Jane Feather - Charade by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

"Some forty miles from Paris and you have been asleep for six hours. Wemade good speed," Tony informed her. "Come and eat. Julian appears tohave an extraordinary skill when it comes to cooking rabbits and we hadno shortage of vegetables."

"How do you know how to cook rabbit, Jules?" She sniffed hungrily atthe laden bowl Tony handed her as she joined them. There had been atime when she hadn't cared for rabbit stew—a time when it had beenoffered her by a friendly innkeeper's wife and Justin had insisted thathis servant eat at his table .. .

"John of Danesbury," he responded with a chuckle. "I was something of afavorite of his in my youth, and while the man's a wizard with horseshe can match that skill when it comes to the snaring, skinning, andcooking of rabbit."

Danielle nodded without surprise and scraped the bowl clean. How theyhad'acquired cooking pot, bowls, and utensils seemed irrelevant. Shefailed to notice the satisfied exchange of nods amongst her companionswhen she finally sighed with repletion and stretched out on the grass,smiling in contented relaxation.

"Etlafamille?"

she asked, dreamilystaring into the night sky. "Are they at ease ... in as far as they canbe?"

"The countess is a sensible woman." Tony dropped his voice in deferenceto the sleeping bodies. "She is anxious for her husband's safety butsees her principal responsibility in her children."

Danielle said nothing. She too feared for her husband but she had lefther child—their child—certainly in no physical danger but with thepossibility of being orphaned. But how could she have done otherwise?She was not like the Comtesse de St.Vire—wife and mother to the exclusion of all else. If those seeds hadever been sown in her, they had never been watered, nurtured tomaturity. And so she stood alone, juggling priorities, embracing risks,fighting down the panic when she thought of what she was doing and theeffect it could have upon her son and her husband.

Chapter 21

"Eh, Nicky,

tu seras tranquiile,n'est-cepas? Maman aviendra abientot."

Danielle stood on the dock at Mervanwey holding herson asshe prepared to go aboard

Dream Girl

and make the second foray intoenemy territory. She was entering her native land now as spy andenemy—a subversive against a regime as tyrannical as the one that heldsway under Louis XVI. She cared for this one as little as she had caredfor the former but she was no longer too ignorant or too young to doher part for the victims of tyranny. It mattered not that today'svictims were yesterday's oppressors. While there was suffering shewould do what she must.

An imperative shout came from Jake and she handed the child to Lavinia."With good fortune,

Grandmere,

Justin will return in my absence. Weshall be home before the beginning of September."

The Countess of March took her great-grandson and kissed hergranddaughter. There was nothing to be gained by further protestationsand she could pray only for the early return of Danielle's husband andthe safe passage of the five who now stood on the deck of the yachtwaving good-bye as she sailed out of the sheltered harbor and made forthe open sea.

This time when they made landfall on the Brittany coast it was an easymatter to retrieve both horses and carts. They found also a small partyof would-be emigres who had been contacted by the Comte de St. Vire ontheir country estates and had managed to make their own way to thisremote coastal corner of France. The laconic Bretons had received themwith fewquestions and the dinghy, in response to a flashing light from thecliff top, returned to pick up the group and take them to safety inCornwall.

The journey into Paris was again accomplished without difficulty andonce they were ensconced in Les Halles, Danny set off to mingle withthe crowds and learn what she could. Julian and Westmore went in searchof St. Estephe and Tony to the house of St. Vire.

There was even more excitement in the streets, Danielle noticed as sheslipped through the throng, ears open for the news on every tongue. Allfive of them now wore the uniform of the sans-culottes—wooden pattens,dirty shirts and cut-off britches—and were indistinguishable from theirfellows.

That evening she slipped unnoticed into an

epicerie

in the FaubourgSt. Honore. A cask of wine had been broached and she took her sharewith the rest. It was the fateful night of August 9, the night when theNational Assembly finally fell into the hands of the insurrectionistrepublicans. She listened as the excitement grew to fever pitch asbreathless messengers brought the news, minute by minute, from theAssembly into the streets. Danny sat on an upturned barrel, kicking herheels nonchalantly until the cry went up:

"Au Tuileries, citayens."

She joined the group, caught up in the tidal swell of hysteria. Shesang the "Qa Ira" with thebest as they marched on the palace, thecrowds swelling to thousands, pouring through the streets in a torrentof humanity intent only on one thing—the removal of the king from theroyalist garrison of his palace and into the hands of the sovereignpeople.

While the king and his family sought shelter in the parliament housethe mob slaughtered his garrison of Swiss Guard who were instructed toolate to lay down their arms. Danielle, sick to her stomach, movedamongst the assassins, stepped over the bodies being stripped by eagerhands, watched as the emblems

of royalty were torn down, and generallybehaved as if she was one of them until the tumult died down. Then shewas able to slip away through the dark streets where the cries of themob's triumph faded in the distance and she reached the walls of St.Vire's house. The postern gate stood unguarded—an ominous sign, butafter what she had seen this night itwas not surprising. Their carts, piled high with straw, stood in thedeserted courtyard and she nodded in satisfaction.

"We must leave here immediately," she said to the group waiting,grave-faced and talking in subdued whispers in the salon. "There is notime to waste. We must mingle with