by Dilly Court
For once Nettie seemed to be on her side as she nodded in agreement. ‘That’s right. If they’re feeling poorly they won’t thank us for barging in. Let me know if there’s anything I can do, Sarah.’
Gaston frowned. ‘I might be able to help.’
Nettie laid her hand on his arm. ‘I would kill for a cup of tea, Gaston.’
‘We’re in France now, chérie.’ He smiled indulgently. ‘I think the farmer’s wife might be persuaded to give us some coffee.’
‘Then let’s go inside out of the rain. It’s ruining me best hat,’ Nettie said, dragging him into the kitchen.
Sarah could hear her speaking slowly and loudly to the farmer’s wife as if by enunciating clearly she could make the woman understand English. Smiling to herself, she hurried through the rain and entered the barn. The smell of cow dung and urine-soaked straw caught the back of her throat making her retch, but she did her best to ignore it as she waited until her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom. The cows tethered in stalls looked at her with large, baleful eyes, swishing their tails and lowing. She hurried past them, and at the far end of the barn she could just make out two figures lying on piles of empty sacks. She moved closer and her heart did an uncomfortable leap in her chest when she saw Grey, pale-faced and either unconscious or in a deep sleep. Propped up against the wall, Davey was staring at her in disbelief. His head was roughly bandaged and one arm was tied up in a makeshift sling. ‘Sarah?’
She fell onto her knees beside him. ‘Are you all right?’ It seemed like a silly question but she could think of nothing better to say. She wanted to hug him and sob with relief but she could see by the colour of his skin and the lacklustre look in his eyes that he was unwell.
‘My arm’s broken,’ he said dully. ‘And I’ve got a terrible headache – had it for days now. I don’t know how long we’ve been here but it feels like forever.’
She laid her hand on his brow and breathed a sigh of relief as she felt his cool skin beneath her fingers. ‘You haven’t got a fever, but you should be in a proper bed. This place is no good for you.’ She turned her attention to Grey, but a cursory examination revealed that he was burning up with fever, and he did not respond to the sound of his name.
‘He’s been like that since we were brought ashore,’ Davey murmured. ‘He’s in a bad way, but to be honest I thought we were both goners when the mast broke and the boat capsized.’
‘Don’t talk,’ Sarah said urgently. ‘Save your strength. I’m going to get you out of here. We’ll soon have you on your feet again.’ She stood up, gazing at them with a mixture of relief and anxiety. At least they had survived, but Grey was a sick man. Davey raised his uninjured hand. ‘Don’t go, Sarah.’
‘I have to make arrangements to get you both out of here, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ She hurried from the barn, struggling to hold back tears of desperation. It was easy to make promises, but keeping them was another matter.
She found Nettie and Gaston in the farmhouse kitchen sipping coffee from china bowls. The farmer sat in a chair by the fire with his feet on the brass rail of the range. A cigarette drooped from the corner of his mouth and the odd-smelling tobacco smoke that she had noticed at the inn wreathed his bald head. He seemed unperturbed by their sudden arrival but his wife had the flustered look of a woman whose daily routine had been disturbed by the influx of foreigners requiring sustenance. She glanced nervously at Gaston who spoke to her in rapid French. He turned to Sarah. ‘I asked her if you could have some coffee. It’s excellent.’
‘It’s rather bitter,’ Nettie said in a low voice. ‘But I don’t like to ask for cream and sugar in case I offend her. She seems a bit put out.’
The farmer’s wife poured thick brown liquid into a bowl, which she passed to Sarah with a hint of a smile.
‘Thank you, ma’am. Very kind, I’m sure.’ Sarah sipped the scalding coffee and burned her tongue but she nodded and smiled, not wishing to appear ungrateful or rude. These people had sheltered Grey and Davey, even though they had housed them in the cattle shed without proper bedding or medical attention, but at least they had kept them alive and for that she was thankful. The bowl was burning her fingers and she put it down on the table. ‘Gaston, I’m afraid I must ask your help once again.’
‘I thought you might.’ His dark eyes met hers with a steady look. ‘You want your friends moved to a hospital?’
‘No, not that, but perhaps I could rent a cottage where I could nurse them back to health. I think I have enough money.’
‘That is not a problem. I can give you what you need.’
‘Who are you?’ Sarah demanded. ‘You’re not simply a kind stranger who took pity on us. I think someone sent you to spy on us. Was it George Fitch?’
‘Sarah!’ Nettie’s shocked voice echoed round the kitchen and the farmer’s wife moved closer to her husband, clutching his hand.
Gaston rose slowly to his feet. ‘You’re right, but I’m not a spy. I am a lawyer and my services were engaged by Martin Moorcroft. I was to assist you in any way I saw fit, but you were not supposed to find out.’
‘Mr Moorcroft paid you to keep an eye on us?’ Sarah stared at him in amazement. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?’
‘Would you have accepted my advice?’ Gaston chuckled and the farmer’s wife relaxed visibly.
‘I don’t know,’ Sarah said truthfully. ‘I hope I would.’
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Nettie gurgled with laughter. ‘You was always a stubborn piece, Sarah Scrase. You wouldn’t give in to nothing and no one. Mr Moorcroft has got your number, darling.’
Sarah smiled reluctantly. ‘Maybe, but I wish he’d told me what he was doing. I was thinking all sorts of things about you, Gaston.’
‘All of them wrong,’ he said with an expressive shrug. ‘I am here to help and the first thing I must do is to ask these good people if they know of an empty property round here. ‘Have I your permission to do so?’
Sarah nodded wordlessly but Nettie clapped her hands. ‘I said all along that he was a toff. I should have guessed that dear old Moorcroft had something to do with it. He’s a darling. I love him.’
‘He is a good man and a true friend,’ Gaston said seriously. He turned to the farmer, speaking in his native tongue, and was answered with much gesticulation and a flow of words that left Sarah feeling breathless but none the wiser. She looked to Gaston to translate.
‘There is a house on the far side of the village. He says it has been empty for quite some time but the rent will be cheap. He’s given me the landlord’s name and address.’
The cottage in the woods was a perfect hideaway for a person on the run from the police, or so Nettie declared, striking a dramatic pose. Gaston laughed at her antics but Sarah was eager to inspect the interior and she could hardly contain her impatience as she waited for Gaston to pull away some of the creeper that clambered over the porch and partially obscured the front door. He wrenched away the trailing fronds and turned the key in the lock. The door opened with a groan of protest and Nettie covered her mouth and nose with her hand. ‘It smells,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Something must have died in there, or someone.’ She giggled nervously and hung back as Sarah followed Gaston into the building.
‘It’s a dead bird. It must have fallen down the chimney and become trapped.’ He bent down to pick it up by one of its clawed feet.
‘Take it away,’ Nettie screamed in genuine horror. ‘It’s a bad omen: it means a death in the family.’
‘That’s just superstition,’ Sarah said, suppressing a shudder as Gaston took the stinking corpse outside. She made an effort to ignore the lingering smell of corruption as she looked round the large room with its bare stone walls and low, beamed ceiling. The flagstone floor was littered with dead leaves, feathers and soot from the fireplace which must have fallen down the chimney during the bird’s frantic and futile fight for survival.
‘It’s a mess,’ Nettie said, wrinkling her nose.
‘And it’s too small. You can’t bring them here.’
Sarah was already halfway up the narrow staircase which led to the first floor. ‘It’s better than the cattle shed where they are now.’ She paused as she reached the tiny landing. ‘Come and have a look. There are two rooms up here.’ She went into the smaller of the two, which was empty of furniture apart from an iron bedstead. The feather mattress had burst at the seams and was leaking its contents onto the bare floorboards. The walls were whitewashed and a small window overlooked the neglected front garden. She could hear Nettie’s light footsteps on the stairs and she took a quick look at the back bedroom, which was slightly larger and contained two crudely fashioned wooden beds.
‘I hope you don’t expect me to sleep here,’ Nettie said, looking pointedly at the grey mantle of cobwebs that festooned the beams. ‘I’ve got used to better things and I’m not going back to the bad old days in the workhouse where we were four or five to a bed.’
‘It’s just a temporary measure until Grey and Davey are well again and we can return home.’
Nettie shook her head. ‘Your mate Grey won’t be going home though, will he? If he’s wanted by the police it’ll be a long time before he can set foot on English soil without getting himself arrested.’
‘Mr Moorcroft will clear his name,’ Sarah said stoutly. ‘He’ll prove that George Fitch was lying.’
‘But there’s the small matter of a body and two witnesses to a murder; or three if you count yourself.’
‘Keep your voice down.’ Sarah went to the door to check on Gaston’s whereabouts. She could hear him moving about downstairs and she turned to Nettie, laying a warning finger on her lips. ‘It was self defence. Parker will dispose of the evidence.’
‘I hope you’re right, I really do, but I can’t stay here, Sarah.’ Nettie headed for the stairs, pausing at the top to pick up her long skirts. ‘I’ve got to get back to London and look for work. If Moorcroft keeps his promise I could be auditioned for a part in a musical comedy. I don’t care how small it is, I just want to get out of the chorus.’ She negotiated the steep steps with Sarah close on her heels.
‘I can’t stop you and I’m grateful that you came this far, but I’ll miss your company.’ Sarah came to a halt, staring in astonishment at Gaston who had found a broom and was sweeping the floor. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
He leaned on the handle. ‘I thought I’d make a start. You want to get your friends here as soon as possible, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’
He thrust the broom into Nettie’s hands. ‘You may take over now. I’m going back to the village to find the owner of this desirable residence.’ He closed her fingers around the wooden handle. ‘I’m sure you’ve done this before, chérie. You’ll soon remember how it goes.’ He winked at Sarah. ‘You will need a few things to make the house habitable. Will you leave it to me?’
She nodded her head. ‘I don’t know how we would have managed without you, Gaston.’
‘The excellent Mr Moorcroft will no doubt be pleased to hear you say so.’ He moved swiftly to the door and opened it. ‘I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’ He went outside, closing it behind him.
Nettie threw the broom down with an exclamation of disgust. ‘Well, what a cheek. Who does he think he’s talking to? I’m not a skivvy.’
Sarah picked it up. ‘No, but someone has to do it. Perhaps your ladyship would like to clean the grate, or if that’s too much to ask maybe you’d like to fetch some wood for the fire. I’m going to get Grey and Davey over here by nightfall if it kills me and you too, Nettie Bean.’
Still grumbling, Nettie went outside while Sarah finished sweeping the floor. She was cleaning out the grate when Nettie returned, dumping an armful of firewood on the floor and complaining volubly that she had a splinter in her finger. She perched on the deep window seat, sucking the afflicted digit.
Gaston returned a couple of hours later, driving a cart laden with a deal table and four chairs, a couple of straw-filled palliasses, some second-hand bed linen and a supply of food that would feed a large family for a month. While he was absent Sarah had lit the fire, drawn water from the well she discovered at the back of the house, and had mopped the floors in all the rooms. Nettie had been put in charge of brushing away the cobwebs, but a large black spider had landed on her head and that had been the end of her contribution to the housework.
Sarah helped Gaston unload the cart and sent Nettie upstairs to make the beds, hoping that she could manage a simple task without further mishap. Gaston manhandled the deal table into the house and set it down in the middle of the floor. ‘That is the last of it. You will be quite comfortable here for as long as you need to stay.’
‘I’m sorry I suspected you of being a spy,’ Sarah said shyly. ‘You’ve been so good to us, Gaston.’
‘You were right to be suspicious. I was not just a helpful stranger.’
She smiled. ‘You were too good to be true.’
‘That is how I am. Very good.’ He laughed and his dark eyes danced with humour. ‘But I can report back to Mr Moorcroft that you are safe and will remain so until it is time for you to return to England.’
‘You’re going away?’
‘I will help you to bring the injured men to this place, and then I regret I will have to leave you. I will spend the night at the village inn, but I must get the packet boat to Dover tomorrow as I have business to conduct in London.’
‘Then take me with you.’ Nettie came hurtling down the stairs. ‘I’m not going to stay here a moment longer than necessary.’ She met Sarah’s surprised look with a defiant toss of her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t face a night in this cottage. It’s cursed for a start and anyway I have to be back in London. I told you that, Sarah. Don’t gaze at me with your big sad eyes. I came with you, didn’t I? I’ve helped you to find your man.’
Gaston touched Sarah lightly on the shoulder. ‘I suggest that we leave now to get your friends from the barn. It will be dark in a couple of hours and I think it’s going to rain again soon.’ He glanced at Nettie. ‘There’s room in the cart for you too, or would you rather stay here?’
She grabbed her cape and bonnet from the window seat. ‘You’re not leaving me alone in this creepy hovel. I’m coming now and you can book me a room at the inn for tonight.’
‘But you haven’t any money,’ Sarah said pointedly. ‘You can’t expect Gaston to pay for you.’
Nettie slipped her cape around her shoulders and jammed her bonnet onto her head, fighting her unruly curls as they tried to make their escape. ‘He’s paid for all this, or rather Moorcroft has, and he’ll reimburse Gaston without question.’ She tied the ribbons under her chin, looking round with a sigh. ‘Whoever heard of a house with no mirrors? Is this on straight?’
‘You look lovely,’ Sarah said, giving her a gentle shove towards the doorway. She struggled into her mantle and snatched up her bonnet on her way out of the cottage. She allowed Nettie to sit next to Gaston on the driver’s seat and she climbed into the back of the cart. It was not the most comfortable way to travel but she clung to the sides as the vehicle lurched and swayed, throwing up sprays of muddy water as the wheels stuck in ruts and the horse struggled to pull it free. Her first concern was to get Grey and Davey to safety, but Nettie’s words echoed in her mind, creating a feeling of unrest. She had not stopped to question Moorcroft’s reasons for helping them, assuming that he acted out of the goodness of his heart and his innate sense of justice, but Nettie’s casual assumption that he would pay for everything without question had made Sarah wonder how she would ever repay him.
Twilight was rapidly dissolving into all-enveloping darkness and it was growing colder by the minute. It was a relief to see the distant twinkle of lights from the village and smoke from chimneys spiralling into the night sky. The scent of burning apple wood and a hint of something savoury wafted from an open doorway on a beam of candlelight and then disappeared as the door closed. Sarah felt her stomach
growling with hunger, and she realised that she had had nothing to eat since a breakfast of coffee and croissants at the inn that morning.
‘Let’s get this over quickly,’ Nettie said as Gaston drew the horse to a halt outside the barn. ‘I’m cold and I’m hungry.’
He climbed down to the ground, saying nothing, but Sarah clambered from the back of the cart finding it difficult to curb her impatience. ‘Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself, Nettie?’
Nettie held her arms out to Gaston and he helped her to alight. She shook out her skirts. ‘I was only saying how I feel. I’m sure you’re cold and hungry too, but you keep quiet about it.’
Gaston took a lamp from the footwell and lit it with a vesta. ‘Just imagine that you are an angel of mercy, ma petite. This is the part you have to play for now.’
‘I never thought of it like that,’ Nettie said gleefully. ‘I could be like Miss Nightingale at Scutari. Perhaps someone will write a play about her one day and I could play the part. What do you think, Sarah?’
‘I think you’d make a wonderful Florence Nightingale.’ Sarah took the lamp from Gaston and thrust it into Nettie’s hands. ‘There you are, Florence. Now can we please do what we came to do?’ She marched into the barn.
Two hours later they had successfully transported the injured men to the cottage. Gaston had carried Grey upstairs and with help from Sarah had stripped him of his filthy garments and dressed him in an old nightshirt purchased from the farmer at an exorbitant price. Sarah was worried about the fever that racked Grey’s emaciated body, but there was little she could do other than bathe him with a damp cloth and give him small sips of water.
She went downstairs to say goodbye to Nettie and Gaston, who were about to leave for the inn and would, no doubt, enjoy a delicious hot meal and a comfortable bed. She tried not to feel envious or resentful, telling herself that Nettie was within her rights to return home. She need not have come but had done so in a spirit of friendship and for that Sarah was grateful. She hugged Nettie and kissed her cheek. ‘Good luck with your audition. I hope you get the part.’