Page 51 of Anastasia and the Duke
"When I left the house," she replied, once he had asked her, "Everything was still in chaos. I could see Antoine amongst the men celebrating as the house burned, and I knew that if he saw me--and Anna--that he would bring harm to both of us. So I snuck down to the gate where I had left my bag, and Anna and I escaped. We walked for nearly a day, until we reached a village on the outskirts of Paris, from there we took a stagecoach into the city. I was desperate to return her to England, but I knew no one I could trust. I took a room along theÎle de la Citéand did what work I could--sewing and the like--and tried to bide my time until I knew what I should do next. And then Sidney found me. I don't know how, but he knew at once who I was, and he took pity on me. He offered to pay for a berth for the three of us back to England; kindest thing anyone's ever done for me."
"I'm afraid Sidney just wanted a disguise to escape France," Oliver could not help himself from interrupting, "And I am guessing that the reason that he knew just who you were, was because he himself was involved in the plot. He was part of the Montagnards; did you know that? His kindness at saving you was self-motivated, he probably wanted to claim the reward money for finding Anastasia but realised too late that to return her might implicate him in the very crime that nearly killed her."
"No," Nan replied, shocked at the idea.
"What happened when you returned?" Oliver continued, his patience too thin to try to convince her, "Why did you not bring Anastasia back to her grandmother straight away?"
"I was afraid," Nan replied simply, lifting her eyes to his, "It was all my fault; the fire, the Comtesse's death, everything was because of me. If I had not told Antoine that we were leaving, if I had not opened the gate to him, then none of this would have happened. Sidney said I would be hung, if anyone ever found out."
Oliver sighed, wondering at the guilt and shame the woman had lived with all these years. No wonder the neighbours considered her mad; such regret would drive any person to insanity.
"You did not kill the de Bonnevals," Oliver said, firmly, "You did not strike the match to light the flame, you were used by not one, but two, men for their own gain. You even risked your life to save Anna, by running back into a burning building. The only thing you should regret, is not returning Hannah--I mean, Anna--to her grandmother the moment you set foot on English soil."
At his harsh words, Nan began to shake again. "I wanted to," she wailed, "I desperately wanted to, but I was never brave enough. It wasn't just that I was afraid of the noose; I was afraid of losing Hannah's love."
There was no reply that Oliver could give to this, for he was rather certain that when Hannah learned the truth, Nan's prophecy would come to pass.
"Where can I find Pritchard?" Oliver asked, as anger--for both Hannah and Nan--coursed through his veins. He would run through the blackguard with a sword, if he caught him, for the two lives he had ruined.
"He's usually found in the rooms above The Half Moon Pub, on Monmouth Street," Nan answered, "You're not going to confront him, are you?"
"Confront him?" Oliver snorted, "I'm going to kill the ruddy man."
Nan began to cry, soft sobs, but Oliver did not stay to comfort her. Instead, he left silently, as the bubbling rage within his chest threatened to boil over.
He once again mounted his horse and took off for Monmouth Street, though on this journey his mind was filled with visions of how he might torture Sidney Pritchard, instead of a sweet reunion with Hannah.
The Half Moon Pub was easy enough to find and, once outside, Oliver tossed the reins of his horse to the young lad lounging by the water trough.
"See he gets plenty of water and I'll see you looked after," Oliver called, before making his way through the squat doorway to the pub. Inside, the ceiling was haphazardly low, and Oliver had to duck his head to avoid knocking it off the wooden beams which lined it.
He strode to the bar, where a woman of middling years stood, disinterestedly polishing a glass. As the rag she was using was filthy, her action served no purpose other than to make the glass she held even dirtier.
"Drink?" she called, as her eyes fell on Oliver.
"No, thank you," Oliver shuddered at the very idea it, "Do you know where I could find Sidney Pritchard?"
"Who's asking?" she replied, with an insolent sniff.
"The Duke of Hawkfield," Oliver answered, using his most arrogant voice, which he accompanied with an imperious stare.
"A duke?" the barmaid gawped, "We ain't never had no duke in here."
"Well, now you do," Oliver sighed, too impatient for idle chat, "And I'm looking for Pritchard. Where is he?"
"Upstairs," the woman pointed to a door at the back of the room, "Go out into the yard and go through the black door, right to the top, that's where you'll find him."
"Thank you, madam," Oliver replied, taking a coin from his purse and placing it on the bar, "You have been most accommodating."
She stared at the coin in confusion, no doubt unaccustomed to receiving vails from her usual clientèle.
"Come back any time," she called after Oliver, as he strode from the room, "Bring any of your friends."
Outside in the courtyard, which was damp, grey, and malodorous, Oliver found the door which led to Sidney's lair. He took the steps two at a time, the rickety stairs creaking and groaning under the weight of him.
On the top floor there was only a small landing and one door, already open. Oliver advanced, his hand on the pistol he always kept on him, but when he entered the room, he found it empty.
"Dash it," he cursed aloud, his eye scanning the room for any sign of Pritchard.
