Lady Scandal (21 page)

The captain turned from the crossroads where
he had been standing and strode back to Paulin.
Paulin wiped away
his thoughts as if they had not existed.
Straightening, he kept his
stare on the crossroad sign.

"Are they still making for Boulogne?"

Paulin risked a glance at the captain.
He
looked older than he had two weeks ago—much older.
Fatigued lined
his face and dulled his eyes.
Paulin had no answer for a question
that sounded more a guess, so he asked, "Shall I order the men to
mount?"

Boulogne, Dieppe, Calais—he did not care
where they rode, as long as they reached a port town and the end of
this chase.
He wanted new orders.
Ones that had a chance of
success.

The captain turned from him and stared at
the road.
Glancing at Paulin, he asked, "What would you do?"

Paulin considered offering the suggestion of
murdering the women and going back to Paris, but the hard look in
the captain's eyes kept him from speaking.
He did not want to be
thought a fool for making such a guess.
So he shifted his weight.
"I can't think like Marsett—he's English!"

The captain's mouth edged up.
Paulin shifted
his weight again, even more uncomfortable now.

"And that makes him different, does it?"

Paulin lifted one shoulder.
"Who understands the English.
Why does he go this way, then that,
as if drunk?
How can he disappear as if the devil had his hand over
him?"
And why do we care?
Paulin added to himself.

"No, he's not drunk.
And he may be the
devil, but it's not black arts that aid him.
He's smart this one.
He keeps to back roads.
He finds ways to disguise himself.
But it
will not save him.
I swear it will not." He stared at Paulin.
"Would you feel different about this, Lieutenant, if Marsett had
had your sister, or your mother, instead of the general's
wife?"

Paulin's mouth hardened.

The captain nodded.
"Just so.
Madam D'Aeth
may be another man's wife, but she has been dishonored.
We cannot
let that go.
Now—Boulogne?
Dieppe?
Or some fishing village
between?"

Paulin frowned.
"Not a village.
Too hard to
buy passage.
And too easy to stand out as a stranger.
He needs a
town where another face is just another face.
I'd want Boulogne.
Or
Calais.
And a short crossing."

The captain nodded.
"Yes.
But they sent the
coach to Calais as a ruse, so they would not take that road.
Not if
they hoped we would be on it.
That leaves Boulogne and Diepee—it
must be one of them.
So we will go to both."

"Sir?"

"Take half the men for Boulogne.
Report to
the commander and obtain what assistance you can to search the
town, then question every captain of every boat.
If Marsett is not
there, remain until I send you word.
I'll take the rest of the men
to Dieppe."

Paulin's frown deepened.
"But, sir...."

"You have some other thoughts,
Lieutenant?"

Paulin did.
However, he had his orders now.
And at least they put an end in sight.

He straightened and saluted.
"No, sir!"
Shouting out the names of the men who would ride with him, he
turned away and swung up onto the back of his sturdy, bay mare.

He glanced once more at the captain,
standing in the road still, holding the reins to his brown gelding,
the remaining nine men standing behind him.
Gratitude flared in him
that he did not have any such thing as honor that nipped at his
heels like a hound.

"Good luck, sir!" he called, then he spun
his mount and set out at a canter.
And he could almost pity this
Marsett to have to face the captain now.
After all the trouble the
man had caused, he would be lucky if the captain allowed him to die
quickly.

#

Paxten had braced himself, uncertain what
the Vendéans would now think of him.
He doubted they had any love
for a French general, but many of them were devout Catholic.
They
viewed themselves as patriots, loyal to the crown, to the Church,
and to their true France.
Would they think him one, too, or judge
him a criminal?

The old woman grinned at him.
"That whore of
a General's wife got better than she deserved if she had you.
But
you had best travel with us if you wish to stay alive.
We met two
of the soldiers hunting you already."

Paxten thought of the gold buttons spilled
into the dirt.
Buttons off uniforms.
And he tried to think of some
reason why they could not travel together—a reason the Vendéans
could accept, because he could not very well say, "Sorry, but we do
not travel with cutthroats." He could not afford to offend his
hosts.
But why should they not travel together?
The Vendéans knew
the countryside better than he.
And while they might be murderous
when it came to the French army, they had been hospitable enough so
far.
Ah, but it was not just his life at risk.

He glanced at Alexandra's pale face and
Diana's wide blue eyes and decided that perhaps there was a bargain
he could strike with the old woman that might help keep them safe.
And get them to Dieppe.
He would just have to pray that he knew
what he was doing.
And that the Vendéans did not decide that their
English guests would make for better bait that might draw to them
more French soldiers who would fall to those very, very sharp
knifes they kept hidden.

#

It took three days and two more cold nights
on the ground to reach the cliffs over Dieppe.
Paxten knew that he
had lost his vigilance, but the Vendéans had shown them nothing but
an indifferent kindness—as if he and Alexandria were sheep they
took to market.
Diana was a different matter.

She seemed to have become an adopted
daughter.
The children clutched her skirts, and when they stopped
to camp each night they dragged her into their games.
The other
young women braided Diana's darkened hair, and the men began to
smile at her and flirt with her.

And that meant that Alexandria had not a
look or moment to spare for anything but her niece.
She hovered
next to Diana, as anxious as any mother.

Paxten found his feelings mixed as they
gained the cliff tops and could look down at the curve of the port
town of Dieppe with its narrow streets and tidy cottages.
On the
bluffs, windmills perched.
A few houses stood on the slopes that
led to the water.
Across from them a headland jutted into the sea,
creating a natural, wide cove.

In the distance, the choppy waters that lay
between France and England stretched out.
The time had come for a
reckoning.
Dieppe would be their last stop before England.
He had
no idea what might happen between him and his Andria after
that.

The wind blew sharp on the cliff tops,
flattening the grass and pressing the women's skirts against their
legs.
Paxten turned away from the view to go back and speak with
the old woman.

As he did, he felt Alexandria's stare on
him.
But Paxten had business yet to finish with the Vendéans.

Turning to watch Paxten, Alexandria shaded
her eyes from the bright sunlight.
Though she had not been able to
follow all of Paxten's conversation with the woman, she knew he had
struck some bargain with her.
What had her promised the woman to
bring them to Diepee?
More of her jewels?
It did not matter.

She turned back to the land and lifted her
face to the salt-tanged air.
Home.
England.
Across the gray water
lay safety and security.
Or at least their illusions.

She pulled in a deep breath.

She wanted to spread her arms wide, as if
she could fly.
She felt that light, that soaring.
Paxten could give
away her jewels.
And why not?
Everything else had been stripped
from her; her silken clothes, her satin shoes, her servants, her
luggage, and all the things she had once used to make life
pleasant.
Everything that had weighed her down.

She wanted them gone.
All of them.
They had
been distractions, really, to keep her from noticing how little of
value she really had.

Turning away from the ocean, she watched
Paxten, admiring his broad shoulders and straight back.
The wind
tugged at his dark-brown hair, and at his open waistcoat and at the
dark coat the Vendéans had given him to wear.
She saw him gesture
to Maximilian, their donkey and their cart.

Something tugged at her heart.
The words lay
on her lips to tell him not to give that away.
To give away the
jewels instead.
She wanted almost to climb back into the cart with
him.
When had she ever felt more alive than over the past few days
with him and Diana in that tiny, uncomfortable cart?
But she had to
think of more than her own wishes.

She glanced at her niece, who was hugging
the children, and brushing tears back, and giving her cream shawl
to one of the Vendéan girls.

She had Diana to think of still.
Diana had
to go home, to the life that lay before her and the opportunities
there.
A boy ran forward to give Diana a daisy plucked from the
roadside.
Alexandria's throat tightened.
She, too, had a son to
whom she must return.

But what happened now to Paxten?

He must come with them to England, of
course.
But then what?

He turned away from the Vendéans and came to
her, and suddenly she had to know.

"Paxten, what—?"

Smiling, he put a finger across her lips,
stopping her words.
"Not now.
Not here.
We've a walk into Dieppe
yet, and a boat to hire.
And enough time yet."

She nodded, and linked her fingers through
his.

Diana had to pause to say her farewells to
Maximilian, and they parted company with the Vendéans.
Alexandria
glanced back once, but the Vendéans had already vanished down the
road, going their own way again, now the owners of a donkey and a
new cart.

She thought again of the gold buttons the
Vendéans had collected.
She did not want to think these people were
on the hunt yet for more buttons, but those hard faces had told
their own story.
Turning her back to the road, she followed Paxten
and Diana toward Dieppe.

The port town bustled.
Fishermen mended nets
on a beach near the quay, sitting on their fishing boats, talking
as they worked, or mended canvas sail.
Others called out the price
for their morning catch, which had begun to give off the strong
odor.
Women hurried past them, baskets on their arms, their glances
curious.
Near the docks of the quay, rigging clanged, wood against
wood and ships groaned as if unhappy to be trapped at anchor.
A few
men stood about, idle, smoking long pipes or talking, their garb
that of sailors with wide legs to their trousers.

Stares followed them as they walked.

Paxten decided that they must look as
disreputable as Gypsies.
Something had to be done about that.
They
stood out far too much.
Particularly so when the town had its share
of military men garrisoned here.

Twice he pulled Alexandria and Diana into
narrow alleys, once to avoid a chattering, casual group of
soldiers, and later as a double column of infantrymen marched past
the quay.
They left Paxten uneasy.
However, he glimpsed no sight of
a hussar uniform.

The first task was to find passage.
For
that, Paxten wanted Diana and Alexandria out of sight as he
bargained.
He wanted to draw the least attention possible and Diana
too easily pulled the stare of any man.

He found an inn—one small enough to be
obscure—and dug out coins enough to buy refreshments for the
ladies.
He told them to wait for him.
Alexandria looked ready with
questions and arguments, so he kissed her, and grinned as she
smiled at him and her niece glowered.
He strode away before they
could say anything to him.