“Later, Hetta,” he said gruffly.
With a keen knowledge of the river tides, Remi rowed strongly back the way they’d come. How long before their escape was discovered? Verity leaned her head against Anthony’s shoulder. His body was taut as a bowstring. He was angry with her for bringing Henrietta to France. She expected it. It hardly mattered. He’d hate her anyway when he discovered the whole of it. But they were not yet free, and for now their escape must take precedence. She knew where to take them. Not her tiny apartment, for there was nowhere to hide them, and she refused to place her kind landlord in further danger. Her Uncle François was her father’s brother. He wouldn’t turn them away or alert the authorities. Once they were safe, she would go to Danton at the Palais de Justice, and demand to be told where her father was. Panic tightened her chest. If he still lived.
They were back at the bridge where the steps led to the street. Remi leaped onto the bank and tied up the boat. He helped Henrietta ashore.
Anthony took Verity’s arm. When she was safely on the bank, he assisted his brother-in-law.
“Josette?” Philippe murmured.
“We’ll try to find her later, Philippe. When you’re stronger,” Anthony said. He looked bitter and disillusioned. He didn’t believe this woman still lived.
Henrietta handed her earring to Remi.
Verity did the same with the money they’d agreed on. “You did well, Remi. We are most grateful. I am sure you’ll have your own boat one day.”
“I will.” Remi turned the earring over in his hand. “A big boat. Better than Papa’s.” He picked up his fish, and with a boyish grin, held it up. “And I have caught my dinner.”
* * *
They made their way back to the avenue. Two drivers stopped but refused to take four people such a distance. Henrietta sniffed fighting the urge to cry. Her father had taken to striding up and down the street, signaling the passing fiacres. They were attracting too much attention. She wasn’t sure that was wise, but as their escape could be discovered at any minute, she didn’t try to stop him. And he looked so different: remote, and grim.
Her uncle sat with his head in his hands. “Are you ill, Uncle Philippe?” He raised his head. In the light of a street lamp, his face was the color of parchment.
“A little unwell, Henrietta. But I shall rally,” he said. “I am so grateful to you both. You are remarkably brave.”
“It was Verity. She asked the man to help you. He was an actor,” Henrietta said.
“Later, you must tell me all about it,” he murmured. He slumped and closed his eyes.
Henrietta edged closer to where Verity sat on the low brick wall. “I wonder how long before they discover them missing.”
“We’ll be safe with my uncle for a while at least.”
“But what about your father?”
Verity scrubbed her hands over her face. “I shall have to return to Paris soon.”
“Papa must be told the reason you came to London.”
“Please, not now, Henrietta. I’ll tell him when the time is right. I promise.”
Henrietta stared at her. Should she tell her father? He looked so exhausted. And Verity did seem intent on finding them somewhere safe to hide. “I won’t tell him now, but I’ll be watching you.”
Verity nodded. “I invite you to do so.”
A sure tread and Anthony approached. “I have a coach waiting.” He hefted Philippe up, and they hurried across the cobbles to a box-like, four-wheel vehicle, drawn by three horses.
* * *
They reached Argenteuil as the sun rose and traveled along a road flanked by tall poplars. A sailboat was moored on the river. The carriage stopped at her uncle’s cottage of gray stone, the garden a riot of sunflowers. Verity hadn’t been here since she was a very small girl. Uncle François must be up for smoke drifted from the chimney into the pastel, early morning sky.
As they walked up the path a door banged, and a black and white dog of dubious origin ran barking to greet them. Verity greeted the dog as relief showed in Henrietta’s exhausted face. This was the perfect place to hide the men. There were no neighbors close by. Her uncle’s land was surrounded by meadows of red poppies, and woodland covered the hills. They would be able to see if anyone approached the property. Nevertheless, she was nervous. Would her uncle welcome her? He and her father’s views differed. They had not remained close. But in these harsh times surely, the ties of family remained strong.
Gray-haired, his shoulders hunched, Uncle François looked blank, puzzled to find the scruffy, exhausted entourage camped on his front door step. He had the same hawk-like nose as her father, but somehow her father’s gentle eyes had softened his face. Verity stepped forward. “Uncle François, it’s your niece, Verity.”
His expression changed to one of cautious relief. “Verity! Can that be you? I haven’t seen you in an age. You’ve grown up.”
“Oui,’tis I, uncle.” She pushed Henrietta forward. A pretty girl always lightened a tense situation. “We have need of your help.”
