Untitled

by Wendy Bayne

  She leaned to the side looking at my uncle who was frowning, “Don’t you give me that look, Samuel. I know that you’ve promised Emilie that you would file a claim for her to be compensated for the loss of her family’s estates and maybe even try to have them reinstated. I really can’t think of a better time for us all to go.” She smiled sweetly, patting my father’s arm and flicking off an imaginary piece of lint in the process. “You can ask Sir Thomas about his views on it this evening.” Father looked perplexed as she smiled sweetly at him, “I’ve invited him to dinner, my love.” She kissed my father on the cheek then she strolled away walking towards the drawing room then she paused looking over her shoulder saying, “Tea anyone?” then she laughed and disappeared through the doorway followed shortly by a squeal of delight from Emilie.

  My uncle was laughing out loud while patting my father’s shoulder, “I told you when you said that you wanted to marry her that you’d have your hands full!” He gave him another firm pat on the back then followed my mother.

  My father looked at me and blinked. “I understand that Paris is beautiful in the spring.” He chuckled and followed my uncle.

  Chapter 22

  Paris: April 1830

  Sir Thomas was delighted with the plan, the arrangements were made for us to leave by the end of the following week. We would be accompanied by Aunt Mary, Mr Spencer and Dr Jefferson. Robert, Dalton, Meg and Beth and Michael, Jacob, Murphy and Lettie were also coming. Lettie had become our nanny by default, my parents had been unable to retain anyone that would tolerate our liberal lifestyle or that could be trusted with James and with the comings and goings surrounding my father’s business. Luckily Lettie seem to have a way with James like no one else and Murphy was thrilled that she would be coming with us, while Dalton on the other hand was not as happy, mainly because of Murphy.

  Crossing the Channel was choppy but uneventful and everyone was relieved to reach Calais. We made it through customs with our dignity barely intact after having our persons and luggage searched for smuggled English goods. Our passports and official papers were taken from us to be sent on to the Prefecture de Police in Paris. Temporary papers were given to us for our journey and we were warned to report to the police immediately upon our arrival in Paris.

  We pushed our way through the crowd on the quay while the surge of humanity seemed to be pressing us back. The sights, sounds and smells were overwhelming, and my head spun trying to take everything in. The port was so alive and according to my father very different now that the war was over. The soldiers of the emperor were long gone but you could still see evidence of them in some of the threadbare beggars haunting the dockside. While those officials of the re-established monarchy trying to maintain a semblance of order were sneered at or ignore by the general populace, there was a feeling of public unrest just below the surface, a palpable undercurrent of things to come.

  We finally found the carriages that were waiting to take us to our inn hopefully without mishap. But only through the constant vigilance of our party had they kept the pick pockets and thieves at bay. Once we arrived at the inn we were shown to our rooms to freshen up before dinner. Then we adjourned to a private parlour to enjoy dinner which consisted of soup, two kinds of fish, beef steak, fowl, and meat pie. Followed by a gooseberry pie, cherries, strawberries, grapes and finally a light cake. We sat together, both servant and master, at the same table to eat. Our French host raised an eye over such an odd arrangement quickly making it known to his wife what he thought about eccentric Englishmen after assuming none of us understood French and none of us chose to correct that assumption until the next morning when we were leaving.

  In the morning, Father went to settle our bill while our hostess saw the rest of us out to the carriages. As we waited for Father she made a disparaging remark to her daughter about our ignorant English palate. Aunt Mary immediately turned to my mother and they began conversing within earshot in perfect French until my father appeared. The lady of the house stood there with her mouth open and her cheeks scarlet. When we were all finally ensconced in the carriages, my father looked pointedly at our aunt. “Ladies, I don’t suppose that you have any idea what happened to leave Madame Daniau so flustered or do you? Should I book another inn for our return journey?”

  Aunt Mary looked down her long patrician nose at him. “Why, Colin, we we’re merely discussing the quality of the wine at dinner and the croissants at breakfast.”

  My father raised his one eyebrow, “Do I want to know what was said?”

  Mother shoved his shoulder with hers. “It was nothing, my love. But I think maybe we should avoid staying there in the future.” She giggled softly so as not to awaken James who was sleeping in her arms. Father chuckled and reached out for my brother, taking him from my mother and laying him against his chest then he stretched out his legs and drifted off to sleep with his arms wrapped around my brother.

  My aunt smiled as she watched him, and my mother’s face shone with love. I looked at them both and wondered how my father could just fall asleep so quickly in a rocking carriage. Mother caught my puzzled look but mistook my curiosity. “It was the same with you, Clarissa. Your Papa would take you in his arms any chance he could. He’d even take you riding.” She smiled shaking her head. “My god he scared me so many times when he’d ride with you along the beaches and cliffs of Cornwall. But he insisted that he needed to spend as much time with you as he could. He’d put you into an infant sling from the time you were a few days old and carry you all day long, relinquishing you only so you could feed. I swear he was better at changing your bottom than I was.” It gave me a warm feeling to know that my father had loved me just as much as he did James. Mother was shaking her head looking at him, “I’ve caught him a time or two sneaking out with James recently for an early ride in the Park. But I must admit that I’m surprised he waited so long. We already have the reputation for being an odd family, so I couldn’t imagine what else people could say.”

  “Why would him taking James be considered odd?”

  She chuckled. “For one it was considered scandalous when I was caught out riding soon after giving birth. But your father carrying James in a sling as baby really set the gossips’ tongues wagging. He even took him to his club recently to register him as a member.” She chuckled. “Beth tells me that the gossip from other houses is that people can’t decide whether we’re all mad, or just unusually devoted? Personally, I think most of our acquaintances are leaning towards mad.” She giggled again and then leaned forward to take my hand. “You and your brother are your father’s greatest joy, Lissa, never forget that.”

  I grinned at her squeezing her hand in return. “I won’t, Mama.”

  I caught my father smiling from under the brim of his hat as he reached out to take hold of my mother’s other hand and James never moved a muscle. I decided at that moment that the society gossips were in fact correct, we were a very devoted family and perhaps just a touch mad.

  When we arrived at the next posting inn for the night they were already waiting for us. The host’s wife bustled out informing Aunt Mary immediately that the wine was the best from Bordeaux and that she would never find a flakier croissant this side of Paris. I whispered to my aunt, “How could she possibly know what you said in Calais?”

  Aunt Mary shrugged but the hostess had heard me and explained in English, “Pigeons, mademoiselle, my sister and I send notes to each other by pigeons that we’ve raised.”

  I arched a brow. “What?”

  “We raise homing pigeons, mademoiselle. It helps with our trade if we know who and what to expect in the way of our guests.” She started laughing before she added, “But Adeline, she does not have a light touch with her croissants and her husband, Victor, he thinks maybe the English will not know their wine so much so he did not give you the best. They know better now!” she laughed out loud.

  Mother looked at Father wide-eyed as he turned and said to the lady, “I had almost decided to alter my arrangements f
or our return journey. But perhaps we should give them a second chance.”

  She smiled and nodded enthusiastically, “You will get better wine next time but alas the croissants will not change.” She chuckled spreading her hands out wide and inviting us to follow her into the inn. That night a storm moved in and with it came an assortment of odd characters that filled the Inn with both high born and low.

  Surprisingly we had a whole floor of the inn to ourselves with a private parlour, but the men still went down to the common room after dinner to gather news and relax with a game of cards. Aunt Mary begged exhaustion and retired early. Then Mother sent me off to bed as well.

  Meg was waiting in our room tapping her toes to the sound of the music that you could hear coming up through the floor from the common room. She loved to dance so I knew that as soon as she got me situated she’d be down the stairs with the rest of the staff, cajoling Robert to dance. There’d been no word about Mr Johnson though Father and Uncle had made enquires all along our route. He must have passed this way so perhaps some of the denizens of the common room tonight might have seen him or heard news of him in Paris.

  Meg interrupted my thoughts with her excitement, “Oh, miss, I’m so excited being here in France, who would have thought it! My mother and father will be astounded when they get my letter. I must see about getting them a gift while we’re here but I’m not sure what they’d like. They’re not fancy people and Mum would scold me for spending my money on a fan or lace handkerchief.”

  I smiled at her as she finished combing and plaiting my hair, “I’m sure they’d loved anything you get them. Perhaps something that they can use every day, like a scarf or shawl for your mother and a new pipe or tobacco pouch for your father.”

  She tipped her head to the side biting her lower lip and sighed. “You’re right, they’ve always been the practical kind.” She looked about the room then leaned in to whisper, “Robert has promised to take me walking in the gardens of the Tuileries, do think I should? Will it be safe, miss?”

  I wasn’t sure. However, it was a public place like Hyde Park but in the current political climate it could be a dangerous place to venture to if you weren’t careful. So, I erred on the side of caution, “I would imagine that as long as you stay on the main paths where there are lots of people, you’ll be fine.”

  “Oh! so it’s like the park in London,” she sounded and looked disappointed.

  “I’m afraid so but I understand that it’s far more beautiful.”

  Meg beamed. “That will be fine then and thank you, miss, at least I’ll know to what to watch out for.”

  She banked the fire in the hearth, ran the warming pan over the bed linen, snuffed out the candles then practically skipped out of the room. I watched her close the door then I picked up a book, took the candle by my bed and relit the others, so I could read. Meg would not be back for some time and she wouldn’t tell anyone if I was still awake when she did come back.

  But I fell asleep after reading only a few pages and was startled awake by a voice; the candles had burned themselves out and my heart was racing. I had been dreaming but all I could remember was darkness and a voice whispering in great despair ‘Look with your heart’. I tried as hard as I could but couldn’t recall anymore other than that it was dark and cold and that it was Miles’ voice I’d heard. I was so unnerved that every creak of the floorboards startled me. Meg was not in her bed, so it must not have been terribly late. I got up, threw on my dressing gown then opened my door, the hallway was empty, so I padded down the corridor to my parent’s room and lightly knocked on their door. Father opened it immediately. He was standing there fully dressed but Mother was already in bed. I hesitated but he took my hand pulling me into the room. “What is it, Lissa, bad dream?”

  I hadn’t realised I’d been crying until he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped my face. Mother was out of the bed and at my side immediately as they both ushered me over to sit by the fire. I hurriedly told them about my dream and that I knew Mr Johnson was in dire need of help. Father was pensive and bit his lip before saying, “Lissa, we had word tonight that Miles is a prisoner in the Conciergerie. He is being held for the murder of the French envoy Randal Browne.”

  I gasped, that was an outrage. “But that’s not true, Papa, he was going to kill you. Besides I killed Mr Browne too! I mean I shot him as well!” I could feel the tears poised to run down my cheeks.

  He put his arm around me. “Hush, Lissa, we’ll take care of it. But Samuel and I must leave tonight. We’ll ride ahead to our embassy in Paris to see what can be done. Knowing Miles, he probably hasn’t asked for assistance from the Embassy. I promise you we’ll get him released.” He leaned over kissed my cheek and then Mama. “Perhaps you should stay here with your mother tonight. I’ll let Meg know where you are.” He left, and we climbed into the bed and Mother gathered me into her arms. We didn’t speak, we just lay there immersed in our own thoughts.

  I awoke in the morning with the sun shining through a chink in the curtains, I was snug in the warmth of my parent’s bed and thankful the nightmare had not returned. I rolled over and gazed at a streak of sunlight creeping across the aged patina of the floorboards until the door was flung open and Lettie came in holding a gurgling James. She was followed by Meg and Beth, Lettie shifted James’ weight and looked down at me. “Up you get, miss, we’re all packed and ready to go, we’re just waiting on you. Meg will get you ready then help Beth pack Mrs Turner’s things while you eat your breakfast.”

  She sat beside me bouncing James on her knee as he laughed and drooled on a conveniently placed towel with which Lettie automatically wiped his chin. She shook her head as I gazed at them, “You’d never know that his lordship here is cutting a big boy’s tooth but as long as he’s got something hard to chomp down on, he’s content to just drool.” She touched his nose with the tip of her finger and he bubbled over with laughter. “He is the most exceptional babe I’ve ever seen. He’s been walking and talking since before he was a year old…you’re an amazing little man, aren’t you, my Jamie lad.” I laughed as she pulled out a rawhide bite block that Dr Jefferson had given her after removing a splinter from James’ throat caused by vigorously chewing on a wooden spoon. James leaned over and gave me wet kiss and then wriggled to get down, then he ran for the door with Lettie after him. “We’ll see you down at the carriages, miss, you’d better get a move on. Your mother and aunts were almost finished their breakfast.” She grabbed James about the middle and swept him up into her arms and walked out of the room as James squealed with delight. Meg had me dressed just as Beth had finished packing, they were ready to leave so I gulped down a cup of chocolate and raced out to the waiting carriage.

  As we waved goodbye to our hosts my stomach rumbled. Mother reached behind her and handed me a small basket. “Here, Lissa, I’m sure you didn’t get enough to eat.” I opened the basket to the wonderful aroma of fresh baked croissants and honey. I ate my fill to the point of bursting and sat back in my seat replete and ready to doze off.

  We travelled at a brisk pace through a beautiful picturesque countryside dotted with quaint villages. But there was an underlying shabbiness and decay more noticeable in some places than others. I assumed it was the result of the current downturn in the economy and the tell tail signs of a once war ravage country that in many ways had still not recovered. The men in our party rode beside the carriages, openly displaying that they were armed and comfortable with their weapons. Mother, Emilie and Aunt Mary were also armed with little poppers such as the one Uncle Samuel had given me when we battled the smugglers. But my uncle had refused to return it to me after that night in Dorset and my weapons lessons had suddenly been curtailed because my parents felt that I might have been traumatized after killing Mr Browne. The fact is Mr Johnson and I had both shot him simultaneously but neither Dr Grimes nor Dr Jefferson had been able to determine who had fired the fatal shot.

  I dozed and played with James off and on, but I was not allowed to r
ide outside because of the potential danger lurking in the surrounding countryside. Eventually we arrived in Paris and reported to the authorities. Once our papers were returned to us we made our way to the British Embassy as house guests of Ambassador Lord Granville and his wife. My father and Uncle Samuel were not present when we arrived, and no one had any idea when they might return. Lord and Lady Granville welcomed us warmly then after many fulsome apologies they left for a previous engagement. Though the adventurer in me wanted to explore the embassy and the city I was delighted when we were shown to our rooms. A light supper had been laid out in a second-floor drawing room and afterwards we sat there waiting for my father and uncle to appear. But it was not to be, I drifted off to sleep more than once and was finally sent off to bed along with everyone else but Mr Spencer who decided to wait up a bit longer.

  Three days later my father and uncle had still not returned. Mother and Emilie were beside themselves, so Aunt Mary, Mr Spencer and Dr Jefferson met with Lord Granville to see what could be done. I was left to amuse myself by exploring the public rooms and the Embassy garden. The Embassy had been known as the Hotel de Charost before the war and was close to the Elysee Palace. Mr Spencer told us that in 1814 the Hotel had been sold to the Duke of Wellington for the use by the British government. With a grim chuckle, he informed us that some of the money from the sale may have made it into the hands of Napoleon while he was in exile on Elba. The rooms were beautiful, and all the original furniture had come with the purchase, it was decidedly French in its elegance and decoration. Lettie and Meg accompanied me on our tour until James became fretful and Lettie returned to our rooms.