The French Bride (36 page)

The turnkey on the first landing in the West Tower went to the stairway and peered up again; he lifted his lantern and swung it upwards, lighting the worn steps. There was no sign of the governor coming down – and no sound. The turnkey decided he had waited long enough; there was something strange about the governor staying on so long after letting the man take his prisoner out without him. He picked up the light and began to climb the stairs. At the landings above he called out to the turnkeys on duty.

‘Is His Excellency with you?'

And the answer was the same. ‘He's not here. He hasn't come down again.'

At the third landing the man paused, searching for the turnkey who should have been on duty. He went to the door of the first cell and called out. ‘Are you there, Excellency?'

A feeble shout came through the door: ‘There's no one here but me, and the rats!'

He called through to the next prisoner and got a howl of abuse in reply. At the third door, where the woman had been kept, he banged and shouted in vain. There was nowhere else the governor could be; they had reached the top of the Tower. And where was the turnkey …? He turned and ran down the staircase to the wicket gate. The gatekeeper had a master key that fitted all the cells, but it was only used in grave emergency. Five minutes later they had opened the door of Cell 713, and in the semidarkness, they tripped over the dead body of the governor, lying on his back with his mouth and eyes wide open, his head lolling awkwardly on his broken neck.

Moments later the shout went ringing through the West Tower: ‘Escape! Escape! Sound the alarm!' And the hopeless wretches in their black cells dragged themselves to the doors and listened. From behind some of them there came weak cheers of encouragement.

The warning bell began to toll out, chiming its message over the fortress roofs and towers; the doors jammed shut leading to the drawbridge, and the drawbridge itself began to rise, closing the buildings off completely from the outside world. The deputy governor came running from his bed, and the governor's wife was by this time weeping over her husband's body where it had been laid out in his house. There was little confusion, because the deputy governor was a retired officer and he reacted with military alterness.

Twenty minutes after the discovery of the two dead bodies in the West Tower the drawbridge came down again and a troop of thirty soldiers, under the command of the deputy's nephew, rode out of the Bastille and set off in the direction that the fugitive's coach was seen to have taken.

‘She can go no further,' Annie said. She held Anne in her arms, cradling her head against her breast as if she were a child, and on the other side, Charles held on to his wife's hands. Paul de Mallot stared out the window; pain distressed and horrified him. Every few moments now, his sister-in-law cried out; Annie had to shout to make herself heard.

‘We'll have to stop,' she insisted. ‘She'll have the child any moment with all this jolting!'

‘We can't wait till the posting inn,' Charles said. ‘It's half an hour or more from here. Paul, isn't there a house nearby?'

‘I can't see anything,' the comte said. ‘And anyway, who'll take us in at this hour of the night …? We'd best pull up the coach off the road and let Annie do what she can.'

‘And let Anne die?' Charles demanded. He rubbed his wife's hands between his own; every moment or so he kissed them, leaning over her to whisper encouragement. ‘Look for some lights and we'll stop. I've enough money to pay for attention. If they won't listen to money, they'll listen to this!' He touched the pistol in his belt. He bent over Anne again. ‘Be brave, my love,' he said. ‘We'll find somewhere safe for you soon now. Hold on to me.'

He wasn't sure whether she heard him; in the half darkness of the coach, her face was a white blur; often she shut her eyes and surrendered to the pain, and cried until he felt as if his heart would break because he couldn't help her. And they carried another passenger besides pain and fear; Death was in the carriage with them, waiting to carry off the mother or the child – or both. The Dark Midwife hovered round the bed at every birth but its presence was very close to all of them now.

‘There's a house, up there, to the right!' De Mallot called out. He pulled on the coachstring. ‘Turn off there, where the lights are!'

The coach slowed up and made the turn off the road onto a rough track; its pace was very slow now because the path was pitted with holes. Even so, it lurched and bounced on its springs and at one moment the whole carriage sank on one side and hung as if it were going to turn over. But the coachman was an expert driver; he pulled his horses round and righted the coach; they picked their way up to the gates outside the farmhouse, and moved slowly through them, drawing up in front of the door. Dogs were barking from the house and from the outbuildings; a moment later the front door was unbolted and a man came out in his nightshirt, carrying an old firing piece, with a large wolfhound beside him.

De Mallot jumped out first.

‘For the love of God, monsieur,'– Charles heard him say –‘give us shelter and help. My sister-in-law is inside there, in the last stages of childbirth. I saw your lights and came here for help. She can't go another yard!'

‘Pauline!' The farmer turned towards the house and yelled. ‘Pauline, come out here and bring the lantern – it's all right, they're not thieves!'

A few moments later the carriage door opened and a woman swung the light inside. It fell on Anne, supported by Charles and Annie, and in a sharp voice the woman said, ‘Jesus!' Swiftly she added, ‘Carry her into the house – and by the look of her you'll need to be quick! Pierre! Take this light and hold it!'

The farmer and his wife stood aside as Charles came down first, carrying Anne in his arms.

‘In here,' the woman said. ‘Hurry up, monsieur … you come too, madame,' she called to Annie. ‘There's no other woman in the house except me. Pierre, see to the gentlemen, and put some water on the stove!'

‘I'm very grateful to you,' the comte murmured. ‘Is there anywhere we can put the coach for the night?'

They were inside the house by then; Charles had carried his wife up the stairs and Annie had disappeared after him. The farmer looked at the aristocratic gentleman with suspicion. They had stopped at an isolated farm in the middle of the night, with a pregnant woman who looked as if she was dying anyway, asking for shelter, and it was obvious he was anxious to hide the coach.

‘Who is pursuing you, monsieur?' the old man asked simply. ‘If you want help from us, then you'll have to tell the truth. You're no ordinary travellers; people of quality don't take their ladies out onto the road when they're so near the time. You may as well tell me, monsieur. What is that lady doing with you and who is she?'

‘Her identity is not your business,' the comte said quietly. ‘It will be better for you not to know who any of us are. But I'll tell you this; we're fugitives, and madame has just been rescued from prison. It's certain we are being pursued by now; that's why I wish to hide the coach. If we are caught, it will mean death for all of us, including madame and the child. If they come here looking for us, you will do well to plead ignorance. Hide us, and you'll be well rewarded. If you decide to betray us, I promise you madame's husband will find a way to kill you both!'

‘Eh,' the old man said. ‘That's clear enough. Since I've let you in, there's not much I can do but keep you hidden, at least until you can take madame on the road again.'

‘Just let the child be born,' the comte said. ‘That's all we ask for the moment. I'll go out and put the coach into one of your barns. With any luck, we haven't been seen coming in here.

‘Go out, monsieur.' The farmer's wife turned brusquely to Charles. ‘There's nothing you can do for her, you'll only be in the way!'

‘I'm going,' he said. ‘In a moment.'

Anne lay on the bed in the couple's own room; tallow candles cast a yellow light upon her. She looked very small and wasted, her face half hidden by the pillows, the dark, damp hair drawn back from her face. Charles bent over her, and stroked the forehead which was sticky with sweat; as he did so, her eyes opened. A moment before she had shrieked in agony; now she lay like an exhausted animal in the short interval between the final birth pains. ‘Charles …' The tiny whisper cost her a tremendous effort. ‘Are we safe …?'

‘Yes, my darling heart, we are. You're going to have the child now. You've been so brave, so good.…'

For a moment he faltered. He had never cried in his life and his pride forbade him to do so then, but for a second or so he could not speak.

‘You've got to be brave now and then it'll be over. We'll have our child and we'll be together, you and I. Promise me you'll be strong and not afraid. I want you well and safe, both of you.…'

‘You didn't send me there,' she whispered, her voice trailing off. ‘I thought it was you … I wanted to die so much.… Thank God you came – Go away now, please go away—'

‘Come on! Outside, monsieur!' The farmer's wife almost pushed him through the door; behind her he saw Annie at the bedside. ‘We'll call you when it's over!'

He caught the woman by the sleeve. ‘Will she live?' he said. ‘Tell me do you think she'll live?'

‘God knows, monsieur,' she said and shrugged. ‘I don't like the look of her. I warn you, you may well lose the child anyway. But we'll do our best for both of them.'

CHAPTER TEN

The captain of the horse troop from the Bastille had divided his forces into two; he dispatched ten men and a noncommissioned officer on the road back to Paris, though he felt it was unlikely that the fugitives had gone in that direction. There would be an extensive search of the city, and the police would soon get to hear of strangers being hidden, especially one in Anne de Bernard Macdonald's condition. It was unthinkable that any member of their own class would shelter them. The King's anger would have frightful repercussions on anyone involved in the affair.

The captain led his remaining twenty men at a brisk canter down the road which the coach had actually taken; there were a few scattered houses on the way but there was no means of approach for a carriage across the fields which separated them from the road, and at one inn where he stopped, a thorough search revealed no trace of the escaped prisoner or her rescuers. It was a very dark night, and the captain cursed as he rode; it was impossible to see wheel tracks without stopping and examining the road on foot, and this meant a further loss of time. If he was right, and he had great confidence in his own judgment, then the quarry were speeding for the coast as fast as they could go, there to disappear in any one of a dozen little ports until a ship could take them out of France. He was very anxious to catch the man who had killed the governor; it would advance his own promotion along with that of his uncle, and he was a very ambitious young man.

At a bend in the road he saw what Paul de Mallot had seen two hours before; the farmhouse standing back behind its gates at the end of a rough track, and a single light burning in the upper window.

‘Draw in!' he shouted, and the troop pulled up. ‘Examine the ground here for wheel marks.'

One of his men dismounted, and peered at the serrated path, which was dry and pitted with holes. Mud would have told him immediately if anything had turned in there, but not a drop of rain had fallen all day.

‘I can't see anything, Captain. There are ridges and marks everywhere.…' He walked a distance farther on and came to the spot where the coach had almost overturned. ‘There's a big rut here, sir, but it could have been made a week ago!'

‘Could a coach come up here, eh?' the captain asked. He had ridden up behind the soldier.

‘Possibly, sir. I wouldn't like to try it.'

‘All the same,' the captain said, ‘I think we'll pay the place a visit. Follow on!'

A few moment later there was a loud knocking on the door of the house and the dogs began to bark furiously for the second time that night. The captain had to knock again, harder still, and shout before someone shuffled up to the door and opened it a crack.

‘Who's there …? Go away or I'll shoot!'

‘Open in the King's name!'

The farmer stood in the doorway, his old fowling piece cocked in his arm, the house dog snarling beside him. He was in nightgown and nightcap, and he grumbled sleepily as he stepped aside to let the officer come in.

‘What's the matter … what the devil's going on! It's past four in the morning – I've only another hour to sleep!'

‘We're looking for an escaped prisoner,' the captain explained. ‘A woman and a man, perhaps more than one man. The woman is pregnant. Have you seen them?'

‘Ach,' the old man said. ‘How would I see them at this hour – the whole household is in bed!'

‘Did a coach pass, do you know, or stop here for anything?' The captain watched him closely. His senior trooper moved nearer the old man and the dog gave a low, fierce growl of warning.

‘No coach has been here,' the old man said sullenly. ‘I've told you, we've seen and heard nothing!'

‘In that case,' the captain said briskly, ‘you won't object to a search. Sergeant, take ten men outside and look in the barns; you, Grissot, take another five and begin looking through the house. I, sir,' he added, ‘will accept a glass of wine from you. Then I will go upstairs and have a look round for myself. For your own sake, I hope you've been telling me the truth!'

The sergeant and his ten men began their tour of the barns and outhouses; there was only one lantern available and that gave a poor light. In the smaller buildings there was nothing but farm implements, and stores of grain; in the big open barn near the house there was a mountain of hay and two guard dogs on chains which leaped at the searchers, snarling and snapping. They gave a quick look into the stables to make sure that no one was hiding in the stalls with the horses. There was not a sign of anything; they came back and took up positions in the courtyard, yawning and cursing, because they would have to ride on.