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‘Where are you going?’ Hortense, being plumper and not so nimble as Lisette, was breathlessly trying to keep up with her.
‘To speak to him. He might free Papa for a price.’
‘You know he won’t. He will have you in custody as soon as you blink and then what good will you be to your papa? Leave it to the Englishman.’
‘No. I want to avoid bloodshed if I can and what Monsieur Drymore is planning could very well be violent.’
The carriage had gone out of sight, but Lisette knew where the lawyer lived and set off in that direction.
Canard’s house was a substantial one in the middle of the town. The carriage had gone by the time they reached it, but Lisette did not doubt her quarry was inside. Pausing only to catch her breath, she strode up to the door and knocked.
Canard himself answered it. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand, as if he had been studying them. ‘Well, well, well, Citoyenne Giradet. And what do you want?’
Lisette prepared to humble herself. ‘Please, Monsieur Canard, will you not relent and set my father free? He has not harmed you or the Revolution. He is an old man content to live quietly on his estate, no trouble to anyone. Please let me have him back.’
She had said all this before and it moved him no more than it had the first time. His lip curled in a sneer. ‘He is an enemy of the Revolution, plotting counter-revolution. His estate will be forfeit when he is sentenced.’
‘But he is innocent.’
‘That is for others to decide and you may be sure the verdict will be guilty.’
‘Then what will happen to me? I have no other home and cannot manage without him. I will give you money…’
He laughed. ‘Oh, dear me, bribing an official is most certainly against the law.’
‘I didn’t mean it as a bribe.’ She backtracked quickly. ‘I meant to pay for his defence.’
‘He has no defence. I suggest you find a husband among the good citizens of this town and settle down in humble domesticity. Your father is going to be taken to Paris for trial.’
‘Paris?’ She feigned surprise. ‘Why?’
‘His crimes are so great he is to have a public trial in the Palais de Justice.’
‘When?’ she asked.
‘Soon.’
‘But I must know when. I must be there to support him. I must find someone to defend him.’
‘He will leave here tomorrow morning at dawn. And do not think about trying to set him free because he will be under armed escort.’
‘I cannot do that, as you must know, Monsieur Canard, there is no one to help me. My servants have all deserted me.’
He laughed and shut the door in her face. She turned back to Hortense, who had been standing behind her quaking with fear all through the exchange, but far from being subdued there was a light of triumph in Lisette’s eyes. ‘Good, now we call on Sir John.’
Sir John, Jay and Sam were in conference, sitting over glasses of exceptionally good wine in Sir John’s withdrawing room. Jay and his grandfather were dressed as the gentlemen they were, but Sam’s appearance was repellent. He was wearing the short trousers of the proletariat, worn-down shoes, a cotton shirt and a bright red waistcoat, all filthy. His hair was a tangle and he was unshaven. He was also a little under the weather, having spent most of the night carousing.
‘The guards confirmed that the Comte was to be moved,’ he told them, leaving his wine untouched. ‘But they did not know exactly when. They are waiting for the summons from Paris. Apparently Henri Canard was too impatient for it to come by the mail and went off to Paris to fetch it in person. He has not returned, at least he had not returned by the time I left about dawn.’
‘Then we must watch out for him,’ Jay said. ‘Well done, Sam.’
‘I will have hot water taken upstairs for you to wash and change out of that disgusting garb,’ Sir John said. He rang a bell at his side and when a servant appeared, gave the necessary order.
‘Oh, and another thing I learned,’ Sam went on. ‘Henri Canard has a grudge against the Comte. Bullard was unclear about the details, but it goes back generations. It has something to do with the Comte’s grandfather and his own grandfather and he is bent on revenge.’
‘Then the arrest of the Comte is not political,’ Jay said thoughtfully. ‘It is a vendetta. Have you any idea how it started, Grandfather?’
‘No. I knew Gervais’s father, but not his grandfather. He had died before I came to France. I do know that his grandfather had purchased the estate and the title. You can—or could—do that sort of thing in France. Perhaps the people resented that, though why Canard would be bothered about it, I do not know.’
