Authors: Jeanne Savery
“You!” he snarled.
“We meet again. Good day, Miss Cole. May we be of service?”
A response muffled by the dirty hand covering her mouth indicated yes, and probably, thought Frederick, in language unsuited to her sex and station. Her companion, the lovely Françoise, stared over the grubby hand of another ruffian, her eyes wide with fright.
“You ... you...”
“You repeat yourself. Release the women.”
“They are mine,” howled the comte.
“They are not,” asserted Frederick sternly.
A crowd gathered as the cloudy sky turned blood red under the setting of the sun. The French fop glanced around, a hunted expression on his face. He stared at Frederick, didn’t like the Englishman’s composure or his height or the strength of the arm holding a bared sword stick casually at rest.
“You interfere once too often,” snarled the would-be villain. “I will not forget.” He made an abrupt movement and, so quickly were they freed, the ladies staggered, would have fallen, had Yves not reached steadying hands their way. The comte clambered into his carriage, shouting orders to his men. In moments the coach, faced to move from the yard as soon as he had the women aboard, left without the ladies.
“You have made a dreadful enemy, my lord.” Françoise’s eyes filled with admiration.
“How did that evil man manage to capture you this time?” Yves asked and led Frani toward the inn.
Miss Cole, hesitating only a moment, placed her fingertips on Frederick’s offered arm. “We sink deeper and deeper into your debt, Sir Frederick.” She glanced at the carriage horse from which he’d dismounted. “Did something happen to your chaise?”
“Yes.” He told her of the accident and was reminded to send help. Once he’d arranged for the rescue, he probed for information. “I’m as interested as Yves in how the comte managed this latest outrage.”
Harriet sighed. “I don’t
know
how he could have entered our rooms and captured us. As you well know, Sir Frederick, we’ve been closely guarded ever since you met us in Switzerland. The only thing possible is that he managed to bribe Madame’s servants. Somehow.”
It turned out she was wrong. Madame’s servants were discovered just then by a serving-wench who set up a screech. They’d been bound and gagged and stuffed into a storage room at the back of the inn and were beginning to recover from some drug. A new babble of voices exclaiming and disclaiming roused the inn all over again.
Sir Frederick watched as Harriet soothed the servants and sent them to their various beds. “Is that wise, Miss Cole? You need their protection.”
“We needed it before, and they did not provide it. Not that I blame them. Why should they fear wine offered in my name? I’ve ordered it for them in the past after a long stage—not that this one was long, of course. The comte must have had us watched carefully to know my habits.”
“And now?”
“Frani and I will retire to our room and stay there. With the door barred.”
A new commotion erupted at the top of the stairs. “I
will
go down. I
will
know what has happened.”
The arrogant French voice was unmistakable. Françoise, who had been breathlessly relating the whole to Yves, swung toward the sound. Lifting her skirts slightly, the girl ran up the narrow stairs. “Grand-mere, you should not have left your bed. You know you should not.” Sir Frederick eyed the nervous landlord, noted shifty eyes sunk in plump cheeks and debated with himself how deeply mired the man was in the plot to capture Françoise. He turned to Miss Cole and speaking in clear French, loudly enough the landlord had to overhear, he said, “Monsieur de Bartigues and I will order
our
men to guard your rooms.
They
will not be tricked, I assure you. You may sleep in peace. I think it best if you retire now and stay closely protected in your rooms.”
“Thank you, Sir Frederick.” Harriet held out her hand. “We are indeed in your debt.”
“And,” he said, deep crinkles slashing a pattern at the corners of his eyes, “you wish it were not so. Do not think of it, Miss Cole. Any man would have come to your rescue.” He thought of that scene in the yard where many milled around the struggling women but not one had lifted a finger. He knew she was thinking the same thing. “We will see you in the morning,” he added, “and discuss our next move in this, our own personal odyssey.”
“Madame is unwell,” Harriet said with a frown. “The journey has tired her, and she should not attempt a crossing in this weather. “However that may be, I have no way of stopping her if she decides to do so.” She noticed he still held her hand and, blushing, jerked it from his loose grip. “Good evening, Sir Frederick.”
He watched as she too disappeared up the stairs, her movements quick and graceful—and revealing now and again a trim little ankle! The silence was broken by Yves. “Well!”
“Is it well, Yves?”
“
No it is not.
How can that man continue to frighten that shy little bird so badly? How can he behave in such a dastardly fashion to such a sweet child?”
“Shy? Sweet? You refer to Mademoiselle de Beaupre?” Sir Frederick ignored the glower his friend turned on him and, throwing back his head, laughed heartily.
Yves’ expression didn’t lighten. If anything his anger deepened. “She was frightened.”
Sir Frederick sobered. “Both women were frightened. Badly frightened. Yves, we must see our valets guard them well. Too, I believe we must keep an eye on that plaguey landlord. He played some part in all this, I think.”
Yves looked much struck by the notion. “He
must
have. There were too many inn servants out there ignoring the situation and only his orders to turn a blind eye to a kidnapping could have had it that way.”
“My thought exactly.”
Yves and Sir Frederick spoke with their men, who arrived just then with the last carriage and the luggage. After refreshing their travel weary bodies with a glass of brandy—Sir Frederick’s private stock which had made a timely arrival with the baggage coach and
not
that provided by the inn—they returned to the ground floor and followed their host to where a meal was laid out for them. “Now, mine host—” Sir Frederick spoke languidly, his eyes on the cold meats and sauce boats, the thick soup and bread, “—you will sit down and taste each and every item on that table.”
The man blanched, backed toward the door.
“But I insist!” Sir Frederick forced the tubby little man into a chair and served him from each bowl, sauce boat and platter on the table. “Eat.”
Sweat spouted in tiny beads on the man’s forehead. “My lord, you cannot make me.”
“Eat.”
The landlord eyed the small pistol which had suddenly appeared in the large tanned hand, and the sweat ran down one side of his fat face. “I did not wish to do it.”
“It?”
“I was ordered ... I had to obey...”
“The comte
ordered
you to, umm, add special seasoning to our food?”
“He is powerful. He is terrible. He insisted...”
“Just when did this powerful terrible comte insist?”
“He ... He...”
“He returned to the inn?”
“He returned, my lord.” The pistol nudged pudgy flesh. “He returned and made me...”
“Or paid thee?” The man blanched. “You are a greedy blackguard. Eat.”
“No. No, I
cannot
.”
“Yves, I think you must feed him.”
“No. No, no, no.”
“But you would have had us eat.” A thought crossed his mind, and Frederick’s pistol pushed, not gently, against the side of the man’s head. “What of the food sent up to the women?”
“It is all right...” the man’s voice rose to a thin screech, his skin so grey Frederick thought him near to fainting. “I would not poison women. No, no. I would not.”
“But will it, perhaps, put them into a deep sleep?”
“No. Nothing. I swear it.”
Sir Frederick let his pistol hand fall to his side. “Clear this away and see it is a danger to no one.” Then he smiled. It wasn’t a
nice
smile. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “I’ve a better notion. Serve it to
mon ami, le comte
.”
“I
couldn’t
.”
“I think,” said Frederick gently, “that you could. If you do not, you will, mine host, eat it yourself.”
“He will ruin me.”
“Ruin or death. Which do you prefer?”
“It will not kill me. I did not,” he seemed to be trying to convince himself, “put in enough to kill.” The man looked at the food, reached hesitantly for a spoon.
Yves stared. “You would rather suffer agony from whatever poison you added to our food, than serve it to the man who ordered it and deserves to suffer?”
“I would. He is evil. You do not understand what he would do to me.”
“That’s enough,” Sir Frederick said when the man raised the first trembling bite to his mouth. “
I
am not evil.”
The man seemed to disintegrate. He slipped from the chair and groveled at Frederick’s feet. “I will serve you properly. The comte need not know you ate. He will think you fasted, not trusting the food ... or that you absently fed a bite to the dog there,” he pointed to where a small pooch lay before the fire unnoticed, “and were warned when the animal became ill. Yes, that is what I will say. He will believe me.” The man was babbling. In disgust Sir Frederick walked away. Slowly the innkeeper climbed to his feet, pasty-faced, and wavered toward the door. “I will serve you myself, m’lord. And I will taste what I bring so you may trust me.” He backed, still babbling out the door, closing it behind his exit.
hat night Frederick slept with a pistol under his pillow, but he’d no need of it. He’d finished shaving when, early the next morning, he received a message that the comtesse wished to speak with him. Not bothering with breakfast, he dressed quickly. About to leave for the assignation with Madame, Frederick turned back and shook Yves awake. “Madame requires words with me. I will return shortly, but stay awake, my friend. I do not trust our acquaintance, le comte.”
Sir Frederick bowed when brought into Madame’s presence by a tall, thin, grim looking maid, one of the pair of sisters who had been in Madame’s service for many years. “Madame?”
“Sir Frederick. Again we are in your debt.”
He waved a hand. “Please. It was nothing. I would know how I may serve you now.” His eyes noted the palsied shaking of the hand gripping the ever present cane. Her face, which had worn age-wrinkled but healthy looking skin on first meeting, seemed shrunken, the skin tightening around the magnificent bones of her skull. It had a faintly yellow tinge to it, too, which he did not like. He knew she was holding herself stiffly erect by willpower alone and moved toward her, seating himself after receiving permission. He laid his hand over the one on the cane. “Madame, please. Do not exert yourself so.” She relaxed enough the back of the chair helped support her, but kept her chin raised. She stared at him for long moments before stating, “You mean my Frani no harm.”
“I mean her no harm. My only wish is to help all of you.”
“Yet Miss Cole reads your reputation as such that you will wish to seduce my granddaughter.”
Frederick chuckled. “What it is to have a reputation. At one time, I certainly might have done so. She is just the sort of lively minx that appealed to my grass-time. That has passed, Madame. I swear to you I have no evil designs on her person or reputation.” He frowned. “But the very reputation which bothers our Miss Cole will make it difficult for me to help once we’ve crossed the Channel.”
Shrewd eyes held his, the steady look disconcerting even to one as strong-minded as Frederick. “I see, I think. If you escort my granddaughter to her English grandfather, he would not believe you had not touched her.”
“You speak bluntly, Madame. You also speak truth.”
“But you
would
help?”
“I would help in any way you can conceive.”
“You
will
escort us.” He didn’t speak. “Yes, you will escort us, and you will pretend to be enamored of Miss Cole. If that proud old man sees you are after the other, he will believe my Françoise safe.”
“And Miss Cole’s reputation?” A bleak expression chilled his features. “What of that, Madame?”
She shrugged. “Miss Cole is a sensible woman who loves our Françoise almost as much as I do. She has been a true friend to the child. Once this is over I will set up an annuity for her support, and she need never go into service again.”
“Yes.” Frederick held the old woman’s eyes, his voice stern. “She can live quite out of the way, never meeting those of her own station and, thanks to loneliness or a need for love, actually become what you would make her, in reputation, thanks to me!” He waved a hand, a sharp dismissive gesture. “I think not, Madame. Another plan, please.”
Those shrewd eyes narrowed. “You are rather vehement in Miss Cole’s defense, Sir Frederick.”
“Is that a crime?”