‘He would have done if he could have found anything wrong with my papers,’ laughed Frank. ‘Instead, he had to content himself with holding me up as long as he could. Joseph here was quite frothing at the mouth by the time he’d finished with the revenge of petty officialdom.’
Joseph did indeed look very cross. He was fiercely loyal to his master and any slight, real or imagined, was sure to meet with his severe displeasure.
‘Thank you, Frank,’ I said. ‘I think you saved my bacon back there. I’m not sure Madame Beaufort is to be relied on any longer now she is out of the reach of Mr Sheridan’s charm.’
Frank nodded his agreement. ‘Where is she?’
‘Over at the inn. She’s seeing to the carriages. Apparently if we don’t leave soon we will not be in Paris until after dark on Monday. I hadn’t realized it was so far.’ All these distances were confusing me. I was used to being able to get to places at a day’s walk at the most. Two or three days at the rapid speed of a carriage suggested miles that I found hard to imagine.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ said Frank cheerfully. ‘Let’s grab some breakfast before those girls eat the lot.’
When we entered the dining room of the inn, we found the ballerinas had already finished. They were distinctly cool towards Frank and barely civil to me.
‘I have engaged four carriages,’ Madame Beaufort said in clarion tones as Frank and I sat down at the table. ‘Not of the highest standard, unfortunately. The girls and I will wait for you outside. Please do not delay us any longer, my lord.’ She said these last words in a sharp tone I had never heard her use before.
‘I think Madame Beaufort is infected by the revolutionary air of her country,’ I whispered. ‘I think she wants to be rid of us.’
Frank nodded and took a gulp of his coffee. ‘But Mr Sheridan is a friend to the revolution, isn’t he? He’s not trying to undermine what’s happening here: he just wants to find out what’s happening.’
‘I know. All the same, coming home has definitely changed her attitude.’
Not wishing to give further provocation to my new mistress, we hurried our breakfast and emerged into the yard. Three carriages were drawn up, already filled with dancers.
‘Where is the fourth carriage, madame?’ Frank asked.
‘Over there,’ Madame Beaufort said with a careless wave of her hand, pointing out a dilapidated four-wheeled fiacre. She saw our downcast faces. ‘It was all I could get, my lord.’ Mimi giggled; Belle looked smugly at me from the safe confines of their relatively comfortable carriage. Joseph marched up behind us, face like thunder.
‘My lord,’ he said in a brittle voice, ‘you cannot travel in that deathtrap. The coachman is either drunk or a halfwit. I couldn’t get a word of sense out of him.’
‘Not good enough for his lordship, is it?’ demanded Madame Beaufort shrilly. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting that some of my girls should travel in it so his lordship can have one of these?’
Frank bowed gallantly. ‘Of course not, madame.’
‘There really is no other carriage available – ask the hostler if you don’t believe me.’
‘I do not doubt you. It will have to do. Joseph, please see to my luggage. Miss Royal is to travel with you, I suppose?’
‘You suppose wrong, sir. All these carriages are full.’ Mimi and Belle spread their skirts on the seat, hiding any spare inch of upholstery. ‘She was happy enough to journey with you to Dover; I assumed she would do so again.’
‘But madame . . .!’ Frank began to protest. This hadn’t been the plan at all: I was supposed to be mingling with the troop, not journeying conspicuously with a peer of the British realm.
‘Leave it, Frank,’ I muttered, pulling on his arm. There was no point making a scene about this. It would only risk attracting more attention. I tugged the stupid bow from my hair. At least I wouldn’t have to continue to look like a doll if I was no longer travelling with the dancers.
We clambered into our evil-smelling carriage. The poor horses looked on their last legs, fitting steeds for the vehicle.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ said Frank, noticing where I was staring. ‘We’ll change horses at the next staging post. The next pair must be an improvement.
But there was nothing to be done about the driver though I wished we could swap him too. He reeled out of the public bar, and tried and failed to climb to his seat, until Joseph seized him by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him up.
‘I’ll keep an eye on him, sir,’ Joseph said from his post behind the fiacre.
The driver then made a meal of filling his pipe as all the other carriages jingled into life. With a clatter of hooves, they pulled out of the yard.
‘Follow those carriages! Allez!’ ordered Frank.
Our driver gave a shrug and continued to light his pipe. He obviously had no intention of setting off until he was quite comfortable. Joseph gave him a firm shove in the shoulder blades.
‘You . . . trot-trot!’ he said loudly in English, balling his fist to emphasize the point.
‘Poof!’ said the driver, but this time with a hint of anger. He glared at Joseph and picked up the reins.
Thinking we were now finally off, I retreated from the window and gingerly sat down on the ripped seat, composing myself for the long journey ahead. Nothing. Frank got up again. Our driver was now talking animatedly to the hostler.
‘Monsieur, can we go, please!’ Frank shouted.
Our man took a swig from a wine bottle he had stashed at his feet, clicked his tongue and the horses started to amble off. Every cobble and pothole made the carriage rattle alarmingly as if it were about to fall apart.
‘Do you think we’ll ever get there?’ I asked as we turned out on to the post road to Paris.
‘Poof!’ said Frank with an acutely observed Gallic shrug.