When they went indoors, the senior Sanson petted his dog, smiled at the cat, and invited his guest to choose between a brandy or a glass of wine, which his wife had waiting for him. Meanwhile the ormolu clock on the mantel ticked on, in a perfect image of bourgeois domesticity. Small children, the patriarch's grandchildren, came running to rejoice that Papa had come home from work so early.
Their mother chided the younger children for bothering Papa now, when he had a visitor; later on Papa would tell them a story.
And Gabriel protested, in a way that seemed a matter of family ritual, that he knew no stories. But after making a brief excuse, he went off with his children anyway.
Old Sanson, puffing on his pipe, frowned slightly as he regarded Radcliffe, now seated in a chair opposite. "Citizen Tallien, was it in the course of business that you became acquainted with my son?"
"Yes sir. In a manner of speaking it was."
"Ah. Then in Martinique, you are—?"
Radcliffe did his best to think fast. "I have a connection with the authorities there, sir. With the system of justice. Though mine is not precisely the same profession that you share with your sons." After a pause he added hastily: "And which is an admirable profession indeed."
The old man nodded. Suddenly he looked grim. "Though some will dispute the fact. Of course it is a great benefit to society."
"Of course, sir."
"Have you seen my machine in operation?" Then, before Radcliffe was compelled to find an answer, he pressed on: "A vast improvement over the old ways! In the old days, at best, the sword—and with the sword, even if the victim did not resist, even if he was perfectly composed, the executioner had to be very skillful, with steady nerves and hand. Otherwise—dangerous accidents!" Old Sanson shook his head and puffed his pipe, evidently recalling some examples.
"Yes," said Radcliffe. "I'm sure the new way is much better."
"The sword quickly grows dull; it has to be sharpened and whetted often. If there are several to be executed on the same day…" Again the patriarch shook his head and muttered darkly. "The guillotine is much better—I see the newspapers have begun to call it the guillotine now."
"So I have heard."
The old man's old wife came bustling by, testing furniture to see how well the maid had dusted. "Papa, Papa, the young people don't want to hear about such things."
"Nonsense, of course they do. The young man here is in almost the same business. Besides, everyone should hear them."
People in this respectable if somewhat isolated household were looking askance at Radcliffe's clothing. Only the coat he had taken at the wax museum made him look at all respectable; his other garments still bore noticeable traces of the scaffold and the grave. Well, these days poor clothes could be taken as a sign of Revolutionary fervor.
Gabriel came back into the room, having finished for the time being playing with his children.
Old Sanson looked at him from under heavy brows. "What is this, Gabriel, that I hear about a wooden blade?"
The young man blinked. "Yes, father?"
"Someone told me that yesterday you used a wooden blade in the machine. Well, never mind it now—but when you have finished with your guest, I want to talk to you about it."
"Certainly, father. We were trying a little experiment. The idea is to prevent rust."
"Citizen Tallien," said the young maid from the doorway. "Your wife is here." And it was at that point that Melanie came in, well-dressed and looking radiant.
At the end of the 18th century, coffee was still something of a novelty in Europe; Gabriel Sanson's wife was soon offering some to her visitors.
"Have you ever tried coffee, citizens? It is all the latest thing."
"I have heard that it is also Citizen Robespierre's favorite drink by far." But then, despite the hopes of Citizeness Sanson, the Incorruptible had never come to call on the executioner.
Melanie was introduced to the old people as a young relation of old Curtius's.
The patriarch appeared interested. "Eh? Yes, I know the man. And how is he?"
"Feeling better." There seemed no reason to burden one ill old man with the troubles of another.
Radcliffe, when presently he had a chance to take Melanie aside, embraced her feverishly. "My darling Mellie, if you will have me, we will be truly married the first chance we get. Perhaps at sea."
"Oh, Philip. I want nothing more!"
"But something's wrong. I can tell. Are your new papers in order?"
"Everything has been taken care of, thanks to Legrand—except—one thing!"
"It must be very important if it is going to delay us here!"
She was having a hard time finding the right words.
"Philip, I told you that I had met your father."
"What has my father to do with this?"
"It is just that… in fact I met M'sieu Franklin at his rented estate at Passy—that's just outside Paris…"
"I didn't realize you met him there. But what does it matter?"
"… where he was living then, when I was a fourteen-year-old apprentice to my cousin. Oh, there was nothing wrong about that! I just didn't want to tell you… because of something else."
"What?"
"Because of the reason for my coming to Paris, alone, at the age of fourteen."
"Ah." Something was coming; whatever it was, she must not be allowed to fear that it was going to matter to him. "Go on, Mellie."
"Well… it was years after you and your mother had departed for Martinique… there was a young man who loved me—yes, he truly did! Even though he was only sixteen at the time, and I was even younger…"
"I think that I begin to understand."
"You do? Philip, I have a son, ten years old."
"My poor dear—you could have told me—"
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The figure of Mr. Graves (what could he be standing on to look in that high window?) now raised one finger to its smiling lips, enjoining silence.
Radcliffe complied. He even held his breath. But then, with the desperate certainty that silence wasn't going to be good enough, that the figure at the window was likely to be soon discovered by those inside, he tore his gaze away, lest the people around him should begin to wonder what he was staring at. What he ought to do, inspiration urged, was to create some distraction so that the villains in the house with him would have their attention diverted away from the intruder, at least for a critical few seconds.
When Philip had complained that his arm was bleeding, the knots on the cord that had bound his arms were undone, and his right arm completely freed. Now he should be able to untie and unwind the cords holding his left arm and his legs, but he would need at least several seconds to do so.
He started to untie himself, but the heroic distraction proved unnecessary. A moment later, the glass in three windows simultaneously came crashing in.
* * *
The crucial phase of the break-in, which involved getting all the attackers into their chosen positions, had been timed for the moment when the attention of everyone inside would be on Philip and his horrified reaction to the beheading of an animal.
Vlad Dracula had delayed his assault until Radcliffe was brought out to the barn; but he would not have delayed it much beyond that, even if Radu had been late in coming.
It was also exquisitely timed with regard to Radu, to catch him just after his arrival, when he was gloating over his prisoner Radcliffe, at a moment when he'd be relatively off guard.
A moment later, one door of the old barn burst in as well.