CHAPTER 9

C HAPTER 9

T amsyn walked briskly into the town as if she knew where she was going. She couldn’t return to the hotel where the ambassador’s party had stayed. Where might she find refuge?

During the days of waiting for permission to leave France, she had explored the town with Cade, partly from curiosity but also from a general habit of learning the territory they were in.

They had stopped at a bakery to buy coffee and exquisite French pastries, and discovered that the woman who ran the shop liked to talk. She had mentioned that the building on the corner of the street was Madame Bernard’s boardinghouse for young ladies, most of them country girls who had come to Calais for work. The baker had emphasized that it was a respectable house, not for the naughty sorts of girls. Tamsyn had nodded gravely and done her best to look very respectable.

The memory made her bite her lip. That day had been so pleasant and normal. She and Cade had been enjoying each other’s company and preparing to escort the ambassador and his wife home. Though they’d both expected some kind of trouble in Calais, they’d not imagined the catastrophe that had just occurred.

Disaster had struck, however, and now it was necessary to keep moving forward. The boardinghouse should be a good place to go to ground. She had money and could afford to rent a room, but she would need a reason to explain why she was in a strange city on her own.

By the time she reached her destination, she had her story ready. The house was well kept, and a neatly dressed maid admitted her when she knocked. Tamsyn said shyly, “I’m Therese Martin and I was told that this is a respectable place for a single woman to stay. Do you have a room available?”

“You’ll have to speak with Madame Bernard.” The maid gave her a conspiratorial smile. “But I believe there is one. Wait in the parlor while I summon the mistress.”

Tamsyn sat in the comfortable room, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast. She was the portrait of unhappy respectability.

She stood when Madame Bernard entered. She was a short, well-rounded woman with a firm chin and kind eyes. “Good day, Mademoiselle Martin. I’m told you need lodging. Why are you here in Calais?”

“I’m a lady’s maid, madame . I speak good English, so I was offered a position with a wellborn English lady and was given the money for a ticket to Dover.” She bit her lip. “But when I went to the port to board the packet, all was madness! I was told that war had been declared, all Englishmen in France were being detained, and it was unlikely that there would be any more ships sailing to England.”

“You were at the docks today?” the landlady said with interest. “What did you observe?”

Tamsyn gave a succinct description of what had happened, concluding with, “I was afraid, so I hid under a cart and prayed to the Blessed Mother.”

“She seems to have looked out for you.” Madame Bernard cocked her head to one side. “Could you have taken passage on one of the departing ships?”

“Perhaps, but I could not leave my country in wartime,” Tamsyn said emphatically. “I might never see my family again if I left!”

The landlady nodded. “It was wise of you to understand that. What are your plans now?”

Tamsyn spread her hands. “I have no idea! I need time to rest and think. Your house was pointed out to me, so I thought this would be a good place to decide what to do next. I might not be here for long, but I hope very much that you can accommodate me for a few days.”

Madame pursed her lips, then nodded. “The only room I have available is in the attic, and it’s the smallest in the house. But it’s clean and comfortable. I also offer three meals a day but that’s extra. Do you want to see the room before you agree?”

“I have no other choice so I’m sure I’ll find it very suitable,” Tamsyn said ruefully. “I would like the meals as well.”

“Very well. Do you have any belongings?”

Tamsyn unfastened her cloak to reveal the crossed straps of her carry bags. “I thought this was the safest way to carry my things.”

“Very wise. Come along and I’ll show you the room.”

There were four increasingly narrow flights of steps up to the room. Madame unlocked the door to reveal a very small attic space with a slanting ceiling. But it was indeed clean, a window let in sunlight, and the narrow bed looked adequate. There was a washstand and a wooden chair and a small piece of carpet to warm the feet. There was even a rather nice watercolor picture of ships in the harbor hanging over the bed.

“This is perfect,” Tamsyn said.

“It’s fortunate that you’re short or you’d be bumping your head against the ceiling all the time!” Madame said. “I’ll send the maid up with water for your washstand. Dinner will be served at six o’clock. A gong will be sounded ten minutes before.”

Tamsyn pulled out her small purse and carefully counted out enough francs to cover a week of room and board. “You have my most sincere thanks, madame .”

The landlady accepted the money and handed over the key to the room. “I hope you will find the peace you need here, my dear. I’ll see you at dinner.”

As soon as the landlady left, Tamsyn peeled off her cloak and lifted the carry bags from her shoulders, hanging the bags and cloak on pegs behind the door. A wave of fatigue swamped her. She hadn’t realized how tired and bruised and drained she was.

Not even taking off her half boots, she sprawled onto the bed and let exhaustion take her.

* * *

The hollow sound of a distant gong wakened Tamsyn. She wanted to stay in bed for the next week, but she needed to eat. Wearily she pushed herself to a sitting position and hoped that the dinner would be good enough to justify the four flights of stairs down and back up again later.

She stood and peered into the small mirror above the washbasin. She looked as bad as she felt. Remembering that Madame Bernard had said she’d send up water, she unlocked the door and found that a full pitcher was set against the wall.

After splashing cold water on her face and combing her hair, she felt ready to find her meal. The dining room was in the back of the house, next to the kitchen, and Madame appeared to introduce her new guest to the seven other residents.

They were friendly and interested in hearing her account of what had happened at the port. There were gasps of shock from some of the young women who sympathized with the poor Englishmen who were prevented from going home, but others said they should have stayed in England in the first place. Tamsyn supposed that was a fair reflection of what most of the French thought.

Dinner was a great pot of hearty stew that contained sausage and beans and barley and other vegetables accompanied by slices of fresh warm bread and a mild, pleasant white table wine. There was enough stew for seconds. Tamsyn finished her second bowl with a happy sigh, feeling much better than she had earlier.

“I needed that!” she said. “Is the food always this good?”

The other young women nodded. “Madame’s cook is very good. No one goes hungry,” a cheerful girl named Lucille said. “I’m glad you liked the stew. If you stay very long, you’ll be seeing it regularly!”

Tamsyn laughed. “French cooking is still another reason for staying on this side of the channel. They say the English are dreadful cooks.”

“Which is why wellborn English folk are always hiring French chefs.” Lucille frowned. “With the war resumed, there won’t be many people crossing the channel to work. Have you decided what you’ll do now, Therese?”

“I haven’t had much time to think about it,” Tamsyn said. “I’ll probably return to Paris, where I know people who can help me find work.” She sighed. “But I’m sure I won’t be paid as well as the English milady promised me.”

“The English need French style as well as French food,” another girl said.

A third said, “This war is good for no one. Soon all the young men will be sent away to fight and then what will we do?”

Silence fell over the table. Tamsyn rose and said quietly, “Then we must pray for peace. Good night, my friends, and thank you all for your welcome.”

Climbing four flights of steps several times a day would certainly keep Tamsyn fit. She’d been given a short piece of candle to light her way, and when she reached her attic, she used it to light the lantern on the small table. It was time to evaluate her resources.

Both of the carry bags had been made by a younger sister, Naomi Tremayne, who loved to sew. The bags were sturdily constructed and had small pockets inside to hold special items. Each also had the beautifully embroidered initial of the owner. Tamsyn’s initial T was done in a soft rose color.

Cade’s bag had an elegant C and was sewn in a very dark blue, the same shade as his eyes. When they’d first met, Tamsyn thought his eyes were brown, almost black, but the color turned out to be an intense blue. Compelling eyes that could light with laughter or warmth or icy determination.

Tamsyn knew that her own bag carried several items of clothing, including a boy’s outfit for when she needed a disguise or more freedom of movement or both. Money and a few pieces of jewelry were tucked into pockets that were secured with buttons.

There was also a folded list of gifted people in France who might be able to help if Tamsyn or Cade needed assistance. The names and addresses were coded so a searcher wouldn’t be able to decipher them and perhaps threaten their allies.

She opened Cade’s bag and froze. The contents carried his scent, subtle and masculine and as distinctive as if he was sitting next to her. The effect was shattering. She closed her eyes and mentally reached out, needing to feel him even though he was not his full self now. In return, she sent her own caring energy and thought it strengthened him a little.

When she felt steady again, she examined the contents of his bag, assuming that they would be similar to her own. There were fewer items of clothing because he was so much larger than she, so his garments took more space. Their additional belongings had been packed into a small trunk and carried to Calais on an ambassadorial wagon and loaded onto the ship. Those things would reach London long before they did, but no matter if they didn’t. Clothing was easy to replace.

Cade had been carrying even more money than she had, which could prove useful. He also had a copy of the list of gifted people they might call on. In the same pocket she found the sleek folding knife she’d given him several years earlier. It was a very nice specimen, compact and potentially lethal.

She held it a moment, wondering if Cade had ever used this blade to kill someone. He’d probably had to kill on occasion and if so, she was sure the killing was justified, but she was grateful that she’d never had to kill anyone herself. If the necessity ever arose, she hoped that she’d be strong enough to do the right thing.

There was one more pocket to search. Something hard and rectangular was inside. She unbuttoned the pocket and found a golden case about two inches square. It looked like a watch, though she couldn’t remember ever seeing Cade use it.

She clicked the case open, then gasped. Inside was a miniature of her, a small version of the laughing portrait her parents had commissioned. Each child of the Tribe of Tremayne had a similar portrait, and the paintings covered a whole wall of her parents’ private sitting room. Opposite the miniature was a small lock of blond hair under glass. Her hair.

She closed the golden case, unnerved. It pulsed with Cade’s distinct energy as if he held it often. She was probably closer to him than any of the younger sisters, but even so, this seemed . . . extreme.

For an instant she wondered if his feelings for her went beyond brotherly affection. She buried the thought immediately. They were brother and sister and that was more than enough.

She prepared for bed, weary to the bone. When she put out the lantern, moonlight poured through the window, keeping the small room from complete darkness.

She laid down, forcing herself to relax, muscle by muscle. Then she reached out mentally to her parents. When she felt their presence, she sent a wordless message that she and Cade had been delayed in France, but not to worry. They’d be home soon.

She sensed that they understood and were sending her warmth and reassurance. She wanted to crawl into Gwyn’s arms and be told everything would be all right, but held back her longing. If she communicated how serious the situation was, her parents would be upset and want to do something, but war had been declared and no Englishman was safe in France.

Telling Bran would be even worse because he’d want to come to France immediately. That would be too dangerous for him. Her intuition told her if Cade was to be rescued, it must be done by her.

Though God only knew how she would be able to free the brother she loved.