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. That 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.
