Doppelganger

Paris

1750

She must never know there was a second child," said Joseph St. Evremonde to the young physician's assistant, Alexandre Manette. Joseph's wife, Annette, had just given birth to twin boys and, due to complications, slipped into a coma.

"But, sir, her life hangs in the balance," said Alexandre. "Chances are, she'll never even meet little Charles."

"Nevertheless, if she does regain consciousness, she must never know about the second twin." Joseph lowered his voice and leaned closer to Alexandre. "You see, several months ago, a gypsy told us we would have twin boys, and that the younger brother would live a tragic life and die early by his own hand. Ever since then, she's been out of her head with worry. No matter how many times I've tried to reassure her, it seems to be of no use, as she's still obsessed with the misfortune she's sure will befall our younger son.'

"But what shall be done with the second child?" Alexandre thought of the feeble, squalling infant who'd been born ten minutes after his brother. He was touched by the newborn's helplessness and vulnerability and couldn't imagine his father just turning his back on him.

Joseph grew thoughtful.

"Place him in an orphanage. Perhaps, in a few years, we can take him in. Annette need never know he is the child for whom such a woeful future was predicted."

He walked into the room where his beloved lay in bed, so pale and still. Tenderly, he brushed the dark hair back from her forehead.

"Darling, please wake up!"

Alexandre Manette was in a dilemma. He knew he couldn't abandon the child entrusted to his care in an orphanage. Given their horrid conditions, the infant would be fortunate to survive twenty-four hours.

He took to the streets, the newborn cradled securely in his arms. The bustling crowd swarmed past him like ants drawn to honey, taking no notice of the unusual spectacle of an unaccompanied young man holding a baby.

Where could he go? Having decided against the orphanage, he searched his mind for a better option. He considered taking the child in himself, then quickly abandoned that notion. He'd been wed merely weeks, and what would his bride think of the arrangement? She'd assume it was his own child, conceived in a moment of passion and then abandoned by its mother. He'd rather die than to wound her like that.

His wanderings brought him to the port of Calais, where he stood on the shore, watching the ferries arrive and depart. England! Why hadn't he thought of that before?

The infant began to wail, a thin, weak sound. Alexandre dipped his finger into the water and held it to the tiny mouth. The baby sucked eagerly.

"You need a mother to give you milk," said Alexandre. "I will not rest until I have found you one."

Alexandre and his tiny charge were on the next ferry to England. As soon as the white cliffs of Dover came into view, he was filled with hope. He'd made the right decision.

When he reached London, he was confronted with the bustling street scene all over again, people dashing to and fro, oblivious to him and the baby. He reached a charity hospital and went inside. He moved carefully down the corridor, seeking he knew not what.

In a small room to one side, Richard and Sarah Carton mourned the loss of their infant son, Sydney.

"We shall pray to God, and he shall return our son to us," Richard told his wife. Alexandre happened to be passing by at that exact moment, and as the grieving couple lowered their heads in prayer, he made a sudden decision.

He moved soundlessly into the room and, quick as a flash, replaced the dead infant with the living one, then crept cautiously out of view.

Richard and Sarah were just finishing their prayer when the baby began to cry. Sarah's eyes flew open.

"Oh, Sydney, you've come back to us! It's a miracle!" She held the infant to her swollen, aching breast, and he began to suckle greedily. Richard beamed as he looked on and thanked God.

Alexandre wasn't there to witness any of this, as he was frantically searching for the hospital's incinerator. He found it and, crossing himself, disposed of the body of the dead Carton child. He hated to do so but knew he had no other choice; no one must ever find out what he had done.

Annette St. Evremonde was coming around; she moaned softly as she opened her eyes and looked up at her husband.

"Joseph?"

"I'm right here, ma cherie."

"The baby - is he all right?"

"He's beautiful."

She sighed, relieved.

"So there was only one baby, after all!"

"Yes." Joseph smiled. "I told you not to take such stock in the words of a stranger with a crystal ball."

Despite his words, the prediction of the gypsy continued to haunt Joseph. He will live a tragic life and die early by his own hand.

Joseph hoped that, by placing the fate of the unfortunate babe in the hands of Alexandre Manette, he'd avoided the dire fate.

His mission accomplished, Alexandre boarded the next ferry to France and returned home to his sweet Lucie. He loved her with a passion and looked forward to spending the rest of his life with her. He hoped their first child would be a girl. If it was, he wanted to name her Lucie, for her mother.

Perhaps all future firstborn Manette females would be named Lucie. That thought made him smile.