Chapter Thirty
“Tonton Aldric. Tonton Aldric.”
Aldric worked at peeling his eyes open.
“Tonton Aldric.” The whisper grew a little bit louder.
He had his eyes open at last and, for just a moment, expected to see Roderick.
Finding Adèle there instead helped him shake some of the lingering mental sloth of sleep.
She’d said “Tonton,” where Roderick would have said “Uncle.” His mind had simply translated without bothering to tell him it had done so.
“What is it, ma petite douce?” He kept his voice low so as not to wake Céleste.
“I need to—” Her face scrunched.
Ah. He sat up. “Is this a particularly urgent need, or do we have time to put our shoes on?”
“We have time for our shoes.”
He snatched hers from inside the bag and pulled them onto her feet, tying them. “With the rain last night, the ground is likely to be muddy. I think we will both appreciate the shoes.”
He put his on, tying them in place. He rolled his shoulders, working out the stiffness of yet another night sleeping in a wagon bed.
Aldric climbed out of the wagon, then reached back up for her. There was no hesitancy, no uncertainty. She simply hopped into his arms, trusting him to catch her. That touched him, but it also made his heart ache for Céleste, who was having to work so much harder to win the girl’s approval.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that his theory of Jean-Francois having poisoned his daughter’s opinion of her aunt was accurate.
He wouldn’t have believed before leaving England a few short weeks earlier that he would meet a brother more worthy of being despised than his own.
Aldric set Adèle on her feet but offered her his hand to hold on to.
Hers were so much smaller than his that she simply wrapped her hand around one of his fingers.
He was finding he enjoyed being an uncle to this little girl every bit as much as he did to Roderick.
He could even imagine himself being a father, which was a thought he had not ever let himself indulge in.
They walked toward the open side of the barn where doors would once have blocked out nature. It was lighter out than he would have expected, a sure indication that they’d slept later than he’d intended to. All of them were tired. It would be good to get to Norwood, where everyone could rest.
As they crossed over the deteriorating threshold, the breeze caught them there. Adèle shivered a little. He ought to have put on her coat as well as her shoes.
“Wait here a moment. I’m going to fetch your coat.”
He turned back and strode toward the wagon. He would put his coat on too. After finding a spot where she could take care of all that needed to be done, they could make their way slowly back to the barn, looking for flowers. She would enjoy that, and so would he.
Just as he reached the wagon, a scream pierced the air. He spun back around. A man had Adèle in his arms and was running away. Aldric bolted after her.
“Tonton Aldric!” Her screams of sheer terror pierced him as he struggled to catch the man who’d snatched her.
He was trying to make up ground, but the kidnapper was swift.
“Tonton Aldric!” She was fighting, twisting, and wriggling. Her captor struggled to keep hold of her.
Aldric was closing the distance. He swiped a hand forward. Almost close enough. Adèle’s arm reached back toward him, fear filling her eyes.
He reached out again and grabbed hold of the collar of the man’s coat.
Either out of instinct or cruelty, the man threw Adèle to the ground.
Her cry changed to one of pain. The man was fighting, throwing elbows, no doubt wanting to get loose of Aldric’s grasp.
Aldric might be able to hold him off, throw a few punches and elbows of his own, but Adèle was crawling back toward him and would soon be close enough to be snatched again or hurt further.
In his distraction, Aldric didn’t see the fist coming until a moment before it connected. He was able to turn enough away to take the fist to his shoulder instead of his face. But it sent him reeling backward. And the man slipped loose.
Aldric spun fast and tossed himself over Adèle, creating a barrier, making it impossible for the assailant to grab her again.
He didn’t even try. He simply ran, disappearing into the nearby stand of trees.
Adèle was sobbing, and the sound was torture. Aldric scooped her up and held her close, reminding himself not to squeeze too hard, not wanting to cause her pain or add to her fear but needing to know that she truly was there, that the man hadn’t succeeded in stealing her away.
He pulled back enough to look her over. “Are you hurt, ma petite douce? Are you hurt?”
“He was taking me away.” She threw her arms around him again and cried. He stood, cradling her close, out of breath, his chest tight with the fear that was washing over him.
She’d almost been abducted. He’d left her alone for a blink, for a mere moment, and she’d been snatched away. The threats they’d been running from had caught up with them.
And Céleste had been left alone.
Merciful heavens.
He moved as quickly as he could without jarring Adèle too much. He still didn’t know what injuries she might have sustained when the man had tossed her down.
But he didn’t have to get all the way to the barn before being reassured Céleste was still there. She stood just outside the missing doors, looking at him with a haunted expression. She had no doubt heard Adèle screaming.
He moved with swift steps, mind spinning, heart racing, angry at himself, worried about Adèle.
It was too much to think about all at once, and in the midst of that was the knowledge that they needed to get away.
They had to get out of France far faster than they had anticipated.
The game their pursuers had been playing in letting them know they were near but giving no indication what they meant to do had changed in an instant.
“What happened?” Céleste asked when he was near enough to hear her.
“They’re too close.” He spoke swiftly, pushing past her and directly into the barn.
He set Adèle on the wagon bench and gave her a quick look over.
An angry green stain from the grass marred the side of her nightdress.
She had a bit of a scrape on her face. He touched it gently.
“I’m sorry, ma petite douce. I’m so sorry. ”
She was sobbing and terrified, and it was all his fault.
“Who was that?” Céleste asked from beside him. “How did he—? What was—?”
“I don’t know,” Aldric said gruffly. “It was either the man from the inn last night or the one who left the note the night before or any number of people intent on making mischief.”
“But how did he get so close without us knowing?”
“I don’t know.” He grabbed his coat and pulled it on.
“We need to leave as soon as possible.” He began walking toward the horse but turned back.
“Adèle woke up because she needed relief. If you can help her see to that without going far”—he emphasized the last bit—“we’ll cover more ground before having to stop. ”
He needed to get the horse hitched and get them on the road as soon as possible.
They were at least two days from Le Tréport, maybe three at the rate they’d been going.
It was far too much time with those levying threats growing as bold as they had that morning.
He’d almost lost Adèle. Something could easily have happened to Céleste.
His ladies were depending on him, and he’d failed them.
I promised Henri I’d keep them both safe. And I failed.
Just as I failed my mother.
And Stanley.
Failed.
Adèle didn’t speak a word for the next three hours. She hardly moved, hardly breathed. She must have been terrified. All the trust, all the reaching for him and knowing he would keep her safe had been undone.
And Céleste watched him warily too. Had he lost her faith as well?
When they reached a small village, he stopped on the roadside to talk with a woman who was sitting outside her home. “What is this village?” he asked.
“Ponts-et-Marais,” she said.
“How many days’ journey is it to Le Tréport?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Depends whether you’re driving or floating.”
Floating. “The river’s deep and wide enough here for barges?”
She nodded. “The river can take you to Eu and from there to Le Tréport.”
“And how long does that take?”
“You’d be there tonight.”
Tonight. They’d cut days off their journey.
“Where can we get on the barge?”
The woman gave him directions. He thanked her and set the wagon into motion once more.
“The woman at the farm yesterday did say her friend arrived from Paris far faster than we did because he took a river ferry.” It was the first thing Céleste had said to him since they’d left the barn that morning.
He nodded. Hers wasn’t a declaration of trust or forgiveness. It was almost a question.
“We need to get out of France.”
She didn’t answer or argue but simply sat calmly while holding Adèle. The little girl also wasn’t speaking.
This is my fault.
They arrived at the spot on the river the woman had indicated, and as she’d promised, there was a barge there.
He alighted and approached the man he assumed to be the captain. “There are three of us wishing for passage to Le Tréport.”
Captain looked at Céleste and Adèle, then back at Aldric.
“We’ve space enough.”
At last, a spot of luck. The man quoted a price, and it was within their means, but barely. If they reached Le Tréport by nightfall, they’d need a place to stay. In the morning, Aldric could find a ship on which they could get passage. He wasn’t certain he had enough money for both.
He could offer to trade labor on board the Channel ship to get them across or attempt to convince the captain of that ship of the truth of his identity and that he could pay him handsomely upon reaching England. But that was a risk, as he was known to the people who were chasing them.
The General was supposed to be able to strategize any situation, but this one continued to thwart him.
“Would you consider the wagon and horse in exchange for passage?” Aldric asked. Céleste’s approach had worked at the inn two days earlier. “The wagon has seen better days, but it’s sturdy. And the horse is a strong and reliable animal.”
The man wandered over to the wagon and slowly walked around it. Aldric kept a close eye on him and could see that Céleste and Adèle did the same. But the items Aldric was offering to trade were the focus of his interest.
“I’ll take the exchange,” the man said.
Aldric reached into the back of the wagon and pulled out their bag, Céleste’s violin, and the basket containing only a few more bites of food. They’d have to ration it until they reached Le Tréport. Then he’d have to discover what food he could obtain inexpensively.
He handed the violin to Céleste; she could carry it in the hand not holding on, white-knuckled, to Adèle’s. One of his hands now free, Aldric snatched up their blankets.
They walked onto the small barge. This river was not so large or deep as the Seine, and the vessels that could navigate it were much smaller as well.
There’d be no privacy, no chance for escaping the scrutiny of anyone else making the journey.
But it would get them out of France in less than half the time.
That was far more important than comfort.
He set their things down in an area of the deck cordoned off a bit by some crates stacked and tied together.
It’d be snug but would help guard against the chill that still hung in the air.
And they’d have the slightest bit of privacy.
Even with that, he could see people walking past and could study their faces.
The three of them sat in uncomfortable silence. It was different than the silence that had hung in the air when they’d left Paris and when they’d fled Fleur-de-la-Forêt. The nervousness and worry they’d all felt had multiplied. And now he felt disappointment from Céleste as well.
The barge was untied and began its journey along the river.
At the first bump, Adèle scrambled from her place beside Céleste and directly to Aldric, tossing herself against him.
He wrapped his arms around her and simply held her.
He’d almost lost her. The fate she likely would have faced was one that did not bear contemplating.
He loved this little girl. Loved her uncle Henri as a brother. He loved her aunt Céleste.
Loved them.
They’d trusted him and relied on him. But now they were in danger and afraid, and it was his fault.