Storm Winds (67 page)

“Of course, Citizen Robespierre.” The lieutenant hesitated. “But should we not tell the convention that the child has escaped the Temple?”

“No!” Robespierre tried to temper the sharpness of his tone as he continued. “I’ve no doubt we’ll recapture the boy very soon, and it would do damage to the honor of the republic if it was learned the Capet boy couldn’t be held by the entire National Guard.”

The lieutenant frowned in puzzlement. “But everyone will know he’s no longer in the Temple.”

“I’ve already sent a delegation to the Temple supposedly to take over custody of the boy from the Simons. We’ll issue a statement that the boy’s now in solitary confinement and no one will be permitted to see him.”

“Won’t the Simons—”

“You think the Simons will not obey me?”

The lieutenant suppressed a shiver as he met Robespierre’s cold eyes. “I’m sure they’ll obey you, sir.” He started backing toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if there’s any report from my men who are searching Le Havre.”

“You’re excused.” Robespierre waved his hand, his gaze still on the statue. “Just remember that no one is to know of this on pain of execution.”

“You can trust in me, Citizen.” The lieutenant inclined his head, turned on his heel, and hurriedly left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Robespierre reached out with a trembling hand and touched the Wind Dancer, symbol of a power that was the ultimate virtue.

Throughout all Robespierre’s years he had sought to teach the ignorant world the power of virtue and the terror that was its protector and friend. Now it was as if
some higher entity had looked down and seen the light he’d brought to those around him and rewarded him with this glorious gift.

But there would be those who wouldn’t understand that he was the only rightful guardian of the virtue embodied in the statue, he thought with a frown. They would call it theft from the coffers of the republic. The mere idea filled him with outrage. He, Maximilien Robespierre, a thief? He, the man who had sent thousands of traitors to the guillotine to keep intact the virtue of the republic? It only showed how wise he was to keep this symbol from the hands of those who would not know how to care for it.

But he must be very cautious and make sure no one knew the Wind Dancer had come into his guardianship. He would put it on a pedestal in his bedchamber so that his eyes only would fall upon its beauty and draw inspiration for the work in the days ahead.

He knew the enemies of virtue would delight in any excuse to send his head rolling from his body.

The wagon moved slowly up the winding driveway of lemon and lime trees toward the front door of the manor house.

Nana’s legs dangled from the back of the wagon as she lifted her head and gazed out over the fields of golden broom just beginning to bloom. No houses or cafés anywhere in sight, she thought gloomily. No music. No boats floating down the Seine, no cheerful chatter of tradesmen. Just wind and flowers and sunlight. Why had she ever consented to leave Paris for this wilderness?

But she knew why she had agreed to come to Vasaro. Even Paris had seemed drab and ugly after those weeks in the dark, twisted world of Dupree. This place was as good as any other.

Robert stopped the wagon before the front door and looked back to grin at her. “Did you ever see such flowers, Nana?”

She would far rather have seen them on a flower cart on the Pont Neuf, she thought. But the old man
seemed so happy, she forced herself to smile. “Well, there are certainly a great many of them.”

Marie jumped down from the wagon, her slim, wiry body brimming with energy. “Why are we sitting here? It’s growing late and this wagon must be unpacked before dark. I’ll go see if I can find you some help, Robert.” She marched up the steps and knocked briskly on the door.

Nana stayed where she was on the bed of the wagon. It would be time enough to move when they all began the laborious task of unpacking the paintings and furniture Jean Marc had sent to Vasaro for safekeeping.

“Hello.”

She looked down to see a small boy with curly black hair and eyes as clear and blue as the Seine on a sunny day standing a few feet away from the wagon.

“You must be Nana.” The little boy smiled at her and Nana had the odd feeling the darkness inside her had suddenly been touched by sunlight. “Catherine sent a message ahead to tell me you were coming. My name is Michel.”

Juliette, Jean Marc, and Louis Charles arrived in Charleston on March 3, 1794. On March 7 Juliette and Jean Marc were joined in marriage by Father John Bardonet and took up temporary residence in a pleasant red brick house on Delaney Street.

On May 21, 1794, Juliette received her first communication from Catherine.

“Jean Marc, I’m so frightened.” Juliette put down the letter, her eyes bright with tears. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have left them. Is there nothing we can do?”

Jean Marc drew her into his arms and held her tightly. “Pray for them,
ma petite
. Just pray for them.”

The second letter arrived on September 3, 1794.

“It’s beautiful, Jean Marc,” Juliette said.

The white-columned brick mansion stood on a bluff several miles north of the city of Charleston. To the east it overlooked the sea and, to the west, miles of untamed forest.

“There’s a natural harbor a mile from the house,” Jean Marc said as he pointed out the window of the carriage at a path leading down to the shore. “You can have your own boat, Louis Charles.”

“Thank you,” Louis Charles said politely. “But I wouldn’t know how to sail it.”

“I’ll teach you,” Jean Marc said. “And when you’re a little older, I’ll let you go with me on short runs along the coast in a larger vessel.”

“That would be very kind of you.”

Juliette sighed as she exchanged a look with Jean Marc over the little boy’s head. In more than seven months they had made little headway in breaching the distance Louis Charles kept between them. She could understand the child had undergone too many partings and tragedies to want to form new attachments, but it was still discouraging.

The coachman reined in the horses and a moment later Jean Marc lifted Juliette from the carriage and then swung Louis Charles down to the ground. “There’s a stable in back of the house with twelve fine horses,” he
told the boy gravely. “And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you found one that was small enough for you to ride.”

“Truly?” Louis Charles’s face lit up. “May I go see them?”

Jean Marc nodded and Louis Charles bolted across the lawn and around the house.

“I’ve not seen him so enthusiastic about anything since our ride in the balloon.” Juliette started up the four wooden steps leading to the wide porch. “I’ve been worried about him. He’s wonderfully polite but he’s always so guarded. For heaven’s sake, what more can we do, Jean Marc? Have you noticed how he still flinches when either of us touches him?”

“You can understand his being cautious.” Jean Marc unlocked the front door and let her precede him into the spacious foyer. “And neither of us trusts easily ourselves. It will just take time.” He closed the door behind him and smiled at her. “Now, stop worrying and show a little appreciation for our new home. I’ve hired stable help but no servants. I thought you’d prefer to select them yourself.” He paused. “Slaves are used extensively in both Charleston and the surrounding plantations, but we will have no slaves.”

“Of course not.” Juliette had caught sight of something glittering on a cabinet on the far side of the foyer and was moving toward it. “The crystal swan. I remember it from your father’s study at the Ile du Lion.”

He nodded. “All the furnishings from the Ile du Lion were brought to Charleston and stored in one of the warehouses on the dock. I had them all transported here last week when the house was finished. Of course, you may rearrange everything as you see fit once you have time to see whether or not it suits you.”

“Where are the paintings by Titian and Fragonard?” Juliette asked. “I hope they found a suitable place to hang them.”

“The library. Would you like to see them now?”

She nodded and then frowned in puzzlement. Jean Marc appeared curiously tense. “Now, what could you have done with them, Jean Marc?”

He led her toward two tall double doors. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

She moved slowly forward into the library and nodded approvingly. “Yes, you’ve hung them in fine places.”

“And does everything else meet with your approval?”

She glanced around the room. “It seems quite—” Her eyes widened in shock. “The Wind Dancer!”

On a white marble pedestal by a tall French door the statue shimmered with golden splendor in the sunlight.

“But how could—” Juliette whirled to face him. “We left the Wind Dancer in France. Dupree’s mother …” She shook her head in bewilderment “I don’t understand.”

“There are two Wind Dancers,” Jean Marc said quietly. “The real Wind Dancer and the copy I ordered from Desedero to try to deceive my father. Unfortunately, my father instantly knew Desedero’s was a copy and I thought it useless to me.” He shrugged. “So I ordered it melted down and the jewels sold off.”

“But it was never done.” Juliette looked back at the statue on the pedestal, her mind working quickly. “And when we went back to the Ile du Lion from Andorra you substituted the real statue you’d gotten from my mother for Desedero’s statue which was still on the island. Then you sent the real statue to Charleston with the captain and took the false one to Paris.”

Jean Marc smiled. “Yes and no.”

“What do you mean? That’s what you must have done.”

“Yes, I sent the real statue to Charleston and took Desedero’s to Paris.” He paused. “But I didn’t substitute the statue your mother took from the queen. You see, your mother never had the Wind Dancer, Juliette. I stole the Wind Dancer from the Hall of Mirrors myself in 1787 and substituted Desedero’s statue for it.”

She froze. “What?”

“I didn’t want to do it.” His smile faded. “I’d have
offered the queen everything I owned if I could have persuaded her to sell.”

“I remember …” Juliette shook her head dazedly. “She refused you.”

“My father
needed
the Wind Dancer. It was the great dream of his life and he was dying. Marie Antoinette thought of it only as a bauble, a good-luck piece,” Jean Marc said. “I was desperate in those weeks before I left for Versailles. That’s why I went back and told Desedero not to destroy the statue. I knew I had to have the Wind Dancer—one way or the other.” His lips twisted. “When the queen refused to sell, I realized I had to steal it. I went back to Versailles three days later and substituted the statue. To soothe my conscience I gave the king his loan and the queen the two jewels.” His voice was suddenly urgent. “Don’t you see? She couldn’t tell the difference. The statue remained at Versailles for
two
years and no one at court realized the Wind Dancer had been substituted.” His gaze shifted to the statue. “And my father had his dream throughout the six months before his death. I’m not sorry. I’d do it again, Juliette.”

Juliette nodded slowly. She could see how desperate Jean Marc must have been with the father he loved dying and he unable to give him what he wished more than anything in the world. “You took a great chance. If you’d been caught, you’d have been stripped of everything you owned, and very likely thrown into prison or executed.”

“I loved him,” he said simply.

And this was the man who was convinced he was incapable of dreams, Juliette thought. “But why did you go to Andorra after the false statue? Why would you even want it?”

“I didn’t want Desedero’s statue,” Jean Marc said. “I only wanted the queen to issue me the writ giving me legal right to the Wind Dancer. She would never have given me the writ if she’d known I’d stolen the statue from her. I had to reclaim the statue she thought was the Wind Dancer before I could gain legal documentation for the real one.”