White Horses. Joan Wolf

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      Two

      It was raining when Gabrielle Robichon’s elderly carriage pulled up in front of the Hôtel Royale. She got out of the carriage and went to talk to the driver. “You can stable the horses in the mews in back of the hotel, Gerard. Make sure they are rubbed down and give them a bran mash.”

      “I know, Gabrielle,” said the driver, who was almost as venerable as the carriage. “I’ve been taking care of horses for longer than you’ve been alive.”

      Gabrielle smiled at him.

      Gabrielle’s older companion appeared at her side. “For heavens sake, chérie, let’s get out of this rain!”

      “All right, Emma, all right,” Gabrielle said. The two women hurried toward the door of the hotel, which was opened for them by a liveried doorman.

      “Our bags are in the carriage,” Emma said to the doorman. “Will you have them fetched, please?”

      “Yes, madame,” the man replied. “I will have them sent up to your room.”

      “Thank you.”

      The two women approached the desk. “We are supposed to have a reservation, Emma,” Gabrielle said.

      The clerk behind the desk looked at them, and Emma said, “Madame Dumas and Madame Rieux. I believe we have a reservation.”

      The clerk looked at his book. “Yes, I see it here. I will have someone show you to your room, mesdames.”

      “Thank you.”

      The two women followed a livery-clad young man up the central staircase to a room on the second floor. Emma and Gabrielle looked around at the four-poster bed, the aged Oriental carpet, and the nightstand with a pitcher of water and a basin. When the young man had left, Emma said, “Well, here we are, ready to embark on this crazy scheme.”

      “It’s not so crazy,” Gabrielle said, taking off her bonnet. “Papa transferred gold for the Rothschilds many times.”

      Emma took off her own hat, baring her dyed red hair. “That may be true, but you never had to masquerade as the wife of a strange Englishman before!”

      “Mr. Rothschild insisted. It’s stupid, of course. He should know we can be trusted to get his gold to Biarritz without an English bodyguard to make us more noticeable.” Gabrielle looked disgusted. “If Papa were still alive they would never have thought of doing this.”

      Emma said, “On the other hand, it will be nice to have someone along who will be responsible for the gold besides us.” She put her bonnet on a walnut chest with a lace runner on the top. “If something bad happens, he can take the blame.”

      “Nothing bad is going to happen,” Gabrielle said firmly. “Except I am going to have to pretend this anglais is my husband.”

      “I hope he is a gentleman,” Emma said nervously. “Just think, Gabrielle, you may have to share your bedroom with him!”

      “Don’t worry, Emma, nothing is going to happen.”

      Gabrielle smiled. “I will keep my trusty knife handy, believe me. If he tries anything, I’ll skewer him.”

      Emma shivered. “Please God it will not come to that.”

      “I doubt it will,” Gabrielle said soothingly. “Mr. Rothschild said the man is a colonel on his way back to the army after being wounded. A colonel should be a gentleman.”

      “I hope so,” Emma said “There’s a dining room downstairs,” Gabrielle said. “Let’s go and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

      Emma smiled in agreement. “We don’t often get the chance to eat in a hotel of this quality.”

      The two women removed their pelisses, hung them in the wardrobe and went down to the dining room.

      The earl arrived in Brussels the following afternoon to meet Gabrielle Robichon. He checked into his room at the hotel and was told that the ladies were out. He asked to be notified when they came back.

      At five o’clock a hotel employee brought him word that Mesdames Rieux and Dumas had returned and would receive him in room 203. The earl, who was on the third floor, went down a flight of stairs and knocked at the designated door. It was opened by a middle-aged woman with dyed red hair and faintly slanted green eyes. She was wearing rouge.

      “Good afternoon,” the earl said pleasantly. “I am Colonel Leo Standish.”

      “Good heavens,” the woman said, staring up at him. Then, visibly gathering her wits, she opened the door wider and said, “Come in, Colonel.”

      The earl stepped into the room. A charmingly husky voice said, “How do you do, Colonel. I am Gabrielle Robichon Rieux.”

      He turned slightly and looked into the huge brown eyes of one of the loveliest girls he had ever seen. Her shining brown hair was parted in the middle and drawn back into a single braid that went halfway down her back. Her nose was small and delicate and her lips were clear-cut and perfect. She was holding out her hand but she was not smiling. He crossed the floor to take her hand into his own. She was quite small; her head did not reach the top of his shoulder, but her handshake was as firm as a man’s.

      “You are married?” he said in surprise.

      “I was married,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Now I am a widow.”

      “You’re very young to be a widow,” he said. He was a little discomposed. He had not expected her to be so pretty.

      She shrugged, СКАЧАТЬ