The English Heiress (37 page)

“I am glad to hear it,” Chaumette remarked with every sign or relief on his face, referring to Roger’s excuses for not selling the rig—an act that might easily be construed as a hint of a desire to leave Paris and thus treason, punishable by death. “The necessary severities of the government are making good citizens like yourself needlessly nervous.”

There was, of course, no answer Roger could make to so palpably untrue a remark. The severities of the government were designed to make everyone so nervous as to be paralyzed. However, the statement, coupled with Chaumette’s expression, did keep Roger from pulling the trigger—a forbearance he was to regret bitterly in the future.

“I have heard also,” Chaumette continued, “that you lived for some time in Brittany and had some acquaintance with the fisherman there, those who carry cargo other than fish when it is convenient.”

Roger gaped at him. How in the world could Chaumette have heard that? He did not ever remember saying anything about Pierre to Joseph Fouché. Then he realized that his friend Fouché, Joseph’s cousin, must have heard about Pierre from the clients “on the run” whom Roger had arranged to have smuggled out of the country. Pierre brought them across, but it was through Fouché that Roger had sent them money to live on. Doubtless one or more foolishly had mentioned the smuggler’s vessel on which he had traveled and Fouché, somehow, had passed this information to his cousin, who had passed it to Chaumette.

After his experiment with terror in Lyons, Joseph Fouché had made a mental note that such excesses might result in a backward swing of the pendulum. The whole concept of revolution and republicanism might become abhorrent, inducing a longing for the “good old days” of the monarchy.

Naturally, a real reestablishment of the monarchy would be tantamount to suicide for those who had voted for the death of Louis XVI, and Joseph had so voted, unless… Unless the nine-year-old dauphin could be developed into a monarch who was a fervent republican, convinced of the guilt of his father and mother and willing to be a puppet on the throne to save the revolution. This idea came together with the need for a new direction for the revolution to travel in case the conflict between Danton and Robespierre disrupted the government.

As the days passed, Joseph could see a conflict approaching nearer and nearer. While Robespierre urged a greater and greater intensification of “the Terror”, pressing for more arrests and more executions, Camille Desmoulins, Danton’s friend, had turned about-face and was urging clemency. In the third issue of the Vieux Cordelier he wrote—”Do you really think that these helpless women, these old men, these poor laggards of the Revolution whom you have shut up are dangerous?”

It caused Joseph considerable anxiety to think that copies of this publication on December fifteenth were snatched up by an avid public the instant they appeared. The entire edition was sold out in hours. It was not he who commented on this fact, however, but Chaumette, whom he met in the café devoted to those pushing the cause of atheism and superiority of the state. It was also Chaumette who hinted that, perhaps, Robespierre was going too far and who remarked somewhat later, as if at random, that he had been to the Temple to see “the boy Capet”.

“Is he well?” Joseph had asked blandly.

It was an innocent question, implying nothing more than polite interest in what his companion had said, but after replying in the affirmative, Chaumette added, “And under Simon’s care, the child is growing to love the revolution better than his own mother and father. Simon is a good warden. He and his wife are really fond of the boy and bring him all kinds of toys and treat him with kindness. This cannot be pretended. The child recognizes it and he, in turn, will do almost anything to please Simon.”

“I am very happy to hear this,” Joseph remarked, with a spark of genuine interest and enthusiasm in his pale eyes.

“Yes, I think it of great importance that the boy be kept in good health and that he be instructed in the revolutionary faith. I have taken good care that he should be completely separated from those who might vitiate his mind or weaken his republican principles and that no harm should come to him.”

Again Joseph agreed, with rather more heartiness than his usual tepid approval—and not long after that he mentioned, quite casually, that his cousin did business with a Citizen Saintaire, a gunsmith who lived near Temple. The man, who owned a horse and carriage stabled by his cousin, had lived in Brittany and was well acquainted with the fishermen—who sometimes carried other cargo—of that place.

Roger’s name was already familiar to Chaumette. He had been mentioned more than once by the gendarmes who guarded the Temple and by those commissioners who carried pistols. Joseph’s comment merely remained an odd fact in Chaumette’s mind for a day or two—a coincidence that Joseph Fouché’s cousin should do business with a gunsmith who lived only one short street from the Temple. Five days later, however, a new edition of the Vieux Cordelier, of which far more copies were printed, was snatched up even faster. Almost immediately afterward Desmoulins was openly attacked by Robespierre himself.

Battle was joined—clemency versus terror—and Chaumette began to consider, as the more prescient Joseph had earlier, where the alternatives might lead. Obviously, either Robespierre or Danton had to die. Danton seemed the weaker of the two, but if he managed to turn the tables, the reign of the sans-culottes would be finished. Perhaps the republic would be maintained, but more likely the bourgeoisie would hold power, and it was not impossible that they would seek the reestablishment of a limited monarchy. That would mean the boy Capet, the dauphin, would be king.

On the other hand, Robespierre was far more likely to triumph. That would mean more and more executions, but they could not go on forever or there would soon be no people left to execute. When the flood of blood receded, there would be a reaction. Chaumette did not forget how, a few months after the massacres of September second, everyone wanted to blame someone else for them and be dissociated from what had happened. If the reaction were strong enough—again the result might be a reestablishment of the monarchy.

Chaumette pursed his lips. In either case, whoever held Louis-Charles Capet would hold the balance of power, it would be best if that essential pawn were not available to anyone but Chaumette himself. The first step in this direction was for Chaumette to complain in public to Simon that he was coddling the young Capet too much and then, in private, confide that he was being urged to use harsh, even cruel, measures to destroy the boy’s health. He was rewarded by an expression of horror. Simon had, as Chaumette believed, come to love his charge. In a short time Chaumette had convinced Simon that the only safety for Louis-Charles lay in hiding him where “certain others” could not get to him.

Circumstances, or perhaps circumstances assisted by a word here or there, came to Chaumette’s aid. On January 3, 1793, the commune suddenly decided that it was not right for any commissioner to hold two jobs. Simon could not be both the elected representative of his district and mentor of the boy Capet. Several other commissioners were involved, and they resigned the positions they held in the Temple at once. Simon followed suit with very little delay, although now he was utterly convinced that “enemies of the revolution” desired Louis-Charles’ death.

On January fifth, Simon moved out of the rooms he had been occupying in the Temple itself, although he had not yet officially resigned his post. He was, despite de Rocheville’s remarks, a man of shrewd mind and considerable manual dexterity. Most of his time was spent in fashioning a special vehicle to transport his “belongings” from the Temple to his own house and in mending a pasteboard horse for young Capet to play with. No one was surprised that Simon was unusually taciturn or that his expression was particularly grim. Several people had heard the boy pleading to be taken along, sobbing, “Simon, my dear Simon, take me with you to your shop. You can teach me to make shoes, and I will pass for your son.”

Thus, on January seventh, having made all the other arrangements that would serve his purpose, Chaumette was in Roger’s shop, asking about Roger’s acquaintance with Breton fishermen. This question, coupled with the previous question about his horse and carriage, could have only one meaning. Roger’s hand relaxed and he let go of the gun he was holding as he nodded. Either Chaumette wished to escape from France himself or he wished to arrange for someone else’s escape. Nonetheless, it was necessary to be careful in what he said.

“You have heard more than was true in one way,” Roger replied. “I was, at one time, friendly with one man who owned a fishing boat. I have not heard from him in a year. However, I am almost sure that my friend will have spoken of me to his friends, so perhaps it would be true to say that I have friends among the fishermen.”

“What is his name and village?” Chaumette asked. “There have been disorders in Brittany. I will inquire about your friend.”

Roger’s hand gripped the pistol again. “He is a clever man, my friend, and not likely to be caught by trouble. I will not tell you his name or the name of his village or the name of his ship. If you have business that requires a horse and carriage and the use of a Breton fisherman who carries cargos other than fish, I will try to discharge the business for you, but I will tell you nothing.”

Chaumette was accustomed to power by now and very accustomed to dealing with accused and imprisoned men. He did not bother to try threats or promises to obtain the information he had requested. Something in Roger’s eyes, in the set of his jaw, announced that either device would useless. Besides, Chaumette did not need the information now. It would come to him in the natural course of the events he had planned.

“Yes, I have business. There is a child I wish to have removed to safety.” Before he could control his expression, surprise flashed across Roger’s face, and his breath caught a little. Chaumette frowned. “You are quick to perceive what I would have preferred you did not notice. Well, you will be just as quick to perceive that too much has already been said for me to take any chance. There is nothing to fear. Just do as you are told and you will be richly rewarded.”

Wordlessly, Roger nodded and released the gun. Doubtless if Chaumette had planned to broach this topic, there were already men watching the shop, and at the same time if must be true there was no present danger for him or for Leonie. Later… Roger set that worry aside. It was immediately apparent that Chaumette was a man who regarded his own interests as paramount. Whoever held the dauphin, held one last trump card in case all went awry. Roger was sure he would have no chance to betray this plot—not that he wanted to. As long as Chaumette did not know Pierre’s name or village, Roger would have to take the child there himself. He only half listened as Chaumette confirmed that facts he had already deduced, adding that Roger should go on with his business in the ordinary way, except that when he left his house he would be accompanied and that a man would remain in the house during the day to be sure he did not, by accident, let slip a word about the trip he would soon be taking.

“There is one thing,” Roger said. “I know nothing about children, but my wife has young brothers. It would be best, I think, if my wife accompanied us.”

“Oh, certainly,” Chaumette agreed instantly. “I always intended that—a family party.”

“And you have not said where you want my friend to take the child.”

“As to that—perhaps nowhere. You will be employed by this friend, you and your son—or your young brother-in-law, whichever seems more reasonable. You will wait in the village, or go out on the boat as necessary, until you hear from me or until I come. If there are searches of the village by official parties, you will take the child on a fishing trip.”

Roger bit his lip. “This is a bad season for such things,” he growled, trying to seem a little unwilling.

Actually, he was terrified that the joy he felt would somehow show through the guard he was setting on his face and voice. Doubtless Chaumette intended to send guards along. The men might even have instructions to kill him and Leonie as soon as they made contact with Pierre, but Roger doubted they would go that far. Presumably Chaumette realized that such an action would hardly make Roger’s friend cooperative. Whatever Chaumette planned, however, it was almost certain that the guards he sent would know nothing about the sea. Even if they did, Roger would lay heavy odds that Pierre knew a lot more. Accidents could happen very easily to those who were unwelcome passengers aboard a ship, and then—heigh-ho for England!

Chapter Nineteen

The eagerness with which Roger accepted Chaumette’s proposal was a measure of his growing need to escape from France. He should, of course, have been more suspicious, but he assumed Chaumette would depend on his trusted henchmen to enforce obedience. Certainly those who watched him now were far more attentive than those Toulon had set upon him. Since Roger had no intention of saying a word or making a move that would be suspicious, and since he had given up the idea that Leonie could be forced to escape without him, he was not much troubled by the man who sat in the kitchen listening to every word he said to his customers and, through a crack in the door, watching his gestures.

Leonie found the presence of Chaumette’s watchdog far more annoying. He seemed to be directly in her way, no matter what she wanted to do. Moreover, it made her feel ridiculous to have a man tagging along at her heels when she went out shopping, and to need to speak loudly enough so that he would hear when she bargained in the market. Also, it made her neighbors afraid to talk to her. Nonetheless, she accepted the inconvenience without protest. Roger had told her the whole story after they were in bed. She was not enthusiastic about the rescue of little Louis-Charles because she was sure the boy was in no danger where he was. It was wrong, she thought, to drag him to England where he would become a pawn to be used against his own country, to become detested by the people he would be set to rule over if France was defeated. As long as Louis-Charles was in France, it was possible republicanism would become abhorrent and the child would be made monarch by the desire of the people he would rule. Then he would be loved and he would be able to do some good.

Unfortunately, the choice was not theirs. To refuse Chaumette was to die. Leonie knew that. Therefore she accepted the situation and, with a psychological twist typical to herself, dwelt on the happy side—that she and Roger would escape from a situation that was growing intolerable. Roger explained the final bit in writing. Even in bed with the listener out of the house for the night, he did not dare so much as whisper his intention of ridding themselves of Chaumette’s men and taking Louis-Charles to England.

By January twelfth, Leonie, Roger and their watchers had settled into tolerance of each other. In the afternoon Roger stuck his head into the kitchen to tell Leonie he was on his way to pick up a shipment of gun barrels he needed to finish some urgent repairs for the gendarmerie.

“Will you take Fifi along?” Leonie asked casually, ignoring the man in the kitchen. “She could use a long walk. She’s getting fat since we go out so seldom.”

“Better not,” Roger replied. “I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait and I don’t like her running around loose. I should be back before closing time if anyone wants to see me, but not much before that. Citizen Vincent’s gun is right on the counter, if he should come in. I’ve written out what was wrong and the bill. Is there anything you want me to bring back?”

“No, thank you—oh, yes, there is. The baker is holding a loaf for us. Will you pick that up? My watchdog,” Leonie tipped her head toward the door to indicate Chaumette’s man outside, “looked a little weary after following me all over the market this morning.”

Roger laughed and went out, looking over his shoulder to make sure the man trailing him would not get lost. As soon as they were away from the immediate neighborhood, he stopped and gestured the man forward, asked his name, which was Garnier, and suggested that they might as well walk together. After his initial surprise Garnier agreed, and they strolled along, chatting agreeably enough about general things, like the high price of everything and the way the war was progressing. This last was a safe enough subject, France having expelled the British from Toulon and holding its own on other fronts.

Meanwhile, Leonie had moved into the shop. She was aware, after a few minutes, of men’s voices at the back door, but she paid no attention aside from an irritated hope that they would not eat all of the potted chicken she had prepared for dinner. In another few minutes the back door closed and the voices stopped. Then the bell attached to the front door jangled. Leonie automatically stood and looked toward the door, ready to answer a question or serve. The front door opened partway, as if someone were holding it from the outside and speaking to a companion or looking at something in the street. Naturally, Leonie’s attention remained fixed on the door as she waited for whoever was there to enter. She heard a soft movement in the kitchen behind her, and assumed it was the watchdog coming closer to the door so he could listen better. Thus she had no warning at all before a shout of “No!” and a simultaneous explosion in her head submerged her in blackness.

“You fool!” Chaumette spat at the man who now supported Leonie in his arms. “I told you to seize her, not to strike her. Imbecile!”

“I’m sorry,” the henchman stammered, his eyes wide with terror. “I was afraid if I only held her, she would cry out.”

“How could she cry out if your hand was over her mouth?” Chaumette asked furiously. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he added coldly, “It is too late to mend it now, but the blame for this lunacy had better not come upon me. You had better convince the lady that this was an accident, your fault, not mine, and that I mean her only well. She must be made to understand that I would not for the world have had this happen. She must be sweetened so that when I come, she will be willing to write a letter to her husband that will convince him she is well and happy, surrounded by every luxury, kindness, and comfort.”

“Of course, of course,” the man stammered.

Chaumette stared at him for a moment, then ground his teeth, “Danou, you are a jackass! I can read in your face what you intend. Do you know nothing of women? You think you can knock her around a little and she will agree to anything. Well, you are wrong! Somehow she will write a word, a phrase, that will betray what you have done. What she writes of must be real.”

“No, no, I never intended—”

“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Danou. To be sure I am not blamed for anything you do—and that I get the truth of it—I will tell Citoyenne Saintaire that I am furious with what you have done, and I will assure her that you will not be her keeper now that I know she was ill-treated. If she does not beg that you be set to guard her… Remember, Madame la Guillotine grows hungrier and hungrier every day, and what will happen to you before you get to her maw will make you think her kiss a sweet one. Do you understand me now?”

“Monsieur Chaumette—”

“Don’t you dare call me ‘monsieur’. I am Citizen Chaumette, just as you are Citizen Danou. We are equal—remember it! And do not waste my time with pleading. You have done enough harm. Take her to the house we have prepared for her. Here, I will hold her while you wrap her in that rug.” Then his rage rose again. “Stupid imbecile! Now you will need to bind her and gag her in case she wakes while you are transporting her. And remember not to let the horse go above a trot. The last thing we need is to draw attention and have someone find a woman bound and gagged in the fiacre.”

By now Danou was completely quelled. He removed the kerchief from around his neck to bind Leonie’s hands and used a strip of towel from the kitchen to gag her, then wrapped her in the rug he had just brought in and slung her over his shoulder. Meanwhile, the man he had been speaking to in the kitchen previously came down with some of Leonie’s clothes in a sack. Fifi looked up but at first did not move from the corner in which her bed lay. She recognized the scent of this man. He and the other had been in and out of the kitchen many times, and although they had never been named “friend” to her, which meant she must avoid them without fear or anger—therefore Fifi did not growl or think of biting.

The little bitch came to her feet, however, when the sack passed her. Faintly, there was the scent of the goddess. Then Danou walked by her with his burden. Intriguingly, it smelled powerfully of the goddess, mixed with other, less appealing odors. Fifi followed, slipping out the door as the man with the sack held it wide open so that Danou’s rug-wrapped burden would not bang against anything. Down towards the end of the alley, where a fiacre was being held by a casual lounger, Fifi followed, sniffing and sniffing and greatly puzzled by what had happened. Her instincts told her it was not right that these men should remove things that smelled of the goddess. On the other hand, it had been made clear to her that these men were to be tolerated, even though they were not “friends”.

At the end of the alley Fifi hesitated. The sack was thrown into the carriage. Then the man who had carried it seized the thing that smelled like the goddess and yet did not smell like her. Just as the other man lifted it into the carriage, it gave a jerk and muffled sound emerged. That was enough. Fifi bounded forward, but it was too late. The door on the fiacre had shut, the horse began to move. Fifi barked twice, but the carriage did not stop, and the little bitch gave up that useless protest and began to follow. As muffled as Leonie’s moan had been through gag and rug wrapping, there was no chance Fifi would not recognize her voice. It was not merely the scent of the goddess that was being carried away, but the goddess herself. She had disappeared once from Fifi’s life, and the little bitch had no intention of permitting that to happen again.

The moan had been heard by Danou also. If Leonie had remained unconscious, he might have watched behind to be sure that no one was following them. It was far more important to Danou’s mind, however, to pacify Leonie. Let his companion, who was driving, watch for followers. The second man did glance back several times, but he was looking for men or horses and carriages. In any case, at first Fifi flowed so close that the body of the fiacre hid her from view. She was able to keep up in the beginning because the horse was not being urged to produce speed; however, she was a small dog. She had to run hard and she had no breath left for barking.

Inside the carriage, Leonie’s first connected thought was of the pain in her head. Her next, even before she realized that she was bound and gagged, was annoyance at the insistent voice in her ear. It was so urgent, although low, and so annoying, that she had to listen even though her poor head resounded like a drum and every thump produced a lance of pain.

“…forgive me, citoyenne. It was an accident, I swear it. I will explain everything. I beg you not to be afraid. It must seem terrible to you, I know, but you will pity me when you understand, and you will forgive me. Don’t be angry because you were ill-treated. I swear no harm will come to you. I am so sorry it was necessary to tie you and gag you, but…”

The voice continued, but the sense of it was lost to Leonie as she realized she was bound and gagged and in total darkness. Instinctively, she fought to free herself. The voice in her ear responded, trembling with fear.

“Please, please don’t struggle, citoyenne. You will hurt yourself. Have patience, please. You will be released as soon as we arrive.”

The terror in the voice was so apparent that Leonie became momentarily more concerned for its owner than for herself. She had not yet had time to feel frightened. The pain in her head and the complete inexplicability of what had happened had produced confusion rather than fear. Now the assurances she was being given and the fact that she was being supported gently so that the jolts of the carriage—as the word came into her head, Leonie realized she was being abducted. Again instinct conquered, and she writhed and tried to scream.

“Madame Saintaire, please, please be still. No one intends you harm. Everything will be explained. Please!”

This time it was less the assurance of the voice than a conviction of helplessness that quieted Leonie. Her struggles had brought a terrifying sense of suffocation upon her so that she had to stop. With her mouth bound she could only suck air through her nose, and that was enveloped in the folds of the rag. For a time no thought could pierce the need for breath, but as her laboring lungs provided for the needs of her body while the agony in her head, which had been heightened by her struggles to move and breathe, subsided, her mind began to catch up with what had happened.

She had been in the shop. The door had half opened—yes, but no one had come in from outside and attacked her. As she thought about it, the pain in her head could be localized to the back right. So someone had struck her from behind. But Chaumette’s man had been in the kitchen. There had been voices there. The door had closed. Could someone have overpowered Chaumette’s man? She thought that over carefully, fighting down the fear that threatened to set her choking again. No, there had been no anxiety or warning in either voice, no sound of a struggle or a body falling. Perhaps—no, Fifi was in the kitchen. If one man struck the other in a surprise move, Fifi would have barked. The little dog did not like violence.

Then it had to be one of Chaumette’s men who abducted her. But that was mad! Roger had agreed to do everything Chaumette asked of him. What good would it be to—Leonie did not even need to complete that question to herself. Chaumette was cleverer than either she or Roger had realized. As had happened before, they had been blinded by their desire to have what Chaumette offered. Fear gripped her then, but not the kind of fear that would make her struggle against her bonds. She was a weapon to make Roger obey, to prevent him from escaping to England. While she was a hostage in Chaumette’s hands, Roger would never rid himself of the guards or try to escape.

The conclusion she had reached seemed the only possible answer, and as Leonie again became aware of the careful way she was being steadied inside whatever she had been wrapped in, that answer fit what the voice had said. But the attempts to save her from being bruised recalled to her mind that she was in a carriage. Where were they taking her? How far? Panic welled up inside the shell of rational fear and threatened to suffocate her again. No, she told herself, it cannot be far. Even Chaumette would not dare remove her from the city. There was too much chance that an overly officious guard at the gate would investigate so odd-looking a bundle as she must be. In confirmation, the movement of the fiacre slowed even more, and the voice, which had been silent while Leonie caught her breath, spoke again.