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Maurice Chasseur lived in Honfleur and his parents had earlier talked to her papa about a possible match, but when the young man was approached after they returned from Paris, he flatly refused to co-operate, saying she was too hoydenish, more boy than girl, and he was not at all surprised none of the Parisian eligibles had wanted to take her on, not even for a fortune. The remark had come to her through a servant in his father’s household who had relayed it to Hortense.
‘He is simply annoyed because your papa hoped to do better for you and, when nothing came of it, went back to him and he didn’t like the idea of being second-best,’ her maid had told her by way of comfort. But it had hurt far more than she cared to admit and left her firmly convinced she was unmarriageable. It had become even more imperative to maintain her life at the Château Giradet and hang on to whatever privileges that still remained.
She was not an ardent royalist; she deplored the extravagance of the King and his court, the secret whisperings of scandal, the way favours could be bought and sold and the courtiers indifference to the suffering of the poor, made worse by the Revolution that should have eased it. Neither did she like the way the country was being run, the summary justice and injustice, the constant edicts that confused rather than enlightened. Surely, she thought, there must be a middle way, something like the English system where King George ruled in a democracy, though it was said he was mad.
The countryside they passed through was showing signs of poverty and neglect. The fields were not tended as well as they once had been, the livestock grazing on the meadows was thin. Everywhere had an overgrown, neglected air and the people who watched the carriage pass were poorly clad. Some looked on with the dull eyes of dejection, others were angry and spat at the coach as it passed. Lisette was thankful for their escort, especially when they stopped each night at posting inns.
Paris, when they reached it three days later, was seething with discontent. Everywhere—in the crowded narrow alleys, in the wider main streets, in the squares and public buildings—noisy crowds gathered, sporting red caps or wearing a red, white and blue cockade in their hats. The carriage made slow progress, being frequently stopped and searched on its way to the Tuileries Palace, where the King held court. He had been forced to leave his preferred home at Versailles by a mob of women who thought he should be with his people in the capital where they could keep an eye on him. Lisette was thankful when the carriage drew up in the main courtyard of the palace and she was able to go in search of her brother, followed by the rather nervous Hortense.
There was an air of agitation mixed with despondency in the demeanour of those she encountered as she hurried through the maze of corridors to reach Michel’s apartment. People were either hurrying from one place to another or huddled in groups, whispering. They stopped their chatter as she approached and watched her pass without speaking. No one challenged her.
She was admitted to the apartment by Michel’s valet, Auguste, who invited her to be seated and went off to tell his master she was there. The room, not one being in the front of the building where the public were admitted, was shabby. Whether that was a sign of the times she could not tell.
‘Lisette, what are you doing here?’ Michel demanded, emerging from his bedchamber in nothing but breeches and a silk shirt, followed by Auguste with a fancifully embroidered waistcoat into the sleeves of which he was endeavouring to put his master’s arms. ‘I am about to attend the King. And where is Papa?’
‘Papa has been seized by a mob and taken to the prison at Honfleur.’
‘Mon Dieu! Whatever for?’
‘For refusing to remit the taxes he has collected over the years. They seemed to think they had the King’s blessing to demand them back. They stole pictures and plates and bottles of Calvados and wrung the necks of some pigeons as well.’
‘That’s ridiculous, the King would never sanction that. He is not in a position to sanction anything. Since his failed attempt to flee the country, he is no more a free subject than our father.’
Lisette’s heart sank. ‘I was hoping for his intervention.’
‘Not possible, I’m afraid.’ Auguste had succeeded in putting on the waistcoat and tying his master’s cravat and was now in the bedroom fetching his wig and coat.
‘What are we going to do, then? I can’t leave Papa to rot in gaol, can I?’
‘You could ask the Citizen Deputy for Honfleur to intervene. Let him earn his keep.’
‘I did that on my way here. He refused on the grounds that justice must run its course. Is there no one in this benighted country that can do anything but rant and rave?’
