Amanda Scott (12 page)

She shook her head, not believing a word he said, but she was unable to deny the warm feeling that spread through her at the thought that once again he was exerting himself on her behalf. She had not the least doubt that he meant to see that her journey to Paris was a comfortable one, and she had to confess—to herself if to no one else—that she felt the safer for his presence. She had not thought before what it would be like to travel with only a pair of French-speaking postilions, but as she glanced at them now, mounting the near-side horses, she was grateful for Sir Antony’s presence. Without further discussion, therefore, she laid her hand upon his arm, preparing to accept his assistance into the chaise.

“Mademoiselle!”

Turning abruptly, she saw the elderly priest hurrying toward them across the innyard, his skirts caught up in one hand, presenting to her view a pair of surprisingly skinny legs and shabby black boots beneath. He was nearly breathless when he reached them.

“What is it, sir?” she asked, smiling at him.

Taking a moment to regain his customary poise, the cleric nodded at her, returning her smile. At last, taking a deep breath and patting his heaving chest, he said, “You depart for Paris, yes?”

“Yes.”

He nodded again. “I have been thinking and thinking,
mademoiselle
, about your concerns for your sister, the merry countess, and I believe I have devised a way to ease those concerns if indeed they may be eased.”

“And how is that, sir?”

“I have a friend,
mademoiselle
. Once he thought to take holy orders, but he discovered he had not the calling. We were boys together, no? Now he is a
personnage
, a man of consequence. Indeed,
mademoiselle
, he serves the First Consul as a member of his ministry. But he is not like so many others, you see. He is a man of great kindness, a man I am certain will hear your concerns and reply to them honestly. Moreover, I believe he is already acquainted with the Comtesse de Prévenu.”

He paused to take another breath, and Meriel stared at him, digesting what he had said to her. “Do you mean that your friend would tell me if my sister is in danger? He would warn us if she is meant to follow her husband to prison?”

“Indeed,
mademoiselle
, I believe he would do such a thing. Moreover, I believe he will be able to allay your concerns with regard to the so estimable Comte de Prévenu. That family, you know,
mademoiselle
—the Depuissant family—is a most powerful one, one of the first of the great families to return to power after the Terror. Through the many amnesties, they have regained nearly everything they once held, and I believe Napoleon merely imprisoned André Depuissant, the young
comte
, as a way of reminding the family that it is the First Consul who holds the ultimate power to determine their fate. Still, it is my belief that he will not wish to set himself against them for long. My friend will know the truth of all this.”

“His name,
mon père?
”

“Alexandre Deguise. He is what we call a
sous-ministre d’état
, a deputy minister, I believe you English would call him.” He reached into the folds of his cassock and handed her a folded letter sealed with green wax. “You will present to him this letter,
mademoiselle
, and he will assist you. Of this I am certain.”

“Thank you, sir, you have been very good.” She glanced at the letter, noting that there was no address on the outside of it. Committing the name Alexandre Deguise to memory, she tucked the folded paper into her heavy leather reticule along with her passports, other letters of introduction, and the little pistol, thanked the priest again for his thoughtfulness, and allowed Sir Antony at last to assist her into the chaise.

Peter Trent emerged from the inn at that moment and hurried toward them. “I beg your pardon, Sir Antony, for my tardiness, but your decision to change your dress at the last minute necessitated some repacking, you know. Everything is in readiness now, however, and your trunks may be loaded into the coach in a trice.”

Sir Antony glanced at him. “Follow at your leisure, Trent, but without dalliance. I daresay we’ll make Paris by evening. I shall put up at the embassy with Lord Whitworth.”

Trent nodded, clearly relieved that he would not be expected to reach the capital before his master, and turned away toward the second coach.

Within moments they were off and soon rattled over the stone bridge. The road now ran alongside the River Seine, and was heavily rutted in places, and dusty, but it was not in the least impassable and the postilions seemed to think the ruts were nothing about which to concern themselves. At first Meriel put up with the bouncing and jolting, having no wish other than to reach Paris and her sister Nest as soon as possible, but after some fifteen minutes of tooth-rattling progress, she let down the window and shouted at the rear postilion to slow the pace. At first he ignored her, seeming unable to hear or understand, but Sir Antony rode up alongside him and leaned over to speak in his ear. Immediately the postilion shouted to his mate and the pace slowed considerably.

“Thank you,” Meriel said, smiling, when Sir Antony dropped back again to ride beside the chaise. “I daresay they do not feel the pace as we do, and of course they are accustomed to passing vehicles on the wrong side of the road, but I must confess that every time one flies past to the left, it startles me, especially since the postboys are mounted on the same side they would be at home. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“I haven’t the least idea,” he replied, grinning back at her. They continued to converse in this amiable fashion for a time, but despite the slower pace, conversation was difficult because of the dust and the rocking of the chaise, so Meriel soon put up the window again and settled back against the squabs. Gladys Peat was dozing, and despite the magnificence of the great river flowing past, some fifty yards to their left, Meriel soon grew bored with staring at the passing countryside and closed her eyes as well. She wakened again when they stopped to change teams and refresh themselves at Elbeuf.

The pace was swift again after the change, the postboys seeming to take energy from the fresh mounts beneath them, but it was not long before the condition of the road forced them to slow down. They passed through the villages of Gallon and Vernon, each time catching only occasional glimpses of the river until they were on the open road again.

Meriel was just thinking to herself that Sir Antony would be right and they would make Paris before nightfall when with a loud, crunching smash the chaise lurched sideways and bounced to a sickening halt. Fortunately the postboys were alert, so the horses were not injured, but the wheel had not merely come off. It was broken, and as Meriel clambered from the chaise, she saw at once that the damage would not be easily mended.

Sir Antony took immediate charge of the situation, much to her relief, for she felt she could trust him implicitly to deal with the repairs that must be made. Consequently she made no demur when he suggested that she would prefer to walk to the next village, a place with the charming name of Mantes-de-Jolie, rather than await another carriage.

“We have got well ahead of Trent and the other coach, you know,” he said, smiling, “and while I would offer the use of my horse, you will not wish to leave Mrs. Peat behind. Moreover, while I daresay the old fellow might be persuaded to carry one lady, he would certainly balk at two. It would be more sensible for me to ride on ahead, arrange accommodations for the night, and send back a repair party.”

“Accommodations for the night! Oh, surely the wheel can be fixed before then,” Meriel protested.

“’Twould be best an we don’t expect it,” he said. “In my experience, even the simplest of repairs often takes a day or two. I’ll see to it we’re not kept longer than the one night, but more than that I hesitate to promise. Do you object to the walk?”

“No, of course not,” she replied, forcing herself to reply calmly. “Having had no exercise in nearly a week, I quite look forward to it, I assure you.” He nodded as though he had expected her to say no less, but when she saw that his eyes gleamed with a look she could not interpret, she turned away to speak to Gladys. “You will not mind a brisk walk, will you?”

Gladys Peat shook her head. “Not me, m’lady. ’Tis a joy to be shut o’ that bounder, I can tell you. How people can tolerate long journeys in one of them things is more than I can understand. How far be the village?”

Meriel glanced up at Sir Antony. “Well, sir?”

He peered along the roadway as though measuring the distance in his mind’s eye, then said thoughtfully, “I daresay no more than two or three miles at most. I’ll more than likely meet you on my way back. Would you prefer that I bring a couple of mounts or another carriage with me?”

But she declined. “I truly shall enjoy the walk, sir, and it would not suit me to mount a horse in this rig.” She gestured downward at her forest-green traveling gown. “The skirt is not so slim as an evening dress would be, but ’tis slim enough to make it unseemly for me to attempt to mount a horse.”

Nodding, he turned the bay gelding and within moments was lost to sight around a bend in the road. Meriel and Gladys set off, enjoying the crisp air and bright sunlight. For a short time they left the dusty road to walk along the river, and Meriel found it difficult to remember that she was in a country other than her own, but they soon returned to the roadway, not wishing to miss Sir Antony. He met them on the outskirts of the tiny village with the information that he had hired bedchambers as well as a private parlor for their use at the Cheval Vert in the Rue des Arbres, the village’s only side street.

“Everything else is filled to the rafters,” he said. “There’s been more than one carriage accident, for one thing. Though the ruts are certainly a menace to any traveler, they must be a boon to the local wheelwright.”

“When can he fix our chaise?” Meriel demanded.

“Well, at first he said a week.”

“A
week
!”

“Yes, but I have prevailed upon him to do his possible to see us on the road again by late tomorrow morning. You will find the inn quite comfortable.”

“No doubt your precious wheelwright is in league with the village innkeepers,” Meriel snapped, her annoyance at the delay surfacing with a vengeance, “for I should think that replacing a wheel would be a simple enough operation not to require hour upon hour of delay.”

He looked down at her, his expression unchanged. “Why, so it would be, ma’am, if we were at home and had our own people about us. Or even if it had been a clean break. But it was not a clean break and part of the axletree was damaged as well. Moreover, the wheelwright quite properly insists that others must come before us. He will send men to bring the chaise into the village—not an easy task, I daresay, and certainly not one with which I wish to concern myself—”

“No, for you would soil your breeches, no doubt,” she declared waspishly.

“No doubt,” he agreed, regarding her thoughtfully and rather sternly. “Your walk seems to have tired you, Lady Meriel. Perhaps I ought to have ordered up a carriage for you after all.”

Sharp words of denial leapt to her lips before she realized that he was rebuking her for her bad temper. She was not accustomed to reprimand, certainly not from anyone beyond her own family, and even more certainly not delivered in such even tones. Thus, her own hot words hovered for some seconds upon her tongue before she swallowed them. But swallow them she did, and once she had regained a semblance of her composure, she grimaced self-deprecatingly.

“I have not even thanked you for coming to our aid, have I? ’Tis not as if you are responsible for us, after all.”

“You would scarcely have expected me to leave you sitting in the road, now, would you?”

“Certainly not, sir.” She smiled a little, glad to hear the teasing note in his voice once more.

“That’s better,” he said approvingly. “Walk straight to the center of the village, ma’am, and turn to your left at the only intersection you will find. The inn is as near to the river as it can be without being in it.”

Then, giving spur to his mount, he was gone, and she turned to find Gladys Peat looking at her rather strangely.

“What is it, Gladys?”

The older woman recovered rapidly. “’Tis naught, Miss Meriel, only that I disremember ever seein’ you come down off your high ropes so sudden as that afore.”

“Well, I was in the wrong, surely.”

“That never stopped you other times.”

Meriel’s eyes narrowed. “That will do, Gladys. Kindly remember your place.” She smiled mischievously. “And I will endeavor to remember mine.”

That brought a dry chuckle from her companion, and harmony was restored. The inn proved to be small but charming, boasting a small garden that backed directly upon the river. From their bedchamber window they could watch boats traveling up and down, and there was very little noise. Certainly much less noise than they would have suffered in a hostelry smack upon the Paris road. Supper that evening was served in the private parlor Sir Antony had hired for their comfort, and afterward she and Gladys Peat retired once again to their bedchamber, both feeling the effects of a long day.

Meriel was certain she would fall asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, but perversely that touch had the exact opposite effect, bringing her wide-awake. Soon she heard the gentle, rhythmic snoring of her companion, but an hour later she was no nearer to slumber herself. She heard noises from the taproom now, so silent was the rest of the world. Indeed, she was so conscious of every creak and whisper that she believed she could even hear carriage wheels from time to time on the Paris road.

Silver light streamed in through a gap in the window curtains, giving her to realize that the moon had risen, and she got up at last, shivering in the chill, to peek out at the moonlit landscape. Below the garden the river looked like a wide sparkling ribbon, empty of traffic now, glimmering magically as moonlight skipped across ripples of water stirred by a faint breeze.

Perhaps, she thought, a stroll in the garden would relax her so that she might sleep. Glancing at her snoring companion, she decided quickly that whether such an outing would relax her or not, it would certainly be an adventure. On that thought she moved quickly to find a wool frock and her heavy hooded cloak. Slipping these on along with a pair of walking boots, and remembering her nocturnal experience aboard the
Albion
, she removed her pistol from her reticule and dropped it into the pocket of her cloak. She was ready now, she assured herself, to meet anything.