Rosalie was in the garden picking roses for the house when the messenger arrived at St Etienne. Anne-Marie the housemaid came running out to find her.
‘Madame, please come at once,’ she cried, her face red with excitement. ‘A soldier has come from Paris with a letter.’
Rosalie dropped her basket and almost ran back indoors, calling over her shoulder, ‘Where’s Monsieur St Clair, Anne-Marie? Find him at once and tell him I need him in the morning parlour.’
The soldier was waiting in the hall and as Rosalie reached him, she said, ‘A letter? You’ve brought us a letter. Is it from my son, Captain St Clair? Give it to me, quickly please.’
The man handed over the letter, saying, ‘I believe it’s from your daughter, madame.’
‘My daughter,’ breathed Rosalie, and looking at the envelope saw that it was indeed addressed in Hélène’s handwriting. At that moment Emile came in.
‘What is the matter, my dear?’ he said briskly. ‘I’m talking to Patrice about the orchard and—’
‘Never mind about Patrice and the orchard,’ Rosalie cried. ‘This man has brought us a letter… from Hélène. She’s alive!’ She passed him the envelope and he ripped it open. He sank into a chair as he read it and then passed it over to his wife.
Rosalie read it through twice before saying, ‘We must go at once!’
‘And they were both well when you left them?’ Emile said, turning to the soldier.
‘As far as I know, sir,’ replied the man. ‘I didn’t actually see the captain, I was simply ordered to bring you this letter.’
Emile summoned Anne-Marie and told her to take the messenger into the kitchen and make sure he had a proper meal before he went on his way.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said when they were alone again, ‘what amazing news is this!’
Rosalie could hardly believe that two of her children had survived the dreadful fighting in Paris; that they were safe and living with the doctor. She wept tears of joy and Emile found himself fighting back tears of his own. He had long ago accepted the fact that Hélène was lost to them, and now here she was, writing to tell them about Georges being wounded and asking them to come and fetch them both. What on earth had happened to her? Where had she been all this time?
‘You must tell Pierre to prepare the chaise at once,’ Rosalie said. ‘If Georges is injured we must bring him back here to be nursed and he cannot travel on the train. And Hélène! My darling girl, my darling, darling girl. She’s alive!’ The tears streamed down her cheeks and she clasped Emile’s hands. ‘Oh, Emile!’
They set out for Paris that very afternoon, Pierre driving them in the chaise, a basket of provisions tucked under the seat for when they arrived. They left the two girls in St Etienne with Mademoiselle Corbine and travelled alone. Clarice and Louise had jumped for joy at the news and begged to be allowed to accompany their parents, but Rosalie had learned her lesson. No other daughter of hers was going to be brought into a city still on the edge of civil war.
‘We’ll bring them back here to St Etienne as soon as we can,’ she promised. ‘We shan’t be away long.’
‘You will come home again, Maman, won’t you?’ Louise asked anxiously.
‘Of course I will,’ replied her mother. ‘The fighting in Paris has stopped now and we’ll be back in a few days.’
They stopped overnight at an inn on the way, but were up at cock crow the next morning to carry on their journey back into Paris. This time there was no National Guard on the gates to question their reasons for travelling or to confiscate their horse.
Once they reached the Avenue Ste Anne they went straight to the doctor’s house where they found Hélène, sitting with Georges, reading to him. Madame Yvette led them into the room and Hélène gave a shriek and, dropping the book, rushed into her mother’s arms. Rosalie held her tightly, as if she would never let her go.
Emile crossed to the bed where Georges lay, his face pale and pinched. ‘My dear boy,’ he said, reaching for his hands. ‘Thank God you’re alive.’
‘Only just, Papa,’ Georges replied, as he watched his mother and Hélène weeping as they clung together. ‘Crippled for life. What use is a one-legged man? I might as well be dead.’
Emile looked down at him, his eyes full of compassion. ‘Never say that, Georges,’ he said. ‘Never, ever, say that.’
When Dr Simon came home he drew Rosalie aside and said, ‘Your daughter has had some dreadful experiences since she was taken. She’s an extremely brave and resourceful child, but she may find it difficult to speak of them. Try not to overwhelm her with questions. Let her tell you what happened to her in her own good time. It may take days or weeks for it all to come out.’ He gave a sigh. ‘I haven’t asked her, but I know she has nightmares. I’ve heard her crying out in the night. So, I know it’ll be difficult, but let her take her time telling you.’
Rosalie took his advice and asked no questions, but talking to Georges when she was alone with him, she learned much of what had happened to Hélène and was horrified. She also asked about Marcel. ‘Have you seen him? Where is he now?’ she asked eagerly. ‘What happened to him?’
‘I don’t know, Maman,’ answered Georges. He was unwilling to tell her that Marcel had deserted the army and fought for the Commune, so he simply said, ‘But I do know that he did all he could for Hélène and if he hadn’t found me and brought me here, I’d be dead now.’
It was going to take far longer than a few days, but they were able to send another message to the family waiting in St Etienne to say that they were with Georges and Hélène and that all was well.
Hélène stayed at the doctor’s house with Georges, but her parents went to their own home in the Avenue Ste Anne. Rosalie was extremely reluctant to enter the house where Marie-Jeanne had been killed and Hélène had been abducted, but they had nowhere else to go. The front door was still barred and they had to enter the house through the stable yard and back door. It was cold and still and she felt it was filled with the miasma of death.
In the hall, they found Marcel’s letter and learned what Georges had not told them.
‘That’s a disgrace!’ Emile had retorted. ‘How could a son of mine have deserted? We shall never be able to hold up our heads again!’
‘And I’m proud that a son of mine was prepared to fight for what he thought was right!’ declared Rosalie.
‘But we can’t receive him back into the family,’ Emile said. ‘A Communard!’
‘If he’s still alive, I will always welcome my son home,’ Rosalie said defiantly. ‘Communard or not.’ She held Emile’s gaze, her eyes challenging. ‘Have you forgotten that he’s been taking care of Hélène? That he rescued Georges and got him to Dr Simon? I will never forget those things, even if you do.’
‘Even if he wasn’t killed on the barricades, he’s almost certainly dead,’ Emile said flatly. ‘They’ve been shooting the Communard prisoners.’
‘I know that,’ Rosalie said quietly, ‘and if he’s dead, he died for what he believed in. No one will know he turned his coat, unless you tell them, Emile. Georges must have known and he’s saying nothing. We should say nothing, too.’
Dr Simon told them it would be some weeks before Georges would be fit to be moved. Arrangements needed to be made, a suitable, competent nurse had to be found and hired, and a downstairs room prepared for Georges’s habitation.