Page 42 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
“What I mean is that, I loved my house, Aunt Cecily, Augustine, and our social life. I resent the circumstances thatdrove me from it. I favor good food and fine bedding, baths, and my own clothes.” She pulled at the cotton gown and shawl she wore. “These fit well. The modiste in Buzancy was skilled. I don’t criticize her. But if my preferences make me sound superior, I don’t mean it to be. I have had education, wealth, and many opportunities that others have not.”
She looked away. She would tell him the truth. “I’d like to think that one day I could live a normal life. Not worry about who will knock at the door. Who will come to call and wish to take me away.”
That confession had him raising his brows—and she was not surprised. It was her first indication that she tired of her role and her flight from it. He reached out and, across the small table, raised her hand and kissed her palm.
She tried for levity. “So there you have it. I am not as fierce as I appear to be.”
*
Indeed.He turnedaway to look at the river as it rushed along the banks. He would not reiterate his exhortation to leave France. He’d done that too often. Now he had learned the power of leaving well enough alone.
She would decide as she would.
He could wait.
Chapter Eleven
They stayed inSedan only four nights, then Ram hired a carriage and off they went to Verdun. In those few days, she and Ram had learned little new. The townsfolk expected a shipment of muskets, but had heard the number was small. A new big shipment was to go to Verdun. Ram and Amber took the gossips at their word.
Their journey was southeast to the city that, like Sedan, sat on the Meuse River. Here they learned their first day that many spoke not only French but also German.
The town was nestled in the rolling eastern hills. As they strolled up to the old tower gates, looking for a place to dine, Ram told her what he knew about the star-shaped citadel of the ancient city of Verdun. At the turn of the last century, Louis XIV’s famous old Marshal of France, Vauban, had added to the medieval city wall. Like other fortifications Vauban was famous for constructing throughout France, this here he had built as steep black stone walls struck deep in the wet soil. The ramparts stood so tall that they created narrow, sunless, mean streets smelling of the stagnant water left from countless floods, Vauban ordered hydraulics to push out overflowing water from the Meuse.
“Still, it’s a pretty town.” Amber noted the half-timbered houses, some with brightly colored family crests carved into theheavy wooden doors and elaborate Gothic windows dotting the second and third stories.
Their accommodations were a set of rooms in a small guest house. The proprietors were a man and his wife who were pink-cheeked, jolly folks. They spoke a mix of German and French that made for interesting misunderstandings among them.
“I wonder,” said Amber in poor German to their hostess, Greta Mercier, “ifmein Mannand I could have potato cakes?” She turned to Ram, and in French asked, “How do you think one says ‘potato’ in German?”
“Kartoffel,” he said. “I know a few words from my friend, Lord Fournier.”
“Fournier?” Greta perked up and grinned. “We have many here in the family Fournier.Verstehen Sie?”
But then the woman rambled on about a good-looking young man who, Ram translated, had stayed with them for a full week. “He was very handsome. Tall, white-blond hair, and very polite.”
Ram asked her more about this man’s looks and concluded she had met his friend and colleague, Diederich Fournier. “Ja, he is my friend,Frau Mercier.”
Ram had left Paris with Dirk, Lord Fournier, weeks ago. They had journeyed together toward the east. In one of the small villages where they stayed in an inn, Dirk had become very ill. Ram and he suspected Dirk had eaten something that was rotten. Ram had accompanied Dirk nearly to Verdun, but when his friend rallied, Ram had left Dirk and went north to track Amber. Dirk had continued onward to his family, who lived in Baden. Ram was surprised Dirk had stayed so long in this city.
“He was very ill,” she said, and made a face. “You know,” she tried in French, “sick.”
“Is that right?” Ram was surprised. Dirk had told him he felt better and persuaded Ram to leave him to go north and do his duty.
Ram had developed that issue to his own advantage. “Perhaps you have met another friend of mine? Tall, hair like my wife here.” He made up a name. “Monsieur Lucien Albert?”
The lady thought a moment. “Lucien Albrecht,oui,monsieur.Nicht Albert. Nein. Albrecht.”
“Merci beaucoup, madame. Das ist eine Schande.That’s a shame. I had hoped to join him here. He was a friend of the commander of the citadel. He came to visit with him.”
The woman frowned. “Nein. Nicht herein. Not here.” She rattled on in her mix of two languages. What he got from her discourse was that the French commander of the citadel was too busy to receive guests. He was receiving too many shipments of muskets to pass the time with others in frivolous ways.
When the woman left them to their coffee and apple strudel, Ram could not suppress his grin.
“Now,” Amber said, picking up his lightness of being, “that’s progress. All we need is more detail.”
“Such as the number of muskets.”
*
