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‘And leave you behind! Never!’ It was said vehemently in a hoarse whisper.
‘There is no risk. I am to stay here for an hour or two after you are gone, then someone will come and let me out. Have no fear.’
‘Who? Who has the power to do that except those monsters who put me in here?’
‘My husband is an envoy of the British Government and has a great deal of influence here in Paris. They will let me go.’
‘Are you sure of that?’
‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘I am certain. The French Government cannot afford to make an enemy of the British. They have too much to lose.’
Once the lacing of her gown had been undone, she was able to take it off; the petticoat underneath was easy to step out of, leaving her dressed in a man’s shirt and breeches. Trusting her, he removed his once-fine coat of burgundy silk, which was now filthy and torn, and Lisette helped him into the petticoat and gown and laced the bodice.
‘Now put the cloak round you and keep the hood up,’ she murmured. ‘You are Mrs Drymore, remember, and expect to be treated with respect, but don’t speak unless you have to. If you see an Englishman, flamboyantly dressed, on the way, avoid him at all costs. He is our uncle, but he is not to be trusted. Go to the British Embassy and wait for my husband to come. Give him this.’ She tucked her letter to Jay down the front of his bodice. ‘It will prove I have sent you. And this is the permit for Madame Drymore to visit the prisoner, Giradet. You may need it.’ She gave him her gloves. ‘Better wear these, too, or your hands will give you away.’ Then she slipped his ragged coat over the breeches she wore and the transformation was complete. ‘I will come to the gate with you.’
‘Better not,’ the woman said suddenly. ‘You are altogether too clean and well fed. Better crouch against the wall and put your head in your hands in despair. I will summon the turnkey.’
The occupants of the cell watched the woman and Michel make their way over to the gate. Lisette did not think they were deceived for a minute, but no one raised a voice in betrayal. Everyone of them would have taken advantage of such a means of freedom had they been offered it.
The turnkey came slowly along the corridor when he was summoned and unlocked the gate. ‘Had enough, have you?’ he leered, because Michel was holding the edge of his hood to his face.
As Lisette watched, Michel’s whole demeanour changed and he became her; he had not forgotten their childish game which had always ended in laughter. No one was laughing now, even the occupants of the cell had stopped their ribaldry. Accompanied by the turnkey, he walked away, past the other cages and up the stone stairs and was lost to her sight. She did not have to pretend her despair. It enveloped her like the cloak she had wrapped around her brother’s slight frame, it swamped her like a great tide running in from the sea, it overcame the euphoria of her success and left her in tears.
Jay’s optimism lasted no longer than his walk to the Embassy. Mrs Drymore had come in and gone out again, Madame Gilbert told him.
He swore under his breath. ‘Did she say when she would be back? Did she leave a message for me?’
‘Not for you, sir, but she left one for her gentleman visitor.’
‘Give it to me.’
His stony face and angry eyes told her it would be wise to obey. She went and fetched it for him.
He broke the seal and unfolded it. If he expected a list of names, he was wrong. The paper was blank. He was puzzled for a moment and then began to laugh. His laughter was verging on hysterical and the concierge became alarmed.
‘Sir?’ she queried.
‘Oh, do not mind me, madame.’ He refolded the letter and handed it back to her. ‘When did my wife expect her visitor to come for this?’
‘She did not say, but to give it to him after you had left this evening.’
‘I see. Thank you, madame.’
She turned to go, changed her mind and turned back. ‘Sir, there was another thing…’
‘Go on.’
‘When we went shopping for clothes, madame bought a man’s suit of clothes—for her brother, she told me—but this afternoon I noticed she was wearing the breeches herself under her cloak. I saw her legs as she came down the stairs. And she had cut her hair.’
He groaned, knowing perfectly well what it meant. ‘How long ago was this?’
‘Half an hour, maybe a little longer.’
‘If she comes back, tell her to get in the carriage when it comes for us and not to wait for me, do you understand?’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
He turned on his heel and went out. He was almost running as he made his way along the river bank and up Rue St Antoine to the Rue du Roi Sicile. He had to catch her before she reached La Force, knowing what she intended. It was madness, utter madness. He was angry, angry with Lisette for her foolhardiness, even more angry with Wentworth who was using Lisette to destroy him, but most of all angry with himself for assuming she was like Marianne and not to be trusted. She was nothing like Marianne, who thought only of herself, loved only herself. Lisette loved her father and brother with the kind of single-minded, selfless devotion his dead wife had been incapable of. If only she could spare some of it for him, but why should she? He had been at fault for not taking her into his confidence and explaining exactly how they were going to free Michel. If he had done so, and if he had told her the whole truth about Marianne, she would not have trusted Wentworth and this whole sorry mess could have been avoided.
