'Carriages are at a premium. I do not think the Embassy will have enough transport to evacuate itself if thee emergency should come to that. All my closest friends they are in a panic today, and I do not think I can rely on any one of them to lend anything on wheels! But I have a carriage. I shall be leaving tomorrow - not later than tomorrow evening. At a pinch it can convey six. I can leave my personal maid behind, and then there will be room for you all! Ross is a big man but Henry is a small one.'
Demelza's troubled eyes considered her friend. 'That is some kind. I think Ross will be only too happy to -- to leave Paris. I shall because of my children. 'Twill depend on what he says, but thank you, Jodie, if you really think you can take five of us.'
'It will be better and safer for us all,' said Jodie. They returned to the rue de la Ville l'Eveque, but Ross was not home, nor did he come back all that rainy day. The wind was gusting among the tall narrow houses and the torn clouds seemed to clutch at the chimney pots. Although companioned by her two younger children and the sturdy Mrs Kemp, and waited on by the two French servants, Demelza had never felt so much alone. In almost all the crises in which she had found herself in her life she had discovered some native commonsense to help her make choices, to arrive at decisions; and usually, it seemed, what she had done had worked out well enough in the end. Here in a strange city, whose language she was only groping to speak, a city in the grip of a revolutionary change, surrounded by people whom she trusted and distrusted in equal parts, bereft of her husband on whom during this visit she had relied for all guidance, she was lost. For once her children, kept in by the rain and at a loose end to entertain themselves, irritated and vexed her. She blamed herself, but knew that under the irritation with them was an irritation, laced with worry, with Ross. She blamed him for leaving her here like this. The world was going topsy-turvy: the King - King Louis Stanislav Xavier the Eighteenth, the monarch of all France - was about to be deposed, it seemed, and the usurper, adventurer, supreme soldier and traditional nightmare enemy of England was driving up from the south to take his place. Almost all her adult life - or at least for the last twenty years of it - Napoleon Bonaparte had been the one menacing enemy. For years England had lived under threat of an invasion from him. Nelson had died defeating him. So had Geoffrey Charles's idol, Sir John Moore. So had thousands and thousands of other ordinary decent Englishmen, fighting on the sea or in Holland or Spain or in India or Egypt or Italy or the West Indies, always, always fighting this great but wicked Frenchman. And last year he had been finally, ultimately vanquished, and all the world had rejoiced. And the great shadow had lifted off their lives. And no longer could nursemaids frighten their children into obedience by threatening that Boney would get them. And it did not matter that Jeremy was still in the army, for once the peace was signed with America there was no one else to fight. Now this. And he would be here within a week. And somewhere - more or less in his path -- Ross was risking his life by merely being an observer. Why did he? What was he doing, standing in the way of an approaching army? What good would it do the Government or this mission they had sent him on if he should end up as another dead body trampled into the mud? Why did he not think more about his wife and children? Where was he? It was Saturday now and he had left on Thursday. She left the flat, putting on a purple cloak with a heavy hood and walked through the rain to the Embassy.
Charles Bagot saw her first. 'My dear Lady Poldark, come in. Come in and dry yourself. A large contingent of the King's Bodyguard has just left the Palace for Melun under the Due de Luxembourg. Colonel de la Blache is with it. This should raise the army protecting Melun to over twenty thousand men. There will be a battle there. I think your husband is likely to be home at any time now. When he comes I urge you all to leave. We are here simply as a skeleton staff - Lord Fitzroy Somerset, myself, Mr McKenzie and two secretaries. Fortunately the Duchess got away in good time.'
Demelza said: 'Is there any way we can leave, Mr Bagot?'
Bagot frowned and bit at his finger. 'It's unfortunately impossible for us to provide transport. The two carriages that we had have both gone. Perhaps--'
'Mile de la Blache has offered us room in her coach. She is leaving tomorrow.'
His face cleared. 'Then take it by all means. She is, of course, very much a Bourbon, and I think should not be here if power changes hands. But if she leaves tomorrow she will be safe - and you should be safe with her.'
'Provided my husband returns in time.'
'Oh, I would think that a certainty! He can only have been delayed by the confusion in the countryside which must result from a situation like this. But even if he were not to come ...'
'What then?'
You should still go. I think he would wish you to. After all he is a distinguished man and a soldier and well used to looking after himself. I think you were better out of Paris, if not for your own sake, Lady Poldark, then for the sake of your children.'
Bella had been out in the rain yesterday with Mrs Kemp and had succeeded in finding a shop where they sold music. She had bought a book of simple songs but of course had no musical instrument to play them on, nor could she read music well enough to pitch the correct notes. So Demelza found herself trying to sing the simple tunes for her daughter so that she could learn them. It wasn't easy, for Demelza was no expert, and it needed Mrs Kemp to tell her when she went off the note. In the end Bella memorized three, and this contented her for the time being. It was a change from the 'Marseillaise', which she had rather done to death. One, which was probably based on some fable, ran:
Autre Fois le Rat de ville Invita le Rat des champs D 'une Facon Fort civile A des reliefs d'Ortolans.
Demelza never thought of that time without thinking of the simple tune and the words - there were other verses but she forgot them -- and, later on, if Bella even began to hum it she was sharply told to stop. Normally on the Sundays when they were in Paris they went to church, in the chapel in the Tuileries, but of course today that was out of the question. Under no circumstances could she leave the rue de la Ville l'Eveque until Ross arrived.
Often in her life she had considered herself the luckiest of women - even more so recently, in their last few days in London, the first two weeks in France. Now she wondered if in one respect she was not among the unluckiest. Over and over again in their life he had gone away - not just to London which did not so much matter - but on some diplomatic or semi-secret mission abroad, and usually there had been no letters, or if one were received it was two weeks out of date. And then at any given moment of the night or day she had not known whether he was dead - on some barren hillside, or sick in a foreign hospital, or enjoying supper with some beautiful girl in Portugal, or being tossed in a Biscay gale ... or just coming over the moors twenty minutes from home; and in half an hour would be drawing off his boots and smiling at her and all would be well again. Other women no doubt suffered the same sort of uncertainty, the same sort of deprivation. But perhaps, she thought, other women were able to grow a protective shell as the years went by. Or else they just did not care as much. The Duchess of Wellington must have had an anxious life with the Duke, but although Demelza had never seen them together, from what she heard their lives had in no way resembled hers and Ross's. Gaston Rougiet was known for his Bonapartist sympathies. What would his attitude be towards this intrusive Englishman? There had been warm smiles and impulsive invitations and visits to the opera - Demelza still remembered the brigadier's admiring glances, his extreme courtesy towards her, his halting attempts to be complimentary to her in a language of which he could only speak a few words. And Mme Rougiet had been almost equally charming. But in the present crisis? Vive I'Empereur!
'Autre Fois le Rat de ville,' sang Bella, 'Invita le Rat des champs'
Was Ross or Rougiet the town or the country rat? And where was the ominous Duke of Otranto and his creature Tallien? What would she do if they called on her at her apartment today? At last now there were differences in the streets outside. Normally they hummed with life on a Sunday. Today, though it had stopped raining, nothing stirred. The pools and puddles reflected only hurrying clouds and patches of blue sky, winking, basilisk, cold, lizard-like. Paris was waiting.
Demelza let the curtain fall and moved away from the window, stiff with standing and watching for the man who did not come. She made a halfhearted attempt to play with Henry, who had been clutching at her skirts half an hour ago but had finally abandoned her in disgust. She had asked Mrs Kemp to begin packing - strange, how in so short a time they had already accumulated so many things. There were the clothes she had bought, and the shoes; and skirts and cloaks for Bella; and toys for Harry and Ross's new suit. At any moment a tired horse would come clopping over the cobbles and Ross would be in the room saying: 'I have a carriage, pack what you can, we leave at four.' Or: 'No, there is no reason to panic: we shall sit it out here. Dwight and Caroline will probably be a couple of weeks late, that's all.'
The bell rang. Demelza flew to the window: no horse. Etienne opened the door. Jodie. She had come in her little carriage but had left it round the corner.
She threw off her hat and sank into a chair. Her dyed auburn hair was ruffled and looked as if it had not been brushed today. But even in distress she was an elegant woman.
'Ross?'
'Not yet.'
'No news? Of course there will be no news until he turns up ... Demelza, things go worse. I have been round to some of my friends - they all leave: some with just enough to last them three days, certain that by then the crisis will be past and they can return. Others are taking whatever they can, anticipating a new exile. But some have no transport or are too feeble to remove again - they must remain here and depend on the tyrant's mercy. The King swears he will stay to the end, but I do not know. They found Fouche yesterday and tried to arrest him.'
Tried to?'
'He was recognized in the street not far from his house. Two of the men I used to employ have been watching the district. They send a messenger to the King, who orders his arrest. He is stopped in the street by the police but he insists that a man of his importance must be formally charged in his own house. This they proceeded to do, whereupon he raises a host of technical objections, and while they are arguing these a servant faints, by design. With attention briefly diverted, the good Duke glides inside a moving panel, and when they break it down they find he has gone down a ladder into the garden, climbed a wall and is gone.'
'So what is to happen now?'
'... Will you do something for me, Demelza?'
'Of course.'
Mile de la Blache smiled. 'My dear, you are too generous with your promises. First hear what it is. When I leave this evening it will be in a coach. But it is not a recognizable coach, and it will be driven by Benoir, who has been my man for ten years and is incorruptible. I will like it to appear to be your coach and for me to travel as your companion, as Mme Ettmayer. I do not know how far pickets will be out to arrest such people as myself, but it is likely there will be some. As an Englishwoman travelling with her family - or as an Englishman if Ross returns - you will not be molested. But the de la Blaches are known for their sympathies. And with my record in Paris, I am a special target.'
Demelza was at the window again. 'To look at the Duke of Otranto you would not think he could be so active as that.'
'He is fifty-two. Self-preservation is a vital spur.'
Demelza said: 'I will leave with you as you suggest. Mr Bagot said at the Embassy that the safety of my children must be the first consideration. And that's true ... Perhaps even yet Ross will come.'
Jodie said: 'Thank you. I pray he will. Have you paid your servants?'
'No. I do not have much French money - and only a few guineas in English.'
'I'll pay them now. Money is no obstacle. Could I ask you to tell them you are leaving this evening and tell them to go home? I will come for you but I would prefer they did not see me leave with you.'
'Very well.'
'We shall not go until dark. I will send word. I am waiting to hear from Henri.'
The door opened and Bella burst in, holding Henry's hand.
'Has Papa not come yet? Bonne apres-midi, ma'mselle. Comment alkzvous.'
'Bella,' Demelza said, 'we are leaving Paris this evening. I have told you of the crisis. We will be safer now in England. We are just waiting for Papa.'
'Papa,' said Henry. 'Papa not come yet? No Papa yet? Why is he so long?'
'I wish I knew, my lover,' said his mother. She looked at the gilt clock wagging its admonishing finger on the wall.
'It is dark by seven. I want to delay just as long as possible in case he comes.'
'I will send the word. But - alas - bring only a small bag - as I shall - just your most valued things. What is left should be safe here - though I do not know the mood that will prevail. Perhaps you could leave some things at the Embassy
Demelza nodded. 'I'll do that as soon as you go ... Though it is not important - clothes and things - they are not important'
'One other point, my dear.' Jodie got up. 'If I may ask this of you. If Ross should not turn up, do not leave a note for him telling him what you have done. Just put: Please go to the Embassy. Then leave your note of explanation there. It will be safer if no one here could pick it up.'
II
At eight Demelza received the note from Jodie. 'I have just come from the Palace. Bonaparte is forty miles from Paris. I will call for you at 9.30. Give the children a good meal before they leave and make them wear their warmest clothes. Eat something yourself if you can, for it may be a long night. Do not forget that I am your companion, not your friend; it is your coach. I trust Ross is with you by now. Ministers are packing up and preparing to leave, but as yet the King remains adamant. When we arrive I will not come up myself but will send Benoir. Be ready if you can.'
Demelza had been to the Embassy again and spoken with Fitzroy Somerset. The distinguished young soldier looked ill at ease. Known for his liking for hunting and shooting and good food and pretty women - and the stark choices of battle - he gave the impression of being tired of diplomacy and trying to think for the British nationals still left in Paris - several hundred only out of the twenty-one thousand who had been here at the beginning of the month.
'Of course I will give your message to Ross personally. Try not to worry about him; I have a great respect for his judgement and skill and I'm convinced that you yourself are being wise and prudent to leave while you can.' He offered her a glass of wine, which she reluctantly accepted.
'What a man!'
'Please?'
'I mean our enemy - Napoleon Bonaparte. One dislikes and detests so much of what the man stands for, but indeed he works miracles. He has been in France only nineteen days and has travelled a distance which would take an ordinary traveller five weeks. They tell me he rides ahead of his troops in a carriage now - well ahead of them and arrives in villages with scarcely more than a half-dozen for escort, and everyone welcomes him. Not a shot has been fired, not a spot of blood spilled, and he has reached Fontainebleau! By merely arriving he has electrified the nation, and they worship him.'
'And the King?' said Demelza.
'Louis has only meant well. His is the better case. But Corporal Violet has returned, and there is no stopping him.' Fitzroy Somerset put down his glass and passed a finger over his bottom lip. 'Unless we stop him.'
'That - that will mean war.'
'Let us hope not, but...' He smiled suddenly as if the prospect of action were more welcome to him than the vacillations of diplomacy. 'We can only see. Be sure Ross will get your message ..."
She had written:
Sunday evening Dearest Ross, I am still hoping and praying that you'll not ever have to read this letter, as you will have turned up before I have to go; but in case you do not then this is to say I have been pressed to leave Paris by everyone - by Jodie and Henri, by Fitzroy Somerset and Charles Bagot, by the Daulnay sisters and by Captain Bernard - and I am going for the sake of the children. I have been some worried these last days when you did not return, but if it wasn't for Bella and Henry I would stay on and on and never go, wishing only to be near you and know you were safe.
But Jodie has offered us a lift in her coach and I have accepted, so if all goes well, as I pray it will, we shall be in Calais by Wednesday and safely in England sometime on Thursday. If I hear nothing from you before, I shall go to London and wait news of you there. Jodie says she will lend me money if I need it, but if need be I shall not be afraid to appeal to Lord Liverpool for help. I have paid off Meurice and Etienne and so I think there are no serious debts in Paris. I have left a few things at the British Embassy that we could not bear home - perhaps someday we shall be able to retrieve them. But have no fear for us. Only take care for yourself. We shall wait in London for you. Your loving Demelza
In the flat when she returned she left a large printed notice and tacked it on their bedroom door: Please go to Embassy. AU information there.
Ill
It was twenty minutes to ten when the coach arrived. There were too many horses clopping for it possibly to be Ross. Benoir was a stockily built middle-aged man with tight cropped hair and the fanatical black eyes of a Breton. Demelza had seen him about Jodie's house, and he smiled and took the one case they had packed and offered Harry his hand to go down the stairs. Well-fed and thickly clothed, the two children did not seem to mind the new adventure, once they had been reassured that Papa was safe and would soon be following. The coach was a large black berlin, with two postilions as well as the driver to command the four horses. In spite of its size there would not be much room inside, and Demelza was surprised when she climbed in to find a small elderly tight-faced man sitting beside Jodie.
'This is Sieur Menieres,' said Jodie. 'It was necessary we thought it necessary - the Palace thought it necessary that he should leave tonight. Unfortunately he speaks no
English so I can only translate his apologies for the inconvenience.'
M Menieres broke into a flood of quietly spoken French. He carried in his lap a small black deed box with a heavy padlock. He bowed as well as he could to Demelza and Demelza smiled back, wondering how they could have accommodated her tall bony husband in this confined space.
'We are lucky to have this transport,'Jodie whispered to her. 'The government have put all horses in requisition. We should be out of Paris before midnight. Mme Kemp, are you comfortable? Please, there is more room than this. Bella, come and sit by me and sing to me. It will be perhaps quite a long night. Are you cold, my dear?'
Demelza had shuddered. 'No, not cold.' She held on to her arms inside her cloak to stop the shivering. The coach creaked into motion, moving slowly out of their street, past the great pillared temple and then along the treed boulevards where Mrs Kemp had so regularly walked the children; then they turned north up the rue du Faubourg Poissonniere towards the St Denis Gate. There was little street lighting at the best of times - comparing unfavourably with London. Specks of cold rain in the wind were falling from full-bellied clouds. But by this route they avoided most of the narrow streets and tangled alleys of the old town.
'The King is leaving after all,' said Jodie, breaking the silence that had fallen inside the coach. 'He must go within the next few hours if he wishes to escape. He will have with him four companies of bodyguards. They will be commanded by the Prince de Poix. I do not know yet whether Henri has been instructed to go or to stay.'
'Is Papa really safe?' asked IsabellaRose. 'Have you heard from him? Really heard from him?'
'No, my lover. We do not know.'
"Then I cannot sing if he is in danger.'
IV
Once out of the city the land was drenched in darkness. The berlin with its two carriage lamps outside and its one small lantern within seemed an oasis of civilization and luxury in a barren and alien land. They lurched and jolted over the cobbled road and through dark empty villages at a pace not much faster than a walk.