Miss Weston's Masquerade

Cassandra couldn’t decide which would be worse, when all she wanted was to stay with Nicholas on this long route to Vienna, to build on the friendship that was growing between them. Anything else was too complicated.

‘Cassandra?’ Nicholas had obviously been speaking to her for a few moments. ‘Do wake up! The cases need to be packed. See to it while I talk to the postillions. We’ve got a boat to catch.’

A boat? Cassandra was still asking questions when they arrived on the quayside. The postillions unhitched the horses, were paid off by Nicholas and clattered away, leaving the carriage stranded on the cobbles.

‘But where’s the boat? And we can’t leave the carriage here.’

‘Stop tugging at my coat tails and watch.’

A group of men swung a crude wooden crane over the carriage and heaved until it dangled precariously in the air. The wheels were removed and handed over the quayside into a large, flat-bottomed boat where they were laid flat, half submerged by dirty bilge water. To Cassandra’s horror, the body of the carriage was swung over and down until it rested upon them.

‘We can’t go in that,’ she protested looking at the crude boat rocking on the swift flowing River Rhône. ‘It’s nothing but a giant punt!’

‘That giant punt is costing me seven guineas. Would you rather jolt over miles more road? Or perhaps crowd onto the public boat? We can stop at night, there are inns all along the banks.’

Cassandra looked dubiously at the vicious swirl of the current and felt her stomach contract. ‘I can’t swim, Nicholas.’ The ship on the sea was one thing, this virtual raft, so low on the water, quite another.

‘Nonsense, nobody’s going to fall in. And look how much you enjoyed crossing the Channel.’

She wouldn’t let him see how nervous it made her. Cassandra watched the four boatmen making ready their long poles and sorting ropes. A rather more practical problem asserted itself. ‘Nicholas.’

‘Hmm?’ He was watching them make the carriage secure with a lashing of cords.

‘Will we be on the boat all day? I mean… they’re all men and I…’

Nicholas grinned at her discomfiture. ‘Don’t worry, brat. The very latest in travelling commodes is in the carriage which, as you know, is equipped with curtains.’

‘Oh, thank you. I didn’t think it would occur to you.’

‘It didn’t, but it’s suggested in the guidebook. Now climb down and let’s be off.’

Once the moorings were let go, the boat was pulled swiftly into the current. Two of the boatmen pulled on the primitive rudder, a long oar protruding through a hole cut in the stern, while the others fended off with poles on either side.

‘Cass, what are you doing? Get in.’ Nicholas was already in the carriage, but Cassandra perched on one of the thwarts, keeping her feet out of the bilge water with difficulty.

‘I’m staying here,’ she stated flatly. ‘If this thing goes down, I’m not going to be stuck in the carriage.’

Gradually the novelty of being on the river overcame her nervousness and she started to relax and enjoy herself. The tall houses and warehouses began to diminish as they left the city behind them, but the river was surprisingly busy with traffic crossing from bank to bank, or boats like their own laden with every cargo from sheep to bales.

The men had to work hard to keep a straight line down the Rhône, using their poles as brakes and steering oars. Other boatmen waved or shouted comments, some of them obscene enough to bring a blush to Cassandra’s cheeks. Unsteadily she stood up and spoke to Nicholas. ‘They all seem very rough. Are they reliable?’

‘This was the most respectable crew I could find.’ Nicholas seemed relaxed, but Cassandra noticed the coach pistols were out of their holsters and very much to hand. ‘This is hardly a pleasure trip on the River Thames. When the boat reaches Arles it will be broken up for firewood and the men will have to make their own way back upstream. They need to be tough.’

The banks seemed to fly past and Nicholas speculated they must be travelling at six miles an hour. The bridges were the most perilous to negotiate and at most of them Nicholas and Cassandra disembarked and walked round to wait for the men to pole the boat between the piers.

‘You are looking rather pale, Cass. Are you feeling sick?’ Nicholas climbed down from the carriage, carefully picking his way to keep his feet dry.

‘Not sick, hungry. It seems ages since we had breakfast.’

‘They will pull into the bank at that village at the next bend.’ Nicholas pointed and Cassandra could see a straggle of houses with one rather more respectable building on the water side with its own jetty into the river.

The crew had a struggle to pull the boat out of the mainstream current into the quieter water that lapped the grassy banks. A man came down from the inn to catch the mooring rope and a scrubby boy was dispatched to warn the patron that guests were on their way. Cassandra’s legs felt as wobbly as when she’d crossed the Channel, and the quiet inn with its dabbling ducks at the waterside was very welcome.

The inn was surprisingly clean and the food wholesome, although all that was provided was the simple ordinaire of cheese, olives and crusty bread with rough red wine to wash it down.

Cassandra made excuses to avoid re-boarding the boat until Nicholas got quite short with her, pointing out that they would not reach Vienne for their night’s lodgings if she tarried any longer.

‘What is the matter with you?’ he demanded, exasperated.