midday was approaching, Daniel was lurking outside the Bastille. Among the many faces coming towards him, he recognised those of Philippe and Georges, the turnkeys with whom he'd been drinking the previous night. They greeted him with a wave then escorted him to the main gate. Daniel had put a stone in one shoe so that he was forced to limp as he walked. Having passed himself off as a wounded French soldier, he had to keep up the pretence. When the gate was opened, the gaolers went through it for another day's work. Before they were allowed to go to their posts, their names were checked off in turn. The man in charge of the list was tall, cadaverous and beady-eyed. He wore a dark uniform. Philippe spoke to him and indicated Daniel. After subjecting the newcomer to a long stare, the man flicked a hand to make him stand aside. Philippe and Georges bade him a cheery farewell before going off to one of the towers.
Daniel waited until the incoming turnkeys had all been accounted for and those they'd relieved had all departed. Only when his ledger had all the requisite ticks on it did the emaciated man look up. Daniel felt the intensity of his scrutiny. The man's eyes were so keen that they seemed to see right through the newcomer.
'What's your name?' he demanded.
'Marcel Daron, sir.'
'Do you have papers?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Daniel, taking them out and handing them over. He stood there for several minutes while his papers were inspected. They were eventually handed back to him. 'I was a soldier until I was wounded in battle,' he explained. 'They have no room in the army for invalids.'
'We have no call for them here either. Our turnkeys must be fit and strong enough to control unruly prisoners.'
'Apart from my foot, I'm in good health, sir. Being a soldier has kept me strong. Put me to the test, if you doubt it.'
The man did so at once, shooting out a hand to grasp him by the neck and pulling him close. Daniel's response was equally swift. He grabbed the man's wrist and squeezed it tighter and tighter until he saw the pain clouding his eyes. Strong though he was, the man was soon compelled to release his grip. Tucking the ledger under one arm, he massaged his wrist with the other hand.
'You're a powerful man, Marcel Daron.'
'You'll not find me wanting, sir.'
'Have you guarded prisoners before?'
'I did so many times in the army.'
'Why do you want to work here?'
'The work appeals to me, sir.'
'But why choose the Bastille?' asked the other. 'Why not go to the Chatelet or the Eveque? They are always looking for new men.'
'I heard that there might be a job for me here, sir.'
The man sniffed then walked around him, as if examining livestock at a fair. He opened his ledger and glanced down the list of names. The beady eyes shifted to Daniel once more.
'Are you afraid of the dark?' he asked.
'No, sir.'
'Are you frightened by rats and mice?'
'Nothing frightens me,' said Daniel, levelly.
'Very well,' decided the man after another prolonged survey of him. 'You can go on duty tonight. There'll be a uniform waiting for you when you arrive. If you're late, you'll be turned away.'
'Yes, sir.'
'My name is Bermutier — Sergeant Bermutier.'
'I'll be here on time, Sergeant,'
Bermutier gave him full details of how long he'd be expected to work, where he'd be assigned and what wage he could expect if he proved himself capable. Daniel thanked him before being let out through the door. As it closed behind him with a loud thud, he was profoundly grateful. Even during his brief visit to the place, he'd felt extremely oppressed by the high, thick walls of the Bastille. He could imagine how much worse it was to be imprisoned there.
Ronan Flynn was a genial host. Unfailingly pleasant to Amalia and Dopff, he was so impressed by the way that Beatrix had cleaned the house that he jokingly offered her a permanent job there. Amalia didn't even bother to translate the words into Dutch for her servant. She knew that Beatrix was as eager as she to leave Paris altogether and would hope never to set foot in France again. While they were there, however, it was important for the visitors to express their gratitude by giving the Flynn family ample time on their own. That was what prompted Amalia to take Beatrix for a walk that afternoon. Dopff, meanwhile, retreated to the attic.
Alone with his wife and child, Flynn sat in a chair and dandled Louise on his knee, chuckling as she gave him her toothless grin and happy burble. Charlotte watched them fondly. Her thoughts then turned to their guests.
'They're very good,' she conceded. 'They've been no trouble while you were at the bakery. Amalia looked after Louise for me.'
'They all adore her.'
'Yes, she's getting a lot of attention from them.'
'She deserves it,' he said, lifting the child high to shake her before bringing her down and planting a kiss on her forehead.'
'Where is your friend, Daniel?'
'He'll be back in a few days, my darling.'
'A few days', echoed Charlotte. 'They've already been here two nights. I thought they'd have been on their way by now.'
'Dan has some business to see to first.'
'What kind of business?'
'He didn't say.'
'There are lots of things he hasn't told you, Ronan. He hasn't said why they're all here, for a start. And he hasn't explained why they're all so nervous.'
'They're nervous because they're in a strange house in a foreign country and unable to speak the language.'
'Then what are they doing here? Why come to Paris when they can't speak French and when they have nowhere to stay?'
'Who knows?' said Flynn, tolerantly. 'I don't want to poke my nose into their business. I told you how Dan Rawson came to my aid when I was captured by the enemy. He risked his life to do that, Charlotte, and it's not something you forget in a hurry, believe me. I owe him a great deal. These people are
Dan's friends and I was willing to help. I'd hoped that you'd be just as willing, my darling.'
'I am,' she said, 'in some ways.'
Seeing her concern, he put the baby gently into the crib then took his wife by the shoulders. He kissed her tenderly.
'Something is upsetting you, isn't it?'
She shook her head. 'It puzzles me, Ronan, that's all.'
'What does?'
'Why they seem so ill at ease and whisper in corners.'
'You can't accuse Kees of whispering anywhere,' he said with a laugh. 'The poor fellow can't utter a word.'
'He's the one who puzzles me most. I never know what he's thinking. Have you seen what he has up there in the attic?'
'A lot of dust and spiders' webs, I daresay.'
'I slipped up there when he was in the garden.'
'You shouldn't pry, Charlotte.'
'This is our house,' she said with spirit. 'I've the right to go anywhere I like in it. That's why I went up to the attic.'
