Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Ithink this is far enough.’ Chest heaving as he sucked in breaths, Percy led Dora to a stone bench where they could both rest. It was surrounded by laurel bushes, a barrier of dark glossy leaves and dense branches giving the impression of seclusion.
The fireworks still occasionally burst in the sky, but the cries were getting more distant, the immediate crisis abating.
‘Mon Dieu, they tried to kill me.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘But I have diplomatic status – that should be respected.’
Dora waited until she could string more than two words together before replying. ‘You are hasty, sir. I could claim the gunner aimed at me. It was pointed in our direction long before you came to sit with us. Could it not be an accident?’
He only shook his head, feeling his arms and legs for injuries. As an experienced agent, he would know that some injuries only made themselves apparent after the initial shock had passed. Following his example, Dora checked herself over. Apart from a few minor abrasions, she was unhurt.
‘Who would put live ammunition in a pile of blanks by accident?’ wondered Percy.
True. With the attempts on their lives recently, it did seem very bad luck to almost die by chance.
That wasn’t something she wished to discuss with him.
She should continue to be ignorant. ‘Could it be a mix-up in the arsenal? The gun is no ordinary stage prop. The stagehand charged with firing it might not know the difference.’
‘He should’ve done. There is no excuse. I would not be surprised to read tomorrow that people died in that rout.’
A shiver ran down her spine. Without his quick thinking, she might have been one of the victims. Dora reached down to her bruised heel. It wasn’t bleeding, just skinned. ‘Thank you for keeping me on my feet.’
He reached into his pocket and took out a fresh handkerchief, acting more like his usual self as he regained his balance. ‘Mon plaisir. Tie that around your foot, ma chérie. It is better than going without shoes until we can find a conveyance.’
‘We must find Jacob.’
‘And how do we do that, pray?’
‘We agreed to meet at the statue of Handel if we got separated.’ Hopefully the statue would have escaped the conflagration. It stood alone in its little garden plot.
He nodded, accepting that. ‘Then when you are recovered, we will limp back in that direction and pay our respects to Maestro Handel.’
The big starburst overhead signalled the fireworks were reaching their crescendo. The flashes cast even deeper shadows in the already dark walkway. Dora tied the knot at her ankle and stood.
‘I am ready.’
‘Bon.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Allons-y.’
Speaking in French was fatal. A gang of young men surged out of the shrubbery.
‘I thought it was ’im!’ cried one, shoving Dora back and seizing Percy by the lapels. ‘You French bastard! You’ll pay for this!’ The thug shook Percy until his teeth must’ve rattled. His hat fell to the floor only to be stamped on by another in the gang.
Percy held up his hands. ‘It was not me! I am the victim in this!’
Dora could’ve groaned. That was the wrong tactic.
‘Victim? Bollocks to that! What’s a fucking snail-eater doing at our celebration, eh? You tell me that.’ The young man, one of the alehouse toughs who thought themselves the cock of the walk, wasn’t going to listen to reason.
‘I am a diplomat – I was with English friends. Miss Dora, explain, please!’ His eyes rolled to her in desperation like a calf sensing it was heading for the abattoir.
This wasn’t good – really not good. Dora couldn’t think of an escape, or words to calm the aggressors. They were looking for someone to blame and Percy was it. Still, she had to try.
‘Gentlemen, please—’
Her appeal was cut off. ‘We don’t take the word of a slut who keeps company with a Frenchie.
’ A second man grabbed Dora from behind, arm across her neck.
‘Whoring for the enemy, are you? Well then, you won’t mind giving us some of that, will you?
’ His other hand spread across her stomach and scrunched up the material of her gown.
That was enough! Life on the road had taught her a thing or two about what to do when in a tough spot – swift action was one.
‘Get your dirty hands off me, you idiot!’ Dora jerked her head back to collide with his nose, seized his little finger and yanked it so he either had to let go or let her break it.
She followed up with an elbow to his diaphragm.
The man howled and released his hold on her.
She darted forward and pushed the oaf off Percy.
This gave the Frenchman time enough to recover and pull a blade from his pocket. He held it out.
‘Get behind me, Dora. You should know, gentlemen, I’m trained in the art of knife fighting. If you come at me, more than one of you will die tonight.’
Oh, thank you, Percy. What a brilliant way to defuse the situation: threaten them with death!
With a sigh, Dora pulled out her pistol from her reticule and levelled it at the ruffian who had grabbed Percy.
‘Step back, gentlemen, or I will fire.’
‘You brought a pistol to a knife fight?’ muttered Percy with sardonic amusement.
The man thought for a moment, then swaggered, taking a pace forward. He was an unprepossessing individual with a shock of greasy hair and unshaven chin. ‘What you going to do, eh, whore? You’ve one shot and there are many more of us than you.’
Dora lowered the muzzle to point at his groin. ‘But do you really want to sing soprano for the rest of your life? Trust me, I can get off the shot before your friends reach me and you really won’t care what happens next, will you?’
He hesitated but decided to be stupid. ‘She’s bluffing. Lads, get ’em!’
Damn. She was going to have to shoot him. She tightened her finger on the trigger.
Just then, Alex pushed out of the bushes, sword already released from his stick.
He slashed it across the space between Dora and the louts, halting them in their tracks.
Dora pulled up the muzzle and discharged the pistol in the air, barely avoiding getting Alex in the back.
Everyone flinched in surprise that she actually had a loaded gun.
‘Dammit, Alex, I could’ve killed you!’ She trembled with the near miss.
‘But you didn’t.’ He sent her an apologetic look.
‘Gentlemen, as you have discovered, she wasn’t bluffing and, fortunately for you, I arrived in time to save you from her ire.
I’d rather not waste my evening explaining to a magistrate why we needed to rid the world of you and your idiot friends, but I will if you don’t stand down. ’
‘Who the hell are you?’ jeered the lout.
Alex looked magnificent as he made a salute with the weapon. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Smith, 1st battalion 2nd Foot Guard, at this lady’s service and not yours. Now get going before I teach you a lesson learned on the battlefields of Europe.’ Alex cut at the man, slicing a button from his waistcoat.
‘Oh, I like this one,’ murmured Percy to Dora.
‘Hush, you,’ she warned.
The leader was still not ready to back down, his blood was up and he wanted his revenge. ‘But he’s French!’ He pointed at Percy.
‘Your point being?’ drawled Alex.
‘He’s the enemy. He fired on the audience.’
‘He was sitting in the audience in the line of fire, you fool! Now use that head of yours for something more than putting a hat on. Go home – or go help put out the fires. That’s the patriot action needed now, or do you want Vauxhall to burn down? Leave these people alone.’
With a few dirty looks, hunched shoulders, and grumbling, the men melted back into the shadows.
‘Have they gone?’ asked Percy, not dropping his guard.
‘I hope so.’ Dora stowed the pistol in her reticule. With all the firework explosions, no one had come running to investigate the shot.
‘You do know how to show a gentleman a good time, Dora.’ Percy slid the knife back into his pocket but kept his hand on the hilt.
‘I don’t remember inviting you to any show, Mr Percy. You brought this upon yourself. What were you thinking, flaunting yourself at an evening like this?’
‘Showing that we the French are not afraid?’
‘Well, I don’t know about you French, but this Englishwoman was terrified by that little altercation.’
He replaced his hat, punching out the dent but it would never be the same again. ‘I might have miscalculated the strength of feeling against my nation.’
‘Are you all right, Dora?’ asked Alex, coming to her side, sword still drawn.
Finally, a sensible person to talk to. ‘Yes. Have you seen Jacob?’
‘From a distance. He was tending to the wounded who have been carried to a temporary hospital on the stage. I imagine he’s desperate to find you so we’d better hurry back before he sets off to hunt.’ He looked down. ‘Oh, your foot!’
‘Lost a shoe – nothing worse.’ They began moving back towards the concert stage. Percy trailed behind them.
‘Are you not going to introduce me?’ the Frenchman called from behind.
‘No,’ said Dora.
They arrived at the same time as the Russian doctors who took over the care of the count. Dora hurried to Jacob’s side.
‘You’re bleeding,’ she said, noticing a trickle of blood on his neck.
He touched the tip of his ear. ‘I think a splinter caught me here.’
‘Let me look.’ She pulled his head down. There was a nick on the top edge. ‘You’re hurt here, but not badly.’
‘The helix?’
‘Is that what it’s called? I didn’t know. Live and learn. I have the remedy for it.’
His eyes softened in a smile. ‘Oh, yes?’
She kissed it better. ‘There.’
He hugged her to him. ‘Thank God you’re all right. There was a boy – crushed. I couldn’t do anything for him.’
‘Oh, Jacob. That wasn’t your fault.’
‘Wasn’t it? Was someone trying to get us? We’ve been attacked so many times over the past two days, I can’t believe it is coincidence.’
She squeezed him tightly. ‘This was planned in advance. Who knew we would be here? Percy thought they were aiming for him, but surely he came on a whim? I imagine Count Vorontsov might consider he was the target. But perhaps it was a ghastly accident? They are common enough on stage.’
He set her away from him and gave a firm nod. Her Jacob didn’t like showing any weakness before others. ‘You’re right. We mustn’t jump to conclusions. Cool heads and all that.’
‘Are you finished here?’ she looked around at the row of injured people waiting for stretchers to carry them out of the gardens.
‘I should stay till all my patients are gone.’
‘Then I will make myself useful and ask the stagehands what happened. I think they are more likely to talk to me than to you.’
‘How so?’
‘The authorities will be looking for someone to blame and the stagehands are in the frame for it.’
‘And I seem too official?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Very well then. But don’t leave on your own.’
She kissed his cheek. ‘Same goes for you, Dr Sandys.’
Just as she was about to find the backstage crew, Madame Catalani approached, holding a pair of slippers.
‘Miss Fitz-Pennington, I could not help but notice you’ve lost a shoe. Would you like to borrow these? I have a spare pair.’
‘Thank you. I am much obliged.’ Untying the handkerchief, Dora wriggled her feet into them, finding she took the same size as her heroine.
‘Unlike Cinderella, you have found your prince already, I see, without the intervention of a lost slipper.’ The soprano’s gaze was on Jacob.
He made a fine sight, looking rakishly dishevelled, sleeves rolled up to display capable arms, bronzed after their stay in the Lakes.
His expression was compassionate as he listened to a girl’s account of how she came to twist her ankle while he bandaged her injury.
‘Is he the one the newspapers say you are going to marry?’ At Dora’s surprised look, the singer smiled slightly.
‘Yes, I too read the gossip, though one seldom comes across anything good about oneself in that column.’
‘Yes, that’s him. He said he wanted to marry me – told the world, in fact.’
The soprano gave her an astute look. ‘And you? Have you told the world that you said “yes”?’
‘I’m still thinking about it.’
‘What is holding you back, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Now did not seem the time to lie, with death and destruction around them. ‘Old loyalties – and fear.’
Madame Catalani crossed her arms, foot tapping. ‘That I can understand. But in the end, is it not quite simple?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. Think about it. I’d better go and see what we can do for the poor victims of this evening’s events.’
With that, she patted Dora’s arm and went back to join her friends packing up from the débacle.
It was unfair that her arrangements had been blown apart.
Still, the concert would get more inches in the newspapers the next day, so Madame Catalani might not think it quite so much a disaster of an evening when she read flattering comments in the column about her standing strong under fire.
Dora looked around her for the backstage crew. They were loading the piano onto a wagon to be taken back to the music room. Who was the one to set up the live round for the gun? That was what she now had to find out. She headed for them, brimming with questions.