Chapter Twenty-Five
It began to rain, a stinging deluge. Driven by a fresh breeze it hit the deck like musket balls and they were soon ankle-deep in water. They were fast losing the fight, unable to bail fast enough.
Anthony made his way over the slippery deck and took his turn at the tiller. A wet lock of hair straggled into his eyes. He took off the hated red hat and swiped his hair back. What he wouldn’t give for a haircut, a barber, and a hot bath. He hoped Christian was right about the smugglers. Would they accept payment once they’d reached Portsmouth? And he worried about taking Henrietta and Verity into a den of thieves.
He was also concerned for Philippe who wouldn’t be able to walk far. He’d carry him if need be. And Verity had not said she would remain in England. She might wish to return to France, and if she did, he wouldn’t stand in her way. Power was constantly changing hands in the Republic, and Danton would soon have concerns of his own to deal with.
Hungry, wet, and tired, they shared the rest of the food. Another uncomfortable night on board dragged by, everyone too exhausted to sleep. Not much was said; they were nervous about the next stage of their journey. Perhaps the most dangerous part of all.
The rain stopped as they reached the mouth of the river and dropped anchor. Ahead lay Le Havre.
“That’s the path we’ll take.” Christian pointed to the rough trail disappearing over a grassy hill.
Eager to set foot on solid ground, Henrietta and Verity removed their shoes, gathered up their skirts and waded ashore. Verity afforded Anthony a reviving view of her pretty legs as he assisted Philippe from the boat.
Christian pulled up the anchor, slipped over the side and pushed the boat free of the bank. “No sense in revealing the spot where we left the boat,” he said. “I’ll leave these red woolen caps on board and they can draw their own conclusions.”
Anthony didn’t give a damn what happened to the boat. He hoped it would soon sink to the bottom. François could rot in hell as far as he was concerned.
They began their hike. The clouds had cleared, and the sun on their backs was welcome, steaming their wet clothes. The trail skirted Honfleur, meandering through the fields. Philippe trudged beside them, his breathing labored.
After two hours, at the top of a hill, the Channel stretched out before them. Below was a cove, a small sandy bite out of the coastline. The waters of the channel looked gray and choppy, the horizon a misty smudge. No sign of a boat, or the smugglers. Anthony caught Christian’s eye. Then he turned to assist Philippe, who seemed to be close to collapse.
“I can see England,” Henrietta cried, shielding her eyes with a hand.
“So near and yet so far,” Philippe murmured.
Anthony winked reassuringly at him as they climbed down.
“The smugglers’ hut is south of here,” Christian said. “I’ll go and find them.”
Henrietta took his hand. “I’ll come with you.”
“No sweetheart. Stay here with your father. He’d only worry about you.” Christian pulled the pistol from his coat pocket and shoved it into the top of his breeches. He strode toward the far headland.
They watched him climb the rocky cliff. At the top, he turned, waved, and disappeared.
Henrietta sat near her father. “Is it dangerous?”
“He’s a capable fellow. Try not to worry, Hetta.”
Anthony wished he could soothe her like he did when she was small. When her mother had died, he’d put aside his own grief to care for her. Now he was as helpless as she. He put one arm around her, and the other around Verity, drawing them against him. Philippe nodded sympathetically from the shade of a rock.
They waited.
An hour passed and then another. The sun was high in the sky. In a few hours they’d lose the daylight. Impossible to remain here long without food or shelter. Anthony’s throat was dry. They had no fresh water. What would they do if Christian failed to return? The women and Philippe couldn’t walk to Le Havre. He would have to go alone.
“Look!”
At Henrietta’s cry Anthony raised his head. She was on her feet, dancing and pointing. A three-mastered fishing boat came around the point under full sail. As it sailed close to shore Anthony made out a familiar figure. Christian was at the rail his hand raised. Anthony gasped and swallowed, relief threatening to make his voice crack. “He’s found them.”
***
Henrietta stood at the rail beside Christian, gazing out over the rolling waves to where the English coast loomed ever closer. She was thankful that Christian and her father remained close beside her and Verity. The sailors’ heated glances frightened her. They might have other plans for them. Only the promise of more money held them in check. Her fears eased at the sight of land. The tall, brave, and capable man at her side would soon be her husband. The very sight of him took her breath away. She was eager to experience married love and share his thoughts and dreams for their future.
Portsdown Hill and the gray stone walls of Portchester Castle looked reassuringly familiar. The smugglers’ boat moored off Portsmouth Harbour. The captain, a beefy man with a gold ring in his ear, his face reddened by sun, wind, and wine, demanded one of them remain on board until their passage was paid for.
Her father refused to agree.
“What about my earring?” Henrietta whispered. He nodded and held out his palm. She turned away and dug into her corset, drew the earring out, and handed it to him.
He waited on deck as they climbed into the row-boat. “You might take this on account.” He held the dangling jewel-encrusted earring up.
The captain reached for it.
“When I am in the boat,” her father said.
There was a moment’s anxious silence. Then the captain nodded. “Go.”
Her father jumped down into the rowboat. Once the captain had the jewel in his hand, he signaled the sailor and they were rowed ashore.
The innkeeper accepted them without question, despite the sorry state of their clothes. He said news of shipwrecked aristocrats had reached him before they had reached shore. They were shown to his best rooms and assured that his cook would prepare a meal fit for their rank.
A doctor examined Philippe and gave them encouraging news. He appeared to have withstood the rigors of the trip surprisingly well.
After a trip to his bank, Anthony paid the captain who waited in the tavern. Henrietta and Verity went shopping. They chose dresses at the haberdashery, buttoned to the neck, one gray and one green from the limited selection, plus soap, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, and toothpowder. Amazing how these simple items could produce such delight. A bath was brought in and set by the fire. They eagerly stripped off their clothes which reeked of fish.
Her father and Christian wore new shirts and stocks. Although not dressed in the elegant clothes they favored she still thought them handsome. The cook had outdone himself. Soup, clams, and a baked loin of mutton was brought to the table for the extremely appreciative diners, to be followed by nuts, sweet meats, and plum pie.
“We are like sisters,” Henrietta said in the bedchamber they were to share.
She perched on the end of the bed in her nightgown, trying to remove the knots from her long hair. “Are you happy to be in England?”
Verity slipped beneath the covers and laid her head on the pillow with a deep sigh. “I am thankful everyone is safe.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s too soon for me to be happy.” Verity shrugged. “I must make a life for myself here. It would be foolish to return to France now.”
“There are many French émigrés in England.”
“Oui. And I’ve left no one behind that I will miss.”
“You have us; we care about you.” Henrietta hated the sadness in Verity’s voice, especially when she was so happy. In the bedchamber next to theirs was the man she loved and soon would marry.
“How sweet you are, Henrietta.” Verity’s voice trembled. “I’ve come to care for you and your… father very much.”
“I believe you love him dearly.”
“Oui, I love him.” Verity sighed. “But try to understand. Your father is a viscount. I am not of your world.”
“I know my father. I doubt that will worry him.” As she said it, Henrietta wondered if it was true. Even after the incredible adventure, she knew little about London society, but there were rules for everything, and if one broke them, they could be ostracized. Verity was an admirable woman who made her father happy, but perhaps returning here did change everything. Her father would be alone after she and Christian married. It would be wonderful if he and Verity could stay together.
Verity wiped her eyes. “You must help him to forget me.”
“Papa is very determined. He goes about calmly getting exactly what he wants. Although he was a young man when he met my mother, he persuaded her to marry him and brought her back to England.” Verity’s tears were infectious. Henrietta sniffed. “Mama never seemed to regret it.”
“Your mama was a lady. A baron’s daughter.”
“That’s true.” Henrietta climbed into her bed. “Oh, a real bed, and so comfy!”
She snuggled into the feather mattress leaned over and blew out the candle. “I remain optimistic that you and my father will marry.”
“There are other considerations.” Verity’s soft voice came out of the darkness.
Henrietta yawned. “What would they be?”
Perhaps Verity had fallen asleep, for she didn’t answer.
The next day when the coach pulled up outside the Pulteney Hotel, her father leaped down from the box where he had traveled beside the coachman, put down the step and opened the door.
Verity said her goodbyes and kissed Henrietta. She climbed down onto the pavement, smiled, and touched her father’s cheek.
“A bientôt.” He kissed her hand, pressed bank notes into her palm and curled her fingers over them.
Verity shook her head. “I cannot!”
“I shall worry if you don’t.”
Verity nodded, took the money, and blew them all a kiss. She walked through the door held open by the doorman.
Henrietta watched her sweep regally into the foyer her head held high, despite the plain, ill-fitting gown. She laughed as the carriage pulled out onto the road. “Verity is so wonderful. I declare I want to be just like her. I do hope she will agree to help me become an actress.”
Christian cleared his throat. Her father caught his eye and shook his head. She vowed to charm them both around to her way of thinking, but now wasn’t the time.
“I’ll call on you tomorrow, if I may,” Christian said, as the carriage stopped outside his bow-fronted house in Brook Street. He pressed a kiss on Henrietta’s hand.
“Come early, Christian, before other callers.”
“You must call him Mr. Hartley now, Henrietta. It’s going to be hard for you to accept, but here in London your behavior will be judged,” her father warned.
Henrietta fought the urge to say pooh! But she just smiled and swiveled to look back, catching a last glimpse of Christian mounting the short flight of steps. Such formality seemed odd after all they’d been through. Odd too, to be parted from him. She suffered a sudden sense of misgiving and wanted to stop the carriage and rush back to hug him.
She covered her mouth to hide her grin when Aunt Gabrielle’s butler admitted them. Their curious appearance caused his imperious air to fail him. “Lady Belden is in the drawing room,” he said in a faint voice.
Henrietta ran along the corridor. She waited impatiently, until Phillipe and her father joined her, then they all went into the drawing room together.
Aunt Gabrielle shrieked. The two dogs erupted into fits of barking. She fell back onto the sofa again and for once, had nothing to say.
Philippe picked up her fan. He fanned her briskly. “Aren’t you pleased to see your brother?”
“Oh, Phillipe.” She touched his face as if she feared she was dreaming. “I had begun to fear I would never see any of you again.”
Henrietta knelt to soothe the dogs, glad her aunt seemed better. She suspected that once Aunt Gabrielle recovered from their return, there would be some sharp questions for her. But happiness sparkled inside her and she would worry about that later.