Page 79 of Echo in the Wind

“Good morning to you, M’sieur.” She took her seat and smiled at Zoé. “We can take Gabrielle with us.”

“And M’sieur Bequel,” Jean insisted, as he resumed his seat. “I will not have you roaming around the town without a guard. Giroud and I will be taking horses to the vineyard so you can have the carriage.”

“There is the Saintonge carriage,” offered Zoé.

He glanced at Joanna, hoping she saw his concern for their using any vehicle that announced a member of the Saintonge family was within. “For the time being, I’d prefer you take the one I brought from Lorient.”

Zoé didn’t seem to mind what vehicle they took. With eager anticipation, she turned to Joanna. “I have much to show you, my lady.”

The coachman snapped the whip and Joanna and her companions were off, taking the road that led through the vineyards. Zoé had told her the town of Saint Jean d’Angély lay only a few miles away. The sky had clouded over, portending rain, and, while not terribly cold, she and her two traveling companions had worn hooded cloaks.

M’sieur Bequel, who had bowed to his captain’s orders and agreed to escort them, rode on top.

Zoé, sitting next to her, pointed out the sights: a mill, a small church, some new vines and, when they had gone some distance, another nobleman’s château and vineyards.

Sitting across from Joanna, Gabrielle gazed out the window, wide-eyed.

“Have you never been here before, Gabrielle?” Joanna asked.

“Non. I am grateful to you for bringing me.” The young maid was a pleasure to be around. Perhaps the quality Joanna most valued at the moment was the maid’s discretion. She had asked no questions when she had arranged for the bathwater to be brought in that morning. Her gaze had taken in the unrumpled bed before looking away, making Joanna realize her mistake. She had sat upon the bed cover that Gabrielle had pulled down for the night, but it did not look slept in and the pillows lacked even a dent. What must Gabrielle think of her?

Many noblemen had mistresses. Very likely, her maid assumed Joanna was Donet’s chère amie, a label she never thought to bear. But it had been her choice to go to him, even knowing it might lead to this.

As they left the vineyards behind, Joanna glimpsed thatched cottages along each side of the road. Unlike those in Chichester, they were made of mud, not whitewashed. And they had no windows. In front of them, children played in the dirt in threadbare clothing and bare feet. The women standing nearby stared at their coach with hostile eyes.

“Those cottages are nothing but miserable heaps of dirt,” observed Joanna, sitting back, her voice laced with pity. “Whose are they?”

“Peasants,” said Zoé. “Some are vineyard workers, some farmers.”

“Their cottages have earthen chimneys,” remarked Joanna, “but few have windows. ’Tis worse than the homes of the poor families where I come from in England.”

Zoé’s face remained placid. “It has always been that way, my lady. Papa wanted to help them but Grand-père said not to. They fought over it.”

“When I was still in England,” said Joanna, “I was told the French people are unhappy. Now I see it for myself. If they pay taxes to live in such hovels, I can understand their discontent.”

The carriage moved on, but the somber scene she had witnessed remained with her. She would speak to Donet about what could be done. Perhaps for his own workers, he could at least provide new cottages.

Before they reached the town, Joanna heard a loud bell and turned to Zoé for an explanation.

“That’s the bell in the clock tower. ’Tis very old.”

The carriage slowed as it entered the small town. The narrow, cobblestone streets reminded Joanna of Chichester, except this town had more of a medieval feel with its gray stone buildings. And, instead of a great cathedral, it possessed the tall clock tower Zoé had spoken of and an old abbey church with two very impressive towers.

Zoé gazed out the window as they passed the huge edifice. “The abbey is not finished. The monks have been building it for a very long time.”

“Where are we going?” asked Joanna.

“Oncle Jean asked the driver to stop near the market. It’s in the center of town.”

“Your uncle thinks of everything.”

With her eyes reflecting her sorrow, Zoé said, “Just like Papa.”

Joanna put her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “I know what it is to lose both parents. It will get easier over time and you have your uncle who will be like a father to you.” She only hoped it would be true.

Once they alighted from the carriage, Zoé’s spirits picked up as she headed down one of the streets with Joanna and Gabrielle in tow and M’sieur Bequel following closely behind with sword and pistol at the ready. Joanna assumed the weapons were per Donet’s instructions, such precautions due to the carriage accident that hadn’t been an accident at all. He might be worried about his niece. But what kind of a monster would want to harm a child?

The people of the town were a mixture of the very poor and those who were more richly dressed and had money to spend or business to transact. Soot-faced children ran through the streets. An occasional beggar sat against a building, sheltered under an eave. Every place had its desperately poor and Joanna always noticed them.