Amanda Scott (21 page)

“I ain’t setting foot in that thing, m’lady,” she said firmly. “We’ll be drownded certain sure.”

“Nonsense,” Meriel said weakly, gulping as she watched the bow of the boat begin to bob about as the current attempted to snatch it from the shore. Indeed, the craft seemed dangerously small to carry them all along the fast-moving river.

Fernand heaved it further up onto the bank again, then turned and disappeared into the darkness, only to reappear within seconds, carrying two oars, which he fitted carefully into the oarlocks. He had said nothing in response to Gladys’ refusal to get into the small boat, but now he loaded the portmanteaux, one in the bow, the other between the two seats. Straightening again, he turned to the women.

“We must go,” he said simply. “To wait is to invite danger.”

When Gladys balked again, Meriel said, “’Tis this or prison, Gladys, and I won’t go without you, so you needn’t think it.”

Gladys stared at her, then looked at the little craft. “We’ll be killed.”

“No,
madame
,” said Fernand calmly. “A small craft serves our purpose better than a large, more conspicuous vessel. Moreover, it moves more quickly upon the current. You will see.”

He took her elbow and urged her gently toward the boat. Meriel heard Gladys give a long sigh, but the poor woman said nothing more, merely allowing Fernand to assist her into the boat and uttering a sharp gasp when it lurched with her shifting weight.

“Bend,
madame
,” Fernand suggested in that same calm tone. “Hold to the sides as you move, else will you dampen yourself.”

Meriel heard a chuckle from her handmaiden then and knew that Fernand’s understatement had done much to reconcile Gladys to her fate. A moment later she, too, was in the boat beside Gladys, her back to the bow, and Fernand was pushing them off. For one horrifying moment she thought he meant to send them on their way alone, but at the last possible instant he pushed off with his feet, shifted his weight to his hands, and deftly swung himself into the stern seat, facing them.

When the current seized the small craft, it bobbed and weaved for several nauseating seconds before it steadied itself and began to move forward purposefully. “Gracious,” Meriel exclaimed, making an effort to keep her voice low, “we are flying.”

“The current, she moves at something more than twenty kilometers in the hour when the tide flows out at Le Havre,” Fernand explained, unshipping one oar in order to adjust their course when an eddy midstream expressed momentary determination to fling them toward the opposite bank. “She will slow for a time when the tide turns, but still we will go rapidly. But is best we not speak,
mam’zelle
,” he added after a brief pause. “The sound, she flies too well over water, and your voice is not that of a Frenchwoman. Best you should sleep if you can.”

Meriel nodded, but how she was to sleep in that tiny boat, she knew not. She could scarcely lean against Gladys, who was as tired as she was, and with the portmanteaux beneath their feet and in front of the narrow seat upon which the two of them were perched, there was little room for experimentation. At last, when exhaustion made it possible for her to ignore such things as the corner of one portmanteau digging into her ribs, and the unnatural angle in which her body found itself, she managed by stuffing her reticule into the space between to find a nearly prone position across both seat and baggage that would allow her at least to doze from time to time.

None of these little naps lasted above a few minutes or so, for just as she would begin to doze, the creak of an oar in an oarlock or an unfamiliar sound from the shore would jerk her into wakefulness again. Beside her, Gladys Peat was faring no better. At one point, exasperated, Meriel offered to take the oars from Fernand, assuring him that she had often managed a tippy coracle on far wilder rivers than the Seine.

“No,
mam’zelle
. I do not know what is this thing, a coracle—”

“A Welsh boat made mostly of hoops and hides but surprisingly reliable nonetheless,” she interposed, her smile sounding in her voice.

“Ah, then I must not doubt your ability with an oar, must I? But for you to row would be to cause comment. We have passed few other boats, and we shall likely pass fewer still as the night advances toward the dawn, but ’tis better I should keep the oars in hand. Are you sufficiently warm?”

Until he mentioned it, she had not thought of the cold. Her cloak was a warm one, but the damp chill of the river penetrated nevertheless. Only her toes and left side, the side away from Gladys Peat, were really uncomfortable. But now that he had brought the matter to her attention, she could think of little else. Mentally taking herself to task for dwelling upon what could not be helped, she assured him that she was well enough, then turned her thoughts toward London and the family, wondering if Lady Cadogan was truly finding her charges burdensome. They were a lively lot, to be sure, and her ladyship had little confidence in her ability to make them mind her. It was that lack, Meriel was certain, which gave the children to believe they could take advantage of her. No doubt one or another of them had got into a scrape by now. Really, she decided, she ought to have departed for London long since. By now the Season would be half gone, and she would not be astonished to discover that Eliza fancied herself promised to some entirely unsuitable young man or that Gwenyth and Davy had driven their aunt to distraction with their squabbles and mischief. The sooner she returned to take up her duties again, the better it would be for everyone concerned.

The breeze increased noticeably, reclaiming her thoughts to her physical discomfort. This trip was certainly nothing to compare with her earlier journey. How comfortable everything had been then, how pleasant. Then, with amusement, she recalled such details as storms at sea, a boatload of sick passengers, a shipboard assault, and a thief in the night. Odd how those matters had drifted to the back of her mind, leaving her with only pleasant memories. Breakfast on the road, fascinating conversations, her every wish seen to, her every comfort assured. Not that it would have been so, she admitted, had she followed through with her original intention to travel alone. Her regrettable experience at the inn in Rouen had proven that much. Without Sir Antony’s capable assistance, she would no doubt have suffered as much on that trip as she was suffering on this one, only for a longer period of time. The chaise would certainly still have broken down. Sir Antony had proved most useful.

A small, guilty suspicion stirred that she was not being entirely fair to Sir Antony. He had made it clear, after all, that he liked looking after her. No doubt he had enjoyed their flirtation as well. He had never attempted to kiss her again after that one time, so she flattered herself that she had managed to flirt without giving him any false notion that she would be amenable to improper advances. As the thought crossed her mind now, she sighed, conscious of a strong wish that he had kissed her again. But since the mere wish set her nerves to tingling, and since Sir Antony was doubtless interested in nothing more than mild flirtation—even, she reminded herself firmly, if she had the time or inclination for anything else—it was just as well that she would probably never see him again.

Somehow this thought, too, struck her as false. She shifted her position slightly, attempting to find comfort where there was none to be found, and bent her thoughts once more to the large, lazy, but eminently capable gentleman. She wondered what had been his thoughts upon discovering that she had left Paris. Despite what she had said to Nest, she was nearly certain he would not have gone away without first being assured of her safety. Would he be distressed to learn that she had left Paris without first discussing her plans with him? She rather thought, now that she came to dwell upon the matter at length, that he would be annoyed. A smile twitched upon her lips when she decided that what would undoubtedly annoy him the most would be the fact, when he learned of it, that she had left quite half of her wardrobe behind. That, he would say, had been careless and unnecessary. She had got her priorities wrong again, he would say. She ought better to have left her reticule behind.

By imagining such foolish scenes as this, she managed to while away the hours between Rouen and the coast so well that when the little boat suddenly bumped against the shore, she was unprepared and was nearly betrayed into a startled shriek. As it was, she managed to stifle all but a small gasp, and even this noise was sufficient to bring down a reprimand upon her head.

“Silence,
mam’zelle
,” Fernand whispered, carefully removing one oar from its oarlock in order to use it as a pole, standing up to jam it into the river bottom, then pushing with all his wiry might. His energy brought Meriel to her senses. She moved to stand up also, thinking that she could turn and clamber over the portmanteau in the bow to the shore and thus help haul the boat to safety. “No, no,
mam’zelle
,” Fernand warned quickly.

His words came too late. She had already discovered that her legs were numb and her body too stiff from the river’s chill to serve her properly. Lurching sideways, she landed in Gladys’ lap, bringing a loud “Oof” from that lady, who awkwardly attempted to upright her again.

Meriel giggled, then clapped her hand over her mouth, astonished to hear such a sound from herself. Suddenly she felt like crying, but she managed to straighten herself, clasping both hands firmly in her lap and wondering how in the world she was going to get out of the little boat without making an utter fool of herself.

She felt the scrape of solid ground beneath her as the boat settled, and Fernand uttered a sigh of relief. “Now,
mam’zelle
,” he said very quietly, “if you will allow the liberty, you and Madame Peat, I must attempt to climb between you, for I fear that neither of you is in any condition to alight unaided.”

They made no objection, and he was able to make his way to the bow of the boat. Once there, he leapt briskly to the shore and turned to extend a hand first to Gladys Peat and then to Meriel, who was able with such assistance to clamber awkwardly out of the little craft. Walking was another matter.

“I’m sorry,” she said after her first attempt, “I cannot.”

“You must,
mam’zelle
,” Fernand said urgently. “This is not a safe place. There are houses just beyond those bushes.”

She shook her head, slumping down against the bank. “My legs simply will not cooperate, Fernand. They are filled with pins and needles. If you can let me have just fifteen minutes to rub some proper feeling back into them—”

“Impossible.” He looked right, then left. The village of Lillebonne appeared to be asleep, but the darkness did little to reassure him. “We must still find my friends,
mam’zelle
.”

“You find them,” she said, “Gladys and I will await you here. You will be safer going alone, anyway, and I believe the two of us can contrive to keep out of harm’s way while you search your friends out.”

He hesitated, but decided, as she had been sure he must, that she was right. A few minutes later, curled up next to Gladys beneath a leafy bush, Meriel fell fast asleep.

She was partially awakened sometime later by a rough shake, and moaned irritably when the indignity was repeated.

“Wake up, Meriel,” commanded a familiar voice. “Wake up at once. What on earth are you about, to have fallen asleep like this when your very life is at stake? Unnatural brat, wake up, I say!”

She stirred, wanting to open her eyes but failing miserably. She was simply too tired. She had been ready to drop when they reached the priest’s cottage, and that had been hours and hours ago. Who dared to try to waken her now? The shaking went on until her teeth threatened to fly from her head, and she opened her eyes at last to mutter indignantly, “For heaven’s sake, would you kill me?”

“Cheerfully,” came the unexpected response. “Sit up, damn you. At once.”

She managed to obey, hearing an authority in the tone that she could not remember hearing from anyone since her father’s passing. Though her eyes were open, she could not see well enough to make out the features of the figure leaning over her, a figure so large as to block out all light from the reflections in the river. Since she knew it could not logically be the one person she would most like it to be, she shook her head, trying to clear it and succeeding only in making it ache. It was protesting, no doubt, the shaking it had already endured.

“Come now, get up. We must go at once.”

While she was still attempting to accept the reality of that voice, she heard Gladys say, “Come, come, m’lady, stir your stumps. It don’t do to keep Sir Antony waiting now he has found us.”

Meriel frowned, allowing the large man to help her to her feet, then slumping sleepily against the solid bulk of his warm body. “Sir Antony? But it cannot be. Sir Antony is still in Paris.”

“The deuce he is,” said the deep voice close to her ear. “Not that you might not wish he were still there when I’ve done with you, my girl. How dare you be so foolish as to leave without waiting for me!”

“What?” She struggled to stand upright and succeeded well enough that she was able to peer up at him through sleep-filled eyes. “You
are
here.”

“Indeed, I am, but what the devil you are doing here is what I should like to know.”

“We came in a boat,” she said, fancying that she spoke with great precision of mind.

“Only from Rouen,” he reminded her. “Before that you were on the road playing at being Americans for the entertainment of the French military. You idiotic female. For that alone you deserve to be well thrashed. Do you not know the penalties in this country for traveling with false papers?”

“We bubbled them neatly,” she said, yawning and leaning gratefully against his solid body again. “You will scarcely credit it, sir, but I lost my temper twice and that answered the purpose excellently well. Are we leaving now?”

He sighed in resignation. “We are. Fortunately, your man came across us near the village harbor. I had been near frantic with worry for your safety before that. But all is well now. We have friends here with a boat, and there is a yacht waiting offshore to take us home. Can you walk?”