Author's Note: This is my interpretation of the character of Charlotte Corday. As far as I know, she never left a journal or diary that would have allowed me deeper insight as to who she is. So instead, I based her character on what I thought she would be like because of her actions.

Chapter One

January 15, 1793

I was at my window that morning. My desk rest right in front of it and I had a usually marvelous view of the road coming into Caen. That day, however, the atmosphere was oppressively dull. A thick cloud of fog had rolled its way into the valley, making the air, though cool, feel like it was clinging to every carefully crafted curl that hung near the base of my neck. I looked at the book in front of me, eyeing the words before laying my head down upon it.

I always felt that way whenever I read Plutarch's Lives. Dashing stories of heroes, their minds and bodies thrown into the turmoil of corruption. Caesar, Cimon, Cicero, and Alexander: they all did something great. Oh, how I wished I could aid my own country. To put your life on the line for the good of the people seemed like the most brave, noble thing one could do.

Lifting my head off my book I looked down at the road below. We were some of the last of the nobles to be staying in Caen. Most had left, becoming émigrés and fleeing to bordering countries, the cowards as they are. The people of France are suffering, and here there are people just running away from it all, concerned only with themselves.

I sat up with interest, my chin leaving my palm when a carriage stopped outside out neighbor's, my cousin's good friends Clarisse and Jacques Peteré's. Two white horses stood at the front, their moist and whispering breaths not visible as normal in the cold air because of the extreme dampness. They shook back their heads as the footman got down from his perch and opened the door. One by one, four men stepped out onto the cobblestones. High collars shielded the sides of their faces from me with black velvet.

They were talking amongst themselves as a servant from the Peteré's household scurried out into the street. He led them inside, two more coming out to contend with the baggage from the carriage. I watched the men until they were all completely inside the house and their backs were no longer visible through the front windows.

More friends of Jacques', I supposed. They were always coming around this time of year, usually from boring places in the west where I was surprised anyone even knew of the Revolution. Surely my cousin would be in a bustle tonight as she was no doubt watching the same scene I was. More suitors for me, she would think. Not likely.

--

"Charlotte!" There was a pause in my cousin's voice. I placed my book on my lap, hoping she would give up. Maybe she would think I was asleep…

"Charlotte!" The voice pierced my ears again. I cringed and searched around me for my bookmark, emitting a loud sigh.

"I'll be right down!" I called back, extracting the bookmark from beneath my pillow. Placing it between the worn pages of Voltaire's Candide, I slid it underneath my bed before hopping off. Slipping my right shoe on, I bent down and reached a hand underneath valence, patting to floor looking for my other shoe. Finally feeling the heel of it, I pulled it out and jammed it onto my left foot, wincing as I tried to wiggle my toes in the tight heels. Smoothing my skirts and checking the placement of my hair I quickly descended the stairs into the main hallway.

My cousin was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me, Madame le Coustellier de Brettevill-Gouville herself, her arms crossed and a very unattractive scowl on her face.

"I swear, Charlotte," she said as I reached the bottom of the stairs, "you're twenty-four years old. I should not have to summon you like you are a child. There are some very interesting men here tonight – "

"Oh, Cousin, if the only reason you called me down here was to parade me in front of men then I shall go straight back up to my room this instant." I waved my hands, exasperated. I knew this was going to happen the moment I saw them this morning.

"Please, Charlotte, it is expected that my uncle's daughter – a daughter of nobility no less – take an active role in the welcoming of guests," she stated, her arms tightening across her bosom.

"But I utterly cannot stand the thought of – "

"Charlotte," she cut me off, her brown eyes looking straight into mine. I couldn't help but notice she had applied her powder unevenly. "These are men from Paris! Surely you wish to hear what they have to say?"

I felt my curiosity blooming. Men from Paris? That meant news! My cousin must have noticed the newfound interest in my expression as she uncrossed her arms.

"I thought as much," she said with a sly smile. Taking my elbow she led me down the elaborately decorated hall, the lights from the chandelier shining off her graying hair. At the doors of the parlor, I could see a group of four men standing about the piano. I saw my sister Eleanor on the stool, her hands moving gracefully over the keys as my cousin's friend, Clarisse, sat on a stool close by.

Eleanor looked up when I came in, prompting the others to do so.

"Oh, Charlotte," she said, laughing lightly yet not missing a note, "I was hoping you would join us. No doubt had your nose in a book again."

"Charlotte," my cousin said, motioning from one man to the next, "this is Claude-Romain Lauze –Dupperet, Jean de Gaulle, Paul-Henri Destan, and Dominic Dubois. They've come from Paris. They are staying with Clarisse and her husband at the moment."

"You enjoy reading, Mademoiselle?" one of the men, Monsieur Dupperet asked pleasantly, rising from the slight bow he had given me upon my entrance. I curtsied in return.

"As much as any man would, Monsieur." I retorted, smiling at him.

He laughed at my remark, "And what subjects are you interested in? I daresay my sister finds the romances rather thrilling."

"Well, Monsieur," I said, moving forward a bit and blinking my eyes at him, "I do enjoy the works of Voltaire, but from time to time I find Plutarch's Lives absolutely thrilling." I watched with triumph as the expression on his face changed from condescending to slight disbelief.

"I'll call for tea," my cousin said, her voice strained. I smiled in accomplishment. There was silence as we listened to Eleanor play. She looked so beautiful with her brown hair pulled back elegantly. I had never met anyone who could play as good as she. At the abbey there was always disappointment at my lack of musical talent. Unfortunately this lapse extended to my singing ability as well.

Soon, and much to my relief, the tea arrived. The servant set the silver tray down on the table and we all gathered round to share the drink. I placed myself in the chair by the fireplace, enjoying the warm yellow light it cast upon me. I already found myself missing the cheer of Christmas. I closed my eyes as I thought back to the delicious feast of a Christmas night; even my father had been able to make it before he had to return to work. It had been dreadful since then. I found myself sinking back into the lull I had grown accustomed to ever since I had arrived here. I longed to go to the salons and hear the men talk about the newest ideas of the French philosophy and economics. Unfortunately Madame Gouville would not hear of it.

"So how are things in Paris?" My cousin asked. I instantly no longer felt bored.

"You heard about the trial no doubt?" one of the men said, I chided myself for already forgetting his name.

"Of the king?" she answered. "Surely that wasn't supposed to take place for at least another six months!"

"Well, the Jacobins would not here of it," he answered, his voice taking on an angry tone. "They believe the only way for our people to remain free is to exterminate the last example of the corrupted monarchy."

"But surely they do not have the power to execute a king!" she gasped, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

"Ah, see that is where you're wrong," Dupperet answered for the other. "They are accusing him of crimes against liberty, and you can just imagine how that is going to play out. I expect we will hear news of a verdict any day now."

"And what about the queen, Marie Antoinette?" Eleanor asked.

"We believe she'll soon come to the same fate," the first told her.

"But how do the Girondists feel about this?" I spoke from my chair in the corner. Dupperet turned to me.

"We are not supportive of his execution, however there is a massive force aiding the views of the Jacobins. We are doing what we can to sway the verdict in out favor." Everyone's eyes were upon us. I straightened my shoulders.

"This massive force wouldn't be the Sans-Culottes, would it?" I inquired, shifting in my seat.

Dupperet seemed quite astonished at my comment: another victory I took for myself.

"Yes, their viewpoints have gained them much support from the residents of Paris. We can hardly go into the Convention without an angry mob following us." His brown eyebrows lowered over his eyes as he continued to stare at me.

"Monsieur, do you believe the Girondists are adequately represented in the Convention. Or are we not looking at another instance of the Third Estate in which two-thirds of the committee out-represent the other third?"

"It is the goal of the Convention to provide equal representation," he answered.

"Yes, " I said, thinking, "but what are the goals of the Jacobins and the Sans-Culottes? Do you think they really are in support of the people or rather that they only wish to gain control – "

"They have assured us that they are only for the people."

"And what of the Sans-Culottes? Do you believe that their viewpoints on the matter of economic controls in the hands of the working class is -"

"That's enough," my cousin stated, rising from her seat. "Charlotte, why don't you come to the kitchen with me to sort out desert."

"But, Madame, you said yourself that I could - "

"Charlotte." Her tone was laced with warning. I shut my mouth. I followed her back down the hall and toward the kitchen in the back of the house. She turned abruptly just outside the door, resuming her previous pose of exasperation.

Before she could get a word out, I cut in, "You said that if I came down I could hear about what was going on in Paris!

"The key word here, Charlotte, is hear," she snapped, "I will not have a relative of mine sticking her nose in men's business. I was going to allow you stay down here, but I see now that you still cannot behave properly in the company of others."

"But - "

"For goodness' sake! You are not a child Charlotte; you are a woman. I can't believe I have to send you to your room like a misbehaving little girl."

My ears were ringing. These were the first visitors we'd had in weeks. Surely she was not going to have me miss...

"Surely you are not going to have me miss this great opportunity to finally hear straight from the source what is going on in - "

"Enough," she said again, holding up a hand. I shut my mouth. At the rate this was going, she'd never let me downstairs again. "I will tell them you were feeling ill and had to retire." With that she walked past me, her shoulder brushing mine as she went back down the hall. I followed, and she waited at the bottom of the stairs to make me go up first. Once I was in my room she shut the door soundly behind her.

Collapsing on my bed I gazed up at my ceiling. I did feel treated like a child. But how could she blame me for not wanting to hear what was going on? I did not think I was being forward at all. And what did she care anymore what people think of her? For once, most people had something better to gossip about than the up-and-coming spinsters of Caen.

Feeling a jab in my back, I reached under me and pulled out my book. Even the criticisms of religion in Candide could not entertain me now. Perhaps I could sneak back downstairs and listen in through the door? Rising from my bed I tiptoed to the door, trying the handle.

Locked.

Of course, she was keeping me in like a crazed animal. Sighing I went over to the window and contemplated the terrace descending down the side of the house. Pursing my lips I pulled off my shoes. I had done this once before last year, but the wood had not been as slippery and wet then as it had been summer. Finding my gloves I slipped them on and opened the window. Instantly, my room was filled with a cold wind that sent me shivering.

Pulling my shawl tighter and checking to make sure the knot was secure I slipped my first stocking foot through the window. Gripping the wood with my toes I slid my other foot through, keeping my hands tightly wrapped upon the windowsill. Carefully removing one foot, I stretched down to find the next horizontal foothold. Placing my foot securely I started to slowly make my way down the terrace. My arms soon starting the shake as I took a chance look toward the ground.

The three-story descent had looked much shorter a year ago. Was I losing my nerve?

Taking a deep breath a pressed onward, looking up toward the starry sky the whole time, praying for God, if there was one, to get me down without any broken bones. Imagine what my cousin would think of me then. Climbing down the side of the house like a monkey! She would probably send me to a mental asylum. But I had to hear what else the men had to say.

Finally, when I felt I must truly be descending five thousand stories, I felt my feet touch the ground. Unfortunately, the damp weather we had been having recently left me to contend with cold and wet feet. Slinking my way around the corner of the house, I ducked down as I passed the many windows of the first floor. I found the window for the parlor and I hid myself directly underneath it as so no one could see me if they chanced a look out the window from afar.

Voices I could hear, but they were so muffled I had my ear completely pressed up against the siding and still no distinct words were coming through. There was no chance of opening the window with them noticing. Sighing, I crept my way back to the back of the house. Stopping in front of a window to the back living room, I checked inside to make sure there was no one inside. Dark and quiet I put my hands on the edge of the window and tested it. It opened easily, the wood having shrunk in the cold.

Looking around I lifted one leg up and prepared to climb through the window when footsteps stopped me cold.

"Well," the voice said from behind me, "it's not often I see a young lady trying to break into her own house. You are certainly full of surprises aren't you, Mademoiselle?"

I closed my eyes momentarily. I did not feel humiliated often, but here, with my leg halfway through an open window with no shoes on I could feel it creeping with heat into my cheeks.

Tugging my leg out I straightened my skirts and tried to compose myself by taking long, even breaths. When I felt as ready as I could possibly, I turned around to face Monsieur Dupperet.

"Certainly I get an explanation for this," he said the glint of laughter visible even in the dark.

I turned the question back on him, "I live here, I have a right to climb through any windows I choose. What are you doing out here, Monsieur?"

He laughed out loud this time. "I was merely getting some fresh air when I heard someone moving about. I was worried it was a burglar. Instead, however, I find a shoeless maiden who I though was not feeling well trying to break into her own house."

I didn't know quite what to say to this, so I settled with crossing my arms.

"Won't tell me? I think I can guess," he said, starting to pace in front of me.

I watched as a bat flew between us.

"Well, my judgments of your character tell me that you were trying to hear our conversation that your cousin excluded you from."

"And what do you know about my character, Monsieur?" I asked, a small smile on my face.

"You have an extraordinary sense of political turmoil," he began, still pacing back and forth. "You also seem to have an attention to detail as well as a certain disregard for asking more than should be asked." He stopped moving and stood in front of me again. "Those judgments combined have led me to the conclusion that you could not resist news from Paris."

I tried to keep the emotion off my face, but his accurate perception of my character showed in the widening of my grin.

"I feel flattered that you should take such an interest in my character," I answered, now completely unabashed at my bedraggled appearance.

"And I feel flattered that a lady such as you should be interested in the information my colleagues and I have to offer." He bowed low to me, taking his hat off in the process. "Now I believe, young lady, that if you want to hear what I have to say, we must get walking before you cousin has found you have wandered off."