The Travellers

by J. Howard Shelley

  Chapter 5

  The three men pulled their chairs together and started to discuss their plans. She tried to concentrate on the conversation but while she could normally focus on such matters and recall almost perfectly everything that was said, on this occasion her mind drifted and eventually she gave up. The Duke led the discussion but both Francis and Vallon contributed fully. Miss Leighton saw that the Duke listened to both his companions with respect. He was obviously as comfortable in his servant’s company as he was in the company of the innkeeper and his sister. There were those, Sarah thought, who held themselves up much higher than His Grace; and with much less excuse. “Perhaps” she thought “he is of such high rank that he does not have to care about such matters. No one will criticise him for any choices he makes.” She immediately realised that this was unfair, if she had not recognised him he would not even have even claimed his title and yet she was sure he would still have done his best to help. A man ranked amongst the wealthiest in England but who chooses not to trade upon his wealth and power and who, without any hesitation, tries to render what assistance he can to others who need it, is not, she concluded, a man who takes his position for granted.

  She had not been entirely honest with the Duke. While she had seen him on the one occasion she described, she had also seen him on many other occasions before and since. On one occasion, although he did not appear to recall it, he had also seen her.

  The first occasion was as the result of the purest serendipity. Her uncle’s land bordered Sale Park and when she was a young girl, bored by her lessons, she often escaped from the school room and strayed over the walls to explore the larger estate. By accident one day she nearly ran into the Duke out shooting accompanied only by his dog. She managed to hide by diving behind a convenient bush but created such a noise that the Duke started over to investigate. Most fortunately the other occupants of the bush were a couple of partridge who took flight at her entry and he was distracted. By the time he had retrieved the birds, (he was, even at this age an excellent shot,) she had long gone. After she spied him a second time on one of his solitary walks, she started to look out for him and learned that the Duke was a creature of habit. She became adept at predicting where he was likely to be and when he was likely to be there.

  Her uncle was a frequent visitor to Sale Park to see his friend Lord Lionel and as she grew older she often went with him to visit the great house. The Viscount used to leave her with the housekeeper and she became well known to the kitchen staff who spoiled the little girl who lived such a secluded life. After a while she became a regular visitor and as she enjoyed helping the maids, many of which were little older than her, she learned her way round the house by the back stairs. On one such visit, while assisting the laundry maid to store some bed linen in a cupboard near the Duke’s bedchamber, she became so engrossed in the work that she failed to see the Duke and knocking into him fell on the floor dropping a large pile of freshly ironed sheets.

  As it had been instilled into her that, on no account was she to be seen by the owner of the house, this circumstance caused her considerable mortification and she burst into tears. Sarah had waited for the inevitable axe to fall wondering how she would explain this latest scrape to her uncle and she was thus very surprised when the Duke offered her a hand to help her up. She quickly perceived that because of her size he thought she was much younger than her real age. He told her that the accident was quite his fault and he would make sure that the housekeeper knew this. When she returned to the basement, having finished her task, she was astonished to discover that he had been as good as his word. The housekeeper had been instructed that the little laundry maid was not to be blamed for dropping the linen and that she was really too small in stature for that particular cupboard.

  The young Sarah Leighton fell in love at that moment.

  In the years that followed and in the seclusion of her own room Sarah indulged the beatific dream of being loved in return. In her more prosaic moments Miss Leighton acknowledged that it was hopeless but her heart, which appeared to have a mind of its own, refused to accept this and leapt with joy at the mere mention of his name. It did not matter how often or severely Miss Leighton talked to herself, Sarah’s heart insisted that only the Duke would do. Although her heart absolutely refused to accept the impossibility of the relationship, her head knew better. There was little chance of her ever meeting the Duke socially and if they did meet he would never pay her any notice. Had it been ever suggested to her that chance would thrust her into close companionship with him Miss Leighton would never have believed it.

  By the time the Duke married, her walks into Sale Park had become much less frequent, the Duke did not predictably visit his old haunts, her uncle visited Sale Park less often as Lord Lionel was now to be found most of the time in town, and her age meant that her freedom was curtailed. What might have been acceptable in a tomboyish little girl was not acceptable in a young lady. On the rare occasions she went out she had to be chaperoned. Miss Leighton had always known that her prospects of marrying the Duke were less than negligible and so when the forthcoming marriage to Lady Harriet was announced, fourteen-year-old Sarah tried hard not to be jealous only crying herself to sleep for a few nights.

  The Duke of Sale was, by a considerable margin, the most important person for miles around and Sarah, in common with all Sale’s neighbours took a lively interest in what was going on at Sale Park. Directly or indirectly the estate provided employment for most of the men in the local villages and most of the local farmers were the Duke’s tenants. The house purchased meat from the local butcher, cloth from the Draper and tools from the blacksmith. The local tailors and dressmakers depended on orders for clothing for the Duke’s staff. Masons were employed in maintaining the walls and buildings in the home park and carpenters and joiners were regularly called up on to repair doors and windows. The Duke and his house was the centre of the local economy.

  The wellbeing of the Duke was thus an important consideration for the population and as the Duke’s staff liked to gossip and, while in their cups, to boast of their position to their less fortunate acquaintances, there was a ready audience. The stories eventually reached Sarah who had long ago concluded that he lived in a cotton wool prison. She resented, on his behalf, the limits no doubt motivated by kindness, which were placed on him. Even her brother had more freedom. When Harriet died, Sarah, by now nearly fifteen, only just managed to prevent herself running to Duke’s side.

  Twenty-two-year-old Miss Leighton was somewhat disgusted to discover she had as little control over the wayward and utterly impractical Sarah as she had at fourteen. From the instant he had walked in and rescued her the previous night, she had been on tenterhooks. At fourteen, Sarah had devised several hopelessly impractical schemes by which she would become a suitable bride for the Duke. At twenty-two, Miss Leighton knew that the reality was there never could be such a marriage.

  Over the last three years, as there had been no sign of the Duke, she had thought about him less, but she never once thought, in contrast to the doom monger’s prophesies, that he was dead or mad. She knew he was safe. Why she knew it she never paused to consider. On those occasions she did think about him, the practical Miss Leighton had been inclined to write off her feelings as a fantasy created by romantic Sarah’s youthful mind. It was therefore truly disconcerting to discover that, far from being the fantasy she had told herself it was, meeting the Duke in person only confirmed to Miss Leighton that which Sarah had known when she was younger, that she was deeply and (apparently) irrevocably in love with him. It was absolutely no use at all telling herself, as she did – constantly – that a person cannot fall in love with someone they have never really met when at the sound of his voice her heart leapt into her mouth. Miss Leighton was forced to conclude that logic simply did not come into it and that the only thing to be done was to ensure that the Duke did not guess her feelings. She resolved therefore, to devote her time to devising a strategy for persuading
Sarah to adopt a more reasonable and prosaic attitude. Sarah then spent fully fifteen minutes observing the Duke out of the corner of her eye and contemplating a romantic vision of married bliss.

  She was brought out of her reverie by Vallon leaving the room. The Duke turned to her,

  “Subject to your approval, I think that it would be better if we did not try to smuggle you into the Chateaux. If Hainaut is still looking for you he may well by now have discovered that we did not leave town last night in which case, he will presume you will try to return to your uncle. Two ladies going to the Chateaux will create much more interest than three or four men. Francis and I will try to speak to your uncle and then return here to recover you.”

  “You will never pass the guards,” Miss Leighton asserted bluntly, “the King is concerned over assassination and security is very tight.”

  “We know, but we only need to get as far as the Chateaux. I will then reveal my identity and your uncle will vouch for me. I can tell him we have you safe and you can be escorted back here under guard.” Sale could see Miss Leighton was deeply sceptical and a little irritated because of her exclusion from the plan they had devised. He guessed that she did not like people assuming she did not want to be involved in such matters merely because she was a female. He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, forgive me, I was treating you like one of those insipid females whose interests extend no further than their children and their stitchery. I should have known that a lady who can handle a sword as well as you would take umbrage at such cavalier treatment.”

  She was immediately disarmed, as much by the understanding which underpinned his words as by the words himself. Moreover, she was guiltily aware of her recent and very feminine daydream and acknowledged that, while she would never want to be treated as a beautiful but not very intelligent decorative object, with the right man at her side, children and stitchery could be a very attractive prospect.

  “Tell me your plan.” Her smile told him her moment of annoyance was over, “I can perhaps help.”

  “In reality, it is not much of a plan. Vallon has been asked to deliver wine and beer to the Chateaux today. Whatever is going on up there, it is thirsty work because this is the second delivery this week. The barrels are heavy and the steps into the cellar are steep. He must take extra hands with him to help. Today, two of the extra hands will be Francis and I. Vallon has gone to find some clothes appropriate to a labourer employed by an innkeeper for me. He will also bring my portmanteau. I shall dress à le Duc and then put the labourer’s clothes on top. Francis and I will gain entry to the building and I will demand audience with your uncle. He will recognise me.” The Duke paused for a minute and then asked sardonically, “It is a good plan, is it not?”

  “You know as well as I do that it is a ridiculous plan. There is so much that can go wrong ....” Miss Leighton was horrified, “the Guards carry muskets and have orders to shoot.” Suddenly she stopped, arrested by a peculiar expression on the Duke’s face. “You, wouldn’t” she asked suspiciously “be enjoying yourself?”

  “It’s a character flaw,” he admitted. “When I was growing up, no-one allowed me to take the slightest risk. I couldn’t go out if it was raining, I mustn’t try to jump the big fences, even sliding down the banister of the Grand stair case at Sale Park was frowned upon in case I fell. I must be making up for all the scrapes I should have had as a boy.”

  Miss Leighton had been about to angrily retort that risking his neck in such a reckless fashion was nothing to be flippant about. Then she remembered, whooping with joy with several of the younger maids, as she slid down that same banister when the family was away from home and the upper servants out of sight. Suddenly, she understood how limited his life had been. Although she had always thought his lack of freedom restricting, she had never until that moment realised how miserable a boy growing up in the great house surrounded by anxious adults and never mixing with children of his own age would have been. She learned in that moment that there were more important things in life than a great title and wealth. Her anger promptly collapsed.

  “You will need to remove your disguise in the cellar.” Having decided to go along with the Duke’s plan her agile mind was quickly turning over the plan, finding the weak points and searching for solutions. “You will never gain access to the Chateaux dressed like a peasant. If Francis is to enter he will need to be dressed as befits a valet. As you will be carefully watched you will need a distraction to allow you to leave the cellar without being seen. The outside entrance to the cellar is on a corner facing out onto the stable yard, if you go around the corner there is a narrow passage leading to a rear entrance to the Chateaux. At the end of the passage there is a large black door. There will be guards stationed on the inside. The password is “Xerxes.” Once you are past the guards you will find yourself in a corridor. Follow it. Eventually you will find yourself in the great hall. You will then need to consider what to do as much will depend on whether there is a meeting in session at the time. You will know whether there is a meeting or not because the room in which the meetings take place will be directly opposite you. If the doors are shut and there are guards outside, then there is a meeting. If not, then my uncle could be anywhere. The most likely place is his room which is up the stair to your immediate left. When you reach the top of the stairs, turn left, his room is the third door on the right, mine is the fourth.”

  The Duke knew that Sarah had initially been quite angry but something had happened to change her mood. He had seen the instant it changed although he was unable to identify what had provoked it. The more he learned about Miss Leighton the more curious he became. When she had applied her mind to the scheme they had cooked up together she had immediately identified the weak points and supplied workable solutions. If they had not consulted her, the Duke thought, it was very probable that they would have failed.

  “I can see, Miss Leighton, why it should be that your uncle keeps you as his secretary,” the Duke’s expression was deeply appreciative and too, there was genuine astonishment. “Not one in an hundred could have told me what I needed to know, so clearly and so concisely.” He turned to Francis, “you heard that Francis, you dress up too.”

  “Yes Your Grace.” Replied Francis in a voice which indicated he was accustomed by long practice to his master’s foibles. And you will of course have considered why a valet would be carrying a staff?”

  “The devil” muttered the Duke, “I hadn’t thought of that.” He looked quizzically at Sarah as if daring her to be at a loss. “Any suggestions Miss Leighton.”

  “Certainly,” came the dignified reply, “you only need to tie a brace or two of Rabbits and some pigeons over it and it will look as if you have been shooting. I am sure Vallon has these in his larder. As the kitchens are very inconveniently located at the opposite end of the Chateaux no-one will think twice at you crossing the hall with your game. Furthermore, no-one else at the conference other than, possibly, my uncle, would considering carrying their game themselves.”

  “Remind me never to challenge you to a game of chess,” said the Duke bowing deeply in the manner of a student to his master, “I should certainly lose. Are you never at a loss?”

  “My uncle will tell you that If there is a problem, then generally I can find the solution” Sarah replied, not without justifiable pride. Privately however, as she owned to herself, there was one problem to which as far as she could see, there was no realistic solution. What was she to do about the way she felt about Sale? She supposed that, if he were able to restore her to her uncle, he would at least be on his way and she would not have to meet him except occasionally when she was at her uncle’s house and the Duke was at Sale Park. She could not now disappear as he knew of her and she could not refuse to see him without being unpardonably rude, especially in view of his rescue of herself and Martha. She did not know what was worse, only seeing him on rare occasions and being desperate to see him, or being in his company all the time and dealing with the const
ant reminder of the impossibility of her situation.

  At that moment Vallon returned with the Duke’s portmanteaux and the information that they would be leaving in approximately half an hour. He was, until the plan was further explained, somewhat startled to be asked to procure some game but upon the necessity being explained to him he owned he did indeed have some freshly shot pigeons which he could provide as long, he added with a grin, as the Duke did not enquire too closely as to how he came to acquire them.

  The Duke retired to another room to change, and when he returned some twenty minutes later Sarah hardly recognised him. Gone was the nondescript traveller and in his place stood a wealthy gentleman of the first stare. He sported a black coat with cutaway tails cut in the latest style and so well fitting that no wrinkle showed on the cloth which, upon careful examination she saw was shot through with silver thread. He had a pair of biscuit coloured pantaloons which showed a well-muscled and proportioned leg and a pair of hessians polished till they gleamed. Underneath an ivory waistcoat he wore a silk shirt with moderate points and a cravat was expertly tied around his neck, secured with a diamond pin. Sale had not joined the dandy set, indeed his raiment was, if anything understated, but Sarah thought he looked he looked magnificent, and every inch the Duke. Judging by the admiring looks cast in his direction by Madame Ricard and Martha, they were of a similar opinion.

  The Duke had never been careless with his dress but it was not a matter that ever consumed much of his time. Whenever he went into society he always dressed appropriately but he had never followed the extremes of fashion and, while he took a pride in his appearance when it was appropriate to do so, he was equally happy tramping around his estates in a shabby coat and warm breeches. Unlike the dandies who could spend hours at their toilet the Duke rarely took longer than half an hour to dress and then only if he was attending court or at Almacks. Ruefully aware that in a house owned by the sister of an innkeeper in an obscure town in eastern France he looked decidedly out of place he bowed mockingly to the ladies and asked,

  "Am I presentable?” Had he been susceptible to flattery the response would have been everything he desired but, in fact he felt somewhat conspicuous and a little embarrassed. His attention was however soon distracted by Miss Leighton who had absently drawn his sword which he had left on the table when he went to dress. “What do you think?” he asked indicating that he was referring to the weapon she held.

  “It is too heavy for me,” she replied taking his question seriously, “the foil is a better weapon for a lady than the epée as it is less heavy on the wrist. Nonetheless, this is a beautifully wrought blade and made ....” She examined it closely, “Ah! Yes! As I thought; made at the Real Fábrica de Espadas de Toledo?” She looked up at the Duke for confirmation and when he nodded she continued, “I thought so, I can see the mark here.” She pointed to the blade immediately adjacent to the hilt. “It was, I think, also specially made for you. It is a little shorter than I would have expected and the grip is of a smaller diameter and,” she made a pass with it, “the balance is slightly different to the more standard pattern.”

  Having by now realised that Miss Leighton was, as measured by the standard of most young ladies of her age, more than a little out of the common way, he had expected an intelligent answer. He knew that she could handle a sword; he had seen her in action but her answer was so extraordinary that for a few seconds he was unable to respond. Few men would have been able to reach that conclusion in so little time. How, he wondered was he to follow that? Fortunately, Miss Leighton was examining the gilded tracing delicately engraved onto the blade and did not see the effect his words had produced. After a few seconds Sarah straightened up, by which time the Duke had managed to school his expression into one of mere appreciation. Flipping the sword over she presented it, hilt resting on her forearm, in the manner of a second presenting a weapon to one of the parties in a duel.

  “All in all,” she grinned, “a very pretty weapon. I suspect you may need it today.” The Duke longed to know more, where did she get her extensive knowledge, and why had she bothered to accumulate it in the first place. Unfortunately, they did not have the time, and this was not the place.

  “Thank you,” the Duke said as he retrieved his sword and returned it to its scabbard, “I suspect I might.

  At that moment Vallon reappeared and Francis, who had been standing in the corner observing the by-play between his master and Miss Leighton with evident interest, disappeared to also change his clothes. When he returned not five minutes later, splendidly, but soberly dressed as befitted a gentleman’s gentleman the Duke had already added an extra layer of loose fitting peasant’s clothing and, to complete his disguise he had added a soft felt hat with a wide brim. Francis copied his master and a few seconds later, two peasants stood where there had lately been a Duke and a superior servant.

  Vallon had backed his cart up to the door of his sister’s house and the Duke, pausing only to kiss Miss Leighton’s hand and to thank his hostess profusely, followed closely by Francis, leapt up onto the back of the cart which thereafter rolled out of the Yard and onto the street outside the inn.

  Chateaux Hainaut lay to the south west of the Village of Eberbach-Seltz about three miles from Seltz. The road ran gently uphill away from the Rhine and as the cart was heavily loaded Vallon’s two horses, though sturdy beasts used to hard work, did not make rapid progress. In any event there were a few preparations to make. Vallon had told them he would pull up the left side of his cart in front of the cellar door and so Francis placed his staff, complete with three brace of pigeon on top of the barrels but out of sight on that side. There was another matter. Vallon had not had time to explain to the fourth member of the team, one Étienne, what was to happen. The Duke had expressed concern at the inclusion of yet another person but Vallon pointed out that he could hardly create a diversion outside the cellar on his own if the Duke and Francis remained inside. In addition, he bluntly explained that unloading the cart was hard work and, while he had no doubt that the Duke and his man were willing to help, he had some reservations as to their ability to lift such heavy weights alone.

  Seeing the barrels on the cart for the first time The Duke was forced to accept that Vallon might be right. There were upwards of ten large barrels and several smaller casks to be moved and he had not the strength of the innkeeper or the bulk of his new assistant. Étienne was about as tall as the Duke who was, by most standards, only of medium height. There the similarity ended. Where the Duke was of slim build Étienne was stout. His arms were the diameter of the Duke’s legs and they were capped by enormous hands. Vallon told the Duke in a whisper that Étienne had won the weightlifting competition in Alsace for the last eighteen years. As to the question of adding another unknown member of the team, he and Vallon had been friends since they were boys. Étienne was absolutely trustworthy.

  After about half an hour the cart crossed over the road from Niederroedern to Wintzenbach and Vallon warned them to be careful from there on. No sooner had he spoke than about one hundred yards up the road two soldiers stepped out in front of them. They were holding muskets in a manner which, although they were not pointed at the cart and its occupants, made it plain they could soon be brought to bear and fired if necessary. One of the men waved the cart down and enquired its destination. As Vallon drew his cart up to the soldiers, the Duke, who was covertly looking at them noted that they wore the same uniform as had the soldiers escorting the Berline that had passed them on the road to Seltz on the previous day. Upon being told that it was a delivery for the Chateaux the soldiers nodded. Vallon was expected. The two guards walked around the cart noting that in addition to the Driver and the load there were three peasants sitting on the back, legs dangling over the edge of the cart and staring vacuously back down the road.

  The day was sunny and notwithstanding the time of the year, the guards were hot in their thick overcoats and very bored. They had been told to expect a delivery of wine and beer and that i
s what they found. They could not see that there was any reason to enquire any further. The guards, none of whom were local, still naively believed that the conference was taking place in secret and the suggestion that anyone might try to sneak in to disrupt it seemed farcical. These men were members of the Garde du Corps du Roi the fanatically loyal, largely aristocratic and highly trained soldiers associated with the Maison du Roi whose job it was to guard the King and the Royal family. They were therefore somewhat unhappy with this assignment. As far as they were concerned the whole thing was a waste of time and they were more than a little indignant that they should have been ordered to guard what appeared to be nothing more than a house party at which the King was not even present. They waved the cart through without looking more closely at the load on the cart or searching the occupants.

  The Duke had thought that the guards at the gatehouse might have been a little more vigilant but, his fears were misplaced, the search was even more cursory. Vallon was a frequent visitor to the Chateaux and he never failed to stop for a word with the lodge keeper who thus knew him well. Étienne was a local celebrity and regularly found employment whenever there was heavy work to be done. The lodge keeper vouched for this friend Vallon, and the cart was waved through. No-one paused to consider the identity of the other occupants of the cart.

  The Chateaux was a handsome edifice built some fifty years earlier by the current Vicomte’s grandfather. Before the cart reached the house Vallon turned down a side track towards the stables and into the yard outside the Cellar. As predicted there were further guards waiting for them but all they did was unlock the cellar door and stand back. These guards assumed that since the cart had already passed through two checks they could have little to fear. Unloading commenced; Vallon unlashed the barrels and rolled them to the edge of the cart, Étienne lifted them down and rolled them the short way to the door and The Duke and Francis who had run straight into the cellar as soon as the guards stood back racked them up taking turns in removing their peasant’s clothes while they did so.

  They only just managed it. The Duke knew that had there been any more he would not have been able to move them. He was fit and lithe, but he was unused to hard physical toil and the effort gave him a new respect for the physical strength of his host. When there was just one barrel left on the cart it was time to cause the diversion. Vallon jumped down from the bed of the cart on the side away from the cellar apparently with the intention of confirming with one of the Vicomte’s servants that the order was complete. At the same time, and with the apparent intention of unloading the one remaining barrel Étienne hopped up and grasped the cask with a massive paw tilting it slightly to roll it on its edge. An observer would have seen that he missed his grip, the barrel fell onto its side and rolled off the bed of the cart narrowly missing Vallon and smashing onto the ground at his feet. Vallon roared in shock and started, at the top of his voice to berate the hapless Étienne who apologised over and over. While the attention of the guards was distracted, the Duke and Francis slipped out of the cellar and, crouching to remain behind the cart they rounded the corner out of sight of the yard.

  They quickly reached the black door Miss Leighton had told them was there and the Duke knocked on it in a confident fashion. It opened cautiously.

  “Xerxes” he said and as the guard opened the door wider he strode in past the Guard.

  “What is going on out there, Sir” asked the Guard in some concern at the noise coming from the direction of the stables.

  “Some fool of a drayman has dropped a barrel of beer on the ground” answered the Duke in tones of amusement. “His master is accusing him of attempted murder.”

  “I don’t mind the drayman” commented the guard, laughing at the image created by the Duke’s words, “the beer now - that is a tragedy.” Although the Duke spoke French fluently he did so with an English accent and the Guard placed his nationality immediately. This did not concern him, there were a number of English visitors at the Chateaux and although he had not previously met this Gentleman (and his clothes clearly proclaimed the status) it was a large Chateaux, he supposed there were any number of people who might enter it legitimately whom he had not yet seen and besides, he knew the password.

  He had formed a good opinion of the English guests who had passed his post over the last few days. He had observed they were much more courteous to him and his colleagues than the nobles from his own country and were, in addition, much more tolerant of the restrictions imposed by the necessary security. He therefore ventured to comment, nodding at the game slung over his servant’s staff that the gentleman had obviously enjoyed good sport and was pleased to note that his assessment of the Duke’s character had been correct. The Duke observed that he had rarely enjoyed a day’s shooting so much and he pressed a coin into the Guard’s hand.

  The Guard locked the door, and then turned to watch the Englishman and his servant disappearing along the corridor. ‘Definitely a gentleman’, he thought approvingly.

  “Is he following?” The Duke whispered at Francis. On seeing Francis shake his head he relaxed a little. They were inside now and with a little more luck they would soon be able to discharge their errand. A few yards further along the corridor, a door opened into a store room which, judging by the dust coating the jars and bottles lining the shelves, was rarely used. They quietly shut the door behind them and waited.

  They had agreed to wait a while before trying to confront Sarah’s uncle. If the plan went awry they wanted Vallon to be away. They had agreed that if the Guards noticed that the innkeeper had arrived with three hands and were leaving with only one he was to disclaim all prior knowledge of them and say he had hired them for a day’s work. In the event they need not have worried. The security was focused on preventing people entering the Chateaux; the guards were not interested in who might be leaving at all. So, when Vallon had finished shouting at Étienne he cleared up the wreckage of the ruined barrel, trenchantly requested, if he could manage to do so without falling over, that the clumsy oaf climb up on the cart and drove nonchalantly out of the Chateaux back towards Seltz. Once the empty cart had crossed the Wintzenbach road he reached into his bag, pulled out a bottle of wine, removed the cork and took a long pull. Handing the bottle to his friend they continued on the road back home in the best of good humours.

  The Duke remained in the store for longer than he had planned. Racking the barrels had taken a great deal more out of them both than they had expected and they needed to recuperate somewhat. After some fifteen minutes, Francis opened the door a crack and after confirming that there was no-one in the corridor, they both stepped out. A minute later they walked out into the great hall. It took a few seconds for their eyes to become accustomed to the brightness of the room after the dimly lit corridor. Along the south wall there were four enormous windows and the sun streamed in through them. The room opposite was unoccupied, the doors were unguarded and, as it appeared therefore that there was no meeting in session the Duke headed, as Miss Leighton had suggested, for the staircase. He had not reached the bottom stair when a voice he had heard only once before said,

  “I think not M’sieur” The Duke heard the hiss of a sword being drawn and was just in time to twist his head as the blade flashed by his cheek.