The French House by Helen Fripp (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📕

admonished Thérésa as Natasha tore the bandage with her teeth.

‘Press hard, here,’ Natasha instructed Nicole.

Châtelet was barely conscious as they heaved him onto the wagon and made him as comfortable as they could.

‘We need to get him to Charleville,’ said Thérésa, ‘as quickly as possible.’

‘I’ll take the reins,’ said Nicole.

‘I would expect nothing less of my country girl. You can really drive four horses?’

‘I’ve never done it before, but I’m sure it’s not that different from two.’

They started slowly. Natasha held Châtelet in her arms, sang him Russian lullabies. After an hour, Nicole’s hands were blistered from holding the reins and relief flooded her when the roofs of Charleville welcomed her, a sunlit canal at its centre.

‘He’s hiding something,’ whispered Natasha whilst he slept. ‘Something more. What if he’s related to the family that killed Daniel? Life is full of dead ends, but there are times when things come full circle. Maybe that’s why he’s here, bleeding into my skirt.’

‘You have melancholy thoughts,’ tutted Thérésa. ‘Life needn’t be so dull. We faced down danger and here we are.’

‘For now,’ said Natasha, squinting at the horizon.

They reached the canal, where a brightly painted barge was waiting, as arranged, but Nicole scrutinised the scene carefully before going closer.

People were going about their business, loading and unloading, shouting and swearing as crates bumped up against each other. Great loads were winched backwards and forwards over the canal and lowered onto barges, destined for the port or further inland. It all seemed normal, but did any of these men belong to Moët? Who among them was sent to spy on her, or worse, stop her? There was no way of knowing and all she could do was press on.

‘This man can’t travel any further, he desperately needs to rest,’ said Natasha, carefully peeling Châtelet’s soaked bandages to replace them with more. ‘We have to stay the night here.’

‘She’s right,’ said Thérésa. ‘There’s nothing to him, apart from bone, muscle and grief. I’ll stay here with him and you go on. Two is less conspicuous than four and the barge pilot knows where he’s going. I’ll sign us into the inn as husband and wife and no one will suspect a thing.’

‘But you’ve come this far. And how will I know the code word if we get into any more trouble?’

‘Oh that. There has to be some advantage to humouring powerful men, apart from jewels and a roof over your head. Politics is a little hobby of mine and I make sure I keep my hand in. My ex-husband loved code words and it can’t hurt to have more than you need of anything.’

‘But…’

‘I saw you when Châtelet helped me onto the carriage.’ Thérésa gave her a knowing look. ‘Jealousy is such a useless emotion. Your place is there, with the cargo. Besides, someone needs to deal with this.’ Thérésa handed Nicole a letter, smeared in Châtelet’s blood. ‘I found it tucked in his shirt. I thought it might be a clue to what happened to his family, so I read it.’

Route: Rethel, Charleville-Mezieres. Destination: Russia. Barge at Canal de la Meuse 23 May. Fifty thousand bottles of champagne. Route onward so far unclear.

Thérésa handed her an addressed envelope. Smudged by blood, it was clearly marked.

Jean-Rémy Moët

Hôtel Moët

Épernay

Champagne

‘What have you done to upset poor Monsieur Moët that he would go to such lengths to stop you? Have you been a little too successful? Get your champagne onto that barge and fly. Leave the rest to me.’

Chapter 10

Loyalties

February 1806

The shire horse paced along the hot, turgid canal, dragging the barge at a lethargic plod, oblivious to the urgency of his task. Nicole could only submit to the motion of the boat whilst the sun beat down and distract herself by watching the sparkles on the brown-green water. Natasha spent the morning clicking her beads and making salt shapes on the deck.

‘Everything’s so slow,’ Nicole grumbled, already missing Thérésa.

Natasha looked at her sideways. ‘You find me dull compared to her. She is dazzling, but be on your guard.’

‘I’m sorry. I just can’t stand this slow barge when there’s so much at stake. You’ve known me all my life, through thick and thin. Sometimes I wish I could hide from your scrutiny!’

‘It’s a curse,’ Natasha replied. ‘I would rather not know. I know my mother is dying and that my journey is the only thing that’s keeping her alive. It’s thirty years since I last saw her and I’ve missed her every single day.’

‘Yet you’ve never spoken of her. Tell me about her.’

‘Ach. Broken memories. My two brothers stayed in the village with her. I was the only one to leave. They were wild. Dmitri used to make me ride with him on his horse. No saddle or reins. I cried at first, but then I felt like a tiny seed, flying across the tundra on the wind. I could have landed anywhere and grown. I remember her cold pink cheeks after a day out in the fields, the smell of lentils and herbs. We were always cold; there was never enough wood for a proper fire, but she made up for it with her love.’

Natasha paused and took the snowglobe she’d always given to Nicole to play with as a child out of her pocket. She shook it and watched the snowflakes float and settle on the little figures in the tableau, wrapped in capes and fur muffs. The miniature world seemed to take Natasha off into a reverie.

‘She was beautiful when she was young. Her one extravagance was to decorate our bread. Girls with plaits, bouquets of flowers, sprays of holly, a tablecloth spread with plates and cups and piled with jellies, bread fit for a queen. She was only fifteen when she had me. Her hair was straight and black like mine, and her eyes were black, too. She can’t have been much more than thirty, not much older than you, when I left, but she already looked old. Hers was the grinding