The Disdainful Marquis (30 page)

“And,” growled Jenkins, “he neglected to mention that my horse's shoe is coming off.”

“Ungenerous Jenkins,” Sinjun said. “Here I was convincing Catherine it was all due to my magnanimous nature and you have to tell her the blunt truth.”

“Bless your horse,” Catherine cried, “for I think I would trade my soul for a chance to wash my hair and sleep upon a bed that a horse hasn't used first.”

“And,” Jenkins stressed, “we must go out, His Lordship and I, to nose out the land. We'll be convivial in the taproom, Catherine, whilst you launder your hair, and find out what's to know. We need to know if we have to skulk about in Le Havre or if we can ride in like free men and charter a vessel openly. Things depend upon what state the land's in. And whether there are any looking for us or not.”

Catherine sobered at the reminder that there might yet be danger. For she had felt so secure thus far that she had almost persuaded herself that the night in Paris when M. Beaumont approached her had been nothing but a mad fancy of hers.

The inn they chose heartened her. It was clean and in far better repair than the last one in Saint-Denis.

They had spoken for two rooms. One, Sinjun had explained, was for himself and his good wife, and the other for his brother-in-law. Catherine's room, she saw with joy, when the proprietor's daughter had left her at last, after filling the large basin of water Catherine had bespoken, was as lovely as the faded beauty of an old genteel lady. The carpet upon the floor yet bore the outlines of soft spring flowers. And, best of all, Catherine thought as she immersed her hands in the warm scented water, there were soft towels and a cake of soap at the washstand.

She stripped off her peasant dress and washed herself from top to toe. Then, as she knew she would have more time alone, since Sinjun and Jenkins had the horses to see to, and then would undoubtedly luxuriate in their own room for a space, she allowed herself the bliss of washing straw and dust from her hair in the large enameled rose basin. Glowing with good feeling, she shook out a plain blue frock from her bag and got into it. Clean and dressed, she sat in a chair by the fire to comb out and dry her tresses.

But afternoon came and began to fade, and her hair was completely dry and silky soft, and still there was no knock upon the door. She began to worry and went to the window to look out. There was little activity in the stable yard below. It was only a tranquil late-afternoon scene that met her eyes. There was a small millpond, deserted save for a few geese that patrolled its tiny shores, and the only soul she could spy was a stable boy, drawing water from the well's pump.

As the hours went by, all sense of ease and delight faded from Catherine. They had been gone too long, and she worried over the dozen misfortunes that might have befallen them. She had almost gotten up the courage to go downstairs by herself, against all of Sinjun's express orders, when she heard a light tap upon her door.

She fairly flew to the door and flung it open. Sinjun stood there, looking down at her with surprise.

“I hope,” he said, entering the room and closing the door behind him, “that you have no intention of stepping outside in that garb.”

The joy in her face faded.

“This is just an old garment I had when I came to the duchess,” she said in confusion, looking down at her simple high-waisted blue muslin gown.

Her hair, newly washed, fell riotously around her face, and she had to sweep it back to see him when she looked up at him again.

A curious spasm, almost of pain, crossed his face for
a
fleeting moment.

“It might not be,” he drawled, in a voice she had not heard for many days, “High fashion on the Champs Elysees, “but here it is decidedly not what a simple little peasant wench wears to dinner. It's as well, I suppose. For it would be better if you did not go down again till we leave.”

She searched his face for the reason for the solemnity in his voice.

“We've been out, we two hearty French lads, chatting up the local gentry. And, it seems, they don't understand why we're not marching in the other direction, toward Paris. For all the able-bodied young chaps hereabouts are off to war again. They've heard that their little corporal is on the high road to glory once more. But it's not confirmed, of course. So we'll have to dine without you tonight, Catherine. We'll get you a tray in your room and we'll sit and drink with every local know-something we can find.”

Catherine tried to essay a smile. “But Sinjun, you said it's only a day's ride to Le Havre. Surely, we can get that far before a war breaks out.”

“Catherine,” he said, his gray eyes serious and steady, “we may well be at war at this moment. I do not know. And if we are, then Jenkins and I are very wanted men. We are not an English peer and his valet—we are also labeled ‘spies' in some quarters. I do not care to spend years skulking about the French countryside in disguise. And neither do I wish to be clapped in irons in Le Havre. For the ports are the first places the soldiers go to comb through the refugees for profit. So stay in this room and say only a shy little
non
if a maid or anyone comes to this door tonight.”

Catherine nodded and then, as he turned to leave, tugged at his sleeve. “Must you go out?” she whispered. “Could you not stay and just wait till morning?”

“I must go out. There's little danger here, I think, and we have to discover how much is fact and how much is minor. And, oh Catherine, if you get the notion of creeping below to aid us by eavesdropping or some other strategy your fertile mind conjures, there is one other bit of news. It seems that there is talk of a reward offered for the apprehension of some vile Englishwoman who stole a fortune from her employer, a certain English lady. And the word is that the miscreant is most probably headed for the coast.”

Catherine shrank back.

“You know I stole nothing,” she gasped.

“Of course. Your purse is in my keeping, remember? It's a meager treasure you hoarded. And I don't even know if you are the female they are seeking. But M. Beaumont is a desperate character and dislikes having his will crossed. So stay safe inside, my little French ‘wife,' and no harm will befall you.”

“Sinjun?” Catherine asked softly.

“Yes?” he answered, his hand already on the knob of the door.

“Will you come back tonight and let me know what you have discovered?”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Otherwise I think you'll stand and shake all the night through. Don't trouble yourself so. I said it is all rumor. And you know you are safe with us.”

Jenkins brought her a tray a short while later.

“Best if the maids stay far from this room altogether,” he said, putting it down for her. “When you're done, wait till there's no one about, peek out the door if you must, and when the coast is clear, put the empty plates outside. They'll understand below stairs.”

“They'll think me a poor shy retiring lady,” Catherine said with a smile.

“There's that,” Jenkins agreed, “and also the fact that His Lordship explained how his little wife was enceinte, and feeling very poorly after her ride.”

Catherine gasped in indignation, but Jenkins only continued blithely, “He's a lad who has a fine tale for any occasion. It's what has made him so valuable in his work. You should see him below stairs, drinking and gossiping, like he was a born Frenchie. All out of sorts, of course, because he's itching to go off and join up with his emperor's forces, and he's stuck with a pretty new wife, expecting her first babe, and he's got to deliver her to relatives before he's off to war. He's even made me feel sorry for him.”

Jenkins displayed her dinner by whipping a serviette off the tray with a flourish.

“There's good fresh meat—best not to inquire too closely as to its origin, though. And bread and lovely green beans. And a bottle of the landlord's best, with His Lordship's compliments. He's got a nose for good wine, you know, and he's very impressed with this local vintage. Even to the point of regretting not being able to take a case or two home with him. So he's trying his best to take as much home with him as he can hold.”

Catherine, remembering her stepfather's bouts with spirits, grew uneasy.

“But if he gets light-headed, he might let something slip.”

Jenkins only laughed.

“I've been with him years now, and I've never seen him let slip one word in his cups. He's got a hard head, Catherine, so don't you worry. But you drink up, for it'll ease your mind and let you get a good night's sleep. ‘A little wine's a lovesome thing,' I once heard, and a little of anything can do no harm.”

When Jenkins had left, Catherine sat to dinner, thinking she would be lucky to be able to peck at something, her fears had so encompassed her again. But the wine was good, and the dinner miles above anything she had eaten for days. By the time she was ready to place her tray stealthily outside in the hall, she noted with amazement that she had finished every scrap upon her plate and reduced the bottle of wine by half.

Catherine did not like the sudden inactivity she was forced to here in her faded, but elegant little room. She was restless and impatient, itching to be off and doing rather than to be just a passive creature awaiting whatever fate had in store. That, she thought, was gentlemen's main advantage in life. For they could go out and meet fate head on, while a gentlewoman was expected to sit back and watch what the tides of fortune brought to her feet.

Women like Rose and Violet were able to go out and face life and try to turn it to their advantage, but a properly brought-up female could not. Perhaps, it was that, Catherine thought moodily, sipping her wine, that turned them to such occupation in the first place, rather than inherent lechery. A part of her was appalled by the new train her thoughts were taking, and yet another applauded her new expanded vision. Whatever else this trip provided, she concluded at last, it was certain that the Catherine Robins who returned to Kendal would never be the same who had left it.

The hour was late, the muted sounds of activity and voices in the inn had all but faded away, and Catherine was sitting sleepily in her chair, when she heard the faint tapping at her door.

“Catherine,” Sinjun's voice called in low, conspiratorial tones, “it's Sinjun, reporting back to you at last.”

She was glad to ease the door open to admit him.

He strode in and grinned at her. She sensed a high excitement emanating from him, and saw that his tanned face held a faint flush along its high cheekbones.

“All the lads are planning how high to hang old Louis. Some are even talking of how to spend their prize money when they take over London. Oh, spirits are running high downstairs,” he said, walking carefully to the table and lifting the bottle of wine to peer at its label.

“Fine vintage,” he commented, almost to himself. “It's a great pity I can't reason out a fashion of getting it home with us.”

There was a recklessness to his speech and a glitter in his eyes, and Catherine wondered if he had indeed partaken too much of the wine he so admired. But she well remembered the condition of her stepfather when he was in his cups, and the marquis did not stagger—he walked erect, perhaps with even more of a careful tread than usual. And he did not wear a foolish grin or slur his words or sing or say inconsequential words as her stepfather had done when he came reeling home after an evening with his friends.

“And what is said of the Englishwoman who was branded a thief?” she asked.

“Oh, as to that,” Sinjun said airily, “there's no description of her hereabouts save one. And that is that she is traveling in the company of two English gentlemen.”

Catherine gasped.

Sinjun grinned again.

“It seems that you disappeared from Paris the same day Jenkins and I did. So Beaumont has reasoned, and one can't blame him for it, that I ran off with you just to tweak his nose. Which is a bit conceited of him, but a lovely thought nonetheless. Still, they're looking for three English citizens, and here we are, three sturdy citizens of the Republic. So there's nothing to fear. But here,” he said, seeming to see her for the first time since he had entered the room, “it is far past midnight. Why aren't you in bed?”

“I waited for you,” Catherine explained. “I was worried.”

“And,” he went on, frowning, “not even in your nightclothes. You don't have to share your room tonight. I thought you would make yourself comfortable and sleep like a proper lady, not in your clothes again. Catherine,” he said, marching toward her and glowering “get into bed and go to sleep. At once.”

Catherine sat back upon her bed and told him that she would go to bed as soon as he had left her room.

“Now that,” Sinjun said, sinking down to sit beside her, “truly wounds me, Catherine, it does. For we have shared our rooms for so long and you never were so punctilious before. I only came to tuck you in tightly, as a good brother should. And I have been a good brother to you, haven't I?”

He sat close to her and ran his hand gently across her hair, seeming to become engrossed in the texture of it.

“I have tried very hard to be brotherly, Catherine, though Lord knows, you are nothing like my sister. And I have been extremely circumspect. Yes,” he agreed with himself, as if, it seemed to Catherine, he were speaking only to himself, “extremely circumspect. A perfect gentleman, in fact. And the wonder of it is that all these months I had thought you so available, and when at last I had you to myself, I treated you with perfect courtesy. And it has been hard, Catherine, very hard to do so. Now don't you think I deserve a reward for being such a paragon? Especially,” he said, looking down into her eyes and bringing his other hand up so that he held her face between his two hands, “especially since…
”