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Her thoughts strayed to visions of the rescue. She imagined the vehicle conveying her father to Paris being held up by Jay and his servant at gunpoint, of shots being fired, of people being wounded, perhaps the guards, perhaps the rescuers, perhaps her father. She saw them fighting their way to her coach and driving hell for leather to the coast, pursued on all sides. She saw the yacht rocking on the sea, out of reach, and their pursuers on their heels. And supposing they were all caught, what then? It did not bear thinking about. Surely there was another way.
She had fallen asleep at last, to wake in the morning bleary-eyed and with a bad headache. Hortense gave her a tisane and made her eat some breakfast, after which she felt well enough to pack a few clothes and toiletries in two portmanteaux, then Lisette found a velvet bag and scooped all her jewels into it: necklaces, ear drops, bracelets and tiaras, some she had inherited from her mother, some her father had bought for her. She knew the French authorities would not take kindly to her taking them out of the country, so she hid them securely in the stuffing of one of the cushions in the carriage.
She had a little money in the house, most of it assignats which would be worthless in England, but there was money and stocks held at the bank in Honfleur and she needed those too. ‘I’m going into Honfleur,’ she told Hortense. ‘I need to draw money out of the bank.’
‘Do you think that is a good idea, Lissie? It will surely indicate that you are planning to flee and put the authorities on their guard.’
‘Monsieur Gascon has been the family banker for years and years, he will not betray me.’
‘You cannot be sure of that. Everyone is afraid to have secrets nowadays.’
‘I shall say I wish to use the money to pay a lawyer to defend my father and he insists on being paid in cash.’
‘If you must, but I am afraid it will not please the Englishman.’
‘I think it will please him very much,’ Lisette said stubbornly. ‘It means I can pay him for his trouble and we will be able to live independently in England and not have to rely on charity.’
‘Shall I ask Georges to put the horses to the carriage?’
‘No. I have been told they must be kept fresh and ready to go at a moment’s notice. I will walk. Besides, a walk will help to clear my head.’
‘Then I shall come too.’
Lisette did not object to that and they set off, both wearing plain gowns, bright red shawls and red ribbons in their hair. It was difficult to tell who was servant and who mistress except that Hortense was carrying a shopping basket. The maid deplored the necessity, but if it was the only way to keep her darling safe, then it had to be. They met a few people on the road, but no one exchanged a greeting, nor even a smile.
At the bank, Hortense waited in the vestibule while Lisette went into the bank manager’s inner sanctum to make her request.
‘My dear mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘I cannot release your father’s money to you. It is in his name and only he can withdraw it.’
‘But he is in prison.’
‘Yes, I had heard.’
‘I need it for his defence and that could be costly. Lawyers seem to be able to charge whatever they like these days.’
‘If you could visit the Comte and obtain written authorisation from him, then I would be happy to oblige you.’
‘They will not let me see him.’
‘Then I am sorry.’
‘I thought you were my friend,’ she said, disappointed and angry. ‘You are as bad as all the others. You have done well out of Papa over the years, is that not worth something?’
He looked distressed, but could only repeat, ‘I am sorry. I dare not.’ He paused, then went on. ‘You have a little money of your own your mother left you. You can certainly have that.’
‘Then please let me have it in gold coin, louis d’or or ecus, not assignat.’
‘I don’t know…’ He hesitated.
‘Please, at least do this for me.’
‘Very well.’ He went to a safe and unlocked it, then counted out the equivalent of a thousand livres which he put into a pouch and handed to her. ‘Let us hope you are not robbed of it before you can use it.’
She put it in the pocket of her skirt and tied the red scarf round her waist like a belt with its ends hanging down to disguise the bulk of the pouch, then she bade him good day and left.
‘What now?’ Hortense asked after she had told her what had happened. ‘Home again?’
She did not answer because they had emerged on to the street just as a black carriage bowled past. ‘That’s Henri Canard back from Paris,’ she said, catching a glimpse of the man sitting in it. ‘Come on.’ She started to hurry after it.
