CHAPTER TEN #5
With which, she stepped off the porch and stomped down the path, setting off into the lane before the maid had opportunity to respond. She was not to be beguiled into a pointless argument.
Jemima’s romantic notions bore scant relation to the truth. But then she did not know — and truth to tell, Grace had not herself noticed it at the time — that in all the passion she and Henri had shared, he had made no reference to love.
Her hip had begun aching long before she reached Rainham, and the built-up boot felt uncomfortably tight, as it had never done before.
But then the boot was not made for trudging a mile in open country.
Neither was Grace, she reflected. She was hot despite the dullness of the day, and suffering, though the road was relatively even, with but few ruts at this season worn in by the wheels of many carts.
The boot felt heavier and heavier, and it was obvious her shortened leg was not up to the strain.
Taking Jemima’s advice, she rested several times. But besides the grass verge that lay alongside the flat marshland, there was nowhere to sit. Often Grace wished for a passing carter who might have taken her up. She met only workmen walking, and few at that.
The thought of what she was going to do buoyed her spirits, and kept her struggling gamely on.
At last the first cottages of Rainham came into sight, and she willed herself onward despite the grinding pain in her hip.
Several persons regarded her curiously, but Grace had little hope she would fail to be identified from her pronounced limp.
Doubtless the story of her unprecedented appearance would be doing the rounds before nightfall.
By the time she finally fetched up at the Black Horse, all she could think about was the prospect of sitting down and the desire for a long cool drink.
Entering the hostelry by the main door, she accosted the first person she saw — a waiter by his apron and the tray he was carrying — and asked for Wooferton.
The waiter stared at her. “He ain’t here, miss.”
Grace’s mind went blank. “Not here?”
The fellow shook his head. All at once, Grace felt the onset of fatigue.
“Pray, can you fetch a chair? Or lead me to where I may sit down?”
Taking in her condition, the waiter pushed through a door to one side of the hall. “This way, miss.”
Grace found herself in a roomy apartment, furnished with several long tables and benches. Staggering to the first bench, she plonked down, leaning heavily on the table.
For several moments she was fully occupied in getting her breath, and overcoming the urge to sink into oblivion. In the recesses of her mind, the dull ache at her hip impinged, but was superseded by the desperate need to assuage her thirst. “Water, if you please,” she managed, dragging her head up.
To her immediate relief, she found the waiter had anticipated her. He was busy pouring from a pitcher at one of the tables, and in a moment Grace was drinking deep. Wetting a corner of her pocket handkerchief, she dabbed it over her face, and the sensation of intense exhaustion began to leave her.
She found the waiter hovering, a frown creasing a young brow. Grace smiled. “Thank you.”
“Is it Miss Dovercourt?”
“Indeed it is,” Grace said, relieved. “Pray, where is Mr Wooferton?”
The waiter looked doubtful. “I don’t know as I had ought to say, miss.”
The stirrings of apprehension riffled across Grace’s mind. “Why not? What has happened? Is Mr Mayberry here, perhaps?”
A shake of the fellow’s head alarmed her the more. If neither Wooferton nor Mayberry was here, what price Henri’s safety? She threw caution to the winds.
“Has not Sir James come today? Was he not to question the Frenchman who has been kept here overnight? Pray tell me! It is of the greatest importance that I see Sir James at once.”
The waiter was looking steadily more unhappy, and it was evident he was in two minds about what to do. Grace reached out and grasped his arm, urgent now.
“Pray don’t stand there biting your lip! Don’t you know Monsieur Rousselle is the man I saved from dying? I have information for Sir James that may help this case. Now, tell me instantly where he is!”
Thus adjured, the fellow became agitated. “I dunno as you can see Sir James, miss. Leastways, not here you can’t.”
“Why not here?”
“Well, ’acos he ain’t here no more. None o’ they are.”
Unable to make sense of this, Grace could only gaze at him. “But this is mad! Where can they have gone?”
The waiter brightened. “Ah, that I do know, miss. Sir James upped and took the Frenchie off to Rainham Lodge. Ah, and Mr Wooferton and Mr Mayberry with ’im.”
“Sir James has taken them to his own house? But why?” And then it became immediately clear. “Because of the attack last night, was it?”
“Aye, miss. And them Frenchies ain’t allowed next or nigh Rainham Lodge ’til Sir James says as they can come and get their man.”
Grace’s heart sank. Her instant assumption that Henri had prevailed was premature. Her work was all before her. Yet she was spent. And Rainham Lodge was all of two miles and more from the Black Horse. What in the world was she to do?