by April Munday
He loved her and, even if her presence here didn’t mean that she loved him, it was still a great comfort to him.
She stirred and he held his breath until hers became even again, then he fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Finch woke, but remembered not to open his eyes. The hand holding his was not Meldon’s. The earl had the sense not to let his friend know that he held his hand while he slept; the embarrassment of knowing would have killed them both; the suspicion was comforting. This was Mary’s hand. It rested lightly on his, ready to take flight the moment he gave any sign of being awake. He allowed himself to enjoy the comfort she offered, for whatever reason it was given.
Then her hand was gone; he knew not what sign he had given that he was awake.
“Come and say goodnight to Papa.”
Freddie! Was Freddie here?
He opened his eyes and saw his son’s serious face. Finch smiled.
“Hello, Freddie.”
Freddie started to cry and Finch saw that Meldon was going to take him away.
“Give him to me,” he said, although he knew from Meldon’s frown that in his haste he hadn’t spoken clearly.
“Will he know to be quiet and still?” asked Mary and Finch was grateful that she had understood him.
“Tell him,” he mumbled.
“Lord Meldon, Mr Finch would like Freddie to stay, for a while at least. Freddie, your papa is unwell, so you must be quiet and still, but you may stay with him for a while.”
She took the boy from Meldon and whispered something to him. Freddie nodded and she placed him on the bed next to Finch. Freddie kissed his cheek, settled his head on his father’s chest and sobbed.
Finch stroked his son’s hair, but could not stop his own tears. Soon they were both asleep, each comforted beyond measure by the other’s presence.
Although they had agreed that Freddie could not be allowed to stay in Finch’s room for long, Meldon brought him in when he woke and before he went to bed to kiss his father. The boy said little and Mary wondered what he had seen and heard when he had been kidnapped. She held him as much as she could and knew that Meldon did the same, yet, apart from the first time his father had held him, he never cried and never told them what had happened the night he had been taken. Meldon gave out the story that Freddie had been kidnapped for a ransom because his father was a rich manufactory owner. Mary knew this wasn’t true, but didn’t know what the truth was.
There was a lot of time to think. When she sat with Finch she couldn’t read, for she was always watching him for signs of wakefulness. The first time he had come round while she was sitting with him he had caught her unawares, but now she would be ready. She held his hand for her own reassurance, so that she might know that he was still alive. She suspected that Meldon did the same. The deep love that the reserved earl felt for his friend had surprised her, just as Finch’s complete calm when they had gone to rescue Freddie had seemed contrary to his passionate nature.
She knew that he loved his son and he should have been scared and worried. Instead he had known exactly what to do. Such knowledge might have been expected from a soldier like Meldon, but Finch was a manufactory owner. How could he have obtained that knowledge and how could he have remained so calm while he believed his son’s life to be in danger? She tried not to think about what he might have done to the men guarding Freddie, but she was sure that either Finch or Meldon had killed them. She found the thought had no effect on her love for him at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Finch opened his eyes and it didn’t hurt. Meldon was the one sitting with him this time and the earl’s attention was on the book in his hands. Was he going to live, then? He hadn’t been sure before. Relief washed over Finch. He was not afraid to die; it was simply the thought of leaving Freddie that worried him. Knowing that Meldon would look after him was not as great a comfort as knowing that he would do it himself.
“Hello,” he said.
His voice sounded almost normal.
Meldon closed the book and put it down. His expression didn’t change and Finch was grateful; even with him Meldon was often reserved and he took this as another sign that he was out of danger.
“Hello. Something to drink?”
He pointed to the glass on the table by the bed. Finch nodded, hoping it was water; with Meldon and Perkins one never quite knew.
Meldon raised him easily from the pillow and held the glass to his lips. It was water, but there was something else in there.
“Perkins wanted to give you port. He swears by port for wounds of this nature, but I said you would be thirsty.”
“You were both right, I suspect.”
“Good. You’re talking sensibly.”
Had there been a time when he had not done so? Finch remembered little of the past few hours… or was it days?
“That will make this much easier. That woman is here in the inn. She keeps demanding to see you and it would be natural to let her in, given how you’ve behaved towards her.”
“You fear her suspicions?”
Meldon might believe that Finch was once again capable of following a reasoned argument, but Finch was not so sure.
“No, I fear another attempt on Freddie or you. I cannot guard you against all eventualities with three men, a woman and a boy, especially since two of them must also be protected. I hope you will learn from this that you should travel with more servants.”
Meldon’s exasperation wasn’t entirely feigned. It was a discussion they had had many times before. Meldon believed that a man should travel as befitted his station; Finch did not. He preferred to travel at the least inconvenience possible to his servants.
“My father has servants when I arrive and I can look after myself on a journey. Why disturb my servants when you are always ready to come and rescue me?”
“You have acted the fool for so long that you have become one.”
Finch became grave.
“I know. Let that woman come and see me.”
“She is shrill and loud and will tire you too much.”
“And then we must return to London,” Finch continued as if Meldon had not spoken.
“What! You’re not talking sense. The journey will kill you.”
“If she is determined to kill me, all she has to do is go into the kitchen and poison the food and everyone dies. If I die on the journey, only I die.”
“You forget one thing.”
“I don’t think so.”
It was a lie. A plan formed this quickly and while most of his thoughts were focused on governing the pain in his side was bound to be full of holes.
“Only one person here is important in the war.”
“I have known only failure since the spring.”
“That’s not what I mean and I will not speak more plainly for fear of being overheard.”
Finch was grateful for Meldon’s circumspection, although he wondered how he knew of General Warren’s plans.
“I think I have been betrayed. What you expect for me will not come to pass now.” He was beginning to tire. “Vincent...” He could not continue for Lady Anna’s brother had been dear to Meldon and the earl still blamed himself for the man’s death.
“Giving you up was the lesser of two evils?”
“So he thought.”
James Vincent, Marquis of Wreybourne and Lady Anna’s brother had been captured and tortured. He had not given up the secret that the French most wanted, but it was probable that he had betrayed Finch.
Meldon was lost in thought.
“As far as he was concerned,” said Finch, “I was nothing more than your assistant, the man who tidied up after you.”
One of Finch’s particular skills was making people disappear without trace and this had been known to Vincent.
“Then why all this play acting?”
Finch held up his left hand.
“They must have made the link between me and the Englishman in Hamburg who did not speak under torture
and managed to escape, despite his injuries.”
“And when you could not be seduced into giving up secrets, they became more desperate.” This didn’t feel right to Finch, but he could spare no energy to think about it. His only thought was to get Freddie and Mary out of danger and back to London.
“My death won’t accomplish what they want, but it will cause more damage than they know.”
They had decided that the Frenchwoman would be allowed to sit with Finch the next day until he woke and for as long as he could bear it after that. Both Mary and Meldon were in the room.
Mary hoped that the woman would grow bored sitting by the bed of the sleeping man, but she had sat patiently for two hours. She had said nothing, as though neither Meldon nor Mary was worthy of her attention. In almost any other circumstance Mary would have been amused by the woman’s complete failure to appear the grieving lover. The Frenchwoman sat by the bed and made no attempt to touch Finch. She spent more time looking at her hands than at him. By now Mary had had enough time to conclude that the woman was an agent of some kind for the French. From his actions, she assumed that Meldon thought the same. What that made him and Finch she had no idea and she wasn’t sure she cared. The only thing that mattered was making sure that this woman couldn’t harm Finch or Freddie again.
The pistol that could be used for calling help was in Mary’s work basket and she knew that Meldon was armed with a knife at the least. He was a very surprising man, even though she knew that he had been a soldier.
Finch stirred.
“Edmund. Oh, my dear.”
The Frenchwoman’s voice was loud in the quiet room and she took Finch’s hand. Meldon and Mary exchanged a glance.
“Louise,” Finch said faintly. “I couldn’t believe it when Meldon said you were here.”
“Make him go away. And your servant.”
“You would be alone with me in my bedroom?”
Mary thought he was trying to sound amused, but he sounded afraid.
“I do not think it would hurt my reputation this once.”
“We will stay,” said Meldon, “even if Finch asks us to go. I cannot allow you to tire him.”
“How could I tire him?” she asked, raising Finch’s hand and pressing her lips to it. “He is the dearest man and you have kept me from comforting him.”
“I have been asleep most of the time.”
“But it would have done you good to know that I was here.”
“And now that you are here?”
“I shall nurse you.”
“I doubt you have the patience for that.”
His smile was stronger than his voice.
“Oh, my darling, this is so awkward. Can’t we be alone?”
“I shall not be awake long.”
The Frenchwoman placed her hand on Finch’s brow. Mary thought he shrank away a little.
“At least you don’t have a fever.”
“I have had the best of care.”
His eyes began to close, but she would not let him rest.
“I will get a real doctor for you, not someone’s valet.”
“Perkins is an excellent doctor. I couldn’t hope for better.”
Now his voice was stronger and Mary recognised the note of warning in it. It seemed the Frenchwoman did not.
She placed her hand on Finch’s chest as she leaned over to kiss him on the lips. Mary saw Meldon tense, although he walked calmly enough to stand behind the Frenchwoman.
“You cause him pain,” he said quietly into her ear when she straightened again.
“Me. How can I cause him pain?”
“Take your hand away from him before I cut it off.”
Mary knew that there would only be danger if she moved her hand lower, closer to Finch’s wound, but even if Finch was not in pain, he would be uncomfortable.
“Does my hand trouble you, darling Edmund?”
Finch was breathing quicker than usual and Mary saw that he was afraid. Meldon must have seen it, too, for he snatched up the woman’s hand and pulled it behind her back.
“That’s enough”, he said. “Your kindness will kill him.”
“How dare you! Stop. He likes my touch.”
Mary kept quite still for fear that she would jump up and strike the woman.
“He’s been shot,” hissed Meldon. “He can hardly bear to be touched at all.”
“Let me go.”
The Frenchwoman was all ice.
“Once we are at the door.”
Meldon pulled her to her feet.
“You will pay for this.”
“Not today and probably not tomorrow. You are not good for him.”
“How dare you!”
She struggled in Meldon’s grip, but he did not release her.
They came to the door and Meldon opened it.
“I shall return tomorrow.”
“I may not let you in. Finch must decide.”
She said something that Mary could not hear and Meldon shut the door. Mary occupied herself with making Finch comfortable. He smiled his gratitude before he fell asleep.
“She’s a dreadful woman,” said Meldon quietly. “I don’t know what Finch was doing with her. Even if…”
“She’s beautiful,” said Mary wearily before he could mention what they had agreed never to talk of again.
“He has never cared that much for beauty.”
Mary could not reply. She had been accepted into Finch’s household despite her own lack of beauty. Between the perfect man and the golden-haired boy she should have felt more out of place than she had anywhere else, but she did not. It was not that Finch didn’t notice her lack of beauty; it was that it was simply unimportant to him.
“I don’t think he cared for her beauty,” she said eventually. “I think he was blinded to her lack of character by it.”
Meldon knelt on the floor in front of her and looked up into her face.
“You are a wise woman and Finch is lucky to have you.”
“No, my lord, but I thank you for the compliment.”
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“Please forgive the impertinence, but my sister and I have been easier since you went to live with Finch. He holds you in high esteem and with good reason.”
Mary felt herself blush.
“Mr Finch took me in when I was desperate. How could I not give him my best?”
Meldon smiled.
“Now that he has come to his senses, perhaps he will see everything more clearly.”
Mary knew she had given herself away to him somehow.
“It is enough that he recovers.”
Meldon glanced towards the bed and stood.
“If he recovers,” he muttered.
Meldon made preparations for the journey unwillingly. Finch knew that his friend thought that he was doing little more than asking Meldon to kill him. For himself he was convinced that there was no other sensible course of action. They could not stay here, for they were all at risk. Meldon wanted to be with his wife and Finch wanted his son and Mary to be safe.
The Frenchwoman was allowed to visit him again, but made no attempt to touch him apart from to hold his hand. Finch and Meldon were both surprised when she declared her intention of travelling back to London with them. It made their plan more uncertain.
“But there will be no room in the carriage,” protested Meldon.
Finch could see that he was trying desperately to work out how he was to protect them all, both from hazards on the road and from whatever she could do inside the carriage.
“I will be inside the carriage with Edmund and… his son,” she said. “You and your servant came on horseback. The other servant can go outside with the coachman.”
Finch made to say something, but saw Meldon’s signal. He held his peace and waited to see what Meldon would suggest.
“I think you might be accommodated at that,” he said.
Finch fell asleep before he could ask about the arrangements.<
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Mary was not as uncomfortable as she had feared she might be. Finch’s unconscious body was stretched out on one side of the carriage, as much as Perkins and Meldon had been able to stretch it. If he were conscious he would have been grateful for his lack of height, for a man of Meldon’s stature would have taken up too much room to travel in this way for long. Mary sat in a corner of the carriage with Finch’s head in her lap. One hand was on his chest to keep him still, the other was close to the pistol that lay beneath her gown on the seat. She had also kept the knife Finch had given her the night Freddie had been kidnapped. Finch had not missed it and the last few days had taught her that it might have a practical, as well as a sentimental, value. She was determined that no harm would come to him while they travelled south. She would have used it to save Freddie and she believed she was capable of using it to save Finch.
Perkins sat opposite Mary with the Frenchwoman next to him. Both his pistols were in plain sight and Mary recalled that they were in as much danger from highwaymen as they were from the Frenchwoman’s confederates or the Frenchwoman herself. Outside, Meldon rode his horse with Freddie wrapped tightly in a cloak before him.
There had been a disagreement between Finch and Meldon over the need to render the former unconscious.
“You’ll be no use anyway if there is trouble,” said Meldon, “and you’ll be more comfortable this way.”
“How can you think I would agree to be unconscious whilst Freddie and Miss Wilding are in danger?”
“Because that way you won’t be putting them in more danger.”
That had silenced Finch and Mary was grateful. The exertions of dealing with the Frenchwoman had cost him dearly and the pain showed on his face when he was awake. He needed rest and he wasn’t going to get it unless he was asleep all the way to London. There was, of course, an element of danger in what they had done and she didn’t like to ask how much laudanum or alcohol or both had been involved. Meldon and Finch trusted Perkins, so she had no choice other than to follow their lead.
Before they set off, the Frenchwoman had tried to wake Finch until Perkins had pointed out quietly that she would kill him if she continued, but that he would kill her before she had the chance to do so. Mary knew that he would think nothing of shooting the woman where she sat, if only to ensure that his hard work was not undone. She had come to know the valet well in the last few days. He was fiercely devoted to the earl and, by extension, to his friend and Freddie. Mary suspected that she was also included in this charmed circle by virtue of the affection in in which she was held by Freddie. Meldon himself seemed entirely unaware of his valet’s feelings, although Mary heard him acknowledge that Perkins would be glad to get home to his wife.