Hostage to Love Read online

Verity rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I’ve never driven a carriage and I doubt you have either.”

  Henrietta brightened. “No, but I expect I’ll manage it.”

  Verity eyed her with a troubled frown. “I wish I was more confident of that.”

  The hours passed. To Verity’s relief, she and Henrietta were left alone. She wondered if the marquess was suffering the after-effects of the laudanum.

  Two hours later, a cry came from above, and a bell rang out.

  Henrietta rushed to the porthole. She turned, her eyes dancing with excitement. “We’re here!”

  The boat dropped anchor. Scurrying footsteps sounded overhead.

  A heavy tread came down the passage and someone knocked at the door.

  “Who is it?” Verity called.

  The door was flung open. The burly sailor stood there. “I’m to take yer luggage. His lordship wants you in the salon.”

  Verity sucked in a breath. “I shall follow in a moment.”

  As the sailor’s broad back disappeared up the passageway with their trunk, Verity took the pistol from her reticule and slipped it into the pocket of her cloak. She pushed the bag into Henrietta’s hands. “You speak tolerable French. Find the harbor master and ask for papers. You cannot travel under your own name. Make them out to Henri Garnier. And ask after your father. Then you must arrange for the trunk to be taken to the smithy. You’ll find his business lies at the top of the hill above the harbor. Hire whatever vehicle you can and wait for me. Give me an hour or two, if I don’t come, go without me, or better still, get on the first boat back to England.”

  Henrietta gasped. “Why can’t you come with me now?”

  “I have unfinished business here.”

  “You need the pistol for that? I don’t like it. I’ll come with you.”

  Verity gave her a gentle shove. “Please, Henrietta, I need you to do this. Just go.”

  ***

  Henrietta reluctantly left the ship and went in search of the harbor master having realized the importance of following Verity’s instructions. While he filled out her papers, she inquired after her father. The man shook his head as he handed her the authority. “You lost your master, boy?”

  She lowered her head. “Left me behind when I got sick. Paid me passage and told me to follow ’im. ’is lordship’s a tall Englishman with brown ’air.”

  The man nodded. “Ah, oui, I remember him. Passed through a few days back. Arrived on a trade ship. He has not come back this way. Might you be looking for a new master, boy? I may be able to find one for you.”

  A sailor came to claim the harbor master’s attention, and Henrietta slipped away.

  She walked back to the schooner. Their trunk sat on the wharf. There was no sign of Verity. Henrietta’s heart gave a lurch of dread. Onboard the boat, the hefty sailor stowed the sails. “Like to earn a shilling? A big fellow like you will have no trouble carrying the trunk up the hill.”

  With a nod, he leapt down onto the wharf to her.

  ***

  Verity entered the salon. The marquess was barking orders at a sailor. He hurried out, leaving she and Ramsbotham alone. He looked her over. “You are ready to leave?”

  Verity curtseyed. “Oui, my lord. I wish to thank you for your generous hospitality.”

  He cocked a brow. “I trust you enjoyed our night together?”

  “Indeed. You’re such an inventive lover.” She placed a hand on her forehead. “But I have a headache. We drank too much champagne.”

  “I remember the charming shape of your derriere and cannot wait to view it again. But I confess my memory of our last hours together is somewhat hazy. Can you tell me what it was that you most enjoyed?”

  She smiled coyly and tapped him on the arm with her fan. “La! A lady does not talk of such things. Except to remind you of how long you were able to pleasure me, my lord.” She gave a small crow of delight. “I’ve never been so… stirred.”

  He smiled. His conceit would never allow him to doubt her. “Perhaps I should thank you, for a welcome night’s distraction. This journey is often tedious. But why must we say goodbye? You shall travel with me to Rouen, during which, we can further our charming relationship. Without so much wine, my prowess in the bedchamber is considerably better, I promise you.”

  “I’m sorry, but I must go...”

  As she turned to go, he grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You said you were to be met…” He drew her to the porthole and gazed out at the wharf. “I don’t see—”

  Verity pulled away. “It would be wise to let me go, my lord.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I should like to meet your friends. Please introduce me.”

  Verity slipped the pistol from her pocket. She dug him in the ribs.

  Ramsbotham’s eyes widened. He backed away and raised his hands. “You would shoot me? That’s not very grateful.”

  “I’ve no desire to shoot you, my lord. Let me go and there will be no more trouble.”

  “One cry from me and my men will arrive. Disastrous for you if I accused you of stealing from me.”

  Verity held the pistol steady. “You would have no chance to enjoy it. You will be dead before they arrive. I’ve nothing to lose.”

  Ramsbotham swallowed as he eyed the gun. Sweat broke out on his brow. “You do appear determined. You intrigue me, Mademoiselle Garnier. One might wonder just what your game is. Go then.” He waved her away. “We’ll meet again. Next time, the advantage will be mine.”

  With her free hand, Verity gathered up her skirts and backed toward the door. “I doubt it. You have your own problems, do you not? I would hasten with all speed to your chateau, my lord. Or what is left of it?”

  With her pistol aimed at the middle of the marquess’ chest, Verity removed the key from the salon door and stepped out into the corridor. She locked the door, pocketed the pistol, and left the boat with a cheery wave at the sailors. She tossed the key into the water. As she ran away, she could hear the marquess banging, his cries muffled. It would take them a while to reach him.

  * * *

  Henrietta hiked up the road with the sailor behind her. At the crest of the hill was a sign, horses for hire outside the blacksmith’s shop. Two nondescript animals grazed in a nearby paddock.

  After she pressed a coin into the sailor’s big paw, she walked into a blast of heat from the furnace. The blacksmith bent over his anvil and delivered a ringing blow to a horseshoe.

  “I require a carriage for my mistress.”

  He threw down his hammer and wiped his hands. “Just hacks for hire.”

  She pointed to the trunk. “Can’t carry this on a horse. Our carriage hasn’t turned up. Probably laid up down the road with a broken wheel.” She turned to view the yard. “What about that?”

  He scratched his head. “My cart?”

  “And a horse to pull it.”

  “It will cost you.” He held up five fingers. “You have someone to drive it?”

  Henrietta straightened. “Me, monsieur.”

  He chuckled. “A scrawny chap like you?”

  She scowled. “My mistress trusts me.”

  He eyed the handful of coins she held out and shrugged. “Damage my property, and your mistress will pay. How long do you want it for? Where do you go?”

  “Only until we find our carriage, monsieur. Your property will be returned to you.”

  “Agreed. If you pay an extra five centimes bond.”

  Henrietta doubted the horse and cart was worth that much. “You drive a hard bargain, monsieur.” She counted out the coins and dropped them into his dirty palm.

  He counted them again. “Wait here. I’ll get the horse.”

  Henrietta eyed the dispirited bow-backed nag the smithy led out the gate. She watched as he attached the breast collar and harness to the narrow-shouldered horse, then backed it into the shafts of the dusty cart and attached the traces. It seemed easy enough. She would manage. The prospect of finding her father buoyed her. Th
at was all that mattered.

  * * *

  Verity she ran all the way up the hill. At the top, she looked back to see the sailors swarming over the deck as they rushed to the marquess’ aid.

  Holding the reins, Henrietta sat on the seat of a dirty cart, a tired-looking horse pulling at the grass. Their trunk was in the back.

  “Well done, Henrietta.” With a glance to ensure they weren’t followed, she clambered up beside the young woman. “From now on we speak only French. You must perfect your accent should we go to Paris.”

  “Walk on, you old nag.” Henrietta released the brake and slapped the reins. She grinned at Verity, as the cart, lurching dangerously, rolled over a shallow ditch and out onto the road.

  Verity’s eyes widened, and she clung to the side. “French, Henrietta,” she said in a faint voice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When several horses galloped down the lane Anthony and Philippe squeezed into the hidden area beneath the roof. Josette pulled the cupboard back into place to conceal the door. Anthony heard her scurrying about as she tidied away any sign of them. His arm throbbed, and in the dim light, Philippe’s eyes looked worried. He hated to cause trouble for Josette as did Anthony.

  Banging and loud voices came from below heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. “There is a trail of blood on the road near your cottage.”

  “An animal.” Josette’s voice sounded calm. “A fox has been in my chicken coop. I’ve lost several birds.”

  Anthony listened to the scuffle of feet on the boards. A creak as the cupboard door swung open. “You live alone?” a soldier asked.

  “This is my brother’s house.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. As you can see, he is not here.”

  He thumped down the stairs to join his comrades. Minutes later, they rode away.

  It appeared too easy. Anthony doubted the soldiers were done with them.

  Josette eased the cupboard back and opened the door.

  Philippe looked grave. Anthony understood. Josette had lied to save them, and if the soldiers discovered the truth and returned, her life would be in danger too.

  She bit her lip. “I’m sorry; I’ve made a serious error.”

  Philippe put his arm around her shoulders. “You did what you could. If that soldier knew you lived alone, he might not have been so polite.”

  “I pray they don’t ask the innkeeper. He will tell him my brother is dead.”

  Anthony stretched to relieve his cramped legs. “We’ll leave tonight.”

  “I’ll drive you in my cart,” Josette said.

  Philippe gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You must come with us to England.”

  She put her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, but I couldn’t! Who would take care of the farm?”

  “Ask a neighbor to care for it,” Anthony said. “You can return when it’s safe.”

  “Non, I belong here. This is my home.”

  “In that case, Phillipe will ride behind me.” Anthony held up his hand at Josette’s protest. “We can get to Le Havre under our own steam.”

  Philippe raised Josette’s hand to his lips.

  Anthony went downstairs to give them time alone. As he stepped outside, horses sound in the lane. They must have learned about Josette’s brother. Philippe’s face was ashen. “I won’t hide and leave Josette unprotected. This is my fight, Anthony. Hide in the roof space. Leave me to handle it.”

  Anthony shook his head. He wasn’t about to have them cart Philippe off without knowing where they took him. “We’ll handle them together.”

  Moments later, the soldiers threw open the front door with a bang. Anthony made no attempt to use his pistol or his sword, he might pick off one of them or even two but not six. He walked downstairs to face the soldiers.

  A gaunt man with a pock-marked face strode in, the others following. They were a ramshackle bunch dressed in the shabby uniforms of the revolutionary army. The gaunt man made no attempt to remove his black hat bearing the red cockade.

  Philippe appeared at the top of the stairs. He stood proudly upright, but steadied himself with a hand against the wall.

  “I am Captain Marchand. And you are Baron St André, oui?”

  “I am he. Mademoiselle Bourget, a good citizen, kindly took me in when she found me injured. She does not know who I am. She is blameless.”

  “Is she indeed?” The captain eyed her as he slipped off his gloves. “Yet you lied to me, did you not, mademoiselle? You told me your brother ran this farm, but he is dead.”

  Josette jutted out her chin. “Do you blame me? I feared for my life.”

  “You were right to, mademoiselle,” he said dispassionately. He turned to Anthony. “And who might you be?” He held out his hand. “Your credentials?”

  Anthony drew his wallet from his pocket. “Viscount Beaumont, a member of the British parliament. I urge you to be careful how you treat us. England is not at war with France.”

  The captain stroked his chin as he studied Anthony’s papers. “And what might an Englishman nobleman be doing in this small village?”

  “I came to take him home to England. It would be wise for you to allow me to do just that.”

  “I’m afraid not. The baron will accompany me to Paris.”

  Anthony stepped forward. “I demand you release him the baron is my brother-in-law.”

  The captain’s cold eyes studied him. “Then it seems we have captured two birds with one toss of the stone. You shall come with us too, my lord.”

  * * *

  In the village of St. Agnon, the inn-keeper told Verity that Anthony had asked for directions to the Bourget farm several days ago. But soldiers had been seen in the area.

  Worried about what they might find, they left a road and turned into a narrow lane that ran beside an apple orchard. At the small cottage, Verity pulled up the horse. She had a very bad feeling. It was too quiet. The chimney didn’t smoke, and the gate of the pigpen lay open, with a pig wandering the vegetable patch.

  While Henrietta released the horse from its traces and set it free in a field, Verity crossed to the door, listening for signs of habitation. Nothing but the rustle of leaves and the few scrawny chickens scratching over the ground.

  Henrietta knocked on the door. After a moment of silence, she opened it. She stared at Verity with alarm on her face. A chair was upturned in the small parlor. On the table, a bottle lay on its side in a pool of golden-brown liquid. Henrietta ran up the stairs. “There’s no one here,” she cried in a panicked voice. “The house has been ransacked!”

  “Come here, Henrietta.” Despite her inner turmoil and bitter disappointment, Verity spoke calmly.

  Henrietta walked down as if her shoes were too heavy, her lips trembling.

  “Sit down,” Verity commanded. “Drink.” She pushed a mug toward the distraught girl. There was enough left in the bottle for half a glass each of apple brandy.

  The brandy burned its way down Verity’s throat, giving a welcome boost to her flagging energy. Color flooded into Henrietta’s pale cheeks. “What can we do?” She asked, her bravado deserting her.

  “The soldiers will have taken them to Paris.”

  “We must go there, but how? We cannot take this horse.”

  “If we treat him well, he will get us there,” Verity said. “Never fear.”

  A tear trickled down Henrietta’s cheek. “I found blood on the stairs.”

  “Let me see.” Verity examined it. “Not a lot, a few drops at most. Not enough to mean…”

  “We must leave. Now!” Henrietta threw back her chair and jumped to her feet.

  Verity walked down the stairs. “The horse needs to be rested, fed and watered,” she reasoned. “Otherwise, he will not carry us even part of the way to Paris.” She opened all the cupboards. “There’s a heel of bread, a rind of cheese, and some potage.” She bent to sniff the pot. “Fresh enough. We’ll spend the night here.”

  Henrietta shook her head, her eyes f
illed with panic.

  “We leave tomorrow at first light,” Verity said. “You will dress in women’s clothing. We’ll both be actresses.”

  Henrietta blinked. “I’m no longer a page?”

  “Your disguise isn’t good enough to fool most men.”

  “But the marquess…?”

  Verity shook her head.

  Henrietta stared at her. “One day, you might tell me what happened on that boat.”

  “One day, perhaps.” Verity swallowed. “But not now. Now, we must rest and prepare for what awaits us in Paris. I have friends who can find out where your father has been taken.”

  “At first light,” Henrietta repeated. She sank back onto the chair.

  Verity fought to sound confident, but she feared for Anthony. Should he and the baron survive a Parisian prison, the guillotine awaited them. And when Danton discovered her to be in Paris, she would be faced with the choice between saving her father’s life or Anthony’s. For a moment the thought plunged her into despair, but she pushed it away. She would face that when she came to it.

  The next day, Verity’s doubts about Henrietta’s ability to handle the reins faded. She was envious of the girl’s cool-headed skill. They’d been traveling for hours. As dark fell, Henrietta drove the cart off the road into a field overgrown with cow parsley and nettles. She drew the horse up near a copse of oak and fir trees. Henrietta wisped the horse with a swatch of grass then led the animal to a stream. She tied the animal up in the meadow to graze. It was a pitch-black night and humid with an approaching storm. Fortunately, the rain held off, but fear, hunger and a disturbed woodpecker made them doze fitfully.

  In the morning, they shared the remains of the cheese, apples, and some wild strawberries, which did little to assuage their hunger. As they rode on the storm hovered close by. A bolt of lightning struck a tree with a mighty crack. The horse bucked and neighed. Henrietta struggled with the reins. Her soothing tone settled him again, and they continued.

  By afternoon, the rain increased, soaking them to the skin. Water lay about in deep puddles, and the road became a quagmire. The wheels of the cart sank in the mud as the tired horse labored to free them. Verity got off to push, up to her ankles in mud. For a panicked half hour, they pushed and pulled until the mud gave up its hold and the wheels rolled free. Verity settled on the seat again, but the horse was tiring. In the downpour they could barely see ahead. How long before they became permanently stuck in the middle of nowhere?