Season of Light (44 page)

‘Where is your son?’

‘My mother’s taken him out of the city. I haven’t seen him for a fortnight. When they came for me we were sitting together on the floor, building a tower of cotton reels.’

‘I’m so sorry. At least I have no child to grieve for.’

‘Every woman you see in this prison could tell you a similar tragedy. In here I’ve found that what you hope for can be narrowed to something very small. At first all I could think of was getting out. Now I just hope there will be enough time to see my boy again. My mother wrote that she would try to raise the money for the journey by next week.’

Meanwhile the other women stood about in listless groups or sat hunched, their heads buried in their arms. Asa felt the terrible weakness of her own flesh as she and Lucie set off again, parading round the yard. Women edged away from her and she heard the whispered name:
Corday
.

In Lucie’s company, in the daylight, it wasn’t so difficult being a prisoner after all. But in the evening, when she was locked up in her cell, Asa began shaking again and couldn’t eat. The gaoler’s wife brought her a cup of water mixed with wine and patted her shoulder. ‘You’re a good girl, I can see that, won’t give me no trouble. Nobody will come for you today. You’re quite safe. Just rest.’

Asa’s travelling case had been brought to the cell. Although her money and papers had been removed, a shift, a plain petticoat and a skirt remained. And tucked into the lining, perhaps because nobody thought that it had any value, indeed might be considered seditious, was Madame’s fan. Asa spread her petticoat on the dirty pallet and lay down.

Even in that dirty light, when she flicked open the fan she could make out the shape of the birds and the occasional glint of gold on a guard stick. This was, as Madame had said, a fan within a fan and it was quite clear that the artist who had painted the dashing carriage amid a riot of summer flowers was different to the one who had made meticulous but somewhat stiff representations of an urn and exotic birds.

The air in the cell stirred softly. A change had occurred in the last few hours. For the first time since arriving in Paris, Asa felt a sense of connection.

The next afternoon Asa’s name was called and she was told that she was to be questioned prior to trial.

‘But I need a lawyer.’

‘It’s quite all right,’ said the gaoler’s wife, twitching the creases out of Asa’s skirts as if she were a little girl and urging her towards the door, ‘don’t you go getting agitated. You won’t have to face the entire tribunal in the first instance. There’ll just be a committee of interrogation.’

‘I’m English. What if I don’t understand what’s going on?’

‘Stay calm, that’s the trick. If all goes well you may find yourself walking free within half an hour or so. Some people strike lucky. The very worst that can happen is that you’ll be snug in your cell again by this evening because they’ve decided not to release you just yet. I’ll keep a bit of supper back in case.’

‘But what shall I say?’

‘Be honest but say as little as possible, that’s the advice I give all my ladies. They will want a confession and they will want names. Admit to what you can, protect those you must. You’ll do well. We’ve all been saying you talk French like a native. All you need to do is put on that nice little cap and off we go.’

Asa was led downstairs and across the courtyard, where the other women fell back to let her through. Lucie, who was standing by the wall where they had talked yesterday, raised her hand and waved, a gesture of comradeship. The guards unlocked a set of gates and marched Asa along yet another dark passage to a half-open door, behind which was a medium-sized room with barred windows. Sunlight pooled in a chequerboard pattern on the floor and at one end was a table covered by a blue cloth. There was a reassuring smell of polish and ink; clean, familiar smells.

She was ushered to a chair facing a couple of men seated on the other side of the table. More people were ranged on benches. And then Asa was on her feet again, with a yelp of recognition because, yes, there in the corner facing her, leaning casually against the wall, arms folded as if he’d just happened to drop by, was Didier. In the moment that she caught sight of him he glanced up at her, then away. Oh God. Thank God. The relief was too much, it threatened to engulf her. Surely this was all just a formality, if Didier was here? In a minute she’d be in a cab, pleading with him that he should intervene on Lucie’s behalf too.

But now that she looked at him again she noticed that he was pale, with red-rimmed eyes. In a rush of anxiety she thought: What is he doing here? Has he come voluntarily, or is he a prisoner too? What has he told them?

‘Is your name Thomasina Ardleigh?’ asked the chairman, who had been watching her with soulful brown eyes.

She turned to Didier but his gaze was fixed on the back of the chairman’s head.

‘That’s not usually too difficult a question to answer,’ observed the chairman.

‘The name on my papers is Julie Moreau.’

He nodded patiently. ‘Julie Moreau. Yes, we have indeed studied your papers, but we’ll come to them later. All we want now is confirmation of your name.’ His cravat was tied rakishly and he and his colleague wore identical brown hats like inverted half-moons with feathers. ‘Answer,’ he barked.

‘Yes. My name is Thomasina Ardleigh.’

‘Prisoner Ardleigh, it is said that you are an English woman who arrived in France disguised as a French servant, using the name Julie Moreau. You then visited Caen, where you held conversations with Charlotte Corday, and conspired in the plot to murder our great statesman, Marat. Are you innocent or guilty?’

She heard Didier sigh as if to say, this is all very dull. If only she’d had time to discuss with him what she was supposed to say. How long before he intervened?

‘I am innocent of everything except of being English,’ she said.

‘You did not forge your papers and your identity, then?’

‘Not forge, exactly. It’s true I used a different name. It was not easy to cross the Channel because of the war. I thought that if I used my own name I would be arrested the instant I arrived in France.’

‘So you admit to using a false name and false papers.’ The chairman drummed his meaty fingers. ‘This is a busy tribunal. If we could get to the truth the first time round, prisoner, it would save us all a great deal of time. So, you had yourself smuggled into France – we won’t trouble ourselves with the details of that little achievement just now – and next you visited Caen. Why?’

‘To see a friend.’

‘Named?’

If only Didier would speak. How much did they know about her connection with him?

‘I would rather not say.’

‘There’s no point in hiding from us. We have plenty of agents in Caen. Since the murder of Marat there has been a great deal of interest in that town, as you can imagine. We’ll have the information in no time.’

‘I have nothing to hide. But I don’t wish to implicate anyone else by naming them at this stage.’ She tried to catch Didier’s eye but still he would not look at her.

‘Did you have any conversations with Charlotte Corday?’

‘Yes. I knew Charlotte Corday. I happened to meet her. Caen is not a huge place.’

The chairman settled back in his chair and folded his hands on his belly. ‘Now why don’t you tell us more about the time you spent in Caen? We’d all like to hear about it.’ He grinned at his colleagues and glanced up at Didier. The clerk to Asa’s left leaned forward, pen poised. Didier was looking at the floor and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

‘As I said, I stayed with a friend there. I had intended to come to Paris earlier but I was ill and ran out of money, so my stay was prolonged. I happened to meet Charlotte Corday from time to time, in fact I drank coffee with her and went for a walk, but what we talked about was mostly the past and I knew nothing of her plans. In any case, do you really think she would have shared them with an English woman?’

‘We know that you arrived in Paris in a diligence two days before Corday. We have witnesses who shared a compartment with you and they tell us that you said very little, except to complain about the way things were in France.’

‘I did nothing of the kind.’

‘You said that people were hungry.
I’ve heard that the harvest is likely to fail again
, were your exact words, I believe. You talked about bread shortages. That suggests criticism of our National Convention. Our witnesses said you were hostile to the idea that the Revolution might have caused people to prosper.’

‘I hardly exchanged a word with those people …’

‘Yet they remember you extremely well. They thought it very odd that you were travelling alone, and they noticed that nobody came to meet you when the diligence arrived in the city. Do you still deny that you were a co-conspirator with Corday?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Very well. We have another witness who might nudge your memory a little. Could Citoyenne Annette Maurice step forward?’

‘Nobody told me you would be producing witnesses,’ cried Asa. ‘I’m not prepared.’ She cast a frantic glance at Didier, who was watching Madame Maurice. The pair exchanged the briefest of nods – of course, she was a family friend and Didier would remember her from Caen.

‘Why do you need any preparation if you’re going to tell the truth?’ demanded the chairman. ‘You will have an opportunity to question this witness later. Citoyenne Maurice, thank you so much for taking the time to come here. We won’t detain you for long. Here is your tenant, Prisoner Ardleigh. How did she come to be lodged in your house?’

‘She brought a letter of recommendation from Professor Paulin’s daughter – an acquaintance of my late husband, in Caen.’

‘The court has that letter. Here it is, let’s take a closer look,’ said the interrogator. ‘It’s signed
Beatrice Paulin
.’

‘Beatrice is just a friend. She had nothing to do with any of this,’ Asa cried out. It seemed certain now that Didier must be accused too, yet he stood against the wall, near the door, as if he could walk through it if he chose.

‘As I’ve said, your time will come, Prisoner Ardleigh. Now,
citoyenne
, apart from using a false name and showing you forged papers, is there anything else the prisoner did during her stay with you that aroused your suspicions?’

Madame Maurice, dressed in a clean blue gown and visibly trembling, fixed her small eyes on the face of the second interrogator, who was smiling at her kindly. Her hands were clenched together and there were dark patches under her arms. ‘She showed me a map and asked me to mark certain places on it: the Temple Prison, the Bastille, another prison called St-Joseph – Les Carmes.’

‘Anything else?’

‘She would not come with me to see Marat’s body. She seemed very agitated and walked away. Yet when it came to Corday’s execution, she was out all day.’

‘That’s all we wanted to know. Now, prisoner, it’s your turn.’

Part of Asa’s mind had disconnected itself in protest at the absurdity of these proceedings. How was she supposed to manage if she didn’t know the rules? When would Didier speak up for her? It was all happening too fast.

‘Citoyenne Maurice, about the letter of recommendation. I admit that we did not tell you I was English.’

Madame Maurice’s eyes were snapping with resentment. ‘I would not have taken you in if I’d known from the start you were lying to me.’

‘I wanted to protect you. Don’t you see? Look what’s happened to me, now that everyone knows I’m English.’

‘I’m surprised at Beatrice Paulin, that she would deceive me. I can only assume you forced her to write such a letter.’

‘I apologise. And I’m truly sorry that I’ve put you to so much trouble. But don’t you see, Beatrice had to conceal the fact that I am English?’

‘I don’t see why,’ drawled the chairman. ‘As far as I recall, it is not a crime to be a foreigner in Paris. It is a crime, however, to pervert the course of justice.’

Didier, if possible, was paler still and his brow was furrowed with concentration. What has he told them? Who is he trying to save? thought Asa.

‘Very well, Citoyenne Maurice,’ said the interrogator, ‘you are free to go. And now perhaps you’d like to explain, Prisoner Ardleigh, what you were doing wandering about Paris with a map, if not to conspire with Corday against Marat.’

The heat was treacle-thick so that the chairman’s words seemed to swirl and boom. Take your time, Asa. Find out how much they already know about your relationship with Didier. ‘I came to visit a friend,’ she said.

‘Is this friend French or English?’

‘French.’

‘How did you know this French friend?’

‘I was in Paris in 1788. I met him here.’

‘So the friend is male. Prisoner, your country is at war with ours. If what you say is true, haven’t you been foolhardy in the extreme to travel to France in secret, in pursuit of a male you met five years ago? This is not how we in France would expect a virtuous girl to behave. I almost think my colleague and I should find you guilty of stupidity or immorality, more likely both.’

Obliging chuckles around the room.

‘Put like that, it does sound very foolish,’ said Asa, ‘but then I had no reason to fear France. I love France. When I was a child I used to stare across the sea and wish to be in France. I rejoiced when the Revolution came. In England, I am a member of an Abolition Society. The aims of the Revolution reflect my own ideals perfectly.’

‘There are presumably other people in England who sympathise with the Revolution but who do not disguise themselves as a French farmer’s daughter and who do not travel in a diligence from Caen a couple of days before Charlotte Corday. You have given no plausible explanation as to why you took such a risk in the first place.’

Pause. ‘I thought it was for love.’

‘You
thought
, prisoner?’

‘How can one tell, after five years?’

‘And you will not give us the name of your lover.’ Silence. ‘Perhaps we can offer you a little assistance. Look about you. Who do you see?’

To her left was the secretary, who seemed to have abandoned the task of making a record and was picking dirt from his fingernails. To her right a pair of guards slouched by the door. Behind her the other observers were muttering to each other. And by the door, smiling faintly as if amused but a little frustrated by the proceedings, Didier.