Georgette Heyer (18 page)

But when Simon had gone, she sprang up, flushed and excited.

‘It could not be better! It could not be better! Malvallet will command in his absence, and he would not dare to force himself upon me! None will notice mine escape, and all but Hélène here, and – and – Amélie, or Isabelle, must think that I am sick. Oh, it is marvellous, marvellous! We will leave this place at four in the morning, Jeannette, thou and I!’

‘God pity me!’ Jeanne sighed, and turned her eyes away from the Lady Margaret’s attire with a shudder.

How the Lady Margaret escaped

The Lady Margaret tramped blithely along the high road, a knapsack slung over her shoulder, and a staff in her hand. Beside her trudged Mademoiselle Jeanne, very weary, and very nervous. She wore a kerchief over her curls, and a cloak wrapped round her form. She, too, carried a staff, but whereas the Lady Margaret swung hers boldly and stepped out with a will, Jeanne’s little feet stumbled often over the stones, and she leaned heavily on her staff.

‘Sister,’ said the Lady Margaret, ‘how many leagues think ye we have covered?’

‘An hundred,’ Jeanne answered with feeling.

‘Nay, I think not. Let me see. We did leave Belrémy at half after four – Jeanne, was it not easy? Not one of those great oafs of English guards suspected, and Lord Simon was nowhere to be seen! Then we walked to Balderin, which is two and a half leagues distant from Belrémy, and it was eight of the clock. How long did we spend at the tavern where we breakfasted?’

‘Five minutes,’ sighed Jeanne.

‘Nay, I think it was half-an-hour. Jeanne, did I not swagger well? And – and kissed the wench who served us!’

Jeanne shivered.

‘My heart was in my mouth. Thou wert – thou wert –
terrible
!’

Margaret laughed.

‘I was wonderful. Just a pert page-boy. Well, when we left Balderin we went onward to Razincourt. And then it was a little after eleven, was it not?’

‘That village! Ugh! The tavern! Oh,
mon Dieu
!’

‘And the drunken peasant who would have clouted me for a saucy knave had he not stumbled over the chair.’ Margaret gave a little skip, chuckling light-heartedly. ‘We ate dinner there, and I drank sack,’ she grimaced. ‘Some of it I managed to spill,’ she added pensively. ‘I think we remained there an hour. The dinner was not – very nice, was it?’

Jeanne closed her eyes for a moment.

‘The meat …’ she moaned.

‘I know. Well, after that we did walk on and on – on –’

‘And on and on and on.’

‘Thou silly Jeannette! – till we came to the brook. And there we rested a while. And now we are here, and I wonder where it may be?’

‘Where what may be?’

‘Here,’ said the Lady Margaret, embracing the whole countryside. ‘I had planned to rest the night at Tourdelonne. It is a tiny village, my poor Jeanne, and mayhap we shall sleep in the stable. What is the time, I wonder? It must be after three.’

‘Long after three. We have been walking for hours.’

‘It has not seemed so to me. But if we have, then Tourdelonne must be near. And when we are there we shall have covered five leagues, Jeannette, and another day will see us at Turincel.’

Jeanne wilted.

‘We – we must walk tomorrow – as much as today?’ she asked.

‘It is wiser,’ nodded the Lady Margaret firmly. ‘Oh, Simon of Beauvallet, ye shall rue the day ye sought to quell Margaret of Belrémy!’

‘I do trust we shall not rue the day we sought to escape from Simon of Beauvallet,’ Jeanne said peevishly. ‘My feet are raw and blistered.’

‘Thou poor little one!’ Margaret slipped an arm in hers. ‘Lean on me, Jeannette. I should not have brought thee. It was thoughtless and cruel! Thou hast not my strength!’

Jeanne pulled herself together.

‘Nay, I am well enough, Margot. Shall – shall we have to sleep – in the common room, think you?’

‘I do not know. Perhaps we may find two rooms. One for you, at least.’

Jeanne clutched her arm.

‘Margot, we must not be separated!’ she implored.

Margaret drew her arched brows together.

‘I must see what I can do,’ she said. ‘Perhaps if I say that thou art sick, they would give thee a chamber, and I could steal into it when none is watching. It is too cold to sleep in the woods, alack!’

‘Sleep in the woods!’ Jeanne almost shrieked. ‘Margot!’

‘But it is impossible in this weather,’ Margaret assured her. ‘Ah, look ahead! I see houses!’

‘Hovels!’

‘Tourdelonne!’

‘I could welcome my Geoffrey,’ sighed Jeanne. ‘Even though he were in a rage with me.’ Her face brightened. ‘I wonder, is he very terrible when he is angered?’ For a time she pondered this question deeply. ‘I think he might be,’ she said at length, and nodded, pleased.

‘If ever ye take him to husband he will assuredly beat thee,’ Margaret remarked. ‘Because he is English.’

‘Oh, dost thou think so?’ Jeanne stepped out more briskly. ‘He might, of course, and yet … no, I think he is too gentle and kind. But very masterful. I wonder what he will say when he finds me gone?’ She dimpled a little.

‘I wonder what he will say when I bring Turincel about his ears?’ Margaret said viciously.

‘Ah no, Margot! You – you must not! Kill – Lord Simon, if you will – but – but not Geoffrey!’

‘Never fear.’ Margaret patted her shoulder. ‘Thou shalt have him as thy prisoner.’

‘Then I shall not like it at all,’ said Jeanne decidedly.

‘What! Dost thou like to be his prisoner?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Jeanne said.

Margaret’s lip curled.

‘An English tyrant’s prisoner!
Mon Dieu
,
where is thy spirit?’

‘It went when I fell in love with Geoffrey,’ Jeanne answered. ‘One day thou wilt understand.’

‘God grant that day be long in coming!’ Margaret cried.

They were come now to the straggling hamlet, and they halted before the rude tavern. From within came the sound of men’s voices, laughing noisily. Jeanne shrank a little closer to the Countess.

‘Margot – must we – !’

‘We must,’ Margaret said resolutely, and drew a deep breath. She knocked loudly on the door, and took a firm hold on her staff.

Presently the door was opened, and the landlord faced them, clad in a soiled leather jerkin.

‘Good sir,’ began Margaret, as deeply as she was able, ‘my sister and I journey to Joulinceaulx for the festival. Have ye room for the night?’

‘No,’ said the landlord uncompromisingly, and would have shut the door, but that Margaret set her foot within.

‘But listen, good host, my – my father gave me a little money for the journey, and I can pay for our lodging.’

The landlord seemed undecided, but Jeanne, plucking up courage, clinched the matter.

‘Oh, sir, do not turn us away! Indeed, I am weary, and hungry. Could ye let us sleep in the loft above the stable, perhaps?’ She smiled wistfully upon him.

‘Well, come within,’ he grunted. ‘But I’ll see thy money first!’ he added, turning truculently upon Margaret.

She pulled out a gold piece, and gave it him. His eyes shone greedily, and he pocketed it, beckoning them in.

The kitchen was very hot, and smelt of sack. Some half-a-dozen men were sprawled about a large table, upon which supper was laid. When they saw Jeanne one or two of them sat up, smirking, but for the most part they paid no heed to the newcomers.

As unobtrusively as possible the two girls slipped into their places in the table. Margaret pushed her shrinking companion on to a stool at the end of the table, and seated herself beside her, in between Jeanne and a burly fellow with a ferocious red beard. The landlord thrust two wooden platters of salt-beef before them, and some coarse bread. Hungry as she was, Jeanne’s dainty palate turned from the unappetising, ill-cooked and badly served food, but she made shift to eat, choking down her repulsion. Margaret, who was made of sterner stuff, betrayed no disgust at the rude fare, but fell to with a will. One of the men sitting opposite eyed Jeanne curiously, so that she blushed, and kept her eyes lowered.

‘Yon wench picks at her food,’ remarked her tormentor. ‘A dainty maid!’

‘My sister is not strong,’ Margaret said quickly. ‘She hath no appetite.’

‘The food is good enough,’ growled their host. ‘If it is not to thy liking –’

‘It is good indeed,’ Margaret made haste to assure him. ‘Is it not, Jeanne?’

‘Yes, Léon. Very good,’ Jeanne answered in a small voice.

‘Perchance thy sister is used to richly cooked meats?’ sneered the landlord, unconvinced that his guests were not slighting his culinary efforts.

Margaret nodded.

‘My sister is serving-maid to the Lady Margaret of Belrémy,’ she said daringly, and heard Jeanne gasp beside her.

There was a guffaw of laughter.

‘That for a tale!’ jeered the man opposite. ‘Thou pert youngster!’

Margaret’s neighbour leaned across her to stare at Jeanne, whose hands had begun to tremble.

‘Well, she is pale enough,’ he rumbled. ‘Thy hands are too white, lass. Thou dost not labour on the fields, i’ faith.’

‘She is my lady’s tiring-woman,’ Margaret said.

A little stir went round the table.

‘And what art thou, springald?’ asked one. ‘Page, belike, with thy grand tunic?’

‘Page indeed,’ nodded Margaret. ‘My lady hath given us leave of absence to – to journey to Joulinceaulx for the festival.’

‘And what may be thy name?’ inquired the red-bearded man.

‘Léon Margrute,’ Margaret answered promptly.

The landlord came to the table.

‘The accursed English are in Belrémy, is it not so?’ he asked.

‘Ay.’ Margaret’s eyes flashed.

‘What does thy lady?’

‘She is prisoner.’

‘Ho-ho!’ The man opposite Jean clapped his hands to his sides. ‘The proud countess prisoner! Ho-ho! There’s for her and her hot blood!’

Jeanne laid an imploring hand on Margaret’s arm, for the Countess had grown suddenly stiff. She recovered herself, and forced a laugh.

‘Hast seen my lady, then?’ she asked.

‘Once, when she rode out with her fine court. A haughty maid, indeed! Men say that she leads her men into battle. There’s a shrew!’

‘She – she did so once,’ Margaret admitted. ‘And well they fought!’

‘Riding astride her horse, clad in armour! A forward, masterless wench!’

Someone cracked a lewd joke, and Margaret’s cheeks became scarlet with fury. The red-bearded man grinned.

‘See the young turkey-cock! Perchance thou dost love thy lady, Léon Margrute?’

‘That do I!’

‘And is she kind to thee?’

The colour died out of Margaret’s face. She laughed.

‘Oh, she is sometimes kind, and sometimes cruel.’

He nodded sympathetically.

‘Ay, ay! ’Tis ever thus with these noble dames. But surely thou art over-young, lad?’

Certainly she looked it in her boy’s gear, though in reality she numbered twenty-five summers.

‘I – oh, I am – seventeen,’ she stammered.

‘And thy pretty sister?’ asked the man before Jeanne, leaning over the table to leer into her face.

Jeanne shrank back, gripping her fingers together.

‘Eighteen,’ Margaret answered. ‘Be good enough to sit back, sir. Ye discommode my sister.’

‘Thou saucy knave! Is thy sister so nice then, that an honest man –’

‘Let be, let be!’ growled Margaret’s burly neighbour. ‘The maid is tired.’

‘Too tired to kiss?’ the tormentor grinned, and lurched forward across the table.

Jeanne gave a tiny cry, but Margaret was on her feet in a trice, dagger in hand.

‘Keep off, sirrah!’ she commanded. ‘My dagger is sharp.’

On the instant there was an outcry, and three men scrambled up and would have come at Margaret had not the red-bearded giant interposed his huge frame.

‘Tush! Sit ye down, Jacques and Louis! ’Tis but a lad. Let the girl be, Founard!’

‘I would teach the pert knave to speak his elders fair,’ grumbled one, but he sat down again. ‘Thou art too soft, Ranaud.’

Ranaud thrust Margaret into her seat.

‘Put up thy dagger, foolish pup, else I will let them at thee.’

‘I’ll have no brawling here!’ the landlord cried. ‘Out ye go, young sir, and your sister with ye! Thy pretty ways and mincing tongue!’

Ranaud brought his great fist down on the table so that the platters jumped.

‘Let be, I say!’ he roared. ‘God’s Wounds, what is this pother? If the wench is modest, why, the better for her! I’ll crack thy skull for thee, fat host!’

The landlord drew back muttering, for Ranaud was too formidable for his taste. The discontent subsided gradually, and in a little while Margaret took Jeanne’s hand and rose.

‘Good sir,’ she said, addressing the landlord. ‘Wilt show us the way to the stable-loft?’

‘I have no room. Hast eaten. Go now.’

‘Nay, I prithee –’

Up got Ranaud, his little eyes blazing fiercely.

‘Have I to teach thee a lesson in manners?’ he thundered, and the landlord retreated.

‘I will show thee, I will show thee!’ he said hastily.

‘And I will come too,’ said Ranaud.

Out they went into the fast-gathering gloom, the landlord hurrying nervously before them, Jeanne clinging to Margaret’s hand, and Ranaud striding along beside them, towering over all. So they came to the tumble-down stable, and with a muttered word that they would find the ladder into the barn in place, the landlord went away.

Margaret turned to the kindly giant.

‘I have to thank thee, sir, for thy protection,’ she began. ‘Indeed –’

‘It is naught. Up with ye into the loft, and bolt the trap, youngster. Mayhap I will accompany thee part of the way to Joulinceaulx. All ways are one to me.’

‘Why, it is – it is very kind,’ Margaret said nervously, ‘but –’

‘It is not your goal, belike?’ Ranaud asked shrewdly.

‘I – of course it is – I mean –’

‘Oh, I am not curious!’ he answered. ‘Go thy way if ye will, but I am a masterless man, and I have taken a fancy to thee. Art over-young to go wandering over the country alone with thy sister.’

‘You – would come with us?’ Margaret asked uncertainly.

‘Ay, if ye will. There are a-many rogues about, and mayhap ye will be robbed or killed. If we join company I can guard thee from such. Ye can trust me.’

‘Indeed, I think so,’ Margaret said, and put out her hand. ‘May – may we speak more of this in the morning?’

‘Ay, if ye will.’ Margaret’s hand was lost in a gigantic paw. ‘Get thee to rest now. And bolt the trap.’

‘I will,’ she promised. ‘I thank you, sir.’

She and Jeanne climbed cautiously up the worm-eaten ladder into the loft.

‘Oh, how dark!’ quavered Jeanne. ‘Was – was that a rat?’