Storm Winds

  “I’m sure you will.” Danton strolled to the desk and picked up the pamphlet. “What’s the subject of Marat’s ravings today?”

  Dupree turned immediately from the window. “You should not speak of him in that way. He’s a true friend of the republic.”

  “But sometimes we must forget loyalties toward one friend when we make another.” Danton paused meaningfully. “I have no liking for Marat.”

  Dupree hesitated and then smiled ingratiatingly. “Naturally, I would not care to display my dislike of being in his service until I had a position I esteemed more.”

  Mother of God, the man would betray the devil himself if offered a higher place. Danton was careful to mask his disgust. “I can understand your caution.”

  “But this wouldn’t be a suitable time to relinquish my position. I’m leaving tomorrow for Andorra on a very important mission. Perhaps we can talk when I return?”

  “Andorra?” Danton frowned. “Spain? What business has Marat with the Spaniards?”

  “A concern of great importance to France, and naturally he would trust it to no one but me.”

  “Naturally.” Dupree was evidently not going to confide the nature of that concern, Danton thought with annoyance. What the devil was Marat doing with his filthy fingers in foreign affairs? “You said you’ll leave tomorrow?”

  Dupree nodded. “Marat’s given me permission to stop off and spend a fortnight of rest with my mother, who lives on the outskirts of Paris in the village of Clairemont. It’s a difficult trip across the Pyrenees.”

  Then the “concern” while important was not urgent. “After your efforts of last month I can see how you’d need a rest,” Danton said without expression as he picked up his hat and gloves. “Come, it’s time we started for the convention.”

  Marie Antoinette’s hair was white.

  “Keep your head down,” the lamplighter whispered. “I told you not to look up once we were in the courtyard.”

  Juliette hastily lowered her gaze and reached up to tie the woolen kerchief more securely under her chin. Her hands were trembling and her throat tight with tears. The queen’s hair was white. It wasn’t perfumed or powdered. She didn’t have on a wig as Juliette had seen her wear on so many occasions when she had first come to Versailles. Marie Antoinette was only thirty-six and she looked twice those years.

  “Stop gaping at her.” The lamplighter lit the lamp to the left of the gate. “Do you want to get thrown into the Tower with her?”

  “She looks so different.”

  “Stand over there in the shadows. I’ll send her over to have a word with you. But only five minutes, you understand? When I finish lighting my lamps, we leave.”

  Juliette obediently moved into the shadows beneath the looming Tower. Dusk had completely claimed the courtyard of the Temple and in her drab brown gown and kerchief she knew she’d be virtually invisible to any but the closest observer.

  The queen was not ill dressed. Her black cloak was well made and the muff she carried was of marten fur, but her garments might as well have belonged to a prosperous innkeeper’s wife instead of the queen of France. Poor Marie Antoinette had lost everything but her family—and even some of them had been taken from her. The king’s brothers, the Comte de Provence and the Comte d’Artois, had escaped to Austria and his spinster sisters to Italy. Marie Antoinette’s firstborn son, Louis Joseph, the dauphin, had died tragically in 1789 at the same time the queen’s entire world was vanishing around her.

  Now Marie Antoinette had only her big, gentle husband, her sister-in-law, Madame Elizabeth, her daughter Marie Thérèse, and little Louis Charles, who was now the dauphin and heir apparent to the throne.

  “Juliette?” Marie Antoinette peered into the shadows. “Is it truly you? All that dirt on your face …”

  Juliette started to curtsy and then caught herself. The daughter of a republican lamplighter would hardly show respect for royalty. “It’s I. The lamplighter thought I looked too clean, so he rubbed some soot on my cheeks.”

  “More than a little. You look like a street urchin.” The queen came forward and reached out to gently touch Juliette’s left cheek. “But yes, I know those bold eyes. I thought you were dead. They told me of the massacre at the abbey and I thought …” She trailed off and shivered. “Did you hear what those brutes did to the Princess de Lambelle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Her head was on a pike and they told me they shot her limbs from a cannon.” Tears misted the queen’s eyes. “She was safe in England and returned to stay by my side and they killed her for it. They’re killing everyone. Soon there will be no one left.” She closed her eyes tightly and when she opened them the tears had vanished. “And how is my sweet Celeste? Is your mother well, Juliette?”

  “Yes.”

  “And safe?”

  “Yes, she fled France for Spain during the massacres.”

  “Bon. I often think of her and pray for her safety.”

  “Are you comfortable here?”

  “Oh, yes, it is not too bad. They see that we have decent enough food and the guards are not too unpleasant. They even brought me a clavichord from the Louvre.” She frowned. “Of course, they stare a great deal. I do not like to be stared at.”

  She had never liked excessive attention, Juliette remembered. That was why she would run away from the principal palace to the smaller palace of Petit Trianon or the village of Le Hameau to play among her flowers and lavish toys. “Perhaps they’ve never seen a queen before.”

  Marie Antoinette raised her head. “Well, they’ve seen one now. I’ll show them how a queen deports herself.” Then the momentary regalness vanished and she was once more only a sad-faced woman who was older than her years. “You must go, child. It was kind of you to come and see me, but it’s dangerous for you to stay. That grotesque Hebert is in charge of our captivity. He’s a true canaille. He would like nothing better than to cause me more pain by hurting you.”

  Juliette drew a deep breath. “I came for a reason,” she rushed on. “I want the Wind Dancer.”

  The queen stiffened. “You always did. Even as a child you loved my statue.” Her expression became cold. “The Wind Dancer is mine. I won’t give it up.”

  “Jean Marc Andreas still wishes to own it. You remember Jean Marc?”

  “How could I forget him?” Marie Antoinette said dryly. “He’s not a man who slips readily from one’s memory.”

  “He’s willing to give me two million livres for the statue. Wouldn’t that be enough money to buy your way out of prison and help you to escape to Austria?”

  The queen went still. “Perhaps. The guards have been willing to accept small bribes to provide us with additional comforts.”

  “Tell me where the Wind Dancer is and I’ll go and get it. I’ll sell it to Jean Marc and then give you the money.”

  “Not to me.” The queen frowned in thought. “I could do nothing with it here. However, there’s a group loyal to me in the city who would possibly help. Go to the Café du Chat on the Pont Neuf and ask for William Darrell.”

  The lamplighter had finished his round and was walking slowly toward them across the courtyard.

  “There’s not much time. Where may I find the Wind Dancer?”

  Marie Antoinette’s gaze searched Juliette’s. “Can I trust you, Juliette? I meant to save the Wind Dancer for my little Louis Charles. He may not ever be the king of France, but the Wind Dancer would provide for him.”

  “It’s better to save yourself and the rest of the royal household than a statue.”

  “Yes, I suppose …”

  “He’s coming. Be quick.”

  “It’s in the Belvedere. I had Monsieur Minque include a cache beneath the sphinx when he first designed it. I had the Wind Dancer hidden there when they told me that horrible mob was marching on Versailles.”

  Juliette was thinking frantically, trying to remember. The Belvedere was a pavilion behind the Petit Trianon but there were several sphinxes flanking the
steps of the Belvedere. “Which sphinx?”

  “The one on the left of the door directly facing the lake.”

  The queen put her hands in her fur muff. “Do not betray me, Juliette. I have so few people I can trust.”

  She turned and hurried away, and a moment later she disappeared into the entrance of the large Tower.

  Juliette gazed after her, her emotions in tumult. She had not expected to feel such melancholy. Over the years she had tried to vanquish the affection she felt for the queen. She had told herself it was foolish for her to care for someone who had no more fondness for her than she did for the lambs of Le Hameau. She had told herself that only her painting was important and Marie Antoinette didn’t matter in her life. Yet today all she could remember was that long-ago night when she had first met Marie Antoinette and the queen had taken her in her arms and cradled her and asked her to be her friend. Poor butterfly. All the brilliant flowers of her garden had withered and now she, too, was fading away.

  “Here now. Don’t just stand there. Come along,” the lamplighter said, low and harsh.

  Juliette reluctantly turned away from the doorway through which Marie Antoinette had disappeared. She fell meekly into step behind the lamplighter, following him across the courtyard toward the gate.

  François Etchelet was as grimly silent on the drive from the Temple as he had been when he had met Juliette earlier. Clearly, he was not pleased with her. At first his reticence suited Juliette very well. She was finding it difficult to shake off the depression that had settled on her since she had met with the queen. They were near the Place Royale when Juliette finally roused herself to speak. “I don’t see why you’re angry with me. It was you who told me I shouldn’t remain with Catherine.”

  “I didn’t tell you not to go to Vasaro.” He looked straight ahead. “And I most certainly didn’t tell you to stay in Paris and embroil us all in treasonous activities.”

  “I’m not embroiling anyone in treason.” She tilted her head to gaze shrewdly at him. “And if you objected so heartily to my going to see the queen, why did you arrange the bribe?”

  “It was Georges Jacques’s decision. He thought it safer to indulge you in this stupidity.” He gazed at her face. “And was your conversation with Citizeness Capet worth the risk to all of us?”

  “Her Majesty,” she corrected him. “And don’t tell me that’s one of the things your precious republic has changed, for I won’t believe it Being a citizeness wouldn’t suit her at all. She doesn’t know how to be anything but a queen.”

  “I’ll call her whatever—” He stopped and shrugged. “Perhaps that’s her tragedy. Do you know her well?”

  “Since I was a small child. She was kind to me.”

  “You can’t help her, you know.”

  Juliette was silent.

  “Guards in the courtyard, commissioners from the Commune, are on duty in their apartments day and night.”

  “Just like Versailles,” Juliette said softly. “She always hated all those people gaping at her when she arose in the morning and went to bed at night. Some of those silly women of the court used to quarrel over who would hand the queen her chemise in the morning.”

  “I assure you the commissioners aren’t acting as maidservants to her.” The sarcasm vanished from his tone as he looked at her soberly. “This is the end, Juliette. You’ll get no more help from either Georges Jacques or myself. It’s too dangerous. Ever since the royal family tried to escape from the Tuileries last year, the Commune has been seeing plots behind every bush.”

  “Did I ask for help?”

  “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean you won’t. I’ll be very glad when Jean Marc sends you on your way to Vasaro. I received a message from him this morning asking me to call on him tomorrow.”

  “He probably wants you to arrange departure papers for me.”

  “Now, that’s a service I’ll be happy to render. Passing the barriers should be safe enough for you now. Dupree left Paris this morning.”

  “Danton arranged it?”

  François shook his head. “Marat sent him on a mission. Andreas could have saved himself a handsome dowry if he’d waited a few days.”

  “But we didn’t know that.” Juliette frowned. “You won’t tell Jean Marc about my going to the Temple? It would serve no purpose and only cause problems for me.”

  “I’ll keep silent.” He paused. “If you give me your word you won’t try to see the queen again before you leave Paris.”

  She nodded. “You have it. I have no need to go back there.” She shivered. “And it made me too sad. She’s not the same as she was at Versailles.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “Nothing is the same. No one can bring back the past, and those who try will face the guillotine.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “And you would release the blade.”

  “If necessary.” He added soberly, “But it would not be by my will. In many ways I’ve come to admire you.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “Your courage.” He smiled faintly. “Not your good sense.”

  She burst out laughing. “And I admire your honesty, if not your tact. It greatly relieves me to know that you’d regret parting my head from my shoulders.”

  His smile faded. “You’ve been nearer the guillotine than you think. Georges Jacques said Dupree caught a glimpse of you yesterday.” He saw her stiffen and shook his head. “He didn’t recognize you, but it was very close.”

  She shrugged. “I can’t hide myself away any longer. It’s not my way. If I hadn’t had Catherine to care for these last weeks, I would have gone mad in that house.”

  The carriage stopped in front of Jean Marc’s house and she gathered her cloak around her. “I should have told him to stop down the street again. Oh, well, perhaps Jean Marc hasn’t come back from seeing Monsieur Bardot as yet. Au revoir, François.”

  Laurent opened the door to the carriage and helped her down to the sidewalk.

  “Not au revoir.” Grimness inflected François’s voice as he watched her hurry up the steps. “I most earnestly hope it’s adieu, Juliette.”

  The lanterns affixed on either side of the door on the walls of the alcove revealed both Juliette’s deplorably dirty face and the mischievous glance she cast him over her shoulder.

  “But how often are our hopes realized in this world, François?”

  She entered the house and with utmost care to be silent, closed the front door.

  TWELVE

  Juliette dashed across the foyer and started to mount the staircase two steps at a time.

  “What an intriguing ensemble. Don’t tell me that gown came from Julie Lamartine’s?”

  Juliette stopped on the eighth step. Merde, she should have known events were going too well. She sighed and turned to face Jean Marc, who stood leaning against the jamb of the archway of the salon, his arms folded across his chest.

  His gaze traveled slowly over her. “If it did come from Julie’s establishment, then I’ve been grossly cheated.”

  “It’s one of Marie’s old gowns.”

  “Rags. Is that the latest fashion? I’ve always been fascinated by the vagaries of ladies’ apparel. Come down and let me get a closer look at you.”

  Jean Marc’s tone was silky but his lips were tight with displeasure. Juliette hesitated and then came slowly down the stairs and across the foyer to stop before him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been out. This is my disguise.”

  “Is it?” He reached out, touched her cheek, and then looked at the soot on his fingertips. “Who were you supposed to be? A chimney sweep?”

  She merely gazed at him.

  He took a linen handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped his fingers. “I thought I’d expressed my wishes very clearly regarding your venturing from this house. And just where have you been? Perhaps for a walk on the square?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Or a ride in a carriage? Please, don’t bother to lie. I di
scovered you were gone more than an hour ago and was watching out the window when the carriage drew up in front of the house.” He paused. “Danton’s carriage, I believe. I recognized his driver. Was Danton in the coach?”

  “No, it was François.”

  “And where had you been with our friend François?”

  There was no avoiding it. Jean Marc was obviously not going to give up. “It was your own fault I had to sneak out of the house. If you’d been reasonable, I could have gone without—”

  “Where did you go?”

  “To the Temple.”

  Jean Marc froze. “The Temple?”

  “Well, I had to see the queen. How else was I to find out where she’d hidden the Wind Dancer? You told me she was the only one who knew its whereabouts.”

  “So you went to the Temple to ask her.” Jean Marc’s words were measured. “It didn’t occur to you that if you’d been caught you’d almost certainly been taken before the Commune and recognized by Dupree?”

  “Why are you so upset? You were quite safe. If I had been caught, I would never have told them you sheltered me.”

  “I was safe? What about—” He broke off, and when he spoke again his tone was expressionless. “That relieves my mind completely, of course.”

  Juliette nodded with satisfaction. “I thought it would.” She started to turn away. “Now I’ll go bathe and change my gown. Will you tell Marie to hold supper?”

  “No, I will not tell Marie anything.” Jean Marc’s hands closed on Juliette’s shoulders and whirled her back to face him. “You persuaded François to help you in this folly?”

  “It wasn’t folly. It was entirely reasonable.” She tried to wriggle away from him. “And actually I went to Danton and he persuaded François into helping. Though I think Danton would have done it anyway. He’s a very strange man. I got the impression he wouldn’t be averse to—”

  “You told him about the Wind Dancer?”

  “Of course not. I’m not a fool. You told me the republic wanted the statue for a symbol. Since he’s the Minister of Justice, he might have decided he wanted it for himself. I just told him it would be safer for him if I wasn’t captured when I went to the Temple, and he agreed with me.” She frowned. “But I can’t count on either of them for any more help. I’d hoped to find a way to persuade François to take me to Versailles, but he was very adamant—”