Louise Allen - Those Scandalous Ravenhursts

A large extended family then. A bishop for an uncle and general outrage at a sinful aunt spoke of respectability, even minor aristocracy, maybe. But then, aristocrats did not spend their time as private investigators, or King’s Messengers, come to that. A puzzle, her new friend. Friend. That was the word she had to keep repeating in her mind. Friend. Not lover, however much she wished he was. If she thought about it, it would show in her face, Jack Ryder was no fool and he knew women, she had no doubt of that.

‘Where are we staying in Lyons?’ she asked, more to test his mood than for any particular anxiety to know.

‘On the Presqu’île, in the business district. A modest, respectable inn patronised by silk merchants and other business men. They do an excellent dinner.’

‘We can’t go out, then?’ The previous day’s expedition had been such fun and Lyon was famous for its silks. Eva knew that more shopping was out of the question—not on borrowed money, at any rate—and the carriage was already stuffed with parcels, but she would dearly have loved to do some browsing. Despite everything the sense of being on holiday, of being let off the lead of respectability and duty, was heady.

‘No. This is where it gets dangerous. Lyon came out strongly for Napoleon. Besides that, Antoine will know what we have seen, guessed at what we will have stolen. And now he has had enough time to organise the pursuit. If you are up to it, I intend that we ride to Dijon from Lyon and leave Henry to drive.’

‘But that will put him in danger,’ Eva protested. It no longer felt right to be curled up so casually. She sat up straight and slipped her shoes back on, as though to be ready for action.

‘There will be nothing to betray him. A humble coachman carrying presents from his mistress’s sister back to her in Paris. We will be taking the back roads and the plans will be with us.’ He flicked her a sideways glance. ‘Are you up to it?’

‘Yes.’ Eva nodded firmly. She had ridden all day on occasion when Louis had held one of his week-long hunting parties, although not recently. She would manage; the thought of being a burden to Jack, of slowing him down, was not to be contemplated. Everything was going so well, all according to his smooth planning, she had to do her part.

But even the most careful plans come adrift. Eva stood beside Jack in the entrance of the Belle Alliance inn and watched his face as the patron explained all about the fire in the kitchen. The stench of wet ash and charred timber filled the air; it had hit them as they entered, but the man assured them the bedchambers were unaffected and it was only the kitchens that were not functioning.

‘There are many good places to eat along the quais, monsieur,’ the patron hastened to explain. ‘On either the Rhône bank or the Saône bank. You take any of the traboules—those are the passageways—’

‘I know what they are,’ Jack interrupted him. ‘Very well, we will go out now, while there is still some light. I do not wish my wife to be abroad in a strange town after dark. Henri.’ He jerked his head towards the small pile of luggage. ‘You’ll see these taken up to our room?’

The groom nodded. ‘I’ll eat over there.’ That was a small, and rather greasy-looking, eating shop immediately opposite the entrance to the Belle Alliance. ‘I like to keep an eye on who comes and goes.’ It was only because she was looking for it that Eva caught the unspoken message between the two men. Warning, reassurance. Did Jack suspect the fire was deliberate?

She asked him directly as they made their way through one of the famous Lyonnais traboules that cut down to the rivers, wending their way through private courts and gardens as they went. Eva wanted to look around her at the vibrant glimpses of everyday life that they passed, the women gossiping, the looms visible through windows, merchants slapping hands on a deal, but Jack kept his hand under her elbow and walked briskly.

‘No, I don’t suspect that; Antoine could not possibly have found where we were going to stay and organised such a thing. But his men may start checking the lodgings and I would prefer to be inside looking out if that happens.’

‘I see. Jack?’

‘Yes?’ He looked down at her and his eyes crinkled into a smile that seemed not so much one of reassurance but simply of pleasure to find her there on his arm.

‘Are you armed?’

‘To the teeth,’ he assured her, the smile belying his solemn tone.

‘Don’t be flippant.’ The tone of crisp reproof was still there when she needed it, she found. ‘I cannot see any weapons.’

‘I should hope not.’ She narrowed her eyes at him in exasperation and he relented. ‘Knives in my boots and in a chest harness. Pistols in my pockets. Hence,’ he added as she glanced sideways at him, ‘the dreadful cut of my coats.’

There was nothing wrong with his coats at all. This one fitted admirably over broad shoulders and snug at his waist. It was, if what he was telling her was true, exceptionally well tailored, and probably very expensive, for all its lack of fashionable flourish.

‘Stop fishing for compliments,’ she chided. ‘You know perfectly well that coat is very smart. Why wouldn’t you let me wear my cloak and hood?’

‘Because that was what you were last seen in. If those officers who interrupted us in the lane have worked out who you were by now, they ought to be able to describe your clothing. ‘That hat…’ he flipped the brim irreverently ‘…is not the sort of thing a grand duchess wears. When you skim a crowd, searching, your eye stops when it sees something familiar. It is like hunting—you look for the shadowy outline of deer and ignore foxes. They search for a great lady and might miss a lovely young girl in her pert new hat.’

‘Young!’ Eva tried not to think about the rest of that description, but she couldn’t repress a blush.

‘Now who is fishing?’

‘I am not, but really, Jack, I am twenty-six years old—’

‘So ancient! Quite on your last prayers, obviously. I almost fell off your damnable window ledge with the shock I had when I first saw you. They did not tell me, you see, that you were both young and beautiful.’

‘Are you flirting with me, Monsieur Ridère?’ she enquired suspiciously as he steered her through the door of a respectable seeming eating house.

‘Of course, Madame Ridère. A friend may, may he not? This place looks acceptable.’ Eva forgot the compliments and the teasing as she watched him assessing the bistrôt, trying to work out what he was looking for.

‘A back door, plenty of people, a table over there with a good view of who is coming in?’ she suggested.

‘Yes. Precisely, you are learning to get the eye. Let’s hope the food is good, too.’

It was. And so was the atmosphere. Eva had never been anywhere like this. She found her elbows were on the table, that she was singing along with the group near the door who had struck up an impromptu sing-song while they waited for their order, and the simple casserole of chicken and herbs, washed down with a robust red wine, seemed perfect.

‘I am enjoying this,’ she confessed, as the waitress set down a platter of cheese.

‘So am I.’ Jack caught the hand she was gesturing with and held it. ‘I enjoy seeing you relax.’

‘This is so different for me,’ Eva admitted. ‘No one is staring. I don’t have to pretend.’

‘Don’t you?’ Jack murmured, almost as though he were asking a rhetorical question. Eva tugged her hand free, finding his warm grasp rather more disturbing than was safe and Jack let go at once, taking her by surprise. Her arm flicked back, caught the little vase of flowers set on the table and knocked it off.