The Captain and His Innocent

by Lucy Ashford

  Luke exhaled with relief. ‘Of course. Poor Mrs Bartlett has been worried to death as to what to give the child. And though I can make some sense of written French, my vocabulary’s deficient in the matter of children’s appetites. Thank you, Ellie.’

  ‘Il n’y a pas de quoi,’ she replied softly. ‘It is nothing.’

  ‘On the contrary, it means a great deal. I’ll take Monique and Harry to Mrs Bartlett, and explain—she’s had four children of her own and has numerous grandchildren, so she’ll know exactly what to do. But then I’ll be back. And, Ellie, you must return to the Hall before you are missed—’

  She stepped forward, a look of determination on her face. ‘No! I have to tell you, Luke. Joseph helped me get into Lord Franklin’s library today!’

  He hesitated. Then he gestured towards a seat by the fire. ‘Sit there,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The room was very quiet once Luke had gone. Ellie sat by the fire and gazed into the flames. She’d thought he was her enemy—an enemy who was all the more dangerous because of the effect he had on her, whenever she saw him.

  But she wanted, so badly, to help him.

  Was she going mad? Had he cast a spell on her? Certainly, she couldn’t forget how her breath had stopped in her throat when he’d suddenly appeared on the road to Bircham. How every instinct still told her he was possibly the most dangerous man she had ever met.

  Yet Monique had said that she felt safe with him—and Ellie could well believe that if Luke was on your side, then you might indeed feel like the safest person in the world.

  And now he was back, his shadow looming in the doorway. She found herself moistening her dry throat as he pulled up a chair to the fire. And she knew that, above all, she must fight down on the sudden, desperate yearning to trust him. The longing to be held once again in his strong arms.

  He sat down opposite her—and smiled. Oh, his smile. It sent heat swirling through all her nerve endings; it reminded her of how his lips had felt, caressing hers...

  ‘Mrs Bartlett,’ he said, ‘is happily preparing toast and soup in quantities sufficient for a troop of soldiers. I must thank you again, Ellie.’

  ‘As I said, it was nothing. Luke, how long do you expect Monique and Harry to stay with you?’

  ‘For as long as they wish,’ he said simply. ‘For my brother’s sake, I’ll do everything—absolutely everything—that I can for them.’

  ‘Of course.’ She’d clasped her hands in her lap. ‘And I’m so glad I was able to help. But I wanted to come to you anyway.’

  ‘Lord Franklin’s library,’ he said.

  ‘Yes! I got into the library as you asked. And I’ve not been able to actually bring you anything—but there are things you must be told...’

  He was on his feet, rubbing a hand across his temples. She suddenly realised how tired he looked and wondered if he had slept these last few nights. ‘I had no right,’ he said almost bitterly, ‘to order you to do such a thing. No right to put you in danger.’

  ‘Danger...?’ she breathed. ‘Danger, Luke? Who from?’

  ‘You’re cold. You’re shivering.’ He stood up. ‘Wait a moment, while I put another log on the fire.’

  ‘No, I’m all right! And I need to tell you—’

  ‘Wait,’ he repeated. ‘The fire.’

  And then something happened. Afterwards, Ellie tried to remember it but could never quite recall, because his back was to her. She knew that he’d gone over to the basket of logs to place a fresh one on to the fire using his left hand, but then—because the log rolled a little—he picked up the heavy metal poker that lay on the hearth—with his right hand.

  Why his right hand? She didn’t know. Did he forget it was injured? Whatever the reason for his mistake, he dropped the poker and the metal clattered harshly against the stone slab of the hearth. She saw him clench his gloved right hand and ram it against his other fist. And she saw the expression on his face.

  It was filled with self-loathing. With despair, almost.

  Some ashes and pieces of charred wood had scattered themselves across the hearth. Ellie, glimpsing a small brush and pan close by, hurried across to pick them up.

  He almost pushed her aside. ‘No need. I’ll clear it up.’

  ‘Let me!’ She stood there, determined. ‘Let me, please.’ Without waiting for his answer, she knelt and started brushing up the debris from the fire. Felt the heat of the logs burning her cheeks, felt the unshed tears burning at the back of her eyes. She wondered what it must be like for a proud, strong man like him to be so injured.

  Still on her knees, she said steadily, ‘How was your hand injured, Luke? Was it in battle?’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘In battle? No—though I’ve often thought that would have been easier to endure.’

  She caught her breath at his bitterness. How, then? she wondered. A fight? Some crude punishment? Standing up slowly, she said, ‘You were lucky not to lose your hand.’

  ‘I might as well have done,’ he responded, ‘for all the good my right hand is to me. You, for instance, can no doubt shoot a pistol far better than I can. I never quite got the trick of it with my left.’

  She’d emptied the ashes into the fire and now she came to sit back on her chair, clasping her hands in her lap.

  She always did that, Luke thought suddenly. Always. Making herself look like some demure governess, as if she had no hidden past, no secrets to hide; instead of which her father had worked for Napoleon! And now she was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea—between Lord Franklin and him, in other words—though who precisely was the more dangerous for her, he really wouldn’t like to say.

  He sighed a little as he sat again in the chair opposite her and asked, ‘Who taught you to shoot, Ellie?’

  ‘My father. When I was seventeen.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I could defend myself.’

  Of course, Luke thought. Stupid question. This girl must have lived a life like no other. ‘How old are you now, Ellie Duchamp?’

  He saw her clasp her hands more tightly together. Her green eyes, as they met his, were dark with secrets.

  ‘I’m nineteen,’ she answered at last.

  ‘In London,’ he said, ‘most girls your age have nothing more to fill their heads than pleasant dreams of ball gowns and dancing partners. Do you envy them?’

  Her knuckles, he saw, were white with tension; but her answer betrayed none of it. ‘Not in the slightest.’ Her voice was quite calm.

  ‘Do you ever let anyone see your true feelings?’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’

  ‘Do you trust anyone?’

  She lifted her eyes to his. ‘Would you? If you were in my position?’

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘And I was a brute to force you into entering Lord Franklin’s library.’

  She paused a moment, then said, ‘What if I told you I wanted to do it for you, Luke?’

  And Luke thought, No. What have I done to her? I’ve made her trust me. He stood and walked towards the window before stopping to face her. ‘I want you to think very carefully about this, Ellie,’ he said at last. ‘I want you to think about the consequences of what you may have discovered.’

  He thought he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. ‘Did you think about the consequences, Luke? When you asked me—ordered me to get into Lord Franklin’s library?’

  ‘Not enough,’ he said harshly. ‘Not enough. You are right to blame me. All I wanted to do was to reveal a great injustice inflicted on my brother and his friends that should have been exposed long ago. But I had no right at all to involve you.’

  And suddenly, something in his voice—some private anguish—smote Ellie so hard that she could scarcely breathe.


  To the outside world, he—Luke—was the villain and Lord Franklin the shining knight who had rescued Ellie from poverty in Brussels. But she had been mistaken in Lord Franklin. The lies that Lord Franklin told her frightened her more than she could say.

  And didn’t Luke frighten her? Certainly, he ought to. Outwardly he was a rogue, an outcast from polite society, struggling to resurrect his failing inheritance in this neglected old house set high above the sea. She remembered the contempt, and the fear almost, with which Lord Franklin had spoken of Luke.

  ‘You and Lord Franklin hate each other, don’t you?’ she whispered. ‘Why?’

  She saw how he clenched his left hand at his side. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. ‘But I strongly suspect Lord Franklin’s motives in bringing you to England. And I swear that I will do everything I can should you ever need my help.’ He stepped closer. ‘Tell me quickly, if you can, what you found in the library. Then I must get you back to the Hall—’

  ‘Where you think I’ll be safe?’ she cut in, disbelief etching her voice.

  ‘Safer than here,’ he said bleakly. ‘Believe me, safer than here.’

  And then, as she thought wildly, I so much want to trust him, to believe what he’s saying, the door flew open, and Tom rushed in. ‘Josh has seen soldiers, Captain!’ he gasped. ‘A patrol of English redcoats climbing up the path from Bircham Staithe. And they’re coming towards the house!’

  Luke snapped out, ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Seems the soldiers have heard rumours that some Frenchies landed the other night. They’ve already questioned the fishermen down at the harbour and the redcoats have sworn they’re going to search every farm, every house in the area—especially this one!’

  And Luke had to think again, very quickly. Had to make a crucial decision again, very quickly.

  * * *

  ‘Put everyone on the alert, Tom,’ Luke ordered. ‘Get our men in here and bring a barrel of ale up from the cellar. Put out the cards and dice—we’ll pretend we’ve been drinking together all evening.’

  ‘And what about your guests, Captain?’ Tom glanced worriedly at Ellie. ‘As well as this young lass here, you’ve got the woman and her little one upstairs. If the redcoats search the house and find them—’

  ‘I’ll make sure everyone’s safe. Go now. See that everybody knows what to do.’ Luke swung back towards Ellie. ‘You heard what Tom said. I’m sorry, but this means you can’t go back to the Hall yet.’

  She’d risen to her feet when Tom came in. ‘My maid will miss me, at Bircham Hall.’

  ‘I’ll send a messenger over there.’

  ‘To Joseph? How can he prevent Mary from coming to my room?’

  ‘Joseph has a younger sister who’s a maid there. Her name is Sarah. Sarah can tell your maid that she’s already attended to you.’

  She caught her breath. ‘How many spies do you have at Bircham Hall, Luke?’

  He was silent.

  She closed her eyes, briefly. ‘So I’m to stay here. How long do you think all this will take?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He raked back his hair. ‘Ellie, I can’t tell you how much I regret putting you in this situation—but I give you my word that I’ll make very sure they don’t find you.’

  ‘It’s not that!’ She’d stepped closer to him, her eyes suddenly wide with distress. ‘I’m not afraid! I’ve faced soldiers before. I’m used to being pursued. But—oh, Luke, I’ve suddenly remembered something Lord Franklin said, when he was at the Hall, and I should have thought of it before. I should have told you straight away.’

  He looked tense. ‘Something Lord Franklin said?’

  ‘Yes! I heard him say to his steward, “To have Danbury at large, especially in the present circumstances, is intolerable. Something must be done.” Lord Franklin, of course, left the Hall days ago, but this could well be his doing.’ She was clenching her hands in distress.

  ‘Stop, Ellie!’ He said it almost fiercely. ‘Why should you have told me? Why should you feel you owe me any kind of loyalty?’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘You know, my father used to say that I had an instinct for justice and for truth. Just as he did.’

  ‘You’re not saying—that you trust me?’

  ‘I’m expressing regret that I failed to warn you,’ she said. ‘And what about Monique and Harry? Will they be in danger if they’re discovered? Will you be in danger?’

  She looked pale with apprehension now—not for herself, but for Monique, for Harry...and for him! Unbelievable. And so he lied, to protect her. He made light of a whole bunch of redcoats riding in his direction.

  ‘This often happens,’ he said swiftly. A complete

  falsehood—they were sometimes visited by the occasional group of Customs men after smugglers, but never the redcoats. ‘Knowing in advance wouldn’t have made any difference—we couldn’t have stopped them coming. But it is just possible they might demand to search the house.’

  Ellie listened with acute attention. ‘Do they have the authority to do so?’

  ‘They always have authority, I’m afraid. But they mustn’t find Monique and Harry—and they mustn’t find you here either. Ellie, I want you to do something for me.’

  She nodded. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Below this house are cellars. Beyond the cellars are some smaller rooms that can be sealed off—so even if the soldiers get into the cellars, they won’t realise the hiding places exist. I must get Monique and Harry down there and I want you to go with them. They will be frightened, of course, and I want you to calm them. Comfort them.’ His eyes searched hers. ‘I know I have no right to expect your help. But will you do this for me? For them?’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course. But what about you, Luke?’ She felt her breath coming fast and painfully now. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I can look after myself, don’t worry. I’ll go out and see what’s happening, and in the meantime Tom will take care of you. Tom?’

  His henchman had returned to the room. ‘Yes, Captain?’

  ‘Take Ellie with Monique and Harry down to the cellars. I’ll be back soon.’

  He was about to leave, but suddenly Ellie touched his arm. ‘Luke.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Take care. That’s all,’ she whispered.

  And as Luke watched Tom leading her away, he was reeling. Don’t think about the softness of her lips. Don’t think about those sweet curves you know lie just beneath her ugly old gown... ‘Ellie!’ he called. She turned round and he gave her a brief, dazzling smile. ‘I will take care,’ he said. ‘And you remember to do the same. You hear me, French girl?’

  For a moment she hesitated, though her smile when it came was shy yet radiant. ‘Je vous entends, mon Capitaine,’ she whispered. ‘I hear you.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monique was already in the hallway with her sleeping child in her arms and she looked terrified as she moved towards Ellie. ‘Oh, mam’selle. J’ai peur...’

  ‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ Ellie soothed her. ‘Luke will take care of you.’

  ‘Here, miss!’ said Tom cheerfully to Monique. ‘Come this way. And don’t worry, I’ll carry the little ’un.’

  Monique, not understanding, stepped back in alarm as he reached for Harry. ‘It’s all right,’ Ellie said to her quickly. ‘You can trust Tom.’

  Tom gave Ellie his lantern to hold and nodded to them to follow him down the stone stairway that led from a door in the kitchen. There were cellars first, as Luke had explained; but then Tom handed Harry back to Monique and pushed aside a pile of wooden crates that concealed a low door. Opening it, he told Ellie to shine the lantern in there to reveal another, low-ceilinged cellar that was equipped, Ellie realised, with piles of blankets and tallow candles.

  It
was like being on the run again with her father.

  Memories poured through her of similar hiding places. Of a rat-infested barn where they’d hidden up in the loft, while the farmer and his sons searched around the yard below for reported intruders. Of a cellar they’d crawled into, beneath a house just outside Lille, while the soldiers tramped around above them, and she’d feared that her father’s cough would bring discovery at any minute.

  She forced herself into calmness as Monique looked around, shivering. ‘Mam’selle,’ Monique was whispering. ‘Mam’selle, must we really stay down here?’

  And Ellie assured her, ‘You’ll be safe here. And you must stay calm, for your child’s sake.’

  But Harry was already beginning to whimper in Monique’s arms and Tom glanced at the child worriedly. ‘I’ll have to get back to the captain now, miss,’ Tom was saying. ‘And he asked me to give you—this.’

  He handed her a pistol. Dieu, thought Ellie rather shakily. She slipped it into her pocket, before Monique should see it. How long would they have to hide? One, two hours? Perhaps all night? But if Harry was crying and the soldiers heard him, they wouldn’t be down here for very long at all, because they’d most likely be hauled off to a prison cell.

  Tom had gone and Monique was completely failing to soothe her child. ‘Madame. May I?’ Gently Ellie took Harry in her arms and scoured her memory for one of the children’s rhymes her mother used to sing to her.

  ‘Ah! Dis-moi donc bergère,

  A qui sont ces moutons?’

  As she sang the old, familiar words, Harry began to smile. Ellie walked around, still humming softly, until she saw his eyelids begin to droop—and at last he was asleep again. Murmuring a silent prayer of gratitude, she whispered to Monique, ‘Please, madame. Make a bed for your little boy in the corner—with those blankets, do you see?’

  Monique did so quickly and Ellie lowered the sleeping child ever so carefully on to the makeshift bed. Please don’t wake. Please don’t wake. Harry let out a small sigh, then he settled back contentedly into a deep sleep.