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

and applauding, made their way back to the shops and hovels inthe poverty-stricken faubourgs St. Antoine and St. Marcel from wherethey would crawl out again on jhe morrow, thirsty for more blood.

It was still an hour after the spectacle had ceased, however, beforethe cart with its five sans-culottes managed to reach Les Halles wherethe presence of one more cart would pass unremarked. Many of

thepeasantry from the surrounding countryside poured into Paris these daysto witness the executions, sleeping in the streets or, if they werelucky enough to possess one, in carts loaded with straw as Danielle andthe others planned to do themselves.

Danny's flight had been inspired first and foremost by the knowledgethat she could not stand to see again the sights in Place de laRevolution that still haunted her dreams. Her jump from the cart hadbeen purely instinctive but once lost in the crowds she decided to puther freedom to good use. St. Estephe's previous lodging had been in atall narrow house near the magnificent medieval edifice of Notre Dame.It would be as well to discover if he was still to be found there. Witha stroke of luck, Danny found the concierge sitting in the courtyardwith a flask of wine, taking the mild evening air. She was a slovenly,sour-faced woman who appeared to take her duties lightly, but she didnot refuse the dirty urchin a glass of water, particularly in exchangefor a lively description of the day's executions—a description Dannydrew from memory and embellished lavishly. She encouraged the woman inher grumbles about her tenants—coming and going at all hours, quiteprepared to wake her up if the gates were locked; as if she hadn't gotenough to do keeping the stairs clean with the pains in her joints!

Danielle examined the swollen knees and ankles with much sympathy andmentioned some remedy that her grandmother had used. The conciergetutted and began a long description of everything she had tried and waskind enough to remark how unusual it was these days to find youngpeople, particularly lads, prepared to listen to an old woman.Encouraged, Danielle broached the subject of the tenants again. Itproduced another diatribe but the names came out and Citoyen St.Estephe's was one of them. The woman coughed and spat and imparted theinformation that that

citoyen

had some strange habits—the noises sheheard sometimes coming from his apartment directly above her own . . .Then she recollected herself hastily. The

citoyen

, of course, was anexcellent man, a member of the tribunal and a good friend of theCitoyen Robespierre. He worked tirelessly for the republic, ridding theland of the aristos, and Citoyenne Gerard meant no criticism.

Danny made the appropriate responses, praising the work of the tribunaland damning the aristos in rich language that drew an appreciativechuckle from her companion. The sun was very low in the sky now andDanny became fully conscious for the first time of the dangerousposition she was in—sitting in the lion's den! Her disguise would notfool St. Estephe for one minute, he was far too accustomed to it. Witha hasty excuse, she darted from the courtyard just as St. Estepherounded the corner of the street, deep

in conversation with anotherman. Danny darted into a doorway, her heart pounding, the sweat of fearmisting her brow. Had he seen her? She would know soon enough—there wasnowhere to run to. The door at her back was closed and she cowered inthe narrow space as the loathsome sound of that remembered voice camecloser and her skin felt as if an army of slugs undulated beneath herclothes, leaving a sticky trail in their wake.

But the voice faded. She kept to her hiding place for anotherpetrifying five minutes before peeping around. There was no sign of St.Estephe or of his companion so presumably they had gone into thecourtyard. She slipped from her hiding place and walked down the alley,hands in her pockets, whistling the "QaIra" as she kicked negligentlyat stones and garbage littering the street. If she ran, she would drawinstant notice, but as it was,she was just another Parisian street urchin with an empty belly andpockets to let.

Danielle, at this point, was blissfully unaware that she stood in moredanger from her husband than from St. Estephe. Justin was frantic andnothing his companions could say did anything to alleviate his fear orhis fury. In fact, the more often they told him that they had grownaccustomed to his wife's sudden disappearances, the more livid hebecame. The sights, sounds, and smells of this city disgusted him morethan anything he had previously experienced and it was only now, herealized dimly, that he was experiencing the full emotional impact ofthe horrific risks Danielle had taken in those months of his sojourn inRussia.

Westmore spotted herfirst, wriggling like an eel through the crowdtoward them. As usual, she was chattering nonstop, tossing off thelight badinage that was perhaps the most effective part of herdisguise. He nudged Jules and the four of them melted discreetly intothe throng. Whatever was about to happen between husband and wifeneeded no witnesses.

"Where are the others?" Danielle appeared breathlessly at the cart. "Ihave made some most interesting discov—" She gulped at the sight ofLinton's face and her heart plummeted to a resting place somewhere inthe region of her toes. "Wh . . . what is the matter?"

For answer, he seized her upper arms, slamming her backward against thecart where he held her, imprisoned by his body. "You

dare

to ask whatis the matter?"

Danielle stared into those eyes, burning like red hot pokers, and asshe struggled for words her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.

"If you ever ever run off like that again, Danielle, you had better notcome back, because, so help me,

I will ensure that you regret the daythat you were born!" His fingers squeezed her arms as the words camewith slow fierce emphasis. "Do you understand me?"

"I am sorry, I didn't realize you would be so frightened." Danielle,knowing her husband as she did, had no difficulty understanding thereason