The Disdainful Marquis (23 page)

“Leave it to James, Rose,” Violet answered. “He's up to all the rigs. Now get her out of here. And then I'm to bed. For I'm worn out.”

Rose bustled ahead to the door, to see if any servants or guests were in the corridor.

“Half a mo,” she said cheerily, like a little girl up to some midnight pantry raid, “I'll go ahead and check out the stairs to see if all's clear.”

“Violet, I thank you,” Catherine said softly, when they were alone, “for I know it's a dangerous thing for you to do. And I know that you never really approved of me.”

“I like things straightforward,” Violet murmured, suddenly less bored. “And it may be, Catherine, that I don't like being constantly reminded what I am by some great-eyed innocent girl. It's well enough with Rose, and the gentlemen I accompany. And the old duchess is daft anyway, you know. But it just may be that I like to think of myself as only a clever businesswoman, and I don't care for the constant presence of someone who is so very much aware of what a bad business mine is. You don't hide your thoughts too well, you know. And while I've come to terms with myself a long while ago, you keep reminding me of what I am and where I'm undoubtedly going. I wished to be an actress once, and the trick of being a good actress is to believe in your part. You shake that belief, Catherine, and I don't mind telling you, I'll be relieved when you're gone.”

“Thank you anyway, Violet,” Catherine said, wondering whether she should give the older woman a farewell embrace, for wherever she herself was headed, she did not think they would, in any case, ever meet again. Violet settled the matter by taking Catherine's hand and shaking it.

“Good luck,” she said simply, and then, with a smile, she added, “and stay away from wicked companions in the future.”

“Come, come, don't just stand there, Catherine,” Rose whispered in exaggeratedly conspiratorial tones. “Time is wasting. Come, come, let's go, for the stair is clear.”

Violet lifted an eyebrow in Rose's direction and said with some asperity, “Stop looking so sneaky, Rose. You'd make anyone suspect you of anything. It's a good job you never tried for the stage. Good-bye, Catherine, keep a good thought.” And then she gave a tremendous yawn. “Lord, I'm beat. I think I'll sleep the afternoon away, and if anyone knocks upon my door, they'll see that I haven't done a thing but sleep since I returned. I haven't seen a thing, I haven't done a thing. Just like you, Rose, just like you.”

“To be sure.” Rose tittered in her excitement. “And where dear Catherine's got to, how should we know? We've been just two sleeping beauties, haven't we? Come, Catherine, the time is right.”

Chapter XII

Catherine followed Rose down the servants' back stairs, bumping her portmanteau against the wall at every turn. They went quickly, Catherine hiding, flattening herself against the wall at every landing as Rose scouted to see if the way was clear. But it was early dawn and they achieved the sanctuary of the stables without any mishap. Once there, in the dim light, with the strong scent of horses and hay in their nostrils and only the curious nickering of the horses to greet them, Catherine relaxed at last. Rose nodded with satisfaction, for none of the grooms or coachmen were afoot in the stalls area, and there was no sign of any human activity.

“Do you wait here now, Catherine,” Rose whispered, and she bustled off down the line of stalls and disappeared up a stairwell at the back of the stables. Catherine absently stroked the neck of a mare and wondered how Rose knew her way so surely through the stables, for she herself had only seen horses and carriages emerging from them during the days and nights that they had rested at the hotel. After a few moments during which Catherine worried about the increasing daylight and started at every restless sound the horses made, Rose reappeared at the other end of the stable and motioned urgently for Catherine to follow her. Catherine followed Rose up the turning wood stairs and found herself on a level above the stable proper. There were several doors off a wide wood-planked hall, and Rose led her unerringly to the door at the end of the corridor.

“Are you decent now, Ferdie?” Rose whispered as she tapped softly at the door.

The door swung open and James stood there, stuffing his shirttails into his trousers. He yawned, then grinned wickedly at Rose.

“Ah, Rosie, you never asked that of me before,” he grinned.

“No nonsense now,” Rose snapped, all business as she motioned Catherine to follow her into the room.

It was a garretlike room, with a wooden floor and a high sloped ceiling. A simple bed and dresser with a lamp occupied one wall, and the other wall had a large window overlooking the stable entrance. James gave Catherine and Rose a sweeping bow and then sat down on his bed and smiled sleepily at them.

“Your visits are always welcome, Rosie, my love,” he said, “but you don't often bring me extra helpings. Whatever will our little Miss Catherine think?”

Rose flushed a bit and then said hurriedly, casting a worried eye at Catherine shrinking back against the far wall, “None of your games now, Ferdie. I told you. The poor thing is in trouble. And Vi said, and I agreed, that you're the very one to spirit her out of here. And quickly too, for that devil Beaumont is after her, and he's no easy boy to cozen.”

“Ferdie?” Catherine whispered, wondering if her fear had turned her comprehension, for it was James, the duchess's coachman who was grinning happily at her.

“Oh, that,” James laughed. “The old girl calls all her coachmen James, but it's Ferdie Robinson at your service. So you want to nip out and leave the old girl in the lurch?”

“No, that's not it,” Catherine said quickly, “for she's washed her hands of me. M. Beaumont has frightened her badly.” Catherine grimaced involuntarily. “He wants to give me to Hervé Richard. He thinks I'm…that is to say, he believes me to be…” Catherine found herself at a loss for words, since with Rose standing next to her, how could she describe what Rose and Violet were without giving offense?

But James/Ferdie just laughed and Rose looked on benevolently.

“Oh aye, I know. All of us here know, lass. You're not in the same game as dear Rosie here, and we've often wondered just what your game was. For I swear I've brought you back to the hotel a dozen times alone when you could have had company easily, and I knew back in dear old London town you was in above your head. I thought to drop you a word even back then, but I've learned the less said, the safer your head. So now you're in the soup, eh?”

“Oh James—that is, Ferdie—” Catherine faltered.

“Keep it James, lass, or you'll be stammering all morning.”

“James then,” Catherine said, gathering up her courage at the friendly expression on his plain, homely face. “I must go. I cannot do as M. Beaumont wishes. I cannot stay. Indeed, I should not have stayed so long. But see, I have all this money. I only need enough to take the packet back to England. You may have all the rest, but please, if you know of a way for me to leave safely, help me now.”

“Keep your brass,” James said, with a wave of his hand. Catherine's heart sank and Rose bridled instantly.

“Why you are a beast, Ferdie Robinson. After all we've been to each other. And after I thought you were a right sort!” she shouted. “It's as well I never went along with you and your high promises. You'll leave my friend to go to strangers for help? Oh, you are a rum cove, you are.”

“Hush, hush, Rosie,” James said, quickly rising and going to Rose and capturing her in his arms. “Did I say no, love? I only said I wouldn't take her money. And so I won't. For she is your friend, love, and I wouldn't charge her for a favor. Anyhow, I don't like Beaumont, and I don't like the duchess, and I don't like this whole setup. I've only stayed on to earn some more shekels, puss, so I can set you up proper if you ever say yes.” Catherine noted the satisfied little grin on Rose's face with some shock. For she had never seen Rose so content as she seemed now as she coquettishly tapped James on the chin and sighed, “I knew I was right in you, Ferdie. You are a good lad. Ferdie is the wisest thing in creation, Catherine,” Rose said comfortably. “So rest easy, he'll think of a way.”

“They'll be expecting you to fly,” James said thoughtfully. “We've got to confuse them a bit, that's all. We've got to get you safely away from here to Saint-Denis. That's only outside the city a way, and there's a diligence that stops there that goes to the coast. You've only to hop on it and you're in Dieppe again. Then skip on a packet and you're home.”

“But how?” Catherine and Rose said in concert.

“Some sort of disguise,” James muttered, pacing and thinking. “A widow!” Rose exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “That's the very thing! With a long black veil. And you could pretend to cry a little, couldn't you, Catherine, dear?”

“And all they'd have to do is lift the veil,” James put in, “and then she'd be crying in earnest. Rosie, love, when we do buy that inn, it's you who will greet the guests, and I that will run it. For it's your face that's your fortune, puss.”

Rose subsided sadly. She walked over to Catherine while James stood, lost in thought.

“It's true,” she sighed, “I'm not longheaded at all, you know. And I'm not getting younger neither. I most likely will buckle up with Ferdie. And follow his path. For he wants us to set up an inn on the road to London, and after this trip I think I'm done with this old life. I had such dreams of fortune. Now I think I will be very glad to be plain Mrs. Ferdie Robinson.”

“Never plain,” James said, turning to them. “It's a disguise we're after. Now how can we change this lovely English beauty into something Beaumont's lackeys will ignore?”

Catherine thought for a moment and then she clapped her hands together.

“James! Rose! I have the very thing. I've seen it done on the stage. And I've read about it often enough. I'm not very tall, you know. I can dress as a lad.”

James looked skeptical, but Rose was delighted.

“The very thing,” she cried.

“I don't know,” James said, but, at Rose's urging, he shrugged his shoulders. “It's worth a go, I suppose. Wait here. There's a room downstairs with some old kit left over from lads that have stayed here and skipped. I'll be back in a flash. If Beaumont's coming to collect Catherine, we'll have to move smartly.”

Catherine wrung her hands in anticipation. “I know I can do it, Rose. I've seen it often enough. And they'll be looking for a girl. I'll pull my hair back and I'll swagger a bit.… Oh Rose, it has to work. I cannot bear to think of what will happen if it doesn't.”

Rose's enthusiasm began to fade as she looked Catherine up and down. Some of her doubt communicated itself to Catherine, and by the time James arrived with an armful of old clothes over his arm, he encountered two white-faced grim-looking women.

“Try it,” he said simply, handing Catherine the old faded clothes.

Catherine looked about nervously.

“Where can I change?” she asked anxiously, looking about the room for an alcove or a closet.

“Yes,” James grinned, “there's no doubt, you are a lady. Here, Rose, let's go into the corridor and catch up on some gossip. The lads here have seen you often enough; it won't arouse comment. Might arouse something else though,” he added, with a grin.

“Hush, Ferdie,” Rose giggled, poking him in the chest. But they grinned at each other and turned to go.

“Open the door, when you're done,” James whispered. “But Catherine, best close your eyes first,” he added while Rose smacked at him coyly and simpered happily.

Catherine moved far from the window into a corner of the room. She quickly stripped off her gown and clambered into a faded, patched pair of pantaloons. They were tight about the hips, but, she reasoned, as she did up the closings, they felt so strange on her that she could not know if they fit or not. It's rather, she thought, as she quickly did up the buttons on a much-mended white shirt, as if a gentleman got into skirts. How would he know if they were the right length and fit? She felt a fool as she hurriedly pulled back her masses of raven curls and tied them severely with a simple black ribbon. But, she thought, as she stuffed her discarded gown into her portmanteau, she would gladly suffer feeling a fool for a space of time in exchange for freedom. She was so badly frightened that she felt she would go to any lengths—like a fox who would chew off its own leg to get out of a trap—to be free of her present situation.

Drawing in a deep breath, she glanced down at herself. She was barefoot, the pantaloons were fastened, the shirt seemed to fit. She slowly swung open the door, and, taking James's advice, she averted her eyes and whispered urgently, “James! Rose! I'm ready.”

And then she stepped back into the room, to await their approval.

Rose came in first with a little laugh , and high color in her cheeks, and then stood, stock still, and gaped at Catherine. James followed languidly and then stopped at Rose's side and stared. He gave a low whistle and then said slowly, “I've never seen a lad like you, Catherine, my girl. But I surely hope there's more such about in this cold, cruel world.”