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Lisette heard the door bang, heard him run up the stairs, calling for Sam as he did so. She wanted to run after him, to tell him about her uncle’s visit and what the man was asking of her, to put her whole dilemma on his shoulders, which were so much broader than hers. She might have done so if he had not been so furious. His face had been white, his jaw rigid. The man who had kissed her so tenderly had gone and with him any hope of understanding. He was angry and yet he was still going ahead with the plans he had made. She ought to be grateful for that. But how could she be easy about it when she knew the risk was even greater than he realised? And all on account of her uncle.
Jay’s mission for the British Government had been completed, whether successfully or not she did not know, but there was now nothing to keep him in France except Michel. If she told him about her uncle’s demands, would that make a difference? Would he abandon Michel and force her to go back to England without her brother? She could not let that happen; it would kill her father. Oh, how she hated to be out of sorts with Jay. At a time like this, she needed his strong arms about her, his strength to give her courage, his tenderness to bolster her weakness. But he had gone, goodness knew where, leaving her to her misery.
It would soon be noon and she had to decide what to do about Mr Wentworth. Her uncle knew who she was, had already guessed that it was Jay, posing as James Smith, who had rescued her father; he could denounce them both whenever he chose. he would certainly do so if she did not meet him as arranged. He would become suspicious and, if he had told Robespierre he expected to be given the names and was not able to produce them, she would not be the only one in trouble. If she were the only one, she told herself, she could bear it, but the others did not deserve to die because of her foolhardiness. But what to do? The whole enterprise was in jeopardy because of her and it was up to her to do something about it.
A little before half past eleven, she left the house.
Chapter Ten
It was cold, in keeping with her mood; the last of the leaves had been stripped from the trees by a raw east wind which made her cloak flap about her legs and threatened to take her hat from her head. She held it on with one gloved hand and walked steadfastly forwards until she was once more approaching the Palais de Justice.
It was another day of trials—the Revolutionary government was determined to eradicate all dissent—and crowds of people were pushing their way into the courtroom, eager to witness the humiliation and terror of the latest batch of defendants, to cheer or hiss as the fancy took them. Lisette took a deep breath and let the tide carry her forwards but once inside she allowed everyone else to continue into the courtroom while she stepped behind a pillar to wait for the arrival of Gerald Wentworth.
It was not yet noon and she had a few minutes to wait if he were punctual, longer if he decided to be late. she wished she had not come so early, this waiting about was making her resolve crumble. Then she gasped and put her hand to her mouth in horror. Her uncle was on the other side of the vestibule in earnest conversation with Henri Canard. It was definitely Henri, but he had discarded his shabby black suit and was dressed in a frock coat of dark plum-coloured velvet, rose-coloured breeches and white hose. She recognised the clothes as belonging to her father. Not only had he made free of the château, but her father’s wardrobe as well. She shrank further back behind the pillar, her heart beating in her throat.
A few moments later, they parted company; Canard went into the courtroom and her uncle found a bench and sat down presumably to wait for her. She stepped out to stand before him.
‘Ah, Lisette, punctual, I see.’ He patted the seat beside him. ‘Sit down, my dear, and tell me what you have discovered.’
‘I’m afraid I have not been able to discover anything at all. I am not sure there is anything to be discovered and you must be mistaken.’
‘I am not mistaken. It is your loyalty which is a mistake, Lisette. Do I have to repeat all the reasons I gave you for helping the Department of Justice to eradicate traitors and those who help them?’
‘No, I remember them perfectly.’
‘Good, because your brother’s trial is set for tomorrow and the evidence against him is overwhelming. Henri Canard is in Paris with the two prison warders.’
‘It is manufactured evidence. Canard knows nothing of my brother.’
‘But he does know you and he knows James Smith.’
‘Mr Smith is in England.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, my dear, that was a nice try, but you do not deceive me. Nor will you deceive Citizen Canard and the gaolers who will easily identify him.’
