Briefly she leaned against it to get her breath and listened intently until she heard Isabelle’s door close. Then she sprang into action and darted into her dressing room. Her satin wedding gown, which was exactly how she had wanted it to be, was hanging on a special frame, a white cloth covering it, and her veil was a filmy froth suspended from another stand. She avoided looking at them and also at the trunks that were already packed with new clothes for her honeymoon. Instead, she grabbed up one of the valises that had yet to be filled and began to push in everything she would need for the next week or two. The rest of her belongings could be sent on to her when the wedding date was over and Isabelle would no longer care where she might be. A purse full of francs, ready as a lavish amount of honeymoon pocket money, went swiftly into her coat pocket.
The valise was heavy when she picked it up, but that was not important. All that mattered was to get as far away as possible before her absence was discovered. Once again she crept down the stairs to leave by the side door. There she hurried to the stables and into the tack room where her bicycle was stored. Hers had a place for a small picnic basket behind the seat and, snatching down a strap from a collection hanging on a hook, she secured her valise to it. A minute later she was cycling away down the drive, wobbling a little at first, for she had never had any extra weight to carry along before, but by the time she sailed through the gates she had become used to it.
She was grateful for the moonlight as she sped along the country road. Although it was not yet midnight, there was nobody about, for local farming folk went early to bed. She knew exactly where she was going to avoid being traced. It was as if her brain, after being temporarily numbed by shock, had begun to work with lightning speed, her thoughts totally clear.
The fields and meadows began giving way to residential areas. She had almost reached her destination when a cat streaked across her path, causing her to brake too sharply. Tossed to the ground, she saw her bicycle spin away to crash against a lamp post. Exasperated, she scrambled to her feet and rushed to it, only to discover that the collision had done some damage to the front wheel. With an exclamation of fury, she unbuckled her valise and then thrust the bicycle into a hedge. Fearful that her escape plan would go awry if she lost any more time, she snatched up her valise and set off to cover the remaining distance at a run.
Soon the hall where the magic lantern shows had taken place came into sight and it looked dark and deserted. Then to her relief she sighted the lanternist’s horse and bright red market cart, which had Shaw’s Magic Lantern Show painted on its sides. It stood in the yellowish glow of one of the street gas lamps outside a bistro. The horse was munching on a nosebag, but was Daniel Shaw also having a meal?
She ran up the stone steps of the bistro to lean over the side railing and gaze searchingly into the window. There he was! Seated alone at a table, he had obviously finished his meal and was emptying the last drop of wine from a carafe into his glass. She should not have long to wait.
When Daniel Shaw emerged from the bistro, he thought himself alone as he paused contentedly on the top step to breathe in the clean air of the night and gaze up at the stars canopying the whole of Paris. The blended aromas of garlic, wine and bouillabaisse wafted out after him before the door swung shut again.
His sense of well-being was only partly due to the excellent supper and wine he had enjoyed. He was content, feeling as much at home in France as he did in his own country across the Channel, and for that his French mother was responsible. Although she had married an Englishman she had always preferred to speak her own language whenever possible and he had been bilingual from the cradle. His tour of the Paris suburbs away from competition in the heart of the city had brought him packed houses all the time and now the rest of France was his to entertain. By the autumn he should have enough funds to continue his particular line of research into perfecting a camera that would make pictures move, and for that he needed money.
‘Monsieur Shaw!’
The lights from the bistro fell full on to the girl in a green silk coat and a stylish hat, who had stepped forward, leaving a tapestry valise on the pavement by his cart. Instantly he recognized her as having been with a party of well-dressed people at his show earlier that evening. His gaze had lingered on her more than once, for she had fine features and her long-lashed eyes had sparkled excitedly as she had watched the screen. Now she looked taut and anxious and almost plain, but most of all he thought how extraordinary it was that she should be waiting here in the street at this time of night. He supposed she had companions waiting for her somewhere nearby.
‘Yes, mademoiselle?’ Leisurely he descended the steps. All his lantern equipment was already stowed away in the cart under its protective tarpaulin and he wanted no delay now to his departure. ‘Is there something you wanted to ask me about the slides?’
‘No, it’s not that. I knew from what you said at the end of your show that you would be moving on tonight and I want to ride with you to your next destination.’
His face did not change expression. ‘Why should you want to do that?’ he enquired coolly.
‘It’s for a very urgent reason that I can’t disclose. All I can say is that I need to get away from Paris tonight. Now!’
‘Are you running from the police?’ he questioned with private amusement.
‘Indeed not!’ she replied indignantly. ‘Nothing like that! I just don’t want others to know where I have gone.’
‘How did you get here?’ he asked, regarding her steadily. In spite of himself his curiosity was aroused and he took a guess at what the reason for her flight might be. Trouble with her family? A lovers’ quarrel? ‘Did someone bring you?’
‘No. I cycled until I fell off and something happened to the front wheel.’
‘Never mind. There are plenty of trains at the railway stations,’ he said, ‘and I never take passengers.’
‘What about your assistant?’ she challenged triumphantly. ‘You take him!’
‘He was local help hired for the duration of performances at the hall.’
‘But I can’t take a train! A ticket purchase could be traced!’
‘Good night, mademoiselle.’ He had no intention of breaking his rule of solitary travel for anyone. As far as he was concerned the matter was closed and he turned his attention to his horse, patting its neck before removing its nosebag.
‘But I’ll pay! Whatever you ask!’ Her voice was becoming increasingly desperate.
He did not turn his head and tucked the nosebag away under the tarpaulin. ‘Your money is of no interest to me. As I said, I always travel alone.’ Stepping up on the seat of his cart, he gathered the reins into his capable hands.
She caught at his coat and held it. ‘Wait! I implore you! You’re my only chance of getting away without trace! Nobody would ever think that I might be travelling with you!’
He looked down at her. Although that evening he had not announced his next destination, a list of venues on his circuit was always available from a table at every performance, for many people liked to notify friends in other towns to make sure to see it. But why was she so frantic to get there?
His thoughts went back to the young man with her at the performance. Nobody in an audience realized how much he saw as he stood in the darkness behind his magic lantern. Although there had been an elderly chaperone presiding over the party, the couple had exchanged stolen kisses and had been holding hands surreptitiously all the time. They had looked too much in love for any quarrel to sever them in the short time since the performance. Was it possible that plans for an elopement had gone awry and they had decided to meet in the next town by different routes?
‘Go back home, mademoiselle,’ he advised sagely. ‘Readjust matters and your travel arrangements tomorrow.’
He flicked the reins and his horse went forward. Instantly the girl caught her breath in a blaze of fury and frustration. To his surprise, she swung her valise to hit his cart hard as it passed her.
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�Go then!’ she cried. ‘I’ll walk!’
The next moment he heard her utter a whimper of dismay and shake her valise as if afraid that she had broken something in it, but all seemed to be well, for she set off in his wake.
It was his custom always to travel at least part of the night when he needed to cover a considerable distance. It meant he could arrive at his destination in good time to put up his posters and set up his equipment in his prebooked venue.
He had not gone far when out of curiosity he glanced back. The girl was trudging along and was pushing her bicycle with its wobbling front wheel. It was awkward for her and he saw her pause to adjust her valise and make it more secure before setting forth once more. With a shake of his head, he continued on his way. Yet he could not get her out of his mind. After all, she was young and foolish and desperate enough to accept help from any scoundrel who happened to drive by. Once again he looked back, but now a curve in the road had hidden her from sight. He gave a sigh and drew up to wait for her.
She did not start to hurry forward as soon as she saw him, which he had expected, and he supposed she was afraid of being rebuffed again. He sprang down from the driving seat to await her. As she drew near, her expression wary and defiant, he held out his hand.
‘Give me your bag, mademoiselle. I’ll stow it and your bicycle away in the cart.’
Her face flooded with relief. ‘Merci, Monsieur Shaw,’ she said quietly.
While he put the valise away under the tarpaulin and lifted in the bicycle she took her place swiftly on the seat as if afraid he might change his mind. As he took up the reins again he glanced sideways at her. She was looking stiffly ahead, her hands clasped over her purse lying in her lap.
‘You know my name,’ he said, ‘but what is yours?’
She told him. He nodded, but made no attempt to start a conversation and she was grateful for it. She needed time now to think about the future, for she had closed a door for ever on the past. How quiet the night was! Yet in the heart of the city there would be lights and music and crowds enjoying themselves while here she was changing the whole course of her life, not knowing when she would see Paris again.
Four
They drove on through the moonlit countryside. Now and again Daniel glanced at her, but she did not relax, continuing to sit rigidly straight-backed and looking ahead. She spoke only once and that was to ask him the name of his horse.
‘His full name is Prince of the Hills,’ he replied. ‘I’ve no idea why, except that he is high-stepping at times as if he has known grander days. I purchased him in England and brought him with me when I came to France two years ago.’
She gave a nod, but made no comment. After a while her head began to droop and, although she struggled against dozing, eventually she slept, sinking against his shoulder, which tilted her hat askew. He tried not to disturb her, but after he had driven for three hours he drew up, needing sleep himself.
Instantly she awoke with a start, blinked at her hat, which was half covering her face, and snatched it off to glance around nervously. ‘Where are we?’
‘In a lane just a short way from the main road. I want to sleep for a while. You can lie down on the seat if you like. I’ll give you a blanket.’
‘Where shall you be?’
‘Just on the ground here nearby.’
She seemed reassured. He released Prince from the cart and tethered him to a tree on the grass verge. Then he took a red and blue striped bag from the back of the cart and took out a blanket and also a cushion, which he normally used as a pillow, and handed both to her. Afterwards he spread another blanket on the grass and lay down. Sleep always came easily to him and in a matter of seconds his eyes were closed.
It was different for Lisette, although the leather seat was padded and the cushion was soft. She felt as wide-awake again as she had done when going from the château to wander in the grounds with such a disastrous result. Earlier, before dozing, she had formed a plan for her immediate future and now she reviewed the situation. She knew that as soon as her disappearance was discovered, together with a valise and belongings gone, Isabelle would be frantic. An extensive search would be set in motion. It would not be out of Isabelle’s concern for her stepdaughter’s well-being, but because she would be terrified of the scandal that would result if the runaway bride failed to return within the week that remained before the wedding. As for Philippe, he would be bewildered, unable to understand why she should have taken such an unprecedented action. Yet she was certain that later, when she failed to return, he would become furious, his male ego deeply affronted, for as a jilted bridegroom he could become a laughing-stock among friends and enemies alike.
She remembered the time when her father had clearly regarded Philippe as someone lacking finer feelings and had warned her quite sharply not to waste any sympathy on him. What else had her father known or suspected? Joanna had never said anything against Philippe, but she had never been enthusiastic about him either.
Lisette remembered now how once in a corner at a party she had come across Philippe quietly settling a gaming debt with a friend, who pocketed the notes while advising him good-humouredly to know in future when a game had turned against him for the night.
‘You’re too reckless, Philippe. Remember that many a château has fallen to the turn of a card.’
Philippe had not known that she had overheard and, in any case, she had thought nothing of it then, for all the young men she knew enjoyed gaming. Yet now she wondered if the fact that she was eventually to inherit substantially had influenced him in his courtship of her? He enjoyed money and living a life of leisure. Then there was his long-standing affair with Isabelle. How they must have congratulated themselves! No doubt they had been confident that the innocent simpleton he was shortly to take as his wife would eventually accept Isabelle as his mistress and all would be well.
Anger seared inside her and she wanted to fuel it with more and more thoughts of Philippe’s deviousness, for she feared that when the onslaught of it faded into despair she would not be able to bear the agonizing heartache that he had inflicted on her.
She kept her thoughts busy. It was likely that after a day or two Isabelle would concoct a story that her stepdaughter was ill, which would give more time for her to be found. Neither Isabelle nor Philippe would have any idea at first as to why she had disappeared. Last minute nervousness would probably be blamed. But perhaps with time it would finally dawn on both of them what she had discovered.
Her allowance from her late father’s estate, which he had arranged for her after she left school, could be drawn from any branch of her bank and would keep her in modest comfort, but she realized now that for some time to come she could not draw on it in case her whereabouts should be traced that way and neither could she send for any of her possessions. If her whereabouts were discovered Isabelle had the legal power to drag her back under the château’s roof at any time until she came of age.
Only on that special twenty-first birthday would she be free to finally return to Lyon and the house that she had loved so much. She would go back there now if it were possible, but it was one of the areas where Isabelle would think she was likely to be found. That was why she could not contact Joanna or any other friends she felt she could trust, at least for a while. She would not let them have to lie as to her whereabouts if questioned.
Raising herself on an elbow, Lisette looked down at the sleeping lanternist. She had taken a great risk in riding away with this complete stranger. He could have robbed, raped or even murdered her if he had been so inclined. So obviously he was just an ordinary hard-working man and she had nothing to fear on the rest of the journey. She smiled. He did not know it yet, but he was not going to get rid of her in the morning.
Once again she settled her head on the cushion and this time she slept soundly.
It was already light when Lisette awoke. She sat up, momentarily dazzled by the early sunbeams penetrating the foliage overhead where birds in the branches w
ere in full throat. Then the anguish of yesterday renewed itself with an onslaught that made her wonder why her heart did not stop. How was it possible that she remained so starkly dry eyed?
‘How did you sleep?’ Daniel Shaw had appeared at the side of the cart with his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows.
‘Better than I expected,’ she admitted, self-consciously pushing back the flow of her hair, which had tumbled loose from some of its pins in the night.
‘I’ve repaired your bicycle. It was easily done, and so you can take off on it again after we get to town.’ He swung up her valise and dumped it on to the seat beside her. ‘I suppose you need this. It’s half past five now. I’d like to be on the road by six. There’s a stream that you can wash in just through those trees.’ He jerked his head in its direction. ‘I’m going to fry eggs, tomatoes and slices of ham for breakfast over a campfire, which I’ve already started, so be as quick as you can.’
When she opened her valise it was her first chance to check if she had cracked the glass of her grandmother’s photograph when she had banged it in temper against the cart. There had been no tell-tale tinkle when she had shaken it afterwards, but she was still relieved to find it intact. Taking her washbag and a hairbrush she went to the stream, which was icy cold but refreshing.
She had heard of the English fried breakfast, but she had never expected to eat one with such relish, being much hungrier than she realized. She ate three slices of thick bread with it. Even his coffee was good and she drank it appreciatively from a white, slightly chipped enamel mug.
When they were on the road again she told him what she had decided. ‘If you would oblige me a little more, I’d like to continue travelling with you for a while longer. Two weeks at least. Maybe three if you would allow it. That should completely cover my tracks.’ Then she added quickly, ‘I’d pay all my own expenses, of course.’
Brilliance Page 5
