Yvonne Goes to York Read Online Free PDF Page B

houses in the Strand, the young girls of fourteen with babies at the breast. Pah!’
    ‘My dear Miss Grenier,’ drawled the marquis, leaning back in his chair, ‘we do not drag hundreds of our countrymen to the guillotine to have their heads chopped off.’
    ‘No, my lord, you just hang them seven a side on the gallows-tree outside Newgate.’
    ‘After a fair trial, Miss Grenier.’
    ‘Yes.’ Her face grew sad. ‘Yes, I forget the horrors at home. I have drunk too much wine and that has led me into the rudeness and folly of criticizing my hosts.’
    ‘We English are so arrogant,’ said Monsieur Petit, ‘that no criticism can dent our smug armour.’
    ‘Spoken like a true Frenchman,’ said the marquis softly, and Monsieur Petit shot him a startled look.
    A newcomer strode into the dining-room and looked around the assembled company through his quizzing-glass . His face brightened as he obviously recognized Monsieur Petit. ‘Well, Jimmy,’ demanded the newcomer , ‘how goes the world?’
    Hannah was startled. Whoever would think that the cadaverous and sinister Mr Smith would answer to the homely name of Jimmy? The newcomer was a young man, foppishly dressed, rouged and painted and padded, with a large black patch in the shape of a coach and horses on one cheek-bone. He had small, watery brown eyes and thin brown hair, backcombed and teased until it stood up on his head, giving him an air of perpetual surprise.
    ‘My friend Mr Ashton,’ said Monsieur Petit. ‘He will be travelling north with us. Mr Ashton, allow me to introduce our little company. Miss Pym, Miss Grenier, and the most noble Marquis of Ware.’
    ‘Servant,’ said Mr Ashton laconically. ‘Word with you in private, Jimmy.’
    Monsieur Petit rose and the pair went out together.
    ‘Into the yard,’ urged Monsieur Petit. ‘We will not be overheard in all the bustle. How did you arrive?’
    ‘Mail-coach. Just got in.’
    They strolled into the yard of the Angel.
    ‘So, monsoor,’ said Mr Ashton, ‘how goes the game? I see the Grenier female is travelling under her own name. What’s a marquis doing on the stage?’
    ‘He says he is running from the duns.’
    ‘A marquis? Never. Lords can live on tick until the day they die. But he can’t be after you. Not anything to do with the War Office or anything like that. In fact, he’s the kind who would look better with his head in a basket, eh?’
    ‘Keep your voice down,’ snapped Monsieur Petit. ‘What possessed you to call me Jimmy? Do I look like a Jimmy?’
    Mr Ashton shrugged. ‘Seemed a good English name to me. What d’ye want me to call you? Pierre? Where you learn the lingo anyway?’
    ‘My mother was English.’
    ‘Was? Chop her head off, hey?’
    ‘Listen, you cur,’ said Monsieur Petit savagely, ‘you are being paid well for your help. One more word of insolence from you and I will abandon the project, and before I leave this perfidious country I will shop you to the authorities.’
    ‘Two can play at that game,’ said Mr Ashton, quite unruffled.
    ‘Where did our embassy find such as you?’ demanded Monsieur Petit angrily.
    ‘I do anything for money,’ said Mr Ashton, stifling a yawn. ‘Not murder, but anything else. Do not exercise yourself, Monsoor Frog. You are on the right coach. Have a word with the girl?’
    ‘Yes, I showed her a letter from her father tome which he wrote before the Revolution. She does not know that and is convinced her father now wishes to help us.’
    ‘And when she finds we mean to follow her to him and take him back to France at gunpoint?’
    Monsieur Petit smiled slowly. ‘She will do nothing. She goes with him as well.’
    ‘Such a pretty neck, too,’ said Mr Ashton. ‘Ah, well, I’ve been paid the first half and very generous your people were, too. What’s the drill?’
    ‘Just make sure she does not give us the slip and leave the stage-coach at any point before we get to York,’ said Monsieur Petit.
    ‘Right,’ Mr Ashton