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Palace of Versailles. He is a special kind of gardener and was engaged in some project there and other of the royal parks,’ Violette continued. ‘Apparently he’s quite famous for creating beautiful gardens and landscapes, which was why he was suddenly invited by the Empress to do some very important work in Russia. Just like she sent for you, Marguerite. Blanche says . . .’
    She broke off as a rider galloped past the coach, shouting to those at the head of the line of vehicles to delay departure. Rose was the first to dart to the window and lean out to watch proceedings.
    â€˜There’s some argument going on,’ she reported delightedly. ‘Now the horseman has approached the Comtesse’s coach and is making his appeal to her through her window.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, it’s all right. She must have agreed to the delay, because he’s smiling and nodding. What a fine-looking fellow he is! Who could resist a request from him?’
    Violette was on her feet, pushing Rose aside. ‘Let me see! Yes, you’re right.’ She gave an envious sigh. ‘No wonder she’s keeping him in conversation. Ah! He’s leaving her now and coming this way again.’
    She kept her position at the open window, but to her annoyance he rode past her without a glance and the rest of them saw briefly his well-cut profile before he was out of sight. Her commentary continued.
    â€˜We must find out all about him! He’s handing his horse over to a groom now to be stabled.’ Her head was still out of the window. ‘Hey, I can see it’s going to be a longish wait. The Comtesse is getting out and making for the tavern. Her maid is in tow, carrying the usual shawls and jewel box. Come along, girls! We can all go for another walk around the stalls and shops. I saw a necklace I’d like to take another look at.’
    As Marguerite set off with the others on their walk she saw Mistress Warrington again. The Englishwoman’s pace was slow as she crossed the cobbled square with her maid to a coffee house. She was as small and slight as her maid was big and broad. Blanche Chamier was in her thirties with a boisterously healthy look to her round kindly face. As Violette had said, care of the Englishwoman appeared to be in capable hands.
    The delay requested proved to be a lengthy one. It was three hours before a carriage and two wagons, their loads roped down securely, finally appeared. The newcomer, who had been impatiently pacing up and down, darted into the tavern and solicitously escorted the Comtesse back to her coach. It had clearly been a longer wait than expected, but she seemed mollified by his attention, her frown of exasperation easing away until she was smiling at him. As soon as she was settled he left her to hurry across to his own newly arrived carriage. With the familiar discordant cacophony of cracking whips, shouts, creaking wheels and groaning springs the journey recommenced.
    The seamstresses speculated amongst themselves as to what the wagons might be carrying. Surely there must be something vitally important under those covering tarpaulins for the Comtesse to agree to a delay? It could not be just the man’s good looks that had persuaded her. Absurd suggestions were forthcoming and caused laughter. Was it a secret cache of arms? Jewels for the Empress? Then, as the suggestions became bawdier, there was even more laughter. Marguerite approved this new diversion. Anything that kept her companions’ minds from boredom was greatly welcomed.
    At the next halt for a change of horses at a country tavern Violette went immediately with her provocative, hip-swinging walk to laugh and flirt with one of the wagon drivers. When she rejoined the others, who were seated at a corner table in the tavern, she had found out all she wanted to know.
    â€˜That good-looking man is a Dutchman named Hendrick van Deventer.’ She tilted her head in his