Jane and the Damned (31 page)

“Citizens!” the officer called out. “If I read your name, you come here.” He pulled a list from inside his coat and read out some half dozen names.

Jane‧s was among them, as was that of the very respectable shopkeeper, who looked somewhat the worse for wear after his ill treatment and a cold night in the Riding School, and the woman who still clutched the basket that had once held her chicken.

“It must be a mistake,” the very respectable shopkeeper said to Jane as they were chained together. “A mistake, I assure you. I shall send for my lawyer as soon as I am able. And character witnesses, yes. They will see that they should not have arrested me.”

“It is more than likely we shall be tried under the laws of the French Republic,” Jane said. “I believe that French law does not allow for a presumption of innocence.”

“But—but this is England!” the shopkeeper cried in bewilderment. “I have done nothing wrong. As I told the officers, I must make a profit, for it is my livelihood and how was I to know that …”

Jane put a finger to her lips, chains clanking, to warn him that silence might be the wiser course, but the gentleman continued to bemoan his fate and declare his innocence.

Surrounded by soldiers, they were marched out of the Riding School and a short distance down Russell Street to the New Assembly Rooms.

Jane thought of when she had last roamed these streets, learning to use the darkness, hunting with Luke. She remembered the soft pressure and taste of his mouth, sweeter than the fresh blood on his lips, that surprising first embrace, her fear at her own boldness.

Jane gazed at the portico of the building, where, formerly, sedan chairs had plied their trade. Now soldiers stood on guard. They were escorted into the foyer of the building, where, to Jane‧s relief, the chains that bound them together were removed, although the shackles on their wrists remained.

The first time Jane had been to the New Assembly Rooms she had clutched Cassandra‧s hand so tightly she feared she might split her glove, overwhelmed by the fashionable elegance of the crowd and the brightness of the many wax candles. Through the doors there, flung open to admit newcomers, a large crowd had danced with an elegance far surpassing similar gatherings in Basingstoke or Portsmouth.

But now the doors were closed and a French soldier stood on guard. The air was dim and cold, the stone floor clammy.

“You wait,” a soldier told them. “You do not talk.”

Jane was relieved, knowing that otherwise the respectable shopkeeper would once again run through his usual complaints and denials. She sank to the floor, leaning against a pillar, and observed her fellow prisoners; in addition to the ones she already knew there was an elderly man with an unmistakably arrogant, aristocratic bearing, and a young, well-dressed couple who held hands and whispered together.

The door to the ballroom opened a crack and the soldier on guard held a whispered conversation with whoever was inside.

“Citizen Green.”

“That is I,” said the respectable shopkeeper. “And it is Mr. Green, if you please.”

The soldier at the door sniggered and made a chopping motion with one hand. With the butt of the soldier‧s musket, the respectable shopkeeper was shoved through the door.

They waited. The young couple whispered together while the elderly gentleman folded his hands, eyes closed as though in prayer; the other woman continued to clutch her basket as though it represented safety and normalcy.

Jane closed her eyes. She imagined attending an assembly here. What sort of gown would she wear? Possibly something like Clarissa‧s, white with silver net, and with a few silk flowers in her hair. She would like to have sandals that laced in the classical style and showed off her narrow feet and slender ankles. As she moved into the brightly lit room where a dance was already under way, a handsome gentleman—Luke, of course—would approach her and ask for the next dance, bowing low. Walking around the ballroom, greeting friends and acquaintances, she would hear whispered comments on the elegance of her gown and what a handsome couple they made.

She hoped Luke did not overhear her daydream; how embarrassing to have one‧s fantasies, however innocent, known. And it certainly was an innocent fantasy—as one of the Damned, should she not be daydreaming of spurting blood and athletic carnal relations with the gentleman? But she would be willing to undergo any amount of ridicule from him if he would send her word again.

Mr. Green, the emphatically innocent shopkeeper, had not returned. She could hear, very faintly, a murmur of voices, but even her keen hearing could not distinguish words.

The door cracked open again and a whispered consultation took place between whoever was inside and the soldier on duty.

“Citizeness Austen.”

She stood, straightening her skirts and bonnet as best she could and walked forward. The soldier opened the door a little more and pushed her inside.

“You may approach, Citizeness Austen.”

The main room of the Assembly Rooms had a dingy, dim appearance and a strong scent of blood. She saw it now, a large puddle on the wooden floor, straight ahead of her. A little weak winter sunlight came through the elegant arched windows. A dozen or so soldiers lined the walls. They stared at her with curiosity. At the end of the room, on the small stage where the musicians played, a table was set up. Three men sat there; one was Renard, who had commanded her to approach, and the other wore the uniform of a high-ranking French officer.

And the third man—oh, thank God. Everything would be well now.

Colonel John Poulett left the table and stepped down from the stage.

He took her bare hand in his gloved one and spoke softly. “Miss Austen, pray have no fear. I regret deeply that you have been inconvenienced.”

“Thank you, sir. Or should I address you as Citizen?”

He grimaced. “It might be best.”

He turned to the other men at the table and addressed them. “General, Citizen, I assure you Citizeness Austen is of no threat to the Republic or any of you. You should release her immediately.”

“Ah.” General Renard winked at her. “So, you break my nephew‧s heart, eh, Citiziness?”

“That is my offense, General? It seems rather a hard price to pay, if every woman who refused a gentleman‧s attentions were to be arrested and flung into prison. It certainly does not endear the captain to me.”

“Ah, you English, you joke under bad circumstances; it is admirable.”
He called to a soldier to bring Jane a chair. “In prison, you say?”

“Yes, General.”

“But—but when I heard of your arrest, I gave orders that you were to be placed in the very best accommodation, Citizeness, since I could not free you without many papers and the formality of this trial. Surely they did not put you in with the common traitors and criminals!”

“I have been at the Riding School.”

“This is unconscionable!” Poulett rose and addressed the other officers at the table. “Miss Austen is a gentlewoman.”

“A thousand apologies!” Renard gave a wild wave of both hands. “I am desolated. Sit, sit, Poulett. But you shall go free soon, Citizeness. Now, just a very few questions. I must fill out these papers, you see …” He perched a pair of spectacles on his nose, which gave him the appearance of a short, kindly cleric, and rummaged among the papers on the table.

“Ah!” A document in his hand, he peered over the lenses at her. “Now, I see you are acquainted with Citizeness Venning. How is the lady?”

“She was quite well when last I saw her.”

The third man at the table took notes, the scratch of his pen loud in the room.

“Bien!”
he beamed at her, all friendliness and ease. “Poor young lady, to lose her brother so. Yet justice had to be done. You knew him too, I believe?”

“I was acquainted with him, yes.”

“And?”

“What else can I tell you, General?”

“Ah. This is delicate. You became Citizeness Venning‧s companion, for I know my nephew was to blame for your hasty departure
from the house on Paragon Place. He is too hot in the blood, you know.”

“Yes, I was her companion.”

“La pauvre,
she was sad.” He smiled again. “No, do not fear, Citizeness Austen, we shall not arrest Citizeness Venning. She pays the price with her tears and the shame of an assassin brother.”

Poulett leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Miss—that is, Citizeness Austen—I have a slight acquaintance with Citizeness Venning. As the colonel says, it is a delicate situation. I really feel I should pay a call on her, if you think that appropriate.”

So that was why they wanted her, and why they showed such charm and friendliness. They wanted to find Luke and the others, and Poulett was in deep with the French. She hoped the shock of her discovery did not show on her face. “Why, certainly, Citizen. I am sure she would be glad to receive you.”

“Later, Citizen,” Renard said, with some annoyance. “You English and your morning calls. Let us continue with this business.”

“Pardon me, Renard, but maybe Miss Austen knows her address, for she appears to have left the house on Queens Square.”

“Bah, you can find her at the Pump Room, I daresay. Or at church.” Renard searched his papers again. “Your father, Citizen Austen, seeks to leave the city, still, I believe.”

“That is correct, sir.”

Poulett looked confused. “Citizeness Austen, you do not know where your employer lives?”

“No, she spoke of moving, but I do not believe firm plans were made.”

“And why did your family come to Bath, Citizeness?” Renard continued.

“For my health, and that of my mother, who was also unwell.”

“Ah. You look pale, Citizeness. I trust your health improves soon. Well, we are finished here. A thousand apologies for your ill treatment. You may give Colonel Poulett Miss Venning‧s address, and then you go home.”

Jane smiled. “I regret I cannot help you, sir.”

“You are sure?” Renard took his spectacles off and closed them with a snap. “Well, that is too bad.” He shrugged. “And how is Citizen Venning?”

Jane feigned confusion. “She is unmarried.”

“No, I mean her brother. He lives, does he not?”

“But—but he was hanged on your orders, sir.”

Renard nodded. He was no longer the affable, slightly comic Frenchman. He beckoned over the soldier who had provided Jane with a chair, and whispered to him. The soldier left the room.

He returned with another prisoner, a bloody, frightened man in chains, who was flung to the floor in front of Jane.

“Yes, sirs, that‧s her. She is one of them.”

She did not recognize him but she recognized the voice. On the night the French invaded and she had fought on the London Road barricade, there had been one of that group of men who had recognized her as one of the Damned. Her heart sank. Almost certainly it was he who had betrayed Mr. Thomas, and probably the others who had been with them that night.

“Now, Citizen, look at her carefully. It was dark, you say. Maybe you take your bonnet off, Citizeness? She wore a bonnet, then?”

“No, no, she wore only a cap, like ladies wear indoors. But I knew right away she was—”

Renard stepped down from the stage and tore at Jane‧s bonnet strings, flinging her bonnet aside. There was little good humor or civility about him now. “So?”

“Yes, ‘tis her.” He spat at Jane. “You‧ll burn in hell, you bloody whore.”

Renard nodded at the soldier, who hauled the prisoner to his feet and escorted him from the room.

Jane feigned confusion. “I beg your pardon, sirs. Of what am I accused?”

“Your family must be concerned about you, Miss Austen.” Again, Poulett playing the role of the concerned English gentleman. He had rested in her arms and offered his blood to her, taking comfort and pleasure in the act, but now he betrayed her. She was shocked at how painful the realization was.

“I am grateful for your concern, sir.”

“Where are they?” Renard shouted, his spittle flying in her face.

“They are at Paragon Place, sir.”

“Not them!” Renard grabbed her shoulders. “You think I am a fool? The others of your kind.
Les Damnés.”

“Now, Renard, calm yourself.” Poulett grasped Renard‧s arm and drew him away. “Miss Austen is gently bred. Why, see how distressed you make her. Ma‧am, he is but a rough soldier and he needs your help. Tell us the address and you may go.”

“I fear I do not know, sir.”

“She fools you, Citizen Poulett. She denies what she is.” He turned to the soldier on duty and shouted an order. Jane caught the word
miroir.
Now there could be no escape for her. If only she had been able to dine last night, she might be able to fight her way out, but she could feel her strength fading.

Poulett knelt at her side. “Jane, tell them what they need to know and we will let you go. Quickly, before they bring the mirror.”

“You, sir,” she replied in an equally quiet, polite voice, “may go to the devil.”

“I shall do my best to guarantee the safety of your family, but I can only do so if you tell him what he needs to know. I beg of you, Jane, consider what you do.”