Chapter Nineteen
Céleste was beginning to suspect there would be no end to the ways in which Jean-Francois would cause her misery. And danger. And he never seemed overly bothered by it.
Adèle had been crying off and on since shortly after they’d fled Fleur-de-la-Forêt.
Céleste had worried a little that Aldric would be frustrated or snap at the poor girl.
She ought to have known better. He could be standoffish and intimidating, but he hadn’t actually shown himself to be unkind, especially to children.
As they’d driven on, he’d smiled at Adèle whenever their gazes happened to meet.
He’d even offered Céleste a few words of reassurance.
This was the side of Aldric Benick she’d fallen in love with all those years ago and had hoped to see at Norwood during the house party. And it was the compassionate part of him every bit as much as the reliable and focused aspect of his character that she was relying on now.
“How familiar are you with the inns in this area?” he asked midmorning as he tooled the cart around a bend in the road.
“The only ones I know are on the road to the south of Fleur-de-la-Forêt.” But they were going north.
His nod was clipped and tense. “As much as I would like to get as far as possible from your home, journeying blindly isn’t wise. A stop at an inn would let Adèle rest and allow us to discover where exactly we are and how to get wherever it is we decide to go.”
“I want to go home, tante Céleste,” Adèle whimpered against her. “I want to go home.”
Céleste held her more tightly, rocking slowly back and forth. “I know, ma poupette. I know, but we need to make a journey just now.”
“I want to go home.”
Céleste closed her eyes and breathed. She might have echoed Adèle’s sentiment, but there was no place that truly felt like home to her.
“How easily recognized are you and Adèle in the area around Fleur-de-la-Forêt?” Aldric asked.
She didn’t really know how to answer that. “There are not very many families of our social class near Jean-Francois’s home. Even away from the immediate vicinity, process of elimination would likely identify us to anyone paying attention.”
It was a bit of quandary. Adèle could not endure much more. But even in their very simple cart with a horse more favored for its endurance than flash, their very appearance placed them in the upper echelon of Society. That was a dangerous thing just then.
Aldric’s brow drew in a fiercely contemplative expression. “Then we likely should try to travel farther than I would prefer before stopping our journey. It will be hard on Adèle, but fire-wielding mobs are not to be taken lightly.”
“I want to go home.” It was the only thing Adèle had said, and she had said it over and over again. It was all she wanted, and Céleste couldn’t offer it to her. Even the doll her nurse had provided for her was not offering comfort. They needed to get her somewhere she could rest.
Not far off the road was a stone house surrounded by fields. A woman was outside, laundry off a clothesline.
“Aldric, I need to talk with that woman.”
He looked at her, surprised. “Do you know her?”
“No. And let us hope she doesn’t know me.”
To her surprise, Aldric immediately directed the cart down the lane leading to the farmhouse without further questions. Did he trust her so much? Her own father and Jean-Francois never had. Henri did, generally speaking, but he didn’t always listen.
“Do you need me to go with you when you speak with her?” Aldric asked as he stopped the cart near the house.
Céleste shook her head. She shifted Adèle into his arms. “I won’t be long.”
She carefully climbed out of the cart and made her way to where the woman stood watching her.
“Pardon me,” Céleste said, adjusting her voice so she sounded more working class than aristocratic.
She not only needed to hide as many clues as she could as to their actual identity, but she also knew there was a great deal of distrust in the countryside toward those of her station.
“Would you be willing to make a trade with me and my family?” She motioned back to Aldric in the cart, holding Adèle, who appeared to have calmed entirely in his arms.
“What is it you want to trade?” the woman asked.
“There is so much anger in the area just now. We’ve heard that a manor house was burned this morning.”
The woman nodded. “I’ve heard two have been burned.”
Two. Had the mob actually set fire to Fleur-de-la-Forêt, then? Had the servants escaped? Were they safe?
Céleste kept her focus by sheer willpower.
“There are whispers that people are on the hunt for someone of the first estate, someone who lives nearby. My husband did rather well for himself last year, and we managed to procure ourselves some fine clothes.” She motioned to what she was wearing.
“That’s proving a foolish bit of vanity to have indulged in. ”
She received a look of commiseration, which seemed a good sign. “People are likely to think you’re someone you aren’t.”
“Yes. Would you—could we trade you the clothes we have for something more befitting who we actually are?”
“If I go donning fine togs, though, won’t that turn attention to me?” The woman’s logic was solid.
Fortunately, Céleste was quick on her feet. “I had thought you could make use of the fabric. It could be repurposed to be anything you wish.”
That captured her interest. “What would you be trading, and what would you want in return?”
“A change of clothes for myself, my husband, and our little girl. Whatever pieces you might have that would come near enough to fitting us.”
The woman nodded. “I could manage that.”
“What would you ask in exchange?” Céleste could, in all reality, likely pay the woman for the clothing. But she did not wish to leave behind a trail of anecdotes in which a well-to-do lady in company with a little girl tossed money about.
“One for one,” the woman said. “Your dress for a dress. Your man’s shirt for a shirt.
” She motioned with her hands to indicate the rate ought to be applied to everything Céleste had asked for.
“But also your cloak. I could get a great deal of use out of the fabric, and that’d do us a lot of good just now. ”
Céleste smiled, sincerely and deeply grateful. “Thank you.”
The woman eyed her for a moment. “One of my daughter’s dresses would fit you better than anything of mine, but it’ll be a bit too short.”
Céleste was tall for a woman and wasn’t likely to find anything that fit her perfectly. But that would add to the impression. Those who hadn’t a great deal made do with whatever they could get. A well-worn dress of serviceable fabric that fit a little ill would add to the impression of want.
In short order, Céleste was divested of her cloak and given a basket of clothing.
“You can step inside the cowshed to change,” the woman said. “I’ll wait out here for the clothes you change out of.”
Céleste waved Aldric over. Not wanting to give him time to say something that gave them away, she spoke as soon as he reached her, using the same working-class voice she had used in talking with the woman.
“This kind woman has agreed to exchange our clothes for things that won’t give people the impression we’re finer people than we are. ”
It was to his credit that he sorted out so quickly what it was she was attempting to tell him without saying it outright.
He gave the woman a quick, very fleeting smile. Adèle leaned against him, clinging to his shirt and watching this new woman with suspicion.
“We’ll change quickly,” Céleste said.
Aldric followed her, again, without question. They stepped inside the cowshed, and Céleste closed the door behind them. The smell of animals was heavy in the cloying air. Comfort was not, however, their most pressing need at the moment.
“You are going to be very cold without your cloak,” Aldric said.
“And far less conspicuous.” She indicated the plain cloth visible in the basket the woman had handed her. “In these clothes, we will not garner a second glance from most people.”
“It is a brilliant bit of strategy, Céleste.” He watched her with a look of concern that was almost . . . sweet. “But I don’t like the idea of you not being warm enough.”
She shrugged. “And I don’t like the idea of being dragged away by an angry mob who hates my family.”
“Some people have the oddest priorities.”
Despite all they were facing and all that had happened, she smiled. And she felt the tiniest glimmer of calm.
“How do you propose we go about changing?” he asked. “I suspect you told the woman that we are married, which is why she didn’t feel the need to offer us privacy from each other.”
“You keep hold of Adèle for now,” Céleste said, “and turn your back. I’ll change as quickly as I can, then we can trade out Adèle’s clothing. I’ll step out and give the woman my dress and Adèle’s while you stay in here and change. You can give the woman your clothes, then join us at the cart.”
He agreed, and they did precisely that. Though she was indeed cold without her cloak, the dress the woman had provided was warmer than the one Céleste had been wearing.
That would help in the cool of the evening.
Summer days could be quite warm though. The dress might very well prove uncomfortable while the sun was blaring down on them.
Still, beggars were no choosers. She was grateful she had anything that would help keep them all safe.
Adèle was crying softly when Céleste walked with her out of the cowshed to hand over the first of their traded clothing.
“Poor thing,” the woman said. “She looks done in.”
“She is,” Céleste said. “We’ve been traveling a long time today. I think she can tell the people of this area are angry, and that worries her.”