All of which served to heighten Kitty’s anxiety. She realised she knew nothing whatever about Jack Chiltern; he could be anyone, a French nobleman, an English spy, a French spy, a pirate—with his dark complexion he certainly looked piratical enough—a murderer, an adventurer who preyed on helpless women, or simply a gentleman of leisure, making the Grand Tour, just as her brother was doing.
Was that how they had met? Why had he brought her to this inn and how was it that he knew so much about forging papers? And the innkeeper and his patrons were undoubtedly revolutionaries.
Pierre went to the door and shouted for his wife and that good lady, dressed as everyone else was in rough peasant clothes, laid down her knitting and brought in a watery potato soup and some thick black bread and, after Kitty and Judith had tried to swallow some of it, conducted them upstairs to one of the rooms. There was only one bed and no fire, but Kitty was past worrying about such inconveniences. She was beginning to think Jack Chiltern had been right; she had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.
‘Perhaps we ought to go back,’ she said, hurriedly taking off her gown and boots and getting beneath the blankets in her underclothes. ‘But I am loathe to give him best. And if we went back, where would we go? Not home, for my stepmama would crow like a cock over our downfall and I should be sent to Scotland on the next coach going north. Or Bedlam. She is bound to say I have taken leave of my senses …’
‘And who’s to say she wouldn’t be right?’ Judith said, following Kitty’s example and joining her in the bed. ‘The whole escapade has been madness.’
‘You did not have to come with me.’
‘I know that, but where else would I go? Mrs Harston would not give me houseroom and, besides, someone must look after you, though I seem to have had little success, so far.’
‘Oh, Judith, you have been a tower of strength to me. Now, tell me what you think. Honestly, mind.’
‘I am sure, Miss Kitty, that I have always been honest, as you well know.’ Her voice, muffled by the bedclothes, was huffily indignant.
‘Go on, then.’
‘Your brother would undoubtedly give you welcome and, if the gentleman is right, and he is in Paris, why, that’s not so very far to travel and we’d be on good solid ground all the way, would we not?’
Kitty laughed and hugged her. ‘Very well. We will not allow ourselves to be bundled back on to that packet like so much cargo. We go to Paris.’
Jack sat before the backroom fire, his long legs thrust out before him, a mug of ale in his hand, listening to Pierre telling him the latest news of Paris. The execution of the King had resulted in popular rejoicing, as if that one act would see an end to all their problems. ‘Louis Capet was more fool than traitor, I think,’ Pierre said, referring to the King by his popular name. ‘Who but a fool would leave incriminating documents in his apartment for all to see? And trying to flee the country, that was the height of folly.’
‘He may have been a fool, my friend, but he was also a king,’ Jack said. ‘The people may come to regret their treatment of him. France will jump from the frying pan into the fire, just as the innocent Miss Kitty Harston has done.’
‘How did you come upon her? It is not like you to dally with females when you are working.’
‘It was none of my doing,’ he said. ‘Women are an abomination, always making demands, always interfering …’
Pierre laughed. ‘A sweeping statement, mon vieux, and one I cannot agree with. I have no fault to find with madame, my wife. She has suited me well these twenty years.’
‘You have been lucky.’
‘So you may yet be. What of the citizeness upstairs?’
‘James Harston’s sister, God save me, and where is James? Right in the thick of it. They are two of a kind, that pair, impulsive, entirely without sense, but courageous. But there are times when courage is foolhardy.’
‘You will send them back?’
‘I certainly ought to and I ought to go with them, if only to protect them and try to mitigate the trouble they will surely find themselves in on arriving home.’
‘You can’t go back now, there is too much at stake.’
‘That I know. I must leave as soon as the curfew is lifted.’ He paused to drain his glass. ‘Is Gerard here yet?’
‘Yes, he is in the kitchen, eating—he is always hungry, that one—but he will join us directly. But you must decide on a new identity before he gets to work.’
‘What do you suggest?’
Pierre looked thoughtful. ‘The time is not far off, I think, when England and France will be at war and les Anglais will be even more distrusted than they are now. It is time you took your mother’s nationality.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘But not her noble birth.’
‘That poses no difficulty.’
‘A farmer, perhaps. You still have that safe house just outside the city?’ Jack nodded and he went on. ‘If you are seen coming and going daily from the market with your cart, the men on the barriers will become used to you.’
‘And my name?’
‘Jacques will do, easy to remember. Follow it with … let me see …’ He grinned. ‘Faucon, how’s that?’
‘The Hawk. Yes, it will do very well.’
As he spoke a very tall man, thin as a pole, whose rags hung on him like fluttering pennants, came into the room carrying a satchel which he placed upon the table. They turned to watch as he drew out parchment, pens and inks. ‘So?’ he queried.
‘Citizen Jacques Faucon, smallholder,’ Jack said, watching him write slowly and laboriously. ‘Thirty-one years old.’
‘Married?’
‘No.’
‘Pity. A farmer needs a wife, too much to do alone and no one willing to work any more …’
Pierre looked at Jack and then nodded his head to the room over their heads. ‘He has a point. A ready-made wife …’
‘No,’ Jack said, bluntly. ‘They go home.’
‘The young one seems determined to go on. You cannot make her go back.’
‘I cannot make her come with me either. Nor do I want to be saddled with her.’
‘It will help your disguise. Jack Chiltern always works alone. Jacques Faucon is a family man.’
‘She would never agree. And what would her brother say?’
‘If she is as determined to go as she says she is, it would be safer for her, too. He would understand that.’
‘She is not French and, though she can make herself understood, I doubt she speaks the language well enough to pass as a native.’
‘Then you once went to England and took an English wife, a foolish lapse and one you have lived to regret many times over, for she is a veritable shrew.’
Jack laughed aloud. ‘I think she might enjoy playing that part, for she has no great liking for me. But what of the other one?’
‘Her mother, even more of a scold.’
‘It is all very well for you to jest, citizens,’ Jack said, amid their laughter. ‘But I am in the devil of a quandary.’
Pierre stopped laughing. ‘Your work is important too, mon ami, and personal feelings can have no place in your life. If Providence provides you with a way to make it easier, then you should take it.’
‘I wish to God I had never met her.’ Even as he spoke he was aware that it was not true. Miss Kitty Harston had attracted him from the first. He admired her beauty, the way she spoke, the artless things she said, her lack of fear, even when he had kissed her. He had done it to frighten her, but instead found himself being roused to a passion he had stifled for too long. And she had not been frightened; in truth, her response had been a delight and he had felt a surge of joy, followed quickly by remorse.
She was an innocent, fragile as porcelain, almost as transparent as glass; he had spoiled something which was beautiful and should have been cherished, had crushed it with his brutality. It was for her future husband to awaken her, not the embittered man he had become.
‘Too late, my friend, too late.’ P
ierre turned to the forger. ‘Papers for the women, too.’ Then, filling Jack’s glass again, he added. ‘I’ll wager five livres that when it comes to it, the women will have the last word.’
‘They usually do,’ Jack murmured morosely.
Kitty was up at dawn, dressing in the brown taffeta travelling dress and scraping her hair into a bun before repacking their belongings and discarding fripperies. One night in France had shown her that Jack Chiltern was right, they must not stand out in the crowd. She did not fancy being mauled by any of the rough-looking patrons of the Cockerel, and it was her guess they were typical of the population as a whole. When she had finished, she woke Judith and they ate the food they had brought with them.
‘Well, do we throw ourselves on Mr Chiltern’s mercy this morning, or shall we manage without him?’ Kitty asked.
Judith considered the question for some time, looking at Kitty speculatively. ‘On the one hand, we know nothing of him. We do not even know if he is trustworthy but, on the other, he helped you without reward when you left the rectory and he seems to know where your brother is. Which weighs the heavier? It is for you to decide but, if we go with him, you must hold yourself aloof and not indulge in battles of words, for you will surely lose.’
Kitty ignored the implication that she was argumentative; she knew that only too well. ‘Supposing he has already left without us?’
Judith stood up and helped Kitty on with her cloak. ‘Then, child, you will be saved the decision.’ She picked up the baggage and made for the door. ‘Come, my love, by tomorrow or the next day, you will be with James and he will look after you.’
Kitty followed her out and they went down to the parlour, where madame was busy sweeping. She looked up as they approached and nodded her head towards the back room without speaking. Kitty turned and made her way there.
An unshaven Jack was sitting at the table, devouring a hunk of bread. A bottle of red wine and a full glass stood on the table in front of him. The innkeeper was sitting opposite him, watching him eat. Jack rose as soon as the women entered, but it was a Jack much changed. Now he was dressed in grubby black trousers tied about the middle with a length of rope. His shirt was of coarse linen and was topped by a ragged black coat which was so old it was turning green. He wore no hose, but half-boots worn down at the heel.
‘Good morning, Miss Harston,’ he greeted her. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Tolerably,’ she said, unable to take her eyes off him. ‘But we were so fatigued we took no note of our miserable accommodation.’
‘Breakfast?’ he queried, indicating the unappetising loaf and the bottle of wine.
‘No, thank you, we have had our breakfast. We took the precaution of bringing food with us.’
He smiled. She was capable of thinking ahead, after all. ‘A sensible precaution,’ he said. ‘And does your good sense extend to returning to England where you will certainly be able to eat more heartily than in this afflicted country?’
‘Food is the least of my considerations, sir. I am concerned for my brother. I will not go home without him.’ She paused, remembering Judith’s admonishment not to have a verbal battle with him. ‘I am sorry that we should be such a burden to you, Mr Chiltern, but I entreat you to allow us to accompany you to Paris. We should not be the least trouble, I promise you. And I have a little money …’
‘Then hide it well,’ he said, wondering if he did not like her better when she was being quarrelsome. ‘And address me as Citizen Faucon, if you please.’
Kitty’s eyes lit up. ‘Then you will take us?’
‘Damn you, woman, if you will not turn back, you give me no choice.’
‘Sir, you will not swear at my darling,’ Judith put in.
‘I shall swear when I damn well please,’ he snapped. ‘And you and your mistress had better become used to it. It is not a picnic we are embarking upon.’
Kitty turned to Judith, who was about to answer back. ‘Shush, Judith, remember what you said to me.’
Judith lapsed into silence, though the effort made her feel like bursting.
‘You will do exactly as you are told, however uncomfortable and inconvenient, do you hear?’ he went on. ‘Your lives may depend upon it.’
‘Of course.’ Kitty thought he would make a great actor; his sense of high drama bordered on the ridiculous, but she managed to stop herself airing her opinion. Perhaps he was an actor; she had not thought of that, an actor who seemed not to be able to tell the difference between reality and the stage. And she and Judith were expected to play a part too. She was even more convinced of it when he turned and, picking up what looked like a bundle of rags, handed them to her. ‘Put these on.’
‘These rags?’ Judith demanded, taking them from Kitty and shaking them out. ‘Why, they are not fit for beggars.’
‘And beggars cannot be choosers,’ he said. ‘Put them on.’
Kitty took the indignant Judith by the arm and led her upstairs again. ‘It is naught but a masquerade, Judith, and we must indulge him,’ she said, taking off her dress and donning the peasant costume of skirt, blouse and shawl. ‘And, though they look dreadful, they are not verminous.’
‘He means to humiliate us.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He is gruff and ill-tempered to be sure, but I do not think he would do that. I am sure it is necessary not to appear too refined.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I promised you high old adventures, did I not?’
‘So you did, but I doubt you ever dreamed we should go about looking like riff-raff.’ She had been putting on her own costume as she spoke. ‘Oh, if your poor mama could see us now.’
‘If Mama had been alive, we should not be in this pinch, should we? Now, put on this cap. There is one for each of us.’ She handed Judith the red Phrygian cap of the Revolution which seemed to be universal wear for both men and women in France at that time. Thus attired, they bundled up their own clothes and carried them to the lower room where Jack Chiltern was waiting for them.
Chapter Three
Jack walked round them, inspecting them carefully. ‘Too clean,’ he said and, reaching down to the cold hearth and rubbing his finger along the soot-laden bars, he spread a little on their faces and on the backs of their hands, ignoring Kitty’s expression of distaste and Judith’s protests. ‘Now, let us be off. You may wear your cloaks in the carriage, but take them off and hide them under the seat if we are stopped.’
He shook hands with Pierre and, picking up a small leather valise from the floor and one of the ladies’ bags into which they had crammed the clothes they had just removed, he strode from the room. Kitty followed him, head held high, while Judith picked up the basket and went after her mistress to the accompaniment of laughter from Pierre. ‘Sooner you than me, my friend!’ he shouted.
With the women behind him, Jack made for a battered old carriage which had certainly seen better days. It had once had a coat of arms on the door, but this had been obliterated with red paint. The paintwork on the rest of the vehicle, which had once been a glossy black, was faded and peeling. The upholstery had disappeared and all they had to sit on were slats of rough wood.
The roof had a hole in it and the windows had been replaced by only half-cured hide curtains. Kitty wasn’t sure which would be worse, the smell of the skins or the cold she would have to endure if she insisted on having them removed. As for the single horse, it looked ready to drop from starvation. ‘Is that the best you can manage?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘Why, it is a magnificent carriage, my lady, none better in the whole country. It once belonged to a comte, but alas, he no longer has a need for it.’ His laughter died. ‘Now, get in, I have no time to waste.’
He handed them in, folded the step and shut the door, then climbed up on the seat. A moment later the poor old horse was urged into motion and the wheels began to roll.
‘Merciful heaven, I shall eat this filthy cap if we arrive in Paris safely,’ Judith said, as they jolted along at little more than walking pace.
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br /> ‘At least we have been spared Mr … Citizen Faucon’s company, and we shall see something of the countryside.’ She lifted the malodorous curtains so they could look out.
What they saw was devastation. The fields grew lank with weeds, the cattle looked half-starved, the buildings were crumbling and, what was worse for them, the roads were full of potholes so that they were continually being flung about. Judith rummaged in their baggage, which had been put on the opposite seat, and made cushions of some of their clothes.
‘I shall be able to press them when we arrive at our lodgings in Paris,’ she said, convinced that, once reunited with Master James, their nightmare would end and all would be well.
They travelled all day, stopping at wayside inns where they were thankful to stretch their legs and have something to eat and drink, though it was only thin soup, coarse bread and, at the place where they stopped for the night, one scrawny chicken between them. Only the chink of coins prevented them from having to share a bed with several other women.
Where Jack slept they had no idea, he did not say, but Kitty guessed he would probably prefer to sleep with the horse than share a room with half a dozen other men.
Jack considered the risk of showing they had money against their discomfort and decided that, until they were close to Paris, he could take it, but he made it known he despised the women for their fastidiousness. ‘The bitches forget times have changed,’ he grumbled to the assembled company. ‘But they will know it when we get to Paris. I am escorting them to the Palais de Justice.’
‘Aristos?’ someone queried.
‘No, not so lofty, citoyen. But they have been hoarding flour. Can’t have that, can we?’
‘Where’s the flour now?’
‘Distributed to the needy in their village,’ Jack said, hoping no one would ask for more details.
His listeners lost interest. The women were not nobility and there was no food to be had from them. They turned their backs and continued with the conversation they had been having before the newcomers arrived.
Kitty and Judith, huddling together in a narrow bed, trying to warm each other, had long since realised that high old adventure was not what they had thought it would be. High old adventure was cold and hunger and fear, and not understanding the language, or the people, or their escort who treated them with contempt and called them bitches and refused to allow them to speak. He was a tyrant, every bit as bad as the mob who had chopped off the head of King Louis. Perhaps he was one of them.
Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999) Page 5
