The captain frowned. “Hmm.”
“You disagree?”
“The army is thick on the ground at Calais. It is the place, above all, where they are most wary of spies.”
“We must take a boat from somewhere to cross the Channel.”
“I would suggest Gravelines. Boats leave for Kent and Sussex every day.”
The name sounded familiar, but Darcy could not recall where he had heard it. “What is in Gravelines?”
“Napoleon has created a smugglers’ village there.” The captain gestured expansively. “French merchants visit Gravelines to sell silk clothing, brandy, and lace to English smugglers in exchange for guineas. Napoleon is always short of cash. His wife needs tiaras and golden furniture.” The man spat on the deck. “I spit on him!” He spat on the deck again. “I spit on his wife!”
Darcy moved his boots out of range. “Yes, so you said before.”
“Because so many boats go back and forth, Gravelines should be safer. You should find a smuggler who will take you to England for a price.”
Darcy had his doubts about trusting the honor of smugglers, but Gravelines still seemed safer than Calais, where Elizabeth’s accent would be noticeable to agents of the French government. “Very well. I like this plan of yours, but we cannot embark on it immediately.” They would arrive at Rouen too late in the day to begin a journey. “I will need to rent a carriage, and Elizabeth will need to rest.”
“I would be quite pleased to offer you and your lovely wife a room in my house for the night. For a very small fee, of course.” Moreau grinned widely enough for Darcy to see all his crooked teeth.
“Of course.”
Oddly, Darcy found the captain’s greed reassuring; if money was Moreau’s primary motivation, he was unlikely to betray them. “Thank you, we would be honored.”
***
They arrived at Rouen around noon and disembarked from the barge without attracting any attention. The captain’s home was located near the port, but it proved to be a good-sized townhouse decorated in the modern style.
As they stood in the nicely appointed home, Darcy realized that the captain could not possibly be fooled by their disguise. Not only had he guessed their true nationality, but he also must have an idea of Darcy’s station. A man of Moreau’s means would not have invited a common laborer to this house. Darcy wondered what had given them away. The abundance of funds? His commanding presence? Perhaps the truth was
that Darcy did a spectacularly poor job of pretending to be a laborer.
The back of his neck prickled as they ventured further into the house; he was wary of everything these days. But Darcy saw nothing out of the ordinary. The captain introduced his wife, a short, plump woman, and his children, who had to be coaxed downstairs to greet the strangers. A fine luncheon had been spread out for them in the dining room, Darcy saw gratefully. The fare aboard the barge had been meager.
Once they had seated themselves and started eating, conversation quickly turned to the next stage of their journey. “Is it difficult to enter Gravelines?” Darcy asked the captain.
The other man nodded slowly. “It is strictly controlled by the military and the customs services. Everyone who enters or leaves the encampment must have the appropriate papers.”
Darcy’s stomach churned. Perhaps Calais was a better bet.
The other man grinned, leaning back in his chair as he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Fortunately for you, I know an export forger. He has created papers for many other ‘merchants’ who need entry to Gravelines. His services are not cheap, but he is fast. I would be happy to take you to him—for a small fee.”
Of course. Darcy agreed and thanked the captain. Perhaps this plan would work.
After luncheon, the captain led them into a large, well-appointed drawing room. Through a doorway, a smaller room was visible with a—
“A pianoforte!” exclaimed Elizabeth. Her eyes shone with an excitement that had been too often absent of late.
Mrs. Moreau dimpled. “Yes. Do you play?”
“I believe so,” Elizabeth responded, not noticing the puzzled looks this earned. She drew closer to the instrument as if pulled by a magnet.
“Would you play for us?” Darcy asked. He had not had the pleasure of hearing her play for months. Perhaps she was not the best musician technically, but the expression with which she played brought the music alive for him.
As if enchanted, Elizabeth seated herself and brushed her fingers over the keys. Darcy searched among the pile of musical manuscripts on a nearby table for a piece he recognized. But music immediately emanated from the piano, so he seated himself to enjoy her performance. Captain and Mrs. Moreau positioned themselves on a loveseat near the door.
It was a simple melody, the kind a child might practice when learning the instrument. But Elizabeth played it with a sense of discovery and childlike wonder that eased Darcy’s heart. At the end of the piece, Elizabeth lifted her hands from the keys and met his eyes. “I remember.”