By late afternoon, Jess found herself dressed in rags, her face smeared in soot and her hair pinned tightly to her head and hidden under a boy’s peaked cap. Gray had personally issued her the disguise a few minutes before and administered the soot himself, but had yet to explain why she was wearing it. Apparently, the fewer people who saw her transformation, the better. The bedchamber door was now firmly shut.
‘Do you not trust your own men?’ A worrying thought, especially as she had trustingly lain the pistol down to change and had not seen it since.
‘With my life, mademoiselle, but if one of them is captured and tortured this is the only way we can all be certain they won’t confess what they know.’ At her sharp intake of breath, he shook his head, but his normally cheeky smile had vanished. ‘Hopefully, I’m being pessimistic, something I am prone to in moments of stress. The truth is they’ll all feel better knowing nothing and it is the usual way we do things.’
‘I know nothing and I don’t feel particularly good about it.’
‘Flint will explain.’ He tidied up the cloth he’d been using to dirty her face and stuffed it in the sturdy large box he had brought in with him. ‘It’s his plan.’
She would have probed more, but it sounded as if an army was marching outside. Many boots thudded in unison and seemed to be headed to the inn. Taking her lead from Gray, Jess tried not to feel disturbed.
‘The cavalry’s here. Or, in this case, the Royal Marines. A few Excise Men and there might be some navy there, too.’ Motioning for her to stay back from the window, Gray looked out and smiled in relief. ‘There’s at least seventy uniforms down there. Not a bad effort for such short notice, but one of the few benefits of being here in Plymouth. There’s barracks aplenty. Flint wanted to put on a show. I dare say they’ve scared off Saint-Aubin for the moment.’
‘Are they to be my escort?’
‘No. I am.’ Lord Flint strode through the door and closed it behind him. ‘They are a decoy.’ He pulled at his cravat and shrugged out of his coat, then began to briskly unbutton his waistcoat, while Jess tried to concentrate on the ramifications of his words. Not easy to do when it was obvious he was undressing.
‘But there are about a hundred armed men down there. Surely some of them will be accompanying us to London?’
‘We’re travelling alone.’ He gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Instantly her silly pulse fluttered as she drank in the sight of his broad chest. The perfectly formed muscles on his arms and shoulders. The intriguing dusting of dark golden hair that arrowed downwards and disappeared beneath the waistband of his snug breeches. Breeches that hugged a very pleasing behind. Mon Dieu! Very nice indeed.
Gray tossed him a dingy garment and he effortlessly caught it in one hand. ‘We’ll continue to head west out of Plymouth, but with some skilful misdirection, Saint-Aubin and his henchmen will believe you are headed east.’
The magnificent chest disappeared under the tatty, long, grey shirt and to her shame she mourned the loss of it. Why should she feel bad for that? Jess had promised herself to fully enjoy all of life’s tiny pleasures going forward and the sight of that handsome man’s chest was wholly pleasurable. As long as he had no idea that it affected her, what was the harm of looking her fill? ‘Are they going to march all the way t-to...London?’ Mon Dieu! He had dropped his breeches with no warning. Toned, golden legs were clearly visible beneath the irritatingly long shirt which hung to mid-thigh. Where was a gentle breeze when you needed one? The needy woman inside her was desperate to feast her eyes on that derrière. Gray’s knowing smirk suggested he suspected she was drooling, so Jess tore her gaze away and forced herself to wander back to the bed to sit in a manner she prayed made her appear nonplussed rather than considerably warmer than she had been five minutes before.
‘Too dangerous. Too much chance of them realising that it isn’t you in the coach, but a slight and rather surly Scotsman who is not impressed with the prospect of wearing a frock. Poor McBride.’ He and Gray shared an amused grin at the thought. Her gaoler’s—no, her rescuer’s—green eyes danced and that dancing did disconcerting things to her already off-kilter insides. Or perhaps that was the muscles in his thighs? The indelible memory of his naked chest... ‘The Marines will escort your carriage to a heavily armed warship anchored in the harbour and sail with you, complete with a full naval escort, all the way to Tilbury. Only then will they march to the capital. It should be quite a spectacle. Meanwhile, we escape while nobody is looking.’
Saint-Aubin would be looking. He was no fool. ‘There will be assassins watching every door.’
‘Something I am banking on.’ Gray passed him the tin of soot and he smeared it liberally over his own face and hair. It was the first time Jess had seen Lord Flint looking anything but dapper. However, the rough-and-ready dishevelled look suited him just as well. Perhaps better. In working men’s clothes he certainly seemed more approachable. The soot smudged away most of the aristocratic aloofness and she liked his hair rumpled. ‘I want them to be in no doubt nobody left surreptitiously.’
There was a soft tap on the door and the bare-knuckle fighter poked his head in. ‘Everything is set. McBride is ready, although still fuming. But to his credit he looks quite bonny in a gown.’
‘Then let’s get on with it.’
Jess found herself propelled from the sanctuary of her temporary bedchamber and taken to the furthest end of the narrow landing, desperate to ask a million questions, but conscious that time appeared to be of the essence. Using Gray’s cupped hands to boost his foot, Lord Flint opened the tiny loft hatch in the ceiling. Its position and poor light had rendered it almost invisible beforehand. Using only the power of his arms, he effortlessly levered himself through the hole, then his dirty blond head and one arm poked back down. Gray hoisted her to grasp it and she practically flew through the air into the cramped and airless attic beyond. When a sack and a selection of brushes joined them, she got her first insight into the plan.
‘We are posing as chimney sweeps?’ Which suggested heights! Of all the plans, he had to choose one involving a drop!
‘A perfectly legitimate reason to be on a roof. But only I am the sweep. You are my climbing boy. Every decent sweep has an apprentice to stuff up a chimney.’ His charm didn’t lessen the way her stomach clenched at the prospect. Drat him. Although despite her irrational fears Jess could see the sense of it, as long as he had another plan to get them safely off the rooftop, too.
He stood, balancing on the joists, and helped her to her feet before the hatch was sealed again. However, instead of being plunged into darkness, a thin shaft of light lit the way and they soon emerged hunched behind an enormous smoking chimney where another man waited for them. Jess gazed around, keeping her gaze forward to combat the inevitable panic and was surprised to see how close all the rooftops were. The different shades of tiles stretched before her like a road.
‘There’s a fellow keeps wandering up and down the alley. You’ll have to be quick.’ Crouching low, he took them to the edge of the roof where they silently waited. Her silly eyes drifted downwards and fresh bile rose in her throat. It was a significant drop on to hard cobbles. A fall here wouldn’t break bones, it would kill.
Exactly as Flint’s man had warned, a fearsome-looking fellow passed below. No sooner had he gone than a plank of wood was used to bridge the frightening gap between the inn and the building across the alleyway. Flint darted across it carrying the brushes, making the passage look easy when it was anything but.
Like a fool, she looked down and dizziness swamped her. The prospect of the sheer drop very nearly cost her the remnants of her last meal. One wrong step and Jess would plummet three storeys. Ah, bon sang! Too many feet away, Lord Flint beckoned for her to follow.
She dithered. Then set her jaw stubbornly. It was the only way. Just don’t look down. Her foot felt like lead as she planted it on the plank and her legs trembled as she edged out. Jess forced her feet to shuffle along. Forced herself to swallow past the knot of fear lodged in her throat and to remember to breathe. ‘Just six more steps, Jess. You’re almost there.’
Six steps.
She shuffled again.
Five.
‘Take my hand.’
She grabbed it, ridiculously grateful that those muscles in his arms had a purpose beyond the aesthetic, and practically threw herself towards him. He caught her in a hug that she wanted to melt into, offering pathetic thanks for his solid presence. Instead, she arranged her features to disguise her silly fears and hastily put some distance between both him and the perilous edge and the dangerous chasm below.
As Lord Flint’s man quietly removed all evidence of their escape and disappeared, Flint took her hand and dragged her behind the cover of the chimney. ‘We’re going to take the roofs all along the street away from the port.’ He pointed across the sea of slate and tile before them. ‘I reckon we’ve got a good couple of hundred yards of rooftop there. When the coast is clear, we’ll find somewhere deserted to jump down and then we’ll keep walking. As soon as we’re out of Plymouth we’ll stick to the fields and the coastal paths.’ He made it sound simple.
‘Just us?’ She must focus on the distant future rather than the knot of irrational panic that had appeared at the words Jump down.
‘Only in the short term. Gray and some of his men will double back and meet us. Even if he suspects he’s been duped, Saint-Aubin will be looking for a beautiful woman and her battalion of ferocious body guards on the main roads. Not a vagabond and his son in the country lanes.’
Flint regretted his honesty the moment he saw her eyes soften at the word beautiful. ‘You think me beautiful?’ The tinge of awe and wonder at the compliment, as if she never received such admiration, reminded him that despite the unexpected change in circumstances he still would be foolish to trust her further than he could throw her.
‘Compared to most chimney sweeps? Absolutely.’ The dewy expression melted, making him see it for what it was. ‘Come on. Let’s put some distance between us and Saint-Aubin before the carriage leaves.’
Like most commercial towns, Plymouth had grown to meet the demand, which in turn meant that buildings were crammed together as every bit of available space was utilised. Many of the rooftops butted so close to the next that one only had to scramble up a ledge or take a small step or two down. At the end of the row of houses, Flint left his charge sat huddled in a recess while he took himself to the edge, lay down on his stomach and checked the ground below.
As one would expect at two in the afternoon, the main street was still bustling with activity, but there was no sign of the burly henchman and, to Flint’s trained eye, nothing and nobody looked amiss. Still, that didn’t mean he was prepared to take any unnecessary chances. Their desolate elevated world was currently considerably safer than the ground and it would be prudent to stick to the roofs for as long as feasibly possible. He didn’t dare attempt to cross the road. From up here that would be suicide, as the opposite building was a good ten feet away. Even with a decent run up, the chances of him making it were slim. Jess’s shorter legs didn’t stand a chance.
Their only choice was to go left across the rooftops, a route which took them deeper into the town where there was more chance of someone seeing them. That couldn’t be helped and the chances of a random pedestrian taking the trouble to scrutinise two filthy sweeps were slight enough to be worth the risk. The gap between this roof and its neighbour was, he estimated, a little more than four feet at its narrowest. He could make that effortlessly and the minx had already proved herself to be of an athletic disposition. Using his elbows, he shuffled towards her.
‘There’s a bit of a jump, I’m afraid. A few feet, but certainly doable.’ Flint pointed at the spot and she craned her neck to stare at it.
‘Doable?’ Was that fear in her eyes? ‘Perhaps for you, Monsieur Flint.’
‘If I go first and you take a bit of a run up, I’ll catch you.’
‘You will catch me?’ She kept taking his words and turning them into a question, her disbelief evident in the tone of her voice. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘The alternative is to clamber down to that busy street and draw unwanted attention to ourselves or sit it out here and hope the men after you don’t eventually work their way up to the roof. Of course, we might starve in the interim, what with us having few provisions aside from those brushes.’
Her dark eyes narrowed. ‘This is not the time for sarcasm.’
‘Nor is it the time for indecisiveness or discussion. We have one viable exit and we need to take it now.’ Flint couldn’t be bothered to argue and hoisted the brushes on to his shoulder. Making sure the coast was clear and nobody was glancing skywards, he paused, then leapt across the gap.