The Sparks Fly Upward by Diana Norman Page B

up?’ Preparing T’Gallants for occupation in this weather was a big undertaking; anyway, she preferred the inn.
    â€˜Need ye ask? I’ll do some lobscouse for supper, the way you like it.’
    I was lonely , Makepeace thought. She was still lonely but at least, in this inn, she was among those who’d known and loved the dead as she had. A beautiful drawing of the Dowager, sketched by Betty’s Josh, hung on one wall. Upstairs was the room where de Vaubon had been nursed to health by his future wife. There was the false wall, mended now, that excisemen had stoved in during the search for French brandy . . . the bastards.
    That was one thing she’d done by buying into the Cove’s smuggling trade; she’d bought the local excise as well. Once the swine who’d been chief customs officer at the time had been gotten rid of, the rest had proved insufficiently paid to resist the considerable pourboires she’d offered them to let the pony trains go into the night without investigation. Philippa said it was corruption, Makepeace regarded it as insurance . . .
    â€˜And there’s a surprise for ye . . .’ Dell was saying. A blast of cold stopped her as the door opened. ‘Here’s himself now, he’ll do the telling.’
    Apart from his yellow hair turning white, Jan Gurney had changed very little; he still had to stoop to pass under the inn’s lintel, he could still pick Makepeace up and swing her round. ‘Did young Philippa get the letter?’
    â€˜What letter?’
    â€˜Gor damn, I took un to Plymouth, put the bugger in the post bag myself. Should’ve reached Lunnon by now. They handed it to us at Gruchy, trip before last. Come from Paris, so they did say.’
    â€˜Who sent it?’
    â€˜Ah diddun read un, did I? Reckoned it might be from that Sophie Condorcet as we brought over that time. Nice little woman, she was. How be our Philippa, anyway?’
    In the interchange of news about families, the fate of the letter was forgotten.
    â€˜â€™Tis as well you’ve turned up,’ Jan said. ‘Us only got back from France three days since and ’twere a puzzle what to do about young Jack; whether send for ee or take un to ee in Lunnon.’
    â€˜Jack?’ She was fuddled from the tiring journey.
    Dell called from the kitchen. ‘She don’t know yet. He’s gone to his bed.’
    â€˜Jacques?’
    â€˜As ever was,’ Jan said. ‘Only safe when he’m asleep. Rest of the time he’s as like to blow up the Pomeroy as not, ain’t he, Toby?’
    â€˜Exthperimental young gentleman,’ Tobias said.
    â€˜Will you tell me, for God’s sake?’ hissed Makepeace.
    Jan sat her down and squatted on a stool opposite. He looked grave. ‘Reckon things must be pretty bad for our Gil, missus. Him and Danton has got upsides with Robespierre, so they told us at Gruchy. Tryin’ to stop that evil bugger cutting everybody’s head off, so they did say, which puts ’em both in line to losing their own according.’
    â€˜Guillaume has sent Jacques over? Jan, it must be bad.’
    Jan shrugged. ‘The boy ain’t been told the extent of ut. Still thinks his daddy’s Lord Muck and Muck of the Revolution along of Danton. Which he may be, I don’t know. Just looks nasty, that’s all I’m saying. Better have a word with the tutor when you get un alone. Weedy little sweet’eart but clever enough I don’t doubt. Where is he, Dell?’
    â€˜In his room.’
    â€˜It must be bad,’ Makepeace said again.
    The intricacies of the French situation, who was in, who was out, had become too entangled and fast-moving for her understanding. Like almost everybody else in England, she regarded Robespierre as the Terror and the Terror as Robespierre. If de Vaubon and Danton were opposing that deadly little man, they were indeed risking their heads and the risk was