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“Next train comes through on Friday.” Monsieur Paquet spoke from behind her before she reached the bench.
She whirled. “Friday? You can’t be serious.”
He shrugged.
A tightness constricted her throat. “But I can’t... What will I do?” Tears threatened, and she turned back toward the bench, not wanting him to see her distress. Rain now poured down, and she hurried to the station door, pounding on it again before her last shred of hope dissipated and she sat down on the bench.
Could this man possibly be telling the truth? She couldn’t believe it. But what if he were? Despite her attempts to think through the situation rationally, despair crowded out every thought, and her tears started in earnest.What am I to do?She buried her face in her hands, feeling sick with discouragement.Father will be so worried, she thought. And disappointed.Now I shall never travel anywhere without a chaperone. And what if the stationmaster doesn't come?
The toes of two scuffed boots moved into her line of vision.
Julia jerked up her head, wiping away her tears and trying to hold her composure while Monsieur Paquet stood before her.
He moved closer, ducking beneath the overhang, and held out his coat to her. “Come along, then.”
His voice was not unkind, but of course she couldn’t trust a man she’d just met. “Where are we going?”
“Do you intend to sit here in the rain for five days?”
Julia took a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped under her nose, trying to regain her composure. “I can’t go with you. You could be a... a man of poor character.” She lifted her chin, daring him to deny it.
He gave a flat stare, though his lips twitched. “I am not a man of poor character.”
“That is exactly what a man of poor character would say.” She returned the handkerchief and closed her handbag with a snap, having proved her point.
“Mademoiselle, I will take you to my aunt’s house. Tante Gabrielle is always pleased to have company.” He glanced back at the wagon. “Unless you prefer to remain here until Friday.”
The mocking in his tone spurred her anger. Julia opened her mouth to argue. How could she be certain he had an aunt? Wasn’t this precisely the sort of scenario that led to young women being kidnapped and kept as prisoners in an evil prince’s dungeon? And even more than her fear of capture was her frustration at having to be rescued from her own mistake.
M. Paquet frowned, folding his arms around the coat. “Mademoiselle Weston, I have no wish to stand in the rain arguing. You and your cake can either get in the wagon or stay here until Friday.Je m’en fiche.”
Julia hesitated. What choice did she have? The stationmaster may or may not return for days. And even if he did, she had no assurance that he would find her lodgings until the train came. If there were even lodgings to be had in this place. She studied Monsieur Paquet for a moment. This scruffy rustic scowling at her was the only person she knew for hundreds of miles and the only person who’d offered to assist her in her predicament. She had no alternative but to trust him.
“Very well, monsieur. I shall accompany you.” Julia took the offered coat and slid her bare arms into the scratchy sleeves, immediately grateful for their warmth. “But I’ll reimburse your aunt, of course. I do not wish to impose on her hospitality.”
His flat look held, and he looked as if he might scoff. He started off into the rain toward the wagon, pulling his hat low over his brow.
His dismissiveness only served to irritate Julia further. She would be very pleased once she was safely installed at Tante Gabrielle’s house and rid of Luc Paquet.
Chapter Four
The wagon seat was hard,and the road was bumpy. Julia was, in a word, miserable. She held on to the bench with one hand and M. Paquet’s coat tightly at her neck with the other, glad M. Pacquet had placed the cake in the wagon so she could have her hands free to keep herself firmly in her seat. The rain continued to pour down steadily, and after a while, tired of drops running down her neck, she pulled the thick coat up over her head, deciding her feather arrangement was most likely ruined anyway. The coat did little to keep her dry, and she wondered if she would be warmer without it now that it was soaked through, but she thought M. Paquet’s gesture in offering it to her was nice. So she kept it. At least it kept the rain from dribbling over her bare shoulders and down her back.
The pair continued along in silence, and as she watched the scenery go past, Julia became more certain with every moment that she’d made the right choice. The area was very remote. She looked at her watches. The wagon hadn’t passed a single house in nearly an hour since they’d left the station. If she’d remained and the stationmaster hadn’t come, she was certain she’d not have found a place to stay. What would she have done when night fell? Slept on the bench outside the train station? The idea was terrifying.
She glanced at her companion. M. Paquet rode with shoulders hunched and his head low, occasionally tipping his head forward to let the water run off his hat brim and splash between his boots. He wore a brown vest buttoned up over his loose cotton shirt and no necktie. She wondered if the brim of his hat was sufficient to keep water from trickling down his collar. Probably not. The man didn’t seem particularly comfortable in the rain but rather resigned to it. Julia supposed when one worked out of doors, one became used to inclement weather.
“How is it that you are here in Provence instead of Paris, mademoiselle?” The man’s voice came out as a grumble.
She shifted around in the seat to face him. “I boarded the wrong train in Igney-Avricourt, if you must know. I was supposed to be on the Orient Express.”
He turned to look at her, his brows raised until they disappeared beneath his hat brim. “You mistook a PLM Railway train for the Orient Express?”
“It was your friend Nicholas,” Julia said, feeling extremely defensive. “He delivered me to the wrong train.”
“He is not my friend.” M. Paquet turned back to watch the road ahead.
“But he said you are his ‘bon ami,’” Julia reminded him.
