Jeannot had returned to his life on the streets, sharing his home as he had before with Paul and the Monkey. Even living with the Bergers he’d found too restricting. Now that he was a man of means – he still had fifteen francs in his pocket – he wanted to be out and about, doing the business that such men do. When the fighting had ceased, the retributions over, the firing squads silent and the executions done with, the city he had known all his life picked itself up, gave itself a shake and got on with things. Not returning to a normality that, certainly in its previous form anyway, was dead and buried with the executed Communards, but country people brought their produce into town, markets were set up, people bought and sold, and wherever that went on there were opportunities to be had, and Jeannot made the most of them.
Several times he’d been back to the Avenue Ste Anne, walking past casually, watching for Hélène. He hadn’t seen her since he’d left her with the Bergers and he wanted to know she was all right. He had no idea what had happened to Marcel or Georges. He didn’t care about Georges, but he’d been impressed with Marcel. Had Marcel killed Gaston? he wondered. He hoped so.
One evening at dusk he had been back to Gaston’s place and even as he watched, two men, whom he recognised as Gaston’s henchmen, Jules and Auguste, emerged from the building carrying a sagging bundle of… something. Was it a corpse? He followed at a distance to the next street and saw them looking about them before quietly tipping whatever it was into the central drain and hurrying away. Jeannot drew back deeper into the shadows. As far as they were concerned he was dead, and that was the way he wanted it to stay.
It was several days later that he saw activity at the St Clairs’ house. The front door was unbarred and replaced with a sturdy new one.
He saw Hélène and her mother returning to the house and knew a sudden burst of relief. Hélène was all right. Wherever she’d run to that day, she’d survived. He wondered if she’d been back to the priests’ house, or even the orphanage, but thought either very unlikely. He watched as they went in through the front door, and as she did so, the girl looked back, glancing up and down the street as if searching for someone. It was then that she saw him, leaning against a lamp-post a little further along. He raised a hand and her eyes widened. Was it really Jeannot? With a jerk of his thumb, he indicated the back gate of the house and he thought she nodded before she followed her mother indoors.
Moments later he was at the garden gate and so was she.
‘Where did you go to?’
‘What happened to you?’
They both spoke at once, making them laugh.
‘Is Pierre in the stables?’ Jeannot asked, looking anxiously about him.
‘Don’t think so,’ replied Hélène. ‘Papa sent him off somewhere this morning and he’s not back yet. Come on, we’ll talk in there.’
Together they hurried across the yard and into the shelter of the stables. Hélène flopped down on one straw bale, Jeannot on another.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘why didn’t you come back for me?’
Jeannot explained about the press gang and building the barricades.
‘And where did you run off to?’
They sat on the bales, exchanging stories as the afternoon sun streamed in through the grimy windows, motes of dust and straw dancing in its beams. Two children, so different, but each completely comfortable in the company of the other.
It was Pierre who found them still talking when he came back into the stable from his errand in the city.
‘Hey, you young tyke,’ he groaned when he recognised Jeannot. ‘Not you again.’
‘He’s not a tyke,’ Hélène cried, leaping immediately to Jeannot’s defence. ‘He saved me from…’ she paused, not wanting to explain to Pierre the horrors of Gaston’s attentions, ‘…and I’ll talk to him if I want to!’
‘Not sure your parents would agree,’ Pierre said mildly.
‘Well, I don’t care,’ declared Hélène, adding with a lift of her chin, ‘and you’re not to tell them!’
‘I won’t tell them,’ Pierre said, ‘but you’d better scram now, youngster, before they find you themselves.’
Jeannot got to his feet. ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘When you’re here, I’ll come to the stables and Pierre can fetch you. All right, mate?’ he added, grinning at Pierre, and Pierre returned a rueful grin and said, ‘All right, tyke.’
As Jeannot crossed to the door, Hélène reached out and grabbed him into a hug. ‘We’ll always be friends, won’t we, Jeannot?’
Jeannot extricated himself from the hug and mumbled, ‘Yeah! Course we will.’
‘Good,’ said Hélène, smiling happily, ‘that’s what I thought.’
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Diney Costeloe’s next book is coming in 2020