Page 17 of Souvenir Heart

“How do you know if you hate sailing when you spend most of the voyage hanging over the railing puking your guts out?” David picked up the lantern from the bench, raising it high enough to see inside the coach. There were the slashes from the soldiers’ bayonet inspection of the seats and a few smears of blood on the upholstery, despite the care they’d taken.

“Isn’t that the definition of sailing?” Andre, noticing the direction of David’s attention, came to stand beside him. Nodding at the slashes he said, “How will you explain those if we’re stopped again?”

Not if, but when. With his free hand, David patted the identity papers in his breast pocket. “Thanks to Marcus’s most excellent work, we’ve just acquired this coach from some patriots who “liberated” it from an aristocrat who has no use for it in the foreseeable future, seeing as how they also liberated his head from his body in the process. I, David Dumont, am just a humble country boy, hoping to use this fine vehicle to make my fortune in the big city.

“It’s a good story, but you’re going to have to drop your ‘r’s more if you want it to sound convincing.“ He slapped David on the back. “You want to work on this back panel together?”

“Sure, I’ll bring the bench and lantern around.”

As they worked, Andre asked, “Do you think we should change our route to Paris? Just in case…?”

Just in case the national guard pursued them. David slid a chisel under a layer of blue veneer. “I’ve thought about it, but it’s liable to take us even longer to get there.”

“We do have three weeks until the sloop returns.”

“And if three weeks isn’t enough?”

Silence stretched between them as if they’d cast a net into a dark sea of worries and were waiting to discover what they’d bring up.

“We’ll come up with something. We always do.”

“De Joley.” Andre, said, momentarily ceasing his efforts to pry up a panel. “I understand why he didn’t take his daughter on the run with him. Too dangerous. But why didn’t he make arrangements to get her out of the country before he left?”

“Who knows. There was a husband. The Girondin fellow. She probably couldn’t bear to leave him.”

“Yes, but, according to the comte, he died six months ago. Leaving the poor lady on her own.”

“She might have thought she’d be safe. Her husband’s the Girondist. She’s just a woman. And she’s caught between a hammer and anvil with these new laws. Emigration means banishment for life from France and forfeiture of all lands and properties here. Remaining in France may be the only way to avoid losing everything she has.”

“Except her life.” Andre slid his chisel along his side of the back panel, popping it free. “Me, I’d rather be destitute than dead.”

“She might have not known where to turn for help. Who to trust.”

They fell silent, both thinking of the networks they were relying on, the networks that might be compromised, as they continued the work of prying the panels loose and breaking them into pieces.

“Grab the lanterns and let’s move the bench and tools around to the other side.” David directed.

Andre lifted the lantern from the end of the bench, searching the surrounding area for any tools they might have left on the ground. Finding none, he walked to the front of the carriage, unhooked the lantern hanging on the side of the box and moved it to the opposite side. He set a second lantern down next to the carriage’s steps,

“If she stayed to protect the family fortune,” Andre mused returning to help carry the bench, “does Joley truly have the monies he promised Marcus?”

“He’s the former finance minister. Grenville seems rather keen to have him in England. I’m guessing he’s a clever one. Clever enough to have found ways to shift his money to England, or Switzerland, or Austria.” As they set the bench down, he added. “Not that I think it makes a difference.

“It was quite a tidy sum.”

“If acquiring a fortune was what mattered to him, Tyns wouldn’t be risking his life in France on a regular basis. He’d be hanging about London ballrooms hunting heiresses.”

“Tyns,” Andre said, the name emerging on a huff of amusement. “In a ballroom. Can you imagine our scribbler dancing attendance on girls just out of the schoolroom? Fetching lemonade? Making small talk?”

David, who prided himself on his inventive mind, tried. And failed. “Small talk? The man can barely bring himself to make polite conversation.”

“Still,” Andre mused. “He volunteered. You know what he always says about volunteering.”

“The preferred choice of idiots and dead men,” the two men said in unison.

“And that bit about him knowing what it’s like to leave a child behind,” Andre shook his head in disbelief. “Did you know he had a child?”

“He never mentioned it.” David picked up a chisel and began prying at a panel. The trust between the three men was built in part on the understanding that they avoided asking questions about each other’s pasts or why they’d chosen their peculiar line of work. “But then, we all have secrets we’d prefer left comfortably buried.”