For all her show of confidence, Christa was worried about leaving this secure existence to brave the world. Although she was more capable and self-reliant than most women of her station, she was going forth into a foreign country as well as a new and demanding way of life. She had spent perhaps thirty months of her life in England, almost entirely in the pampered isolation of Radcliffe Hall. Christa could only guess at what life was like among the common people.
She turned to look in the mirror, saying sternly, “Eh, Countess, enough of the self-pity! You speak English fluently and you have over a hundred pounds of pin money that you haven’t spent—that is a fortune for a working person. Enough to support you for many months if you are careful.”
Her step had lightened when she returned to her packing. The sterile luxury of Radcliffe Hall had been smothering her even before Lewis made his unwelcome advances. An independent future might hold difficulties undreamed of, but it was a direction that promised new life. After all, Christa was young and strong, and embarking on a great adventure!
She chose her plainest and most durable clothes and shoes. They were really too fashionable for a governess, but she had no choice. Her only jewelry was the antique picture locket that held miniatures of her family.
Christa hesitated before packing the boy’s clothes she had worn on her escape. She was unlikely to need them, but they were a tangible link with her past. Last, she went to her chest and took out a small leather pouch containing Charles’s gold watch. The provincial assembly in Normandy had trumpeted proudly about the English spies they had killed, proof of the wicked British plots against the revolution.
Lewis had pulled some diplomatic strings and eventually a packet of personal effects crossed the Channel to Radcliffe Hall. It contained Charles’s identification papers, the watch, and a signet ring with the Radcliffe arms. At the sight of them, Christa’s last faint hope that he and her mother might have survived had flickered and died. Lord Radcliffe had taken the ring and given her the watch. She had been grateful for his generosity; the watch had belonged to Charles’s father, and she would not have blamed Lewis for keeping it.
She slipped the watch and most of her money into a belted pouch that could be tied under her dress; no one was stealing either while she had breath in her body! Then she snapped the case shut and lifted it experimentally. It was a little heavy, but Christa could carry it the five miles to the main coaching route. With her preparations complete, she attacked Annie’s tray of food with gusto.
The last of the apple tart had just disappeared when the maid returned. “I’ve got five names and addresses for you, Lady Christa,” she said proudly. “And here’s a packet of bread, meat, and fruit for your journey.”
Christa accepted the offerings gratefully. “You are a splendid help, Annie.Merci.”
Annie blushed. “It’s my pleasure, I’m sure, miss.” She hesitated, then said shyly, “Is there any place I could get in touch with you? If... if anything should change here.”
Christa said regretfully, “It is better you not know where I am going. I promise I shall be safe, and perhaps sometime in the future I will be able to write to you. But for now . . .” She gave a Gallic shrug, then went to the wardrobe and took out several lengths of fabric. “I have a present for you, Annie. My dresses would not fit you, but here are some pieces of silk and velvet for your trousseau. I am sure that you will have persuaded William to the altar by this summer.”
“Oh, Lady Christa!” Annie reached out in awe and stroked the beautiful fabric, then looked up with tears in her eyes. “I will miss you ever so much. Sometimes . . . it was like we were friends, not that I was just a servant.”
Christa gave her a last hug, then said shakily, “You have been a good friend, Annie. I will miss you too. Now, go quickly, before my resolve weakens.”
After the maid left, she lay down to attempt some rest. She had six hours left to enjoy the fine feather mattress.
Chapter 3
Christa had given herself ample time to reach the crossroads where the coach could be stopped, and had a long, cold wait before the winter dark began to lighten. When the coach’s arrival was heralded by the pounding of heavy hooves, she started waving, holding her ground even when it appeared she might be run over. In a jumble of curses, the thickset driver pulled up and glared down at her.
“Please,monsieur, I wish passage to London.”
He considered for a few moments, then nodded. “Pass your box up.” As Christa boosted it in the air, she was grateful she had packed no more. Pushing the long-suffering outside passengers aside, the driver precariously fastened the portmanteau atop the pile of existing luggage. As he did so, a red face appeared at the window to bawl, “You can’t take her! There’s no room inside.”
Another voice chimed in, “Aye, another passenger will burst the sides of the coach.”
Christa was starting to worry when the driver yelled, “There’s always space for a little dab like her. One of you gents might like to carry her on yer lap.” He cackled at his own wit.
The red-faced man, unabashed, yelled back, “She’s not on the waybill. Us who is already here have our rights! I’ll report it to the company!”
The driver spat contemptuously, narrowly missing the man in the window. “There ’ud be plenty of space if we leftyouhere. Get in, miss. We’ve a shedjool to meet!”
More voices sounded, agreeing that time was a-wasting, and if the red-faced man didn’t like it, he couldwalkto London. As Christa scrambled up, she suspected the driver’s championship stemmed from a desire to keep her fare for himself, but she was too grateful to care.
Inside, the red-faced man glared at her while a plump, motherly looking woman smiled encouragingly. The coach jerked into motion before she could be seated, and she very nearly did end up in someone’s lap before squeezing herself between a grossly overweight woman who apparently considered bathing unhealthy, and a greasy-looking clerk who tried to engage her in conversation. His eyes bulged slightly, and he licked his lips as he stared at her. Christa said several times in her heaviest accent that she did not speak the English, but he persisted.
Tired from lack of sleep, she dozed later in the morning but awoke at the feel of a furtive hand on her breast. Her outraged “Monsieur!” was accompanied by such a glare that the clerk shrank as far back from her as possible. Ostentatiously turning away, she refused to look at him for the rest of the journey.
It seemed an endless day of jolting and tight quarters; on muddy, rutted late-winter roads. A coach ride was an exhausting business.At least all of these bodies together keep us from the cold,she thought philosophically.As long as I don’t breathe too deeply I shall do very well.Of course, travel was always tiring, but Christa now better appreciated the roomy, well-sprung private carriages she had enjoyed in the past.
She made the most of the short stops to stretch her legs and nibble on the food Annie had packed. The trip helped Christa to distance herself from Comtesse Marie-Christine d’Estelle. She must forget that that usually pampered young lady had ever existed and think of her new life as a role in a theatrical. If she could not convince herself that she was of common birth, she would be unable to convince anyone else. When they finally reached the London inn that was the end of the line, she stretched her aching body and told herself in amusement that a stagecoach had been a splendid place to begin her new life; she now felt very common indeed!
Christa’s spirits rose as she looked around at the brawl and bustle of the city. Had not an Englishman once said that a man who was tired of London was tired of life? Surely she could find a place in this teeming capital—perhaps someday she might even find a man to share her life. Ignoring a seedy-looking fellow who asked if the young country miss needed a place to spend the night, she lifted her bag and set off to find her cousin Suzanne.
It was early afternoon of the next day when Lord Radcliffe decided to summon Christa for another discussion. Her absence from dinner hadn’t surprised him but he thought twenty-four hours should have begun to reconcile her to his proposal. When her maid, Annie, came down and stammered that Lady Christa wasn’t in her room, he first thought she must have taken a walk. “When did she go out?”
“I . . . I don’t know, my lord.”
