Jane Feather - Charade

by Unknown

  Six hours after the invasion began, the palace was cleared of demonstrators and the royal family safe

  from the violence of the sovereign people. But it was to be a short respite and Danielle paced the drawing room in Grosvenor Square in an agony of indecision.

  "We have heard nothing from D'Evron and nothing from St. Estephe. We would have received a message by now if they were safe. We must then assume that they have been taken and plan accordingly."

  "What do you have in mind, Danny?" Sir Anthony Fanshawe asked the question on the lips of every member of this small gathering. It was a natural enough question since she held undisputed leadership.

  "Why, that we must assume they did not succeed in their mission and must try it ourselves," she replied simply. "It will be more difficult, of course, after this latest news and if our friends have been discovered ... as they must have been." She sighed and tried to put out of mind the face of her friend and colleague these past three years.

  "Danny, you cannot mean to go into France yourself," Julian protested, knowing the protest to be ineffectual but one he had to make for his cousin's sake.

  "I do, Jules. But we will be a little more devious this time." She laughed suddenly, a laugh of pure deviltry that did nothing for Julian's disquiet. "We shall have some splendid adventures, mes amis. We will work from Cornwall to the north coast of Brittany. No one in Paris will suspect such an approach. I have played the urchin once and shall do so again. I do not think my figure has changed significantly with motherhood, do you?" She looked anxiously around the group who had recourse to coughings and shufflings of feet. "Oh, do not be such milksops," she chided. "Tell me directly. Do I have too many curves to wear britches undetected?"

  "No you do not," Julian replied eventually, when it was clear no one else was prepared to venture an opinion. "But that is not the point. You cannot expose yourself to such danger. Justin would not allow it, and in his absence I ..."

  "You what, Jules?" Her eyes glittered dangerously.

  "Oh, I meant nothing," he said hastily. "Except that you must think of your husband and Nicholas."

  "And do you dare to think that I do not?" Her voice was a mere hiss and Julian blanched.

  "Danny, we all share Julian's concern." Westmore stepped in briskly. "But we will pledge ourselves to your support. If you must go into France then we will go with you. But you cannot keep secrets from us and while you may formulate the strategy, you must allow us equal voice."

  "D'accord, mes amis." Danny smiled. "I did not wish to appear managing. Let me explain my plan."

  The plan was essentially very simple. They would base themselves at Mervanwey and use the Earl of March's yacht, Dream Girl, to cross to the north Brittany coast. From there, they would travel to Paris along unfrequented country roads. "You will leave me to do most of the talking," Danielle instructed the attentive group. "I mean no aspersions on your French, but there is an accent . . . vous comprenez?"

  "Danny, there will be times when we will have to speak," Lord Philip asserted.

  "Mais, oui." She shrugged. "I will teach you a regional accent that you may use in emergency and for a short conversation will provide adequate disguise."

  "And just how do you propose to persuade your grandparents to lend both house and yacht?" Julian demanded, feeling as if he should provide a brake of some kind to his young cousin-in-law's blithe plans.

  "Oh, pas de probleme." Danielle responded confidently. "They will be happy to help once they understand the urgency.

  And they will be there for Nicky whilst I am away. It will work perfectly, you will see."

  * * *

  The Earl and Countess of March in fact did what they could to dissuade their granddaughter, but eventually decided that if they did not support her plans she would find some other way to achieve her ends and it were best that they remain involved, offering some kind of family base in Justin's absence. They thought it highly likely that Linton would reject out of hand Danielle's schemes, but their own authority was nebulous in the extreme so they settled for providing a home and guardians for the baby viscount in his parents' absence.

  St. Estephe, unaware of these plans, fortunately for his own, made his next move before they left for Cornwall. A messenger arrived late one night in Grosvenor Square and his news confirmed Danielle's urgent determination. D'Evron had disappeared, presumably imprisoned, but all St. Estephe's efforts to discover his whereabouts had failed. Many of those on the list had also disappeared as the National Guard increased its vigilance and the number of its raids on the houses of the aristocracy. St. Estephe would remain in Paris, in hiding, doing what he could to persuade the others to take flight, but it was becoming almost impossible to leave Paris now, as the city gates were manned night and day and passports were no longer being issued. There was little that he alone could do, and the message ended with a desperate plea for reinforcements and precise instructions as to how he could be found once they reached Paris.

  Danielle questioned the messenger minutely. His story of how he had slipped out of Paris through the Barriere St. Martin hidden beneath a pile of straw convinced her that he had indeed come in secret from the comte and that the comte himself was risking his life every day he remained in that beleaguered city.

  It was now more than ever imperative that they go to his aid and set up some organization for the safe escape of those who wished it. It was quite clear that groups of royalists would not be allowed simply to walk through the city gates with the blessing of the people any more than Danielle and her friends would be able to leave freely once they were within the city walls.

  On the long journey into Cornwall, Danielle and her four cavaliers discussed the situation endlessly.

  "We must find a small beach on the Brittany coast from which to base our activities," Danielle decided. Dream Girl can remain anchored offshore while we journey to Paris. I do not think we should attempt to bring more than four or five out with us at any one time. Apart from the increased danger of detection, DreamGirl cannot safely carry more than ten passengers."

  "How the deuce are we to get through the gates anyway?" Westmore demanded.

  "Ah, we shall use farm carts. The messenger from St. Estephe has given me the idea. We will be French farmers, gentlemen." Danny smiled in smug satisfaction. "We will enter the city at dawn in the company of all the others with produce to sell and we will leave at sunset with that produce we were unable to sell. We can hide people beneath cabbages or some such . . . that is a mere detail." She waved an airy hand. "If we act our parts well, we shall go undetected. The guards cannot possibly search every farm cart; there are far too many of them passing through at those times of the day, and they cannot deny them leave to pass since the city would otherwise starve. It is simple, is it not?"

  "To you, maybe," Julesgrumbled. "How are we to find carts and cabbages, in the first place?"

  "We will steal them," Danny informed him outrageously, her eyes twinkling. "Well, perhaps not exactly. We will take them at dead of night, and we will leave money in their place."

  "You are quite mad," Julian stated definitively. "And so, clearly, am I."

  Succeeding events did nothing to dissipate this conviction. Dream Girl sailed with the evening tide one Friday at the beginning of July under the command of a dour Cornishman who seemed quite unaffected by his extraordinary orders.

  "Jake knows the Brittany coast like the back of his hand," Danielle informed her colleagues with a serene smile. "He will find us a small beach where the rocks are not too treacherous and the surf not too high. One of the sailors will row us to shore in the dinghy and then return to Dream Girl. On the tenth day

  they will look again for us. We shall flash a light from the beach. If we have not done so by the thirteenth day, I have said that they should return to Mervanwey." She shrugged and they all fell silent, occupied with their own thoughts.

  Three days and a hundred miles later, near the town of Brest, Jake found what he was looking for. A
small inlet in the barrier of jagged cliffs that made up the wild rugged coastline of North Brittany. Dragon's teeth reeks rose high in the water on all sides and the white flecks of breaking water indicated to the wary the presence of concealed reefs. Only a small dinghy could negotiate these hazards, but a rower in such a fragile craft would not be able to handle the tidal streams ripping parallel to the coast. But at the point Jake had chosen, the rocks and reefs stretched only two miles from the unfriendly coast and Dream Girl could sail that far inland without danger, and the dinghy could be lowered beyond the riptide.

  It was a black night when the brawny Cornish sailor ran the dinghy onto the tiny beach and they spoke

  in whispers as if danger lurked in the cove and on the cliff tops rising high above. There could be none, though, Danny reassured herself. They were too far from Paris and the Breton people were as reclusive as their Cornish ancestors. It was the main reason why she had picked this approach. The Bretons would be unaffected by the revolution; it was even possible that it had escaped their notice in these remote parts. Four men and a boy appearing mysteriously from the sea would perhaps cause a raised eyebrow, but these people were too busy wresting a living from the unfriendly waters and the wind-torn, infertile land to ask questions.

  Horses were their first priority and those Danny decided they would acquire legitimately. For the right price, they could be found on the small struggling farms and if her plans worked they could return them

  at journey's end and use them again on the next occasion. But they could do nothing until dawn, so behind the shelter of a small rocky outcrop beneath the cliff they settled down, wrapped in cloaks, to

  wait out the night.

  Danielle fell asleep almost immediately. She had learned to sleep by the roadsides, in barns, and under haystacks; to sleep with one ear cocked for the sounds of approaching danger, until the Earl of Linton

  had happened upon her and removed all need for such self-protection. Amazingly, though, the old habits reasserted themselves automatically as, once again on her own soil, once again faced with a long and dangerous journey, her real identity became subsumed by the simple needs for survival and secrecy.

  Unused as yet to any form of discomfort, the others remained awake, saying little as they kept vigil until the sky began to lighten, at first imperceptibly and then with a pinkish tinge to the east. Danny woke instantly, sat up, rubbed her eyes, and grinned at them. "Breakfast," she announced. "Allons-y."

  As she had expected, their appearance in the fishing village caused little remark. They were received in

  a manner that was neither friendly nor hostile. Their money was good and bought them breakfast and horses. Three days of hard riding and three nights of hideous discomfort in the primitive country inns along the road brought them to the outskirts of Paris.

  "We must wait until night before we go in search of carts," Danielle stated, turning her mount off the

  road and into a wood bordering the pasture of a small, well-maintained farm. "They will fill the carts before retiring so that they may make an early start in the morning."

  "How do you know that?" Sir Anthony wiped his perspiring brow with the bright checkered neckcloth

  that formed a part of his farmer's costume.

  "Because, when I traveled from Languedoc to Paris, Tony, it was always the way." She dismounted, knotted the horse's reins, and flung herself on her back in the grass. "We will harness our own horses to the carts and take them back with us to Brittany." She chuckled lazily. "On our next visit, we shall find both horses and carts awaiting us and matters will proceed more easily. We can fill them simply enough from the village markets along the way so that we can enter Paris fully laden and as respectable as can be."

  "Y'know, don't mean to be discouraging, Danny, but it seems to me there's a better way of managing

  this affair." Philip coughed apologetically. "I don't like this notion of stealing ... I mean to say, why can't we just buy two carts? Bound to be somewhere around here where we can do so. Then, if they belong

  to us quite legitimately, if you take my point, we can do what we like with 'em."

  "That, if I may say so, is about the first word of sense I've heard in a week," Jules declared. "No, don't rip up at me, Danny," he begged as she sat up indignantly. "I have no argument with the basic plan, but there's no reason to make it any more complicated than it has to be. Stands to reason. All this about sneaking into stableyards and stealing carts full of cabbages while every dog in the village goes berserk

  is a bit too fantastical to my mind. You stay here with Westmore and Tony. Philip and I will go off in search of carts. We'll fill 'em with turnips or something."

  "Well, why can't I come?" Danny demanded.

  "Because two of us can do it just as easily as five and we'll be a lot less noticeable. Besides, it's high time someone else had a say around here. I ain't denying you have it right most of the time, coz, but you do

  let your imagination run away with you on occasion." So saying, Julian chucked her beneath the chin in an avuncular fashion which left Danny gobbling with indignation and remounted. "Ready, Philip?"

  "Well of all the . . .!" Danny stared, for once speechless.

  "Now don't get on your high ropes, Danny," Westmore advised, leaning comfortably against the trunk

  of an enormous oak. "They have the right of it and Jules is not the one to accept a petticoat rule for too long."

  "I'm not wearing petticoats," she said crossly.

  "What difference does that make?" Tony inquired with some interest.

  "I'm going for a walk." Danny stomped off into the woods but her annoyance faded rapidly. She had

  been ruling the roost and she had become so involved in the adventure that her plans were becoming unnecessarily convoluted. This was not just her adventure, it belonged to them all and if they couldn't work in harmony then they may as well give up immediately. The only hope they had of scraping by in safety was by relying absolutely on each other.

  Danielle sat down on the bank of a small stream, pulled off her boots and stockings, and dabbled her

  toes in the cool water. It had been six weeks since Justin had left. He should be in St. Petersburg now. What would he say if he could see her here? With her hair cropped tight to her head beneath the woolen cap, her body sweaty after six days of travel and inadequate water, her britches and shirt rumpled. She peered disgustedly at her fingernails—the skin beneath was black with dirt and her feet even worse.

  Justin would not be best pleased, she decided as his face hovered in her mind's eye. She glanced behind her, listened carefully. There was no sound but the droning of insects, the chirp of birds, the rat-a-tat of

  a woodpecker; nothing to see but trees and the ground dappled with the evening sun filtering through the leaves.

  With sudden determination, Danny stood up and stripped off her clothes. She could at least take a bath for her husband. The water was gloriously cold, too shallow for complete immersion but she splashed every nook and cranny, prised the grime from beneath nails of fingers and toes and dipped her head, emerging with a luxurious shake of curls.

  "Danny? Danny? Where have you got to?" It was Tony's voice, his feet snapping twigs as he plunged through the wood in search of her. Danielle sat on the bed of the stream where the water barely covered her thighs and quite ridiculously wanted to laugh. At any moment Tony would appear and discover her sitting here like some guilty freshwater mermaid! She daren't run for her clothes, he was too close and would be bound to break through the trees just as she was streaking across the grass.

  "Tony, I'm in the stream," she called softly. "Just go away. I won't be long."

  "What the devil do you mean, you're in the . . . Odd's blood!" He stood gaping. "A thousand pardons

  . . ." Stammering, he turned away.

  "It's all right, Tony," she said to his back. "Would you bring me my bag? I wish to change my shirt, you see, and can use the old one to dry myself."


  Muttering something that sounded vaguely like an affirmative, Tony disappeared the way he had come and Danny sprang from the water, drying herself vigorously with her old shirt and dragging on the

  britches and thin camisole.

  "Danielle?" It was Tony's voice coming cautiously from behind a bush.