Allenham claimed that he would not ‘rest soundly’ until he was certain of my safe arrival in England, but indeed how might I rest soundly when I knew nothing of his circumstances, nor who or what detained him? I would fret without end; I would fear for him, just as he had bid me not to do. My thoughts turned to Paris, and once they had alighted upon that notion, they stuck fast. Certainly, I might only assuage my concerns by making a journey there and observing his situation, and had he not written that ‘the unrest of previous months has subsided’? Why, it could not be so perilous at present, no more so than Brussels. If I lived undisturbed in this city, might I not live equally unmolested in the French capital? While his concerns were noble ones, I concluded them to be unduly cautious. And should the Austrian army appear at the gates of Paris, I could not think they would seek to trouble an Englishwoman with their complaints.

And so upon that day it was decided. I resolved to take my leave of the safety and comfort of Madame Vanderoi’s warm, wooden-panelled rooms and begin preparations for what I would later come to regard as an exceedingly ill-advised journey to Paris.

Chapter 3

AT THE SAGACIOUS age of nineteen years, I fancied myself an expert in all matters of foreign travel. My flight from London had taught me that I required the necessary passports, while my maid, Lucy Johnson, without whose assistance and advice I would have found myself quite lost, was fair enough at managing the affairs of packing and removing my effects. With Madame Vanderoi’s assistance, I was able to hire a suitable remise, horses, a manservant and a coachman familiar with the roads that ran to Paris. This, and four volumes of Mr Nugent’s Grand Tour, that indispensable friend to all English travellers, was what in total I supposed I required for my journey. Indeed, I might well have succeeded at it had Nature not possessed designs of her own.

Those of you who have never before ventured upon the roads from Brussels to Paris will not have much comprehension of their conditions. The land lies quite flat and regular; indeed, it is not so unlike the great fenlands and marshes of East Anglia. It is possible to see for many miles in all directions, so that the distant church spires with their bulbs and points appear to poke like pins into the horizon. Rivers and bridges cross here and there, and in the spring months the storms knead the ground between them into mud. The spring rains do not fall lightly in these parts, but blow in sodden sheets which smack and slap against carriages and windows, beasts and men.