She was gazing idly from the window, sheltered by the broad brim of her straw bonnet, when she saw Alastair’s carriage. It was unmistakable — the smart town carriage, with the panels emblazoned with his coat of arms. She sat up straight and stared wide-eyed at the vehicle.
Her coachman knew all about London, he was London-born and -bred.
“Who lives at that house?” she demanded, pointing.
The man looked idly at the house, his eyes widening when he saw the carriage. He hesitated, slowing the horses. “That, ma’am? Why, this is a smart building of apartments, for some rich gentry,” he said.
“Do you know who lives there? Any names?”
He kept his head rigidly forwards, and clucked to the horses.
She repeated her question. He finally answered reluctantly.
“A certain Mrs Porter, ma’am, does live there. Mrs Daphne Porter,” he said, then cursed to himself when someone crossed his path recklessly.
Sonia sank back into the seat, and put her hand to her face. So — this was why Alastair had come! He had chased her to London, but it was probably just an excuse to see about his — his mistress! And Sonia had thought he was concerned about her, his wife. She could have laughed bitterly, but a sob caught in her throat instead. So much for his concern!
She was silent as they drove home. At the townhouse, she had the coachman bring the packages to her room. Alastair was out, so she would not have to risk another confrontation. She might not be able to guard her tongue, so angry and hurt was she.
Her small trunk and valise were empty. Leah was hovering about. She sent her away, curtly. The maid departed, sniffing.
Sonia stuffed the two dresses into the trunk, putting in some undergarments and a sack of gold for her own use, if needed. She fairly tore about the room, packing what she must have. Then she changed her clothes, putting on the one black dress which came to her toes. She had on travelling boots, comfortable thick clothing for the Channel crossing, which could be cold even in July. She felt stifled, her breathing came hard, but she worked on.
Dressed and ready, she called for a footman. How his jaw dropped when he saw her, in black dress and bonnet, with the trunk and valise ready! They went down to the waiting carriage, and were off. She felt badly about not saying goodbye to Leah and her uncle — but she must take advantage of Alastair’s absence. And he was with his mistress. His mistress!
Her teeth clenched and her jaw ached by the time she reached Jacob’s house. She had her things carried in. Jacob was standing there, an anxious look on his dark face.
She dismissed the coachman and her carriage, and turned to Jacob. “Lord Fairley followed me to London. I must leave at once,” she said briefly.
Jacob nodded. “Yes, it is best if we leave soon, anyway. Beryl is weeping and carrying on. I cannot remain, or she will sicken. It is best if we leave at once.” He called his carriage, and put Sonia and her bags inside. Then, with his own small trunk and valise added, he jumped in, and they were off to the coast.
It was a long hard journey, through the night. Sonia and Jacob were both silent, thinking of those they had left behind with widely differing thoughts. Jacob’s were tender, anxious…
Sonia had felt bitterly furious and angry. Then, her rage had subsided into a sort of numb acceptance. It was better this way. Perhaps she would be killed. Alastair would have the money, and could marry his mistress if he chose, without having to sneak behind his wife’s back to go to Daphne Porter.
Anger rose in her, and she clenched her fists until the fingernails bit into her palm. That he should cheat on her like this while wooing her with false words! And all the time he did not really care…
But he had not promised to care for her, he had not said he would love her. She sighed and turned her face blindly to the darkness outside. No, Alastair had never said he loved her. He had not sworn false.
How her heart longed for him! If only he had loved her — but that was not to be. She felt numb by morning, worn by the long journey in which she had not slept, by her emotions, by her despair.
At dawn, they arrived at a quiet port. A schooner with folded sails rocked in the harbour. It was misty, but the sun was coming through the morning clouds, casting a rosy glitter across the blue-green waters. Sonia thought it looked beautiful. Jacob looked more anxious.
“It could storm before nightfall,” he muttered, shaking his head. Sonia did not care — at that moment.
The schooner was ready for them. Jacob and the red-faced bearded captain conferred in low tones. All was in readiness — the gold and specie were stacked in small boxes, locked in the main cabin. They could set off almost at once, as the tide was going out about eleven o’clock that morning.
So they decided. The coachman was told to wait for them, no matter how many weeks they were gone.
Weeks? thought Sonia, shocked into awareness. Would it be weeks that they would be gone? Yes, it could very well be weeks — oh, what would Alastair think? But did it matter?
No, nothing mattered.
They went on board, and Sonia was given the main cabin, locked in with the gold and specie. She eyed the boxes. That such small innocuous-looking boxes could be so important! They could help win a battle! She mused for a time on the curious ways of men. They went at each other with fists and guns, killed and maimed each other, all in blind obedience to some higher powers of their government that said they should kill for strange reasons. And why, why? When they might live in peace, and love, and be happy?
Wars were strange things. Peculiar, when one thought about it, thought Sonia, lying back in relief on the narrow bunk.
Why did men kill each other? Why were they so ordered? What strange motives did men like Napoleon Buonaparte have, that he wanted more and more countries added to his string of conquests? Why should that little man who had been a corporal want to conquer more countries than he could possibly rule? Why not let others live in peace? Why did he have to march his armies and sail his navies across oceans, all to make the guns flame and men fall in sprawling blood and death?
Then the boat began to sway and lurch from side to side, and she forgot all her philosophical thoughts. Sonia tried desperately to keep from being ill as the schooner slid out further into the rough English Channel across to France. She pressed her handkerchief to her lips, and tried to think of pleasant matters…
She groaned in the narrow cot as the schooner plunged on and on. Jacob knocked, but she could not get up. He called out anxiously to her. She finally forced herself to her feet, fell across the floor towards the door, and managed to unlock it.
He carried a tray of food. She was almost sick at the sight of it. “Sonia, you must eat!” he said gravely. “It will help you — have you been ill?” He was flushed from the wind and rain, and his thick hair and beard were soaked with salt water.
“Not — yet,” she managed to gasp. “Take it away — I cannot eat —”
“You must eat something. Here, have some tea and bread. Then I’ll take you up on deck. The fresh air will make you more the thing.”
With his hearty encouragement, she managed to drink some tea and eat half a slice of bread. Then, on his arm, she struggled up on deck. The wind and rain lashed at them. Jacob found her a corner where she might sit on a low chair and watch the rolling sea. Strangely, she did feel better, out in the elements.
“It was fortunate,” Jacob shouted above the wind. “We are in a storm — not many ships out in this! We won’t be noticed, with luck. We’ll land in France tonight, about midnight, when the tide goes in on the French coast.”
She nodded, not risking speech. Jacob paced the deck with the lieutenant, and the men glanced at her occasionally to make sure she was all right. She noted the small insignia on the sleeve of the lieutenant, the same as was on the lifeboats lashed to the gunwales of the schooner. They all carried the insignia of House of Rothschild. So this was the property of Mr Nathan Rothschild himself! His own ship — no wonder he felt confident of car
rying gold to France! Another captain who had been hired might betray him — but not his own men…
Jacob brought her some cushions as the rain let up. “You can sleep here,” he said kindly. “We might not get much sleep tonight.”
She was left alone. Curled up in the cushions, she did at least fall asleep. She had felt so tired, so depressed, that she had not slept well for nights. Now she could sleep, and she did, with the feeling that no matter what happened it did not matter.
How could it matter? Alastair did not love her. He had gone to his mistress even after quarrelling with Sonia about her leaving alone! She wondered that he had followed her to London. Why had he bothered? His pride, or his curiosity, she supposed, and turned to sigh against the pillow, brushing her handkerchief to her eyelids. She would not weep for him — he was not worth it.
If only she could stop caring about him! If only she could stop loving him!
She started when a hand shook her shoulder. “We are near the coast,” Jacob said quietly in her ear. She sat up with a jerk, having forgotten where she was. Dusk had fallen; mists and clouds hid moon and stars. It was a perfectly dark night, with rain lashing again at the small schooner and the men who were lowering two small boats into the black waters below.
The lieutenant went ashore with two sturdy seamen. Waiting in the darkness, her black bonnet over her face, Sonia peered towards the shore. It seemed so far away to be ventured to in such small boats! They all watched intently, anxiously, until the signal came. A lantern, with a hand swinging before it.
“All well. The coach must be there,” muttered the captain. He shook their hands heartily, wished them well, and helped lower them into the boats. A brawny sailor carried Sonia down the rope ladder. She did not think she could have managed alone in her heavy skirts.
In the small boat, she clutched the sides with a fervent silent prayer that they might not upset. She watched the small boxes being sent down the side: nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen — that was all.
They rowed ashore. The seamen seemed to be all muscle as they plied the heavy oars silently, then stepped out into the surf, practically dragging the boats up on the sand. A carriage was waiting for them, a huge barouche.
The floorboards of the barouche had been taken off. Now the small boxes were stuffed carefully under where the boards would go. They were packed so that there was no space between them. Cloths were packed between the boxes so they would make no sound of jostling when the carriage moved. Boxes of gold were balanced front and back, the specie in between.
The floorboards were then hammered back into place, cloths covering the hammers, muffling the sound. Then the small trunks were loaded and the two valises, and then Sonia. Now they put a handsome little urn of black and gold into the seat before her, fastening it into place.
“What is that?” she whispered curiously.
“The ashes of a dead Frenchman — your husband,” grinned Jacob, patting the urn. “Genuine, trust them for that! His name was François. I’ve told you your name and age and all that.”
She nodded, trying to stifle a shudder. She would be travelling all the way with the ashes of a dead man! It was necessary, but it made her shiver. It seemed like a bad omen, such disrespect for the dead.
Farewells were said quietly, and good wishes for their safe journey. Then the barouche doors were shut and fastened, and Sonia sat alone in the huge carriage with only the ashes for company. And the gold and specie, she reminded herself, with an attempt at humour. She drew her thick black cloak about herself. It was of velvet, and had belonged to her uncle.
Jacob climbed up on to the open coachman’s seat above her, clucked to the two horses, and they were off. She saw briefly the faces of the seamen as they gazed curiously after them.
And so they were started on their desperate adventure.
CHAPTER 14
Day followed day and night followed night in wearisome routine. Sonia held a loaded pistol on her lap or beside her when she slept. Jacob kept the horses to gravel-strewn or dirt side-roads. They sometimes had glimpses of the Atlantic Ocean on their right.
Jacob was driving through the countryside, avoiding towns and villages. As the days passed and they avoided trouble, they were tempted to become careless. But always they sternly kept in mind the importance of their mission, and took every precaution.
Jacob would find a farm and leave the barouche with Sonia guarding it. He would walk to the farmhouse and plead for milk, bread, cooked meat and cheese. He paid for it cautiously, like a Frenchman, bargaining for it, but paying enough so that they would not complain.
Then he would come back and they would eat and drink, with the horses turned loose on the rich grass. After a hasty meal and a brief rest for themselves and the horses, they would go on again.
The first several days, they travelled through the night, pausing only to rest the horses, letting them browse sleepily on the green grass of the roadside.
On the fourth day, they saw a cloud of dust in the distance down the road. Jacob found a thick wood, and drew the barouche to a halt, hidden in the trees. Then he walked to the edge of the wood and peered out to study the situation.
His caution had paid off — the “cloud” turned into a squadron of French cavalry, pounding along, looking everywhere with keen eyes. They waited more than two hours to make sure the troopers were gone before they ventured on the road again.
They had travelled for a week when really bad weather hit. They had been fortunate, for no more than a few mild showers had fallen those July days. But this was a real thunderstorm, building up in the west, then coming in from the ocean. Jacob had been watching it worriedly, and began to look for shelter as the afternoon wore on.
He found a series of caves carved in crude limestone in a deserted section of the countryside. They drove the horses into one cave, with the barouche barring their exit. First they gathered great armfuls of thick grasses and brush for the horses to eat. Then they sought their own comfort, spreading blankets in another cave.
Soon the rain began to pour down. Thunder and lightning roared and rumbled among the hills. Sonia watched, fascinated, as the giant bolts of lightning struck a tree near them, crashing it to the ground. One of Jove’s thunderbolts, she thought.
It rained all night, soaking the ground. Jacob collected rain water in a bucket, so they had fresh water to drink that night. He dared to light a small fire in the rear of the cave. Over it, he rigged some forked branches, from which he swung the bucket. Sonia managed to cook their smoked meat with some greens , and they had a good hot meal for the first time since leaving the schooner.
The rain continued. Sonia would waken, turn over under her velvet cloak, and peer outside to see the rain lashing at their cave. Jacob would get up and go out to make sure the horses were still there and the barouche in no danger of rolling away. Some of the stones and rocks had gone slithering down the hillside in the deluge.
He came back. “All well,” he reported briefly, and returned to his blanket. He seemed not overly concerned about Sonia, and she smiled ruefully in the darkness. He would have been wildly worried about Beryl if she had gone with him. It would have risked their lives. He might have insisted on going to a village, putting up at farms, chancing discovery. With Sonia, the girl he knew from childhood, his cousin, he was not one-tenth so concerned.
And Sonia was wondering how Alastair would have acted if he had been in Jacob’s situation. Alastair! Sonia curled her hand under her cheek, and turned over on the rough blanket. Her eyes opened to the flashing lightning, she thought of her husband, regretfully, wonderingly. What was he thinking now? What had he said when he found she was missing? At least Leah could tell him nothing. Her abigail would not hesitate to say she had been left out of the confidence of her long-time mistress.
Alastair. If anything happened to her on this journey, when would he know? What would he think? Would they tell him why she had gone? She thought not, for state secrets were too important. Alastair mi
ght be left to conclude that she and her cousin had run off together on a romantic interlude. Sonia’s mouth twisted in anguish.
She loved him so dearly, but it was not working out. How could she explain this when she returned? Would she be allowed to tell him of the mission, once it was successful? Or would he turn away from her in disgust?
Sonia fell asleep and dreamed of Alastair. He was holding her in his arms, tenderly, her cheek brushing his rough cheek. He was murmuring to her, “Sonia, I love you dearly, I love you madly. You are my dove, my dear, my love —”
She wakened, smiling, gazing about herself in bewilderment. She had forgotten for a time where she was. Then she remembered. Alastair was not here, and he did not love her.
Jacob returned to the cave. “Sonia? Are you awake? I called you for a while, but you were sleeping heavily, so I went to see to the horses.” He crouched down close to the reddish embers of the fire and blew on them.
She struggled up. So it was Jacob’s voice she had heard in her dreams, not Alastair’s. She pushed back her heavy hair, reaching for her brush to braid it up. So much for dreams.
Jacob stood up, having built up the fire again. “We’ll have to stay another day. I hate to take the time, but another storm is following hard on this one.” He spoke in French, as they had been told to do all the time they were in France, no matter if they thought themselves alone.
“I shall wash out some garments then,” said Sonia practically, getting up and feeling every bone aching from the hard ground. She moved about, swinging her arms until she felt better. After a breakfast of cold meat, hot coffee and some stale bread, she felt even better, more cheerful. They were alive, and deep into France.
She rinsed out some undergarments, and spread them across wet rocks. Later when they were travelling she would spread them out in the coach, should there be sunlight. She washed some socks and other garments for Jacob. He thanked her absently. He too was remembering home and family, she thought, as he stared into the fire. How hard it must be for him to leave his adored wife and their fascinating infant son.
Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England Page 17