Surrender to a Stranger (12 page)

“Watch where you’re going, boy,” snarled a voice. Jacqueline looked up at the tall, scraggly youth she had accidentally walked into.

“I beg your pardon,” she apologized. “I was in a hurry and did not see you.” The apology made, she moved to be on her way again. She did not want to lose sight of Nicolas’s carriage.

Two filthy hands grabbed her firmly by her shoulders. She looked up indignantly at the boy who held her. His mouth split into a nasty grin of rotted teeth, at least three of which had been knocked out. His bony fingers dug painfully into her as he stared down in amused disbelief.

“Got a fancy mouth on him, hasn’t he?” he demanded as six of his friends moved in to form a tight circle around the two of them.

“Sure does,” agreed another who cuffed her roughly on the back of her head. “Hey brat, where’d you get such a mouth?”

“Let me go,” demanded Jacqueline forcefully as she struggled to free herself from her captor’s grip. She could hear the sounds of Nicolas’s carriage growing fainter and fainter, and she was determined not to lose it.

“Giving orders now, are we?” asked the youth with a smirk. He abruptly released her shoulders and gave her a solid shove that sent her flying backward toward the other boys. She stumbled before she fell into them. Several pairs of hands reached out and shoved her back toward her tormentor, who laughed as she came crashing into his chest.

“You need some lessons in how to be a good citizen, boy,” he remarked as he caught her by her shoulders. “It’s lucky for you we aren’t busy.”

Jacqueline twisted and turned in an effort to free herself from him. “Let go of me you filthy swine or I’ll—”

“First lesson, no calling the teacher a filthy swine,” the youth sneered as he raised his hand and brought it down sharply across her face.

She staggered back from the impact while the other boys cheered. A warm trickle began to ooze from the corner of her mouth. She shook her head to clear it and touched her fingers to the side of her lips. She pulled her hand away and examined the blood on her fingertips with horror.

A maelstrom of sheer rage exploded to the surface, extinguishing any ability to maintain control over her actions. How dare these worthless street thugs think themselves in a position to bully and brutalize someone who was alone and weaker than they? And they had delayed her, causing her to lose Nicolas’s carriage, so she might not be able to find him tonight. The fury that burst within her as she launched herself at the youth and started clawing viciously at his face was not solely directed at him and his spineless accomplices. It was directed at the injustice of a world gone mad, and her burning need to get even with some small part of it.

“Get him off me!” yelped the boy as he tried unsuccessfully to shield his face and neck from Jacqueline’s ruthlessly determined attack. Six pairs of hands and arms grabbed her all over to peel her away from him. Jacqueline shrieked and abandoned her efforts as soon as she felt someone’s hands grab her breasts.

“He’s a girl!” stammered one boy in amazement while two others held her by her arms.

The leader who had started the incident stared at her in confusion, tenderly rubbing his cheek where she had succeeded in making several deep scratches. He stepped toward her, reached up and yanked off the red wool cap. The ragged remains of her blond hair spilled down onto her shoulders. Apparently still not convinced, he reached out and painfully squeezed her breast. Jacqueline let out a furious curse, telling him in no uncertain terms what a filthy, despicable son of a whore he was. His scratch-marked face split into another grin of rotted teeth.

Within seconds they were surrounded by a shoving, cursing mob, fighting to get a look at the escaped aristo the boy was triumphantly yelling about.

Pure, cold terror seized her, rendering her unable to fight, to scream, to move. She was going to be butchered by the mob. She was certain of it.

The bloodthirsty violence of a Paris mob was infamous. In September 1792, enraged citizens viciously hacked to pieces over fourteen hundred helpless prisoners in various Paris prisons. Men, women, and children fell to the relentless blows of axes, hatchets, sabers, knives, and pikes. The Princesse de Lamballe, who was imprisoned at La Force, was subjected to a mock trial before being brutally hacked to death, stripped of her clothes, and grotesquely mutilated. Her executioners then cut off her head and carried it triumphantly through the streets on a pike to the Temple, to present to her friend Marie-Antoinette. None of the perpetrators of the September massacres were ever pursued or punished. Such atrocities, while not openly endorsed, were seen by the republican government as unfortunate, but completely understandable. The message was clear. A citizen acting as part of a mob need have no fear of retribution.

“Take her to the guillotine! Sanson is waiting for her!”

“What about the reward?”

“Why wait for the razor? Let’s kill her now!”

“She’s mine! I saw her first!”

“Aristo whore!”

The crowd was crushing itself around her, reaching out and grabbing her hair, her clothes, her arms, her shoulders, her breasts. She tried to raise her arms to protect her head and face, but the boys held her fast, keeping her from collapsing as the mob slapped and punched and shoved and pushed, their faces twisted with evil, malevolent hatred. It was as if they believed that she alone was the source of all the misery in their lives, and that if they could destroy her, their suffering would somehow instantly come to an end. She had told herself she did not fear her own death, but in that moment the terror she felt was unlike anything she had ever known. She bowed her head and screamed, praying for it to be over quickly.

The deafening blast of a gun cut through the roar of the enraged mob. Startled, everyone froze, groping hands arrested in midair, looking about to see who had fired and who had been killed.

“Move away, all of you!”

The savage authority with which the order was given was not lost on the crowd. Slowly their groping hands returned to their sides, their hateful, contorted expressions shifting to looks of wariness and uncertainty.

“Back away—now!”

Some of them hesitated, torn by their thirst for blood and their fear for themselves. They looked around to see who was giving these instructions, as if that would determine whether or not they would obey them. And then, slowly, they started to move away.

The boys who held Jacqueline did not relinquish their painful grip, but most of the mob retreated, opening up the space around her. Her chest heaving as she fought to regain her composure, she lifted her head to see who had managed to bring the raging crowd under control.

An imposing captain of the National Guard sat tall on a magnificent black horse, his pistol drawn and ready to fire at the first person who dared to violate his orders. His military uniform of striped trousers and blue coat with filthy white lapels and frayed epaulets was ragged and ill fitting, as was typical of the day, but its shabby appearance did not diminish the stature and power of the handsome man who wore it.

It was Citizen Julien.

His eyes locked with hers, silently commanding her to say nothing. Then they swiftly moved down, taking in every detail of her condition. With her bloodied lip and torn clothes she realized she must look a sight. A flicker of pure rage crossed his features for the barest of seconds, to be instantly replaced by a mask of total indifference. The control he exerted over his emotions was so absolute she felt certain she was the only one who had noticed. He looked at her calmly, giving not the slightest indication that he was anything but perfectly composed and serene, as if the situation at hand was merely a minor interruption to an otherwise orderly day. He shifted his gaze to the three boys who were holding her.

“Release her.”

The boys hesitated, looking at each other in confusion.

“We found her,” objected the youth she had first knocked into. “She’s an escaped aristo. There’s a reward for her capture and we want it.” He said the words firmly, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his tone. It was clear he did not want to get into an argument with a captain of the National Guard.

“Release her,” repeated Citizen Julien softly, “or I will arrest the lot of you for obstruction of justice.”

Reluctantly the boys let go of her.

“Come here,” commanded Citizen Julien.

Jacqueline hesitantly took a step forward.

He studied her for a moment. “Are you Citizeness Jacqueline Doucette, formerly Mademoiselle Jacqueline de Lambert, who escaped from La Conciergerie last night?” he demanded. He stared at her intently.

“No,” she replied, feeling almost certain that was the response he wanted to hear.

“Of course she is!” yelled out someone from the crowd.

“My name is Louise Fournier,” blurted out Jacqueline, trying to think fast.

Citizen Julien looked at her skeptically. “Do you have any identification papers?” he demanded.

Jacqueline hesitated. “No.”

“Anyone here who can swear to your identity?” he suggested.

“No.”

Citizen Julien sighed. “Then it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest. You will be taken directly to La Conciergerie, where you will be held until it can be determined whether or not you are this escaped aristo we are looking for.”

“What about my reward?” demanded the youth, clearly not liking the idea of having his prize removed from his keeping.

Citizen Julien regarded him impatiently. “If she is the escaped aristo, then you shall be paid the reward. What is your name, boy?”

The youth straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin a notch, visibly insulted at being called “boy.” “Marc Gauthier,” he replied stiffly.

“Very good, Citizen Gauthier,” said Citizen Julien, nodding. “Come to the Conciergerie at six o’clock tonight. Ask for Inspector Nicolas Bourdon. Tell him you are there to find out if the woman brought in earlier was indeed Citizeness Doucette. I will leave word with him that you were responsible for finding her and releasing her to my authority. If she is the aristo, I have no doubt that Inspector Bourdon will want to commend you personally.”

The youth nodded eagerly. Jacqueline almost felt sorry for him. Nicolas would not be pleased to learn she had escaped a second time, and he was certain to vent his rage on this youth who had caught her and stupidly let her slip away. Given the way Citizen Julien was glaring at him, she suspected that was his intent.

Citizen Julien turned his attention back to Jacqueline. “You will ride with me, Citizeness.”

She stepped over to his horse and in one easy motion he lifted her up in front of him. The firm wall of his chest pressed against her back as he reached forward to adjust the reins around her. She was surprised by how much comfort she suddenly felt just from the nearness of him, from the iron-hard feel of his chest and thighs and arms as they positioned around her, from his unbelievable confidence as he performed his masquerade in front of this thoroughly duped crowd. Only moments earlier they had been eager to tear her limb from limb. Now they were calmly giving her up to someone they believed was a figure of authority, on the basis of nothing more than his costume and the fact that he exuded power.

“All of you back about your business,” Citizen Julien commanded sharply as people continued to stare at them.

Reluctantly the crowd began to disperse, obviously disappointed at having the incident conclude in such an orderly manner. Citizen Julien turned his horse and slowly guided him down the street, ignoring the jeers and taunts that people called out to Jacqueline as they rode by.

“We’ll see you at the chopper, you aristo tart!”

“Try to escape again and you will beg for the mercy of the people’s ax!”

“Traitor!”

“Harlot!”

The cries were loud and thick with loathing. Still shaken, Jacqueline forced herself to keep her spine straight and her chin up. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing they had managed to terrify her. For all they knew, she was not even the aristo they were looking for. It did not seem to matter. She was guilty by suspicion, and according to the laws of the new Republic, that was enough to condemn her, both in a courtroom and on the street. She hated all of them. She bit down hard on her lip to keep it from trembling.

Citizen Julien kept the horse moving at a steady, purposeful pace. They traveled up and down at least a half-dozen streets before they finally lost the last few members of the mob who had decided to follow them. Now the people who crowded the streets looked with only passing interest as they rode by. It was not clear that Citizen Julien was a captain making an arrest. If anything, it looked more like he had rescued a scruffy youth from a street brawl and was taking him home. They had originally headed off in the direction of the Conciergerie, but once Citizen Julien felt certain that no member of the original mob was with them, he changed his course.

“Where are we going?” whispered Jacqueline.

“Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut,” he snapped.

She thought his reply outrageously rude, but did not dare tell him so while they were in public. The minute they were alone she would tell him in no uncertain terms that she would not tolerate an employee speaking to her so.

They rode for perhaps another half hour, winding along narrow, quiet streets that gradually led north to the district known as Montmartre. Finally they came to a short, deserted avenue of narrow, crumbling houses called rue de Vent. Citizen Julien turned their horse down a tiny lane that led to a small coach house. He placed the horse in an empty stall before taking Jacqueline to the back door of the home to which the coach house belonged.

He rapped on the door in what seemed to be a code, three rapid knocks followed by two long ones. After a minute the door swung open. A handsome young man with wavy blond hair and striking green eyes stared at them in surprise and then hurriedly ushered them into a small kitchen. He quickly shut the door and looked at Citizen Julien with concern.

“I was not expecting you. Are you all right?” he demanded.

Citizen Julien nodded. “I’m fine.”

The man’s attention shifted to Jacqueline. “Is he?”

Citizen Julien looked at her, and Jacqueline thought she saw a hint of a scowl cross his face, but it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. “He is also fine,” he replied. “He just needs some cleaning up.”

“Are they not expecting you tonight?” asked the man, evidently relieved that there was no medical emergency at hand.

“Yes,” confirmed Citizen Julien. “Unfortunately my plans have been somewhat delayed.”

The young man nodded. “What do you need?” he asked seriously. The way in which he spoke made it obvious to Jacqueline that this man was ready to do anything for Citizen Julien.

“For the moment, just a room. I need a few moments alone with the boy. Then I will let you know if there is anything else.”

“This way, my friend. My home is yours.”

He turned and led them through the kitchen doorway into a hall, then up a narrow flight of stairs. He opened a door leading into a small bedroom and stood aside as Jacqueline and Citizen Julien entered.

“I will heat some water so you and the boy can wash, and prepare some food. Call me when you want the water brought up.” He closed the door.

Citizen Julien removed his military hat and flung it on the bed. He stood with his feet braced apart, folded his arms, and glared at Jacqueline. “I thought I ordered you to stay in that room,” he began, his voice low and menacing.

She looked at him in disbelief. Was he actually insinuating that it was her fault she had almost been beaten to death by a mob, because she did not blindly follow his orders? Fresh hot anger bloomed within her, pushing aside the fear and tension that had been gnawing at her nerves for the past few hours.

“In case you aren’t aware, Citizen, after you left me the National Guard decided to pay a visit to that particular inn, and I was lucky to get out when I did,” she informed him furiously. “They were practically through the door as I was climbing out the window, and were it not for the fact that I am not unduly afraid of heights, we would not be standing here at this moment having this conversation, because my head would no longer be attached to my neck!” she blazed.

He looked at her with surprise. He had not known about the National Guard. Up until this moment he had thought she left the inn of her own accord. He had been convinced she nearly got both of them killed because of her need for vengeance with this Nicolas Bourdon, and he was only one short step away from saying to hell with it and letting her go. He did not intend to get himself killed while trying to save some spoiled little aristocrat who did not give a damn about her own life. There were too many others who were desperate to live that could use his assistance. He regarded her suspiciously, still not convinced she was telling him the truth.