One Thing More by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

anyone heard if they are going to kill the King?’ she asked, looking from Célie to Amandine and back again. She had no idea Célie had been to the Convention; she was merely asking for news anyone up early might have heard on the doorstep.
    ‘Yes,’ Célie answered quietly. ‘They are. In three days.’
    ‘Fernand said they would.’ Marie-Jeanne was referring to her husband. She held the sleeping baby a little closer to her as she came over to the table. ‘He’ll be pleased. He was afraid they would lose their nerve.’
    ‘Marat wouldn’t let them,’ Célie said cuttingly, putting the last of the dishes over on the bench. They would be washed together with those from breakfast, when there was more water heated.
    The meaning was lost on Marie-Jeanne. ‘Fernand is sure he’ll be the saviour of Europe yet,’ she answered, folding the quilt into a place for the baby on the floor near the hearth. ‘I wish he wouldn’t keep saying it in front of my father.’ She spoke the word with almost no emotion, as if it were a mere title, not a relationship. ‘Of course Papa Lacoste agrees,’ she went on, a strange mixture of respect and dislike filling her expression.
    ‘You should warn him to be careful,’ Amandine responded, returning her attention to the chocolate. ‘Citizen Bernave may have different feelings. These days it’s best to be discreet.’
    ‘That’s what I keep saying,’ Marie-Jeanne nodded, putting the baby down gently, smiling at her and tickling her very gently until she gurgled. Then she rose to her feet and began to set the table with new revolutionary crockery, with its painted political symbols: ancient Roman faces; red, white and blue cockles; a cannon with a crowing cockerel on top. If she thought they were ugly or absurd she was too tactful to say so.
    She saw the extra candle Célie had lit to see St Felix’s arm more clearly and, realising it was unnecessary, pinched it out. She was a frugal housewife. Perhaps Fernand did not realise what a blessing he had in her. She was good-natured, energetic, and she could make acceptable meals for the whole family out of vegetables and herbs, and each time they would be a little different.
    She had no interest whatever in politics, but in the kitchen she had style, flair and ingenuity, even a kind of inventiveness which could be called wit. Like many ordinary women all over France, her family was what mattered to her. What they did in the Palace of Versailles, in the hall of the Convention, or in the Place de la Révolution where the guillotine stood stark, were of importance to her only as it reflected upon her home here in the Boulevard St-Germain.
    Célie had often wondered if she were also like most women in having a religious belief. It went hand in hand with the ordinary decencies of so much of family life. She would not dare to mention it in front of her husband or father-in-law, but Bernave would not have objected. But then perhaps Marie-Jeanne did not know that. Maybe only Célie had seen the old, well-fingered breviary inside his desk, and noticed that he never took the name of the deity lightly or in vain.
    ‘It will all be over in a few days.’ Amandine smiled bleakly at Marie-Jeanne. ‘Then we can begin to get back to normal.’
    ‘We can’t go “back” to anything,’ Célie contradicted her. ‘We can only go forward to whatever happens when we’ve no Church and no king.’
    Amandine shot her a look of warning.
    Marie-Jeanne turned to Célie, her china-blue eyes widening a little with surprise. ‘Don’t you think it’ll be better?’
    Célie realised how easily her tongue had run away with her. She must be more careful. Without meaning any harm, Marie-Jeanne could repeat her words.
    There was a heavy tread on the floor outside in the next room, and a moment later Monsieur Lacoste opened the door. He was a man of few words, his emotion contained within himself. He was in his early fifties and the scars of life were deeply