Tender the Storm (2 page)

Leon was never present when these conversations took place. Sometimes the girls surmised that their father must be the source of information for his son as their mother was for her daughters. At other times, they deduced that the male of the species was born knowing everything there was to know about relations between the sexes. It had never occurred to Claire and Zoë that this act of intimacy could take place between a man and woman who were not husband and wife. Their mother had never hinted at such a thing until Zoë had asked her bald question. Leon, the youngest of the Devereux children, had known it long before.

Zoë's thoughts came back to the present. She sighed again and looked over at her companion. She judged Marie Roussillon to be about fourteen years.
Certainly old enough to begin to learn something of the ways of a man with a woman.
Drawing on what she remembered from her mother's conversation, she embarked on an explanation.

"Some women sell their beauty and bodies for money. Not respectable women, you understand. Not the kind of women gentlemen marry, but the other sort."

"Oh," said Marie, and lapsed into a reflective silence. After a moment, she said, "Do you think any gentleman will ever offer us
carte blanche
when we
are grown up?"

"No," answered Zoë emphatically. "We are good girls. We have been raised and educated to be wives and mothers."

There was no immediate response to this gem of wisdom. But Marie had by no means exhausted the subject of conversation as her next question was to prove.
"Do . . .
do ladies ever offer
carte blanche
to gentlemen? What I mean to say is —do gentlemen ever sell themselves to women for money?"

"Not to my knowledge," answered Zoë truthfully, and she wondered why she had never thought to ask her mother that question.

"Fleur?"

"
Mmm
?"

"Mademoiselle is beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yes." It was a circumstance which had been of grave concern to their parents, particularly Madame Devereux. Manners and mores had been changing so rapidly in Revolutionary France that it was no longer possible for a father to examine too closely the background and credentials of the gentlemen who came to his house and who must be introduced to his daughters, especially to his beautiful elder daughter.

"And . . . and do you think Mademoiselle is a good woman or the other sort?"

Zoë did not have to deliberate before answering, "Mademoiselle is a good woman, naturally."

"But if she has accepted a gentleman's
carte blanche . . ."

Zoë snorted. "I won't believe it unless I hear the words from
her own
lips."

"Then where is she? Why did Madame Lambert send
Clothilde
and not Mademoiselle to douse the candles?"

Zoë was troubled by the selfsame question. No an
swer came to her. "Go to sleep, Marie," she said quietly. "I'm sure everything will be explained at assembly tomorrow morning."

But
her own
advice was easier to offer than to follow. Sleep evaded her. It seemed that every small sound in that Spartan dormitory became magnified to a disturbing pitch. Anxious and restless,
Zoë
groped in her mind for answers. As time passed, her thoughts lost focus. Memories crept up on her and she gave up the struggle to suppress them.

They had come for their parents on a wet and blustery night at the end of October—
was
it only two months ago? Her father's only crime was that he was a rich man and formerly a friend of the aristocrats. Leon Devereux was a banker and financier with international influence. It was enough to doom him and his whole family.

Zoë would never forget the scene. They were in the
salle,
a room she could never remember without thinking of sunshine. It had been done over in her mother's favorite color, from pale primrose yellow to deep tones of gold. As she did every evening, Zoë seated herself at the piano, at her father's request, and played a selection from Mozart, his favorite composer. She knew the pieces by memory, and could let her thoughts wander as her fingers moved effortlessly over the keyboard.

This was to be their last night together in the house in St. Germain. Leon Devereux had come to see, more and more, that his days were numbered. Of the gravest concern to him was the fate of his family if ever anything should happen to him. It was a familiar tale. Executions of whole families, except for very young children, followed quickly upon one another. He had determined it would not happen to his. Under assumed names and identities, with forged papers, they were to hide out in Rouen.

The family was to be scattered, but not for long, Leon Devereux had friends. He had put things in motion. When everything was in place, they would sail for America or England. He had no preference. It was enough to escape the terrors of France.

Meanwhile, the two younger children, Zoë and Leon, were to take up residence in separate boarding- schools in Rouen. Claire, too old to pass herself off as a schoolgirl, was to join Zoë at Madame Lambert's, but, as an added precaution, her relationship to Zoë was to be concealed. Only Madame Lambert, the head mistress and proprietress of the school, was to be taken into their confidence. Madame Lambert and Madame Devereux had been, in their youth, on the friendliest terms. Over the years, they had kept up a correspondence. For friendship's sake, Madame Lambert had agreed to employ Claire as a teacher of piano and voice. The parents were to go into hiding with a local locksmith, who, for a considerable sum of money, had agreed to conceal them in a tiny, windowless room above his workshop.

Their last night together was to be spent as normally as possible. Only one servant knew of their circumstances. Salome was Madame Devereux's personal maid and had been with Madame Devereux since before her marriage. She was from the island of San Domingo. Her skin was as brown as coffee. In these circumstances, concealment was impossible. Salome understood this. When it was safe to do so, she would rejoin the family in the country of their adoption.

It was Salome who went to answer the sudden pounding at the front door. Over the preceding months, Leon Devereux had unobtrusively reduced his staff of servants, especially the ones whose loyalty was questionable. Many people of his class had been betrayed to the Tribunal on the word of a less-than-honest retainer. It was better by far to do for themselves and to rest easy in their beds at night than to be waited on hand and foot by servants who were not to be trusted.

The pounding came again, and Zoë started to her feet only to be told by her father to continue playing. His quiet, reassuring manner brought a modicum of calm to them all. Leon, who was very much in his father's image, was the first to collect
himself
. Though he was a year younger than
Zoë ,
she envied him his poise. As if nothing of any moment were taking place, he returned to the game of chess in which he and Claire were engaged.

But something of fearful, awful moment was taking place as they were to discover almost immediately. Deputies from the Commune burst through the doors of the
salle.
The domestic scene which met their eyes halted them in their tracks. But the respite was only momentary. They had come to arrest Leon Devereux and his wife on charges of conspiracy to treason. Resistance was useless, as the warning glance which Leon Devereux shot at his young son was meant to convey. Leon's threatening stance relaxed somewhat when, in answer to his father's question, the chief deputy reported that he was to convey Leon Devereux and his wife to the
Abbaye
prison. It did not seem as if the authorities were in a hurry to bring the Devereux's to trial, else they would have been lodged in the Conciergerie which adjoined the Palais de Justice. There were no warrants for the arrest of the younger members of the Devereux family. But no one was deceived into thinking that that would not soon follow.

Leon Devereux conducted himself with remarkable restraint. Madame Devereux took her cue from her husband. She was the daughter of a general. There would be no sign of cowardice from her.

They embraced their children in turn. "You must proceed with your lives as normally as possible," was their father's parting advice. "Our arrest must not interfere with your progress." His words were weighted with meaning.

Zoë did not know what was to be done. Her brother was all for brazening it out in Paris and organizing an escape attempt. It was Claire's will which prevailed. Nothing would sway her from the course her father had set for them. She was the eldest. Leon Devereux had impressed upon her what must be done should they be overtaken by events. They were to set out for Rouen in the morning as arranged. She had promised their father that she would follow his instructions to the letter.

From the moment of their parents' arrest, Claire had become a different person. Zoë had never remarked such resolution, such clear-eyed determination in her sister. Both Devereux girls had been educated for nothing more taxing than their future roles as wives and mothers. Their accomplishments in the feminine arts were unquestionable. They had not expected that they would have to make their own way in the world. In their social circles, there was always some male in the background, a father, a husband, a brother, v/ho would direct their affairs. Leon was not yet sixteen and too young to assume the responsibilities of a man. Claire was the eldest. She assumed the mantle of guardianship for her younger siblings as if she had been bred for the task.

Carte blanche.
The words drummed inside Zoë's head. Under the bed clothes, she stirred restlessly. Mademoiselle had accepted
carte blanche
from one of Robespierre's commissioners to Rouen. No. It was impossible. She would not believe it until she heard it from Claire's own lips.

When Mademoiselle did not appear for breakfast the following morning, Zoë's habitual serenity suffered a fracture. Her thoughts lacked coherence. Her conversation became disjointed. The girls scarcely spared her a glance until Zoë herself became the focus of attention.

Without warning, during morning assembly, and before Madame had the opportunity of explaining Mademoiselle's absence, a deputy arrived at the school demanding to see the papers of one Fleur Guery. With an unquiet heart, Zoë filed past silent girls and went to the dormitory to fetch her documents.

When she returned, the deputy was ensconced with Madame in her study. Zoë's legs seemed to have turned to water as she handed over her forged papers.

As the deputy studied them, Zoë's eyes wandered over him. She judged him to be in his late twenties. Though his dress was meticulous, it was restrained, and of the sort gentlemen once reserved for the country. His long, cut away coat embraced broad shoulders and flared at the back over tight-fitting, white duck pantaloons. His spurred boots,
a la
hussarde
,
were spotless. His knotted cravat, beneath his white waistcoat, boasted no lace, nor even a frill. The hilt of his short- sword gleamed brightly at the loop on his waistband.

His turnout was immaculate. There was only one incongruous note. On top of his crop of dark blond hair, he was wearing the red cap of the Revolution, originally the badge of the
sans-culottes,
and now worn by those who were fanatically loyal to Robespierre and Jacobin principles. That one article of clothing changed the young man's pleasantly handsome appearance into something more sinister.