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Authors: David Clement-Davies
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half English and the elegant French boy had managed to steel the coach past the lodge that night without waking Charlotte, but it had been far harder to persuade little Spike to stay behind, and tell their mother that the boys would be back in just a few days time. Henry was deeply glad that they had. He always felt responsible for reckless little Spike, although guilty Hal did not give more time to his sister.
Before getting aboard Armande St Honoré had gone up to the big house to change into simpler clothes, although dandified enough still, and to fetch his fine cloth valise too, which sat beside him now, while Constance had long retired to bed and to her smelling salts, in Mr Wickham’s great home.
After a quick dash back to the barn to help Holmwood carry an extra wheel to their carriage, the three boys had finally got on the road, in the very early hours.
A big cloth bag sat in the back too, which Henry had taken with the express purpose of confronting the problem of brilliant disguises in Dover. It was the family dressing up bag.
A little purse of silver coin sat on the seat next to Henry too, with a draw string to tie it shut, which Simon’s son kept looking at nervously. Henry felt as terrible as Skipper about stealing the thing, but this was no time for doubts now. An innocent young life was at stake.
The young Count was staring at Henry though and Armande suddenly realised that he did not really know this boy at all, feeling nervous and rather uncomfortable. It was like starting at some new school, although in France Armande St Honoré had had private tutors, of course.
Armande was very happy though that he had had a chance to clean himself up before they had left and wash off most of that dirt.
“Bonespair,” he whispered suddenly, raising a thick eyebrow, “Tis a strange name, non?”
Henry looked up and frowned. He was often teased at school for it, just like his nose. He hated being teased and he hated being bullied too, parhaps that is why he stood up for Francis Simpkins.
“Yes, Count. I suppose it is. Er, it’s Huguenot though. Frenchie, like you. Grandpa settled in London for a time. We were lace makers once.”
Henry looked at Armande’s fine shirt, wondering if the two of them really had anything in common and the Count frowned distastefully.
“Huguenot,” he nodded though, “You’re Protestants then, Monsieur, not French Catholics, like the great St Honorés?”
It was a rather grown up question and the two comparative strangers, of such different ranks too, felt very awkward indeed to be in the carriage together.
Armande was scrutinising Hal’s rather plain clothes and the fifteen year older suddenly wondered if he should bring up the question of a leader again. Armande St Honoré thought better of it, for the moment at least.
“Yes, Count,” said Henry cheerfully, “although Ma and pa don’t worry about it too much. Pa says we should just try to fit in in England.”
“Well, Robespierre does not care either,” said Armande coldly, “Because they believe in nothing at all in France now, Mamman says. Not God, nor anything else. What now though, ‘enri? A plan. If you are really to be our leader.”
Henry Bonespair suddenly didn’t like this talk of France and he was glad to get back down to practical matters now. He held his nose thoughtfully again.
“First off, I reckon we make for the Night Watch Inn, Count,” he answered. “We’ve got rooms already paid, on the itinerary. Then we pick up Francis Simpkins, if we can, and drive to the King’s Head and on to Dover, if we have to, that is. From there we can spread around the port and search too. Then we come straight back again. With Juliette, safe and sound.”
It seemed a very scientific plan indeed, if a little too easy, and Hal felt rather important, as the coach hit a bump, and the two boys were lifted from their seats and
Before getting aboard Armande St Honoré had gone up to the big house to change into simpler clothes, although dandified enough still, and to fetch his fine cloth valise too, which sat beside him now, while Constance had long retired to bed and to her smelling salts, in Mr Wickham’s great home.
After a quick dash back to the barn to help Holmwood carry an extra wheel to their carriage, the three boys had finally got on the road, in the very early hours.
A big cloth bag sat in the back too, which Henry had taken with the express purpose of confronting the problem of brilliant disguises in Dover. It was the family dressing up bag.
A little purse of silver coin sat on the seat next to Henry too, with a draw string to tie it shut, which Simon’s son kept looking at nervously. Henry felt as terrible as Skipper about stealing the thing, but this was no time for doubts now. An innocent young life was at stake.
The young Count was staring at Henry though and Armande suddenly realised that he did not really know this boy at all, feeling nervous and rather uncomfortable. It was like starting at some new school, although in France Armande St Honoré had had private tutors, of course.
Armande was very happy though that he had had a chance to clean himself up before they had left and wash off most of that dirt.
“Bonespair,” he whispered suddenly, raising a thick eyebrow, “Tis a strange name, non?”
Henry looked up and frowned. He was often teased at school for it, just like his nose. He hated being teased and he hated being bullied too, parhaps that is why he stood up for Francis Simpkins.
“Yes, Count. I suppose it is. Er, it’s Huguenot though. Frenchie, like you. Grandpa settled in London for a time. We were lace makers once.”
Henry looked at Armande’s fine shirt, wondering if the two of them really had anything in common and the Count frowned distastefully.
“Huguenot,” he nodded though, “You’re Protestants then, Monsieur, not French Catholics, like the great St Honorés?”
It was a rather grown up question and the two comparative strangers, of such different ranks too, felt very awkward indeed to be in the carriage together.
Armande was scrutinising Hal’s rather plain clothes and the fifteen year older suddenly wondered if he should bring up the question of a leader again. Armande St Honoré thought better of it, for the moment at least.
“Yes, Count,” said Henry cheerfully, “although Ma and pa don’t worry about it too much. Pa says we should just try to fit in in England.”
“Well, Robespierre does not care either,” said Armande coldly, “Because they believe in nothing at all in France now, Mamman says. Not God, nor anything else. What now though, ‘enri? A plan. If you are really to be our leader.”
Henry Bonespair suddenly didn’t like this talk of France and he was glad to get back down to practical matters now. He held his nose thoughtfully again.
“First off, I reckon we make for the Night Watch Inn, Count,” he answered. “We’ve got rooms already paid, on the itinerary. Then we pick up Francis Simpkins, if we can, and drive to the King’s Head and on to Dover, if we have to, that is. From there we can spread around the port and search too. Then we come straight back again. With Juliette, safe and sound.”
It seemed a very scientific plan indeed, if a little too easy, and Hal felt rather important, as the coach hit a bump, and the two boys were lifted from their seats and
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