Chapter Ten
Anthony stood on the dock at Portsmouth Harbour. No chance of securing a ticket on a packet at this late stage. The harbour master directed him to a scruffy trading ship, Stormy Seas, bound for Le Havre and departing on the next tide. The vessel looked as though it wouldn’t survive a storm of any magnitude. But if his luck held, he would be in France in a matter of hours rather than days. Mademoiselle Bourget’s letter led him to believe that his brother-in-law was in very real danger. He eased his shoulders trying to quell his impatience. It was impossible to move any faster. Too late to visit his bank, he’d been forced to seek extra funds from a friend. He patted the wad of money in his pocket. He’d handed over twenty-five guineas for his passage to the shrewd, bearded fellow before him. “We’ll be gone by nightfall you say?”
“Aye, my lord, never fear.” The skipper ran his gaze over Anthony, taking in the details of his multi-caped greatcoat and heavy, gold watch fob.
“Be so good as to have me shown to my cabin.” Anthony pulled back his coat to expose his sword and the pistol thrust into the top of his breeches. He clambered aboard.
He stowed his bag in the cramped space as the boat got underway. Through the porthole, he watched black clouds roll in across the Channel. An hour out of port a squall hit. Severe weather would delay the journey, but that seemed the least of his worries. He’d worried about his daughter since she was a child. Henrietta was impetuous. She’d been a tomboy with a streak of wildness, climbing tall trees, and jumping her horse over fences. While he was proud of the young woman she’d become, leaving her made him uneasy. He hoped Gabrielle would keep her busy. Henrietta wasn’t one to be patient and wait for word from him. Still, what could she do but wait?
***
During the journey to Portsmouth Henrietta grilled Mademoiselle about her career in the theatre. She hung on the actress’ every word. By the time the coach stopped at a coaching inn outside Woking for a change of horses, she, and Verity were becoming friends.
At sunset, they arrived at the harbor where oil lamps burned along the waterfront. Henrietta instructed the coachman and groom to put up at an inn. John Coachman expressed concern for the arrangement. Abandoning the ladies in a seaside town full of ruffians was not something he wished to do. Nor did it sit well with him to tell Lady Belden a jumped-up story. “What if she or Lord Beaumont got wind of the truth?” he asked gloomily. It would be bellows to mend for he and James. “Out of a job without a character.”
Obliged to do some fast talking, Henrietta made a reckless promise to return to London before her absence was discovered. “We are on a mission of vital importance,” she told the men. “It is highly secretive, and I trust you to keep it to yourselves.”
The men stared at her goggle-eyed as she gave them more of her money than she could spare. She felt the weight in the pockets against her thigh, but that was to be used for only the direst emergency. Her small allowance for fripperies would not take them far. She hoped Verity had plump pockets.
Their luggage stowed at an inn, they walked along the quay-side in the salt laden sea breeze. Cargo was being loaded and unloaded along the dock. Several ships lay at anchor, rolling in the swell, including a regal, three-mastered barque moored just off the Portsmouth Harbour Round Tower.
“I wonder where that ship is going,” Henrietta said.
They went in search of the harbor master and found him chatting to a sailor on the dock.
Verity smiled. “Bonsoir, monsieur. Might there be a ship leaving soon for France?”
The bearded man shook his head. “Nothing suitable, madame. Not for twenty-four hours.”
“We can’t wait that long!” Anguished, Henrietta swiveled and searched the boats rocking on their moorings. There was a prime two-mastered vessel nearby, its white sails furled. “Over there, what about that ship?”
The harbor master stroked his bushy, brown beard. “A private schooner, owned by the Marquess of Ramsbotham.”
The name seemed familiar. “Are they soon to set sail?”
He raised his eyebrows. “At daybreak on the tide, lad, with the wind in the right quarter.”
“Where to?” Henrietta said impatiently.
“Le Havre, but—”
“That shall do us nicely.” Henrietta nodded at Verity. “Where do I find this marquess, if you please?”
The man puffed out his cheeks and stole a glance at Verity. “The Pelican Inn on the London Road.”
“We must go there,” Henrietta said decisively.
He scratched his head. “Do servants rule nowadays? What is the world coming to?” He threw up his hands and walked away.
“Do you think a marquess would agree to let us travel with him?” Henrietta asked.
Verity shook her head. “You must remember you’re a page.”
Henrietta’s mouth gaped. “I forgot I’m dressed like this!”
“We are not thehaute ton.” Verity reminded her.
Henrietta eyed Verity’s gown, emphasizing her tiny waist. Shewasvery pretty. “I’m sure you could charm him into agreeing.”
