CHAPTER FIVE #3
The two men again exchanged glances, this time of exasperation. Grace pursued her advantage.
“What do you propose to do, take him out of here in full sight of that Frenchmen outside, whom we know to be searching for him? You will make us both out to be liars, Mr Mayberry, for you allowed my tale he had left that first night to stand. Worse, you will let those murderers know his whereabouts and make of him a target. Do you wish his death on your conscience?”
“But he’s French, Miss Grace,” came in protest from the parish officer.
“Who’s to say he ain’t a spy?” challenged Wooferton.
“He may as easily be an émigré,” Grace pointed out. “Indeed, if the French authorities are after him, it is only too likely.”
Balked, the officers stared at her. It was evident this had not occurred to Mayberry. But Wooferton looked interested. “Has he said anything? Does he speak English?”
“Yes, but he will tell me nothing,” Grace said truthfully.
“Seems to me as I’d best interrogate the man,” decided Wooferton.
“You may do so to your heart’s content, but only when he is well enough to answer your questions.”
“Which might be when he’s good and gone?” suggested Mayberry with a touch of irony.
Grace eyed him narrowly. “Would you care to explain what you mean, sir?”
The parish officer ran a harassed hand over his face.
“Lookee here, Miss Grace. If it were down to me, I’d say let the feller go and welcome.
I’d stake my oath you ain’t one to misjudge a feller and I dessay there ain’t no harm in him.
Only it ain’t down to me. There’s Sir James to be thought on, along o’ Mr Wooferton here.
And I had ought to’ve told Sir James at the start.
I ain’t got no choice now I know as he’s French. ”
“But I have,” said Grace. “This is my house, and Henri Rousselle is my guest. You will not remove him, either of you, until I am assured of his safety. Is that understood?”
Wooferton sighed. “Thing is, Miss Grace, as you ain’t got no choice in the matter, if’n I bring a warrant.”
Grace put up her chin. “Then get one, Mr Wooferton. You will not take him else.”
The excise officer threw up his eyes. “It’s right stubborn you are, Miss Grace. Very well then. But it’s only fair to warn you as you’d best not let him escape afore I have a chance to question him.”
“If he is not well enough to be moved, he is scarcely well enough to escape.”
Mayberry was shaking a sorrowful head. “I don’t like it, Wooferton. Seems to me as we’d best bring Doctor Ffrith over. He’s the one to say whether or not the feller is fit to be moved.”
“Yes, do so,” advised Grace, with an assumption of cordiality.
They could not get Ffrith here this evening, which meant Henri would have at least one more day.
And it would give her a little time to work out what to do.
Only she must insist upon the removal of the foreigner outside.
She hoped her recalcitrance would not decide the officers to leave him there.
“And what do you propose to do about that man who is watching the house?”
Wooferton glanced out of the window. “Got to take him off to the Black Horse. Spy or no spy, I won’t have no Frenchies getting into their murdering ways on my patch.”
Grace breathed more freely as she ushered them to the front door. With one last stern reminder from Mayberry not to let the fellow escape, he and Wooferton took their leave. Grace closed the door and leaned against it, her heart beating uncomfortably fast.
What in the world was she to do? Wooferton would undoubtedly go to Sir James tomorrow morning at the latest. Which meant he would be back again with his warrant in the afternoon, doubtless accompanied by Doctor Ffrith.
That, or Sir James would descend upon her in his turn, which latter might prove more advantageous.
He might be persuaded it would serve Henri’s best interests to leave him in her care.
On the other hand, he was as likely to be shocked at the danger to her reputation.
There appeared to be no way out. But at least she would be rid of the spy across the lane. Clumping into the kitchen, she motioned Jemima to continue with her work while she took up a position that allowed her to watch unseen from the window.
Mayberry and Wooferton were already engaged in conversation with the Frenchman, though Grace could not hear what was said.
Wooferton both spoke and wrote French, which was one reason why he had secured the post of excise officer.
He had been in trade in his younger days, importing wine and spirits from the Continent, and had spent weeks at a time abroad.
It had been a natural progression to set up as publican.
Grace wondered briefly what he might make of Henri’s papers.
Presently, to Grace’s unalloyed relief, the Frenchman was seen to mount behind Wooferton, and the party trotted off down the lane towards the main road above Rainham Marsh.
For a few minutes, as she shifted back into the parlour, Grace toyed with the notion of encouraging Henri to leave before the officials could return for him tomorrow. But it would not serve.
What good would it do? He would remain a fugitive, not only from those Frenchmen who sought his death, but also from her own countrymen.
Nor would she have any means by which to know his fate.
There must be a better solution. If only she knew more!
When the notion came to her she could not have said.
But she had reason enough to justify it.
If Henri would not tell her, what choice did she have?
Dinner was a trifle late, owing to the interruptions to Jemima’s toils.
Grace knew she ought to wait until afterwards, but impatience gnawed at her.
Was the maid busy preparing Henri’s share?
By Grace’s orders, his portion was a good deal larger than her own.
Besides that he was a man, he needed to gain strength.
They were getting through far more food than usual, and Grace had recklessly given Reuben money to procure additional cuts of beef and extra chickens from the butcher at Wennington.
It normally fell to Jemima to do the marketing, but her augmented workload had made it impossible for the maid to keep up.
Grace did not grudge the expense, although she knew it would be harder to manage for a while once Henri was gone.
A prospect that gave her little pleasure to think on, for it was becoming increasingly difficult to imagine her life returned to normality without him.
It must come, but she preferred not to dwell upon it, except to reflect on the additional writing work she would be obliged to undertake to compensate for the added expenditure.
Which would serve to take her mind off Henri’s inevitable absence.
This evening, however, her attention was so far removed from the coming meal she scarcely noticed when Jemima came in to lay the table.
Grace was sitting at her bureau, in rapt contemplation of the central panel of little shelves where was concealed the secret cache in which Henri’s papers were hidden.
Why should she not break the seals? If there was one thing more certain than another, it was that his purpose in coming to England would be contained therein.
He had told her they were dangerous. There had been nothing in those she had examined to reveal the nature of the danger.
Had they to do with those horrid men? Or were they only dangerous if Loriot and his compatriots were to find them?
Her hesitation had little to do with these questions.
To break the seals was to betray Henri’s trust. There was no getting around that.
On the other hand, would she better be able to serve him if she knew the contents?
He would not tell her, for fear of endangering her.
But now the authorities were interested, she could be in no danger from these foreigners.
Only would Henri accept that? Grace did not think so.
She could hear Jemima’s footsteps travelling downstairs.
The maid must have taken Henri’s tray up to him.
She was in the habit of serving him at least fifteen minutes before she served Grace, for it took longer to prepare for serving at table.
Her fingers itched to open the secret drawer.
How was she to eat with her nerves so badly shredded?
If she broke the seals now, she could read as she ate.
Jemima would not notice, for she knew nothing of the papers and she would merely suppose Grace was working.
If she was to retrieve them, it must be now, while she was alone in the parlour. She made up her mind.
Her fingers trembling a little, Grace slipped the catch and pulled out the false shelf. The hidden papers were revealed in the shallow recess behind. Quickly, she prised the package from the cramped space, pushing the shelf in again until it clicked into place.
It took but a moment to unwrap the package and extract the two sealed papers. Concealing the others temporarily under a sheaf of work, Grace held the remaining two between her fingers for a moment, hesitant as she tried to will herself to do what she believed she must.
“Open them, if that is your desire.”
Grace jumped violently. Turning her head, she discovered Henri standing in the doorway.
His left arm was tucked into the sling, while his right hand held to the door jamb.
He had added a plain dark waistcoat to his attire, and a neckcloth was wound around his throat and loosely knotted.
He was unsmiling, his features pale against the dark hair that straggled, despite being neatly brushed, on to his shoulders.
Grace rose quickly. “What in the world are you doing?”
“I am come to dine with you,” he replied, his features relaxing a trifle.
“To dine with me?”
He inclined his head. “I beg you will excuse that I do not wear my coat. It proves difficult to put it on.”