Chapter Seventeen

 

 

 

“I wonder if the cabinetmaker was saved,” Gaudet mused after two more days on the road, two more nights hiding in stables and outhouses. “I hope so.”

With that, he kicked his horse into a trot, not wanting to see the frown of doubt that he knew would be on his companion’s face. The cool wind that buffeted him as they rode was refreshing in the heat and Gaudet closed his eyes for a few moments, listening to the refrain of drumming hoof beats. Tessier would be scouring the land for them and Gaudet could do nothing more than hope that this seemingly aimless cross-country route would confuse them, because if it didn’t, they might well have run out of schemes to outfox their pursuers.

“Perhaps one day you might find out.” The response from William as Gaudet spurred his own horse on was surprisingly positive for once.

“I cannot help but think of that poor, poor child…”

“It is a sorry business.” William’s horse began to pull ahead. “Think of something else, Gaudet, do not dwell.”

“That Dee character was rather a fine figure of a man.” Gaudet caught up with William. “Wouldn’t you say, Guillaume?”

“I hardly judge men on their figures.”

“It keeps my mind from darker thoughts,” Gaudet confessed quietly, the fineness of men’s figures being one of his main interests. “What has happened to my country? In the south, the land is scorched, in the north, drowning in blood…”

“Perhaps the world is ending,” William suggested. “It would be about time…”

“No, it cannot be, because I am still a virgin and that would not be fair at all!” As the mischievous words left his lips, Gaudet flashed past William on his chestnut mount, Papillon offering a cheeky bark of triumph. There was the sound of laughter before William gathered speed behind him, the two horses chasing each other along the road.

“What a lovely view you must have,” Gaudet called, offering a wiggle of his bottom. “The finest in France!”

“You make a bold claim there.”

“I have the finest face in the land, so my bottom must likewise be unsurpassed.”

There was no response from his companion as they raced down the road, one pulling ahead for a moment, only to fall behind again at the next.

“Actually, ahead you go,” Gaudet tried a different tactic, “so that I might see your arse and appraise it.”

“I will be too far ahead for you to see my bottom or anything else.”

“Not the size of it. I would see it from Rome!”

“Damn you Frenchman.” William gave chase again. “I will win this race.”

“I am not racing,” Gaudet said, all innocence as he settled into a gentle trot. “I am enjoying the scenery, thinking about my beautiful coat…”

“You cannot give up now.”

“I cannot hear, drop back and say again?”

With a growl of frustration William did so, repeating, “You cannot give up now, sir.”

“Give up?” Gaudet frowned, urging his horse into a gallop with a cry of, “It is you who has fallen behind. Like all Englishmen I’ve known, I’ve outridden you.”

“I am not all Englishmen, Monsieur.” William pushed his horse even further, breathing hard with exertion. The animal thundered on until, quite suddenly, it decided that snacking was far preferable to racing and veered off the road toward a patch of apparently irresistible grass. Unprepared, William barked an oath before he tumbled unceremoniously into a ditch and the horse carried on a short way without him, finally coming to a lazy halt.

“Guillaume, chérie!” Gaudet could barely manage to call for laughing as he reined his own horse in and pottered over to the mud-soaked Englishman. He peered over the edge of the ditch and said sweetly, “I believe your enormous bottom proved too much for this delicate French horse. You are very muddy now.”

“Of course I’m bloody muddy. I’m in a bloody ditch!”

“Why are you in a ditch? I thought we were going to Le Havre.”

The next few moments were lost in ranting that was, to Gaudet’s ears, rather incoherent. “I need to get up.”

“That should be easy, just think of my stunning bottom.”

William’s expression at that was priceless, the spluttering continuing for a good few moments.

Finally, Gaudet slipped from his horse and, settling Pap and his red coat on the saddle, held out a hand as he warned, “Don’t you dare get mud on me, Guillaume.”

He realized his mistake as soon as William seized his hand, but by then it was too late, he was already toppling into the ditch. For a moment, Gaudet was silent, then he let out a shriek of dismay, hands flailing in a wild fury as he shouted, “Look at my clothes. What have you done? I am filthy…my hair!”

As Gaudet watched in shocked disbelief, William actually laughed, a sound that grew in volume until he was positively shaking with humor, overwhelmed by it.

“Do not laugh,” Gaudet shrieked, though in truth, it was infectious. “Stop it.”

“You— We—” William guffawed. “Look at us!”

“I am filthy.” Gaudet looked down at his muddy hands before, with some difficulty, he clambered out of the ditch. Safe on the grass once more, he stripped off the muddy shirt, pausing to tell Pap, “See what Uncle Guillaume has done to Papa!”

“Don’t listen to him. I did nothing.” William was still laughing as he hauled himself out of the ditch. “That bloody horse.”

“Mud will do one’s skin no harm—indeed, I do like the occasional mud mask at home.” Gaudet tried and failed to convince himself, hardly able to imagine how dreadful he might look. “Find me some water, Guillaume, quickly.”

“Water?” William frowned. “Where?”

“Swimming, Pap, lovey?” Gaudet plucked the dog from the saddle and she dashed off, leaving him to grab the reins of his horse and give pursuit, sure she would find what they needed.

“Wait.” William could be heard shouting as he did his best to follow. “Where in the name of all things holy are you going?”

“Pap loves to swim. If there is water, she will find it.”

William’s sigh was audible, yet he continued to follow along, muttering darkly as they went. Eventually they crested a hill beneath which there shimmered a small yet sheltered lake, the poodle bounding down to take a flying leap into the sun-dappled water.

“She is a marvel.” Gaudet applauded, already pulling off his boots before he remembered the wounds on his back. All good humor suddenly deserted him at the realization that his scars would be laid bare and he said quickly, “I am so very sorry, sir, I quite forgot—”

“There is mud in my boots,” William was muttering, pre-occupied. “What are you sorry for? I have seen your back, Monsieur, and you need not be shy of it.”

“But never in broad daylight.” Gaudet blinked. He crossed his arms over his chest and admitted, “I am ashamed of my scars.”

“Don’t be.” William’s tone was suddenly serious. “Or he has won.”

“You are kinder than you would ever admit.” Gaudet peeled off the shirt tentatively, careful to keep his back to William. He was sure that there was more to this Englishman than he would ever share, a mystery that was too deep to traverse. “Thank you.”

“I am not a blushing girl,” William assured him gruffly. “And I am intrigued to see whether you swim as badly as you ride.”

Gaudet forgot his apprehension, preferring instead to bristle once more at William’s tone. Without a second thought, he stripped off his breeches and performed a showy dive into the lake, the sun warming his naked skin. Only as he entered the thankfully deep water did it occur to him that, for the sake of bravado, he might well have snapped his neck. William stood as if undecided for a long moment, yet the need to get clean seemed to overtake his reticence and he pulled his shirt off, hands hesitating again at his breeches.

“Get them off, Guillaume,” Gaudet called as he broke the surface, tossing his head back to clear the water from his hair. At the sight of his companion’s uncertainty he gave a shriek of laughter then chanted, “Off, off, off!”

“If it will stop that dreadful noise.” William was already stepping out of his breeches, a moment later throwing himself into the water. It was a shame, Gaudet reflected, for he made a fine figure there in the sunlight.

“Strange,” Gaudet teased, pausing for a moment before he laughed. “I didn’t think it was cold.”

“You had better be able to swim bloody fast,” William warned Gaudet, making him laugh all the more.

“Why so, sir?”

“Because otherwise,” William started to move with purpose, “you are going to find yourself dunked, sir.”

“If you want to have some sort of watery horseplay with me, be my guest,” Gaudet challenged. “Anything to get your hands on a slippery Frenchman, it would seem.”

“More a case of wanting to silence one…”

“Then come and grab a handful of the Pride of Paris, Monsieur.”

With a glare that suggested a less delightful intent than grabbing, William swam toward Gaudet, who looked on appraisingly as he cut through the water. In fact, Gaudet mused as he watched, William cut a generally fine sight at most times, for an Englishman.

“This water,” William spluttered as he approached, “is freezing.”

“Is that your excuse for your diminutive state?” William’s response was to splash Gaudet, who commiserated mischievously, “I cannot imagine what it must be like to be English—poor you.”

“Better English than French.”

“Nothing is better than French.” When William responded with a disbelieving laugh, Gaudet added, “And being French and stunning, well, that is best of all. I’ll wager you’ve never seen anyone quite like me.”

“You’d be right.” William trod water close by, his tone far from complimentary.

“The quality of my skin is second to none.” Gaudet cast an appraising glance at his companion. “A fine bone china.”

“If bone china were red.”

“I am not…” The words petered out as Gaudet glanced down, eyes widening at the irrefutable proof that his fine white skin, so fashionable and cultivated, had caught the dreaded sun. “I look like a farm hand.”

“Do I seem amused to you?” William’s tone was deadpan. “Because I am.”

“You are a beast.” Gaudet splashed water at William in what he knew full well was a flirtatious manner, looking forward to seeing how this altogether too serious man would respond. “And I am a beauty, so we are meant to be a pair.”

“I am not a beast.” He was rewarded with a splash in return. “You may be red forever.”

“Nonsense, Guillaume,” Gaudet replied, enjoying the soothing water on his back, the carefree moments they were sharing.

“Forever,” William continued, clearly warming to his theme as he swam after Gaudet, “and ever and ever.”

“Red or not, I am still beautiful.” A snort was the Englishman’s reply to that, nearly catching up with Gaudet. “And I will always possess the finest arse in this or any other land.” He glanced over his shoulder at William, adding for good measure, “Better than yours, Guillaume.”

“Bloody well isn’t,” came the spirited reply.

In the middle of the lake, Gaudet turned, treading water as he examined his sun-reddened shoulders. Not that it mattered, he knew—if Alexandre Gaudet went to Drury Lane with red shoulders, then the following morning, everyone would want them.

“Are you admiring yourself?” William asked, disbelieving.

“Of course, the alternative is to admire you and I’m hardly going to do that.”

“I’ll have you know, sir,” William was clearly affronted, “that I have been much admired in my time.”

“By the blind?” Gaudet squawked with laughter, amused at his own joke. “No, no—by blind imbeciles.”

“Not blind anybody.” William gestured wildly in the water. “And if I put my mind to it, nobody in the room would so much as glance at you.”

“Dreaming again.”

“Think what you like.” The Englishman turned and started to swim away, annoyingly serene.

There was silence then as William swam, apparently, and inexplicably as far as Gaudet was concerned, behaving as if the playwright didn’t exist.

“You are ignoring me, sir?” Gaudet followed him. “How dare you ignore me, the man whose pout inspired the late queen to poetry.”

“It inspired who to what?” William was clearly pretending not to hear.

“How dare you impugn Her Majesty’s poetry, Bobbins, God rest her soul?” Gaudet huffed. “She was an artiste—we composed works together at the harp…”

“You and a harp.”

“Me and a harp what?”

“I can just imagine it.”

“Can you now?” Gaudet swam closer. “If only you might have known La Reine—such a gracious lady…”

There was a decidedly non-committal noise at that, William managing to shrug in the water. That was one step too far for Gaudet, the perceived slight to the queen he adored, wept for, one tease he was unwilling to take. He turned and set off for the bank, calling angrily, “Shrug at her orphaned children, sir, as they sit alone in their prison cells and see how far it takes you.”

Gaudet heard movement in the water behind him but didn’t acknowledge the other man until a hand closed on his shoulder, William suddenly near when he replied, “If you were truly that fond of her, then I am sorry for your loss.”

“She was not as they would have you think.” Gaudet turned then, the past too near once more. “Antonia was a friend to me, a fine mother to her little ones. Democracy is no excuse for barbarism.”

William was silent for a moment and Gaudet saw a multitude of emotions play across his face. “The world,” he settled for finally, “is an unfair place.”

“Men are cruel.” Gaudet shook his head, never more sure of anything. “If the world is unfair, then that is why.”

“The end result,” William told him, hand still on his shoulder, “is the same.”

“It’s a good shoulder, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“My shoulder is a fine shoulder—the finest in France.” William relinquished his grip in response to Gaudet’s reply, muttering something Gaudet could not quite catch. “Second only to my other shoulder.”

“You prefer one shoulder to the other?”

“Which of my shoulders do you prefer?”

“They both look the same to me,” came the disinterested reply. “I’ve got two of my own.”

“Yours are all right”—Gaudet shrugged—“for English shoulders.”

“English shoulders?”

There was, Gaudet noted, a definite pinkness to the Englishman’s ears whenever he grew animated. With that realization, he howled with laughter, clapping and crying, “Your ears! They are pink!”

“Are not all ears?”

“They are pinker still now.” He drew a little closer, just inches from William, and laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling the strength beneath his palm. “And now, red!”

“They are not.”

Gaudet’s other hand came to rest on William’s opposite shoulder and he peered at the man who had saved him, studying his face. “You are troubled.”

“I’m in a lake with a naked Frenchman.” Something flickered across William’s face before it was gone. “Of course I’m troubled.”

“If you were a girl, you’d kiss me now,” Gaudet told him coquettishly before, with a flourish of a dive, he swam away.

Clearly William had no response to that because a moment later he was climbing out, heading for his clothes.

“What on earth?” Dee’s voice, stern and commanding, shattered the peace from where he sat in the saddle of an enormous black horse on the opposite bank. He turned to the young lady whose gray mount followed and told her, “Mademoiselle, avert your eyes. Monsieur—” With that, he pointed at William. “It appears we must chat once more.”

With a tut the girl reined her horse round, the long plait she wore bouncing as she trotted away.

Gaudet, meanwhile, called cheerily, “Might there be clean clothes? Mine are terribly muddy…”

“We fell in a ditch,” William protested, “We stopped to get clean.”

“Clothes and provisions may be found at the farmhouse beyond the copse.” The newly arrived figure pointed to the near horizon. “If your horseplay might be put off for a while we shall see you there shortly.”

“Horseplay…” Gaudet heard the naked Englishman mutter, already pulling on his breeches as Dee left, his horse galloping away toward the trees. “We were getting clean.”

“I shall swim a while more. I shall not be dictated to,” he decided, no intention of being barked at no matter how blue the eyes of the barker. “You may watch me, if you wish.”

“Of course I don’t wish.” William scooped up his clothes, gesticulating quite absurdly as far as Gaudet was concerned. “We are wanted men, sir, and not in a good way—be so kind as to extract yourself from the water this minute.”

“I will not,” Gaudet snapped, tired of the running, of sleeping in barns, of the constant, gnawing misery. “No.”

“You would rather they catch up with us?” William stood at the water’s edge. “Because that is what will happen if we tarry.”

“Rubbish.” The unfairness of it all hit Gaudet with the force of a slap. “How dare he bark at me, when it should have been him who was chained and flogged? How dare any of you!”

“This is not the time to have a tantrum.” William gestured again. “Now are you getting out, or am I coming in to get you?”

“I will not be humiliated any further.” Gaudet shook his head. “Go to your employer and let me alone for one bloody hour. Have I not earned some respite after all I have endured?”

“You can have your respite.” William was already moving to sit on the edge of the lake. “When we are in Le Havre, sir.”

“Please.” Gaudet felt suddenly exhausted. “Give me some time, please.”

“You can have all the time you need once we reach safety.” William was holding out a hand toward him. “There are others relying on you—if thought of them is not enough to sway you, then I am without further recourse.”

“If they are relying on me”—the truth hit Gaudet too hard, the reality of that terrible statement—“then God help the poor bastards.”

As he swam to the bank and climbed from the water, he thought once more of Claudine and François, sure that he would fail them as he has always failed in anything that wasn’t fashion and frippery, that it was for someone else to be their hero.

“We will see them safe,” William told him more quietly. “You have my word.”

“‘We’?” Gaudet laughed bitterly, picking up the mud-spattered breeches and stepping into them. “Not we, sir, unless they need their styling or fashion advice or perhaps a farce to entertain? You, you and your employer, perhaps.”

“They won’t get very far without you.”

“They have got all the way from Paris to Le Havre. I think they are doing well enough, don’t you?” Gaudet murmured, feeling utterly hopeless. “I am…lost.”

“Then come to the farmhouse.” William held his hand out to him again. “Dee can tell me off and we will share that brandy.”

“I worry that I will bring trouble.” Gaudet curled his fingers around William’s, needing the comfort, the kindness. “They are safer without me.”

“You are all they have.” The words were unexpected.

“An idiot dandy?”

“Perhaps this is your chance to prove that you are more than that.” William’s voice was low and Gaudet released his hand. He pulled on his shirt before reaching to scoop up Papillon and cuddle her close. “Or that what you are is enough.”

“It isn’t.” With shoulders low, Gaudet glanced to the coat. Then he shook his head and, stooping to pick up his boots, walking away. After a moment, he heard William’s footsteps following at a distance, trailing him toward the farmhouse where Dee waited. At the last, though, Gaudet faltered, the thought of going in there to face that stern demeanor, more questioning, more temper, one that he would not stand. He stood staring at the simple dwelling, shaking his head. “I cannot.”

“You must.” There was the barest hint of humor in William’s voice as he came alongside Gaudet, the red coat slung carelessly over one arm. “You have the brandy, after all.”

One of the windows of the house was opened from within and Dee appeared, no sign of anything stern on his face when he called good-naturedly, “My bread is proving. I will not see it ruined by a French playwright…into the house.”

“One cannot get bread in France, they tell me,” Gaudet murmured, feeling William’s hand come to rest on his elbow, steering him forward, despite his reservations.

As they neared the door it was flung open and the girl with plaited hair emerged, beaming. He was surprised at her presence, the assured expression out of place in one who appeared no older than her teens.

“Papa has clean clothes waiting for you both and I must see the adorable little pup,” she told Gaudet, so preoccupied with fussing over the poodle that Gaudet surrendered her to the girl. “He is not in such a fierce temper…”

“It stares,” William called over his shoulder as he left the room. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”