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She lifted it, and Ramsey reached out, but instead of handing it to him, she crumpled it.
“Madam, what are you doing?” he yelled.
“Shh!” She frowned at him. “Do you want Strooper rushing in?”
Then to his horror, she dropped the paper on the floor, rose, and stomped on it with her boot.
Ramsey closed his eyes and wondered if he could find another forger at this late hour. Preferably one who wasn’t daft.
“Lord Sedgwick?”
He opened his eyes to see her holding the battered document out to him. “You don’t want it to look new, do you? That’s a certain sign of a counterfeit.”
With a sigh, he took the paper and examined it. He had no idea what French identification papers looked like, but this appeared authentic to him.
“I made you a resident of Varenne,” she said. “They’re considered heroes because Varenne is where King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette were caught fleeing France.”
“Thank you.” He placed the papers in his coat and turned to leave.
“That will be five pounds,” she said.
He paused and turned. “I thought you didn’t do it for the money.”
She smiled merrily. He could have sworn her eyes danced.
“No, but it’s a welcome bonus.” She held out her small hand, and Ramsey paid her.
—
Gabrielle flattened herself against the wall of The Fisherman’s Rest, a cozy inn where she had waited in the coffee room until it was time to board theFugitive. There had been other passengers for France that night, most bundled so she could not see their faces. She was glad none of them were on theFugitivewith her. She did not want anyone from England able to identify her when she reached France.
Ifshe reached France.
She leaned against the side of The Fisherman’s Rest and swore. It was a particularly unladylike curse, but she wasn’t feeling very ladylike at the moment. What was Mr. Pin doing at the ramp of theFugitive? What was the man doing in Dover? Had he followed her? She hadn’t seen any suspicious vehicles on the Dover Road. Did he know she intended to board or was this some horrible, unfortunate coincidence?
Thank God she had overheard one of the sailors from another vessel exclaim at seeing Pin. The poor man obviously owed Pin money as well and was as eager as Gabrielle to avoid the man.
Curses! Everything had been going so well. Cressy had helped her pack, arrange for post-horses, and she’d kissed both Cressy and Diana goodbye. The trip to Dover had been uneventful, the roads good. Once she’d arrived at The Fisherman’s Rest, she’d been told the seas were smooth, the wind high, and theFugitivewould sail on time. She’d peered out at it several times, noting it was docked exactly where it should be, and the crew appeared to be making final preparations for the voyage across the Channel.
And then she’d heard that sailor.
She’d been fortunate, but what was she to do now? She couldn’t afford to stand about forever or theFugitivewould leave without her.
And then what? No Paris, no Saphir Blanc, and no comtesse de Tonnerre. Perhaps she could book passage on another packet. She might even board that one.
Unless Pin found her first. She had a sinking feeling he’d been watching her and had followed her from her town house.
Gabrielle took a deep breath and summoned all of her courage. Perhaps Pin didn’t know what she looked like. She peeked out from her hiding place. She could barely discern Pin’s features. There were several men standing about the gangplank, and she assumed the one in the three-cornered hat and swirling cape was Pin. The others probably worked for him. Fortunately, none of them were big enough to be the man she’d encountered the night before.
She was wearing a heavy, if worn, shawl. If she pulled it over her hair and kept her head down, perhaps he wouldn’t think her Viscountess McCullough. After all, in keeping with her identity as a lace maker, she was wearing her oldest dress and shoes. She didn’t think she looked like a viscountess.
Somewhere a bell tolled a quarter to nine, and Gabrielle pushed away from the warehouse. “Go, go, go,” she urged herself. Her leaden feet moved slowly, and she kept her head down, heading for the gangplank. Even now she could hear the sailors calling that this was the final chance to board. They were casting off the lines. It was now or never.
She adjusted the sack with her clothing and papers on her shoulder and hurried forward, stepping behind a man who was also boarding. Oh, why did another passenger have to appear now, when she needed to rush on board? Her head was still down, but she thought she caught the glimpse of a black cape and shiny black boots beside her. Her fingers hurt from clenching the rope tied about her sack, and her breath came in short bursts.
Hurry, hurry, hurry…
“My lady?” a smooth, cultured voice murmured in her ear.
