Chapter 34 #2
For months, she had been a mostly silent, mostly still woman, existing in this mortal realm without truly being alive.
Her grief and agony had drained any vitality from her person, and she was simply waiting to die.
Her faith had been fairly dormant, apart from the cries of her heart that would never be restrained, but had God been with her all along?
Had He simply been giving her this trial, this pain, to test her mettle where faith was concerned, and now she was being blessed with another chance?
Night had fallen, and nothing unusual had taken place.
Before long, she would need to prepare for bed, and that would be it.
There would be no rescue, no plot, no freedom at her fingertips.
Had the plan been discovered in the interim?
Had they given up and simply not told her?
Was her situation as hopeless as she had always believed it to be?
The door to her cell opened, and Antoinette turned quickly, forgetting that she ought not to expect anything out of the ordinary.
Michonis stood there, his expression as blank as ever. He looked at the two gendarmes, including Gilbert, and said, “I have an order from the municipality to conduct the Widow Capet back to the temple.”
With obedient nods, the gendarmes rose and gestured for Antoinette to join them.
She stood on wobbly legs, her heart racing frantically.
Thankfully, her steps were sedate and calm, as though she were simply proceeding toward any given corridor as the queen of France, who was never seen moving in haste.
She had no air of regality in her bearing, not anymore, but she did have that practiced gait that had always earned her praise.
She never thought she would use it again, but perhaps this was the time.
Michonis’s expression never changed, and he only turned to lead them out of the cell and down the corridor.
They paused every so often as wicket gates were opened along the way.
Each time one was opened, Antoinette released another portion of her breath, wondering how in the world anyone else might have managed to get her out.
The number of obstacles in the Conciergerie was astounding.
Again and again, the gates were opened, and they passed through without issue.
She could feel her cheeks flushing in excitement, her skin seeming to yearn for the fresh air she had so long been denied.
Whatever this plan was, whatever it entailed, she felt certain it would give her the chance to live once more, to breathe freely again, and to find the joy that existed in a quiet, comfortable life.
Her eyes darted around the corridor ahead of them, eagerly seizing upon their final gate.
Just outside of it, visible to them all, was a carriage, and Rougeville himself standing in front of it.
That was her escape. That was her way to freedom. This group of hers was part of it, as they could recognize Rougeville, but they were saying nothing. The carriage would not take her to the temple but would take her away.
It was brilliant, and already her tears were welling.
The last gate was opened, and she passed through behind Michonis, her throat pulsing in anticipation.
Suddenly, her way was blocked by a mountain of a man, and she nearly stumbled into him. Glancing up in fear, she noted Gilbert’s taut expression. He had walked faithfully behind her all this way yet now stopped her progress.
“What . . . ?” she whispered in confusion.
He shook his head and herded her back, his eyes conflicted but his jaw set. The threat was evident, and there was no way she could get by him safely.
“Gilbert?” Michonis pressed in a soft but firm tone.
He only continued to press Antoinette back toward the still-open gate.
Antoinette’s breathing grew unsteady, and she took in her surroundings. Sentries at the entrance and in passages above would see this exchange and threaten the attempt even more if a commotion was raised.
She looked at Michonis frantically, desperate for an answer.
He looked torn, disbelieving, frustrated, afraid.
Then he swallowed hard, an apology in his eyes. “Take her back to her cell, gendarmes.”
No . . . No, please, this could not . . .
Gilbert gripped her arm, and she was forced back through the gate and into the long corridor. The other gendarme was on her other side, taking her other arm, though his grip was much gentler.
Back to her cell? Back to the world of darkness she inhabited? Back to days of hopelessness and dreaming of death?
The idea was as crushing as her husband’s death had been. The last few days had been ones of light and hope. Of dreams. Of excitement.
Now it was all ripped from her grasp before her fingers had ever laid hold on anything. She had been granted a taste but not a bite. A glance but not a view. A sound but not a song.
A flicker but not a flame.
And now there would be even less than that. She had no doubt that Gilbert would tell whomever he ought to what had happened, bringing down his coconspirators, and she would be even more restricted into a cage. Even fewer freedoms.
Even less dignity.
Antoinette did not wish to die. But it would at least bring her a darkness she could tolerate.