She swallowed. And then resolutely lifted her chin. ‘If Kit is dead, then it will not be any harder for me to see his body here than it would be to see it at Seaton Hall. In fact, in a way it will be easier. Because I will at least know that I did everything I possibly could to help him – even if, in the end, I couldn’t do anything.’
He nodded.
‘I’ve seen one of my brothers buried,’ she said, grateful to him for his understanding, ‘I couldn’t bear to bury another - not unless I know I’ve done everything in my power to prevent his death.’
She felt him push back one of her ringlets, which had come loose of its pins. She turned her head instinctively, rubbing her cheek against his hand.
‘I’ll bring him back, Marianne,’ he said. ‘If there’s any way of doing it, I’ll bring him safely home.’
As he looked deep into her eyes she felt a sense of oneness she had never known before. It was as if there was something joining them together; invisible and intangible; but none the less real for all that.
‘We had better be going back on deck. That is, unless you would rather stay in the cabin?’
‘No. I prefer to be out in the fresh air.’
He stood aside to let her pass. Then suddenly, as if on instinct, he caught hold of her as she passed him and pulled her roughly towards him. His eyes, full of an emotion she could not begin to fathom, looked down into her own, and then he kissed her.
The kiss was like nothing Marianne had experienced before. It was deeper, slower and far more sensuous than the kiss he had given her before. That had been driven by physical desire; this was driven by something far more profound.
Her arms went round his neck and her fingers tangled themselves in his dark hair. So lightheaded did his kiss make her that it was only his strong arms around her, crushing her to him, that held her up.
At last he drew his mouth away from hers and reluctantly she took her arms from around his neck. Her hand trailed down his sleeve and when it reached his wrist they clasped hands for a moment. Then she turned and went up onto the deck.
Chapter Nine
The crew were going about their business when Marianne emerged from below. They were now well into their journey. It should not be too long before they reached France.
Lord Ravensford joined Captain Gringe at the bottom of the main mast, and the two men were soon deep in conversation. Marianne walked towards the prow and stood looking out over the dark waters. Somewhere on the other side of the Channel was Kit, possibly hurt, possibly . . .
And what about Adèle?
Up until now she had scarcely thought of her friend. She had been too busy thinking of her brother to have any thought to spare for anyone else. But now that she had accomplished her goal of sailing to France she felt a mounting concern for Adèle.
She felt a presence behind her and, without turning, knew who it was.
‘I’ve brought you a cloak from below.’ Lord Ravensford put it round her shoulders. ‘It isn’t how I like to see you dressed,’ he said, referring to its tattered state, ‘but at least it will keep you warm. You are not dressed for a winter night.’
Marianne accepted the cloak gratefully, for it was indeed a cold night.
‘I thought of a cloak, but there was a limit to what I could bring. It would have looked odd if I had ridden out from the Hall in a riding habit and a cloak.’
‘Odd? Then you mean you didn’t tell your father where you were going?’
‘No. It would only have worried him.’
‘And he might have forbidden the scheme. Mind you, I’m surprised Trudie didn’t object. From what Henri has told me, I can't believe she let you embark on such a mission at all. I’d have thought she’d have thrown every obstacle in your way.’
‘She doesn’t know.’ Marianne felt a twinge of guilt as she admitted it. ‘I didn’t want to deceive her, but there was no choice,’ she explained. ‘If I’d told her where I was going she’d have done everything in her power to make me stay. And when I’d overridden her, she’d have fretted until she saw me safely home again.’
‘So you told her nothing?’ he asked incredulously.
‘No, of course not. I told her I was spending a few days with the Cosgroves.’
She felt him tense. ‘Marianne, have you thought about what will happen if we don’t return?’
‘I’ve taken precautions.’ She turned to face him, and explained that she had left her mare stabled with Jim Smith, and that Jim had promised to take her letter to the Hall if, by Friday, she had not returned. ‘The letter explains everything,’ she finished.
She turned back again to the ocean, and they stood silently for a few moments, each one of them unwillingly thinking of the possible consequences of the expedition.
Then Marianne said, ‘I didn’t hear everything when I overheard you, Henri and Figgs talking last night. I heard that it was Adèle who got a message out of France, but I didn’t hear anything more about her. Is she all right? Or is she, too, hurt?’
’As far as we know, she’s all right. But the message was brief and not very clear.’
‘And her family? Her mother and father, Marie-Anne and the Comte? Do you know anything about them?’
‘No. They may be with Adèle and Kit. We’ve no way of knowing.’
‘I hope they are.’ Marianne shivered, and Lord Ravensford, standing behind her, wrapped his arms round her. She leaned back against him, finding the warmth of his body comforting. ‘Some terrible things have happened in France.’
He kissed her softly on the top of her head. ‘We’ll get them out of there. At least, we will if there’s any chance.’
They stood together for some time, before Figgs coughed discreetly behind them. Lord Ravensford turned, his arms dropping to his sides. ‘All right, Figgs.’ To Marianne he said, ‘We have to study the map and choose the best place to land. It will be impossible to take the ship too close to the shore because we don’t want to run into any French patrols, so we’ll be going the final part of the way in the rowing boat.’
‘Do you know how long you’ll be?’
‘If all goes well, and depending on where we are finally able to put into shore, we should be able to reach the farmhouse within an hour of setting foot on dry land. After that, it will take at least another hour back again, perhaps two, if Kit is badly hurt.’
She nodded. Then, as Lord Ravensford was about to go down to the cabin with Figgs she caught his arm. ‘Don’t leave him. Even if he’s dead.’
He put his hand reassuringly over her own. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t.’
And then she was alone.
Wrapping the cloak more closely about her she stared out over the ocean swell. What did Lord Ravensford’s tenderness mean? she wondered, remembering the comforting feel of his arms around her. Was it proof that his feelings ran deep, as his kiss had led her to suppose? Or was it simply that, going into a dangerous situation, he had become unusually warm? She did not know; and until she was certain it would be better for her to keep her own feelings under control.
But she knew in her heart of hearts that it was too late for that. Too late by far.
It was still dark when the ship finally dropped anchor about a mile off the French coast. The winter night served them well. It would not be light for hours. With a minimum of fuss Lord Ravensford threw his leg over the side of the ship and, giving Marianne a last, wolfish smile, he climbed down to the rowing boat; the same craft which had carried him out to the ship and which had then been lashed to its side. Figgs and two members of the crew followed, but no one else. Henri was still walking with a limp and would not go with them for fear of slowing them down, and besides, the hope of the expedition lay in discretion, for which a small group was best.
Knowing the best way to pass the time without falling prey to endless worries was to keep busy, Marianne sought out Captain Gringe.
‘When my brother comes on board it is likely he will be badly hurt. May I fit up your cabin as a sick room?�
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Captain Gringe looked at her with respect. ‘You may.’ His face softened. ‘I’m pleased to see you take after your mama, Miss Marianne. She was a great lady.’
Marianne nodded. ‘Yes. She was.’
‘She would be proud of you.’
His words touched her. She had had to endure a lot of prejudice concerning her medical skills over the years. There were many people who felt it was unladylike for a young woman to tend the sick, and it heartened her to know that not everyone was so blind.
Having secured Captain Gringe’s permission to use his cabin she took a lantern and went below deck once more, looking round with a practical eye. The beds - two bunks which had originally been used by Captain Gringe and his wife - were bolted to the floor. Marianne nodded in approval. They would not move, no matter how much the ship may roll. The scant furniture – a table and two chairs – was also bolted down and would be safe whatever the weather. Two trunks were stashed against the wall, secured with strong ropes. A small porthole gave onto the inky ocean and the dark night sky.
Marianne set about her work. First, she hung her lantern from the hook in the ceiling and then opened her bag, which she had left in the cupboard. In it she had her mother’s few basic medical implements, the remains of the bandages that had been used on Henri’s leg, some laudanum, and a dozen eggs together with two bottles of port. The eggs and port constituted a remedy used by Doctor Moffat when his patients, for any reason, lost a great quantity of blood, and if Kit was in a weakened state she hoped it would help restore his strength.
Having checked that everything was in order she inspected the linen on the bunks. Here she was in luck. Captain Gringe was a man of fastidious habits, and the linen on both bunks was clean. She need have no qualms about laying Kit on one, no matter how badly he was injured. She shivered at the thought, and then went back onto the deck.
The hours dragged by. One hour came and went, and then two. Three hours passed, and Marianne was becoming more and more anxious. Her ears were strained for the sound of the plash of the oars, and her eyes were strained for a sight of the rowing boat returning to the ship.
After what seemed an endless time, at last she caught the sound of oars, and the sound of something else: shouts. As Marianne strained her eyes, she could dimly make out a second boat hard on the heels of the first. Flashes of light came from it periodically, and loud retorts. There was another boat following Luke’s, and the men in it were firing guns.
‘Look lively!’ called Captain Gringe. ‘We’re about to have company.’ He turned to Marianne. ‘There’s a drawer underneath one of the bunks in my cabin, the one furthest from the door. It has a gun in it. If things go ill for us, go below deck. If you need the gun, then use it.’
‘But I don’t know how . . . ’
‘You will. If the time comes, you’ll work it out. And if you have to use it, then use it. You can worry about the rights and wrongs of it afterwards. Do you understand?’
Marianne nodded mutely. She had always known the expedition might turn out to be dangerous, but now that she was actually experiencing danger she found it more frightening than she had anticipated. Not that she wished she hadn’t come, she knew she could not have stayed behind. But she felt the chill of fear and her hands were damp.
She made her way closer to the cabin access. If anything should happen . . . She could see the rowing boats clearly now. There was a woman sitting in the bow of the first, a young woman. Adèle? She caught a glint of dark hair in the moonlight. Yes! Adèle. And she was cradling something. Marianne’s heart was in her mouth. Adèle had someone laid across her knee. A man. As the boat drew closer, Marianne saw it was Kit. But was he – no, he was moving. He was alive! And behind Adèle and Kit – he was there! Her heart leapt as she saw Lord Ravensford by the light of the moon, his muscles working as he pulled at the oars. Behind him the two crewmen shared a second pair of oars, whilst in the stern sat Figgs, levelling a pistol over his arm and firing at the second boat, which was now almost touching the first.
Captain Gringe strode the deck giving orders and the crew set to with a will, readying the ship so that as soon as Lord Ravensford’s group was on board, the ship could set sail. The rowing boat reached them, and Marianne barely registered a splash as willing hands reached down to take Kit, who groaned as he was half-lifted, half-pulled on board. Adèle followed, with Figgs behind her and then the crewmen. Lord Ravensford lifted his own pistol and covered the others as they scrambled onto the ship, then he, too, swarmed up the rope ladder and the ship set sail as the second rowing boat almost reached its side.
The sails bellied out in the wind and the ship began to move. Marianne’s heart surged as she saw Lord Ravensford safely back on board and then a groan caught her attention and she was lost in her concern for Kit. She moved across the deck towards him and knelt down beside him. He was clutching his leg, around which was wrapped a blood-soaked bandage.
‘How did it happen?’ she asked quickly, her voice business-like. She could not afford to feel any emotion until she had dealt with Kit’s wound.
‘A . . . bayonet,’ said Kit from between gritted teeth. ‘Oh, God, I must be feverish,’ he said to Adèle. ‘I think I can see Marianne.’
‘You can see me,’ said Marianne, putting her hand soothingly to Kit’s head. ‘I came over with Lord Ravensford. I knew you’d been hurt. I’m here to help.’
‘He . . . let you . . .?’ said Kit, struggling to sit up and his eyes sparking with anger despite his pain.
‘I stowed away. He had no choice. Now lie still.’
Kit sank back. The effort of escaping had used up his last reserves of strength.
‘He will be all right, yes?’ asked Adèle anxiously, as she sat cradling Kit’s head in her lap.
‘I hope so,’ said Marianne. It was too soon for her to tell, and besides, she was not a doctor. She did not want to give rise to false hope. ‘But for now, we need to get him down to the cabin. I need to re-dress his wound, and he’ll rest easier there. Figgs,’ she called, turning her head, ‘can you help Henri carry Kit down to the cabin?’
Figgs nodded, crossing the deck towards her. Marianne stood up – and then heard a cry: ‘Marianne!’
She turned to see Lord Ravensford leaping between her and a swarthy Frenchman who had just appeared on the deck. She froze. So that was the meaning of the splash she had heard. One of the Frenchmen in the pursuing rowing boat had jumped overboard, striking out for the ladder which still dangled from the side of the ship. He must have climbed it swiftly whilst the crew were occupied with sailing the ship and whilst the rescue party was absorbed in getting on board. She herself had been absorbed in Lord Ravensford and Kit.
And now he was taking the pistol from between his teeth; levelling it; pointing it straight at her; and Lord Ravensford was throwing himself between her and the gun and it was going off . . .
There was a flash of light and a loud retort, and . . .
‘Luke!’ Forgetting everything else, Marianne ran over to him, her hair streaming in the wind, kneeling down beside him, hardly seeing him through sudden, useless, tears. She wiped them away angrily and looked at the red patch steadily growing on the arm of his shirt. ‘Thank God,’ she sobbed as two of the crew overpowered the Frenchman. ‘It’s just his shoulder. Oh, thank God.’
Biting back her tears she set to work. ‘The bullet’s gone straight through, but he’s losing a lot of blood.’ She stanched it with her fichu, which she rapidly unfastened from around her neck, and then said, ‘Carry him down to the cabin,’ to Henri and Figgs.
They nodded and obeyed her, carrying him down to the cabin and laying him on one of the bunks.
‘Luckily it’s only a flesh wound,’ said Marianne, examining his shoulder with deft hands. ‘Here,’ she said, giving him some drops of laudanum, ‘this is for the pain.’ Then, working quickly and efficiently, she cleaned the wound before binding it tightly.
Lord Ravensford, who had endured this with closed e
yes, now opened them again. Despite his pain there was the ghost of a smile playing round his lips. She smiled in return, a smile of relief, and stroked his brow with her hand. ‘I don’t know what you have to smile about,’ she said gently, hoping to make him feel better by treating the matter lightly and teasing him, although she was shaking inside in reaction to events.
‘Don’t you?’ He looked straight into her eyes and gave a satisfied smile. ‘You called me Luke.’
Their eyes locked, and there was a moment of complete understanding between them. It was as though all the barriers had been removed, and they communed on some deep level where words were of no importance. Then, leaning forward, she kissed him on his forehead.
‘It seems you were right to come along,’ he said, watching her with smiling eyes.
The Earl Next Door Page 15