Signpost To Love Read online

  Baptista looked at him a little enquiringly and he added, speaking to the Courier,

  “When you have made the purchases, Barnard, bring all the accounts to me.”

  “Yes, of course, my Lord.”

  The Earl went to his own bedchamber where Stevens, his valet, who had driven ahead with Mr. Barnard, was waiting for him having ready, as was expected, a bath.

  As this always entailed a great commotion in a French hotel, the Earl made a point of congratulating the man.

  “I hope you had a good journey, my Lord,” Stevens said as he helped the Earl out of his coat.

  “There was a very nasty accident outside Calais,” the Earl replied, “and it was extremely fortunate that I came along just by chance at the right moment to rescue my niece.”

  He was well aware that Stevens, who had been with him for fifteen years, would know that Baptista was not his niece nor did he have one of that age, but Stevens was far too shrewd not to understand exactly what his Master wanted of him.

  “That was certainly a fortunate coincidence, my Lord,” he said, “and will Miss Baptista be coming with us as far as Paris?”

  “Yes, Stevens, and when we reach there she will have to stay with us until I can make other arrangements for her.”

  He knew as he spoke that Stevens would realise that the servants of the Vicomte de Dijon would also have to believe that Baptista was his niece.

  That should not be difficult because, although the Vicomte was a great friend and had often stayed with the Earl in London and at Hawk, he had never met either of the Earl’s married sisters who were older than he was and who lived for the most part in the country.

  Once again the Earl told himself that he was being extremely foolhardy and, if such a subterfuge was discovered, it would undoubtedly cause a great deal of gossip, if not scandal.

  At the same time he could not think what else he could do.

  Baptista’s looks, her youth and innocence, made it completely impossible for him to let her travel alone or to arrive in Paris without some sort of chaperone.

  If Paris was known as the City of Gaiety, it was also the City of a great many other things as well.

  The vice that was not far below the surface was to be found not only amongst the grandes cocottes, the mistresses of the Emperor and gentlemen like himself in search of amusement, but was actually part of the whole structure of French life.

  This made it, as the Earl was well aware, quite impossible for anyone like Baptista to walk about the streets alone and certainly not to stay at any hotel or boarding house, even if they would accept a woman who was unaccompanied.

  ‘I have put myself into this and I have to get myself out!’ the Earl thought to himself.

  Yet he knew, that if he abandoned Baptista to her fate, it would be an act as reprehensible and even as criminal as anything that her father contemplated for her.

  *

  When the Earl, extremely impressive in his evening clothes, went into his sitting room two hours later he was not surprised to find it empty.

  He had never known a pretty woman, he reflected, who had not kept him waiting.

  But there was a bottle of excellent champagne on ice and, as he poured himself a glass, he thought that if he was honest Baptista had managed to make his journey up to now more amusing than he had expected it to be.

  Because he was a very active man both mentally and physically, the Earl found long journeys, unless he was driving or riding, extremely tiresome.

  He also like most Englishmen, disliked dining alone, especially in an hotel.

  He had known that even the food and wine which he expected to be good, would not have compensated for the boredom of sitting at a solitary table at a restaurant or, as he had intended, alone in his sitting room.

  But because Baptista was with him and he found her, he told himself, an interesting study, he was looking forward to dinner and, as she had requested, telling her about his horses.

  The door on the other side of the sitting room opened and a voice asked,

  “Are you there?”

  “I am,” the Earl replied.

  “Then hold your breath because I am going to appear!”

  The Earl smiled and waited and a moment later Baptista walked into the room.

  She stood still dramatically, her arms open wide, compelling his attention.

  Then she turned round and he saw that the gown she was wearing had a full bustle at the back and she glanced over her shoulder to see if he was appreciating it.

  Then she turned round again.

  “Look at me!” she cried. “Do you see how different I am from the way I was before? Oh, please – please tell me you think I am – pretty.”

  That was certainly an understatement, the Earl thought.

  He knew that the white gown Barnard had chosen, while certainly not in the same class as the gowns that could be purchased in Paris, had a French chic about it that would not have been procurable in any provincial town in England.

  It was the height of fashion and swept to the back where it was caught by a large bow of stiff silk before it billowed out in a small train.

  The bodice was very tight and off the shoulders with a bertha of gathered lace.

  It made Baptista look, the Earl thought, rather like a small angel except that the excitement in her blue eyes and the smile on her lips made her delectably human.

  “I have never had a gown like this – before,” she said in a breathless little voice. “How can I – thank you?”

  “I have been thinking,” the Earl replied, “that I should thank you for making my journey far less tedious than it would otherwise have been and for entertaining me in a very delightful manner.”

  She gave a little cry of joy and ran forward.

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “I have just told you so,” the Earl replied. “Now let me give you a glass of champagne.”

  “If only I could give you something,” Baptista said, “I should not feel so – guilty at taking so – much.”

  She paused to say,

  “I am afraid I am – costing you a lot of – money.”

  “Most women do that one way or another,” the Earl replied.

  “I am sure that if I was a courtesan it would be much, much more.”

  “That is the sort of remark I should not expect my niece to make to me!” the Earl said severely.

  Baptista paused for a moment to see if he was really annoyed. Then when she saw that he was not, she said, looking at him under her eyelashes,

  “I think it very unlikely that any uncle would look like you.”

  “On the contrary,” the Earl objected, “I have several nieces and nephews.”

  “And the girls are as pretty as I?”

  “They may be in the future,” he replied. “My oldest niece is, to the best of my knowledge, about eight years old.”

  “Then I am unique,” Baptista said complacently, “and that is what I want to be. I was thinking when I was trying on these beautiful gowns that –

  She paused and then continued,

  “You did mean me to have two – one for tomorrow?”

  “Is that what you have bought?”

  Baptista nodded.

  “Oh, please, it does seem a little greedy – but my other gown was torn.”

  “I am delighted to give you two gowns,” the Earl said, “and anything else that is necessary at this moment.”

  “Oh, thank you – thank you,” Baptista cried. “How can you be so kind and so marvellous? I promise that one day I will repay you.”

  “How do you expect to do that?”

  “Perhaps when I am with Mama I shall find a rich husband or, as I was just going to tell you, I was thinking it might be rather fun when I am in Paris to become a courtesan.”

  The Earl did not say anything and she went on,

  “I was trying to remember what I had read about Madame de Pompadour in a book I found once and it said how hard she tr
ied to please the King, but was very worried because she did not like him making love to her.”

  There was a little pause and then Baptista added,

  “I expect that meant that she did not like him kissing her. But I don’t understand why she did not like it when she had agreed to be his courtesan.”

  The Earl drank a little of his champagne and then he said,

  “There is no reason for you to worry your head about Madame de Pompadour or any other courtesan and it is certainly something you will never be yourself.”

  “Why not? If the King can have a courtesan, it cannot be wrong.”

  “Louis XIV has been dead a very long time,” the Earl said, “and things have changed today.”

  He hoped that he might be forgiven for lying, because the Emperor of France flaunted his mistresses openly for all to see.

  Only in England had Queen Victoria’s reign produced an outward show of morality which, while publicly acclaimed, was certainly not followed by the Prince of Wales.

  “That is a pity,” Baptista said, “because it must have been very exciting in the past to have the position that Madame de Pompadour occupied.”

  “There were certain hazards attached to it,” the Earl remarked dryly. “Perhaps your history books omitted to inform you that Madame du Barry was guillotined.”

  “I remember that,” Baptista said. “But why? What did she do?”

  “She associated with Louis XVI.”

  “Oh – I see. Then perhaps after all, it would be safer if I remained your niece.”

  “That is what you will appear to be,” the Earl said firmly, “and, as I have already told you, any niece I possess would not talk about courtesans. Keep to conventional subjects which anybody would approve of.”

  “I will be very careful to do that,” Baptista answered, “but only when anyone else is there. When I am with you, I can talk frankly about all the subjects that really interest me.”

  “And that should be horses,” the Earl said and he nearly added, ‘we will keep off the subject of love in whatever form it appears.’

  They talked about his horses all through the dinner, which was brought to their sitting room, but Baptista was a little disappointed that they were not to dine downstairs in the restaurant.

  “I have never dined in a restaurant,” she said, “and perhaps there are people there who would like to see my gown.”

  “I doubt it,” the Earl answered, “and anyway I intend to dine upstairs. But, if you wish to eat downstairs alone, I shall accept your decision.”

  He had spoken crushingly, but Baptista laughed.

  “Now you are being ridiculous and I am quite certain that there would be no tall, handsome, exciting Noblemen like yourself, but only small, rather insignificant Frenchmen.”

  “They would not be pleased to hear you speak like that,” the Earl said, “and may I point out, Baptista, that people who are related as a general rule do not admire each other or pay compliments.”

  “You are making it very difficult for me,” Baptista protested. “I want to tell you what I think and what I feel and, if that is wrong, you will have to forgive me because I have never dined alone with a gentleman before.”

  She smiled and added,

  “All I can think about at the moment is that, because by taking me to Paris you have saved me from Papa, you are the most wonderful man in the whole world!”

  The Earl gave up the hopeless task of trying to convince Baptista that she was not to address him in such a manner.

  Instead he talked of art, about which he found surprisingly she knew quite a lot and once again of Paris in which she was absorbedly interested.

  Because it was in his mind, he found himself describing to her some of the political figures he hoped to see and, when they had talked until the dinner was finished and the servants had left the room, she said,

  “I may be wrong, but I have the feeling that you are not going to Paris just to enjoy yourself.”

  The Earl was startled.

  He realised that he had been talking to Baptista not in the way he would have talked to Marlene or any other woman of his own set with whom he might have been dining, but almost as if she was a man, especially while he was describing to her the Statesmen he would meet in the French Capital.

  “Why should you think that?” he asked her.

  “Because you are so clever,” Baptista answered, “and at the same time so attractive, I cannot believe that you have to go to Paris just to amuse yourself, especially when you have two horses running at Epsom next week.”

  It was a shrewd assumption, the Earl thought, but he was not going to admit it.

  “I shall be back in time for Royal Ascot,” he said, hoping it was true.

  “I would love to see you win the Gold Cup,” Baptista said wistfully.

  “I might not be so fortunate this year, although I have two horses that I am considering running in that race.”

  “But you will try to win.”

  “Of course every owner does that, but in these Classic races where all the horses are outstanding there is always an element of luck, perhaps in the number one draws, if the going suits a particular horse or if one’s jockey is as astute as one hopes he will be.”

  “Everything in life depends a little bit on luck,” Baptista said. “I remember Mama saying once, ‘One is very fortunate if one is born beautiful, clever and into the right position in life, but to be happy one also needs love and that is often unpredictable’.”

  “I suppose your mother was thinking that she was unlucky to have married your father,” the Earl said cynically.

  “Of course she was,” Baptista agreed. “She was only seventeen when she married him and because her parents were not well off they were delighted that she should make such a good match. Then Papa began to grow very strange and believed, because she was so beautiful, that Mama was tempting him into sin. I told you the rest of the story. Mama’s luck must have run out.”

  “I am afraid it had,” the Earl agreed.

  “But I have been lucky. Very very lucky indeed, because I have met you, my Lord.”

  She sighed and then she said,

  “I know that when we reach Paris and find Mama I shall perhaps never see you again, but I shall always remember tonight when we dined together and all the things you have said to me.”

  There was a little sob in her voice that the Earl did not miss.

  He looked at her with a smile on his lips and found his eyes held by hers.

  He was used to seeing a look of admiration in a woman’s face, but with Baptista it was different.

  He could not explain to himself why it was. He only knew that once again he had an impression of danger.

  It made him rise to his feet.

  “If we have to leave early in the morning, Baptista,” he said, “I think you should go to bed.”

  There was a little pause before Baptista said in a low voice,

  “Yes, of course – if you want me to.”

  “I have told Mr. Barnard to try to procure a riding habit for you before we leave. He has been with me for a long time and it is seldom he does not find what I require.”

  “Thank you – that is very kind of you, my Lord.”

  She spoke in a low voice that was very different from her exuberance earlier in the evening.

  The Earl made certain that he did not meet her eyes again.

  Instead he put out his hand.

  “Goodnight, Baptista, sleep well, and we will breakfast in here at eight o’clock.”

  “Goodnight, my Lord.”

  Baptista put her hand in his. As she did so, she curtseyed and he felt her fingers quiver in his as if he held a butterfly.

  Then without looking back she went into her bedroom.

  The Earl stood for a long time staring at the closed door.

  Chapter Three

  For the second time driving beside the Earl, Baptista thought how lucky she was.

  She had been awoke
n at seven o’clock that morning and the maid had brought her a riding habit that Mr. Barnard had procured in some mysterious way from, she was sure, the best dressmaker in the town.

  It was certainly very attractive in a thin blue material that seemed to echo the blue of her eyes.

  “I am afraid it may be rather thin, Miss Baptista,” he said anxiously, when she thanked him after she was dressed, “but they only have summer clothes in stock now.”

  “I don’t need anything thicker when I am riding,” Baptista assured him.

  She loved the amusing French hat that went with it and which was different from the more severe riding hats worn in England.

  She thought that the Earl smiled at her appreciatively and, as soon as they were clear of the town, they both mounted horses that had been ridden by the outriders.

  Despite the long day yesterday Baptista’s horse was skittish and full of spirit and the Earl noted that she handled him in an expert manner until, after an exhilarating gallop, he quietened down.

  They rode for about two hours, then because he enjoyed both driving and riding the Earl took the reins of the travelling chariot.

  He and Baptista sat on the box seat while the servants sat inside and Baptista smiled as she said,

  “If we drove up to a smart hotel, I am sure that the porters would open the door of the carriage, where they assume the gentry would be sitting, while you and I would be ignored.”

  “I feel that however obtuse the porters might be they could not help thinking that you were a strange sort of footman to grace any Englishman’s carriage!”

  Baptista laughed.

  “Perhaps I will set a new fashion. If I do, would you engage me?”

  “Certainly not!” the Earl said firmly. “I dislike women who wish to do jobs that are the perquisite of men.”

  “That is what I thought you would say,” Baptista replied, “and I suppose you think that a woman’s work is in the home and nowhere else.”

  “That is certainly my opinion,” the Earl agreed.

  “What about actresses?”

  “That is something quite different,” the Earl said sternly, “and if you are going to tell me that you are thinking of going on the stage you can forget such ideas.”