CHAPTER 13
The older children took their picnic up to Jenny’s room. Thierry gave both girls a cheeky grin as he made himself comfy sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the little balcony.
” I got away with that quite nicely,” he said meaning the questions about the flashlights. “I thought the twins were onto us there for a minute!”
Jenny took out the key and the old map with the poem written on the back and Aliénor gave her the book Uncle Bernard had promised her Aunt.
“I think you should read the chapter about the Château, and Thierry and I should try to decipher the poem and map. It will be quicker that way,” said Aliénor.
Jennifer stepped over Thierry and opened the Romeo and Juliet doors onto the little balcony so they could see the moon rising and she went to sit on her bed propped up with pillows. Aliénor went to sit near Thierry so they could look at each side of the ancient paper at the same time. They all agreed that they would set out for the moulin in one hour whether they had deciphered the map and poem or not. The room suddenly became very quiet as the Three Musketeers concentrated on their tasks.
On the second floor the twins could hardly wait to set out on their adventure to catch smugglers. They were both secretly glad to have Blanca along and thought that if they got into any trouble she would know what to do. She also knew the beach very well, which they felt certain would be helpful. They had eaten nearly all their picnic already, but decided to take the tarts with them. They wrapped them in some paper and stuffed them into their jeans pockets. They gave Blanca some food and looked out of their window to see the huge moon they had been promised.
“Let’s go,” said Claire. “They will think we are taking Blanca out to the toilet if they hear us.”
On the third floor Thierry and Aliénor poured over the map and Jennifer was engrossed in reading a story about the French Revolution which had begun in 1789 but lasted for many years. She was pleased that the book was written in English or she would not have been able to help solve the mystery at all. Uncle Bernard had found the book while he was working at the lighthouse. It had fallen on the floor when he had moved some old navigation charts, almost as if it wanted to be rediscovered! He had no idea where is had come from originally, but he felt it would be perfect for Aunty Izzy to learn about the house she was renting and the buildings she was painting. Jennifer began reading.
The summer of 1792 was very hot and Paris was the last place the children wanted to be. Jacques, Céline and Jeanne lived in a beautiful house in a very fashionable area of Paris, but when August arrived, they wanted to be at their home by the sea. The chateau near the beach was like a fairytale palace with blue turrets and towers with spiral staircases. It was their favourite place in the world and if they had had their way they would have lived there all year round.
Like many wealthy French people who lived in the 18th century their parents divided their time between Paris and their country estate. In Paris their father Jean-Francois Geoffroy and his beautiful wife Josephine entertained rich and important guests, visited the opera and rode out in their fine carriage in the Bois de Boulogne. They had numerous servants, among them chamber maids, housekeepers, cooks, coachmen and, of course, the children’s tutor.
Every year the Geoffroys left the heat of Paris with their family and their servants and took their horses and carriages packed with everything they would need for two months. This summer they had no choice. The Revolution meant they were all at risk. They were rich and, although not really aristocrats, they were sure that the citizens would consider them to be so, and that could mean that they would all be in grave danger. In the streets of Paris the children had seen riots. Three years before in 1789 The Bastille, the gaol they all thought was impenetrable, had been stormed and the prisoners let loose. This had been the beginning of the French Revolution. The children were very young but even they had sensed that Paris was no longer safe. Their parents had kept from them the worst of the trouble that was to follow, but they had seen and heard enough to frighten them.
They heard whispers that many people were being slaughtered at the guillotine, that ghastly contraption that cut the heads of those found guilty. Even the king and queen, Louis XV1 and Marie-Antoinette were at risk. The children had hidden in their rooms high above the streets of Paris but they had still heard the rumbling of the rough, wooden tumbrils as they clattered through the streets carrying those who would die. They knew everyone of their friends’ parents feared Robespierre and Marat. They were horrified to hear that old women sat knitting at the base of the guillotine waiting for the heads to role, as if they were enjoying a night at the opera.
The children were frightened and knew they must not say a word about their father’s plan to leave Paris, not just for the summer, but for the foreseeable future. He would have to carry as many possessions as he could and knew that money and jewellery would be easier to conceal than furniture and works of art. He had heard that the exits from the city would soon be blocked and it would be impossible to escape by road. He must move quickly. The element of surprise would help them all escape.
So one stormy night when there was no moon and the summer rain had temporarily washed the bloody streets of Paris clean, their father decided to move the family. There had been much undercover activity in the weeks before and their father had relied heavily on the honesty and trustworthiness of their oldest servant. He was a man in his seventies called Charles who had been with the family since he was a young boy. His father had also worked for the children’s grandfather and always considered him to be a good master. He had arranged the packing of as many of their clothes and personal belongings as they could risk without arousing the suspicion of the citizens who roamed the streets looking for goods to claim as their own. Charles had disguised their belongings by placing them in rough carts covered with old furniture such as broken down chairs and old pieces of wood. The servants who were assigned to take these carts down to their chateau by the sea had been dressed to look like sans-coulottes the poor revolutionaries who wore trousers cut off at the knee, rather than the knee-breeches which rich people wore. If they were stopped they were told to say that they were carrying material for building the barricades. These roadblocks were springing up around the city, in order to halt traffic and people so they could be questioned by the citizen’s army.
Three cart- loads of their possessions had left Paris in this way and now it remained for the family to leave in the same fashion. The children were given rough clothes such as they had never worn before. The sacking rubbed their skin and after only half an hour they longed to be back in their silks and satins or the simple cotton they wore at their country chateau. Their faces and hands were blackened with soot from the fires and they were told to lie down in the cart while a rough sack was placed over them. They knew they were not to make any noise at all. Meanwhile their father and mother and Charles were similarly disguised as rough peasants. The children had cried to see their beautiful mother, who usually wore such pretty dresses and had her hair piled high and held with jewels, in such filthy rags. Their city mansion was locked up but their father feared they might never see it again. He had a strong box hidden in the base of the cart that contained money and jewels. The box when opened seemed only to contain documents and writing quills and ink, but it had a false bottom where the real treasure was hidden.
As the cart rattled through the streets of Paris, the family and Charles, held their breath. The rain had stopped now and the dark night was covering their flight, but as they came in sight of Notre Dame Cathedral they saw that the bridge across the Seine had a solitary guard barring their way. The cart in which the children were hidden, was driven by Charles. It drew to a halt. Their father’s cart stopped just behind it. Their mother was hidden, like the children under a pile of filthy old rags and furniture. The guard held up his lamp and looked closely into the faces of their father and Charles. He then held onto the horse’s reigns as he interrogated Charles. “Where are you boun
d citizens?”
“To the barricades, citizen! We must build them strong so the rich oppressors cannot escape hey!” The children stopped breathing and clutched each other’s hands under the sacking cover. As Charles spoke to the guard he pulled out a dusty old bottle of brandy from his coat pocket, took a swig and offered it to the guard. “The night seems cold after such a hot day. Let’s drink a toast to Robespierre.” The children noticed Charles was not speaking as he normally did, his voice seemed quite crude to them but he had clearly fooled the guard. They heard all three men shout, “To Robespierre and the revolution!” The children were surprised to hear their father joining in with this toast but knew he had no choice.
“Pass citizens, and build the barricade strong and high! Tomorrow there will be more heads at the base of madame la guillotine!”
The carts started to move across the river. But Charles and their father knew they would not be safe until they were outside the city. They also knew that there would be many other hazards before they reached their chateau by the sea. But, for now, they could all breathe more easily.
“This is really interesting,” said Jenny who had been so engrossed in the story that she had almost forgotten Thierry and Aliénor were in the room.
“It’s about a rich family escaping from Paris during the revolution and coming down to the sea. Do you think they lived here? Just think I might be in one of the rooms they occupied and that key and the map might be theirs. And the girl and her horse might have been the one in this story. Who were Robespierre and Marat?” she suddenly added.
Thierry and Aliénor looked up at Jenny. “Don’t they teach you anything in your English schools?” said Thierry. “They were both leaders of the French revolution.”
Jennifer answered, “Well I don’t suppose you two know who Oliver Cromwell was! We had our own revolution, you know, and cut off King Charles the first’s head in 1649 way before your revolution!
“Which girl and her horse?” asked Aliénor who had not taken part in the history lesson that Thierry and Jennifer were giving each other.
Jennifer looked surprised, “Oh didn’t I tell you? I keep seeing a girl and her horse. It’s as if she is trying to tell me something but she just keeps fading away. Have you found anything out from the map and poem?”
“Yes,” answered Thierry, “quite a lot.”
“What do you mean she fades away?” Aliénor persisted.
“Oh, I’ll explain later. The hour’s nearly up! What have you discovered?”