Queen's Ransom Read Online Free PDF

why, and described the safeguards she had given me. “Although,” I said soothingly, “there is no war as yet, and the persecution of heretics has ceased.”
    It was Brockley who put his finger, instantly, on the flaw in all this. “If the danger is so slight, madam,” he said, “do you really need extra armed men and the right of instant access to an audience with one of the French government?”
    I sat down on the edge of my bed. “I don’t know, Brockley. I hope that the queen is just—making doubly certain of our safety. It’s true that there are those—I fancy on both sides—who might not like my errand, should they ever come to hear of it. We ought to be discreet.”
    “That goes without saying,” Brockley remarked. “But I don’t care for this, just the same.” Brockley had blue-gray eyes, very steady, and a high, polished forehead with a dusting of light gold freckles. Normally, his dignified countenance was inexpressive. Now, however, worried lines had appeared on them. “France is on the edge of war between Papists and Protestants,” he said. “And to a Papist we’d be heretics. They’re not being hounded now, so you tell us, but if war starts, anything could happen. That could change.”
    He was obviously uneasy and so was Dale. Dale was quite a handsome woman, except for a few pockmarks from a childhood attack of smallpox but usually they were not very noticeable. I knew that when her face looked as it did now, with the pockmarks standing out so clearly, she was nervous.
    I knew what they feared. I had never witnessed a burning but the aunt and uncle who brought me up had once forced me to listen to an account of one. I do mean forced. I had been prevented from either running out of the room or blocking my ears while the details of what they had seen and heard and smelled were relentlessly described. It had left on my mind a scar so terrible that years later, it was the reason why I had parted from Matthew. He wished to bring back the Catholic religion to England. But if that ever happened, then the burning of heretics would return with it. It was my horror of that which, in the end, had come between us.
    “As an official messenger,” I said,“I should be safe enough and so should you. I agree that we must be discreet about what we believe as well as about my errand. Dale, I know how you dislike Papists, but in France, you must watch your tongue.”
    “Of course I will, ma’am,” said Dale, slightly affronted.
    I hoped so but Dale was an essentially simple being whose remarks were apt to reflect her thoughts. Well, I could rely on Brockley to back me up.
    Brockley, however, was still worried. “From what you’ve told us, Master Blanchard has chosen a very long route to this place, Douceaix. I wonder the queen hasn’t asked him to change it. Quickest is safest as a rule.”
    “Master Blanchard wants to travel through country where Huguenot influence is strong,” I said. “He hasn’t been asked to think again, apparently.”
    I had felt puzzled by it, too, but I hadn’t commented for I had my own reasons—albeit absurd ones—for favoring his choice.
    Most people, when traveling to Paris, sailed from one of the southeast ports, or perhaps from the Thames, crossed the Channel, and then either went overland from Calais, or traveled down the coast and up the Seine. But Master Blanchard meant to take ship from Southampton, go south and sail up the Loire. It would take two days to reach Southampton and even with fair winds, about four days to reach the Loire. We would disembark at Nantes, nearly forty miles up the river, and then ride northeast for a hundred miles or so to reach Douceaix, where we would collect Helene. The Huguenot influence, which Luke Blanchard seemed to think would be a safeguard, was strong in the area between the Loire and Douceaix. Now, however, we would have to ride on for a further hundred and thirty miles or thereabouts to Paris.
    “Well,” I said, “at