CHAPTER SEVEN #3
“It was very difficult to get him out, I can tell you. We had to get a couple of men from the nearby farm. He had fainted, you see. From loss of blood, I should suppose. It was dreadful, sir, I assure you. I hope never to be obliged to see such a sight again.”
She saw Loriot, now standing in the doorway, was paying little attention to her, his eyes fixed upon the sheets, and racked her brains for something to deflect him. A daring thought rewarded her, and she lost no time in voicing it.
“What I want to know is, who shot the man? Can you answer me that? Mayberry sought in vain for clues around the marshes, I believe. You say he is a fugitive, sir. But you do not say who made an attempt upon his life.”
Loriot’s gaze had turned upon her, and Grace pursued her advantage.
“I know you carry a gun, but it cannot have been you, sir. You presumably have a warrant for the man’s arrest. I cannot believe you are authorised to shoot him.”
Was that a darker colour in his cheek? A muscle twitched there, but he chose not to answer her questions. Had she been mistaken to introduce the subject?
“We will leave you now, mademoiselle. If you see or hear of the man again, I pray you send me word at the Black Horse in Rainham. Our mission does not complete until we have captured this man.” He moved back outside the lean-to and walked away from the house.
Grace followed, watching him call to his men.
They returned to him swiftly, and he doffed his hat.
“We take our way around the outside. Good day to you, mademoiselle.”
Grace followed them as they walked around the north side of the house, and watched from its edge as they returned to the lane.
She waited until they started off southwards, and only then did she return to the back of the house.
Jemima had come out of the lean-to, and greeted her with a conspiratorial whisper.
“Have they gone?”
“Yes,” said Grace. “But we must keep Henri hidden until we are certain they have truly gone.”
And then the whole hideous shock of it came in on her. Her right leg buckled, and she sank abruptly to the gravelled yard, her mind cloudy, her body drenching with sweat.
She was being raised, lifted bodily from the ground. Her head lolled against a chest and a rumbling echo sounded in her ears.
“Fetch to me water, Jemima! Come, ma pauvre, you will be well in a little minute.”
Grace took in vaguely that she was being carried, and heard the scrunch of gravel under booted feet. The significance escaped her, a hazy dullness gripping her mind. Presently she felt a sensation of coolness soft beneath her, and a breeze was wafting over her face. It was inexpressibly welcome.
Her head cleared a little, and she opened her eyes to find Henri’s face leaning over her, above him the tall height of a tree and blue sky beyond. He was wafting a collection of leaves before her face, but they were set aside as his gaze met hers. He was laughing.
“Ma foi, but you have made me more afraid than Jean-Marc!”
Memory filtered back, and Grace struggled up on to her elbow, anxiety flooding her breast. “Henri, what are you doing? You should be hidden! They may return at any time!”
“Be calm, ma chère.” A hand at her chest pushed her back. “They are well gone. Rest you, Grace.” He turned his head, and Grace became aware of footsteps. “Ah, here is Jemima with water for you.”
The maid’s flushed features popped into sight, and a hand thrust out a filled glass. Grace felt Henri lift her head and the glass was put to her lips, obliging her to drink. Thirstily she swallowed at least half the water in the glass, feeling better for it.
Henri permitted her to sit up at last and she rested her back against the tree under which he had conveniently placed her. Jemima fussed about, brushing grass off her blue gown.
“That’s better, Miss Grace! Lor’, give me such a turn, you did!”
“I am sorry,” said Grace, a trifle breathless. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s all the fault of them there Frenchies, that’s what. But we fooled them, didn’t we, Mister Henry?”
“It is you who have fooled them, my clever Jemima. I do not think they suspected these sheets in which you smothered me.”
“’Course they didn’t,” scoffed the maid. “But you was very good under there, Mister Henry. Not a peep o’ breath out of you, and I swear you never moved a muscle.”
Henri answered in kind, and Grace wondered if he was encouraging the banter in order to give her space to recover.
She felt better, but the momentary weakness had given way to a sense of deep foreboding, and the hollowness of dread.
The episode had convinced her the Frenchmen would move heaven and earth if they had to, but they would never give up.
Henri’s life might hang in the balance indefinitely.
When Jemima went off to clear up the mess of their subterfuge, Grace eyed Henri, who was seated close by on the grass, regarding her with an expression hard to read. He was cradling his arm, jerking Grace into speech.
“You should not have carried me, Henri. It must have hurt you dreadfully.”
He shook his head. “It makes nothing. Only now do I notice it. Already it was pained from the position I took on the floor in there.”
Grace’s heart took a dive. Ever practical, she took refuge in scolding. “You should not have taken your sling off.”
Henri’s expression altered. “Ah, but you remind me, ma chère.” He slid a hand into his pocket and brought out a crumpled bundle of linen. “Reuben has made it for me this morning.”
Taking it from him, Grace shifted her position and helped him to put it on. When it was done, she did not move back, but reached to grip his sound shoulder.
“Henri, you can’t leave now! It is too dangerous!”
He removed her hand with his free one and laid it against his cheek. “Do not be afraid, Grace. I will go only at night.”
She stared into the green eyes, unable to utter the words tumbling in her head. Words of love and need, and deep-seated longing. Don’t go, she begged him silently. Stay. Be with me. I will keep you safe.
“My Grace,” he murmured softly, and the smile was in his eyes. “I do not know a woman so brave as you.”
He turned her hand and kissed the palm. Grace made no attempt to conceal the moisture that leaked from between her lids. But she saw his concern, and sniffed, forcing a smile as she dashed her free fingers across her cheeks.
“We should not be sitting out here in the open.”
Henri sighed and released her. “It is good to be out of doors. But you speak true.” He grinned. “And soon I shall be outside more than I wish.”
The reminder threw a stab of anguish into Grace’s heart. She hid it, busying herself with rising and brushing off her petticoats. She caught at Henri as he struggled for balance one-handed, taking his weight. Once he was secure, she smiled at him.
“I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of coffee.”
Henri laughed. “An idea excellent, ma chère. Let us to the kitchen to make it, for I fear Jemima has the work of a mountain with this washing.”
In silence, Grace clumped at his side towards the back door, prey to a sneaking image of a future composed of just such companionable moments.
The visitor was of middle years, but a man of strength and vigour that contrasted with the sickly state of health of his daughter.
Sir James Levisham’s wife, he was wont to explain, had been of a similar constitution, which was why he had only the one child living.
Grace had grown fond of him, but his presence in her house this late Monday afternoon gave her no pleasure.
At her urging, he had taken a seat at the table, accepting the glass of sherry with which Grace supplied him, and allowing himself to be deflected from his mission to give an account of his sudden dash to the coast.
“No, it was not Serena this time, my dear. My young scamp of a grandson had managed to break a limb.”
“Oh, no,” Grace exclaimed, thrown out of her own concerns for a moment.
“Don’t fret, Grace, my dear. Little tyke is as happy as a grig, for he has the whole family waiting upon him hand and foot.
Which is why Constant sent to me to arrange for the vicarage maid to go down to act as nurse.
Couldn’t have that, as you may suppose, or the place would be a shambles by the time they returned.
Took one of my own girls down. Gave me an excuse to spend a few days with them, for I don’t mind telling you, I miss them all like the devil. ”
Aware of Sir James’s doting fondness for her nephews, and his constant anxiety for her sister-in-law’s life, Grace readily appreciated this.
She replied suitably, and listened with feigned interest to an account of his sojourn in South End, knowing full well it was but a prelude to the business that must have brought him.
It was not long before his grizzled brows drew together under his wig, and a troubled expression settled into features a trifle heavy in the jaw. Grace braced herself.
“But this is all beside the bridge, I’m afraid, my dear. I feel sure you know why I am come.” He gave her an avuncular smile. “Though it is always refreshing to see you, dear Grace, this is by way of an official visit.”
She grimaced. “I know, Sir James.”
“Such a rigmarole as I have been given.” He tutted gently.
“I thought it best to come and see for myself before providing Wooferton or Mayberry with any sort of warrant. Besides that, I have a peculiar interest in you, my dear Grace, and I know Constant would expect me to enquire into the circumstances.”
“You are very kind.” Grace smiled a little, though her heart was bleak. “However, I have little doubt you have been given an accurate account of the circumstances, insofar as Wooferton and Mayberry are aware of them.”
Sir James pursed his lips, looking very much as if this was not what he had wanted to hear. “Then the fellow is here still?”
“Yes. Though he would not have been had those dratted Frenchmen not come here on Saturday, and demanded to search the house.”