I shall make sure that the admirable Mrs Hodge is indeed preparing refreshments for the travellers.” With a slight bow he left.
“Poor Alain!” said Lady Harrison. “His parents died in the Terror and he escaped alone to England when he was scarce sixteen years old. He is some five years older than you, Gabrielle. He had a very difficult time before he came to us. but he has been living here for several years now. Dear Sir Cosmo was so generous in allowing me to help my countrymen! Alain is employed now as a secretary to le général Pichegru. But enough of that. Tell me, my dears, are you come direct from Switzerland?”
By the time they had given her a brief explanation of their arrival, Roger had carried in a tray with a silver teapot and a plate of plain biscuits.
“Oh dear, that will never do!” Lady Harrison said in dismay. “Roger, pray go back to Mrs ‘Odge and tell her to make some sandwiches, and some of the asparagus soup we had at dinner. It is all Marie’s fault,” she explained. “She has persuaded the good Mrs ‘Odge that I am not to eat between meals. You do not know Marie, of course. She was maid to la Vicomtesse de Brabant and was turned out when Madame la Vicomtesse arrived penniless in England. She is a treasure, but very strict!’ Her ladyship looked round guiltily and took a biscuit.
Following her example, Gerard soon cleaned the plate, while a cup of tea revived Gabrielle. Neither was surprised when Lady Harrison helped them demolish the pile of sandwiches that soon appeared. As there were only two bowls provided, she left the soup for them.
By the time they finished eating, Gabrielle was half asleep and even Gerard owned he was ready to retire.
“In that case,” said their hostess buoyantly, “I believe I shall go to Lady Boniface’s after all, for I am sure the supper will not tempt me now. I shall see you tomorrow, my dears!”
* * * *
Gabrielle slept till nearly ten o’clock the next morning and woke feeling very much refreshed. Her side still ached a little when she moved, but she was ready to abandon Dr Hargreaves’s voluminous bandage in favour of a small court-plaster over the scar of her wound.
She pushed back the bed covers and, going to the window, drew the curtains. Russell Square was rain-slicked and deserted, the trees in the central garden collecting grey moisture from the sky and dispensing it in larger drops upon the brilliantly green grass below.
Hearing no movement in the house, she went to the door that had been pointed out to her as that of Lady Harrison’s bedchamber, and listened. Silence. She opened it a few inches and peeked in.
The widow of the late Sir Cosmo Harrison, and of his predecessor, Monsieur le Comte de Lavardac et Casteljaloux, lay fast asleep in her fourposter hung with pink silk. On her head, a nightcap of Valenciennes lace was tied with a matching pink ribbon. She looked like an overgrown cherub.
Gabrielle looked again at the clock on the mantel. Ten o’clock it was, and the church bells were beginning to ring out their urgent summons all over the city. Lady Harrison slept on.
A pier-glass caught Gabrielle’s attention, and she examined her reflection. Her brother was right, the Parisian nightgown was anything but decent! She blushed to think of the long conversation she had had with Mr Everett while wearing nothing more. Except, of course, for a sheet and a couple of blankets, she reassured herself. And she did look quite pretty in it.
A forget-me-not painted ewer on the marble washstand held a little cold water, so she washed in the matching bowl and put on her only clothes. The maid at the King’s Head had bought her a cambric round-gown in a disagreeable shade of yellow, a green spencer which went with it abominably, and a poke bonnet at least a size too large. Perhaps it was just as well she had woken too late for morning church, as she would not dare show herself in fashionable London dressed thus. Nor were her garments
“Poor Alain!” said Lady Harrison. “His parents died in the Terror and he escaped alone to England when he was scarce sixteen years old. He is some five years older than you, Gabrielle. He had a very difficult time before he came to us. but he has been living here for several years now. Dear Sir Cosmo was so generous in allowing me to help my countrymen! Alain is employed now as a secretary to le général Pichegru. But enough of that. Tell me, my dears, are you come direct from Switzerland?”
By the time they had given her a brief explanation of their arrival, Roger had carried in a tray with a silver teapot and a plate of plain biscuits.
“Oh dear, that will never do!” Lady Harrison said in dismay. “Roger, pray go back to Mrs ‘Odge and tell her to make some sandwiches, and some of the asparagus soup we had at dinner. It is all Marie’s fault,” she explained. “She has persuaded the good Mrs ‘Odge that I am not to eat between meals. You do not know Marie, of course. She was maid to la Vicomtesse de Brabant and was turned out when Madame la Vicomtesse arrived penniless in England. She is a treasure, but very strict!’ Her ladyship looked round guiltily and took a biscuit.
Following her example, Gerard soon cleaned the plate, while a cup of tea revived Gabrielle. Neither was surprised when Lady Harrison helped them demolish the pile of sandwiches that soon appeared. As there were only two bowls provided, she left the soup for them.
By the time they finished eating, Gabrielle was half asleep and even Gerard owned he was ready to retire.
“In that case,” said their hostess buoyantly, “I believe I shall go to Lady Boniface’s after all, for I am sure the supper will not tempt me now. I shall see you tomorrow, my dears!”
* * * *
Gabrielle slept till nearly ten o’clock the next morning and woke feeling very much refreshed. Her side still ached a little when she moved, but she was ready to abandon Dr Hargreaves’s voluminous bandage in favour of a small court-plaster over the scar of her wound.
She pushed back the bed covers and, going to the window, drew the curtains. Russell Square was rain-slicked and deserted, the trees in the central garden collecting grey moisture from the sky and dispensing it in larger drops upon the brilliantly green grass below.
Hearing no movement in the house, she went to the door that had been pointed out to her as that of Lady Harrison’s bedchamber, and listened. Silence. She opened it a few inches and peeked in.
The widow of the late Sir Cosmo Harrison, and of his predecessor, Monsieur le Comte de Lavardac et Casteljaloux, lay fast asleep in her fourposter hung with pink silk. On her head, a nightcap of Valenciennes lace was tied with a matching pink ribbon. She looked like an overgrown cherub.
Gabrielle looked again at the clock on the mantel. Ten o’clock it was, and the church bells were beginning to ring out their urgent summons all over the city. Lady Harrison slept on.
A pier-glass caught Gabrielle’s attention, and she examined her reflection. Her brother was right, the Parisian nightgown was anything but decent! She blushed to think of the long conversation she had had with Mr Everett while wearing nothing more. Except, of course, for a sheet and a couple of blankets, she reassured herself. And she did look quite pretty in it.
A forget-me-not painted ewer on the marble washstand held a little cold water, so she washed in the matching bowl and put on her only clothes. The maid at the King’s Head had bought her a cambric round-gown in a disagreeable shade of yellow, a green spencer which went with it abominably, and a poke bonnet at least a size too large. Perhaps it was just as well she had woken too late for morning church, as she would not dare show herself in fashionable London dressed thus. Nor were her garments
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