“Depend upon it,” she confided to Corinna later, “Lady Cheveley has quite settled it that there is to be a match between Richard and Frances. I think she is quite taken with him, but I’m not so certain of his feelings. What do you think?”
She found her sister disappointingly unwilling to speculate on this subject, however, so she tried it out on John.
He only laughed. “What, matchmaking again, puss? Give poor Richard leave to choose his own lady love! Not but what I’ve a notion—”
He broke off, looking sober for a moment.
“Yes?” demanded Lydia eagerly. “You’ve a notion — what, dearest? Do, do, tell me!”
He folded her in his arms.
“Never you mind. There are more interesting things I’d like to tell you that concern only the two of us. Will you grant me an audience, ma’am?”
She gurgled with delight and nestled against him, everything else forgotten.
Laurence had been seldom with the others of late, having found one or two companions of about his own age with whom he went riding or on excursions into the surrounding countryside. He informed Corinna that Fabian Grenville had left Paris a week since.
“I don’t go to Perrin’s rooms since he left,” Laurence said carelessly. “Not much sport without him, as I’m not acquainted with anyone else who frequents the place. Thought you’d like to know, as you set up such a screech about my gaming and going to the bad.”
She protested indignantly against this remark, but was relieved to know that his activities were at an end in that direction. She was not at all sure whether she was sorry or glad to learn that Mr Grenville was no longer in Paris. No doubt the reason for his sudden departure was the rupture of his relationship with the wealthy widow. She did not judge him to be the kind of gentleman to be scared away by rumours of renewed war.
These gained substance alarmingly after a few days, when the French newspapers announced that Lord Whitworth had been recalled to London, and that consequently communication between the foreign offices of the two countries had ceased.
Panic ensued among the English. All the visitors wanted to quit France immediately, being unwilling to trust to previous French assurances of unimpaired hospitality even in the event of war. Who could wish to remain in enemy territory? Unfortunately, the return to their native country was not so simple. The seaports were two days’ journey distant by carriage, and few English visitors had brought their own equipages with them. This meant a sudden demand for hired vehicles which far exceeded the supply.
Only after two days’ energetic search did Sir Richard and the others finally manage to secure a carriage; and even then they had strong doubts that it would prove roadworthy.
The carriage was to be brought round to their hotel at seven o’clock on the following morning; so, after spending what remained of the evening in doing the last of their packing, they retired early to bed.
The next day, they assembled in good time in the hotel foyer.
“Now where the deuce is Laurie?” demanded John testily, running his glance over the luggage to make sure that nothing was forgotten. “The carriage will be here before long and we want no delay in setting out.”
Sir Richard nodded and went over to make inquiries of the landlord, while John looked into the rooms on the ground floor.
“The patron says he saw Laurie go off about half an hour since on one of the hacks we hired for our use here,” Sir Richard informed the others. “What a wretched fellow he is — I imagine he was up earlier than the rest of us and couldn’t bear to wait about doing nothing. Oh, well, he knows the time planned for our departure, so no doubt he’ll turn up presently.”
But Laurence had not appeared by the time the carriage arrived at the door, nor even after the interval taken for loading the luggage.
Sir Richard looked anxiously at his watch, and John smothered an oath.
“Best tell the man to walk his horses a bit,” John said, suiting the action to the word.
After twenty minutes of this, the coachman became understandably impatient. Did the English milords want the use of his coach or not? There were others, voyez-vous, who would be only too eager to claim his services — yes, and at a higher fee. He delivered his ultimatum; either they boarded the coach at once or not at all.
Sir Richard came to a decision. “You go ahead with the ladies, John. I’ll wait for Laurence, and we’ll follow as soon as possible.”
John nodded. “Only sensible course. We’ll await you at Dieppe, then.”
“Best not. Take the first chance of a passage, for odds on it will be Bedlam in the ports. We’ll look out for ourselves.”
“If you think I shall stir a single step without my brother,” put in Corinna emphatically, “you’re faint and far off! Why, he may be lying somewhere injured at this very moment — a fine thing it would be for me to run off and desert him!”
“Don’t be a goose, dearest,” said Lydia, putting an arm lovingly about her. “What can you possibly do that Richard can’t do equally well? Now do come along, like a good girl, before that odious driver decides not to take us at all!”
Corinna shook herself free, her face set in determination.
At this point the odious driver sought to force the issue by starting to loosen one of the straps which secured the luggage to the roof.
“Hold hard!” commanded Sir Richard. “You may hand down those two small cloakbags, though.”
He indicated the overnight bags belonging to Corinna and himself, before stepping forward to help Lydia into the carriage.
“You two had best set off,” he said in a calm, unruffled tone. “No time for further argument — in you get, John.”
The cloakbags were deposited on the cobbled forecourt of the inn, and the driver mounted to his seat. There was just time for Corinna to run forward and plant a hasty kiss on her sister’s cheek before the door of the coach was shut and the vehicle moved forward.
“Nothing much wrong with the horses, at any rate,” remarked Sir Richard coolly, taking up the cloakbags. “They’ll set a fair pace.”
Corinna made no reply. She had won her point, but all the same she did feel a little foolish. She remained silent while they made their way indoors to the lounge, where Sir Richard ordered some coffee.
It was now almost half past eight, and Corinna’s fears for her brother were mounting. He must have had an accident. There could be no other explanation.
She turned to Sir Richard, her lovely eyes dimmed with trouble. He understood at once, and placed a firm, reassuring hand over her trembling one.
“He’ll walk in presently, as large as life, you’ll see,” he said calmly. “You know your brother — he gets caught up in something or other, and loses all sense of time, wretched fellow!”
“Why, yes, so he does,” she acknowledged, clutching eagerly at this straw of comfort. “I dare say you are right.”
The anxiety was returning, however, when a further quarter of an hour brought no sign of the absentee. Then, just as Sir Richard was contemplating taking other measures than merely sitting and waiting, the door of the room opened and Laurence strode in hastily.
Beside him, to Corinna’s amazement, was Madeleine Fougeray.
CHAPTER NINE
Corinna leapt to her feet, her eyes blazing with indignation. As most women do who have been anxious about a missing loved one, she relieved her feelings by heaping bitter recriminations on the culprit’s head.
“I couldn’t help it, I assure you,” he explained apologetically. “The most devilish thing! The hack went lame while I was riding in the Bois de Boulogne, so I had to find a farrier and leave the cursed animal with him. It all took time, then I’d to walk back — no transport to be had, as you know. On the way I met mademoiselle here, and she was in the deuce of a coil, poor girl! Well, couldn’t leave her crying her eyes out, now, could I? Deuced shabby thing to do! So she told me what the trouble was, and I brought her back with me, thinking we might be able to assist her
.”
Sir Richard turned to the girl, who had been standing uncertainly beside them.
“Pray be seated, mademoiselle,” he said gently. Then, turning to Laurence with a weary air, “I suppose it never crossed your mind that on this morning of all times it would have been wiser to forego your usual ride?”
“I was so curst anxious to be ready betimes that I woke up at the crack of dawn,” replied Laurence apologetically. “There was no going off to sleep again, so what was I to do? I finished packing, breakfasted, and there was still time to kill until seven, so I went out. And but for my deuced bad luck, I’d have been back here in plenty of time!”
Sir Richard shrugged fatalistically. “No profit in holding an inquest now.”
He turned to Madeleine, whose flushed cheeks and troubled dark eyes showed her embarrassment.
“How may we serve you, mademoiselle?” he asked quietly. “What is the trouble?”
“You are very good, monsieur, but it is unthinkable that you should be burdened with my affairs,” she replied, with an attempt at dignity belied by her trembling lips.
Corinna, recovered now from her outburst of temper, saw that the girl was in real distress, and gently persuaded her to explain. Thus encouraged, Madeleine repeated what she had already confided to Laurence; that Lady Northcote had always promised to take her back with the family to England, but at the last moment there had not been sufficient room in the conveyances, so she had been left behind.
At first, none of her listeners could understand why she should be so desperate to leave her native country; so Madeleine was obliged to reveal all the details of her story as she had told them to Patrice Landier.
They regarded her for a moment in silence.
“So you are a French aristocrat,” Corinna said thoughtfully.
“Yes, by birth I am so, but for many years now I have been accustomed to think of myself as a curé’s niece. It was safer thus, during the Revolution. And I would have been content to remain so, but my good uncle wished otherwise. I am bound, Miss Haydon, by my promise to him on his deathbed. I must — I must” — she clasped her hands together in a gesture of strong emotion — “by some means reach England in order to fulfil that promise.”
“Oh, we must help her, Richard!” exclaimed Corinna, much moved. “Can we not take her with us?”
“Must say, that’s what I had in mind myself,” put in Laurence, “when I brought her back with me.”
“At the present moment, there seems small likelihood that we ourselves will succeed in reaching England,” Sir Richard said drily. “You may recall our extreme difficulty in obtaining transport before, and now it’s all to do again. However, you and I will set about that without delay, Laurie. Meanwhile, I’ll have a word with the landlord about retaining our rooms for a further period, if that should prove necessary.”
When he had moved away to do this, accompanied by Laurence, Madeleine looked doubtfully at Corinna.
“I do not think that Sir Richard Beresford wishes me to go with you, Miss Haydon, and for that I do not blame him. If only I were not in a situation of the most difficult, I wouldn’t for a moment consent to accept your so very kind offer of assistance! But what am I to do? You see, mademoiselle” — she paused, her cheeks flushing again — “I have not quite money enough to pay for the whole journey myself, though I can manage something. And then, of course, when I reach my Aunt in Brighton, I am sure she will at once reimburse you.”
Corinna gave the girl a warm smile and patted her hand reassuringly.
“Why, of course she will — I never doubted it. As to your acting as my abigail, there’s no need of that. I’ll have a word with Sir Richard, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
She rose and went over to Sir Richard, who had just concluded his business with the landlord.
“That’s all arranged,” he said to her. “We may keep our rooms for as long as we wish. But as to this French demoiselle—”
“Yes, I want to speak to you about her. Laurie, go and talk to her for a minute, will you? I wish to have a private word with Richard.”
Laurence, anxious to make what amends he could for his misdeeds, obediently went to join Madeleine.
“The poor child feels that you don’t really wish to have her with us, Richard, but—”
“No more do I,” he cut in brusquely. “For one thing, it will mean an extra person for whom to find transport, and numbers may be vital. For another” — he paused and shot a searching look at her — “Corinna, does it not occur to you that she may be using us in more than the obvious way? Her story is odd, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, but I find it convincing. What do you mean when you say she may have some ulterior motive in asking us for help?”
He sighed. “I fear you’re altogether too trusting, Corinna. Recollect that we are now at war with France and it’s not unknown for spies to seek entry into enemy territory.”
She stared at him with angry incredulity. “Spies!” she repeated scornfully. “You truly think that gentle creature could be possessed of so much cunning?”
He glanced warily about them, but there was no one close at hand.
“Hush, keep your voice down. One cannot afford to overlook such a possibility, that is all.”
“You may think as you choose, but I have the utmost faith in her integrity!” she exclaimed fiercely.
“Forgive me, but have you never had cause to question your own judgment in such matters?”
She was speechless with anger for a moment, her blazing eyes glaring into his cool blue ones.
“You — you!” she burst out at last. “Oh, of all the odious, despicable creatures! I detest you!”
He bowed mockingly. “That is understood, but at present we must preserve an armed neutrality, since we are all in the same boat — and a devilish leaky vessel, at that! Come, let us put our differences aside and concentrate instead on the tricky business of getting back to England.”
His last words were spoken in a placatory tone. In spite of her spurt of anger, she was too sensible not to realise that he was right, and that this was not the time to quarrel.
“I think you should know,” she said, forcing herself to speak more quietly, “that Madeleine Fougeray was known to Monsieur Landier — in fact, he wished to wed her. It was because she refused him that he returned so abruptly to Rouen. Surely this must put an end to your suspicions of her?”
He raised his eyebrows, evidently surprised.
“So that was it,” he said after a pause. “I did wonder… however, as you say, this does put a slightly different complexion on the matter. Let us join the others and discuss our plan of campaign.”
The discussion was brief, for they had only one course to take, and that was to find a conveyance speedily. This could be done only by a great deal of tramping about from place to place making interminable inquiries.
For three days Sir Richard and Laurence had no success. By now, war had been officially declared and Sir Richard was growing uneasy lest the ports should be closed. He kept these fears to himself, however, merely saying to the others that when they did succeed in hiring a carriage, he intended to make for Rouen.
“Landier will know more than we do of how matters stand at Dieppe, I dare say, and he’ll give us the benefit of his advice.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure he will,” said Corinna. “But do you truly think there’s any hope at all of our finding a conveyance?” she went on doubtfully. “I must say, it doesn’t appear likely, judging by the results so far.”
“Nonsense, it’s only a matter of time,” Sir Richard said bracingly. “Some of those carriages which went off to the coast a week or so ago must arrive back in Paris before much longer.”
This proved correct, for on the following day the landlord offered one of his own coaches which had just returned. The fee he asked was exorbitant, and he also warned them that there might be some difficulty in obtaining changes of horses on the road; but by this time, the visi
tors were in no mood to meet trouble halfway, and hastily made ready to set out on their journey.
They had to cover a distance of seventy-six miles to Rouen; what with the indifferent horses offered for hire and the poor state of the roads, they were unable to average more than six or seven miles an hour. Their coachman therefore suggested an overnight stop halfway, saying that he could recommend the inn at Magny-en-Vexin. It turned out to be tolerable, though not at all what the English party had been accustomed to patronize.
The next morning they took to the road again, partially refreshed by an indifferent night’s sleep on lumpy beds, but heartened by the thought that they were now on the last day of their journey. By the time they reached the outskirts of Rouen in the early evening, however, the two girls were decidedly jaded and looking forward with relief to reaching shelter. There was no hope of finding a hotel since most had been commandeered by the military and other officials.
“I’ll go straight to Landier,” Richard said. “I’ll be back shortly. Meanwhile, make yourselves as comfortable as possible here.”
Less than an hour later they were sent for, and Corinna was feeling more at ease than she had for the past four days. Madame Landier conducted her to a pleasant bedchamber with white dimity hangings and a luxuriously soft bed, instructing an abigail to bring her plenty of hot water and whatever else might be required in the way of aids to her toilette. She had removed the dust and some of the aches of travel, and now stood in her petticoat awaiting the return from pressing of the only muslin gown contained in her overnight cloakbag.
A gentle tap came at the door and she called out permission to enter. Instead of the expected maid with her gown, however, it was Madeleine who answered the summons. One look at the girl showed Corinna that she was deeply troubled.
“What is it?” she asked gently, for there was something about Madeleine that called forth her protective instincts.
“Oh, mademoiselle!” burst out Madeleine. “I should not be here, indeed I should not! I don’t know how to look at him, let alone speak to him! And his mother everything of the kindest and gentlest — imagine to yourself my embarrassment!”
The Intrepid Miss Haydon Page 8