and French nobility at that, which hardly counted.’
‘But they married anyway.’
‘Yes. She came to live with Papa in France and never went home again. She rarely spoke of her family. She told us Papa and Michel and I were all she wanted and needed, but sometimes I wonder if she was simply accepting what could not be helped and would have liked to be reunited with her parents. It was not to be. She died of a fever she caught when travelling with Papa in India.’
‘I am sorry to hear that. Please accept my condolences.’
‘Thank you. But I should warn you, it has left my father bitter against the English and he will feel mortified to have been rescued by one of them.’
‘But he is my grandfather’s friend, is he not?’
‘Oh, yes, but Sir John has lived in France so long, he is almost French.’
‘I do not think he regards himself in that way. He is anxious to return to his homeland.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It is Papa who will be exiled, if we go to England. Their roles will be reversed.’
‘The Comte will not refuse to go, will he? I will not force him if he does not wish it.’
‘Let us see what he says when we have set him free, but I do not think he will argue. For all his defiance, he is a frightened man. And so is your grandfather, or I miss my guess.’
‘What about you?’ he asked softly. ‘Are you afraid?’
‘I would be a liar if I said I was not, but for Papa’s sake, I will try to be strong.’
‘Methinks you have already shown that you are,’ he said. ‘But there is a difference between being strong and being foolhardy. I beg you to remember that.’ He spoke so earnestly she turned to look at him in surprise, but he was looking straight ahead and she could read nothing from his profile.
‘Indeed I will. But tell me about yourself. I know only what little Sir John has told me. Are you married?’
‘I was once. My wife died.’
‘I am sorry, not for a moment would I add to your grief.’
‘It was over three years ago. An accident while I was away at sea.’
‘And have you not thought to marry again?’
He looked sharply at her, then turned away again. ‘No. Once is enough. I would not put myself or my children through that again.’
‘You have children?’
‘Yes, Edward is ten and Anne is eight. They are staying with my parents while I am away and making mischief with their cousins, I do not doubt.’ His voice softened when speaking of his children, which made her realise this seemingly cold man must have a heart.
‘Your parents being the daughter and son-in-law of Sir John?’
‘Yes.’
‘It must be lovely to have so large a family,’ she said, a little wistfully. ‘I only have Papa and Michel.’
‘Perhaps we could find your English relations for you.’
‘I doubt they would accept me. They never once wrote to Mama.’
‘But it was all so long ago. My mother is longing to be reunited with Sir John, so why not you and your grandparents?’
‘Let us wait and see, shall we?’ she said.
They had entered the gates of the château. In the light of a torch set in front of the door they could see the Liberty Tree casting a long shadow across the gravel of the drive. Its leaves had fallen and were scattered on the ground, but the decorations still hung there. ‘What is that?’ he asked.
She explained it to him. ‘I dare not have it taken down,’ she added. ‘It will only inflame the mob further and I do not want to make it more difficult for my father.’
‘Or be arrested yourself,’ he added.
‘No.’
They reached the door, which was flung open by Hortense. ‘Lissie, I have been so worried about you. You have been so long gone. I should not have let you go alone. Anything could have happened to you.’ She glared at Jay as if her anxiety were all his fault.
‘I have been perfectly safe with Sir John and Monsieur Drymore,’ Lisette said. ‘We have been talking of ways and means to free my father.’ She turned to Jay. ‘Hortense is my maid and she worries about me. I thank you for your escort, monsieur. I bid you bonsoir until tomorrow.’
She held out her hand to him; he took it and bowed over it. ‘Your servant, mademoiselle. I will be here at ten o’clock.’
He turned and left them. He did not look back, but heard the door shut behind him. The flame in the torch flickered and died, leaving the drive and the ghostly tree in darkness.
Striding along the country road back towards Honfleur, he mused about the task he had been set and the woman who asked it of him. She was not what he would call womanly; she was too tall and thin for a start, her features a little too sharp, but her blue-grey eyes revealed intelligence and a stubbornness which might cause problems. He smiled to himself, anticipating squalls. So be it, he was used to squalls and having his commands obeyed.
But could you issue commands to a woman? He knew from sad experience how difficult that could be. Marianne had objected to simple requests, to pleas to think of her children, to consider the consequences of her wilfulness, by simply laughing and going her own way, with tragic results. When she died, it was left to him to tell Edward and Anne, who had loved their mother and knew nothing of the secret and not-so-secret life she led. Naturally he could not say anything of that and they had been broken-hearted at her loss.
Comforting the children and pretending all had been well between him and their mother had been difficult and accomplished only with an effort of will that left him dour and uncompromising—he would not put them or himself through such an experience again. Lisette Giradet had brought the memories back with her questioning and he had found himself resenting it. He shook his ill humour from him; better to concentrate on the task in hand.
Instead of going back to his grandfather’s villa, he went to one of the town’s hostelries where he had arranged to meet Sam. It was a squalid place, low-ceilinged and dingy, but it had the advantage of being very close to the prison. Sam, who had spent the day exploring, was already there, sitting in a corner with two men in the blue uniform of the National Guard, who were apparently enjoying his hospitality. They had several empty bottles in front of them and were drinking cider from tumblers.
‘Ah, here is my friend, James Smith,’ Sam said in excruciating French, using the alias they had decided upon. ‘Jimmy, this is Monsieur Bullard and Monsieur Cartel.’
Jay shook their hands and sat down, pulling a tumbler towards him and pouring himself some cider. He took a mouthful, made a face of distaste and spat it out on the floor. ‘No better than vinegar,’ he said. ‘Sam, my friend, couldn’t you find anything better than this to give our friends?’
