headed down the ridge and out of the moor.
The remainder of the trip to Exeter passed by without event. They stopped at a town called Ashburn, and while Luc changed the horses, the family sat by the small river and ate the lunch Martha Bourdon had provided. Pierre found it quite peaceful there and, for the first time that week, he relaxed. Since there was still some time after they ate, he and Jean Guy walked around the town, looking at the woolen mills along the river, and the fine merchant houses on the main street.
“I could live in a town like this,” he stated. “Perhaps England won’t be so bad after all. If we find we don’t like living in London, there’s nothing to stop us from moving on in a few years. How do you feel about the city, my son?”
“I’m not so sure I’m going to like it. I didn’t like La Rochelle much, and London is even bigger and dirtier, so Marc tells me. I have been thinking that once you and Maman settle in, I might like to go to the Americas. Maybe with Marc. He believes there’s a lot of an opportunity for young people there. Land is still cheap.”
“Why, Jean Guy, it’s nothing but wilderness. It would never occur to me that you would want that sort of life. Well, something to think about I guess. However, we’ll give it a few years, eh. You won’t be sixteen until next spring. Now, it looks like Luc has the horses ready, so we’d best find the family and be on our way.”
They stopped overnight at both Exeter and Yeovil, where they stayed in coaching inns. The food was cold and greasy, and the beds full of fleas; but at least it served as a rest from the constant bouncing of the coach on the rough track. They found it refreshing to lie in a bed and stretch their legs after the long hours on the road. Nevertheless, on the third night, they were pleased to arrive in Salisbury and find a newer and more luxurious inn.
Pierre agreed with Luc that they should stay at the legendary George Inn, where a few decades earlier Oliver Cromwell had spent some time. They found the food excellent, and the rooms and bedding were spotless and new. It gave them all a chance to have a bath and a decent night’s rest. He could tell that Claude, as well as the little ones, had gone through as much as they could stand for now. Surprisingly, Louise looked rather wan, as well. Strange she doesn’t travel better, he thought. She always seemed so strong back on the farm.
“I’m so thankful we’re staying over an extra night,” Claudine mentioned to him in their room that evening. “We all need a rest, and it will be nice to see a little of the city. We’ll not get this way again anytime soon.”
Listening to his wife, Pierre felt it was well worth parting with a fair amount of his gold to see them all looking a little brighter. “You’re right. I’m afraid we’ll be busy for the next few years just getting by. I pray we will be able to make a good life in London eventually. Then you and I will travel, my dear.”
The following morning they set out to explore the charming, medieval city. They went first to the Guild Hall and had a look at all the newest patterns of lace. Claudine asked how she could join the guild in London, as she thought since she and the older girls were skilled at lace making, they could augment their family income that way. They then spent an hour or so exploring the magnificent 13 th century cathedral. By the time dinner was over, they were thankful for another night’s rest in the inn’s comfortable beds.
In later years, when Pierre would recall the long, arduous journey from France to England, he remembered the Salisbury visit best. Not so much for the cathedral although, with its lovely stained glass windows and soaring spire, it certainly impressed him. Nevertheless, it was all too reminiscent of the eminent Catholic churches of France for him to enjoy. It reminded him too much of why he had left his home.
No, it would be because of the
The remainder of the trip to Exeter passed by without event. They stopped at a town called Ashburn, and while Luc changed the horses, the family sat by the small river and ate the lunch Martha Bourdon had provided. Pierre found it quite peaceful there and, for the first time that week, he relaxed. Since there was still some time after they ate, he and Jean Guy walked around the town, looking at the woolen mills along the river, and the fine merchant houses on the main street.
“I could live in a town like this,” he stated. “Perhaps England won’t be so bad after all. If we find we don’t like living in London, there’s nothing to stop us from moving on in a few years. How do you feel about the city, my son?”
“I’m not so sure I’m going to like it. I didn’t like La Rochelle much, and London is even bigger and dirtier, so Marc tells me. I have been thinking that once you and Maman settle in, I might like to go to the Americas. Maybe with Marc. He believes there’s a lot of an opportunity for young people there. Land is still cheap.”
“Why, Jean Guy, it’s nothing but wilderness. It would never occur to me that you would want that sort of life. Well, something to think about I guess. However, we’ll give it a few years, eh. You won’t be sixteen until next spring. Now, it looks like Luc has the horses ready, so we’d best find the family and be on our way.”
They stopped overnight at both Exeter and Yeovil, where they stayed in coaching inns. The food was cold and greasy, and the beds full of fleas; but at least it served as a rest from the constant bouncing of the coach on the rough track. They found it refreshing to lie in a bed and stretch their legs after the long hours on the road. Nevertheless, on the third night, they were pleased to arrive in Salisbury and find a newer and more luxurious inn.
Pierre agreed with Luc that they should stay at the legendary George Inn, where a few decades earlier Oliver Cromwell had spent some time. They found the food excellent, and the rooms and bedding were spotless and new. It gave them all a chance to have a bath and a decent night’s rest. He could tell that Claude, as well as the little ones, had gone through as much as they could stand for now. Surprisingly, Louise looked rather wan, as well. Strange she doesn’t travel better, he thought. She always seemed so strong back on the farm.
“I’m so thankful we’re staying over an extra night,” Claudine mentioned to him in their room that evening. “We all need a rest, and it will be nice to see a little of the city. We’ll not get this way again anytime soon.”
Listening to his wife, Pierre felt it was well worth parting with a fair amount of his gold to see them all looking a little brighter. “You’re right. I’m afraid we’ll be busy for the next few years just getting by. I pray we will be able to make a good life in London eventually. Then you and I will travel, my dear.”
The following morning they set out to explore the charming, medieval city. They went first to the Guild Hall and had a look at all the newest patterns of lace. Claudine asked how she could join the guild in London, as she thought since she and the older girls were skilled at lace making, they could augment their family income that way. They then spent an hour or so exploring the magnificent 13 th century cathedral. By the time dinner was over, they were thankful for another night’s rest in the inn’s comfortable beds.
In later years, when Pierre would recall the long, arduous journey from France to England, he remembered the Salisbury visit best. Not so much for the cathedral although, with its lovely stained glass windows and soaring spire, it certainly impressed him. Nevertheless, it was all too reminiscent of the eminent Catholic churches of France for him to enjoy. It reminded him too much of why he had left his home.
No, it would be because of the
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