Chapter Eleven
Christian rapped on the knocker at Lady Belden’s residence in Grosvenor Square where Beaumont and his daughter were staying. He showed his card when the butler opened the door. “Is Lady Henrietta at home?”
“Lady Henrietta has returned to the country,” the butler said. The gleam in his eye revealed his pleasure at refusing such an impertinent request after afternoon calls had ended.
“I believed her to be in London for the Season.”
“With Lord Beaumont away, Lady Henrietta preferred to return home.” The butler, perhaps revealing more than instructed, edged the door closed.
Christian put his foot against the door jamb. “Then, my good man, would you inform Lady Belden that I wish to see her?”
“She is recovering from an indisposition,” the butler said stiffly. “I shall give her your card.”
Damn the man. It would be easier to enter the king’s private chamber. “Please convey my respects to Lady Belden, and my best wishes for her recovery.”
The door closed. Christian walked a few paces down the street, then stopped. Lady Henrietta would not have gone to the country dressed like that. He turned into the lane and made his way to the coach house.
He found the coachman polishing the carriage. “Where did you take Lady Henrietta yesterday?”
The fellow stood bolt upright, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson. He mopped at his brow with the cloth in his hand. “I’m not sure of your meaning, sir.”
“Good fellow, I saw you drive Lady Henrietta somewhere, with Mademoiselle Garnier, in this very carriage. A trifle early for a masquerade?”
The coachman threw down his cloth. “If Lady Belden hears of it, I’m done for.”
“She won’t hear it from me. Unless I deem it necessary,” Christian added, giving no quarter.
“Lady Henrietta and Mademoiselle Garnier with to travel to Portsmouth.” He looked relieved, as if the matter had weighed heavily upon him.
“The deuce! Why Portsmouth?”
“Lord Beaumont has gone to France.”
“Has he? But what does that have to do with Lady Henrietta going to Portsmouth…?” Christian’s eyes widened. “The harbor?”
John Coachman squared his shoulders and looked resentful. “Lady Henrietta’s on a secret, life and death mission. She warned me not to speak of it.”
“Lord, no!” Christian uttered a string of bad language which made the coachman start. “Did you see her board a ship?”
He shook his head. “Lady Henrietta ordered us to spend the night somewhere, but as we are at present employed by Lady Beldon, that is until his lordship returns….” He looked sheepish. “The groom, James and I decided to return. I’m worried—you won’t—”
“It would serve no good purpose to tell Lady Belden. I believe she is unwell.”
Christian left the hapless coachman and walked to his house.
Tonight, he departed for France himself. After the women reached Le Havre where would they go? Two women traveling alone through France? Even if one was French Christian didn’t like it. And Beaumont wouldn’t either. He hoped she’d quickly come under her father’s protection. There was little Christian could do. Although he’d have little difficulty in locating them, he had his own mission to dealt with first. And he couldn’t delay it, not even for Lady Henrietta.
* * *
Anthony rode into the village of Saint-Aignan on a hired hack. He handed the reins to a young lad and tossed him a French coin. “Walk him, then water him and you’ll get another,” he said. The boy’s eyes widened, and he scurried to obey.
He entered the shabby hostelry. Anthony was aware that the French peasants were heavily taxed and found it hard to feed their families. Revolutions, political or otherwise, brought mixed blessings. In his country, an industrial revolution had begun to change England radically, driving people from the country into the big towns in search of work. And although lives had been lost, nothing equaled the violence here in France. What had begun in the hope of a better life for its people was veering out of control, the tribunals a mockery. Aristocrats and the innocent were sent to the guillotine without charge.
Anthony sat and ordered a mug of ale. A poor place which could do with patronage, but he wasn’t welcome. The innkeeper eyed him with suspicion. He slapped the ale down on the table in front of him, causing froth to seep over the top. “English?”
“Mademoiselle Bourget,” Anthony said. “Her farm is near here?”
The man folded his arms. “Who wants to know?”
