Chapter 26 #2
The process of dressing her was an ordeal every morning, but this was a rush of pure necessity and minimal care.
“Go!” another cried, gesturing to the door. “The king’s apartments! By the secret staircase!”
Antoinette gave a clipped nod as they rushed forward, her skirts off center and loose. An untied ribbon of her petticoat flapped behind her.
No matter. She wore neither stockings nor slippers and could not care less as she rushed through the corridors to the secret staircase her husband had used to visit her in more privacy for their early conjugal visits.
How apt that it should be used at the very beginning of their marriage and now again at what might very well be the end of all things.
The children were already in his apartments, and she rushed to them and embraced them both, smoothing their cheeks and smiling as though nothing was amiss.
“Where is the king?” Antoinette demanded of his valet, desperate to keep the fear and agitation from her voice for the sake of the children.
The valet trembled as his eyes darted from the door to the windows. “The king ran to your apartments, Your Majesty, to seek you out when he heard the cries.”
Her ladies whimpered in distress, and Antoinette clenched her teeth to keep from joining in the wails.
She crouched to hold Louis-Charles more tightly, letting him nuzzle sleepily against her shoulder, and extended an arm toward Thérèse, who immediately entered her hold.
The trio held each other silently amidst the distressed sounds of the others, waiting anxiously for Louis to appear. Or, if the worst had happened, for the instruction to flee.
The children’s governess looked ready to faint, and Antoinette smiled at her, nodding in encouragement. “Don’t be frightened, Pauline,” she soothed, wishing she had another arm to encircle the young woman with.
Pauline tried to nod back, but the motion was so unsteady that it seemed to throw her off-balance.
Shouts and scuffling sounded with thunderous echoes from nearby, and Thérèse curled more fully into Antoinette’s arms.
“Be brave, my darling,” she whispered to her daughter, stroking her fingers through the flowing hair.
Knocks banged on the door, making everyone jump in fright.
“It is the king,” Louis’s voice came from the other side.
The valet nearly squealed as he wrenched the bolt and flung the door open.
Louis entered with wild hair and eyes, exhaling a guttural sound as he caught sight of Antoinette.
He closed the distance between them and dropped to the ground, taking her face in his hands and crashing his mouth to hers in a fierce kiss.
No sooner had he done so than his mouth dusted her cheeks and brow, then his forehead touched hers, his breathing galloping from his lungs.
“I have never been so relieved to not find you,” he told her, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Only a few members of the royal bodyguards were present, and the footmen and valets in the antechamber told the rebels you weren’t in there.
Even if they’d tried to enter, they would have been killed, but .
. . Heavens, my love . . .” He kissed her quickly before exhaling a low breath.
Then he rose and turned to the rest of the room. “What do we know?” he asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
A hasty conference began with those present as to what ought to be done, what could be done, and how to best proceed with the infiltration of the palace.
The National Guard had intervened, apparently, and Commander Lafayette was working on getting the crowd back out of doors.
That was something to be grateful for, at least.
As the roars from outside in the courtyard and avenue grew louder, a soldier came to the apartments to inform them that the crowd wished to see them on the balcony.
“Do they wish me to be dead or not?” Antoinette wondered dryly.
Louis looked grim before taking Thérèse’s hand and leading them to the balcony overlooking the courtyard.
Antoinette felt as though she were walking to the edge of a cliff. What if she was shot and killed the moment she showed herself? How would her children recover if they witnessed her death?
The roar of the crowds increased in volume and pitch as the royal family presented themselves, and it took the space of several heartbeats before any words were discernable.
And then:
“No children! No children!”
Antoinette looked at Louis quickly, panic flaring in her chest. Were they going to kill both her and Louis once the children were gone?
Louis swallowed and stooped to speak to Thérèse while Antoinette set Louis-Charles down. “Go inside with your sister,” Antoinette murmured to him, brushing a kiss across his cheek. “Go straight to Pauline.”
Her son nodded quickly, his countenance pale and his eyes wide.
Thérèse came to him and clasped his hand, scurrying inside with him.
Antoinette looked at Louis, her lips trembling as he reached out for her hand. Then they turned to face the crowd below, and Antoinette raised her gaze toward heaven.
A bullet could come for her now, if it was going to.
Jeers and screams burst from below, seeming to wrap around her and grip her heart within her chest.
“To Paris!” a particularly demanding and shrill voice shrieked over the chaotic noise of the rest.
Then other voices joined with it, still calling, “To Paris!”
Soon, the cry was thunderous, demanding their removal to Paris.
“We shall die there,” Antoinette breathed, her fingers digging into Louis’s.
Her husband cleared his throat and raised a hand, lowering it in a calming, quieting gesture.
Amazingly, it worked, and soon every eye was fixed on him, attention rapt.
“You have demanded that I follow you to Paris.” Louis’s tone remained regal despite the situation. “I consent, but on the condition that I shall not be separated from my wife and children.”
He squeezed Antoinette’s hand hard as he finished, and she gripped it back.
“And I require safety for my guards,” he added.
There was a beat of silence as his requests were considered.
“Long live the king!” a few voices shouted in response.
Then all the voices echoed, calling, “Long live the king!” as though he were still a figure of respect and honor in their eyes.
Did they not see the state of their attire? Did they not recall storming into the palace, armed? Had they not intended to kill his queen?
Yet they would still cry out like this?
What honor and respect could they possibly have to give him?
Louis stepped back, his shoulders drooping. “It would seem that we are for Paris, my love.”
Rifles shot into the air, making Antoinette squeal and jump back for fear they had been aimed at them.
But no, they were uninjured, and shots continued to ring out in victory as the crowd’s demands to its king were conceded to.
France had instructed her king and queen, dictated their actions, and, for the time being, spared their lives.
What fresh horrors would Paris bring?