few moments later, salt tinged the air. Laurent drove the team into the graveled courtyard of an inn that was just three blocks from the docks. The night was now filled with scudding clouds, at times in darkness, at other times, brightened by the moon. As Evelyn handed her daughter down to Bette, her tension intensified. The inn seemed busy—loud voices could be heard coming from the public room. Perhaps that was better—it was so crowded, no one would pay attention to them now.
Or perhaps they would.
Evelyn waited with Aimee, asleep in her arms, while Laurent went inside to get help for her husband. She was clothed in one of Bette’s dresses and a dark, hooded mantle that had been worn by another servant. Henri was also dressed as a commoner.
And finally Laurent and the innkeeper appeared. Evelyn slipped up her hood as he approached—her looks were too remarkable to go unnoticed—and cast her eyes down. The two men lifted Henri from the carriage and carried him inside, using a side entrance. Holding Aimee Evelyn followed with Adelaide and Bette. They quickly went upstairs.
Evelyn closed the door behind her two women servants, daring to breathe with some relief, but not yet daring to remove her hood. She signaled Adelaide with her eyes, not wanting her to light more than one candle.
If their disappearance had been noted, the French authorities might have put out warrants for their arrests. Descriptions would accompany those warrants and their pursuers would be looking for a little girl of four with dark hair and blue eyes, a sickly and frail older nobleman of medium height with gray hair and a young woman of twenty-one, dark-haired, blue-eyed and fair-skinned, one remarkably beautiful in appearance.
Evelyn feared that she was too distinct in her appearance. She was too recognizable, and not just because she was so much younger than her husband. When she had first come to Paris, as a bride of sixteen, she had been acclaimed the city’s most beautiful woman. She hardly thought that, but she knew her looks were striking and hard to miss.
Henri had been made comfortable in one bed, and Aimee in another. Laurent and the innkeeper had stepped aside, and were speaking in hushed tones. Evelyn thought that they were both grim, but there was urgency in the situation. She smiled at Bette, who was tearful and so clearly frightened. Bette had been given the choice of going home to her family in Le Loire. She had chosen instead to come with them, fearing being hunted down and interrogated if she did not.
“It will be all right,” Evelyn said softly, hoping to reassure her. They were the same age, but suddenly Evelyn felt years older. “In a matter of moments, we will be on a ship, bound for England.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Bette whispered, sitting down beside Aimee.
Evelyn smiled again, then walked over to Henri. She took his hand and kissed his temple. He remained terrifyingly pale. She would not be able to bear it if he died. She could not imagine losing such a dear friend. And she knew just how dependent she was on him.
She was not certain that her aunt and uncle would welcome her back into their home, if need be. But that would be a last recourse, anyway.
The innkeeper left and Evelyn quickly hurried over to Laurent, who seemed stricken. “What has happened?” she asked, with another curdling sensation.
“Captain Holstatter has left Brest.”
“What?” she cried, aghast. “You must be mistaken. It is August the fifth. We are on time. It is almost dawn. In another hour, he is taking us to Falmouth—he has been paid half of his fee in advance!”
Laurent was starkly white. “He happened upon a very valuable cargo, and he left.”
She was in shock. They had no means of crossing the Channel! And they could not linger in Brest—it was too dangerous!
“There are three British smugglers in the harbor,” Laurent said, interrupting her thoughts.
There was a reason they had chosen a Belgian to take them to England. “British smugglers are usually French spies,” she cried.
“If we are going to leave immediately, the only choice is to seek out one of them, or wait here, until we can make other arrangements.”
Her head ached again. How was it that she was making the most important decision of their lives? Henri always made all of the decisions! And the way Laurent was looking at her, she knew he was thinking the same thing she was—that remaining in town was not safe. She turned and glanced at Aimee. Her heart lurched. “We will leave at dawn, as planned,” she decided abruptly, her heart slamming. “I will make certain of it!”
Trembling, she turned and went to a valise that was beside the bed. They had fled the city with a great number of valuables. She took a pile of assignats from it, the currency of the revolution, and then, instinctively, took out a magnificent ruby-and-diamond necklace. It had been in her husband’s family for years. She tucked both within the bodice of her corset.
Laurent said, “If you will use one of the Englishmen, Monsieur Gigot, the innkeeper, said to look for a ship named the Sea Wolf.”
She choked on hysterical laughter, turning. Was she
really going alone to meet a dangerous smuggler—at dawn and in the dark, in a strange city, with her husband near death—to beg for his help?
“His ship is the swiftest, and they say he can outrun both navies at once. It is fifty tons, black sails—the largest of the smuggling vessels in the harbor.”
She shuddered, nodding grimly. The Sea Wolf…black sails… “How do I get to the docks?”
“They are three blocks from the inn,” Laurent told her. “I think I should come with you.”
She was tempted to agree. But what if someone discovered them while she was gone—what if someone realized who Henri was? “I want you to stay here and guard le comte and Aimee with your life. Please,” she added, consumed with another intense wave of desperation.
Laurent nodded and walked her to the door. “The smuggler’s name is Jack Greystone.”
She wanted to cry. Of course, she would do no such thing. She pulled up her hood and gave her sleeping daughter one last look.
Evelyn knew she would find Greystone, and convince him to transport them across the Channel, because Aimee’s future depended on it.
She hurried from the room, and waited to hear Laurent slide the bolt on the door’s other side, before she rushed down the narrow, dark corridor. One taper burned from a wall sconce at the far end of the hall, above the stairs. She stumbled down the single flight, thinking of Aimee, of Henri and a smuggler with a ship named the Sea Wolf.
The landing below let onto the inn’s foyer, and just to her right was the public room. A dozen men were within, drinking spirits, the conversation boisterous. She rushed outside, hoping no one had noticed her.
Clouds raced across the moon, allowing some illumination. One torch lamp was lit on the street. Evelyn ran down the block, but saw no one ahead and no one lurking in the shadows. Relieved, she glanced back over her shoulder. Her heart seemed to stop.
Two dark figures were behind her now.
She began to run, seeing several masts in the sky ahead, pale canvas furled tightly against them. Another glance over her shoulder showed her that the men were also running—they
