Read Online The Exploits & Adventures of Miss Alethea Darcy by Elizabeth Aston - Free Book Online Page A

hadn’t taken it into your head to visit Miss Georgina.”
    Who had never knowingly helped another human being, as far as Figgins was aware.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, keep your voice low, the landlord will grow suspicious if he hears your voice pitched so high.”
    Figgins was silenced, but she muttered to herself as she deftly packed their bags. She’d known how it would be. Miss Alethea didn’t need to have another of her sisters turn her away; better not to ask for what you were sure not to get.
    â€œIt’s lucky, then, you got the places on the coach booked. If you reckoned we’d need them, why did you go haring off after Lady M?”
    â€œIt was a precautionary measure,” Alethea said wearily. “And a necessary one as things have turned out. Well, there is this to be said for it; the sooner we are on our way, the sooner will our travels be over. I can’t wait to reach Venice.”
    At least Miss Camilla wouldn’t go giving her sister the cold shoulder. She was a lady as was up to snuff, as they said, and that Mr. Wytton was no unworldly clergyman; he’d have no problems believing what Miss Alethea had to say about that husband of hers and his nasty ways.
    Figgins pulled the straps tight with a satisfied grunt. “There we are, all right and tight. I’ll call the boy, and he can take this round to the posting office for us in his handcart. And do you cheer up, Miss Alethea. Every mile is a mile put between you and Mr. Napier, and a mile nearer your family as is going to stand up for you. You longed to travel when you was in that schoolroom with Miss Griffin; how you used to listen to her stories of people going here, there, and everywhere, all those wolves and bandits and spectres in the woods. I can see we’re in for a lively time.”
    â€œYes, let us enjoy the journey as best we may, although I expect neither spectres nor bandits. A broken wheel is the most we have to fear, I believe.”
    Figgins saw with foreboding that a gleam had come into Miss Alethea’s eye. “Now, we have some hours to while away, let us not spend them cooped up in this inn; young men such as we now are may go where we choose and enjoy all the delights that Paris may have to offer.”
    Figgins cried out at that, but there was no stopping her mistress when she was in that kind of a reckless mood.
    â€œThe joy of going about with perfect freedom,” Alethea was saying. “Only men have such freedom, so let us make the most of it.”
    â€œAnd straight out into the Lord knows what dangers,” Figgins protested as Alethea bundled her into her coat and out of the door.

Chapter Seven
    In his youth, Titus had loved Paris. Dirty, positively mediaeval it might be, and half the size of London, but it was a lively city, where persons of every class rubbed shoulders and lived side by side. There were none of the rigid boundaries of London, of preoccupation with which addresses were socially acceptable and which beyond the pale. He liked the liveliness of the place, the outdoor cafés, the musicians and jugglers in the Palais Royal, the buzz of conversation in the streets, the courtesy of the Parisians, high and low.
    Thirteen years later, he had found a different, darker city caught up in the aftermath of defeat. That had been in 1815; now, five years later, the city had come back to life. Building was under way, there was talk that something was to be done at last about the mephitic drains and the mucky, unpaved roads. Parisians were smart and full of chatter and vivacity once more, but it seemed an empty parade; he wished he had not had to come to Paris. But Bootle was sure that Paris was George Warren’s destination, and wherever Warren went, he would follow, until he laid the wretch by the heels and seized his Titian from his clutches.
    He had made his own enquiries, and was convinced that the painting must be in Italy. However, buying and selling