Читать книгу His Forbidden Liaison - Joanna Maitland - Страница 7

Ben dropped his valise, groaned and put a hand to his head. Even the weak spring sunshine must be too strong for him, for he was trying to shade his eyes.

‘Don’t expect any sympathy from me, Ben,’ Jack said. ‘In this part of the world, the wine is remarkably strong and pure hangover juice. It’s nothing like the fine champagnes we were served in Vienna.’

Ben groaned again. ‘I’ll know better next time.’

‘And perhaps, next time, you’ll be awake enough to help. If that French woman hadn’t been so handy with her candlestick, I could have been sliced up like a prime ham.’ He smiled softly to himself at the memory of his Amazon. A pity they’d had to leave the inn so early. He would have welcomed a chance to see her again, if only to ask after her well-being. And finally to see the colour of her eyes! ‘That ruffian certainly meant business,’ he added, forcing himself to put the fair French woman from his thoughts.

‘Yes, I’m sorry. What will happen now? You don’t have to stay to give evidence against those fellows, do you?’

Jack shook his head. ‘No. The innkeeper is used to such starts, it seems. He said he would deal with them. No need for me, or the lady, to remain. I must say I am glad of it. If I’d had to give evidence against those two, I might have been forced to say more than is wise. Indeed, I think it’s best if we leave Marseilles immediately.’ He bent to pick up Ben’s valise as well as his own. He might not offer words of sympathy, but he could provide practical help for his friend’s pounding head.

‘But aren’t we supposed to find out about the Bonapartists in Marseilles? Wellington suspected—’

‘And he was right. I went out on to the quay earlier, while you were still snoring.’ He grinned wickedly and started slowly along the harbour side. ‘There’s lots of talk about the Emperor and how he promised to return with the violets. Lots of treasonous muttering against King Louis, too. Must say I was surprised at how open it was. They knew I was near enough to overhear, but they didn’t bother to lower their voices.’

‘Sounds bad.’

‘Yes. There are always troublemakers on any dockside, even at home, but Englishmen would have taken care not to be overheard. I had the impression that these Frenchmen are beyond caring, that they see Bonaparte as a last, desperate hope.’

Ben shook his head and made a noise in his throat.

Jack could not be sure if the moan was a result of Ben’s hangover or his concern about the risks of rebellion. ‘Best if we make oust to the coaching inn. There must be some kind of diligence to take us north, especially this early in the day. And if the coach is full of passengers, we may glean some useful information by listening to what they have to say.You’d be best to go back to being mute, I suppose.’

Ben nodded. They both knew it was safer that way.

‘Never mind, old fellow.’ Jack grinned suddenly. ‘Shouldn’t be for long, and then—’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Ben leant across to take his bag from Jack’s hand. ‘It’s for the mission, remember?’

‘Ah, good. You’re feeling better.’

Ben nodded again. This time he smiled. ‘Let’s go.’

They quickened their pace along the side of the harbour. The ship that had brought them from Genoa was still lying at anchor, waiting for the tide. Her decks were swarming with Italian sailors. One or two of them shouted a greeting. Jack waved a hand, but did not pause. There was too much to do. ‘We should be able to—’

A loud shout stopped them in their tracks. Jack spun on his heel. A group of burly men had appeared from the inn where they had lodged overnight. Two of them had dirty grey bandages round their heads, and they were pointing at Jack and Ben. Jack gasped. ‘Those are the two ruffians from last night.’

Ben looked back. ‘The men with them don’t look anything like constables, either.’

As they watched, the group of Frenchmen split into two. The two bandaged men remained by the inn door, but their fellows were striding up the quayside towards Jack and Ben. A sudden shaft of watery sunlight caught the gleam of knife blades against dark clothing.

‘Dear God! The landlord must have been in league with them, and now they’re after us. I don’t like the odds, with five of them and two of us.’

‘We’d better run for it.’Valise in hand, Ben started for the end of the harbour.

‘You go on. I’ll follow.’Jack was digging into his pocket as Ben took to his heels. Then he yelled at the sailors on the Genoese ship. ‘Hey, you fellows! This is for you, with our thanks.’ He flung the handful of coins high in the air, right into the path of their pursuers. Without waiting to see the reaction from the ship, he turned and hared after Ben.

Behind him, Jack heard shouts in a mixture of languages. The sailors must be scrambling on to the quayside and fighting the Frenchmen for the coins. He and Ben had time to escape. They would—

Ahead of him, Ben had stopped and turned, foolishly waiting for Jack to catch up with him. A moment later, the sharp crack of a pistol echoed round the harbour. Ben cried out and fell to the ground. He had been shot!

In seconds, Jack had caught up with Ben and was hauling him back to his feet. He was conscious, though very pale. He had dropped his valise and was clutching at his shoulder. Jack put an arm round his waist. ‘Come on. Let me take your weight. We can get away.’

Ben gritted his teeth and did his best to run.

‘I will mind the horses, Guillaume, if you fetch the provisions.’

‘But, mistress, it’s not safe to leave you here alone with the coach and all the silk. You know what happened last night.’

Marguerite shook her head. ‘It will not happen again. Look.’ She took a step forward so that the folds of her skirt moved. They had been concealing her hand, and the pistol she had taken from the coach. ‘No one will try anything. If anyone should accost me, I will shoot him. Now, fetch the provisions, Guillaume, and be as quick as you can. We will have precious little time to stop on the road, and even you cannot manage without food.’

He nodded and hurried across the Place du Cul de Boeuf to the baker’s on the corner of the Canebière, the long, wide street leading up from the port to the main part of the city.

Marguerite sighed and buried the pistol more deeply among her skirts. She refused to be afraid, even though they were still all too close to the port and the ruffians who frequented it. Last night had been dangerous, terrifying even, but it had been her own fault for sleeping without a guard. She would not make such a mistake again. On another occasion, she might not be lucky enough to have a gentleman come to her aid. He had been most courageous, launching himself into the fray with no thought for his own safety. And covered by only a thin bed sheet, to boot! She should have been embarrassed, of course, but she had been too intent on dealing with the attackers.

Now she remembered that her rescuer’s naked torso had seemed shapely and well muscled, like a classical statue. She fancied his hair had been dark. And he was tall, too. But what she remembered most clearly was his voice, its strong, rich tone inspiring confidence and helping her to overcome her terror. She would treasure the memory of that voice.

It was a pity she had not had a chance to thank him properly, or even to ask his name. Everything had happened so quickly. As soon as both men were securely bound, he had disappeared to arrange for them to be taken to gaol. Marguerite had been left alone to sleep, if she could. And she had, soothed by the memory of that remarkable voice.

This morning she had rid herself of such missish fancies. As a matter of courtesy, she would have liked to seek him out, but it had been much too early. She had not left a note. How could she, for a man with no name? But she now felt more than a little guilty. It was a breach of good manners to have failed to thank him. If she ever saw him again, she would remedy that, but the chances were extremely slim. She walked thoughtfully to the leader’s head and raised her free hand to stroke his neck.

And then she heard the sound of running feet.

She tightened her hold on the butt of the pistol, and turned. Two men had rounded the corner from the Quai du Port. One, a fair-haired stranger,was leaning heavily on his darker fellow. Why, it was the gentleman who had come to her rescue just hours before! She stepped quickly away from the horses. What was happening? What should she do? The men looked to be in some distress. The fair-haired one seemed to be struggling to stay upright. Without the support of his friend, he would probably have fallen to the ground.

Marguerite knew she had to help her rescuer as he had helped her. It was a matter of honour. She owed him. She hurried forward, still gripping the pistol. ‘Sir, what is the matter?’

‘My friend has been shot,’ the darker man gasped, ‘by a gang of villains. They are just behind us.’

Marguerite did not hesitate. ‘Quickly. Inside my coach.’ She ran forward to fling open the door, scrambled inside and began throwing most of the parcels of silk to one side. ‘Lay him here.’ She pointed to the floor where the seat had been removed to make room for her stores.

The two men did not speak. They simply acted. The dark man threw his valise into the corner of the coach, then half-pushed, half-lifted his injured fellow into the space Marguerite had cleared. In seconds, he was lying on a bed of packaged silk.

‘You, too.’ She gestured urgently. There was room for both of them.

The dark man nodded and lay alongside his fellow.

Marguerite quickly heaped all the remaining packages on top of them. It was a ramshackle pile, but there was nothing to betray what was hidden underneath it. She jumped quickly to the ground and closed the door at her back. She took a deep breath, looking round. There was no one, yet, but she could hear running feet again. And this time, there were more of them. She swallowed hard, pushed the pistol more deeply within her skirts and straightened her shoulders.

She was about to move back to the horses’ heads when she noticed a bloodstain on the ground by her foot. Dear God, that would give them away! She moved to cover as much of the stain as possible with her boot, hoping the shadow of her long skirt would hide the rest. Provided she did not move—and she had no intention of doing so—the blood would not be seen. Guillaume would return soon, and then there would be two of them to outface whatever scoundrel was prepared to shoot an unarmed man in broad daylight.

She did not have long to wait. Barely seconds after she had hidden the bloodstain, five dirty and sinister-looking Frenchmen rounded the corner at a run and skittered to a stop, one of them slipping on the gravelly surface of the square. They were all looking about them suspiciously, clearly wondering where their quarry had gone. She heard disjointed words in the local thieves’ cant. She did not understand them all, but enough to make clear that the two fugitives were in real danger. As was she, for hiding them!

She pulled herself up to her full height and stared proudly at them. But if she had hoped to frighten them off, she was mistaken. Two of them muttered in low voices and then came towards her. One was openly carrying a knife.

Marguerite continued to stare loftily at them. She did not dare to move from the bloodstained spot. And she would not show fear. She had learnt that only a few hours ago. ‘Put that thing away,’ she snapped.

The knifes stopped dead and stared at her. Then, looking suddenly a little sheepish, he tucked the knife into his boot.

Marguerite waited. She had had one small victory, but there were still five of them, five men against one woman. The pistol, hard against her leg, provided some reassurance. If either of these two tried to assault her, she would shoot him.

‘We be looking for two men. Fugitives,’ the knifes said, forcing a false smile. ‘They came this way, mistress. Did you see where they went?’

‘Two men?’ Marguerite raised her eyebrows.

‘Aye,’ said the second man. ‘One dark, one fair. The fair one would be limping, and bleeding. He was shot.’

‘Shot?’ Marguerite put as much horror as she could into her voice.

‘By the constable, mistress. They be wanted, by the law.’

‘Aye,’ agreed the knifes. ‘We be deputised, by the constable. He’s too fat to run.’ The second man laughed shortly.

‘Ah. Yes, I did see two men, one helping the other. They went into the old town.’ She pointed to the maze of squalid streets that opened off the tiny square and ran the entire length of the harbour. ‘Over there.’

‘Thank ye, mistress.’

‘I doubt you’ll be able to catch them,’ Marguerite said earnestly. ‘They were some way ahead of you, and running. And in that labyrinth…’ She shrugged her shoulders.

‘True, mistress, but we be able to follow the blood trail. The fair one, he was bleeding.’He began to scan the ground for signs.

Marguerite took half a step forward. The bloodstain was completely hidden by her shadow. ‘Well, I hope you do, if they are fugitives. But I must tell you that they stopped at the corner, over there, and I think the dark man put a pad on the fair man’swum. So there may be no trail for you to follow.’ She raised her hands in the universal gesture of helplessness. ‘But if you’re quick, you may succeed.’

‘Aye,’ said the knifes. ‘Come, Jean. We must go.’ They both looked across to the narrow street Marguerite had indicated. Then, waving to their accomplices to join them, they trotted off.

Marguerite stood motionless until all five of them had disappeared into the dark and malodorous streets of the oldest quarter of Marseilles.

Ben was barely half-conscious now. Jack rather wished he would swoon completely, for he was starting to mutter and groan with the pain of his wound. Jack laid a hand gently over Ben’s mouth, trying to muffle the sound. If that did not work, he was going to have to hit him, to knock him out. It would be a terrible thing to do to a friend who already had a bullet in him. But he would do it if he had to, to prevent Ben’s English moans from betraying them.

Ben gave another long groan and went limp. Thank God, Jack thought. Let him stay that way until they were out of this dangerous coil.

He listened intently. He could hear the woman dealing most adroitly with their pursuers. She was sending them off into the warren of the old city. It was the place where any fugitive would choose to hide, of course, but she had even concocted a story as to why there would be no blood trail to follow. What a woman! Not only was she ready to confront robbers at the dead of night, she was also extremely quick-witted. Jack was not sure he would have done half as well.

He could hear the sound of the men rushing away in pursuit of their phantom quarry. The woman would come back now, and then Jack and Ben would need to find somewhere else to hide. It could not be among the harbour inns, that was for certain, for they had already been betrayed once by that route. Perhaps if—

The carriage door opened. It swayed as someone climbed in. ‘Do not move an inch.’ It was the lady’s voice, soft but strong.

The coach swayed again as the lady took her place on the bench seat.

‘Put the provisions on the floor, Guillaume,’ she said, in a slightly louder voice, ‘and then let us be off. I have had quite enough of this city, full of thieves and vagabonds. Let us show it a clean pair of heels.’

‘Yes, miss.’ It was a man’s voice, an older voice, and it was followed by the sound of the door closing.

‘Don’t move yet,’ she whispered. And then the carriage started forward. She was leaving Marseilles. And she was taking Jack and Ben with her.

Jack did as he was bid, though he worried very much for Ben. He might have lost his senses, but he would still be bleeding. There had not been time to staunch his wound, which needed to be tended. And yet the lady was right to bid them stay concealed, for those blackguards might easily catch up with the coach in the busy streets of Marseilles. And if they did, the consequences could be dire. Two able-bodied men, one of them old, against five armed ruffians.

After some minutes, he felt the coach make a sharp left turn. Peering cautiously out from among the packages, his gaze met the shifting, dappled light of a tree-lined avenue. They must be well away from the harbour now.

The coach picked up speed for a while and Jack breathed more easily. They were leaving the centre of the town. Perhaps now he could—? But then the coach slowed once more, almost to a stop. What now? He tensed, ready to defend Ben.

‘Be easy,’ she said softly. ‘We must go through the Porte d’Aix. I do not expect to be stopped.’

But what if they were? Jack listened intently, trying to make himself as small as possible. He heard a muttered exchange outside. Guillaume must be talking to the guards on the gate. Would they—?

The coach was pulling away again. They were through! Jack continued to lie motionless, however, for he did not know how far they still had to go to leave the city altogether. He took a deep breath. Yes, surely that was the smell of trees, and good moist earth? But he did not stir. He would wait for her to give the word. Gratefully he breathed in the fresh country smells. And then he realised there was something more. It was the smell of the sea.

‘Sir, I think it is safe now. We have reached the Aix road. There is nothing here but fields, and the sea beyond.’ She was starting to remove the packages of silk that lay on top of them.

Jack sat up and quickly pushed the rest away. The coach was barely a hundred yards from the shore. White-crested waves were beating in to break on the rocks. He felt his stomach heave, but he forced himself to concentrate on their escape. He was in a coach, after all, not a ship. ‘You put yourself in grave danger, ma’am.’

She dropped to her knees beside the two of them. ‘No more danger than you were in last night, sir. Now, let us see to your friend.’

She was right. For several minutes, they worked together in silence, stripping off Ben’s coat and pulling open his shirt to get at the wound. It was high in his shoulder. The shot seemed to have missed the vital organs, but there was no exit wound. It would be necessary to find a surgeon to remove the ball. She lifted her skirt and reached for her petticoat, as if about to tear off a bandage.

‘No, ma’am. There is no need. For some reason, I kept hold of my bag.’ He nodded towards the battered valise, which lay at a peculiar angle against the far door. He reached for it, pulled out his spare shirt and quickly made it into a pad to apply to Ben’s wound. Then he tied the pad in place with a makeshift bandage of his stockings. ‘Thank God he fainted.’

The lady nodded. ‘Shall we put him on the seat?’

‘I think he is probably better there on the floor, among the bales of silk,’ Jack said after a moment. ‘It would hurt him if we moved him. And, to be frank, it is easier to conceal him there.’

She thought for a moment, but then she nodded again. ‘Yes, you are right.’ She pushed herself back up on to the seat and took a handkerchief from her reticule to clean the blood from her fingers. Then she looked out of the window. The sea was no longer in sight. ‘Guillaume has made good time, even though he does not know what dangerous cargo he carries.’She gave a small, nervous laugh. ‘He will berate me when he discovers it, but never mind. I owe it to you, sir. After last night.’

Jack made Ben as comfortable as he could, adding extra parcels of silk to stop him rolling with the movement of the coach. Then he looked up at the lady.

‘Pray sit.’ She indicated the other half of the bench seat. ‘There is no need for you to remain on the floor. Not now.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Jack ran a nervy hand through his hair. Then he dived into his pocket for a handkerchief to mop his brow and clean his hands. ‘I’d wager I look as much of a ruffian as those five.’

‘I think not. You, sir, are clearly a gentleman, and they—’ She shuddered. ‘They were not.’

‘No, I—’ Jack stopped, thunderstruck, for she had taken a pistol from the seat under her skirts and was calmly returning it to the leather holster by the window. ‘A pistol, ma’am?’

‘After last night, I was prepared to use it, I may tell you. It was concealed in my skirts all the time I was dealing with those men. It gave me a degree of courage I might not otherwise have had,’ she added simply.

‘Madame,’Jack said, very seriously, trying to bow from his sitting position, ‘you have as much courage as any woman I have ever met, and I salute you for it.’

‘Thank you.’ She would not meet his eyes. ‘Thank you, Mr…?’She looked up then. Her eyes, he could see at last, were an unusual shade of blue-green, and very wide. As beautiful as the sea. And as easy to drown in. ‘I am afraid I do not know your name,’ she said quietly.

‘Nor I yours, ma’am. My name is Louis Jacques, from Paris. My poor wounded companion is a German, Christian Benn. I am escorting him to Paris, on behalf of a mutual friend.’ Jack cursed inwardly. He had been paying too much attention to the fair Amazon’s eyes, and hazarding his mission as a result. He really should have prepared their cover story with much more care. He had assumed, stupidly, that he would never have to go into detail. How wrong could he be! His brothers, Dominic and Leo, would never have been caught out in that way. They always had a plan B, and usually a plan C as well.

Jack resolved to be more prudent in future. And also to tell this lady nothing more. For all he knew, she might be a Bonapartist, in spite of the fact that she had saved them. Indeed, he should have thought of that before. Still, he had told her only his nom de guerre, and Ben’s. The mention of Paris as their destination was harmless enough. He had given away nothing of importance. He and Ben would be safe, even if she did favour the enemy, but he must say nothing more. She was a remarkable woman, and he might admire her, but he must not trust her. He could not afford to jeopardise his mission for a pair of limpid blue-green eyes.

He plastered what he hoped was a charming smile on his face, and said, in his most confiding voice, ‘We are much in your debt, ma’am, and I should be glad to know your name, if you would allow it.’

She seemed to have been taken in by that smile, for she returned it. And hers was genuine. ‘My name, sir, is Marguerite Grolier, and I am a weaver from Lyons. Which is where this coach is now going.’ She twinkled. ‘If you and your companion are bound for Paris, you will have no objection to our route, I take it?’