CHAPTER FIVE
An hour dragged by before Jemima at last came trotting into the parlour.
Grace managed only two paragraphs of Mr Staply’s treatise, guiltily conscious of having passed the deadline.
She had sent word by Joe Piper, the last time he was here, that she had been delayed.
Not that it could have come as any surprise to the schoolmaster, for the news of her house guest must have travelled to Rainham and further by this time.
Only none knew how deadly a game was being played out here, for Henri’s nationality had been kept secret among those who nursed him — herself, Reuben, Mab and Jemima.
Only as the maid informed her that Mr Mayberry was coming down the lane did it occur to Grace that this secrecy was at an end.
But any difficulty she might experience in keeping Henri out of the clutches of authority had paled beside the urgent need to rid him of his enemies.
It was imperative she reached the parish officer before those men could question him.
She rose from her chair and clumped to the hall, signing to Jemima to unlock the door again.
The three Frenchmen had been sitting upon the grass across the way under the shade of a large beech. They had evidently been watching the approach of the parish officer, and Grace saw Loriot start up the moment she appeared in the doorway.
Mayberry was regarding the men with as much interest as he approached, but his head turned sharply and he raised a hand in acknowledgement of Grace’s wave.
The sight of his burly form was inexpressibly comforting.
She waited for him to get to the little gateway and stepped down to meet him on the path.
“Mr Mayberry, thank goodness!”
He doffed his hat politely. “Is owt amiss, Miss Grace?”
“There is a great deal amiss!” Dispensing with all preamble, Grace pointed. “Do you see those men?”
Mayberry glanced to where the Frenchmen were stepping into the road, pausing as his frowning gaze raked them. “Who are they?”
“They are French, Mr Mayberry, here on Government business. Or so they say.” Now came the tricky part. She could only trust in the parish officer’s intelligence. “They told me they are looking for that wounded man who came here last week.”
Mayberry’s frowning gaze came back to her face. “You don’t say so?”
“But I do say so, Mr Mayberry.” Grace looked him straight in the eyes. “I do not know why they will not leave, though I told them the man disappeared that same night — as you remember.”
For a moment Mayberry stared at her, clearly turning her words over in his mind. It was apparent the significance of her emphasis had not escaped him. Then his gaze left her face, went across to the hovering Frenchmen, and came back again.
“Aye, Miss Grace, I remember it,” he said with deliberation.
“Well, it seems he was a Frenchman, Mr Mayberry.”
“Was he, now?”
Grace held his eyes. “They say so. I told them I had no idea. Did you suppose he was French?”
Mayberry’s ruddy cheeks became redder. “If I’d thought as he was French, Miss Grace, I had ought to have brought in Wooferton, no question.
” There was severity in his tone, but he continued loudly, “Still an’ all, it wouldn’t have done no good, seeing as the man went off quiet-like in the night, just like you said. ”
Grace threw him a fleeting smile of gratitude, and then resumed the haughty expression with which she had faced the Frenchmen earlier. “Would you be so kind as to deal with them, Mr Mayberry? I have no notion why they are still here. Would you believe it? They asked if they might search my house.”
To her secret enjoyment, the ruddy colour in Mayberry’s cheeks grew deeper, and he turned a belligerent eye upon the culprits. “Search your house? I’d like fine to see them try it!”
By this time, Loriot and his companions were shifting slowly across the lane. Out of the corner of his mouth, Mayberry muttered words for Grace’s ears alone. “You leave this to me, Miss Grace. I’ll rid you of them, and come back soon as ever I can.”
“Thank you!” Fervently whispered.
She then watched in growing delight as the sturdy farmer proceeded to demolish the Frenchmen. Loriot attempted to take a high hand from the start, flourishing his papers.
“We are here on the affairs of the French government, monsieur. You will assist us, if you please.”
“Ho, will I?” demanded Mayberry, instantly bucking his head. “Let me tell you, moosoo, that the French government don’t have no jurisdiction in my parish. I’m parish officer hereabouts, and if you’re the fellows as have been questioning folks without my say-so, you had ought to stop right now.”
“We cannot stop. We seek an enemy of the République. This man who has been wounded some days since. Mademoiselle says he has been here, and it is necessary that we search the house.”
“Over my dead body!”
Loriot looked very much as though he would have liked to test this, and his companions stepped forward, ugly menace in their faces. The leader waved them back. “This man that we seek, monsieur, he is a fugitive.”
“You’ll have to prove that before you go searching in any of the houses round about. So happens I’m looking for someone myself. More than one fellow, by the evidence. Only them as I’m looking for ain’t fugitives, but a set of murdering coves as I’m minded to throw in gaol, and that right speedily.”
To Grace’s surprise, the Frenchman did not blench. Perhaps he had not taken the underlying meaning? He eyed Mayberry blandly. “You have a man dead?”
Mayberry grunted. “He ain’t dead yet. Or he weren’t when I last saw him. He were mortal bad, I’d say, wounded in the shoulder.”
“Ah, then you have seen the man we seek.”
Mayberry snorted. “I’ve seen someone, but it ain’t to say he’s the feller you want.
See here, moosoo. If you wish to lodge a report about a missing person, you’ll have to come along o’ me to South Hall and give a description.
And after that, we’ll be off to Mr Wooferton, as is excise officer hereabouts.
He’ll want to know of it, if there’s a Frenchie hiding in the parish.
Not that I’d suppose yon feller is still at large in these parts.
Likely he’ll have made his way west along Dagenham Breach, if he ain’t died on the way. ”
“What place is that? Dagenham…”
“Breach, west of Hornchurch Marsh. If yon feller o’ yours is a fugitive, he’ll keep to the marshes and follow the Thames. Ain’t no sense going anywhere but London way.”
“But we have searched all these marsh and do not find him,” objected Loriot.
“He’s had the best part of a week, man. Even as he’s wounded, it ain’t likely he’ll have hung about here.”
There were murmurs among the Frenchmen, and Grace thought she recognised the tone of disappointment. Their leader turned back to Mayberry. “You can direct us to this Dagenham?”
“Aye, but you ain’t going nowhere afore you done the necessary.
Nor I ain’t giving you no information until you seen Wooferton.
It’s him as deals with foreigners, and he’ll be wanting to check your papers afore he give you any help nor lets you go questioning of folk hereabouts. Now, just you come along o’ me, sir.”
The Frenchman hesitated, glancing frowningly at Grace — who had been holding her desperate breath the while — and beyond her to the unyielding windows of the house.
A colloquy in his own language with his companions resulted, to Grace’s dismay, in one returning to the grass verge to sit down again.
Mayberry threw a harassed glance at Grace, but she gave no sign.
To pretend umbrage would only deepen Loriot’s suspicions.
Contenting herself with a haughty glance of loathing cast at the fellow, she retreated to the porch and watched as Mayberry turned away in the direction of Rainham Marsh, Loriot and his second falling into step beside him.
Her stomach was churning, for it was clear Loriot did not believe Henri had left.
Or if he did, perhaps he was determined to ensure he did not return.
Henri was waiting for her by the time Grace arrived at the top of the stairs.
She took her time, determined not to betray her movements to the sentry on the other side of the lane.
With infinite care, she picked up her booted foot and set it down as gently as she could, transferring her weight before she took another step up.
She was concentrating so hard that she reached the final couple of steps before she saw Henri standing above her, half dressed, his full-sleeved shirt freshly white from Jemima’s laundering, bar a stubborn brown stain at the left shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she scolded. “That wretch outside may see you!”
Henri was holding the banister rail with his good hand for support. “If I move in sight of the window only.”
Grace gave him a tremulous look. “You heard me. I was trying to be so quiet.”
“You were like a mouse,” he assured her, smiling.
Only then did Grace recall his condition. “Henri, you should be on your bed.”
“With the enemy on the gate? I do not think so.”
Hushing him, Grace motioned him into the chamber. “For heaven’s sake, go and sit down again! I cannot bear it if you fall and alert that horrid man outside.”
But it was rather Grace herself, forgetting her boot in concern over her patient, who was like to give them away. She clunked twice before she remembered, bringing Henri’s head around the door again. He was grinning at her.
“I wish you will not look so mischievous,” scolded Grace, stopping dead. “Anyone would suppose you were enjoying this.”
“I am enjoying you,” he said softly.