by Unknown
The count laughed. "Play the dandy with someone else, Justin. I am not to be fooled. What information are you after?"
The earl lowered his quizzing glass with a regretful sigh. "There is much concern in my government about your affairs, mon ami. Our two countriesare separated, after all, by only the narrowest strip of water. What happens in France touches us nearly. Pitt is a man who likes to be forewarned."
"Ah yes—he is a man of sound judgment, your prime minister," Mirabeau observed. "If only France
were as lucky."
"We too have had our Civil War, our revolution," Linton reminded him gently.
"True enough," the other man agreed. "So you are here to carry back firsthand your impressions and what information you can gather?"
"Correct. So far, I have only a black picture. I was hoping you might relieve it a little."
"Alas, Justin, I cannot. You have heard tales of the 'jacquerie' beginning in the villages?"
"I have heard firsthand of one today." The earl told Danielle's story, omitting only the identity of his source and the fact that at this moment that source was soundly sleeping in his bed at the Inn of the Rooster.
"The de St. Varennes, one cannot help feeling, have received only their just desserts," Mirabeau commented with a heavy sigh. "And they are not the only ones. But the whole family, did you say?"
"As far as I know," Linton replied. The lie was smooth and, for the moment, necessary. Danielle's survival would be revealed much later, when she was safely ensconced with her relatives in Cornwall. Her adventures must at all costs be kept secret if her reputation was to survive untarnished. Society, even in the face of catastrophe, remained hypocritically censorious and there would be neither understanding nor acceptance for a maiden who had roamed the byways of France as a half-starved beggar in boy's clothes.
The two men talked for another hour before Linton rose to take his leave. "One small favor, my friend?" he asked suddenly.
"Anything" was the ready response.
"I need a suit of clothes for a servant lad, a very small boy, about this tall." The earl gestured with a considering frown.
"What a very strange request." Mirabeau laughed in puzzlement. "If I did not know you as well as I do, my friend, I would assume you had developed some . . . um . . . odd predilections!"
Lord Linton laughed too, but without much humor. "I can assure you that the case is quite the opposite. Somewhere in your household you must have a servant who could be relieved, for a consideration of course, of his second best suit of clothes."
Mirabeau rang a small gold handbell and explained his friend's needs to the inscrutable footman who had instantly responded to the summons. The extraordinary request was carried into the far depths of the vast mansion and within a remarkably short time the earl was presented with a packet and an apologetic explanation that the household contained no one quite as small as His Lordship had described but it was hoped that these would suffice. Coins exchanged hands as Linton assured the lackey, after a quick examination, that they would do quite well. A chair was summoned, the earl having decided that he did not wish to risk another such incident as had occurred on his way by again walking alone through the streets, and he was borne in relative comfort and all bub immoderate speed by strong-armed carriers back to the Inn of the Rooster.
Mine Host, in nightshirt, was hovering to receive his returning guest and responded with a deep bow to the demand for a truckle bed in My Lord's chamber. His place was not to question the whims of nobility and if Milord Linton chose to share his apartments with a backstreet waif that was his business. It was certainly interesting, though, and an explanation similar to that hinted earlier by the Comte de Mirabeau flashed through his mind.
The earl, well aware of his host's suspicions, went upstairs, silently bemoaning the slur on his reputation. The chamber was quiet as he entered, lit dimly by a single taper and the embers of a dying fire. A quick glance behind the bed curtains assured him that his urchin was still deeply asleep. She appeared by her position not to have stirred in his absence.
Sitting at the writing desk, sharpening a quill with quiet concentration, Linton began a letter to the Earl of March, pausing only to bid entrance to the servants with the truckle bed, instructing them to set it up in the far corner of the chamber. Alone again, he sanded the two sheets of paper covered in close black script and read the missive through. Unwilling to go into too much detail, he had described the incident at Languedoc in bald, unadorned phrases, stated simply that he would bring their granddaughter to them as fast as traveling conditions permitted, and enjoined his lordship's absolute secrecy until he could explain the situation in full and in person. It would have to do, although it would undoubtedly give rise to more questions than it satisfied. A messenger traveling alone on horseback would accomplish the journey several days faster than the earl and his charge could and the Earl and Countess of March would at least be alerted to their granddaughter's arrival. He left the letter on the desk. Time enough to find a messenger in the morning.
Linton prepared himself for sleep, turning back the covers on the truckle bed before drawing aside the bed curtains. Danielle lay curled on her side, facing away from him. Very gently he pulled back the covers and then swore under his breath. The shirt had become tangled around her waist revealing the soft curves of quite the prettiest little bottom. Grim-faced, Linton hastily disentangled the material, pulling it down to cover the entrancing sight before sliding his arms beneath the still sleeping figure. As he lifted her, Danielle's eyes shot open and she gazed in shock and fear at the impassive face above her. For one petrifying moment she had no idea where she was until a calm remembered voice spoke with brisk reassurance.
"Do not be afraid, child. I'm going to put you into another bed. It's a little small for me," he added dryly. "And I do not see why I should spend the night with my feet hanging over the end."
The large hrown eyes closed again instantly and he felt an absurd urge to kiss the paper thin, blue-veined lids. Resolutely he bent and laid the sleeping figure on the narrow cot, pulling the covers over her. She flipped instantly onto her side again, drawing her knees up to her chin. Trying very hard not to think of what must have happened to the shirt as a result of that maneuver, Justin, Earl of Linton, took himself to his body-warmed, rumpled bed.
The arrival of his shaving water and the heady aroma of strong coffee heralding the coming of breakfast awoke him after what seemed like a very short night. Once the bustle in the chamber had died away, he pushed aside the bed curtains and got yawning to his feet. The mound on the truckle bed stirred.
"Are you awake, Danny?"
"No" came the muffled response.
"Good. Then perhaps you would stay that way until I'm dressed." A slight smile tugged fleetingly at his lips as he drew on the fine hose and perfectly tailored buckskin riding britches. He must remember to ensure in their future resting places that the room was equipped with a dressing screen.
Padding shirtless on stockinged feet he went over to the dresser. Seating himself before the mirror and his shaving water he carefully sharpened the broad blade of the razor on the leather strop before beginning to remove his overnight beard.
"Why are you traveling without your valet?" The sudden question startled him and he nicked his chin, closing his mouth on the oath that had sprung readily to his lips.
"You are supposed to be asleep," he declared irritably. "Don't you know better than to talk to someone whilst they are shaving?"
"Well, you see, I have never seen anyone shaving before," Danielle apologized.
The earl wiped his face with a dampened towel and turned around. His observer was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees, regarding him with mischievous interest.
"And I suppose you've never seen a man without his shirt before," Linton muttered.
"Oh no, I have seen that often," she assured him cheerfully. "On the estate, you know? Particularly in the summer."
"Well, that's very fortun
ate," His Lordship observed dryly. "I should hate to shock your maidenly sensibilities."
"Do you really think I have any?" the voice gurgled merrily.
"Quite frankly, no." He completed his dressing under the unnervingly curious stare of those melting brown eyes, tying the snowy cravat with the intent concentration of a nonpareil. The bright polish to his top boots did not meet his exacting standards, but in the absence of Petersham they would have to do.
"You didn't answer my question—about your valet," the urchin persisted, uncannily tuning into his thoughts.
"You can be thankful I am traveling alone," he commented shortly. "If Petersham were with me I would have handed you over to him to scrub yesterday."
There was a short silence as Danielle absorbed this unpalatable piece of information. "But why isn't he?"
"You are the most persistent child! He is not with me because my business on this occasion necessitates the minimum of fuss and the maximum of speed. I wished to travel without ceremony. And if you are thinking of asking me about my business, I'd advise you-to save your breath." Linton drew the second boot over his slim muscled calf and, standing, reached for the blue velvet coat that slipped over the lawn and lace of his shirt with an ease belied by a fit so perfect it could have been moulded to his shoulders.
"Come and have some breakfast, brat, and I will tell you how we are going to proceed." He poured coffee into two cups and broke into a fragrant, steaming brioche.
"I do not need you to tell me how we are to proceed," Danielle said indignantly. "I have my own plans and if they do not suit you, we must go our separate ways."
The earl disdained to respond to this blunt statement. He merely continued calmly with his meal under the now baleful eye of his ward.
"If you are intending to eat, child, I suggest you do so. We are in somewhat of a hurry this morning."
"I do not wish for your charity," Danny declared stubbornly.
"Please yourself." Linton shrugged, pulling the bell rope. Danielle watched crossly as breakfast was removed. He could at least have attempted to persuade her!
"It is fortunate that you are accustomed to hunger," the earl remarked casually, coming over to the little bed, "because I do not intend that we should break our journey until dinnertime."
"What journey?" she exclaimed.
"Why, to Calais, of course," he said smoothly. "Isn't that where you wished to go?"
Danielle was, for once, silenced.
"Come along now," her mentor instructed brusquely. "I have to go out for about an hour. In my absence you will please me by dressing yourself in the clothes on the chair." A casual wave indicated the previous night's package. "And you will pack up my things. The portmanteau is by the window."
"I am not your servant!" Danielle gasped indignantly.
"You will be traveling in that guise," Linton stated flatly. "And, since you have just said that you do not wish for my charity, you should be glad of the opportunity to earn your keep."
The girl leapt from the bed in a flurry of bedclothes, hastily pulling the shirt to her knees as she faced him. "You, milord, are the most pompous, insufferable, arrogant . . . bastard!"
She got no further. The earl seized her chin between hard, tapering fingers and Danny found herself looking into a pair of flinty eyes, the sculpted lips narrowed in a grim line.
"I warned you yesterday about that tongue of yours," Justin said with soft menace. "You have one hour, and if you are not ready by the time I return, I shall dress you myself." With that he turned on his heel and left the chamber with Danielle still standing openmouthed in the middle of the room. The sound of the key turning in the lock brought her back to a sense of reality and a wave of frustrated helplessness surged through her. How dared he? She began pacing the room with long angry strides, tears of rage prickling her eyelids. But slowly the fury subsided as cold common sense reasserted itself. Why on earth was she fighting him? Under his protection she could cross the Channel in a degree of safety and comfort. Time enough, once they reached Dover, to effect her escape and make her own way to Cornwall. She had lived on her wits for many weeks now; it was foolish to allow them to desert her now, simply out
of pride.
During these calming reflections she had begun absently to examine the pile of clothing on the chair. They were the strong, warm, serviceable clothes of the servant of a wealthy and considerate master—corduroy britches, worsted hose, a linen shirt, and woolen jacket. The small clothes were clean if somewhat mended in places. The linen was not of the best quality certainly, but was an immeasurable improvement on her rags of recent weeks. She poured some water from the ewer into the basin and washed her face thoughtfully before stripping off the shirt and sponging her body. It was such luxury to feel clean again and the water, whilst not as hot as it had been, was blissful compared to the icy jets of a backyard pump.
Once dressed in a stranger's clothes she sat down to pull on the soft leather boots. Her feet, after weeks of wooden pattens, felt constricted, although the boots were clearly made for something bigger than the small, slender, high-arched feet of a de St. Varennes. Danielle examined herself critically in the mirror. She would pass, although without the dirt her disguise was not nearly as effective. The corduroy cap pulled low over her eyes certainly helped and at least it covered her roughly chopped curls. Tossing the cap onto the bed, she turned to survey the room. The earl was a tidy, well-ordered man and packing his possessions in the large portmanteau was a simple task, even for someone who, until two months ago, had never so much as thought of picking up after herself—that had been a task accomplished automatically by someone from the ranks of the family retainers. Not for the first time in recent weeks, Danielle wished that she had known the identity of that busy, faceless someone.
She had just closed the portmanteau and was feeling a degree of satisfaction at a task well done when the key grated in the lock and the heavy door swung open. Linton made no comment as he took in the orderly scene, and for that she was grateful. Clearly he was gracious in victory.
"Come here, child. I must do what I can with that mangled hair. Who the devil cut it?"
"I did," she muttered uneasily, noticing for the first time the large pair of scissors he carried.
"Well, it is fortunate you have no aspirations toward barbering. I don't either, as it happens, but anything has to be an improvement. Sit over here." He gestured imperatively toward the chair in front of the mirror. With a slightly mutinous thrust of her bottom lip Danielle warily took her seat. Her protector draped a towel over her shoulders and began with a deep frown to tidy the much abused crop.
"You're cutting it all off," she wailed despairingly, watching the wheat-colored curls fall in profusion to
her shoulders and onto the floor at her feet.
"Of course I'm not, you ridiculous infant. But to return any semblance of order to this mess I have to cut it very short."
Danielle subsided and for a long time the only sound in the room was the click-click of the scissors.
"That should do." The earl stood back surveying his handiwork critically. "What did you do with my comb?"
"I packed it, as instructed, milord," Danielle answered demurely.
Linton's eyes narrowed slightly but he said nothing, merely retrieved the article from the portmanteau and proceeded with unnecessary vigor to tug the curly mop so that it came to resemble somewhat a masculine style. Danielle's eyes were watering when he at last pronounced himself satisfied.
"Now put this on, and let us have a look at you." Her cap sailed through the air, catching her unawares to fall at her feet. Biting back an angry retort, she bent to pick it up and crammed it on her head.
"Well, milord?" She couldn't keep the taunting note out of her voice as she stood, feet apart, hands on hips, facing his inspection. Just like some banty little rooster, Linton thought, as he examined her with quivering lip.
"If you keep your eyes down, the cap low, and your mouth shut we might brush throu
gh this ridiculous affair quite tolerably" was his only response. "Can you carry that portmanteau? It will look a little peculiar if I carry it myself with a servant on hand."
Danielle inhaled sharply, but stalked across the room and seized the piece of luggage with angry determination. It was very heavy and onfy with the most supreme effort at self control was she able to refrain from staggering under its weight.
The earl watched her with some amusement. "At least, while you have that in charge I won't have to worry about your running away."
The portmanteau hit the floor with a resounding thump as she turned to face him. "I will not run away, Lord Linton."
"No?" An eyebrow lifted quizzically.
"Word of a de St. Varennes," the small, rigid figure spat.
Linton bowed his acknowledgment. "In that case, my little vagabond, our journey should be a great deal pleasanter for both of us than I had anticipated." He moved past her out of the door as befitted the master and seemed to pay no mind to the slight figure behind struggling with the heavy weight.
