Yvonne Goes to York (4 page)

A large log fire crackled on the hearth and the branches of candles on the tables burnt clear and bright. Yvonne felt a lump rising in her throat caused by a craving to be part of this secure world.

Conversation became desultory, and as soon as the meal was over, they all decided to retire to their rooms. Yvonne was to share a bedchamber with Hannah. Both ladies walked up the shallow polished wooden treads of the inn staircase, a waiter walking before them with a candle to light their way.

‘What it is to be in the company of a marquis!’ exclaimed Hannah as they entered what was obviously one of the best bedchambers in the inn. A coal fire was burning brightly, and beeswax candles burnt on the mantelpiece instead of the usual tallow ones.

Both ladies worked busily, opening their trunks and looking out their night-rail and clean clothes for the morning.

‘And now,’ said Hannah in the same matter-of-fact voice she had just been using to praise the comforts of 
the bedchamber a moment before, ‘perhaps you might enlighten me, Miss Grenier, as to what is going on? I have never found myself among a stranger group of passengers, and there is an air of secrecy, furtiveness and, yes, menace emanating from our Mr Smith and his foppish friend, and I think you know why.’

Yvonne gave a little sigh and sat down suddenly in a small armchair by the fire and looked at her hands. Hannah waited patiently.

‘I was going to tell you,’ said Yvonne at last. ‘I had made up my mind to ask for your help. Mr Smith is in fact Monsieur Petit of the Paris Tribunal. He told me that my father had written to him saying that he, my father, who had turned against the Revolution, was now in favour of it, and wished to return to Paris and help the new regime. He showed me a letter. It is in my father’s handwriting, but I am convinced now that it is an old letter, one sent before the Terror began. He wishes to either kill my father or to take him back to Paris by force to stand what passes for a trial in that unhappy city.’

Hannah sat down in a chair facing Yvonne and said seriously, ‘We must have a council of war.’

Yvonne moved her shoulders in a Gallic shrug and her pretty mouth drooped with disappointment. The seemingly capable Miss Pym was merely an
over-romantic
spinster.

She gave a brittle laugh. ‘Really, Mees … Miss Pym, would you call the British generals to our aid?’

‘No, no, but we shall have my Benjamin in to hear your story, and the Marquis of Ware.’ 

‘Milord? But why? He, I am persuaded, would find the whole thing most distasteful, and in his roast-beef English way he would turn the whole lot of us over to the nearest magistrate.’

‘And what would be so wrong with that idea?’ Hannah’s eyes flashed green.

‘My father is living, perhaps incognito, in York. But if the English knew he was Monsieur Claude Grenier, he who helped so much in the cause of the Revolution, they might take him as a spy.’ She shivered. ‘I see enemies everywhere.’

Despite her concern for the Frenchwoman’s plight, Hannah’s busy matchmaking mind was working
furiously
. Yvonne was of the French bourgeoisie, which put her well below the level of an English marquis, not to mention a French one, if, thought Hannah bleakly, there were any of that breed with their heads still attached to their bodies. But a maiden in distress worked wonders with even the most hardened cynic.

‘A marquis has great standing,’ said Hannah aloud. ‘Let us have him in, and if he shows the slightest sign of calling the authorities, I, Hannah Pym, will order a post-chaise and take you off to York myself this night and they will never catch us. Trust me, Miss Grenier.’

Yvonne looked this way and that as if seeking escape. She wished now she had kept her troubles to herself. She thought of the very small amount of money she carried with her. There was no way she could hire a conveyance for herself and escape. Better to go along with Miss Pym’s plan.

She finally nodded reluctantly. Hannah went in search of Benjamin and asked her footman to find Lord Ware and to bring him to their bedchamber.

Yvonne waited nervously by the fire. The sound of carriages arriving and departing came up from the courtyard below. She looked up as the door opened. The flames of the candles streamed out in the draught as the marquis and Benjamin walked into the room.

The marquis executed an elegant bow. ‘It is not often,’ he said airily, ‘that I have the honour of being invited by
two
ladies to their bedchamber.’

Yvonne’s heart sank. Here was a man who knew nothing of violence or danger or treachery. Women to him were pretty playthings, or some sort of boring lesser race, but nothing else.

But it was too late to draw back. Hannah gravely outlined Yvonne’s problem.

The marquis listened with every appearance of calm interest, while behind his handsome face his mind worked furiously. He had been sent by the War Office to find out what this Monsieur Petit was doing in England. Instead of picking him up, they had decided to have him watched. The fact that they had found out that he had booked a seat on the York stage under the name of Mr Smith had really sparked their interest. The marquis had done valuable work before. He had protested against using an alias, saying that one fake on a stage-coach was surely enough, but the authorities had pointed out that a marquis travelling on the stage might in itself be enough to frighten off Monsieur Petit, and then they would never learn what he was up to or 
what he was about to get up to. But he had no intention of telling anything of this to the assembled company. Yvonne naturally thought only the best of her father. But if Monsieur Grenier showed any sign of returning to France to assist that murderous regime, then he must be stopped. The French were devious. Had not this upstart Napoleon tricked everyone, including his own people, by claiming that all he wanted was peace for France? Had he not just led his vast armies into the plains of Lombardy and taken over northern Italy? Certainly it seemed odd, with all Napoleon’s greater plans, that the French should wish to go to great lengths to drag back from England one bourgeois gentleman to stand trial, and yet that was how terror kept its grip on a people. Always punish the ‘traitors’ and in as public a manner as possible to keep everyone else in line.

He smiled and said lazily, ‘It’s as good as a play. But if you want to get rid of this Monsieur Petit and his unsavoury friend, why, it is simple.’

‘How?’ demanded Benjamin from the shadows.

‘I will tell the coachman that our friends do not wish to continue their journey and tell the innkeeper that they are not to be roused. I will buy their seats and persuade the coachman to leave an hour earlier.’

Hannah looked at him, disappointed. ‘By, my lord, all they will have to do is hire a post-chaise and catch us up on the road.’

‘My little mind did think of that.’ The marquis stifled a yawn. ‘At the next stop, it is we who will hire a fast carriage and so proceed to York.’

‘For an impoverished aristocrat, you still seem to have a great deal of money,’ commented Hannah wryly.

He smiled. ‘Nothing is too much to please a lady. Now, Miss Pym, if you and your footman would like to retire for a short time, I wish to have a word in private with Miss Grenier.’

‘But, why?’ Hannah stood protectively next to Yvonne. ‘We are all in this. It is not the thing to be alone in an inn bedchamber with a young lady, or had you forgot?’

‘I am well aware of it, ma’am, but no one need know except yourself and Benjamin. Pray indulge me.’

‘I am used to taking care of myself,’ said Yvonne quietly.

Hannah left reluctantly, followed by Benjamin. ‘Ten minutes,’ she called over her shoulder, and then closed the door behind her.

The marquis took a seat opposite Yvonne. The candle-light gleamed in his thick chestnut hair and his silvery eyes scrutinized her. ‘Tell me, Miss Grenier, why you trust your father?’

‘He is a good man. He risked his life saving many from the guillotine. He never thought the Revolution would turn into such a
cauchemar
.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Over two years ago. He smuggled me out of France and gave me letters to friends in London. I quickly found work.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘England may be at war with France, but all the English ladies want is to learn French.’

He studied her for a few moments, noticing the haunted expression in her large hazel eyes. ‘But surely the parade to the guillotine has ceased.’

‘They are no longer dragged there daily in their hundreds,’ commented Yvonne dryly, ‘but Madame La Guillotine is still kept tolerably busy.’

There was a long silence. Yvonne wondered what this marquis was thinking. His next question startled her. ‘Do you have a beau in London?’

‘
Moi
?
Tiens
! I teach French and mend the gowns of the ladies I teach for a little extra money. Who would court such as I?’

‘Strange. I would have thought you would have many admirers.’

‘Ah, that is different. There are young men in some of the households I visit and they can become a trifle tiresome. But what of you, milord? You ask so many questions and give nothing in return.’ Her large eyes sparkled. ‘What of your amours?’

‘Englishmen never talk of such, Miss Grenier.’

‘Oh no? Unless they are in their cups and with other gentlemen and then they talk and talk and talk.
Par
example
, I was in the house of Lady Jedder,
non
? She has some sewing for me, what she calls “a little present”, which means she is paying me over and above the price of the French lessons but less than she would give a seamstress. Lord Jedder is talking to his friends and they walk into the library. They see me, or don’t see me, for I am of the rank of servant and such do not exist,
non
? So they talk freely, Lord Jedder has had his way the night before with a certain lady, a widow, but
of good ton. He not only tells his friends this but describes the how, the why, and the wherefore in great detail. So after that, there was a certain milord in another house who wished to steal a kiss from me. He was very attractive and I had never been kissed,
vous voyez
. But I immediately thought how he would gossip and so I ran away.’

‘And so are you still kissless?’ asked the marquis, like any true aristocrat dismissing the rest of her discourse and retaining the one bit that interested him.

‘Yes.’

‘And when and how do you plan to lose your … er … lips?’

‘When I marry –
if
I marry.’

‘Oh, I am sure you will.’

Yvonne wrinkled her brow. ‘It is not so easy. I will, if I marry, choose one of my own countrymen. But I have only saved such a little bit of money, and without a dot – a dowry – such things are difficult.’

‘Had you known Miss Pym before?’

‘No. I met her for the first time on the stage-coach. I decided to confide in her because she appears so courageous. Now I feel I might have made a mistake.’

‘How so?’

‘
Eh bien
, I was dismayed when she insisted on enlisting your help, milord.’

‘A very sensible thing to do. Have I not said I will arrange your flight?’

‘Y-yes,’ she said doubtfully. ‘But it all seems to you like a game, and to me it is a matter of life or death.’

‘Here comes our Miss Pym. Do not trouble, Miss Grenier. We shall soon leave your villains far behind. I will tell the waiter to call you at four-thirty. We leave at five.’

Hannah entered with Benjamin at her heels and he repeated the arrangements before bowing himself out.

‘I am worried,’ said Yvonne as soon as the door had closed behind the marquis. ‘What if this marquis is working for the French? He says he is short of money.’

‘I think that was a hum,’ said Hannah.

‘But this Mr Ashton, he is with Monsieur Petit and
he
is English.’

‘But Ashton’s a loose fish,’ commented Benjamin.

‘He means that Mr Ashton is the type to gravitate to any sort of unsavoury company for money,’ explained Hannah. ‘You will find that Lord Ware is highly respectable.’

Yvonne sighed. ‘But so frivolous. Here I am in fear of my life and my father’s life and all he can do is ask me if I have any beaux.’

‘How interesting,’ said Miss Hannah Pym. ‘How very interesting.’

When they all assembled at the coach at five in the morning, having had a mere half hour to wash and scramble into their clothes, Hannah expected some sort of protest from the coachman, but he and his guard were all smiles and bows. The marquis must have paid them heavily, thought Hannah.

They had gone a little way up the Great North Road when they came to a steep hill and, as was customary,
the marquis and Benjamin got out to walk to lighten the load. Benjamin kept looking anxiously over his
shoulder
. Their pace was so slow, he feared that the Frenchman and his friend would soon catch up with them. At this pace and having only gone this short distance from the inn, Monsieur Petit had only to run to catch them up.

The marquis, wrapped in a greatcoat with many capes and with a wide brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, appeared lost in thought.

He suddenly called up to the coachman. ‘Is Hadley Hall not near here?’

‘Lord Trant’s place?’ called down the coachman. ‘’Bout a mile up the road.’

‘I have changed my mind,’ said the marquis. ‘Take us there and then you will still be in time to return to the inn for that couple we left behind and any other passengers.’

‘But that’s not what you paid me for,’ cried the coachman, fearful that the marquis would ask for his money back.

‘You may keep what I paid you,’ said the marquis, ‘only do not breathe a word to anyone of where we have gone.’

The coachman gave him a broad wink, and as the coach had reached the top of the hill, he told the marquis and Benjamin to ‘’op inside.’ The coachman was sure the marquis and Yvonne were eloping.

‘Now,’ said the marquis, once he was seated inside the coach, ‘there is a change of plan. Lord Trant, who is an acquaintance of mine, has a seat near here. I
suggest we go there and stay today and tonight and set out for York in the morning. By that time, our pursuers will not know where to look. There is one problem. Did your father mean to meet the coach, Miss Grenier?’