Surrender to a Stranger (47 page)

“I am just going to help her to the street,” Armand replied. “From there she is on her own.”

“That isn’t necessary,” the guard informed him. “Get back inside.”

Jacqueline grabbed her stomach and let out a terrible cry of pain. Armand did not let go of her. “She needs my assistance,” he pointed out reasonably. “At the street she will be able to hire a carriage. It will not take more than a minute.”

“She is not your responsibility, Citizen,” the guard informed him. “You have other duties to attend to. Get back inside.”

Armand stood there, glaring at the guard, still not relinquishing his hold on Jacqueline.

They were so close. A half hour ago he had been resigned to the fact that he was going to die here. But from the moment he stepped out of his cell he started to believe escape really was possible. He could almost feel the deck of
The Angélique
swaying and rolling beneath him. But he could not allow Jacqueline to come to any harm in her bid to save him. He knew he could not risk a confrontation at the front of the prison with these guards, or they would both end up being arrested. He looked down at her, deep into the clear, silvery pools of her eyes, which were shimmering with fear and hope.
Do something,
she seemed to be saying to him. So full of trust, as if at that moment she truly believed he could do absolutely anything.

There was so much he wanted to say to her, and now he never would. How cruel fate was, to tear away his wife, daughter, and mother, shattering his life, making him hate himself with a passion so strong it nearly destroyed him. And then to send Jacqueline to him, like a glorious, rescuing angel, tantalizing him with feelings that for one magnificent moment had seemed so very real. And then, just as he started to believe that maybe he was getting a second chance, that maybe God was giving him something to make life worth living again, that chance was snatched away from him. He was going to spend the rest of his days rotting in this hellhole after all, alone, filled with bitterness and guilt, knowing that somewhere out there, the only person who had the power to save him was living her life without him. A sickening mixture of panic and acceptance churned violently within him as he forced himself to release his hold on her.

“Very well, Citizen,” he said. He stepped through the open doorway without looking back.

Jacqueline stood there, watching him go through the doors, wondering what his plan was, anxiously waiting for him to make his move. And just as the two guards began to close the doors he turned and looked at her, his expression filled with aching tenderness and bitter regret. And suddenly she understood. He was going back. He was sacrificing his chance at freedom so she could get away.

“No!” she screamed, unable to control herself. “You cannot leave me! You cannot!”

She lunged through the doorway after him, grabbing onto his arm as if she thought she could drag him with her to safety.

“What the hell is going on here?” snapped one of the guards.

Armand looked down at Jacqueline. Her eyes were wild and filled with tears.

“You cannot leave me,” she repeated softly, her voice breaking. She pressed his hand against her heart.

“Arrest both of them!” ordered the guard to the other as he grabbed hold of Armand from behind.

Armand immediately straightened up, lifting the guard right off his feet. He then drove himself backward into the wall, smashing the guard against the stone until he felt him relax his hold and fall to the ground. Jacqueline meanwhile was doing her best to keep the second guard occupied, by jumping on his back and clawing at his eyes with her fingernails. The guard was stumbling about blindly, trying to dislodge her, and barely knew what hit him when Armand brought his heavy pistol crashing down on the back of his head.

“Move!” he thundered, grabbing her and pulling her through the doors with him.

They raced down the walkway that led from the prison to the street. They could hear shouts coming from the prison.

“This way!” commanded Jacqueline as she pulled him with her into the crowd that congested the busy rue Saint-Antoine.

They moved quickly through the crowd, being careful not to run, which would, of course, attract attention. Armand noticed that Jacqueline had lost her pregnant shape; probably his shirt and trousers had fallen out from under her skirts when she climbed onto the guard’s back. This meant she could walk at a reasonable pace without looking suspicious. He allowed her to lead the way, since she seemed to know exactly where she was going. She took him down one small street, and then another, moving with a controlled sense of urgency. He could hear shouting coming from the direction of the rue Saint-Antoine, but by now they were several streets south of it. No one they passed gave them so much as a second glance. Jacqueline turned a corner and led him down a street that was dark and deserted. At the end, hidden in the shadows, he could just make out the shape of a small, black carriage.

The driver stomped his foot as they approached and the door swung open. Jacqueline climbed in and Armand followed right behind her. The carriage lurched into motion as he pulled the door shut, and he was thrown back against the seat beside Jacqueline.

“Ooooof! Get off me!” complained a muffled voice from underneath him.

“Forgive me,” he apologized as he moved to the seat across from Jacqueline. He squinted into the darkness at the boy he had just sat on. “I don’t believe we have met.”

“I am Philippe Mercier. I stole that uniform for you,” Philippe explained proudly.

“I see,” replied Armand. “Then I am deeply in your debt, Citizen Mercier, for the uniform was most effective.”

Philippe shrugged his shoulders, as if stealing the uniform was nothing.

“We are heading straight for the coast,” said Jacqueline, her voice thin and tight with nerves. They still had to make it past the city barricade. “It is too risky for us to remain in Paris. The reward for you will be high, and besides,
The Angélique
will be waiting for us off the coast of Boulogne tomorrow night.”

Armand nodded. “Have you papers for us?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Justin arranged them.” She reached under the seat and pulled up a folded pile of clothes and a white wig. “Put these on. You will have to be out of that uniform before we reach the barricade. Philippe can help you.”

“Who am I?” he asked as he began to unbutton his jacket.

“Your name is Roland Mougie,” she informed him. “You are a bookkeeper from the town of Amiens. You were ordered to Paris on official business, to testify before the Tribunal against Pierre Lacombe, who was charged with participating in a royalist plot. Since you had never been to Paris before, you brought your children with you. Philippe is your son, Georges, and I am your other son, Bernard. They will be looking for a man and a woman, not a man with two boys.”

She was changing as she spoke, pulling on trousers and tucking her coarse shirt into them, exchanging her enormous floppy hat for a small woolen cap, into which she stuffed the scraggly ends of her greasy dark hair. He paused to watch her, fascinated. Here she was, orchestrating his escape from prison and flight to England as if it were the most normal thing in the world for her to be assuming false identities and lying her way past guards and barricades. Despite the precariousness of their situation, he found himself smiling at her through the darkness.

“You have done well, Mademoiselle,” he stated in a low voice.

Jacqueline stopped buttoning her jacket and looked up at him. His face was hidden in the shadows, but she felt almost certain he was smiling at her. Suddenly she felt shy and awkward.

“I had a very fine teacher,” she replied softly.

They completed their transformations in silence.

It only took about fifteen minutes to reach the barricade. It was up to Armand to handle the questions of the guard who inspected their carriage, and armed with his new character, he did so with ease. Jacqueline had been right. The word was out that the one rumored to be the Black Prince had escaped from La Force, but as always there were many carts and carriages leaving the east gate of Paris that evening, and although the guards were thorough in their inspection of their papers, it was clear they were not terribly interested in an older man traveling on official business with two young boys. Even their driver had papers identifying him as having come from Amiens with Citizen Mougie. The cart behind them contained a young man and woman, and that was clearly much more suspicious to the guards. Their carriage was waved through.

Once they were about a kilometer past the gate, Jacqueline allowed herself to relax.

“We made it,” she sighed, leaning heavily into her seat.

“So far,” agreed Armand. They still had many hours ahead of them before they were safely on
The Angélique.

“I guess you can let me off here, then,” said Philippe nonchalantly. “We’re close enough that I can walk back.”

“You’re going back?” asked Armand in surprise.

Philippe shrugged. “I done my bit,” he informed him. “I said I would help Jacqueline get you out, and I did.” He regarded Armand seriously. “Now it’s up to you to watch out for her.”

Jacqueline hesitated. Although the plan had been to let Philippe off once they were safely past the barricade, now that the time had come she was reluctant to honor her agreement. What was going to happen to him when he returned to Paris? she wondered. What kind of life was she sending him back to? A life of stealing, and beatings, and starvation? A life of sleeping in the streets on those freezing-cold nights when he couldn’t find a friendly prostitute willing to share her bed with him? Twice he had saved her life. And he had been instrumental in helping her to save Armand’s life. She owed him. To simply say good-bye and send him back to the streets was impossible.

“Philippe, I wonder if you might consider coming to England with us,” she began hesitantly.

“I don’t need your charity,” he told her firmly. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

Judging by the ugly bruises all over the boy’s face, Armand somehow doubted that, but he said nothing.

“No, no, you misunderstand,” said Jacqueline quickly. “I don’t mean that you should come to England because you need me to take care of you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I want you to come to England because I need you.”

He looked at her in amazement. “Is there someone else in England you mean to spring from prison?” he demanded incredulously.

“No,” Jacqueline assured him. “It’s just that London is so terribly big and strange to me. I never venture out on my own because I know I will get lost.”

Philippe looked unconvinced. “I don’t know my way around London either,” he informed her shortly.

“But you have a wonderful sense of direction,” argued Jacqueline. “And you are familiar with getting around a big city. London is just another big city.”

“I don’t speak English,” he stated.

“But you could learn,” she pointed out reasonably. “I did not speak English either when I first went there, not a single word, but after a few weeks of study I found I could understand a great deal, and even carry on a conversation.”

Philippe hesitated. It was apparent he was at least a little intrigued by her offer.

“You would always have plenty to eat and warm clothes to wear,” continued Jacqueline. “You would never have to wonder where you were going to sleep at night. And we would spend much of our time in the countryside, where you could learn to ride.”

Philippe shook his head. “I could never pay for that kind of living,” he told her. “And I don’t want your charity.”

“Well, you could work then,” she suggested.

“As what? Some kind of fancy-dressed serving boy?” He snorted in disgust, telling her what he thought of that idea.

“You could work in the stables,” interjected Armand.

Philippe looked at him in surprise. “I don’t ride,” he said defensively.

“I am not suggesting you ride,” countered Armand. “You would start at the bottom, cleaning out stalls. Then, if you were good and quick, perhaps you would be allowed to try your hand at polishing harness. And if you showed that you were serious, you might work your way up to actually grooming the animals. But all the while you would be watching and learning from the trainers, and taking riding lessons, until one day you might be fit enough to work with the horses themselves. That would, of course, only be once you had proven your ability. Not everyone has what it takes to properly train a horse.”

“I could do it,” Philippe told him confidently.

Armand studied him a moment. “Perhaps you could,” he allowed.

“You would also have to learn to read and write,” added Jacqueline, determined that in his new life he would be equipped to carve out a decent future of his own making. “You can work as long as it does not interfere with your lessons.”

Philippe thought for a moment. “Very well,” he said finally. “I will go with you.”

“Thank you,” breathed Jacqueline with relief. Satisfied that both Armand and Philippe were now safe and there was nothing more she could do, she settled back against her seat and instantly fell asleep.

Armand stood with his legs braced apart and his hands clasped behind his back, contemplating the churning black water of the English Channel. The air around him was freezing cold and fragrant with the sharp tang of salt. He drew in long, hearty drafts of it, cleansing his lungs of the foul stench he had been forced to inhale for almost a month. He was free. He would not feel completely secure until he was standing on the deck of
The Angélique
watching the coast of France recede into nothing. Until then, he was content to stand here on this beach and listen to the crash of the waves against the rocks and enjoy the vast stretch of ocean before him.

“Where are they?” muttered Jacqueline nervously as she came up beside him and peered out into the darkness.

She had been a bundle of nerves throughout the journey, and the fact that
The Angélique
was not here waiting for them did nothing to ease her fear. So far everything during their trip had gone exactly according to plan. Justin’s contacts and Jacqueline’s jewels had proven most effective in purchasing dependable assistance. Fresh horses and new drivers met them exactly on schedule, complete with food and drink so they did not have to stop. Twice they had been detained by frozen-looking detachments of the National Guard, who seemed utterly satisfied with their papers. In fact they had made remarkable time getting here, which could account for why Sidney and his men were not waiting for them.