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direction where he stood smoking a long-stemmed pipe by the hearth. ‘He is on his way to Russia with those wagons to join his brother, Jan. They’re art dealers with an important gallery in Amsterdam. More paintings were needed for sale in Russia and he is supervising the delivery of them.’
    Marguerite was as interested in the Dutchman as the others. ‘So he is going as far as Russia too?’ she said. ‘It must be a cargo of value if it can’t be trusted just to wagon drivers.’
    Her glance went again to the Dutchman. He was well groomed and well clad in a good cloth coat and knee breeches, his waistcoat a merry green, and his wheat-coloured hair unpowdered and caught back with a black ribbon. He looked every inch a prosperous merchant. She would have liked the opportunity to view those paintings in the wagons, but that could never be.
    She turned her gaze to the Englishwoman, who was sitting with her maid on the opposite side of the room. By chance their eyes met and Sarah Warrington smiled and inclined her head in greeting. Marguerite responded, pleased at this friendly contact. Perhaps they would get to know each other as the journey continued.
    The chance came to chat a week later when they met by chance on the landing of the stairs in the tavern where they had been staying for the night.
    â€˜You are certainly travelling in lively company.’ Sarah Warrington had spoken in French and she indicated with amusement the crescendo of noisy chatter in the room that Marguerite had just left.
    â€˜I’m thankful to say we get on very well.’ Then Marguerite added with a little laugh, ‘Most of the time anyway.’ They began to descend the narrow stairs, the Englishwoman going ahead.
    â€˜I’ve been informed that you are on your way to make gowns for Empress Elisabeth. Ah, the grapevine brings all the news to us travellers as you surely know.’
    â€˜That’s true indeed.’
    Sarah paused and looked up over her shoulder at Marguerite. ‘I’ve been told that the Dutchman is taking a painting to his brother that is destined for the Empress. Have you heard that too?’
    â€˜No, but it would explain his presence with the wagons. I thought it must be a valuable load,’ Marguerite replied, understanding now why the Comtesse had allowed the journey to be delayed for such a long time. She had been nervous of giving that powerful woman in Russia any further cause to turn against her through a painting’s late delivery.
    After that Marguerite and Sarah often talked together and, both having run out of reading matter, they exchanged books. When Sarah invited Marguerite to ride with her for a stage of the journey she changed places with Blanche, who sat with the other seamstresses, giving them all a change of company.
    Marguerite’s only encounter with the Dutchman came when they were standing side by side as the landlord informed them that there was only one room left. Hendrick van Deventer stepped back.
    â€˜For the ladies, of course. I’ll stay somewhere else.’
    The landlord shook his head. ‘There isn’t any other place around here, sir. I can offer you the stable-loft.’
    â€˜I’ll take that.’
    In the morning Marguerite asked the Dutchman if he had spent a very uncomfortable night.
    â€˜No,’ he replied with a grin, grey eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘The straw was clean and there was plenty of it.’
    After that he always bowed and doffed his tricorne hat whenever they met, but they had no further conversation.
    It was one morning not long afterwards that Jeanne sighed heavily as she joined her companions already in their seats. ‘I have to admit that I’ve become very tired of this daily journeying. Wouldn’t it be good if we could just have two or three days in the same place?’
    There were murmurs of assent from all except Marguerite. For her it was the moment she had been