Miss Weston's Masquerade by Louise Allen Read Free Book Online Page A

unaccountably the boat hove to and dropped anchor. Nicholas hailed a passing crewman.
    ‘You there! What's going on? Why are we not entering harbour?’
    ‘Can’t, sir. It’s low water. See, boats are coming out already to take you and your baggage off. Cost you a guinea, sir.’
    ‘A guinea?’ Cassandra’s housewifely instincts revolted. ‘But we’ve already paid to cross, why must we pay again?’
    ‘Quiet, Cass, don’t draw attention to yourself,’ Nicholas ordered. ‘These rogues have the upper hand. If we want to land on French soil, we must pay French prices.’
    They hung over the rail together, watching as the swarm of flat-bottomed rowing boats hove up. They were crewed by men and boys wearing rags no better than beggars, their feet in wooden sabots.
    There was a chaotic period while negotiations took place to secure a boat for each party, then they and their luggage were roughly loaded. Cassandra was dangled dizzily over the edge of the packet boat by her wrists before being seized by the men in the craft below and dropped among the bags. She noticed a momentary look of concern on Nicholas’s face as she was manhandled, then relief as the crew seemed to sense nothing amiss.
    On the quayside their luggage was seized and carried away by a gang of brawny females, their skirts kilted up to show bare, muscular calves.
    Jostled by the crowd, Cassandra struggled to keep an eye on their things. ‘Nich… My lord! Where are they taking the baggage?’
    ‘The Custom House. Follow me and keep your mouth shut.’
    Nicholas strode off in pursuit of their porters, Cassandra scuttling to keep up through the press of touts all shouting the names of various inns.
    In the Custom Hall officials searched their bags with an insolence that shocked Cassandra. ‘Why do you not protest?’ she whispered, scandalised as dirty hands rummaged through the fine linen.
    ‘Quiet, or they will deny us a passport.’
    ‘But you have one.’
    ‘An English passport will not serve here, we need a French one for the onward journey.’
    Cassandra jumped in alarm as a hand was thrust into her pocket. The searcher tossed her pocket handkerchief onto the bench, then turned with the obvious attention of searching the rest of her clothing.
    She felt the man’s fingers touch the breast of her coat, then Nicholas’s hand whipped out and clamped onto the official’s wrist.
    ‘Un moment, mon ami . I think this is what you are looking for.’ There was a glint of gold coin and the man turned away, waving them through the throng to the row of desks where clerks were writing passports.
    Cassandra stood swaying, hardly conscious of what was going on around her until Nicholas’s firm hand under her elbow guided her out into the fresh air.
    ‘Cassie? Are you unwell?’ His face was close as he bent over her. Cassandra blinked, forcing herself to concentrate on him. For the first time she noticed brown flecks in his green eyes and the way one brow slanted up fractionally more than the other.
    ‘Stuffy in there,’ she mumbled. And that hairy hand, right on my breast…
    ‘Cassandra,’ Nicholas’s voice was peremptory. ‘You can’t faint here, pull yourself together. We’re going to an inn now, you need food.’
    Obediently she stumbled over the cobbles beside him, following the handcart loaded with their luggage. She was hungry, yes but it wasn’t that that had made her feel faint. It was the thought of those dirty rough hands pawing her body, the reek of garlic and sweat in the Hall and the land seeming to move under her feet.
    But by the time their porter delivered the bags to the doors of the Hotel d'Angleterre she was feeling more herself and able to look around at the scurrying servants and throng of well-dressed guests. The air was full of noisy English voices raised in demands for food and wine, and the shouts of ostlers backing horses between the shafts of travelling carriages.
    Eyeing the hubbub, Nicholas remarked, ‘It’s as