Chapter 38 #2
They slipped through the wooden gate while the boy was distracted.
élisabeth then led her husband to where Jeanne was being held.
She looked around the compound for signs of anyone else before lifting the latch.
Darkness spilled out of the old barracks, but élisabeth rushed in, finding Jeanne in a heap by the wall.
“Jeanne, wake up. It’s me, élisabeth. I’ve brought Francoeur,” she whispered. “We’ve come to free you.”
The witch raised her head. élisabeth looked at her swollen ankles, crushed by the brodequins.
“You will need to carry her,” she told Francoeur.
He wasted no time. He scooped her up and put her arms around his neck. Jeanne clung limply to him as he made his way across the barracks and out the door.
Outside the fort the crowd was still focused on the spectacle.
The jailor had managed to grab Jambon by the back of the shirt, who twisted and tried to hug the boy by his waist, weeping with feigned gratitude.
Lajeunesse was rallying the mob with his arms in the air, before spinning back and pulling Jambon’s breeches to the ground.
The crowd roared and called for more. The boy jailor lunged for Lajeunesse, letting go of Jambon.
The ham pulled up his breeches and then did his own tour of the crowd, wiggling his bottom to great cheers.
No one noticed as Francoeur and élisabeth slipped out of the jail with the witch in their arms.
“Walk between me and the crowd so that they cannot see Jeanne,” Francoeur told élisabeth. She nodded and held her head high, as if she could grow several inches just by wishing it. They rounded the corner of the fort and had nearly reached the bridge when they heard a shout.
“Stop!”
élisabeth whipped around. Lajeunesse and Jambon had kept the crowd in thrall but the boy had marked their exit and followed them. Jeanne lifted her head. élisabeth crossed herself and waited, frozen, to see who would move first.
“Bring the witch back,” the jailor shouted. There was a tremor in his voice.
“No. We need her,” élisabeth called back.
The boy took a tentative step forward, then immediately hopped back when he saw Jeanne groggily lift her head.
He danced on the spot, unable to take his eyes off the figure in Francoeur’s arms. élisabeth was struck by a sudden thought.
She nudged her husband backwards and slowly he took a step.
The jailor moved towards them, thought the better of it, and darted backwards.
The boy clearly did not have the spine to cross the witch.
They turned and began to run, Francoeur lumbering forward with Jeanne in his arms, élisabeth close by his side.
As they crossed the bridge, she could hear the guard call after them.
“You will rue your actions!”
They weaved across the commons towards Rue Saint-Paul; élisabeth was careful not to tempt fate by looking behind them, only sneaking a quick glance at Francoeur by her side. He caught her eye and élisabeth felt a twist of hope as her husband broke into a smile. She blushed and quickened her pace.
They burst through the bakery door a moment later. Francoeur eased Jeanne Roy into a chair in the widow’s salon. The witch’s head rolled back, and she groaned. Wari rushed in from behind a curtain at the back of the room.
“Angélique,” she whispered, placing her hands on Jeanne Roy’s cheeks. The witch gave her a weak smile. “You are free.”
“Where’s Marthe?” élisabeth demanded, striding towards Verger. The baker was standing dumb by the fire. He jerked his thumb towards the curtain. “Back there. In the widow’s bed.”
“Then what are you doing out here?” élisabeth snapped, sick with fear.
“There is no room for me! There must be nearly a dozen women with her. Rose, Lou, Thérèse, Francoise. And more whom I do not know. Apolline bid me to come out here and heat some water. So that is what I’m doing.” Verger frowned, staring at the cauldron as if willing it to boil.
“The Saint-Jean-Baptiste girls have come.” élisabeth exhaled, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders. She turned to kneel by Jeanne Roy’s side. Wari was wiping her face with a cloth, cleaning away the dirt and blood to reveal the damage the hangman had done.
“Jeanne, I am sorry to beg for your help when you are in such pain. But Marthe is trying to birth twins. And I fear they will kill her, like they did my mother.”
Jeanne’s eyes were bleary. Still, she raised her head. “Where is she?” she croaked.
“I’ll carry you.” Francoeur stepped forward, lifting the crippled witch once again into his arms. He followed élisabeth as she pushed back the curtain to reveal a small space crowded with women: some holding Marthe’s hand, some mopping her brow, and one crooning a lullaby.
When they saw Jeanne Roy they leapt and crowded around the witch, trying to touch her face and kiss her hands, as if she were a saint come to life in their midst.
“Put me down,” Jeanne instructed. The girls stood back, and Francoeur eased Jeanne to the ground. She winced as her feet touched the floor, but once she found her knees, she edged towards her patient. “Marthe, let me have a look at you.”
Marthe tried to nod but winced instead and made a guttural sound.
Jeanne Roy was not dissuaded. She placed her hands on Marthe’s belly, feeling the flesh with her fingertips, then she reached one hand beneath Marthe’s shift.
Marthe grimaced at Jeanne’s touch. After several minutes the witch withdrew her hand and spoke calmly.
“Everything is as it should be. You will be a mother before the night is out.”
Jeanne Roy nodded to Francoeur and he lifted her back into his arms. He carried her into the front room, élisabeth following quickly behind.
“All is well? She will deliver soon?” she asked. Francoeur eased Jeanne back into a chair.
“No,” Jeanne said softly so that Marthe would not hear. “It is as you suspected. I can feel two babies. But she is clearly weak from her labours. I do not know if she has the strength to continue.”
élisabeth closed her eyes and clasped her hands together. “Oh Blessed Virgin, have mercy on her soul,” she began. “Saint Anne, you who gave birth to the mother of Christ our saviour—”
“élisabeth.”
She stopped and opened her eyes. Jeanne was looking at her dead in the eye. “I might be able to save her. But I’ll need Chamberlen’s Secret.”
She stared at Jeanne Roy. Verger spun away from the cauldron of boiling water.
“You need what?” he balked.
“It is a tool of unimaginable power,” élisabeth said softly. “A magic wand, I believe. Or possibly a knife.”
“élisabeth,” Jeanne Roy interrupted. “Don’t try to guess what it is. Just go and find where the priest has taken it.”
“The priest has Chamberlen’s Secret?”
“Yes, élisabeth. Go and get my doll.”