Love Charade Part 35

"We must leave here immediately," she said to the group waiting, grave-faced and talking in subdued whispers in the salon. "There is no time to waste. We must mingle with the crowds who will roam the streets 'till dawn and then attempt a daytime pa.s.sage through the barriere. You will decide amongst yourselves who is to come with us."

"The decision is made already," St. Vire said. "You will take the women and children of these three families, the rest of us will remain and attempt to effect our own escape to Brittany."

"D'accord." She glanced at Julian who merely said, "All is arranged, Danny. While we have been waiting for you to make an appearance, we have been quite busy."

St. Estephe gnashed his teeth in silent fury. All his carefully laid plans must again be postponed. He had intended to follow Danielle and her friends with a party of his own men and make his move in that remote fishing village far from civilization. He would take them all red-handed in the moment of flight, returning the aristos and the English spies in triumph to Paris as further evidence of his loyalty to the revolutionary committee. He would remain in Brittany amusing himself with the little de St. Varennes while he waited for her husband who would find her-and her captor-easily enough. And when he eventually returned to Paris, leaving his enemy dead, he would deliver Danielle to Madame Guillotine and mop up the rest of these traitors and all the others whose ident.i.ties he held. It was a perfect plan and one that accomplished many things in a single throw. But now, after the mob's activities of this night, again he could not afford to leave the center of the power struggle that would inevitably take place in the next weeks.

He would have to wait until her next visit, and nothing would prevent her from returning; not now when the need had become so totally imperative and would become even more so by the minute. In the meantime, he would throw a few of these aristo fools to the lions, bait for the mob's appet.i.te, and the panic that that would cause would run like wildfire, inevitably leading to carelessness as they made their plans for exodus, and he would pick them off one by one, with no one any the wiser of the traitor in their midst. Yes, it was a pleasing plan, St. Estephe decided, looking around the anxious faces in the room. He must just be patient and remember that everything comes to him who waits.

Danielle was conferring in a low voice with her colleagues as St. Estephe mentally revised his plans. "Our only hope is to approach the barriere boldly," she was saying. 'This night's work can be used to our advantage. We will wear the bonnets rouges and sing the "Qa Ira" and will tell with much bloodthirsty detail of what we have seen. In fact," she paused with a shudder, "I think it would be more convincing if we carried with us some souvenirs from the Tuileries, and . . . and perhaps we had better look a little b.l.o.o.d.y ourselves."

There was short silence and then Tony said grimly, "Let us go then."

The five of them slipped from the house and then ran boldly through the alleys in the direction of the Tuileries. The streets were packed with shouting, singing hordes brandishing flaming torches, pa.s.sing around flagons of wine. Impromptu dances were being performed on corners and in squares, and the scene in the Tuileries gardens came straight from the pits of h.e.l.l. The crowd, intoxicated with blood and liquor had hardly diminished since Danielle had left. Some had collapsed beside the bodies of the Swiss Guard, others trampled heedlessly over the living and the dead, their voices rising in raucous triumph. Danielle smeared blood on her blouse and ripped a gore-stained shirt from one of the bodies before vanishing behind a tree to retch violently as the rough red wine that she had drunk earlier revolted in her stomach and spewed forth in a convulsive tide. The others, as filthy and b.l.o.o.d.y as she now was, found her there within a few minutes. They had shared too much intimacy for Danielle to feel embarra.s.sment as they waited in silence for the spasms to pa.s.s before helping her to her feet.

"I am all right," she whispered, trying to stiffen her wobbling knees. "Please, let us leave now."

Dawn was breaking in eerie beauty over the h.e.l.lish scene of horror as they made their way back through streets rapidly emptying as the night's excesses began to have their effect. "Danny, you must rest a while," Jules insisted. "We will leave in two hours."

"No, we must leave now. I cannot rest until we are through the gates. We will find somewhere to wash off this ..." A tremor shook her slight frame and the four men looked at her anxiously. "Please, you must not worry," she rea.s.sured, intercepting the look. "I am really quite strong, you understand."

"Yes," Jules said with a dry twist of his lips, "we understand quite well, but I am very much afraid that Justin will not. I hope to G.o.d he will be at Mervanwey to put a stop to this."

"Oh, do not be absurd." The remark had the desired effect and brought a flash to the brown eyes. "He will do no such thing since he and I are now quite in agreement over priorities. I am sure that the next time he will accompany us."

"Well, he'll most a.s.suredly not permit you to leave without him," Jules stated and Danny grinned, much in her usual manner.

"Mais, d'accord, mon cousin. Qa c'est la pointe."

There was little traffic as they made their way to the gate, their pa.s.sengers hidden beneath the layers of straw. About half a mile before they reached the barriere, Jules and Tony put their horses to the gallop and they all stood, singing the "Qa Ira" at the tops of their voices, flourishing the b.l.o.o.d.y shirts they had stripped from the bodies and waving a leathern flask of wine.

The guards who had spent the night at their posts, hearing the sounds from the city but unaware of what had transpired, rushed forward to stop them and the horses came to a plunging standstill. Danny leaped from the cart, offering her flagon and demanding that they drink to La Republique. The five of them were a fearsome sight with their gory talismans, the blood and filth streaking their exhausted faces-fearsome but utterly convincing. Danny poured out the story in an excited stream of gruesome, explicit detail while her companions nodded, grunted, and drank as the flagon was pa.s.sed around and her audience shouted their enthusiasm. The three women and six children, packed like sardines beneath the straw, held their breath and huddled, paralyzed with fright as the party seemed likely to continue forever. And then came the sound of a whip crack and the carts began to move, slowly at first but gathering speed as the white dusty road to safety stretched emptily ahead.

"You have missed your calling, my friend," Jules remarked to Danny, who under the rush of adrenaline, appeared quite restored.

"And what is that?"

"You were clearly made for the stage," he told her, a tired grin cracking the caked filth on his face.

"Yes," she agreed, giving the thought all consideration. "I think I might have liked that, but then I could have been only Justin's mistress, so it would not have been at all convenable."

Julian's laugh crackled in the still morning air and the other cart drew alongside. "Just what's so amusing?" Westmore demanded in French, using the regional accent that Danny had taught them. Jules shared the joke and their hilarity bordered on the hysterical as the aftermath of that horrific night took its toll.

Safe again at Mervanwey, Danielle appeared to move in an abstracted dream.

"She is herself only with the child," Lady Lavinia bemoaned to her husband as August became September and Danielle continued to postpone a return visit to France, waiting each day for the sight and sound of her husband.

"She sent the messenger to Pitt two weeks past," Charles said, idly turning the pages of his book, the words they contained conveying nothing to him. "There should be a reply soon."

Danielle was in the rose garden at the head of the cliff playing hide-and-seek with Nicholas as she kept watch over the winding path that climbed steeply to the house. She spent the most part of the day here, as it commanded the best view of the approach road, and Nicky was more than content to be in his mother's company during thet late summer days. Danielle talked to him constantly about his papa, showed him the picture she kept under her pillow every night before he slept, desperate to keep the image and memory alive for the child who now ran on tottering chubby legs and had mastered an impressive vocabulary of demand and description. The words came singly as yet, but they came in both French and English. Danielle ached for Justin's presence, sharing with her the excitement as their son developed in leaps and bounds.

This sunny late September afternoon she sat on the wall where an eon ago Justin had proposed to a hoydenish minx who had just held him up at pistol point for a joke that he had not shared. Nicky was blowing vigorously on a dandelion clock, chuckling delightedly as the white cotton wool puffs danced in the air. "Un, deux, trois," he shrieked, running to catch the fluffy strands.

Danielle smiled absently, looking down the path. At the sight of the lone horseman her heart lurched and then sank. Even at this distance she could tell through the pores of her skin that the figure was not the one she sought. However, maybe it was the messenger returning from London and if so he would have news. Good or bad, it no longer mattered. Just something to make sense of the waiting. She scooped up Nicky and ran with him toward the house.

The messenger brought little comfort. Pitt had made no attempt to dissemble in his note to Danielle. There had been no news from Justin-it was too early to despair as he had been gone but five months, but there was cause for concern. More than that he could not say. He thanked her for the invaluable firsthand reports from Paris and begged that she take both care and heart.

"Eh bien, mes amis, are you ready to make another voyage? We have delayed overlong and there may well be people waiting for us in the village. If so, they will be losing heart rapidly." Danielle smiled with an effort across the dinner table that evening. "The news from Paris worsens, if that is possible, according to Pitt's message. The royal family are now imprisoned in the Temple, quite at the mercy of the people, and Madame Guillotine takes her victims with increasing fervor."

"Danny, let us make this next journey without you?" Julian asked quietly, knowing the request to be fruitless but shivered by the bleak look on her face.

"Non!" she declared. "I will go quite mad if I stay here! I beg pardon." She apologized for the rude exclamation. "I cannot walk the cliffs waiting for Justin," she explained in a more moderate tone. "We will go again to Paris and I will use my energies in that way. There is much work to be done and I can do it with more heart than I would have preparing for my widow's weeds."

The blunt statement contained only truth, clear-cut and invincible, and no one around the table could find the words of contradiction.

They set sail three days later and in nine days were again in Paris-the capital of the new republic of France. The abolition of royalty had been decreed on September 21. While Louis XVI and his family suffered the discourtesies and cruel deprivations of the sans-culottes guards, the tumbrils began to roll from the prisons to Place de la Revolution. D'Evron had Been dead these last six weeks, spared the journey from Chatelet to Madame Guillotine where, with hands bound, hair cropped, and shirt collar opened, he would have placed his head upon the block for the blade that would have ended his life amidst the jeers of the tricolours who knitted the names of the aristos-come-to-judgment into the long scarves taking shape beneath their busy needles.

The Comte de St. Vire died in that manner, unaware that in the jeering crowd a small figure witnessed his death and prayed for his soul. Danielle ran beside the tumbrils as they moved to the place of execution, searching for familiar faces, pallid in preparation for their deaths. She could do nothing for them now, but had a desperate need that they should see a familiar face and die in the knowledge that there was still hope of escape for those they left behind.

This time they were to take three carts out of Paris. St. Estephe had provided the third and Dream Girl would handle the extra pa.s.sengers because she must. Once the winter storms set in, raging against that unwelcoming coast, not even Jake would risk the voyage, not to mention standing to at anchor for two weeks while he waited for the light to show from the cove.

They pa.s.sed the barrieres in their usual fashion, except that this time Danielle wore the peasant dress and kerchief of a farmer's daughter and flirted outrageously with the guards, dancing around the guardhouse as the carts pa.s.sed through unquestioned by the distracted sentries. She made her escape by the hem of a grimy petticoat, leaping back onto the seat beside Julian with a stream of invective that contained the promise of her return. The guards laughed heartily and promised her reception on the next occasion with much ribaldry.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it!" Jules exclaimed as they hit the familiar road. "Why must you take such risks? You become more outrageous every time."

"It is necessary," she replied calmly.

They reached the Breton coast in ample time, quite unaware that St. Estephe and his men were following them, half a day's journey behind and by a different route.

St. Estephe had hoped to make up the time, knowing that his chosen route was shorter and that on horseback they could travel faster than the laden carts. But he made a grave error of judgment in picking a path that, unlike Danielle's, took him through major towns where they were frequently stopped and held at the gates while their credentials were examined. In one place they were hauled before an excitable mayor prepared to suspect any party from Paris of being fleeing royalists. St. Estephe fumed at the delays, raged at the officious bureaucracies that insisted on confirming his pa.s.sports with meticulous care, and could not begin to understand why he was in such a hurry as they conferred at length before returning the papers and wishing him a pleasant journey. Thus his hopes of being on the beach, ready in ambush when the fugitives signaled for the dinghy, were unfulfilled and the careful orderliness of his plans thrown into disarray.

"The dinghy will have to make two journeys," Danielle whispered to Westmore as they stood on the small beach, shrouded in dark cloaks. "We should first send our pa.s.sengers." She glanced at the pale shivering group huddled in the lee of the cliff, sheltering from the blasts of the late October wind. There were nine of them, seven women and children and two men, and the journey from Paris had been arduous in the extreme, made even more miserable by constant complaints at the privations they all endured and the incessant challenges of the men who refused to accept the authority of the grimy urchin that was Danny, now back in her shirt and britches.

Westmore agreed. "I'll be monstrous glad to see the last of them," he muttered. 'The voyage will be made wretched with their moans."

Danny laughed without much humor and shrugged, peering across the black expanse of foam-flecked water for the first sight of the dinghy. "It is coming," she said as her sharp ears picked up the soft splash of oars an instant before her eyes made out the dark shape.

They all ran to the sh.o.r.e to help beach the dinghy and the two monosyllabic sailors merely grunted when told that they must return. The boat could carry seven pa.s.sengers if enough of them were small and the nine pa.s.sengers argued amongst themselves, wasting precious moments, as to who should go first.

"Take the women and children; the men stay here with us," Philip ordered crisply. One aristocratic lady, clasping her child to her bosom, announced dramatically that she would not be parted from her husband. "As you wish, madame," Philip responded in frosty tones. "Let us just hurry for the Lord's sake!"

The husband in question began to bl.u.s.ter at this brusque manner of addressing his wife and Danielle, quite out of patience, whirled on him with a few well-chosen words that left him stammering with fury. But at last they pushed the laden dinghy off the beach, Danny and her companions soaked to their thighs while the French family stood high and dry on the beach, muttering indignantly at their rude treatment.

"Merde!" Danielle hissed. "Perhaps you would prefer the tender strokes of the guillotine?"

"Hush," Jules said, putting his arm around her. "They are frightened."

"And are we not all?" she muttered, thinking of Justin with a deep stab of lonely despair.

It was two hours later when the dinghy reappeared and this time, in the interests of speed, waited in the shallows instead of running onto the beach.

"Vous permettez, madame?" Jules said politely as he swung the woman off her feet and carried her to the boat. Westmore carried the squawling child but no one offered to a.s.sist the stiff figure of the father who waded with a visible shudder into the cold black water. The rest followed and the oarsmen picked up their oars just as the child shrieked. "Ma bebe. J'ai oublie ma bebe."

Danny swore, feeling the profanity quite justified, as she plunged back into the surf. "Attendez!" She ran across the beach to where the forgotten doll lay by a rock.

None of the watchers in the small craft were able to sort out what happened next. Men seemed to appear from nowhere, hurtling down the narrow cliff path, a musket shot exploded in the still air, but apart from that, for an eerie moment, there was no other sound: Jules and his three companions leaped to their feet setting the small craft rocking dangerously, the woman screamed, and the rowers put to their oars as rapid fire broke out anew from the beach, quite clearly directed at the dinghy. Danielle was a tiny figure, dodging from side to side, attempting to evade her captors and make for the water as the dinghy pulled away under the desperate efforts of two pairs of strong arms encouraged by the hail of bullets spurting the water around them.

Suddenly Danielle stopped running, recognizing the tall figure on the beach who had been watching her gyrations. She called the traitor's name with all the force of her lungs.

"St. Estephe!" Jules exclaimed just as a scream of pain came from one of the Cornishmen. A bullet had caught him in the shoulder and he collapsed gasping over the oars.

"Take over, man, d.a.m.n your eyes!" Jules, with a brutal foot, kicked the Frenchman cowering with his wife and child in the bottom of the boat. "If you do not, you will never reach safety. Quick!" he said urgently to the others. "Into the water, but silently. There are too many of them and our only hope is in surprise." He turned to the uninjured Cornishman. "Tell Jake to hold Dream Girl offsh.o.r.e until we signal again." The man merely grunted, all breath and energy devoted to his task, and the four discarded boots, cloaks, swords, and pistols, keeping only the wickedly sharp daggers, before slipping into the now deep water where the current ran strongly but the dark night hid them from the confusion on the beach.

St. Estephe swore as he saw one-half of his prey make its escape, but there was nothing he could do. It was a moonless night and the boat had almost vanished, swallowed into the blackness long before it would have been out of range of the muskets. But he did have the most important object and, for a moment on the cliff top as he'd watched them pile into the dinghy, he had thought to lose that also. Why she had suddenly leapt from the boat and straight into his arms was of little interest-suffice it that she had done so. He, walked toward her, withdrawing from his pocket the wad of cloth.

It had taken three men eventually to subdue her, but although her body was held imprisoned, arms bent painfully behind her back, her tongue was still virulent and the defiance glared from the brown eyes as she spat in the comte's face.

He smiled and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. "You will pay for that later, ma belle," he said and suddenly clamped the wad of cloth over her mouth and nose.

Danielle smelled the sickly sweetness of the chloroform and struggled until a vicious jerk of her arms made her cry out in pain against the smothering cloth. The last thing she saw was the flat gleam of those fishy eyes and her last conscious thought was that the simile was wrong. They were the eyes of a cobra preparing to strike . . .

Her friends, cowering in the freezing water against the black overhang of a jutting rock, could see little detail of the events on the beach. There was nothing they could do at this point since they were hopelessly outnumbered and armed only with knives--good enough weapons in single, close quarters combat, but of no use at all against ten men with muskets.

They waited until the beach party had reached the top of the cliff before dragging their soaked bodies onto the sand of the small cove.

"What the devil has St. Estephe to do with this?" Westmore led the way up the narrow path.

"Only the devil's work," Philip answered. "Why else would he take Danny?"

Hidden behind the windswept scrub of the cliff top they watched St. Estephe and his men mount and take off across the fields, Danny's limp body hanging across the comte's saddle bow.

"They are not going immediately to Paris then." Jules spoke for the first time. "We can be of little use without dry clothes and horses and now we know their direction we will find it easy to follow their tracks."

"And what of Danny?" Tony demanded.

"If St. Estephe intended to kill her he would have done so already," Jules replied. He seemed to be now simply a cold thinking machine, all emotion banished. He was responsible for the safety of his cousin's wife and they could afford no hasty impulsive action. St. Estephe would not himself have carried her dead body in that way, he would have left such a burden to a minion. So, whatever they had done to her on the beach had simply immobilized her. Their task was to find where she had been taken and effect her rescue-simple enough if one went about it in the right way. "Come, let us go to the village. We will retrieve the horses from the Legrands and find fresh clothes. If we succ.u.mb to the ague we will be of little use to Danny."

It was cold common sense and no one demurred. They now had friends in the village, fisherfolk who accepted them with undemanding hospitality and no questions, receiving more than adequate recompense for their kindness. In an hour or so, they would be able to follow the tracks of Danielle's captors- eleven hors.e.m.e.n could not disappear without trace in this isolated region where all strange occurrences would be noticed-and her friends had the advantage of surprise.

Danielle woke to hammer blows in her skull, rhythmic, regular, each one seemingly intended to split her head in two. A violent wave of nausea, the inevitable aftermath of the chloroform, left her retching into the pillow in helpless self-disgust as she tugged futilely at whatever it was that held her wrists fast above her head. Then the merciful black wave of unconsciousness swallowed her yet again.

The next time she awoke it was when something warm and soothing sponged her face and hair and the soiled pillow was removed, leaving her aching head to lie flat.

"She'll not vomit again," St. Estephe said to the pasty-faced girl ministering to the still figure on the bed. There's no further need to keep her head raised. You may go now, and you will come in here only when I tell you-do you understand?"

The girl stammered her promise of obedience and stumbled from the room. The two guards outside the door caught her, their hands straying in gross familiarity over her body as she shuddered and begged them to leave her be. They laughed and let her go with a generous salting of coa.r.s.e remarks and promises.

Danielle opened her eyes and looked into the snake eyes of St. Estephe. Her head was pounding sickeningly and the candle he held shot sparks behind her eyeb.a.l.l.s. She averted her head and the comte laughed. "You are not comfortable, ma belle?" he questioned, taking her chin and turning her face back toward him.

"I am perfectly comfortable, thank you, sir," she responded with a travesty of a smile. St. Estephe chuckled in rich satisfaction.

"We will amuse ourselves," he promised. "You will become more amenable when you have experienced your position for a little longer." He left her, taking the candle and plunging Danny into pitch-darkness. She had lost all sense of time and lay still in the darkness until her eyes became accustomed. A thread of light indicated a closed window shutter, another filament showed her the door. Apart from that there was nothing except the sensation of her damp britches clinging to her thighs, an uncovered mattress beneath her, and the straps cutting into her wrists.

She slept again and awoke to the same darkness and the pressing demand of her body. But there was no way she could free herself. Her legs were unfettered but her hands were held fast. She opened her mouth to call out and thought again of the stories she had been told of St. Estephe. If they were true then her humiliation and degradation was his object and to plead would only increase his satisfaction. Danielle gritted her teeth and bent her mind to the business of making some sense out of all this. If the comte was simply an agent of the revolutionary committee, why had he not betrayed them in Paris? It would have been easy enough. But he appeared on the scene long before she had begun this adventure, had talked to Justin of an old friendship between their fathers . . . had appeared in London, all charm and eagerness to offer his services. And Justin had disliked him and mistrusted him from the outset without knowing why ....

The door opened. For an instant bright daylight flooded the room and Danny took in her surroundings, such as they were, before the door closed again and the dim flicker of a tallow candle pierced the renewed darkness.

"Madame?" a soft anxious voice spoke. "I am permitted to release you if you wish to use the pail and take some food."

"Then in the name of charity do so," Danny groaned.

"You will please try not to ... There are guards outside the door," the voice stuttered unhappily.

"Je comprends," Danielle rea.s.sured. "I will make no move to escape." The straps were undone. She rubbed her reddeped wrists, and stretched the cramped muscles of her protesting shoulders and upper arms before making use of the facilities.

She looked at the bread, cheese, and pitcher of water with a frown. "When will you come again?"

"I cannot say, milady," the voice whispered. "When the comte tells me."

"I see." Danielle spurned the food despite her hunger pangs and slaked her thirst with but two sips of water. The less she put inside her at this point, the longer her body could resist nature's imperative calls. "Will you tell me what you know of this place?" she inquired gently, pacing the floor and swinging her arms as she flexed the muscles in her legs and feet. "Are we still in Brittany?"

"Mais oui, madame-but five miles from the coast. The cottage belongs to my father. The comte has paid him well for its use and my services." The girl's voice was very low now. "I dare not disobey. If I displease the comte my father will beat me and I cannot bear it another time." With a simple movement, the girl slipped her blouse off her shoulders and Danielle stared in horror at the crusted welts crisscrossing her back.

"Have no fear," she said quietly, "I'll not put you in further danger. What is your name?"

"Jeanette," the girl replied. "Milady, if you will not eat, I must . . ." She gestured toward the cot.

"Bien sur." Danielle lay down on the rough mattress and allowed the girl to fasten her wrists again.

"I dare not fasten the straps more loosely," Jeanette whispered in soft apology.

"No, I understand." With a supreme effort Danielle smiled and the girl left, taking the tallow candle and returning Danny to her dark prison. She knew now that it was a tiny room, no more than seven paces in length and perhaps five in width, containing the cot and a low table-nothing more. Outside there were guards and five miles away the coast. It was little enough to go on but she had to think of something constructive to blot from her mind thoughts of Nicky and Justin and the fear of her unknown destiny at the hands of St. Estephe.

Her arms began to ache unbearably. She moved up the cot, trying to ease the pain, but there was little relief to be gained from the tiny adjustments she was able to make. The continuing darkness did nothing for her slowly despairing spirit, and hunger and thirst raged. Danny had faced many dangers, but never before had she been quite without resources and, as the long hours of confinement pa.s.sed, she fought despair with every fiber of her strength.

It was six interminable hours later when St. Estephe entered the disorienting darkness with a bright lantern that he placed carefully on the small table.

"Alors, ma belle." he said, looking down at her. "Do you find that you are still perfectly comfortable?" His eyes mocked her as she blinked in confusion at the sudden light.

"Perfectly, thank you," she replied through dry lips.

"You cannot be comfortable in wet clothes," he argued, bending over her supine figure, patting her down with intimate hands. Danielle held her breath and bit back the scream of revulsion. As he began to unb.u.t.ton her shirt, she curled her legs and kicked him in the stomach. St. Estephe drew back with a gasp of pain. "That was foolish," he said almost gently, and with quiet deliberation hit her across the mouth with his open hand.

Tears sprang in her eyesand she tasted the salty blood from a cut lip.