Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [113]
She paused for breath. Daniel poured her a glass of water.
‘What did Mr Lane say to that?’
‘He said he was sorry for laughing, but it was all a great nonsense and he was sure I shouldn’t have to stand up in the House of Lords or anywhere else. Still, he said, it was a very wrong thing that had been done to me and of course he’d take me back to England. He said he was leaving the day after tomorrow and I could travel with him. “But what will I do until then?” I asked him. Well, he jabbered away in French to the man behind the counter and said I could stay there, all meals provided, and he’d come for me early morning, day after tomorrow. “Don’t tell anybody,” I said to him. I was still mortally terrified the fat devil would find me. So he promised not to tell anybody, not even his friends.’
Daniel looked across at me.
‘He kept that promise,’ he said.
I think it was in his mind, like mine, that my father might have lived if he’d broken it. She nodded.
‘I thought he would. I did as he told me and stayed where I was. The place wasn’t much better than a brothel, but he wasn’t to know that, and anyway I kept to my room. The morning after next, just as he’d promised, he called for me. He’d taken a couple of seats for us on the stage. There was no sign of the fat devil or his people, though I kept looking around me and I wasn’t even half easy in my mind until we were well out of Paris. To be honest with you, I knew I shouldn’t be really easy till I was my own side of the Channel again. It took us the best part of three days to get to Calais. He took two rooms for us at an inn just on the outside of town and went to book tickets on the steam packet. Only it was full up that day so we had to wait until the day after. Couldn’t we go on one of the sailing boats instead, I asked him. But he liked the steam packet better, and who was I to argue? Only I wish now that I’d tried to persuade him, because if I had he might have been alive still.’
I got up and walked to the window, trying to keep control of my feelings and not interrupt her story. Of course my father, ever curious for new things, would prefer steam. If he’d been a less modern-minded man, none of it would have happened. He’d have stepped off some sailing boat in Dover, picked up my letter and come running to find me.
‘So what happened then?’ I said, looking out at two pigeons on the window sill.
‘He said he was going for a stroll round the town and that was the last I saw of him. I was feeling ill, from something I’d eaten on the journey, so I went to lie down. He didn’t come back that evening and I thought he might have met some friends and was staying out, like gentlemen do. In the morning, I knocked on his door and there was no answer. A serving man at the inn who spoke a bit of English said he hadn’t come back at all. So I thought maybe I’d misunderstood and he meant me to meet him by the steam packet. I was still feeling ill, but I dragged myself all the way to the harbour and there were crowds of people, but no sign of him. I was in a fair ferment by then, not knowing whether to go on board or not, but I didn’t have a ticket, so I thought better not and went all the way back to the inn. Well, what with the worry and the disappointment, I was running a fever. For the next few days – I don’t know how many, so it’s no use asking me – I was lying there thinking I’d die and that would be an end to my troubles. Then one morning I woke up, mortally weak but the fever gone, knowing I wasn’t going to die this time after all. So I decided I’d better get myself down to the docks and try and find somebody else who’d have the Christian charity to pay for my ticket over. Only when I went downstairs with my bag, the owner of the place took hold of my arm and started jabbering away in French. Your father had gone without paying the bill, you see.