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“What about the people, then? What about the men and women murdered at my château last night?”
“I feel for them and for their families, but what can I do? I can’t save them all. I doubt most even want to be saved as they won’t admit they are in any peril. I offered to take you to Calais, but you won’t leave. You’ll stay and when you finally realize the danger you are in, it will be too late to get out.”
“And so I deserve to die? Because I have some loyalty to my adopted country? Because I won’t run at the first sign of trouble?”
“Do I deserve to die? This is not my country, and I didn’t run at the first sign of trouble. But I sure as hell will run when I have the chance.”
“Do that then!” She turned on her heel and marched away.
“I will.” She heard his feet crunch on the stones and dirt behind her. Other than that, the day was silent. Too silent. No birds sang. No insects chirped. Perhaps they had been frightened by the arguing. Or perhaps something more sinister lay ahead.
She stopped and Daventry stopped beside her. “I don’t like this.”
“I was thinking the same thing. We should go back—”
“Stop where you are!” came a shout in French.
Angelette looked about, seeing nothing but green fields on one side and the woods on the other. And then, slowly, men and a few women crept from the trees and out of the trenches on the side of the road bordering the fields. The people were roughly dressed, their clothes stained with soot and what appeared to be blood. In their hands they carried scythes and hedge clippers and even frying pans. They had taken the tools of their trade to use as weapons.
Angelette reached for Daventry’s hand, and when he squeezed hers tightly, she knew her assumption was correct. These were the men and women who had burned, if not her home, the residence of someone. Last night she had believed the attackers had come from Paris to invade the wealthy little town of Versailles. But now she could see these were servants and peasants from the town. Their existence was not miserable, not like that of many of the lower classes. But if the discontent had spread to them, then France was in grave, grave danger.
“We have no business with you,” Daventry said in French. “We are unarmed and only want to pass this way.”
“To go to the palace,” a man said. He was one of the first to emerge from the woods. He looked to be a farm laborer, dressed as he was in stained red and white trousers, the rough shoes called sabots, and a red hat on his head. “To report to the king. Your king can’t save you now. It’s only a matter of time before we deal with him like we dealt with you,Madame la Comtesse.” He spat the title as though it was a foul brew in his mouth.
So she had been recognized. It wasn’t as though she could have hoped that by removing her skirts she would be in disguise. The local villagers knew her. “We only want to pass by in peace,” she said. “I’ve never done you any wrong.”
“You ain’t never done us any right neither!” one of the women called. She too wore the red cap and the sabots. Her skirt and blouse were covered by an apron streaked with blood. “You never cared about us. While we froze in winter and starved, you ate pastries and warmed yourself by the fire.”
Angelette straightened her shoulders. “None of you look to me to be starving. I’m willing to wager that you ate from the table of the master you served and warmed yourself by the fire he provided.”
“And put one toe out of line,” the leader said, “and a man could be dismissed and destitute. It’s time we took some of the power you aristos hoard. It’s time we no longer had to bow and scrape just to feed our children.”
The men and women around him nodded and murmured. And then the woman raised her frying pan. “Death to the aristos!”
The others repeated the chant and started forward. Angelette squeezed Daventry’s hand harder. There would be no escape this time.
Daventry shoved Angelette behind him and held up both hands. “Wait a moment. Let’s be reasonable.”
“The time for reason is done,” the man who seemed to speak for the others cried, still advancing, though more slowly and cautiously now.
“This woman is defenseless and blameless. I can’t allow you to harm her.”
“We aren’t asking for your permission,rosbif. Go back to your own country. If you leave now, we’ll let you pass unharmed. We want no trouble with the English.”
“And what will you do to the comtesse? If you murder her, then you are no better than criminals. You claim you want justice. You claim she has wronged you. She deserves a trial, just as any man or woman would receive.”
“We hereby declare her guilty!” the woman cried, brandishing her frying pan. “That’s the only trial she needs.”
Angelette peered around Daventry’s broad shoulders. The leader of the mob looked thoughtful. “You want a trial?” he said to Daventry. “I say we give her a trial. A trial by the people!”
A few men cheered, but most of the mob looked confused. Undoubtedly, they were bloodthirsty and wanted nothing more than to kill her and find the next victim. Even if Daventry managed to give her time by convincing the leader to put her on trial, she was doomed. She still had the knife she’d hidden beneath her petticoats, but what good would it do against this many people? It would have been better for her to run.
“That’s exactly right,” Daventry said. “Let the people decide her guilt or innocence. Take her into the village and—”
“No!” This time it was the woman who spoke. “We take her to Paris and deliver her to the people there. When she hangs for her crimes, it will be a symbol to the rest of the aristos that the time of reckoning has come.”
The leader looked at Angelette and smiled. Angelette shivered. Then his gaze slid to Daventry. “You asked for a trial. We agreed. Give her to me or the English be damned and we take both of you.”
