by Kit Donner
“Only,” she spat, “Londringham got in the way of my plans and removed you before the Runners arrived. Damn the man!” Her venom filled the stagnant coach air, causing Patience’s stomach to churn disagreeably.
“And what about Captain Kilkennen? Did you love him?” The bewilderment of using another human was evident in her query.
“Another innocent, even if he is a good captain. I easily stole his papers one afternoon and sent the information across the Channel so my compatriots were ready for his ship. He almost died too, but he, like his friend, seems to be very clever at escaping death.”
Patience forced the words from her tight throat. “And me? What are your plans for me?”
“You’ll learn soon enough. If Londringham is not persuaded by your letter, he and his men will be searching for you; and keep away from the coast, where tonight we have planned a little surprise for your fellow countrymen.”
Patience’s mouth dropped open. “Tonight is the invasion?” she asked in a faint, horrified whisper.
Colette nodded. “It really doesn’t matter if you know the truth, because you won’t be there to see it. Such a pity.”
Patience turned her eyes away from Colette’s triumphant, sick gaze. Nothing would stand in this woman’s way. She was determined to destroy everyone, and no compassion made her indeed a dangerous adversary.
No, Patience suddenly determined, with her back straight. She wasn’t going to die with Bryce thinking her a traitor. She would escape and find him. She wiped her damp hands along her muslin dress. Something would come to her, a plan of sorts. Perhaps she didn’t have Colette’s diabolic training, but her brother James had taught her that good does triumph over evil, and Patience knew she had good on her side.
Four hours later, Bryce and Keegan changed their horses for ones obtained at the inn in New Folke. After speaking with the innkeeper, Bryce was sure they were on the women’s trail and only two hours behind them. He was disturbed to learn that the innkeeper had seen only one woman, but Bryce refused to believe any harm had befallen Patience, until he had seen it with his own eyes. He nodded grimly to Kilkennen, who had yet to betray his own thoughts concerning his lover, Colette. Both knew the name of the villain who sought to lead the invasion on English shores.
Patience and Colette jerked to attention when they heard a knock on the top of their carriage.
“Soon, I shall be back in France. Your part of the journey has come to an end,” Colette told her in a very businesslike manner, glancing out the carriage window.
Patience’s senses heightened in deadly awareness. “My part of the journey? You’re leaving me somewhere along the London road?” not bothering to control the tremor of hope in her voice.
With lips pursed, Colette responded, “It’s not as simple as that. I’ve acquaintances waiting for you near Winchelsea.” She rubbed her gloved hands together in anticipation of the night to come.
Patience swallowed hard. Who did Colette have waiting for her? She knew these acquaintances spelled danger. In her best composed manner, she asked, “Since I am being left out of the festivities tonight, might I inquire where your ships will be landing?” She wasn’t ready to surrender.
Colette’s eyes narrowed slightly before replying. “Although I’ve never made it a practice to reveal pertinent information, especially to the enemy, soon you won’t be in any position to sabotage my plans. Tonight should be a fine calm night for sailing. In a few hours, my men will have taken control of several bonfires along the coast between Winchelsea and Dungeness, from where we will signal our ships for landing at Hastings. Some of your fine Englishmen have already revealed where your infantry’s positions are along this stretch of land.
“Since we control the ‘signals,’ no one will be alerted to our invasion, until it is too late.” Her manner was light and easy, belying the seriousness of their conversation.
Patience studied the Frenchwoman for several minutes before asking softly, “When will your revenge be complete? When will you stop this madness? Will there ever be too much blood on your hands or your conscience?”
Colette could only laugh at Patience’s naïve questions and shake her head. “You are indeed an innocent. I was very lucky when early in my life someone taught me to live for a purpose. Take that purpose away, and I shall die.”
Patience could think of no reply, and thought Colette’s justification insane. Perhaps James could have taught this wronged woman about forgiveness and a grander destiny than the evil and harshness of a dark world learned at the knees of her satanic master.
The carriage continued to rattle on into the night, but the road grew more rocky and bumpy, alerting Patience that they were off the main road. Several miles later, the coachmen brought their horses to a heaving halt. Colette quickly swept out of the coach with a warning for Patience not to move or she would be shot.
A meaningless threat, Patience thought, considering her death was imminent. Slowly the tears she had held back slipped down her cheeks. In her distress, she bit her lip to keep her anguish silent, afraid to alert the guards outside. Her whole body shook with an invisible pain, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if to hold in her grief.
She cried because she would never see her brothers again, or Sally or Lem or Martha or Melenroy, all her friends. But mostly she saved her anguish for Bryce, at the thought of never seeing him again. Never feeling his lips caress hers, never again knowing his touch that had branded her heart, body, and soul. “Unfair,” she whispered in a litany. How could evil win? This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Then her chills started. She couldn’t get warm, covered only by her thin pelisse. As her breathing became more labored she leaned back against the carriage seat, eyes now dry, and tried to compose herself.
The door at last opened, and a deep, harsh voice instructed her to climb down. She slid awkwardly to the ground, her feet unsteady beneath her after their long ride. She balanced on the carriage door while she gained her perspective and gasped in horror.
They were in a graveyard. Old gravestones dotted the ground like the sticks in her tomato patch. A slight breeze amplified the silence of the night, marred by low talking among the Frenchmen and restless horses. The graveyard sprawled before her, with modest and magnificent stones alike, in an eerie, silent, forgotten resting place with high weeds their only keepers.
Not far away, she could hear the Channel waters meeting the shore, but the night blurred the separation between sea and sky. The five men that had accompanied the carriage stood in a small circle, ever watching the play about to begin.
Her eyes widened at the mounds of dirt on either side of a large hole and at the wooden coffin that lay next to it. Could this be Colette’s plan? Would this be her gravesite?
She felt nauseated and gripped the carriage door handle until it marked her tender skin. With only a few moments left to live, Patience was determined not to make it easy for any of them. Stoically she turned to the small group of men and asked, “So, on whose conscience will be my death?”
No one moved, no one answered her. The quiet was deafening, even the forest animals quit their activities when they realized humans were nearby.
Colette’s men only looked over to their leader, who called to Patience, “Come over here.”
But Patience remained stubbornly where she was and missed Colette nodding to one of her men because suddenly she felt another hard pistol in her back, pushing her toward the grave where Colette and Lord Londringham’s former butler, Mr. Gibbs, and another awaited her.
There was something to be said that in her last moments on earth, Patience was to see the very people she hated most in this world. And hate was a word foreign to her vocabulary.
Colette watched her approach the open grave. When Patience was a few feet away, she announced, “We must be leaving. Mr. Gibbs and Snively will see to you.” She almost hesitated. “I wish I could be sorry that an innocent like you must die, but it simply is not in the plans for you to live. Y
ou have served your purpose.”
She started to walk away but Patience’s words stopped her midstride. “Your plans will fail because Lord Londringham will stop you, like he has done before. And, Colette, I have it on good authority that you will pay dearly for your sins—in Hell.”
Colette turned and looked at Patience with almost admiration in her eyes. “Good and evil, could it be that simple?”
The carriage and riders soon were on their way back to the main road.
Patience quickly turned back to the two men when Mr. Gibbs sneered, his bulbous face red with the effort, his own gun unsteady with joyous emotion. “See how the mighty have fallen. We have you all to ourselves. No one can save you, not even his lordship himself. No one knows where to find you.”
His friend Snively chuckled in glee, and spit near Patience’s skirts.
She twitched not a hair, nor altered her expression after hearing his ugly, ominous words. They certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing her cower. She was going to be brave when she went to meet her maker, at least that was her plan before she hitched her skirts, turned, and ran in the other direction, surprising her captors. Bullets pocked the ground as she ran but her enterprise proved short-lived.
Unfortunately, the small, wiry Snively managed to dive for her skirts, pulling her down with him to the ground. She fought with the little man determinedly, aiming to claw his face or give him a swift, hard kick, especially when she saw that distinctive leer in the small eyes peering so close to her face.
“Snively, this chit is too much trouble. The sooner we bury her, the sooner we can join the others,” Gibbs told his friend, while throwing his companion off Patience and pulling the young woman to her feet. In short shrift, he had her hands tied behind her back and around her waist. They hauled Patience kicking and pulling across the graveyard, screaming to wake the ground’s residents.
They finally managed to tie her feet but not before Snively had received a grand kick in the eye and Mr. Gibbs a knee in the groin. Unfortunately, her efforts were rewarded by their calloused, harsh hands dumping her into the open coffin. Patience continued to plead for mercy, but they ignored her, both men intent on finishing their ugly task. They pushed her prone into the coffin before placing the lid on top. Nails pounded into the wooden sides and top, and sealed her fate.
Patience couldn’t fight the panic. It was her nightmare, and it was coming true. She was being buried alive. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. There was no escape. Her thoughts were soon drowned out by the loud thud, thud, plop, dribble, dribble of dirt raining on her wooden eternal bed. Patience began her last prayers, asking God to forgive her sins and asking him to take her gently from this world into his. And to watch over Bryce and her brothers, and Lem, and Sally, and…
Chapter 30
The General watched the proceedings with great interest. He and his other two companions had just arrived in the cemetery, ready to begin work, when the activity at the far end of the plots caught his attention. He motioned to Harry. “Our first one. This should be easy. We need to ’urry them away, so we won’t ’ave to do all that undiggin’.”
Henry nodded, his broken teeth in a grin, for he had followed the General’s thoughts. “Perhaps we can scare them away?”
The General chuckled at the idea. From their vantage point behind an elaborate statue of the Greek god Mercury, they could see two men, one husky, medium height and the other a scrawny, short fellow flinging dirt on some poor sod’s last resting place.
“Oooooooooooo Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” Together, their voices rose in a ghostly, hallowed moan, sure to raise the hackles of any mortals nearby.
The grave diggers stopped and listened. All was quiet. They resumed their work.
Louder. “Oooooooooooooooooooo Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
The grave robbers sent up even more ferocious howls as vengeful ghosts prepared to walk the earth. The prospect of meeting immortals hastened the grave diggers’ departure.
The General clapped his hands together delightedly. “’urry, boys, lots of useless gold teeth to be found tonight. Useless to their owner.” He chuckled merrily at his own small wit. They scurried like the rats they were to the open grave. Henry and Louis lifted the light coffin easily out of the grave and brushed the remnants of inhibiting dirt from the oblong box.
The General snapped his teeth together, always excited in the moment of his success. With a cool breeze behind them, they made short work of the lid using a crowbar.
A woman. They collectively sighed, hesitant to disturb a female’s grave.
That was before she moved.
Her eyes fluttered open and all three would-be grave robbers screamed and jumped back.
Alive! Was she a ghost? Henry and Bear sank to their knees and watched in amazement as Patience hauled herself with difficulty into a sitting position, staring incredulously and jubilantly at her rescuers. The General had fainted dead away.
Patience sat comfortably next to Bear in the sparse grass, their shallow lamp providing a warming light to the night. And life. She held a whiskey bottle in her hand, generously offered by the big man. All three comrades, the General having regained consciousness, continued to stare at Patience as if she had just risen from the dead. Which is exactly how she felt. Over and over she praised them and called them her saviors. This, of course, after sending several prayers to God thanking him that he didn’t need her quite yet.
She shook her head in amazement. “How came you to be here? Were you following our carriage? Did you intend to rob me again?”
The men looked slightly confused at this reference.
“Well, never mind. It matters not. The important thing is that I’ll be forever in your debt and that you saved me even when performing your nefarious little work.” She unsteadily rose to her feet, breathing deeply several times, unable to get enough of the fresh air back into her lungs.
“Much better, I’m definitely feeling stronger. I must still ask for your assistance.” She cocked her head to look expectantly at the pale men who had hastily risen to their feet. “Is your carriage nearby? I should like to borrow it. You see, I must stop the invasion,” she told them matter-of-factly.
The General stepped up to her when he heard this, looking at her queerly. “Ye were the one on Winchelsea road that night, claim’n the French were com’n, just as we were about to light’n yer valuables. Why is it that ye are always on about the French invad’n? We ’aven’t seen ’em yet, ’ave we, boys?” He smirked to his cohorts, who watched this little scene.
Patience hesitated, pondering how best to convince them she spoke the truth. “I know this is rather hard to believe, but truly, the woman who brought me here is a French spy. She’s preparing to signal to the French ships that it’s safe to land on English soil. I must try and stop her.”
From the looks on the faces of the General and Henry, her words rang false.
But Bear stepped forward and told her, “No carriage, miss, but you may have my horse.”
She tried to control her shudder of revulsion at the news of her only form of transportation and hope. “Ah, thank you, that is very kind of you. If you will show me to your horse and point me to the Winchelsea road, I would greatly appreciate it.”
Bear held the reins with one big hand and boosted Patience up with the other. His mare shifted nervously with the new light weight on top of her. Patience patted the pretty mare’s neck, leaning over to coo assurances in the horse’s ear. The reins tense in her hands, she listened carefully to Bear’s directions, then turned the mare, strangely named Kitten, toward the road. One tap of her heels sent the mare flying, and Patience hung on for dear life. Surely God had not saved her in order that she might break her neck on the back of a horse?
At the gallop of her mighty hooves, Patience thought, “Kitten” was a misnomer if ever I’ve heard one. Soon Patience found the rhythm in Kitten’s gait, and their reckless ride became a bit more tolerable as the wind whipped at her hair and
skirts.
She had to find help. She headed in what she hoped was a southerly direction, where she remembered something about barracks outside of Winchelsea. Perhaps someone there would believe her story.
The night mocked her journey, giving up no secrets of her whereabouts. When she reached the main road, hoping she headed due south, she pushed her mare faster. Patience marveled at staying the ride and not lying in a ditch.
Riding astride was infinitely safer even if her petticoats were on display. The cool night air did little to diminish the dampness from her exertions and fear that she might be too late. She didn’t know if she had any prayers left that would be answered.
After several miles, cottages began appearing along the dusty road. The village must be near.
When she noticed the church tower in Winchelsea, she breathed a sigh of relief that she was almost there. She continued to race through Town, hoping to find the soldiers’ barracks directly beyond.
She finally slowed Kitten, sawing hard on the reins, both mare and woman breathing hard. Immediately she heard shouts and footsteps running. With the small reservoir of energy left, she lifted her right leg over the mare’s flank and slid all the way to the ground, landing in the dust on her bottom. Someone close behind her grabbed her under the armpits and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet.
A young man in a uniform with a rifle wielded expertly strode forward between the small gathering of soldiers surrounding Patience in curiosity. A woman in their midst with dark hair swirling in knotted curls around her shoulders must have caught their interest.
In an urgent, breathless voice, she told them, “I must speak to your commander at once. For the security of our country.” She heard the collective hushed intake of breath at her words.