The Travellers

by J. Howard Shelley

  Chapter 8

  Indeed, on the occasions when he recalled it in later years, boredom was not an emotion the Duke associated with the journey back to England. ‘Eventful,’ was the word he generally applied, although he was heard to also term it as madcap and unpredictable. They had deliberately planned a leisurely journey, with such a large party a fast pace would have been difficult to manage and no-one could face the prospect of ten or twelve hours on the road every day even in a coach as well sprung as the Vicomte’s. Then again Sergeant Guay had to report to the commanding officer at each town they visited where there was a garrison of the King’s Musketeers or the Garde du Corps du Roi.

  Liversedge had exercised himself mightily on behalf of the Duke. Rather haphazardly the Duke had assumed that they would simply arrive at an inn every night and arrange for rooms. He had no concept of the packing and unpacking required each night, or how long it would take to load up two carriages and harness the horses and of course, never having had to consider such a matter before, it had never occurred to him that lodgings would be required for his retinue. Fortunately, Liversedge had dealt with all that. He had worked out just how far the party was likely to travel each day and for the first three days had already identified where they were to put up for the night. He had sent on ahead to book two rooms and a private parlour and sufficient accommodation for the Guards, two coachmen, himself Francis, Martha and Véronique. He had also arranged stabling for fourteen horses and ensured that each hotel engaged sufficient extra staff, if he judged that the normal compliment was insufficient, to ensure the Duke and Miss Leighton a modicum of comfort.

  For the first few days of the journey the Duke could not sustain a whole day in the saddle and thus had no choice but to spend some of the journey with Miss Leighton but as his fitness returned it was not long before he did not use the carriage at all. Having spent time with Francis in planning the journey Guay had already discovered that the manservant had none of the lofty notions usually associated with a Gentleman's gentleman. To his surprise Guay found that the easy-going manner and affable disposition extended to the Master also. Sale was not remotely high in the instep and complied instantly with any requests which he made for his safety and that of his party.

  Further, Miss Leighton was extremely gracious and not at all like the noble and often haughty ladies the King’s Guards were used to dealing with at court. Their general approval was confirmed when one of their number had an unfortunate contretemps with a boar spooking his horse causing him to be unceremoniously and painfully unseated in the middle of the road. Miss Leighton called for the carriage to be brought to an immediate stop and she and her maid descended, without a trace of embarrassment, to attend to his numerous cuts and bruises. After this incident, the troop came to the unanimous view that this was one of the best duties they had ever drawn.

  There were some early surprises too. For reasons no-one could fathom, Sergeant Guay and Liversedge had struck up an immediate friendship. At the end of a day’s travel, the party soon became accustomed to seeing the two men in deep conversation planning the next day’s journey or enjoying a private joke over a glass of wine. With the Duke or Miss Leighton, Liversedge never lost his pompous civility but it appeared that with Guay he could abandon his assumed persona and be himself. Guay remarked, in response to the Duke’s comment that they appeared to be getting on well, that he had always admired men whose skills set them apart from the ordinary. Had Liversedge chosen military instead of personal service, the Sergeant observed, his organisational skills and eye for detail would have quickly seen him rise up the ranks.

  This unexpected and unlikely friendship had real benefits for the efficient conduct of the journey. Between them Guay and Liversedge worked out the arrangements for the day’s travel, the Guards knew their assignments, the coachmen knew what time they had to harness the team and be ready to move off and the personal staff knew by what time the carriages needed to be packed. There was nothing left for the Duke and Miss Leighton to do.

  One morning Francis and Martha came into the breakfast parlour at the country inn where they had rested the previous night and informed Miss Leighton and the Duke that everything was ready for departure.

  “It appears, Miss Leighton, “said the Duke, not without irony, “that we are the only unmanageable element of the party.”

  “No, Your Grace,” retorted Francis availing himself of the licence permitted to a trusted retainer, and to Martha’s obvious amusement, “you only think you are unmanageable.”

  Liversedge appeared never to be at a loss. One afternoon, when the party had covered about half of the distance planned for the day, one of the wheels on the coach started to crack and the whole party had to stop as it was clear it would not last much longer. Liversedge asked Guay if he would mind sending one of his men to fetch the wheelwright. He produced from his pocket book the name and direction of the nearest wright together with the precise dimensions of the wheel. As a result, the party was on its way again within the hour. That evening the Duke asked him if he knew the country and, on being told that Liversedge had never visited the locality before, demanded to know how he knew the location of a wheelwright and the size of the wheel. Liversedge bowed slightly condescendingly and informed the Duke that he always enquired of the innkeeper where local craftsmen were along the route for the following day. As for the size of the wheel, he had furnished himself with that information before they left the Chateaux.

  Sergeant Guay knew how to organise his men. There were always no less than four guards in proximity to the Carriage and another discretely following the Duke. Two scouts were always sent ahead so that any possible obstacles were cleared before the party reached them. A further guard travelled behind to warn if they were followed. After a day or two the Duke observed that, despite their slow progress they were never overtaken and they saw few vehicles travelling the other way. Guay explained that anyone who wanted to overtake them had to do so when they had stopped for the night and people coming in the other direction were ‘advised’ to pull well off the road until the party had passed. Guay observed blandly that a troop of the King’s Guards could be very persuasive. After that the Duke and Francis derived considerable amusement from the long line of carriages and other vehicles that scurried past about fifteen minutes after they stopped. Francis observed dryly that none of them seemed particularly keen to stop and chat.

  Véronique was exhausting to watch. She smiled all the time and apparently had boundless energy. She was the last to bed and the first to rise and nothing was too much trouble for her. On the other hand, woe betide any chambermaid whose work did not reach Véronique’s exacting standards. When they arrived at the inn after their first day’s travel she leapt lightly down from the carriage and asked the owner of the establishment who had come out to meet them if he could ask one of his staff to show her to the rooms Mademoiselle and his Grace were to occupy for the night. She needed, she said, to check that all was in readiness. Confident in the standard of his accommodation he waved at a junior maid to show Véronique the way before he went forward wreathed in welcoming smiles to welcome his exalted guests. He was somewhat startled when Véronique returned not a minute later, overriding his somewhat flowery welcome, and informing his guests that, contrary to what they had been led to expect by this paresseux butor, their rooms were not ready. At this point the innkeeper, interrupted,

  “Mai non, je vous assure…” He got no further and his guests never were to learn what it was he was proposing to assure them because it became apparent that Véronique had a wholly unexpected side which thus far she had not shown.

  “Silence,” she hissed in a voice of penetrating fury accompanied by a look which, as the Duke later remarked in private to Miss Leighton, appeared to turn the poor man to stone. Satisfied that the innkeeper would not again try to challenge her, she reached into a capacious pocket concealed in the folds of her dress and pulled out an apron. “Your Grace, Mademoiselle”, she began with great dignit
y “as I was saying, your rooms are not ready and I would be grateful if you would please wait in this parlour for few minutes while I prepare them properly.” She then stalked out of the room demanding the innkeeper follow him and bring his staff with him.

  Some ten minutes later she returned with a satisfied look on her face and informed her employer that the rooms would in fact be ready in no more than twenty minutes. The innkeeper, by now completely cowed, nodded and confirmed that it was as Mademoiselle said and he apologised profoundly that his rooms had not been prepared to the standard his Guests had every right to expect. The Duke watched the man, for whom he now had a certain male sympathy, squirm as Véronique explained that she was ashamed of a fellow Frenchman who would put up his guests in rooms which had not been cleaned for months and in which even the filthiest pig would feel uncomfortable. For good measure, she added that, while she was now employed to ensure the comfort of her noble employers, she was an innkeeper’s niece, and she knew a filthy room when she saw it.

  “Phew,” said the Duke to Francis a few minutes later. “I hope she never becomes angry at me!”

  The rooms, when they were finally conducted up to them by the frankly terrified innkeeper were impeccable, not a mote of dust could be found on any surface and not a smear marred the glass in any window. The Linen was freshly ironed, the drapes newly laundered and the water on the washstand was at precisely the right temperature. Miss Leighton gracefully complimented the maid assigned by the innkeeper to carry out such tasks she might require on the condition of her room and was not surprised to hear that Véronique had made them re-clean the room and re-make the bed. It appeared however that the girl did not hold any rancour for this cavalier treatment as she had derived considerable amusement from watching Véronique berating her employer. From then on, the innkeeper, fearful of offending the virago that looked after the domestic arrangements for this party, referred to her, very warily as ‘Mademoiselle Véronique.’

  It is over four hundred and fifty miles to Le Havre from Seltz. On the advice of the Duc D’Angoulême they had decided to avoid Paris and travel via Metz, Reims and then north of Paris through Amiens. This added at least two more days onto the journey as the roads were not as good and the route was longer. The Duke knew that he would not travel quickly, the size of the party, the occasionally derelict surface of the roads, the cumbersome nature of the vehicles they were using and the need to occasionally remain for a night or two in one place while Guay reported to the local garrison all contributed to the slow rate of progress. Then there was the added problem of locating a suitable place to stop at night. If they stopped in a town there were always inns large enough to accommodate the whole party but many provincial inns were simply too small. As a result, they rarely travelled more than thirty miles in a day and there were some days when they managed less than twenty miles.

  The Duke had thought that he would become heartily bored travelling at such a ponderous pace but much to his surprise he did not. He discovered there was a certain satisfaction to being the most important person on the road. After a day or so Francis recommended to the Duke that he watch the innkeeper on their arrival. He did, and derived some considerable amusement from it. Firstly, the innkeeper, his faced wreathed in smiles, would hurry out to greet the party he had been told to expect only to be faced with the imposing sight of eight mounted, grim faced, heavily armed, highly suspicious and uniformed members of the King’s personal Guard. The speed at which the smile disappeared from mine host’s face was positively comical. It was at this point the innkeeper realised that the party was something out of the ordinary. Next, he would see an enormous travelling chariot followed by a second carriage, both piled high with baggage. Except at inns which regularly entertained the quality his jaw would drop in astonishment.

  The guards would satisfy themselves that it was safe for the party to alight and the first person out of the carriage would be the imposing Mr. Liversedge whom any innkeeper inevitably and instantly recognised as his social superior. He was stately, and pompous, he never rushed and an angry word never passed his lips. He could convey extreme displeasure just by lifting an eyebrow or a dismissive wave of his hand and he never recognised anyone he considered beneath him. When Sale challenged him on this lofty attitude he merely smiled and commented that ‘surely everyone ought to know their place’.

  Having got over the shock of these initial encounters, and by this time feeling a little out of sorts the innkeeper then had to deal with Véronique. She was devoted to her employers and always treated the Duke and Miss Leighton with the proper respect. She would chat unselfconsciously with the guards and with Martha or Francis with no difficulty and she showed herself to have a lively sense of humour. With everyone else she was completely unpredictable. One moment she could be completely affable, the next moment utterly furious. On one occasion a farm cart pulled out of a field unexpectedly and passed too close to the carriage conveying Miss Leighton causing it to swerve. One of the Guards turned his horse to suggest that the Driver should be more careful but Véronique got there first. While it was still moving she leapt out of the carriage and fearlessly stood in front of the cart forcing it to stop. In a few well-chosen and highly idiomatic words she told him exactly what she thought of his driving and suggested the world would be a wholly better place if he was no longer in it. She then calmly climbed back in the carriage and, apparently genuinely puzzled, asked what the coachman was waiting for. The Guard later told the Duke that he hadn’t the heart to speak to the hapless carter after that.

  When the Duke and his retinue arrived at the inn which Liversedge had selected for the night, she would leap out of the second carriage an expression of deep suspicion apparent on her mobile face. Without any ceremony, she would demand to be shown the rooms which The Duke and her Mistress were to occupy. If the rooms met with her own high standards she would gracefully compliment the innkeeper and busy herself with settling Miss Leighton’s personal effects to maximise her comfort. If, on the other hand, she adjudged she rooms to be inadequate then the innkeeper could expect the next few minutes to be most uncomfortable. Venting her spleen on the unfortunate individual responsible she would reduce him within seconds to stammering incoherence. Once she was assured of his abject servility she would remorselessly hound him and all his staff while berating them in angry staccato French delivered with such speed and venom that within seconds the object of her fury had been reduced to a quivering wreck.

  On one occasion, she discovered the innkeeper had, in full knowledge that he was expecting noble guests, installed another traveller in his best room. Spluttering with rage and despite reassurances from the Duke and Miss Leighton that the second-best rooms in what was an enchanting country inn would be more than adequate, she demanded of the innkeeper how he would answer to the King for the rank discourtesy afforded to foreign visitors travelling under his protection. Highly amused by Véronique’s tirade the Guards decided to add to the poor man’s discomfiture by suggesting that the King would have to be told and he would be most unhappy. The innkeeper, by this time in a state of paralysed terror, was only rescued by the kind offices of his prior guest who, having overheard the landlord’s predicament, magnanimously offered to change rooms as long as he could stay for free. Never was an innkeeper happier to accommodate a non-paying guest.

  Then there was the company. Always easy with his fellow man the Duke regularly rode with the Guards, particularly with Guay, who as he had revealed back at the Chateaux, was of gentle, but not particularly affluent, birth. He discovered that Guay was the third son of an impoverished baron and his father, although deeply attached to all his children, was unable to do more than pass his small estate onto his elder son and provide very modest dowries for his two sisters. Guay had therefore always known he would have to make his way in the world and, as the life of a King’s Guard had suited him, he had always contrived to be tolerably comfortable. He had some little savings such that when, in the end, he decided to retire, he wa
s confident he could support himself in reasonable style.

  His only personal extravagance was his books. Guay was an avid reader and, from the breadth of his conversation the Duke concluded that his taste in prose ran from Shakespeare to Plutarch and in poetry from Du Bellay to Byron. One day the Duke asked him what he would like to do at the end of his military career. Guay sighed,

  “At heart, I prefer country to town life,” he began. “If it were possible to find employment managing an estate. I think I should be good at it. I can manage people, I can read and write and I learn very quickly. But” he sighed again, “It is an impossible dream.” The Duke was unusually thoughtful for the rest of the day and, upon arriving at the inn that night he wrote a letter and left it with the landlord to post on the morrow.

  Finally, it was almost impossible to be bored around a lady with as quick and insightful mind as Sarah Leighton. This surprised him a little as his experience with the fairer sex to date had led him to believe that if a man wanted stimulating conversation he had to seek out his fellow man. The only female with whom he had significant conversation previously and who he had not found boring was Harriet. Even she was gentle and shy and hated loud voices and argument so much that if her husband disagreed with her she found some way of diverting the conversation to a less contentious topic. She had opinions but she would never have dreamt of holding them out in competition with his and, if she did have to disagree, she always prefaced it with an apology.

  He understood why this was the case, Harriet’s mother, Lady Ampleforth, had been a formidable woman who ruled her house with a rod of iron. Not only would she brook no opposition but she had drilled it into her daughter that she should never set herself up against her husband. That she never allowed her husband to advance his own opinions of course she did not pause to consider. Any glimmer of independence was ruthlessly suppressed. Harriet did not lack for intelligence and had learned to avoid any conflict with her mother either by agreeing with her opinions, however outrageous and unsupportable, or by simply disappearing. Brought up in such a house she would no more have considered disagreeing with her husband’s views than she would have considered trying to fly.

  He had tried to encourage his gentle wife to say what she thought but she found her ingrained habit of deference to those she perceived as in authority very difficult to break. They had been married some time before he discovered that some of the rooms were decorated in a fashion she cordially detested merely because he had suggested how the work should be done.

  “But Gilly,” she said when her shocked husband asked her why she had not insisted she had the right to be consulted on matters concerning her own house, “you know I dislike argument. I dare say I shall grow used to it and in any case, it would be wrong for me to tell you what to do.”

  The Duke wondered if he had met her now whether he would have still married her. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been the right person for him at the time as her quiet and shy personality had then exactly suited him. He had not liked loud noises either and he lacked confidence. He now ruefully admitted to himself that he had been entirely too ready to allow others to do things for him that he was perfectly capable of doing for himself simply because it was much easier to do so. He did not think he was that person any longer. The tragedies that came one on top of each other, the retirement of so many of his older retainers and the self-reliance he developed over the previous three years had changed him profoundly and he was inclined to think that, while he would still have respected her, he would now have found her a little timid. In turn, he conceded that she would have found him a little loud and, possibly, too eccentric for her.

  Without any false modesty he knew that, before his marriage he was regarded as a substantial catch for a matchmaking mama seeking to suitably marry off her daughters. Presumably he would now be so regarded again even though he was a widower. Despite the lures cast out for him he had never found any lady, other that Harriet, for whom he felt the slightest tendre and he developed the habit of classifying those damsels who crossed his path into groups in his head which, had they known of this, would have grossly offended those ladies.

  There were those who were properly bored. The Duke, who thought that life should be enjoyed, could not understand this at all. With the insight into the world he had gained since Harriet had died he now regarded studied boredom with something approaching contempt. These ladies lived a life of privilege and, rather than complaining about how many parties they were forced to attend, he thought they should enjoy what they had. Then there were the ladies who looked down on those whom they considered of a lower rank as beneath their notice. He had never been able to see that there was anything particularly praiseworthy in high birth and found these ladies, all of whom were more than happy to unbend in his presence, to be singularly unpleasant. There were those who tittered artificially at the smallest and least funny of jokes and who seemed to think that the ability to hold an intelligent conversation was not only unnecessary but undesirable. The worst thing which could be said of them was to accuse them of being a bluestocking. Finally, there were ladies who were so painfully shy that it was impossible to have a conversation with them at all and, at the other end of the scale those that were overconfident and loud. With none of these females did he have the slightest affinity.

  He naturally did not consider that the females he had met at parties in London had little experience of the world. Kept in strict seclusion in the schoolroom under the control of governesses, or in a ladies’ seminary and then thrust into the ton by ambitious mothers who kept a very careful eye on them, they had very little scope to develop individual characters. What Sale saw, but failed to recognise, was a mirror of what their mothers thought was appropriate.

  Sarah Leighton had also lived in a type of seclusion but she had no mother to guide her as to the conduct to be expected of a young lady in society. As she had been brought up with the knowledge that she would never go to any party where the upper ten thousand might expect to gather she had never given much thought about them in any event. Her uncle recognised and respected her talents and despite the limitations imposed upon her by her birth she had managed to carve out a niche for herself. At home, she ran her uncle’s house. He was a bachelor and, at his age, most unlikely to marry. The house was well run and most economically and the estate had prospered under her stewardship. The distant cousin who was the heir to the estate would inherit a great deal more than had her uncle on her grandfather’s death.

  In her role as her uncle’s secretary she knew she also excelled. He always had the most up to date documents and she was astute enough in negotiations to work out the real agenda of all the parties was before anyone else. She knew that, together, they made a formidable team. That no-one, with the single exception of her uncle, understood how important she was to his success bothered her not a jot. She did not need the approval of others; success and the thanks of her uncle were all the praise necessary.

  The Duke of course knew that she was something out of the ordinary. The first time he saw her she was holding her abductor at bay at her sword point, and despite running half way across a strange town in the middle of the night and then being accommodated in provincial house owned by the sister of an innkeeper she had not once complained. She had explained the circumstances of her birth in a matter of fact fashion even though she must have known that but for the vindictive nature of her grandparent she would have been the sister of a Viscount, the possessor of a substantial portion and there was every chance she would have achieved an eligible marriage and, with it, the control of her own home.

  The first day on the road had been very hard for the Duke. No matter how determined he might be, he was still recovering from his injury and, apologising for not remaining to entertain Miss Leighton, he had little choice but to retire to bed early. The following evening, he was much fresher and asked Sarah if, once he had managed to change out of his travel clothes, she would do him the honour of dining wit
h him. Assisted by Francis to change into suitable clothes, and in any event not a man to dally over his toilet, he presented himself in the private parlour some half an hour later to be met by Véronique.

  “Mademoiselle Leighton begs his Grace’s pardon," she said dropping a demure curtsey, "she will be with him in not more than ten minutes.”

  The Duke was much inclined to think that unlikely. He knew of few ladies who could ready themselves for dinner in less than an hour and he sat down on the settle by the window and resigned himself to a lengthy wait. Much to his surprise, after little more than five minutes had passed, the door opened and Miss Leighton entered.

  It was perhaps just as well that her host automatically responded to her curtsey, by bowing and perfunctorily kissing her hand as it gave the Duke a moment to steady himself. Miss Leighton, he thought, was simply breath-taking. Always pretty and well presented, tonight she had outdone herself. She wore a very simple slip of the palest primrose muslin with puff sleeves and lace flounces at the hem under an open robe of celestial blue crepe. It perfectly complimented her slim figure. Around her shoulders was draped a costly shawl of Norwich lace and her only Jewellery was double row of pearls and matching earrings.

  “Thank you so much,” she said.

  “I am not sure,” replied the Duke uncertainly, “what I have done to merit your thanks, but” he smiled broadly, “you are most welcome.”

  “My uncle bought me this dress some months ago,” she explained seriously, “in the hope that I might have the opportunity to wear it while I was in France. Unfortunately, for one reason or another the hoped-for opportunity never materialised. My thanks were for providing that opportunity.”

  “Then may I say,” replied the Duke with as much gallantry as he could muster, “that I consider myself privileged to be dazzled by what others have not seen.” After a moment’s pause he added, “And although I feel for my fellow man, their loss is my gain. May I take you to your seat?”

  In response to this outrageous compliment Miss Leighton blushed in a manner more akin to a girl at the beginning of her first season rather than that of a lady with more than twenty summers to her credit. It had not occurred to the Duke that she would be unused to receiving compliments and her reaction, more than anything else, made him realise how restricted her life must have been. True, she was comfortable and protected and was held in esteem by her uncle who was kind to her, but she had never been given the opportunity to be a girl. The enjoyment she displayed in wearing a becoming gown to dine with him told its own story.

  The Duke had Martha to thank for the vision which had confronted him. Although they had never spoken on the subject Martha had known for years that her mistress carried tender feelings for the Duke. She had decided that Sarah should at least enjoy the journey and the Duke’s company while it lasted. He was a gentleman and would never overstep the boundaries of propriety. When Sarah had moved to put on the ordinary dress that she would was accustomed to wear when she was at home on her own, Martha firmly directed her towards the primrose muslin and informing her that the Duke would certainly expect his guest to dress for dinner.

  In truth, even had the possibility of committing a solecism not been a sufficient prompt, Sarah had required little persuasion. As much as did Martha, Sarah knew perfectly well that anything more than a mild flirtation was impossible but, presented with the opportunity of spending time with the man for whom she had carried a torch for so many years, she decided to grasp it with both hands. Even so, just before she came to go downstairs, her courage had nearly failed her. Martha, realising her mistress was about to find an excuse to back out brought out the pearl set. They were the only item of jewellery which was hers, purchased by her uncle in lieu of a come out on her seventeenth birthday. Thus fortified, and as much as she had a practical outlook, she was still feminine enough to want to dress fashionably when the opportunity presented itself, the chance to shine for once was simply too great a temptation to be ignored.

  Both the Duke and Miss Leighton had sufficiently wide knowledge to converse without difficulty on a wide variety of safe subjects. Nonetheless after an hour had passed and emboldened, no doubt, by two glasses of excellent Sancerre, Sarah had sufficiently settled to be a little provocative.

  “Your Grace,” She said, “When we first met, I did not tell you the whole truth about the extent of our previous acquaintance. While I did see you on the occasion I described I had also seen you many times before that. Indeed, I actually bumped into you once.”

  “Oh?” The Duke looked a little wary. Experience had taught him that forgetting a meeting with a lady could have uncomfortable consequences.

  “Don’t worry,” Sarah continued, chuckling at his expression, “I don’t expect you to remember me, it was a long time ago and, for the most part, I took good care to keep out of sight.”

  The Duke studied her face for a moment, racking his brains to try to remember where he might ever have met her before and trying to work out where the conversation was going. Miss Leighton just continued to eat her Dinner, with a most impish expression on her face. When it became clear she was not going to venture anything further he laid his knife upon his plate.

  “Miss Leighton,” he began with exaggerated formality “pray do tell me, when previously have I had the pleasure of your acquaintance.” Miss Leighton nearly choked on her meal. The tone of his enquiry would have been appropriate for a bored roué at a soiree in London but was completely out of place in a provincial inn at a location somewhere in northern France.

  “Why Your Grace” tittered Miss Leighton becoming, in an instant, one of those irritating females the Duke so despised, “I am mortified that you don’t recall it, I protest, take me back to my Mama.” Miss Leighton was, the Duke realised, a wickedly accurate mimic.

  “Ouch!” he said appreciatively, “you have just reminded me forcibly of two or three young ladies I have been trying, successfully to this point I might add, to forget. They appeared, on the rare occasions I stayed in London before my ‘disappearance’ three years ago, to have the most earnest desire to persuade me that it was my duty to remarry. Being the object of their affection was,” he stopped and deleted the words he was going to use and merely said “rather wearing. I hope,” he looked heavenward in an exaggerated attitude of prayer “that they might have found a substitute by now.”

  “I cannot imagine” Sarah assessed the Duke shrewdly, “why they might have thought that you would have found this kind of behaviour remotely attractive, in fact” she continued after a moment’s thought, “I cannot imagine that anyone would find it attractive.”

  “You would be surprised”, replied the Duke resuming his meal. “Unfortunately, not all the members of my sex display great er... discrimination when it comes to the fair sex and I number at least two good, and apparently very intelligent men amongst my acquaintance, who profess to think this behaviour very attractive. When I evinced no desire to pick up the handkerchiefs thrown so obviously in my direction, one of these gentlemen accused me of being entirely too nice in my selection of a wife. For good measure, he then asked me if I would mind diverting one of these ladies in his direction.” He shuddered, “there is, Miss Leighton, no making sense of individual taste. And now Ma’am, “The Duke shot her a humorous look, “please tell me when we met previously. You cannot divert me forever you know.”

  “Do you recall” Sarah asked after a substantial pause, “coming out of your room about eight or nine years ago and colliding with a laundry maid stocking the cupboard in the corridor? You were so kind as to take the time to ensure that your housekeeper, Mrs Bridgehouse, did not scold her?”

  “Vaguely,” the Duke trying to remember the incident. Suddenly his brow cleared “I remember, I didn’t see her and I knocked her over. She burst into tears and I thought it would have been unreasonable for her to be punished for my clumsiness.” He looked up at Sarah, “What on earth has it to do with you?” She returned his gaze steadily for a few seconds until the t
ruth of the matter suddenly occurred to him. “It was you!” he exclaimed, “But... but ... but why,” he stammered, hopelessly confused, “were you stocking the laundry cupboard in my house dressed as a maid?”

  “I love your house. I have been there many times. Your housekeeper let me run tame with the maids, as long as I didn’t stop them working and kept out of your way. Your people were so kind to the little girl that my uncle brought with him when he came to visit his friend Lord Lionel Ware.”

  “What!” He thundered, justifiably incensed, “You came to my house as a guest and my people put you to work! Upon my word, when I get home someone will answer for this,” thundered the Duke furiously “how dare……”

  “No. No. No.” She had to raise her voice to interrupt him. “You misunderstood me. I rarely had the opportunity to leave Borden and so a visit to Sale Park was a high treat. I loved helping your staff. Your housekeeper was very kind to me. When someone had to go upstairs to make a bed or sweep the floor or lay a fire I begged to go with them.” She could see that the Duke was still very angry and not at all inclined to believe her. “I can assure you it is perfectly true. There was one of your laundry maids, Jenny, who was my particular friend. Indeed” she added reflectively, “she was probably my only friend. Whenever I could I liked to go with her. The day you bumped into me we were taking the laundered linen back upstairs. Jenny had told me that I needed to finish before you left your room. She had a lively fear of coming upon you unexpectedly as second laundry maids are neither seen nor heard. I was so short that I had to really stretch to reach the top shelf and it took me longer than it should. When you knocked me over I cried because I was told I must keep out of the way and I thought my uncle would say I couldn’t go back.” A faraway look appeared in her eyes, “I wonder where Jenny is now? I haven’t seen her for years.”

  “I see”, said the Duke, by now calming down a little, “but why were you in my house in the first place and why did you have to spend your time downstairs? Why didn’t your uncle take you with him to meet Lord Lionel or me? Why would you enjoy doing something like storing linen?” He shook his head in exasperation, “It makes no sense.” At this point the Duke looked up at Sarah “I’m sorry, I’m sure it makes perfect sense to you, but, frankly, I can’t make head nor tail of it.”

  “I can see,” began Sarah slowly, “why it would seem odd to you, but it is part of my history and I suppose I am used to it. It all began because I used to see you out shooting occasionally.” Sarah felt uncomfortable with telling him the whole truth, so she compromised, “my uncle’s house is close to the border of Sale Park and I saw you when you were out shooting sometimes. I started to beg my uncle to take me with him when he went to visit Lord Lionel and, after I promised I would be discrete he eventually gave in. He arranged for me to spend the day with Mrs. Bridgehouse and when he arrived he consigned me into her care. I loved it and your housekeeper seemed to take to me; I don’t think she had children of her own. When my uncle came for me a few hours later she said if he ever wanted to leave me with her again she would be more than happy to keep an eye on me. It became a regular thing. You know my uncle used to visit Lord Lionel often?” The Duke nodded, fascinated by the story, "My uncle used to leave me at the kitchen door when he arrived and retrieve me when he left. Your butler would let Mrs Bridgehouse know when my uncle called for his coat and she would make sure I was waiting for him.”

  “But why did your uncle not bring you into the main house? You would have been welcome.”

  “Would I? Really?” Sarah challenged him. “You would have been civil but you were still subject to Lord Lionel’s guardianship and, if half the tales told of him are true, he was a very high stickler indeed. Would he have been prepared to accept me upstairs?” The Duke did not need to say anything; she was right. His guardian was, in many ways, an admirable man and totally devoted to his nephew but he did have some very old-fashioned notions of what was, and was not, acceptable conduct. Sarah would not have been permitted upstairs. When she saw that Sale had accepted the truth she added, “even if Lord Lionel had been prepared to accept it my uncle would not have been prepared to allow me upstairs. He is very fond of me but he could not place his friend in a difficult situation or put me at risk of being shown the door.”

  “Did Lord Lionel know?” asked the Duke with a frown.

  “I assume so, he often walked around the house with my uncle to pick me up from the kitchen.”

  “Next time you visit Sale Park,” The Duke stated firmly, “As I have previously told you, you will enter through the front door and you will be treated with a great deal more respect than hitherto. My friends,” he placed considerable emphasis on the word, “are looked after in my house.” He rather spoiled the effect of his words by adding “You might still have to put the laundry away of course.”

  “I shall look forward to seeing the outside of your front door,” Sarah replied, “I saw the inside of it many times and even polished it once. Or at least,” she added conscientiously, “I polished the bottom part of it. I couldn’t reach even half way up. And you may be sure that I shall still visit the Kitchen and I might even, as I am perfectly sure you are unaware of it, show you the shortest way to the linen cupboard.”

  “I know Sale Park like the back of my hand,” the Duke stated flatly. He would have continued, but he perceived that her face wore a most mischievous expression.

  “How, “Sarah asked” would you get from your bedchamber to the family dining room?”

  “I may,” said the Duke, suddenly aware that he might be in dangerous waters, “live to regret this as it is entirely possible I am about to be the butt of a jest, but, as I am a gentleman I will answer.” Assuming portentous tones, which Miss Leighton had no trouble at all in recognising as a passable imitation of his former butler, the Duke intoned, “If, Ma’am you were to turn left out of his Grace’s bedchamber and walk for some distance along the passage you will find yourself upon the second-floor gallery which runs around the grand staircase. You should then turn right, and follow the wall, turning left and left again onto the Staircase descending two floors. At the bottom of the stair turn left and left again to pass underneath and behind the main stair. If you then take the right hand of the two doors in the wall facing you will find yourself in the Duchess’s Study. Go on through the Duchess’s Study, and then through The Duke’s study, the Library and the Drawing room to arrive at the Family Dining room.” Unnecessarily he added, “if you are looking for the State Dining Room you should continue through the short passage leading out of the family dining room.”

  “How far is it?” asked Miss Leighton.

  “A dashed long way,” replied the Duke feelingly, “by the time you reached it in the morning, you needed your breakfast even if you hadn’t when you started out.”

  “If,” began Miss Leighton, “instead of suggesting I turn left out of your bed chamber, you had directed me to turn right and then pass through the second door on my left, I would then have found myself on a small landing at the top of a narrow stone staircase, and probably facing a very frightened laundry maid. Having dealt with the laundry maid’s hysterics I might then have descended the stair arriving at the level of the first floor where I should find flight of stairs going down to the left and another to the right. There is a door in between which opens into the back of a store room on the guest corridor. You should then have advised me to take the stair to the right and opening the door at the bottom I would have found myself in the short passage between the Family and the State Dining rooms.”

  “Where does the left-hand stair go?” asked the Duke, fascinated, considerably astonished and playing for time.

  “There is small landing with a door that opens into the recess in the ballroom to the right of the fire place. The stair then continues on down ending just outside the Laundry.”

  “But why did my Great, Great Grandfather build a house such that the owners must walk miles to get anywhere and the servants can cover the s
ame distance in a quarter of the time,” asked the Duke pondering how many times he had privately cursed the unfriendly layout of his ancestral home.

  “I asked that question myself once. Mrs Bridgehouse told me that it was because your ancestor wanted to make an impression and, at the same time, keep the servants out of the way. Therefore, you must use the Grand Stairway to go downstairs. If you have guests, you can walk majestically down the stairs to greet them. Your servants, except from one or two footmen, the butler, your housekeeper and your steward are banned from using it when the family is at home.”

  Sarah had given Sale a great deal to think about, it was not every day that you discover there had been a visitor in your home for years you didn’t know about or that there were other ways to get around your own home that you didn’t even know existed. He therefore deliberately turned the conversation onto more general matters. Under the guise of holding up his end of the conversation he covertly observed her. It was a shame, he thought, that she was denied access to the society that ought to have been hers by birth right. Society, he thought, would love her. Having watched her for nearly an hour he could find no fault. While not beautiful in the classical sense, she was extremely pretty, her taste in clothes was impeccable and she had moreover an enthusiasm which stood out in stark contrast to the proper boredom affected by many of the young ladies that appeared in town season after season. Her manners were such that even the notoriously critical patronesses of Almack’s would have been impressed. He was personally acquainted with Mrs Drummond Burrell, generally regarded as the most intimidating patroness of that exclusive club and, while she had, when she chose to use it, the most acidic tongue and she detested stupidity, she would also not hesitate to give credit where it was due. He rather thought Mrs Drummond-Burrell would like Miss Leighton. She was intelligent and well read. She had a ready smile and a quiet dignity. He had no doubt that, but for the difficulty created by her birth, she would have rapidly become quite the rage.

  After dinner, they played Piquet for an hour until Miss Leighton, mindful of Sale’s recent injury, declared herself tired and withdrew to her bed chamber. Upon seeing the glow upon her mistress’s face Martha thought that it was worth all the effort to see her charge that happy if only for just that one night.

  Miss Leighton had a pragmatic and philosophical outlook. They were thrown together for at least two more weeks and until recently she had thought it unlikely she would ever meet and talk with the man she loved. Now at least some of her dream had come true. There was no future for them but there was a present, and the present included the one man with which she would have chosen to spend her time. And, wonder of wonders, that man looked at her with admiration and treated her as an equal. She would deal with the future when it arrived and for now she would enjoy the present. Sarah spent much more time looking out of the window during the day’s journey and it did not occur to her that this would attract any attention. Everyone knew that she had dined with the Duke on the previous evening and everyone could see the expression on her face every time he rode up to the carriage. Véronique thought it impossibly romantic, Martha knew her mistress had a sensible head on her shoulders and just hoped that she would have the strength to walk away with the time came.

  The Duke, out of consideration for her and a determination to keep his private business private, was much more circumspect. He esteemed and admired Miss Leighton and he considered her good company over dinner, but he was constrained by the fact that her uncle had entrusted her to his care. He would not forgive himself if he strayed over the line of what was acceptable. He had told her uncle he would protect her and return her safe to England and he had every intention of so doing.

  There was however, another reason for his caution. Since Harriet died he had built a fortress around his heart. He had finally managed to become comfortable in his own skin but it had taken a real effort and a great deal of time. The thought of loving and losing again was something he rather thought he would not be able to face and he had therefore more or less decided that he would never remarry. He had not been aware of a need for female companionship and the truth was that he did not really understand women. There was no absolute obligation upon him to remarry; the title would not die with him as there were cousins aplenty who would be only too glad to step into his shoes. If he did contract a further alliance then he had, somewhat cold bloodedly, decided he would adopt the normal practice of persons of his rank and locate a lady of impeccable breeding, preferably the possessor of a substantial fortune and enter into a marriage de covenance. He would protect his bruised heart by selecting one of the bloodless females which would inevitably be thrown into his path over the course of a London season and with whom he had little in common. Following a sterile ceremony, he would give her a title together with access to his purse and after a decent time had passed she would dutifully present him with an heir.

  Somewhat ruefully he realised that Miss Leighton’s appearance had caused him to review this rather calculated view of his future. He had, more than once, recently tried to picture a lady at Sale Park and somehow, and no matter how hard he tried to avoid, it the lady always seemed to have Sarah’s features. This did present something of a problem. The Duke knew that much would be forgiven him as a result of his rank, but a union between himself and Miss Leighton was impossible. He would still be received; his rank would open almost every door but she would never be welcome in town. Even if he was prepared to face down the critics, he thought it most unlikely that Miss Leighton would consent and he knew perfectly well that Viscount Borden would be vehemently opposed. Never one for self-deception, he owned to himself that the fact he had thought about the issue told its own story. He could defer dealing with this action until he had escorted Miss Leighton to Borden but what the devil, he asked himself, was he going to do then. He had, he concluded after much thought, no idea at all.

  On the third evening after they had left the Chateaux and once they had both consumed another excellent dinner, Miss Leighton had an unusual request.

  “Would you fence with me?” she asked seriously, “My uncle would not mind, he knew that I joined in my brother’s lessons and he has even on occasions practiced with me himself. He tells me that I have some skill although,” she smiled coyly, “quite how much ‘some’ is, he did not say.”

  The Duke had wondered what it would be like to cross swords with a lady, but it was one thing to wonder about it as an abstract concept, and another entirely to actually do it. There was of course no risk to either party and he could see no reason per se why he should not comply with her request. Others would no doubt find it quite shocking. Could he compete on equal terms with a lady? Would he perhaps, out of consideration, allow her to win even if she lacked the skills to win on her own? No, he would not do that; he knew Miss Leighton would be insulted by this. But could he contemplate the possibility of losing? He was man enough to know that he would find it difficult to be beaten by a girl in a skill at which he knew he excelled. Suddenly he realised that it was the strangeness of the situation that was making him uncomfortable, not the competition. He had been shown up in the hunting field by superior lady riders and he did not object to this. He merely admired their skill. He had soundly beaten ladies at cards without any notion that to do so was ungallant. Even so it was such an unusual request that he was not entirely sure what to say. He therefore played for time.

  “Why do you like to fence? I know many men who cannot see the attraction and I have never before met a lady who numbered it among her accomplishments.”

  “Can you honestly see me doing embroidery or playing the pianoforte?” Sarah met his question head on. “And I might ask you the same question, why do you like to fence?”

  “There is a great deal I can see you doing in a house,” the Duke smiled broadly, “but to answer your first question no; I cannot see you sitting primly over your stitchery.” He turned to Martha, “did anyone ever try to teach her?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, I trie
d,” Martha winced theatrically “but only once. She had not the aptitude.”

  “What Martha is trying to say is that after less than ten minutes I threw the embroidery frame at her head.” Sarah laughed loudly, “I believe I said something to the effect that nothing would induce me to spend time learning such a useless occupation. I spent four days in my room for that episode. Martha, why have you stayed with me so long? I was a most unnatural child.”

  “I had my reasons Miss Sarah,” replied Martha primly, “although there have been times, such as when the embroidery frame bounced off my head, and afterwards, when I had to drag you howling with rage up to your room, when I have struggled to remember what they were.”

  “So, my Lord Duke,” Sarah, trying to keep a straight face, turned her attention back to Sale, “Why do you like to fence?”

  “I have never thought about it before.” The Duke was somewhat taken aback by the abrupt way that he had become the focus of the conversation. Being somewhat on the back foot, his reply lacked coherence and came out as a series of disjointed statements. “It is exercise of course, and then I like the competition. There is also the satisfaction in mastering a difficult skill. I like knowing that I can defend myself too.” The Duke steadied himself. He had been thinking while speaking and he had realised what it was about fencing that he found so attractive. “Fencing is a bit like dancing, it is elegant and contained and sometimes fast and sometimes cautious and sometimes, very occasionally, utterly beautiful. When you, or indeed, your opponent, executes a move that is about as perfect as it can be made to be, there is a real sense of satisfaction in the moment. You can almost never repeat it.”

  “And now you know,” said Sarah gently, “why I like to fence.”

  The Duke looked at Martha, the question in his face was patently obvious. As obvious, was the reluctance with which she nodded her approval. She did not like to see her mistress indulging an interest which to her mind was extremely unladylike but equally she knew the master approved providing she was discrete. The Duke signalled to Francis who helped move the table to one side and removed his shoes and coat.

  “Do you have a foil?” He asked, expecting to be answered in the negative. His eyes opened however when Sarah reached down behind a chair and retrieved her weapon which she had left there earlier. “Were you that certain I would agree?” he asked a little aggrieved at his apparent predictability.

  “No, but I hoped I might persuade you. I really wanted to see what I could do against you. You see, Martha has told me that Francis told her that you are accounted an expert. Christopher’s fencing master was good but I don’t think he was an expert. I broke through too often.”

  As soon as the room was ready the Duke measured their foils off against each other, they were nearly of the same length and he tested the button on the point of each to make sure they were secure. He examined her weapon closely. It was well made, if not up to the quality of his Toledo steel blade and he concluded that it too had been made especially for its owner. The grip was extremely small in diameter and length and the blade was a little finer than would be usual. Foils were light weapons, but this one was the lightest he had ever felt. It would be ideally suited to a very small lady.

  Sarah whisked her foil into a Salute and made ready to take her guard.

  “What are you doing?” asked the Duke standing nonchalantly with the tip of his foil resting on the floor. “Are you proposing to fight a duel?”

  “Come on Your Grace,” Sarah was clearly excited, “No more talking, I want to cross my sword against yours.”

  In the corner of the room, Francis, having seen his master flash a brief warning glance in his direction, had imperceptibly straightened up. He took the Duke’s look to mean that he may need to intervene if matters took a dangerous turn.

  “No.” said the Duke bluntly. “If that is what you want then I shall have no part of it.” He turned away as if to put down his foil and Sarah, playfully lunged in his direction. Very quickly the Duke stepped sideways using his foil to deflect Sarah’s blade away from his body. Turning, he deftly disarmed her as she stumbled past him, a comical look of surprise on her face. When she recovered and looked at the Duke she was startled to see a very hard expression not untinged with anger on his face.

  “What did I do wrong?” Sarah looked genuinely perplexed. This obviously innocent question immediately caused the Duke’s face to relax somewhat as he reminded himself that this was not some hothead with something to prove. It spoke volumes that she neither tried to justify her conduct nor blamed him for a mean trick. Either her previous tutor had not been very expert at all, or she had not been permitted to join in when he had discussed fencing etiquette and safety with her brother. Where a moment earlier therefore, he had been about to tell Sarah that he had changed his mind and was no longer prepared to fence with her, he decided to give her another chance.

  “Even with a button, a foil is a dangerous weapon. You can kill an opponent if you accidentally hit him in the eye,” he explained. “You cannot just lunge at me like that. If you want to practice fencing with me then we will practice; but we will do it according to my Rules. Is that agreed?” Miss Leighton had not heard the Duke talk in that particular tone before, but she was left with no doubt as to his meaning. If she did not agree then there would be no fencing.

  Sarah did not object to being spoken to in that firm tone in the least. In fact, she rather liked it. She thought a man should know where the line was drawn and not then allow anyone to cross it and she firmly believed he should know when and how to take command. Furthermore, she had a singular respect for the Duke and by this time she knew quite well that if he said something was important, then quite probably, it was. Hitherto she had thought that the Duke was a little too conformable and, as a result, people took advantage. She was delighted to discover therefore, that it was just that he picked his battles carefully; when it mattered he would stand his ground.

  “Of course it is agreed. I did not think and I am sorry. Please tell me what I did wrong.”

  This was sufficient to settle any lingering doubts the Duke might have had and he handed her back her weapon and stood off to one side.

  “Take your guard for me,” he instructed, “I want to look at it.” When she complied, he looked her for a couple of seconds and noted an approving nod from Francis before he said, “that is very good except,” and he stepped forward and rapped her sword close to the hilt. Much to her obvious chagrin the sword fell out of her hand and clattered to the floor. She picked it up and took her guard again, this time holding the foil much too tightly. This time the Duke when the Duke tapped the sword it did not move at all. “This is too stiff. If you hold your foil that tightly you will never bend your wrist. The trick is to grasp it tightly enough so that it cannot be knocked out of your hand but not yet so tight that you lose flexibility.”

  The Duke spent some time ensuring that her guard was just right and then on checking her footwork. Despite some minor errors, easily corrected, it was plain she had learned the basics very well. He then took his guard opposite her and they began to practice. Each was surprised with the other. Sarah immediately realised that the Duke surpassed her skill by a significant margin. The Duke’s obvious superiority gave her an idea of how much she yet had to learn. He was an excellent teacher and, although he would permit no lax technique, he was patient with her and never put her or himself at risk. Though she had no basis for comparison, he appeared to be teaching her as he would any pupil and making no allowance for her sex.

  The Duke, on the other hand, was surprised by the speed of her reactions and precision of eye. She listened well, learned rapidly and then practiced until she had mastered the point he was teaching. This level of concentration would, he concluded, result in rapid progress. Although the Duke had never tried to teach another his skill, she was an excellent pupil and he enjoyed working with her. She had some physical advantages too. The foil is not the weapon for a big man, he does better with the he
avier sabre. The foil suits the smaller faster person and Miss Leighton’s compact build, meant that she was rarely off balance. True, she lacked reach but he she could react more quickly than a larger opponent and would thus be able to parry and counter very effectively. She lacked physical strength and easily became tired but even so he thought that as she practiced she would grow fitter. Given time, the Duke considered, she might become truly accomplished.

  From that night on, and wherever it was possible to do so, they spent at least an hour at practice. Sarah rapidly improved. She was as good in defence as in attack and she had the expert fencer’s gift of being able to anticipate her opponent’s next move.

  Francis, although preferring his quarter staff, was himself no mean swordsman and he often nodded his approval at her progress, especially when the Duke introduced more advanced techniques. During one memorable session Sarah mastered the pasata soto and used it to such good effect that she almost broke through the Duke’s guard.

  “Miss Leighton, is coming along well,” Francis observed to the Duke over a tankard of blonde French ale after the Lady had retired to her bed chamber.

  “How good do you think she is?” The Duke asked. He had a great respect for servant’s opinion.

  “That depends what you mean Your Grace,” Francis answered after a moment’s considered pause. “In the practice room, she is already as good as most men and better than many. She is quick, knows when to defend and when to attack and she doesn’t wave her foil around pointlessly.”

  “But?” Prompted the Duke at the unspoken question.

  “Well Your Grace,” Francis answered, “it is one thing to use a sword when you know that your opponent is not trying to kill you and another entirely if you have to do it in earnest.” He left the point hanging there.

  The Duke had never considered this point. He had just been indulging Sarah and enjoying imparting his skill. However, the reason he had learned in the first place was so that he could, if the need arose defend himself. Duelling was technically illegal in England but, as long as the affair was conducted discretely, in accordance with the Code of Honour, and as long as no-one died, the authorities generally turned a blind eye. It was still therefore possible that he might need the skill to settle a dispute. It was impossible however, to see that Sarah would ever need to defend herself in this way and the thought that she might, sent a cold shiver down the Duke’s spine.

  “I hope,” Sale said as he cast a speaking glance at his companion “she is never placed in a position where she might need to find out if how skilled she really is.”