his fingertips together as he looked from one to the other of them.

‘This business seems to have come to a point only just short of a conclusion,’ he remarked. ‘There are only a few details to satisfy reason, and then all is done. Citizen Bernave may lie in peace.’

‘The dead are dead!’ Monsieur Lacoste said tartly. ‘If you can call dead peaceful, then so be it. It won’t affect him one way or the other.’

‘True,’ Menou conceded. ‘Perhaps I should say the spirit of Justice may be satisfied. Would you prefer that?’ It was a question and he appeared to wait for an answer.

Monsieur Lacoste shrugged, but there was a flash of satisfaction in his eyes for an instant. ‘What are these details, Citizen? Bernave was a bully who abused Citizen St Felix’s good nature, used his services, ran him to exhaustion and frequently into danger, until finally St Felix lost his temper and retaliated. You worked this out for yourself.’ Sadness was there in his eyes for a moment. ‘St Felix knew it, and he bolted. Can’t blame him. You shot him. Poor devil is dead. Assume your justice, if you like. What else is there to know?’