Amalia was increasingly worried. After their walk, she and Beatrix had returned safely to the house, expecting Daniel to join them almost at once. While they'd been on foot, he had a horse. She could not understand why he'd been delayed and was immediately prey to all kinds of fears. Daniel was the only person who had brought hope into her life and she needed him. Even on such a short acquaintance, Amalia had been drawn to Daniel, struck by his bravery, grateful for his honesty and touched by his charm. It was only when she heard the clip-clop of hooves in the street outside that she began to calm down. Instead of leaving the task to Beatrix, she ran to open the front door herself. Daniel had come back.
'What did you find out?' she asked, breathlessly.
'We must leave tonight,' he said, dismounting and holding the reins. 'I'll fetch the cart and be back within the hour.'
'What about my father?'
'He's alive, Miss Janssen.'
'Thank God!' she exclaimed. 'Where is he?'
'I'll explain that later,' he said. 'The important thing is for us to reach a place of safety as soon as we can. In due course, you'll understand why.'
Amalia gave a stifled cry. It was fairly dark in the street but she had just stepped close enough to Daniel to see the blood on his face and the tear in his coat. She also noticed the dirt on his clothing.
'What happened, Captain Rawson?' she said.
'This is no time to discuss that.'
'Were you involved in a fight with that man?'
'Forget him,' said Daniel. 'Impress upon Kees and Beatrix that this is an emergency. If they have to leave things behind, so be it. They must be ready to go the moment I get back. It won't be a coach and four,' he apologised, 'but it will get us there in one piece.'
'I'm worried about you, Captain. Are you badly injured?'
'I'm not injured at all, Miss Janssen.'
'Something has obviously happened.'
'Tell the others what I said,' he urged, mounting his horse.
'Where exactly are we going?'
'You'll find that out when we get there. Now please hurry up. There's no time to lose. If you stay in this house one more night, then all your lives will be in danger.'
Ronan Flynn was a lanky, raw-boned man in his early forties with long grey hair and curling eyebrows. Having served in an Irish regiment that fought in Louis XIV's army, he had picked up a certain amount of the French language. It was when he had met Charlotte Rousset that his fluency had perforce improved by leaps and bounds. Falling in love with the pretty young Parisian woman, he had courted and married her. Charlotte was almost eighteen years younger than her husband yet they were so contented that the age difference became irrelevant. Flynn lived happily in a small but comfortable house with his wife and baby daughter. It was, he reminded himself every day, far better than being a soldier.
'There are four of them?' said Charlotte with concern.
'It will only be for a short time, my darling.'
'But we don't have enough room for so many.'
'We'll fit them all in somehow,' said Flynn. 'There's room in the attic for the man and the two women will have to share.'
'What about your friend?'
'Oh, Dan Rawson will lay his head down anywhere. He's the one person you don't have to worry about. He's a soldier, used to sleeping on the ground in all weathers.'
'Why are they coming here, Ronan?'
He hunched his shoulders. 'They need a roof over their heads.'
Flynn had told his wife as little as possible. All that she knew was that Daniel and her husband had once fought alongside each other in the army. Charlotte didn't realise that Flynn had been in the British army at the time. She assumed that both men had served under the French flag. The salient point about their friendship was that Daniel had rescued the Irishman when he'd been captured by the enemy. There was an unpaid debt that had to be honoured. Flynn would not, in any case, have been able to give his wife full details of why four strangers were about to descend on her because he didn't know them himself and didn't wish to know. A friend was in trouble. That was enough for Ronan Flynn.
'Who are these people?' asked Charlotte.
'They're friends of Daniel and they've had to leave their house.'
'Why?'
'I've no idea, my darling,' he said, kissing the chevron of concern on her brow. 'Let's wait until they tell us, shall we?'
'It seems so odd, coming here at this time of night.'
He beamed at her. 'Paris is an odd place. Where else could an ugly old Irishman like me marry the most beautiful woman in the world?' Charlotte softened and hugged him in gratitude for the compliment. 'If looking after these people for a few days is all we have to put up with, I'd say that we were very lucky. Doesn't the priest tell us every Sunday that it's good to help others? Or has my French let me down? It sounds to me as if that's what he's saying.'
She was still worried. 'Are they in trouble, Ronan?'
'Yes — they have nowhere to sleep.'
'Where is their house?'
'I don't know,' he told her. 'Somewhere on the other side of the city, I think. There are all kinds of reasons why people have to look for accommodation. Perhaps they had a quarrel with the landlord or discovered the place was infested with vermin. Maybe there was a fire. Whatever the cause, we mustn't pester them with questions. Be nice to them, Charlotte, please. Will you do that for me?'
'I'll do anything for you,' she said.
Flynn embraced her and kissed her on the lips. Before they could savour the moment, however, there was a cry from upstairs as the baby came awake again. Charlotte smiled tolerantly and went off up the steps. Flynn followed her.
For the three Dutch passengers, the ride through Paris at night was nothing short of an ordeal. Having lived in such a pleasant quarter of the city, they hadn't realised that most of it was given over to narrow, fetid, swarming streets lined with tenements and decaying old buildings. The pervading stink was matched by a continuous din. Boisterous taverns and pleading beggars supplied most of the noise. Yapping dogs and screeching cats added a descant. Daniel drove the rattling cart with Amalia beside him. Amid a pile of belongings, the others sat uncomfortably behind them. Beatrix clung to her bag so that none of the grasping hands could steal it while Kees Dopff held the tapestry in his arms as if clinging to a piece of timber in a swollen river. Both of them were highly distressed at the number of drunks who lunged wildly at the cart or threw missiles out of random malice. They were all relieved when they entered the wide thoroughfare of a more respectable district. As the hubbub subsided, they were able to hold a conversation at last.
'Who is this friend of yours?' asked Amalia.
'He's a mad Irishman,' said Daniel, 'and his name is Ronan Flynn. We met when he served in the British army but he later joined a French regiment. That's when we were on opposite sides.'
'Is he ready to help an enemy?'
'We're good friends, Miss Janssen, and we're no longer on the battlefield. Ronan owes me a favour, that's all I'll say.'
'How much does he know about us?'
'Precious little,' said Daniel, 'and I wish to keep it that way. Kees is not going to tell them anything and I doubt if your servant speaks much French but you're obviously an intelligent young lady. I daresay you have some knowledge of the language.'
