by Sheila Walsh
Guilty colour flooded her face. ‘Kit …’
‘It’s all right, my dear. I don’t mean to spoil your evening.’ Kit took her arm and led her firmly towards the dance. ‘But I must warn you, Maddie, that tomorrow I mean to know the whole of it, so don’t think to hide away from me.’
Hide away! But of course ‒ Devereux’s secret room! That is where Armand must be! Madalena smiled brilliantly up at Kit in her relief and longed for the music to end.
No one saw her slip away. Soon she was running between hedgerows already crusted with a heavy hoar frost. The whole landscape shimmered under the clear, hard brilliance of a three-quarter moon.
Madalena hugged Armand’s cloak tight about her as she ran, half-stumbling along tracks hard-rutted and made treacherous by ice. Her thin pumps and silk stockings afforded scant protection, but she was intent only on reaching the Manor and scarcely noticed the discomfort.
The lower windows of Lytten Manor were ablaze with lights, but there was no sound to disturb the vast stillness of the night. She crept with extreme caution past each one and had almost gained the library when a stone skidded from beneath her foot. It ricocheted across the frozen ground with the force of an exploding bullet. Madalena crouched, the blood drumming in her ears, until all was silence again. ‘Doucement, imbécile!’ she admonished herself with severity. ‘Of what use are you to Armand if you are discovered!’
It had not occurred to her until that moment that the library windows might be made fast after her previous night excursion, but thankfully the latch gave under her hand. Stepping inside the empty room, she made her way soundlessly across to the study.
There, her spirits plummeted, for the panelling showed a gaping hole and the secret chamber appeared to be empty. She approached it with lagging steps and then was drawn inside by a curious smell of musty dampness. Set in the floor behind the panelling, a square black hole gaped, stimulating Madalena’s already over-stretched imagination. An oubliette! Ah, poor Armand!
She rushed forward and sank to her knees. Almost at once she saw the steps and with a flood of relief came the voices, echoing up from below and growing fainter even as she listened. A secret passage! Insatiable curiosity pushed all thoughts of Armand from her mind and she began to scramble down the steps, down and down, with the cold striking deep into her bones as the rough-hewn stone became slimy, so that she almost lost her footing.
At the bottom, a passage had been gouged out of the cliff-side, cutting a tortuous path ahead of her. She hugged the wall, inching her way forward, following the voices and the weird half-shadows cast by a bobbing lantern somewhere ahead of her. Soon, the voices began to sound nearer and turning a corner she saw, not far ahead of her, two men, one of them Devereux’s man Jason. Between them they carried something ‒ a long, unwieldy something, wrapped round with cloth and tied!
Madalena’s heart gave a sickening jolt, all her fears for Armand rushing back. Sacré Nom! was he, after all, to be quietly disposed of, as had that other poor man?
She hastened her step and gradually became conscious of a freshening in the air. The passage turned sharply and widened ‒ and straight ahead, etched against the moonlight, the Seamew rode gently on her mooring ropes close up to the jetty.
The two men heaved their burden over the side where it landed on the deck with a sickening thud. Then they climbed aboard ‒ and disappeared.
Madalena had no idea how long she stood, her thoughts struggling for coherence. Almost at once it seemed the men were stepping ashore again. She pressed back into a fissure in the rock face, her arms wrapped tight about her shuddering frame and her jaw clamped on chattering teeth.
They passed so close that Jason’s heavy greatcoat brushed her legs, its pungent odour of brine catching at her throat. His slow, gruff voice boomed in her ear.
‘… told ’im straight, I didn’t like it ‒ getting mixed up with them Frogs. But you know ’is grace ‒ pig-headed and arrogant like his father afore him. He’ll press ’is luck once too often, mark my words … And so I told ’im …’
The rest was lost in the echoing vaults of the passage. When the last sound had died away, Madalena came stiffly from her hiding place.
Aboard the boat, she stood listening for the least suggestion of movement; there was none, save the sibilant smack of the tide against the Seamew’s side. The brightness of the night illuminated the deck. It was empty. So ‒ that meant she must go below. The cavernous mouth of the companionway did not invite entry and as she descended, the utter futility of trying to search without any light became apparent, for at each step, the blackness became more complete. On the lower deck she stood, her back hairs pricking, took a few tentative steps ‒ and banged her shin.
Peste! An exploratory hand closed on what seemed to be a kind of table or desk. ‘Sot!’ she addressed it crossly. ‘Why are you placed so that one must fall over you?’
She felt her way along the table and as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she saw that small windows ran along either side of the cabin and from the light filtering through she was presently able to discern vague outlines ‒ two sleeping berths, the table with which she had collided and, at the far end, a dark mass which could be cupboards or an extra compartment. But there was nothing resembling the bundle she had seen.
‘Armand,’ she called softly. ‘Chéri ‒ make me some sign if you are here. I do not know if we have much time!’
Nothing answered her. Not a sound … and the fear which had been pushed to the back of her mind would be denied no longer ‒ the fear that Armand was already dead and beyond her help. Yet she still continued drearily to search.
The sound, when it came, was from above her. Sacrés mille diables! The men were back! Madalena felt her way, stumbling, to the far end of the cabin and found a cupboard behind which she could crouch. For what seemed an age, the feet tramped above her. Several times the boat lurched alarmingly and she was almost dislodged. Of a surety the weather must be growing rough!
And then, as the motion became more regular, it dawned upon her with growing dismay that it was not the weather which had changed, but the boat. The Seamew was putting out to sea!
Chapter Twelve
The boat was no longer moving. Madalena had not been sure at first. Still huddled in her corner, she had alternately dozed and fought against attacks of the cramp until time had ceased to have any meaning. She had no idea where she was ‒ or what was to become of her; she was tired and cross and just a little frightened. Back in Lytten Tracy all would be in uproar and Tante Vernon would be prostrate with a spasm! No ‒ decidedly it was better not to think of Lytten Tracy.
One thing was certain; Dev was on board. He had come down to the cabin earlier carrying a lantern. She had watched him hang the lantern from a hook and stand for a few moments reading at the table. As he read, he had unwrapped a package to disclose a quantity of succulent looking ham and chicken, together with some thick, crusty bread.
Madalena, by now ravenously hungry, had been obliged to watch as he consumed the best part of it before her outraged eyes. Almost she was tempted to discover herself to him there and then; only the certainty of his rage deterred her. Perhaps there would yet be some way to evade his wrath. If he would just leave some of the food …
But in the end he had left the cabin taking the remainder of the package with him, and Madalena was forced to subdue her grumbling stomach, for a swift search of the cabin revealed not so much as a crumb remaining!
But at least he had left the lantern and she was no longer obliged to endure the darkness. When she was sure the boat had stopped moving, she again stirred her stiff limbs in order to peer cautiously out of one of the windows. It was dark and she could make nothing of the outside.
‘Voyons,’ she muttered. ‘This begins to be difficult. One has not found Armand, who is very likely dead or concealed elsewhere ‒ and now it seems we have arrived! But where do we arrive? In France, perhaps?’
The thought stirred her blood
a little; she strove again to make something of the view, but there was only the obscurity of a sky from which moon and stars had vanished, and some kind of blacker bulk near at hand, a cliff perhaps, and if a cliff, then there would be a beach.
As if to confirm this supposition, two shadowy figures crossed her line of vision, reached the side of the boat and leapt nimbly ashore and there came a crunching of feet on pebbles.
Their imminent departure galvanised Madalena into instant activity; if Dev and Jason were both to leave the boat, she would be left alone! Even the prospect of Dev’s inevitable wrath paled before the more dreadful prospect of being abandoned in so God-forsaken a spot!
She had just reached the deck when a series of explosions shattered the silent blackness, followed by much indistinct shouting. She swallowed on the scream that rose in her throat and grasped the rail, straining to pierce the gloom. She thought she could make out several figures struggling on the ground ‒ and even as she waited, there came a further single shot. It seemed to release her.
Her feet flew across the shingle, her incoherent supplications to the Bon Dieu alternately entreating and demanding of Him that Dev should be spared, so that she did not see the body in time and sprawled her length across it. Fighting down panic, she forced herself to look closer. The man was a stranger ‒ and he was quite unmistakably dead!
She turned abruptly away and found Jason lying close by, a pistol in his hand. At first she thought he, too, was dead; there was a fearful gash on the side of his head. Madalena pushed a hand inside his coat; his heart was beating ‒ very faintly, but at least he lived.
So! She drew a sobbing breath. Then Dev must be one of the men still fighting. She came upon them quite suddenly. There had been two assailants, but one now lay motionless; the other was locked with Dev in a deadly grip, and in one hand she could see the gleam of a knife blade.
Madalena’s eyes blazed as she circled them, seeking for some way to help. Her voice was locked in her throat. To her inexperienced eye the stranger seemed to be the stronger; Dev was being borne slowly backwards and though his grip was on the wrist that held the knife, he could not wrest it from the man’s grasp.
‘Sainte Vierge!’ she prayed in her despair. ‘Aid me! There must be some way for me …’ Her glance fell again on the dead man, and from him, to where something lay discarded among the pebbles ‒ something that gleamed!
She snatched up the knife and sought to plunge it into the back of Dev’s assailant; it would not penetrate the thick greatcoat! In despair she renewed her efforts, but her strength was not enough. They were on the ground now ‒ soon it would be too late! She heard the sound of her own sobbing as the man arched back to deliver his coup de grâce, exposing for an instant the bareness of his neck. Without hesitation she plunged the knife in with all her strength, and felt the sickening jar run up her arm as the hilt hit his collar bone. His scream died instantly to a gurgle and he fell backwards with blood spurting from his neck.
Madalena would not let herself look at him. She turned instead to Devereux. He lay, supported on one hand, gasping for air and fighting dizziness. Madalena waited anxiously.
The sky was beginning to pale slightly and in the cold wash of light from the sea she discerned something dark dripping and spreading on the shingle beneath him.
‘Dev! You are hurt!’
He raised his head, shaking it as if he would clear the mists from his eyes. He seemed unsurprised to see her ‒ in fact, Madalena very much doubted if he was even aware who she was.
‘Damned … pistol ball … left shoulder …’ he muttered thickly. ‘Get Jason.’
There was a cold sickness in her stomach, but she made herself be calm. ‘Jason is hit on the head and is quite unconscious, chéri, so we must manage without him.’
Devereux swore and struggled to rise. ‘… can’t stay here … bleeding like … a pig … must get back … to the boat …’
‘Yes, of course we will go to the boat, mon pauvre; it will be much the best place for you to be.’ Madalena’s voice was shaking; she could not prevent it, but he was too preoccupied to notice. ‘Voyons, I will place your good arm around my shoulder ‒ so ‒ and you may lean on me as much as you wish.’
He came uncertainly to his feet and Madalena staggered under his weight. ‘That is splendid!’ she urged breathlessly. ‘And now, hold tightly to me and be tranquil ‒ we shall soon arrive!’
Together they traced an erratic path back along the beach. Getting Dev on to the boat was incredibly difficult ‒ and he half-stumbled, half-fell down the companionway into the cabin, where thankfully, the lamp still burned. There he collapsed, ashen-faced with exhaustion.
In his pocket she discovered a brandy flask and made him drink. When he presently hauled himself into a sitting position, he looked only a little less grey.
‘Now,’ he gasped, ‘if I might … trouble you to assist me … I’ll rid myself of this … accursed coat … view the damage.’
Madalena threw off her own cloak and set to work with fingers that were stupid and clumsy. When greatcoat and then coat were finally stripped off, they both stared in silence at the rent shirt. The bullet, fired at close range, should have passed through him, but the thickness of the greatcoat had impeded its progress and it had been driven in fairly high up, between arm and collar-bone, dragging the edges of the shirt with it.
Madalena knew that he must already have lost a great deal too much blood in the course of that dreadful fight ‒ and now, with the exertions of the last few minutes, the blood was again pumping forth steadily. It needed a doctor ‒ and she had no idea where one might be found.
She scanned the cabin. ‘Bandages. Dev ‒ I must make a pad to staunch the blood!’
‘Shirts,’ he muttered, leaning back with closed eyes. ‘Bottom drawer … cupboard …’
She found them at last and threw them on the bunk ‒ beautiful shirts of the finest lawn, which she tore recklessly and tore again until she had made a thick pad and completed the seemingly impossible task of securing it tightly.
Only then did she relax ‒ and found she was shaking. The brandy flask was pushed into her hand and she gulped at it gratefully.
Dev’s glance was resting upon her, frowning. ‘… Don’t understand … why you are here.’
Madalena made herself very busy. ‘Oh, it is a very long story, and not of importance at this moment. Dev, what are we to do? You are very much in need of a doctor!’
‘Not a chance, little one … I doubt there is a doctor within twenty miles.’
‘But the bullet?’
‘Must assuredly come out. Old Jason will …’
‘Chéri, I told you …’
He moved his head wearily. ‘Oh yes … the bump on the head … Well, he’s a wiry old bird … should be back in his senses by now. If you will oblige me by rousing him … Jason will dig it out in a trice.’
Madalena looked horrified. Devereux’s smile was meant to be reassuring. ‘It won’t be the first time Jason … has dug lead out of me, child … he’s reckoned something of an expert!’
She flared with sudden anger that was tinged with terror. ‘Oh, I am out of all patience! And I will tell you, men, that you are all the same ‒ you men! Like small boys playing dangerous games!’ Her voice became choked. ‘And one day you will be sorry for I will not be here to help!’
She ran from the cabin, tears blinding her ‒ not hearing her name called ‒ not seeing the outstretched hand …
In a short time she was back. Her steps were dragging and the tears were drying on her white, frightened face.
‘Jason will not respond. I have shouted and I have shaken him, but he lies like one dead.’
‘Maybe he is … dead.’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘His pulse still beats, but very fast and … and not good. And the bump on his head is very bad!’
‘I see.’ Dev closed his eyes again. His body seemed to sag and Madalena, her anger forgotten, went to his side and put her h
and in his.
‘I am sorry,’ she said inadequately.
His fingers returned her pressure. ‘Poor infant,’ he murmured. ‘I would not willingly have had you dragged into this and yet …’ he sighed, ‘… and yet, God help me, I am glad to have you here!’
His eyes opened suddenly and he looked straight at her. ‘Why are you here?’
Madalena fidgeted uneasily and then told him.
The satanic eyebrows quivered. ‘Dear me ‒ what a villain you have made of me! First a traitor and now a murderer!’
‘Ma foi! That is unjust! What am I to suppose when you shroud all you do in mystery?’
He frowned. ‘But do you really see me dispatching Armand in so cavalier a fashion?’
‘I … I have tried not to think it, but I am not blind to your nature and … and if Armand endangered your plans …’ her voice sank to a whisper, ‘… I think perhaps you might …’
‘So! I make you my compliments. Your reading of my character is masterly and illuminating!’ The words were jerked out, and the twist of his lips, the very sarcasm of the words betrayed how she had hurt him.
‘You see,’ she explained miserably. ‘I cannot help remembering the man on the cliff … and … and I did see Jason and the other one carrying something to the boat.’
‘Spare sail sheets?’ he suggested tersely.
‘Oh.’ Madalena considered the possibility. ‘Then if it was not Armand, where is he, pray? For I will not believe that you do not have a hand in his disappearance!’
Devereux leaned back and sighed wearily. ‘I trust that by now he is in London with Lady Serena, who will assist him in laying information against Daniel Merchent.’
The amber eyes grew wide. ‘Lady Serena … Daniel? Oh, but I do understand! Is Daniel to be arrested?’
‘Do you mind if we defer explanations until later?’ A thin smile touched the lips compressed with pain. ‘However, to set that bloodthirsty mind of yours at rest … the man on the cliff … was working for me … Merchent killed him …’ his voice was beginning to fade.