Read Online The Trial of Marie Montrecourt by Kay Patrick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kay Patrick
Ads: Link
exchanged. “What is it?” someone called from the back. “Why are we stopping?” In reply came the echoing clip-clop of horses’ hooves from the side streets.
“What’s happening?” someone called.
It soon became obvious what was happening as mounted police slowly rode into view. They took up a position facing the line of women, forming a barrier between them and the factory, batons in hands.
Daphne was the first to recover. “Don’t worry, ladies. Nothing will happen,” she shouted cheerfully. “We are doing nothing wrong. If we keep walking, they will give way.”
Following her lead, Marie and the group started to walk forward. However, so did the police, their horses progressing effortlessly from a walk to a trot. As they gathered speed, the line of women hesitated. Then, after a second, realising the police were not going to stop, the line wavered. The horses were almost on top of them now, muscles straining, charging straight at them. There were screams as the marchers struggled to get out of the way of the pounding hooves and the raised batons. Marie threw the banner aside and hurled herself towards the wall, feeling the heat from one of the horses as it brushed past her body. Daphne was beside her and pushed her into a doorway.
“When I shout go, run for the gate across the road,” she yelled. “It leads to fields that will get you back to the Stray.”
“What will you do?”
“I won’t be far behind you. Now, go!” As the last horse charged past, she pushed Marie towards the road. The police were reforming and getting ready to charge again. “Now!” Daphne shouted.
Marie did as she was told, skirts held high, feet pounding against the earth. To either side of her, other women were also running. Daphne remained where she was, heading them off from danger and pushing them towards safety. A few women lay in the road; their silk dresses torn and muddied, and their shawls and clogs covered in blood from wounds. Driven by panic, Marie kept running. She clawed her way over the gate and raced across the fields, not daring to look back.
It wasn’t until she reached the safety of The Stray that she slowed down. She pushed a shaking hand through her hair, trying to tidy it. She glanced behind her. No one was following. Having regained her breath a little, she walked swiftly across The Stray to Devonshire Place. The housekeeper let her in. She ran up the stairs to the safety of her room. It was only then that her legs turned to jelly and she collapsed on the bed.
Panic turned swiftly to guilt. She should have stayed with Daphne to help the wounded. She splashed her face with cold water from the jug. Should she go to the shop and make sure that Daphne was safe? She was too afraid to do so. Suppose the police saw her and arrested her? She sat on the edge of her bed all night imagining the worst things that might happen, so that by the morning she was in a dreadful state with dark rings under her eyes from lack of sleep. She knew she had to see Daphne and make sure she was unhurt.
“I’m just going to walk on The Stray,” she told Isabelle, who was too preoccupied with baby Jonathan to take much notice. It was obvious she hadn’t heard about the march. Isabelle merely nodded an acknowledgement. Once out of sight of the house, Marie quickened her pace and headed for the bookshop.
It was as dark as ever in Market Alley, but there wasn’t the usual light on in the shop. The door was ajar, though, which was odd. Marie pushed it open further, making the bell ring.
“Daphne?” There was no reply. She entered, closing the door behind her. “Daphne?” She heard a noise from behind the curtained partition. “Daphne?”
There was still no answer. She made her way to the small room at the back. As she reached the alcove, the curtain was suddenly thrust aside and the figure of a man hurtled towards her. He pushed her savagely in the chest and she screamed as she fell, striking her head against a
“What’s happening?” someone called.
It soon became obvious what was happening as mounted police slowly rode into view. They took up a position facing the line of women, forming a barrier between them and the factory, batons in hands.
Daphne was the first to recover. “Don’t worry, ladies. Nothing will happen,” she shouted cheerfully. “We are doing nothing wrong. If we keep walking, they will give way.”
Following her lead, Marie and the group started to walk forward. However, so did the police, their horses progressing effortlessly from a walk to a trot. As they gathered speed, the line of women hesitated. Then, after a second, realising the police were not going to stop, the line wavered. The horses were almost on top of them now, muscles straining, charging straight at them. There were screams as the marchers struggled to get out of the way of the pounding hooves and the raised batons. Marie threw the banner aside and hurled herself towards the wall, feeling the heat from one of the horses as it brushed past her body. Daphne was beside her and pushed her into a doorway.
“When I shout go, run for the gate across the road,” she yelled. “It leads to fields that will get you back to the Stray.”
“What will you do?”
“I won’t be far behind you. Now, go!” As the last horse charged past, she pushed Marie towards the road. The police were reforming and getting ready to charge again. “Now!” Daphne shouted.
Marie did as she was told, skirts held high, feet pounding against the earth. To either side of her, other women were also running. Daphne remained where she was, heading them off from danger and pushing them towards safety. A few women lay in the road; their silk dresses torn and muddied, and their shawls and clogs covered in blood from wounds. Driven by panic, Marie kept running. She clawed her way over the gate and raced across the fields, not daring to look back.
It wasn’t until she reached the safety of The Stray that she slowed down. She pushed a shaking hand through her hair, trying to tidy it. She glanced behind her. No one was following. Having regained her breath a little, she walked swiftly across The Stray to Devonshire Place. The housekeeper let her in. She ran up the stairs to the safety of her room. It was only then that her legs turned to jelly and she collapsed on the bed.
Panic turned swiftly to guilt. She should have stayed with Daphne to help the wounded. She splashed her face with cold water from the jug. Should she go to the shop and make sure that Daphne was safe? She was too afraid to do so. Suppose the police saw her and arrested her? She sat on the edge of her bed all night imagining the worst things that might happen, so that by the morning she was in a dreadful state with dark rings under her eyes from lack of sleep. She knew she had to see Daphne and make sure she was unhurt.
“I’m just going to walk on The Stray,” she told Isabelle, who was too preoccupied with baby Jonathan to take much notice. It was obvious she hadn’t heard about the march. Isabelle merely nodded an acknowledgement. Once out of sight of the house, Marie quickened her pace and headed for the bookshop.
It was as dark as ever in Market Alley, but there wasn’t the usual light on in the shop. The door was ajar, though, which was odd. Marie pushed it open further, making the bell ring.
“Daphne?” There was no reply. She entered, closing the door behind her. “Daphne?” She heard a noise from behind the curtained partition. “Daphne?”
There was still no answer. She made her way to the small room at the back. As she reached the alcove, the curtain was suddenly thrust aside and the figure of a man hurtled towards her. He pushed her savagely in the chest and she screamed as she fell, striking her head against a
Similar Books
