“Thank you, Roger, but I hope I sha’n’t be any great bother to you. I have some money, near forty pound, and that will last me till I can get work. You see, my uncle got married again, the old fool, and there was no room for me and a step-aunt. And I saw the chance I’d been longing and praying for of getting away from Newgate gaol. I found I had some little money my daddy had left me, besides some I had made myself, and I went to my uncle and made him give it me: he warn’t very anxious to do it. His minx of a new wife was so glad to get rid of me, though, that neither of ’em asked me any questions about where I was going. But, Roger, I knew where I was going. I was going somewhere that nobody would know I was the niece of old Lukens, the turnkey; and that place was France, where I knew there were a plenty of English, and my King and my best friend among ’em. I left my own country with a light heart, and if ever I go back there, ’twill be as something people won’t point their thumbs at and say, ‘There goes the turnkey’s girl!’ And if I starve and freeze in this country, I reckon it won’t be any worse than starving and freezing in England; and besides, I’m a Jacobite, I am. I hate them common, vulgar Whigs, and all their doings; and when King James goes back, Miss Lukens will go along with him!”
Roger could not forbear laughing at Bess’s politics, but the coolness, courage, and readiness with which she had carried out the plan she had devised so cunningly gave him ease about her; Bess Lukens could take care of herself anywhere. Excellent, however, as all her motives were, there was an uncomfortable haunting feeling in Roger’s mind, that all of those reasons would have applied equally to any country where he could be found.
“Well, then,” said Roger, cheerfully, “let us now determine what is best to be done for you. But first put that damned sword of yours out of the way, else you will run me through the body before you know it.”
Bess restored the sword to its scabbard, and turning with Roger, they walked under the trees at the edge of the forest. It was an odorous summer night, and the nightingales were singing. Bess was very happy, and Roger was wretched and uncomfortable beyond description; but he hid it manfully.
“I have other clothes than these,” said Bess, “and working people can find work the world over; so you need not be unhappy about me. Only let me get decent quarters, and I’ll not be afraid.”
“True, Bess; but you are a girl of sense, and you must see that if I would not be your worst enemy, I must be careful how I befriend you. So, my girl, be not doubtful of me if I shall seem not to seek thy company. This is an evil-thinking world.”
“I know it,” Bess cut in. “You can’t tell me anything about this ugly old world. One doesn’t see the pretty side of it, fetched up as I was. But I think ’twill be brighter for me if I can live free from that everlasting, tormenting, hideous ghost, which walked after me in England,—‘Red Bess, the turnkey’s niece.’ I hope I’ve left the shade on t’other side of the water.”
“I hope so, too, Bess. And now go we back to your inn, and you stay there the night, and I will write you a letter in the morning.”
They turned and walked toward the town, Bess talking happily, and Roger acting his part with perfect success, but with a sinking heart. It is ever an evil time with your lover, when the other woman turns up.
Leaving Bess at the entrance of the little lane that led to her humble inn, Roger made great strides toward Madame Michot’s. He met Berwick coming out.