Part 31 (1/2)
”Yes. But he is not a pretty sight.”
”Poor Henri.” She pushed past Francoise, her satin skirts rustling. They heard the gasp.
Francoise looked back at Jean. ”Help me get him into the carriage.”
”Should we wait for night?”
”Croute knows what the sun does to him. She'll expect us to wait. We must move now.”
Madame Vercheroux came back out onto the porch of the church. Her face was white. She pressed her hand to her mouth.
”Even if he lives ... the scars ... and he was so beautiful.”
Francoise cleared her throat. She couldn't tell Madame that he wouldn't scar. ”We will need money to get to Le Havre, not only for the journey, but there may be bribes ... Henri can't help us ...”
Madame Vercheroux waved a hand dismissively. ”I never travel with less than five thousand francs. I brought some clothes for you and for Henri as well as mine.” She gestured to the trunks strapped to the carriage.
”You've been to the house?”
”Of course not. The place has been ransacked. Everything stolen or destroyed.” She shook her head, sighing. ”But what I have should fit him well enough, and I contrived for you.”
Madame Vercheroux had another lover, even though she still loved Henri.
Figures. Frankie sounded disgusted.
Francoise took a breath. ”Jean, take the horse and cart out where someone can find them. They will not lack an owner long.”
In moments they were away. The crowd outside the carriage shouted and jostled against it. It was only a matter of time until they grabbed the doors, pulled them out, and tore them apart. Henri lay on the floor at their feet covered with a traveling rug. Madame Vercheroux and Francoise had spread their skirts out wide to conceal him. Francoise peeked through the drawn blinds, feeling helpless. Jean was apparently trying to make his way toward the main road to Versailles. That was good. They were tracing the river on the Rue de Grenelle, through the mansions of the Faubourg St. Germain. The crowds must be looting the luxurious houses, empty or not. She leaned out. Jean struggled with the horses as people pushed and shoved around them.
”Into a side street,” she shouted. ”I'm trying, mademoiselle,” he yelled back.
”Beasts!” a woman shrieked over the roar of the crowd. Ahead, the mob surged up the steps of a particularly beautiful house from the last century and through the doors of carved wood. The sound of breaking gla.s.s was echoed again and again as paving stones found windows. A woman on the stairs looked on, her hands to her face in horror. ”Traitors!”
It was Madame Croute.
Croute lived in the Faubourg? That was the refuge of the last remnants of the aristocracy. And the crowd knew it. The roar of outrage from the ragged men and women in their ill-fitted clothes made of coa.r.s.e cloth and red revolutionary caps felt like the growl of an animal.
A heavy rococo cabinet sailed out of an upstairs window and the crowd scurried to avoid its impact. Madame Croute shrieked in protest, but fear bloomed in her face. Now she faced the rage of the mob instead of directed it. As the crowd surged around her and into the house, Jean urged the horse forward. People converged on the house from all directions with angry shouts. The first blow to Madame Croute was landed by a brawny man with sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Fragments of the crowd's protests wove themselves into a litany of betrayal, their rage focused on the woman who only seemed to share their ideals.
Francoise sat back as the carriage pulled away, unable to watch a crowd turn into a killing beast for a second time, even if she had no sympathy for its victim.
Francoise sat with Henri's head in her lap in the rocking carriage. Across from her, Madame Vercheroux dozed. The blinds were pulled against the late afternoon sun. It had taken hours to get out of the city. They stopped, in spite of Francoise's protests, for a dinner at an inn, losing nearly two hours as Madame refreshed herself.
Now the sun was setting, was.h.i.+ng the countryside in a golden light.
The morphine must be wearing off. Henri rolled his head and groaned from time to time. How she hated that he had to be in pain before he could heal.
He's healing too slowly. After all he's been through, his Companion is exhausted.
Francoise knew what she meant. Henri needed blood. She swallowed around a lump in her throat as he opened his eyes. They clouded in pain. His breathing grew labored.
”How ... how are you?” she asked.
Now that's a stupid question if I ever heard one.
”You came back for me?” His voice was a hoa.r.s.e whisper. ”You shouldn't have taken the chance.” He glanced over at Madame Vercheroux.
”She came for you too. We're in her carriage on the way to Le Havre.”
He blinked against the pain and shook his head ever so slightly. ”The Maiden Voyage will have lifted anchor by the time you get there.”
She hadn't thought of that. Of course they would be away as soon as Jennings arrived with his charges. Jennings thought Henri was dead.
”I'm a liability. Leave me at Versailles. Book pa.s.sage on the first vessel crossing the Channel at Le Havre.”
Versailles. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. No one would think of looking for him there, whereas Robespierre would send straightaway to Le Havre. If he was still alive after she had run him down. Had she killed the little lawyer? Is that what killing felt like?
I don't feel guilty at all about that one.
No. Francoise wasn't even sure he was dead. She resolved not to feel guilty. It had been Robespierre or Henri. She'd choose Henri every time.
And I have unfinished business at Versailles, one way or another. Do it.
Francoise leaned forward, pulled open the window shade a hair. ”Jean! Jean, pull in at Versailles. The palace.”
”What? What?” Madame Vercheroux snorted, coming to herself.
”Jean will take you on to Le Havre. Henri needs time to recover.”
”Henri! Henri, you are alive.” Madame Vercheroux leaned forward. ”I cannot see you in this dark coach. Let me raise the window shades.”
”No!” Francoise and Henri said together.
”The light is what burned him so badly,” Francoise said. ”He has a ... condition.”
”I won't leave you like this,” Madame Vercheroux insisted.
But in the end she did. Henri gathered himself and said no captain would take on an injured man obviously running from the authorities. He promised to follow them to England. Francoise let him believe she 'd be going with Madame. It was easier than arguing. They bribed the old caretaker, Brendal, who remembered them from their previous visit, and he and Jean carried Henri up to the king's bedroom. They unloaded one of the trunks from the carriage. When he was tucked in Francoise went down to see Madame off.
”You stay with him?” Madame asked. She didn't seem surprised.
Francoise nodded. ”As long as he'll let me.”
”I told you not to give your heart.” Madame shook her head.
Double standard. She gave him hers.