Page 75 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
*
Their journey thesecond day took them further east to the next largest town along the Marne. Chateau-Thierry was a small town nestled along the banks of the river among stunning mountains.
Both of their horses had given their all, and soon would have been unable to go on. But the town appeared. Tate and she were relieved. He inquired about the location of the auberge the proprietor of the Meaux lodge had recommended. On a side street, they found it easily. That owner welcomed them in with wine, steaming bowls ofpot-au-feufor dinner, and a straw-filled bed that was clean and wide.
Viv awoke the next morning to shouts in the streets. She sat up just as Tate was opening their door.
“Get dressed. We must leave.”
“What is happening out there?”
“The French army escorts British citizens to prison. A long line of them.”
She scrambled from their bed. There was not a moment to lose.
*
The proprietor ofthe auberge in Chateau-Thierry had a cousin who owned a farm along the road south. “There, monsieur,” advised the man, “you may be able to buy one of his old pony carts.”
As they headed down the farm road, Tate told her that they should not stay on the major thoroughfare east toward Verdun and the eastern border. “If the army herds British prisonersalong that road, it is a dangerous one for us to travel. We will go southeast and head for Strasbourg.”
“I was there once when I was nine or ten. A lovely old city along the Rhine.”
Tate nodded, his features cramped with worry. “I have been there often. Recently, in fact. We will take a boat from a small dock north and call upon a friend of mine who, when last I saw him, lived in Karlsruhe.”
Reaching Strasbourg was a trek through rolling, verdant farmland. Because they could not travel with the benefit of major rivers, their journey by horse or by carriage grew hot and tedious.
Viv worried over the cost. She had perhaps a hundred francs in coin in her reticule. “I hope we have enough money to pay for this.”
“I have good coin, thanks to my friends. Never fear.”
She had another worry. “The Rhine is shared by French and Germans. And if we are on it and Vaillancourt sends out men to arrest us, the French could sail the river to capture us,” she said with trepidation.
“The Margrave of Baden would not countenance an invasion of his sovereignty by French troops. He and Bonaparte are friends, sad to say. But the German would object to such infringement of his boundaries. We will be safe. And my friend in Karlsruhe will help us find passage on a ship to sail north and home.”
*
Four nights later,they disembarked from a dock in the territory of the margravate of Baden. The trip to the capital was short, only a few miles to the center of the city.
Tate, who spoke excellent German, gave the coachman instructions. Viv, who understood only a smattering of the language, listened to Tate tell him to take them to Frederickstrasse, number ten.
“This friend of yours,” she asked, more tired than she wished to show Tate, “he will welcome us?”
“Most definitely. Dirk—Lord Fournier—and I attended Heidelberg University farther north when were young. We learned how to fence and how to analyze soil. He will treat us like family.”
“Fencing being the most useful of those lessons?”
He chuckled. “But of course.”
The mansion of white stone and dark brown timber stood like an old gothic castle on the street. Beside other houses less royal, the four-story stood like a grand dame of the city.
A pull on the old iron lion’s-head knocker had a snowy-haired fellow opening the door to them. He wore green-and-white livery as if he were born to it, took one look at Tate, and invited him inside. In effusive German, he welcomed Tate with the joy of an old friend.
He led them into the foyer. Stars twinkled in the heavens above through the glass-domed ceiling. The butler continued in effusive greeting, going to a corner of the atrium and pulling a bell to summon more servants. A maid and two burly footmen appeared in a trice, and off the two footmen disappeared out the front door. Viv assumed they were to collect luggage—of course, there was none.
Tate took her arm and explained, “The butler is William Bartel, who assures me we are to be shown to a sitting room and bedrooms immediately. He apologizes that Lord Fournier is presently detained. He has an unexpected visitor and will receive us as soon as he—”
“Prinzessin!” From a floor above, a man bellowed like a wounded buck. “Halt!”
