“How about you, looking ten feet wide in that padded jacket, with those two bandages on your face, and speaking broken French. Some disguise will be necessary,” she said, setting, her face in a pose of concentration.
“The best disguise would be for you to become a boy again, and change your hair color,” he suggested. “Could we buy some hair dye and boy’s clothing, I wonder? You kept François’ card.”
“It can’t be done before morning, and you, Monsieur Philippe Ferrier, will become again the
sans-culotte,
slumping your big shoulders forward, with your hair hanging over your eyes, to hide at least one bandage.
Mon
Dieu,
it will be dangerous, and without Henri to be our
porte parole
too—to speak and manage for us. It is not fair of me to ask you to do it.”
“I have already promised Lady Harlock to look after you.”
“You said you didn’t tell her I am here!”
“I didn’t tell her, but I have received very specific instructions that you are under my protection.”
“That Mama, she never stops! Already she is trying to make a match of it. I might as well warn you, Degan, that is her scheme.”
“I warn
you,
it is mine as well.”
Minou looked at his tired, tender face, and felt very close to tears. “Corpses, especially without their heads, make very inferior brides and bridegrooms,” she said. “We shall speak of this another time.”
“You may be very sure we will. Now, what is to be done tonight? A place to lay our heads. Some food, if you feel like it, and tomorrow we get into our new roles and get busy. We’ll walk along until we come to a small hotel, and risk taking a room. How are we fixed for money? I gave all mine to your mother.”
“I haven’t much. Henri had most of it. That was poorly done of us, not to split it up evenly in three. And I could eat something by now too. This is no time to become weak with hunger, when we have so much to do. Come, we go.” She arose, straightened her shoulders and preceded him out the door.
They decided to put some distance between this stop and their new hotel, just in case it was discovered they had been here. They walked a mile, finally taking a chamber at the edge of the city, in an insignificant little
maison
that catered to countryfolk in town for a night. Degan, the model of propriety, hired only one room, though their slim funds could have afforded two. He didn’t think Sally was fit to be left alone, and was resigned to the floor for one night. The food proved inedible.
They slept in their clothing, Minou on the bed, Degan in a corner with a blanket and pillow. He rather thought he would have nightmares from his companion to contend with, but there were none. Each lay awake, thinking the other slept, and trying not to toss and turn to the point of rousing the other. Minou later heard long-drawn breaths, and thought Degan had dozed off. She felt utterly miserable, frightened and lonely.
The dark silence gave rise to grim thoughts. They would never free Henri. They would get caught; Édouard would die and Mama be sent off to prison. No bracing decision to die like a lady came to encourage her. She would die like a sniveling, sobbing child. Suddenly she was crying quietly into her pillow, to hide it from Degan, who needed his sleep.
Degan, tired as he was, was far from sleep. He too had his waking nightmares, his visions of being recognized and hauled before the Tribunal. His inadequacy in the language made him a poor support to Minou and her family at this time. All those wasted years he could have learned French better, but thought it pointless as he had no desire to go to France. He heard the soft sobs, and was immediately on his feet, going to her. “Minou—darling, what is it?” he asked, sitting on the side of the bed, groping in the darkness to find her.
She sat up suddenly. “Did I awaken you? I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of it.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, putting a hand on her head, to run his fingers through her hair slowly, in a soothing way. “Why do you cry? Is it for Henry?”
He felt the head shake in a negative. “No, I am too selfish. I cry for myself mostly. I am frightened, Degan.”
“So am I,” he answered, unashamed. “It’s only natural to be frightened. A man would have to be a dumb brute not to be afraid at such a time, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try to save them. We must be careful, that’s all.”
He felt a warm hand grasping his fingers in a tight hold. “You are so calm, Degan. Papa was the same, but he was not so brave as you. Never once did he offer to come after Mama himself—and you, to whom she is so much less, came without being asked.”
“I didn’t do it for your mother. You know why I came. Minou, I must know about Henry and you. How are things between you two?”
“It is time to tell. Tomorrow might be too late, and I want you to know. He is not my lover, if that’s what you thought. Well, I know you did, and I let you think it on purpose. I am without conscience. Terrible. He is my brother—half brother. He is Mama’s son; that is why he insisted on coming to save her.”
In all his conjectures, this thought had never once occurred to Degan, yet when she said the words, it explained everything. The closeness between them, the affection stronger than would exist between cousins, even cousins who had shared a roof for a few years. It explained too John’s dislike of Henry, and Mérigot’s determination to come to Paris, whatever the risks. “He is illegitimate, I take it?” he asked, without a hint of censure in his tone, though he was a little shocked.
“No! How could you think it!” she asked, offended. “He would not be the comte de Virais if that were the case. Mama was married before she married my father. Her husband died in a hunting accident when Henri was a year old, and Mama was ill with grief. The husband’s family, very influential, took Henri, and Mama went home to Augé’s to recuperate. She was still very young, of course, and pretty. While she was there, Papa came along and fell madly in love with her.”
“I don’t see why John has this irrational dislike of Henry.”
“Ah, that is really Grandpère Augé’s fault. He made the arrangements with my father, told him nothing about the other marriage at first, and of course nothing about Henri either. He wanted to see Mama well settled, and introduced her as Mademoiselle Augé. It was very foolish of him, and wrong, but Mama
did
tell father about Virais before the marriage. The night before, I think, when he had to see the papers. There
is
a great deal of paperwork for everything in France. But she didn’t tell him about Henri. She intended to, she said, but somehow she hadn’t the nerve, as he was so very upset about the first marriage.”
“He could have cried off if he had wanted to.”
“He could have, but the notices were all sent out and the cake baked and everything. He hadn’t the fortitude to do it, and of course he loved her too. She thought it wiser to tell him about Henri later. It is easy to put off the unpleasant, and she never told him at all. Then the old uncle who was taking care of Henri died, and when some relatives were going to England to visit Mama, they took Henri with them, thinking she would want him back. And she
did!
She loves Henri. I think she loves him better than me and Édouard. Maybe she loved Virais better than Papa. He was more handsome. In the picture she keeps, he looks much like Henri. Papa went into a thundering rage, called her such names our ears were blue. He was jealous nearly to death. He said she must choose between Henri and himself, and she chose Henri, because she felt guilty for having abandoned him for so long, and anyway she never will be dictated to. She thought Papa would send to Paris for us all to come back to England, but he didn’t. Many times he asked the rest of us back, but never Henri. So when things began to turn sour in France, the Virais, who has some guardianship powers over Henri, had him sent to England. Mama was sure that when my father saw Henri all grown up and so dashing, for he was eighteen then, he would like him, and have him to live at Berkeley Square. I knew it wouldn’t work. Papa was more jealous than ever, to see him look so like his father. He never acknowledged any connection with him at all.”
“He certainly never gave me a hint, and I was closer to him than most.”
“He treated him like dirt. It made Mama so mad she kept us all in France to get arrested. She is very stubborn too, that one. Henri sneaked back over to France once to try to save Grandpère Augé, and to get us to go to England, but he was recognized before he ever got to Paris, and escaped arrest only by beating up two
gardes
and stealing a horse, and I don’t know what. It was too dangerous for him to return, and no point in it. He has been doing everything to try to find out where we have been this last year, but it is very difficult to get word across the Channel. The minute he heard where Mama is, he was determined to come after her. From the first day I spoke to him, he was making preparations and plans. I made him promise to wait a week to see if Papa could arrange it peacefully, but he didn’t like even that long a wait. He is really very nice, Henri. I wish you could like him, Degan.”
“I
love
him,” Degan said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? It would have saved a lot of worry and bickering.”
“It is Mama’s and Papa’s secret. Father is so ashamed of it he doesn’t want it known that he was tricked. He thinks his relatives will all laugh at him. Mama told only Georgiana, the duchess. You were about his closest friend, and as
he
hadn’t told you, I could not think it right. We all decided to say nothing. It was the least we could do to repay him for that little stunt of Mama’s, which was not at all the thing, but I think Henri was wrong to think it would make you dislike
me.
It is not my fault. Truly it is not!”
She heard an incredulous little laugh. “You don’t know how delighted I am to hear the story. Here Henri has been trying to protect you from me, while I have been convinced he had designs on your fortune. And person.”
“You have something to be forgiven too,
mon ami!
How I wanted to scratch your eyes out in London when you suggested Henri was a fortune hunter.”
“I thought you were going to. I never met such a headstrong, outspoken, outrageous...” He stopped in midspeech. “What am I
saying?”
“Very bad things about me, I think,” she answered wearily. “All true. I am not at all the right kind of a girl for someone like you, my Degan.”
“You imply I am a stodgy stick-in-the-mud, but I take leave to tell you your mother has this very evening called me a
gallant,
not at all dull or proper. Besides, as you have just called me
your
Degan, I think that in your heart you must agree with her.”
“Did Mama say so? Ah then, it is settled. There is no point trying to outwit Mama. If she has settled on you for her son-in-law, you might as well accept your fate. We are as well as married.”
“Good. I wish we were married. It is all settled now except to seal it with a kiss.” He took her in his arms and kissed her long and passionately, forgetting their predicament, the coming danger, even the impropriety of their present situation, which would have loomed as large as the other evils a week ago. He was about ready to forget they weren’t actually churched yet too, but she accidentally reminded him of it.
“I feel so safe here with you,” she said, in a trusting voice, as she lay with her head against his shoulder, in greater peril than she had been in the hayricks.
“Try to get some sleep, darling,” he told her, mentally condemning himself as a lecher for his thoughts.
She curled up like a kitten. “Degan?” she said after a moment.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know your name.” Then she laughed at the absurdity of it.
“Fawthrop,” he said. “You recall Marion? She is my father’s sister.”
“I know that. Your first name, I mean.”
“I’m afraid to tell you. Like your mother, I’ll save it till we’ve been married ten years.”
“But what is it? It can’t be that bad.”
“Yes, it can. It is very bad.”
“I think I have heard Papa call you Robert. That’s what you told Henri today, isn’t it?”
“Folks call me Rob.”
“That’s short for Robert.”
“Sometimes.”
“Tell me!” she commanded, poking him with an elbow.
“Careful. That’s where the Butcher dislodged my stomach.”
“Sorry, but you’re not sidetracking me with that stunt. What’s your name?”
“It really aches like the devil.”
“Degan, tell me. I’ll get it out of you. I am very good at making people tell all their secrets. It is Robber. Your ancestors were common thieves.”
“Not a common ancestor in the lot.”
“Roberta. You have the grand misfortune to have a lady’s name. Your mama wanted a girl.”
“No.”
“Robin, like the little bird.”
“No.”
“Robinovitch? You have Russian blood?”
“No, I have a French name actually.”
“Not Robert?”
“Unfortunately no.”
“There is no French—Degan!” she shouted, coming to an upright position. “It cannot be! You are not, surely not
Robespierre!
How did you get such a name?”
“From an uncle, who had a friend in France,
not
from Arras, of the same name. But I prefer to be called the Incorruptible.”
“Mon Dieu!”
she said, yawning and returning her head to her pillow. “How can I marry a man named Robespierre?”
“You’re up to anything, Sal,” he answered with a chuckle, relieved to have his secret out. Then they slept peacefully till dawn began to show through the dirt-streaked windows.
Chapter Nineteen
By morning, Degan found himself an equal partner in the joint rescue operation facing them. With the real manager gone, it was up to them—a frightened girl and a stranger in the country unable even to speak the language—to achieve what was becoming every day more difficult.
“What shall we do now, Pierre?” Minou asked him, having settled in her own mind that she liked his having a French name, but not quite the entire one he had been christened with.