“How?” she said softly. “How did you survive?”
Another exhale. “I was ferried to England, obviously. The soldier who volunteered to steal me out of France delivered me to a small regional boys’ school in Marlborough, not far from here, actually. The school’s headmaster harbored me as an asylum seeker—he and his wife took me in.”
“Oh no, Gabriel—not a school for boys. The stories I’ve heard about boys’ schools—the abuse and neglect and bullying? I can’t imagine going from apalaceto a boys’ school in rural England.”
“It was the best circumstance for exile, honestly. You’re correct, it could’ve been wretched, but theheadmaster was a kind man, and his wife—who was French, and responsible for taking me in—was lovely. They had four children who were happy to share their parents. I was a student at the school; given a new name and said to be an immigrant from Flanders. At holidays and breaks, the headmaster’s family included me in their celebrations. The setting of the school allowed me to continue my studies, and the headmaster’s family meant I was not quite so alone. The other boys were curious but friendly. It was different than the Palais Royale, obviously; but there were no angry mobs and no executions. My final days in France... the imprisonment, the execution of my father? These put me off of palaces for good.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“We’re almost to Pewsey,” he said, changing the subject. “Are you fit to walk after an hour in the saddle?”
“Oh yes, I am well. But will you say the rest of your history? Before I go?”
“About France?”
“Well, no. Although, I’m happy to discuss your life in France. I was wondering about the school for boys. If you were fond of it, how did you wind up in the forest?”
He thought of the school, thought of his friends. For a moment, he could not speak.
She must have seen his struggle because she added, “Or can you tell me what became of your sister Elise? Did she pass exile in England in a girls’ school?”
He took a deep breath. This, he could answer. “Elise was not so fortunate in exile. She was neglected, or shall I say, she was ‘endured’ by her hosts. In a way, she was a prisoner.”
“Held prisoner, oh dear,” said Lady Ryan. “But where?”
“St. James’s Palace.”
“St. James’s?But do you mean with King George and Queen Charlotte?”
“Yes.” He sighed, thinking of what his sister had described in her letters.
Ryan made a whistling noise. “Who could guess that a rural school for boys would be better than the home of the king? But who designed your exile?”
He shook his head. “We know very little about who arranged it or why. Before he was executed, my father told us that royalist sympathizers were plotting to rescue and steal us away. He said we would enter exile in another country and be safe. He told us to be ready, that they could come at any moment. He did not tell us where, or how, or how long. It’s been nearly twenty years, and Elise has received very little explanation. I’ve vanished so they can hardly inform me. And we’ve no notion of what became of our sister, Danielle. I would not have made the connection with Elise, except she searched tirelessly for me. She searches for Dani still.”
“She searchedtirelesslyfor you?” whispered Ryan.
“She looked for me, and she found me—or rather, she found the general location where I reside—and now we correspond. I’ve not been prepared to meet her, but we do write.”
Ryan said nothing, and he braced for her to press him. He knew his estrangement from Elise was odd and unjustified, but theirs was not a conventional family.
“So what happened?” she finally said. “How did you go from the boy’s school to the forest?”
He took a deep breath. “The short answer? A fire. The school was burned to the ground. The dormitory, the cottage that housed the headmaster and his family, the lecture halls, the stables. All of it.”
“No,” breathed Ryan. “Was anyone harmed?”
“No one died,” he said, determined to rush through this bit. “That is, so far as I know, no one died. After the fire, I left my host family for the woods and we have lost touch. They moved to Yorkshire and I fled to Savernake Forest. I’ve been here ever since.”
“The fire was so very devastating,” she guessed. “It was the last straw. After the trauma of the Revolution?”
“The trauma of being hunted and hounded was the last straw,” he corrected.
“What?”
“The fire that burned the school was setbecauseof me.Iwas the reason for it. Seventy-five boys, countless teachers, the headmaster and his young family, staff, the livestock. All of us could have burned alive. All because the school harbored an exiled French prince. And that says nothing of the danger to the other families on the street if the fire had not been contained.”
“But what do you mean it was because of you?”
