Anything but a Gentleman (18 page)

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?’

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, whilst 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 eyes, 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.

‘Oh, Luke! If I hadn't come you wouldn't have been shot.’

‘It was worth getting shot, just to hear you use my name.’

There was a discreet cough. Marianne turned to see Figgs. ‘We’ve checked, there’s no one else on board, no one who shouldn’t be here, that is.’

‘And the Frenchman?’ asked Luke.

‘We’ve thrown him over the side.’

Luke nodded.

Marianne thought it wiser not to ask if he had been dead or alive.

‘Kit’ll be here any minute,’ said Figgs. ‘Captain Gringe is giving Henri a hand to bring him down.’

Luke turned to Marianne. ‘See to your brother. I’m going to see if I can get some rest.’

She nodded, feeling admiration for the way he could think of her brother when he himself was injured. He closed his eyes and a minute later Henri, together with Captain Gringe, brought Kit into the cabin. Adèle followed close behind.

Henri and Captain Gringe laid Kit on the bunk and he sank back gratefully against the pillow.

‘How’s Luke?’ Kit asked.

‘It’s only a flesh wound,’ said Marianne. ‘But I won’t be happy until Doctor Moffat has seen it. And now I want to have a look at you.’ Her bedside manner suddenly evaporated and gave way to sisterly affection. ‘Oh, Kit, I’m so glad you’re alive.’

Kit smiled weakly. ‘So am I.’

‘And not too bad, by the look of things.’ She looked at his thigh once again, which was bandaged with torn strips of shirt.

Kit’s eyes went to Adèle, and his hands covered hers. ‘Adèle bound me up.’

‘All the same, Marianne, if you would have a look at it?’ asked Adèle. Her voice was anxious, and Marianne realised for the first time how deeply her friend loved her brother.

‘Of course.’

Fortifying Kit with a few drops of laudanum, she gently undid the bandages and checked his thigh, but Adèle had cleaned it thoroughly. ‘It’s a pity you had to put yourself to such exertion. It looks like your wound had already started to heal, but I’m afraid all the activity has opened it up again. I’ll bind it with fresh bandages for you.’

 ‘Your sister, she is adept at bandaging the legs!’ said Henri with a twinkle.

‘And then you must get some rest,’ said Marianne.

Kit took her hand. ‘Thank you, Mari. And then you must tell me all about your escapades. I gather you have been busy whilst I’ve been away.’

‘Not as busy as you,’ she said. She shook her head. ‘Kit, you’ve worried us all to death.’ But she found she could not maintain her anger against him, she was too relieved to know that he was alive. Instead she turned to her friend. ‘And you, Adèle. How are you?’

‘I am well,’ said Adèle, in prettily accented English. ‘Tired, but well, and glad to have escaped from France.’

Marianne took in Adèle’s slight figure, and noticed how thin Adèle was looking. But after all the troubles she must have been through in the last few months it was not surprising.

‘But I think you have better things to do at the moment than talk to me, yes?’ asked Adèle with a smile.

Marianne was about to protest but instead she said ruefully, ‘You know me too well.’

‘Figgs, you stay with her,’ said Kit. There was something half-teasing and half-serious about him. ‘I want to make sure she has a chaperon, in case I fall asleep. I know what Luke’s like!’

Marianne tried to make sense of his half-jesting words. Was he warning her against Luke? she wondered. Or telling her he knew of her feelings? Or implying that she and Luke had feelings for each other? She did not know, and in front of Henri and Figg she did not want to ask.

She turned her thoughts back to the task in hand and went over to Luke’s bunk. Mercifully he had fallen into a light sleep.

‘It is the best thing for ‘im,’ said Henri.

Marianne nodded. She sat down beside him and did not leave his side as the ship sailed back to England.

Chapter Ten

‘Kit’s sleeping.’ Dr Moffat spoke comfortingly, patting Marianne paternally on the arm. ‘The wound’s opened again with the journey, but it’s clean and it won’t be long until it mends. All your brother needs now is plenty of rest.’

‘And Lord Ravensford?’ Marianne tried to make her voice sound casual. It would not do to let Dr Moffat guess that she had feelings for the man who was lying behind the very door she was standing outside, the door of one of the guest rooms of Seaton Hall.