Chapter 5
March 28, 1814
The rains had passed, leaving the Loire Valley washed clean and glowing with the innocent luster of early spring. Out in the courtyard of Chateau du Soleil, Nicholai, Lisette, Grey, and Natalya stood together near a large wagon that looked as if it had been in use since the Middle Ages.
“Why do we have to travel in that broken-down old thing? Haven’t you a decent closed carriage that you could loan us, Uncle Nicky?” As she spoke, Natalya tugged at her padded corset, struggling to arrange it more comfortably.
Nicholai tried not to look at his niece, for each time he did he was nearly overcome with laughter. She reminded him of one of the old crones who had knitted at the guillotines during the Reign of Terror. “I offered Grey a perfectly nice phaeton, but he insisted upon this ancient vehicle.”
“But, what if it rains?” She turned on Grey. “Not to mention the likelihood that we’ll lose a wheel or the entire thing will simply collapse. And look at that horse! It’s half-dead.”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes alight with mischief. “She’ll hear you!”
While two stable boys loaded a large cask of wine into the back of the wagon and filled the rest of the empty bed with straw, Grey turned to his host. “I must thank you, sir, for your many kindnesses to me. I shall guard your niece with my own life.”
Nicholai sighed. “I don’t like this at all, but I suppose there’s nothing to be done. Can I count on you to find a maid for Natalya when you reach London? I don’t have to tell you that it’s unheard of for a gentlewoman to be traveling alone... particularly alone with a man.”
“I was planning on it, I assure you.”
Lisette leaned toward her husband. “Darling, there’s a war on. Only fathers—and uncles—bother with propriety at times like these.”
“Why don’t you go and give Natalya some sound, motherly advice regarding the maintenance of her virtue?” Nicholai’s stern words were belied by the twinkle in his eyes.
“Speaking of the war,” Grey said, “What news can you give me? Is there any possibility that we might encounter fighting on our way to St. Malo?”
“No. The battles, if they continue even now, are being fought in the east. If that jackass Napoleon weren’t so proud and stubborn, the bloodshed would have ended long ago. As it is, the Allies offered him an armistice last month, but he refused unless they left France its newly enlarged boundaries. Naturally that ended the negotiations.”
“And now?”
“Yesterday, in Saumur, I heard that all the armies left alive in France are en route to Paris, where one hopes Napoleon will surrender before any more blood is shed.” Nicholai shrugged. “It is a tragedy that a land as beautiful as France must struggle continually with turmoil, is it not? When I first came here thirty years ago, I fell in love with my new home, but soon it was torn apart by that barbaric revolution. Now, Napoleon has seen to it that the beautiful villages are ravaged and most of the fine young men are dead. To that madman, no one’s blood has any value but his own.”
“I know that anyone will be an improvement over Napoleon, and that the restoration of a king would mean peace for France,” Grey remarked, “but I have to tell you that Louis the Eighteenth is hardly the savior so desperately needed. I knew him in London.”
“I have met him myself and found him to be slow and genial,” Nicholai agreed. “However, France is weary of dynamic leaders, and I feel certain that a great deal will change within the government. Louis the Eighteenth will never have the power his brother did.”
Across the courtyard, Lisette embraced Natalya as tears sprang to her eyes. “You know that I shall miss you desperately, my dear, but it is important to have grand adventures. This certainly qualifies!”
“Auntie,” whispered Natalya, glancing around to make certain she would not be overheard, “I’m scared.”
“I know you are, sweetheart, but that is only fear of the unknown. Let go of your fear and trust God to guide you. And soon you’ll be back in Philadelphia, beginning an entirely new chapter in your life!”
The men were walking over to join them, and James had just burst from the chateau, running toward Natalya to bid her good-bye.
“I overslept,” he apologized.
She began to weep as she hugged him, reaching up to brush back his tousled curls. “I’m going to miss you terribly. When sea travel is safe again, you must come to America, James.”
“I wish I could go with you now.”
“The next time I see you, you’ll be a terribly handsome grown man, and all the girls in Philadelphia will be fighting for your attention.”
He stood up a little straighter. “Do you suppose?”
She giggled. “Absolutely!”
His eyes wandered over her costume. “You certainly look different, Talya. I would never know it was you.”
“That’s just what I like to hear,” said Grey.
“Is that you, Mr. St. James?” the boy exclaimed.
Amid the laughter that followed, Lisette tucked a basket of food and wine under the wagon seat, and Nicholai turned to his niece, opening his arms. She stepped into them and pressed her face against his shirt.
“I love you, Uncle Nicky,” she murmured, her voice thick with tears.
“Watch that you don’t spoil your artfully painted face,” he teased. “I love you, too, Talya, with all my heart.”
“I can still remember when you came to visit us in Philadelphia, during the revolution here. I was very little, and you were so handsome. You told me stories, and you used to give me part of your dessert.”
“You have always been enchanting. I’m very grateful that you spent these years at Chateau du Soleil with us.”
“I became a writer here!” She drew back to look up at him. “But it is time to move on. And I promise to visit Adrienne when I arrive in London.”
Nicholai gave her one more hug and then released her. “Remember, if you change your mind, you need only send word and I will come immediately to bring you back.”
Grey helped her into the wagon, where she perched uneasily on the narrow, splintered seat. Then, after bidding a final farewell to his hosts and their son, the Englishman climbed up beside her, picked up the reins, and they began to roll forward down the chateau’s long drive. Natalya turned back once to wave, seeing her relatives through a blur of tears.
As the wagon with its two eccentric-looking occupants turned onto the road and disappeared into the chestnut trees, Lisette took out her lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I truly think that this was the right thing for Talya to do. It’s time she emerged into the world and discovered love for herself.”
Nicholai gave his wife a sidelong glance. “Hmm. I hope you don’t have Grey St. James in mind when you say that. As a woman, you are probably blinded by his looks and breeding, and I admit that he seems to be a nice enough man, but he’s hiding something. I can’t quite remember what it is, but I’m certain there’s something in his past that disqualifies him as the husband you’ve dreamed of for Talya....”
* * *
Clinging to its hillsides, the village of St. Briac-sur-Loire overlooked a dawdling bend in the river. This morning, merchants arranged their wares or swept the rain-washed stone steps in front of their shops and chatted amiably about the weather. Dogs chased one another up and down the crooked tangle of streets, and wives carried baskets over their arms as they chose bread, meat, cheese, fruit, and vegetables for the day’s meals. Then, when they were done, they gossiped and sometimes indulged in tiny tarts or cream-filled pastries that tempted them from the window of the patisserie.
Le Chat Bleu, perched on the edge of the village, was quiet so early in the day. Brogard, the tavernkeeper, was standing outside replacing a broken shutter hinge when two men on horseback rode up.
“Bonjour, m’sieur,” said the first. A few locks of his red hair blew free from under his cap. “We have returned to find out if the fellow you described to us last night has come back.”
Brogard shook his white head. “No, I have seen no one. Did you not find him at the chateau?”
“Oddly enough, no.”
“Perhaps he was refused entrance, or he might have changed his mind,” the old man said, with a shrug, turning back to the broken shutter. “Or more probably, I was mistaken. I told you that I was unsure....”
“Somehow, I doubt that you were unsure, or that St. James changed his mind.” The redhead looked toward his thin-faced companion with indecision. “What do you think?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t know, Auteuil. If he was here in this village, I doubt that he’s stayed. The question is, which way should we go? Where did you say Wellington was last sighted?”
They were distracted by the sound of a rickety wagon making its way precariously down the cobbled lane next to the tavern. All three men looked over in curiosity, their eyes widening at the sight of the wagon’s bizarre occupants.
“Ah, bonjour, messieurs,” the man driving cackled, grinning to display stained teeth. His powdered hair, caught back in a sloppy queue, was covered by a huge tricorn hat that came down to his eyebrows. In flawless French he continued, “I was just saying to my beautiful wife that I have rarely seen a finer morning.”
“Do I know you, m’sieur?” Brogard inquired, squinting in the sunlight.
“I do not believe you have had the pleasure of an introduction, my good fellow. I am Maurice Galabru, and this is my wife, Antoinette. We are simply passing through en route to visit our daughter in Malestroit.”
While Grey extracted his snuffbox and took a pinch, Natalya peeked at the trio of men from under her mobcap. “This village is one of the most charming I have ever seen. Is this your tavern, m’sieur?”
“I am Brogard, madame, the proprietor of Le Chat Bleu. Perhaps you and M’sieur Galabru would care for—”
“Attendez!” Auteuil interrupted, dismounting and walking over to the wagon for a closer look. “What are you doing with this wine barrel?”
“It is filled with wine from the chateau.” Grey pointed over his shoulder toward the white castle on the hill above them. “We paused there to greet our cousin, who is a milkmaid for the Beauvisage cows, and the seigneur gave us this wine. A fine and generous man.”
“Have you not heard?” Auteuil sneered. “There are no more seigneurs in France!” He jabbed a finger at Grey’s chest but avoided touching the dingy green jacket and pink waistcoat. “I demand that you open that barrel for us, old man. There is an enemy of the emperor at large, and you and your wife strike me as the sort who would be ripe for a bribe. How much did he pay you to carry him out of town, secreted in that barrel?”
Natalya gasped loudly, while Grey grumbled, “You insult us, m’sieur. We will take our leave now.”
“I think not.” Auteuil produced a large pistol and aimed it at them. “Poujouly, open the barrel!”
The sharp-faced man dismounted, then heaved himself into the back of the wagon. “How very shrewd you are,” he said to the warden approvingly. “Nothing escapes your notice.” Then, pulling a knife from his boot, he set about prying the top from the barrel.
“This is outrageous,” Grey cried. “You have no right! M’sieur Brogard, you must stop them. We are poor, simple people, undeserving of such treatment.”
An evil smile spread over Auteuil’s face. “Frightened, hmm? I can’t say as I blame you. The emperor does not deal lightly with traitors.”
A heavy silence fell over the group as Poujouly forced the nails out of the barrel one by one. Brogard came over to watch, feeling sympathetic toward the eccentric-looking old couple. “See here, my good fellows, must you harass these poor people?”
Auteuil’s eyes flashed as he looked back to snarl, “Stay out of matters that do not concern you! The emperor does not favor those who obstruct justice.”
At that moment Poujouly pried out the last nail and gave a grunt of triumph.
Auteuil craned his neck. “Well?”
His companion’s face fell. “There’s nothing in here but wine. Just as the old man said.”
“Then he’s in the straw! Search through the straw, damn you!” Auteuil’s face was as red as his hair.
Poujouly obeyed. Reaching the other end of the wagon, he turned and shrugged elaborately. “Nothing.”
“Are you satisfied?” Brogard said. “Put down your pistol, m’sieur, and let these innocent people be on their way.”
“Oui, m’sieur,” Natalya implored, “do not threaten us further. We are simple folk, and quite unaccustomed to violence.”
Scowling, Auteuil acquiesced. “Something about this doesn’t smell right.” He bent down and looked under the wagon in search of a hiding place. Then, straightening, he fixed Grey with an enraged stare. St. James glanced away instantly and adopted a submissive posture. “Eh bien, you may go. But do not forget that I have taken notice of you. If you have any connections to the criminal Grey St. James, I suggest that you sever them if you value your lives!”
Grey hunched over even farther and picked up the reins, while Natalya clung to his arm and whimpered. “Merci, m’sieur. We shall not forget. Good day.” The bay mare lifted her hooves and started forward. The wagon lurched in response.
Watching them go, Jules Auteuil narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. “I don’t know what it is about that fellow, but I am positive that I have been deceived in some manner.”
“Forget about that old popinjay and his painted hag,” Poujouly advised. “You’re looking for someone to blame, but I’ve never seen two more unlikely suspects!”
* * *
Leaning back against the splintered barrel, Natalya basked in the spring sunlight as the wagon jogged along. Suddenly she giggled. “I simply cannot recall the last time I had so much fun!”
“There’s no need to repeat yourself, my dear,” Grey said mildly. “I believed you the first time you said so two hours ago.”
It was nearly noon. They had made slow progress on their journey to Angers, where Grey had determined that they would spend the first night. It wasn’t far, though any destination seemed distant given their mode of travel, but there was much to be done once they arrived. Grey had friends there who would shelter them and hire a proper carriage to speed them on to St. Malo.
“That awful man was so furious—it was all I could do not to laugh at him,” Natalya continued, unfazed by his teasing. “I may have forgotten to congratulate you on the good sense of your plan. If so, please accept my compliments.”
“Good sense?” he echoed, silver lights dancing in his eyes. “Don’t you mean brilliance?” He didn’t mention the doubts he had about whether Auteuil had been completely fooled, preferring to reassure himself with the conviction that his old enemy would have torn off his disguise on the spot if he’d even suspected the truth.
“Please,” Natalya rejoined, “you know that I would not praise you with undue enthusiasm. It would be very bad for you.”
The road they traveled afforded a breathtaking view of the cerulean Loire, meandering dreamily between its golden banks. Curtains of poplars and groves of birch shimmered, as if dancing to celebrate their budding spring leaves. New sights appeared with every bend in the road: ancient villages, mills, vineyards, and hunting lodges, all crowned intermittently by magical chateaus high on the surrounding hills.
“I’m simply ravenous,” Natalya exclaimed suddenly, bending over to pull the basket from under the wagon seat. “I was so nervous this morning that I couldn’t eat a thing—” She broke off, amending, “Actually I wasn’t nervous so much as busy. And it was wrenching to bid farewell to everyone at Chateau du Soleil.”
“It’s perfectly acceptable to be nervous, my dear Miss Beauvisage.” Grey turned to give her a kind smile. “For my part, I’m suffering from a desire to get out of these clothes and have a bath in the river. I don’t know if I can bear this until evening.”
“Well,” Natalya said briskly, “you must.” She pulled the cork from one of the bottles of excellent Vouvray wine Lisette had packed, lifted the bottle to her lips, and drank deeply. Seeing that Grey regarded her with uplifted brows, Natalya laughed. “I thought I ought to stay in character. It seemed just the sort of thing Antoinette would do, don’t you agree? Would you care to partake, Maurice?”
“You’re quite a little minx,” he remarked, accepting the bottle and following her lead. The white wine was dry and fresh and utterly delicious.
Natalya felt blood rushing to her cheeks in response to his words. “Goodness...” She pressed her hands to her face. “It must be the wine.”
A wry smile touched Grey’s mouth. “Probably.” When she broke a baguette in two and handed half to him, he inhaled deeply and sighed. “I know that this sense of peace won’t last, but at this moment I am a happy man. Liberty is sweet indeed....”
With each bite of her baguette, fragments of the thin, crisp crust showered her lap. She smiled at him and nodded vigorously, her outrageously painted face more eloquent than words. From a nearby tree, a tiny gold-and-green willow warbler sang out, as if in acclamation.
“That’s right,” Grey said, chuckling. “We’re going home.”