Deadly Peril (34 page)

“That is for my sister to decide. But do you not want to embrace your friend, Sir Cosmo? I am sure she will not bite!” He grinned at his own bon mot and then repeated it in German to his courtiers, who again laughed, but this time with genuine good humor. “Embrace! Do not be afraid! Embrace I tell you!” he demanded of the couple in English. “I want to see my ape and my caged bird embrace!”

Sir Cosmo slowly took Mrs. Carlisle in his arms and held her against him. She leaned into his shoulder. And there they stood for several seconds, oblivious to their surroundings and how they presented to the world, reveling in the gentle touch of another human being. The Margrave was up on his heels applauding, and so, too, were the other diners, as if this were the best night’s entertainment they had ever witnessed, as if this couple were the main attraction of a freak show.

When Mrs. Carlisle began to sob, Sir Cosmo whispered in her ear, “Be good. Do as you’re told. Have hope. Lord Halsey will save us both. I promise you.” He pulled back so he could see her face clearly. “Tell me: Is she safe?”

Mrs. Carlisle nodded.

“Is she in the castle?”

Mrs. Carlisle shook her head.

“She escaped?”

Mrs. Carlisle shook her head and opened her eyes wide.

Sir Cosmo’s eyes also widened in hope and he breathed in swiftly. “She escaped before you were brought to the castle?”

This time Mrs. Carlisle smiled. She was forced to step away when her minder pulled on the chain about her wrists. But Sir Cosmo went after her, caught up her hands and kissed them, adding breathlessly, tears streaming down his cheeks, “God bless you, dear lady. Thank you. Thank you with all my heart.”

The Margrave had tired of Sir Cosmo’s company, and that of his fellows, and he signaled for the diners to leave him, calling for Baron Haderslev to attend him.

“You, too, Westover.” He made a gesture towards Sir Cosmo and said to them in their native tongue, “Have that disgusting mange removed from his face. I don’t care how you do it. Either he allows his valet to shave him, or have your men tie him down and remove it anyway you care to, Westover. Understand me?”

“Yes, Your Highness. It will be done at once.”

“And get him to keep it off. You know the law.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“We can’t have the Princess Joanna getting any notions about this fool. He is no Alec Halsey by a long pole. She must never see him again—”

“She’s
visited
the prisoner?” It was Baron Haderslev. His incredulousness was mistaken for shock.

“
No
, Haderslev,” the Margrave groaned with annoyance. “Where are your wits?”

“Apologies, Highness,” the Court Chamberlain muttered, hoping he hadn’t given himself away. “Of course the Princess would not be interested in this ape of a man.”

“No, she would not. And it is as well I do not permit the wives, sisters, daughters, any female at my banquets. For surely the sight of my friend’s friend would be too shocking a sight for them, too, as it would be for my sister.”

The Margrave turned on a heel to leave when he had a sudden thought. He turned to stare at his prisoner dispassionately as Sir Cosmo was being escorted from the hall.

“By my calculation Halsey has just under two weeks to show himself before his hairy best friend and that chirping female are due to breathe their last. Yes?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Eleven days to be precise.”

“Good. If Halsey is not here by then, slit their throats. Two fewer mouths to feed should keep Cook off your back.”

E
IGHTEEN

A
LEC
WAS
STARTLED
AWAKE
by an explosive discharge of a musket close to the trekschuit.

The convoy was under attack.

He scrambled up off the camp bed and peered cautiously out the window, back up against the wood paneling, head turned, neck craning so that only his profile was to the glass. The muted light of a winter’s day was beginning to darken into night, and a thick fog clung to the swampy marshland beyond the towpath, which was eerily deserted. And yet the unmistakable pop-popping of gunfire continued, outside and overhead.

He reasoned the soldiers had to be on the far side of the barge, using it for cover as they fired over the roofline into the fog. Those returning fire were using the fog to their advantage. Between each volley of shots orders were barked out as muskets were re-loaded. The gunfire continued. There was a cry of surprise. The thud of something heavy hitting the roof over Alec’s head had him momentarily looking up, expecting a soldier to come crashing through the ceiling. More orders were barked out. More gunfire.

Alec wondered what was happening on the other side of the curtain; if Selina was safe; if the passengers had managed to find cover. From where he was, flat up against the wall, to get to the curtain would mean crossing in front of the window and thus be in full view, if for the briefest of moments, which was not the most sensible course of action in a battle. So he edged back, out of sight, intending to go round the camp bed and, if need be, crawl across to the curtain. The sound of boots scrambling along the deck of the barge, followed by the back door banging open froze him to the spot.

It was Hadrian Jeffries.

Wide-eyed and wild-haired, his sealskin overcoat flapping about his booted ankles, the valet scuttled down the few shallow steps and immediately launched himself at Alec. Grabbing his master by the embroidered skirts of his frock coat, he yanked him backwards, took hold of him as if he meant to resist, and flung him to the floor, scattering campaign furniture as Alec’s shoulder hit the boards hard. He then threw himself across his master as a human shield and ordered him to be still.

“For God’s sake, Jeffries! I’m not—”

Alec did not get to finish the sentence. He was cut off by a deafening crack as wood splintered and glass exploded. Slivers of paneling and tiny glass shards blew across the room and rained down upon master and servant, a lead shot ripping through the deckhouse and exiting through the opposite wall.

There was a moment’s awed silence as both men listened for further fire, but as the fighting seemed to have moved on down the canal, Hadrian Jeffries picked himself up and offered his hand to Alec to help him to stand.

“Sorry, sir. No time to explain,” the valet apologized, breathing still short and dusting himself off. “I saw you at the window and—

“Please. No need,” Alec stated, the shock also making his breathing shallow. He saw in the afternoon light that now poured through the large hole in the side of the deckhouse that the sleeves of his frock coat glinted with broken glass, and he began to gingerly shrug himself out of the garment, Hadrian Jeffries coming to his assistance. “Thank you, Hadrian. Not for this,” he said with a huff of laughter as he was stripped out of the frock coat, relieved to have survived such a close encounter with a musket ball. “But for bruising my shoulder! What’s going on out there?”

“We’d just docked at the Aurich lock—”

“We’re at Aurich
already
?”

“Yes, sir. You slept the entire journey.”

“Good—Lord. I must’ve been tired.”

“Yes, sir. Not sure who’s firing out there. There’s some confusion. What with the fog, and the light fading, no one is certain who’s doing what. Some of the soldiers were sent across the marshes toward the town, and that’s when the first shots were heard. They came running back and took cover behind the barges. Looks like we’ve been ambushed by the rebels, who were waiting for us.”

At the sudden sound of a half a dozen men shouting and scuffling, as if the barge were about to be stormed, both men looked towards the hole in the wall that allowed not only light but the freezing afternoon air to circulate in the small private space that had once been snugly warm. Soldiers rushed past the shattered window, and then it was quiet again for a few moments. Long enough for Alec to ask,

“Where are the other passengers? Mrs. Jamison-Lewis?”

“Herr Luytens and the Reverend Shirley were playing at cards last time I looked in on them. But Mrs. Jamison-Lewis, her lady-in-waiting, and the deaf girl had all gone for a walk along the towpath about half an hour ago.”

Alec’s face went white.

“You mean she’s
out there
—in
this
?”

“Yes, sir—”

“Good God,
no
.”

“—somewhere further down the towpath, walking back from the direction we’d come,” Hadrian Jeffries explained hurriedly, following Alec who had flung back the curtain and was striding into the other section of the deckhouse. “Two soldiers went with them, so I’m sure Mrs. Jamison-Lewis and her companions are out of the line of fire—”

“Are you indeed?!” Alec stated tersely. “Who the devil had the stupidity to let her—them—leave the protection of the barge, when it’s known the marshes are crawling with rebels? Where’s Müller?” he demanded, taking a quick glance about the deserted space. He spied two crouching figures under the table. “Who’s there? Is that you Luytens? Shirley?”

“Get down, my lord! Get down!” the Reverend Shirley wailed in a thin voice. “We are under attack! We are—”

Alec ignored the cowering figures and was about to cross to the other door when it was kicked open and the door frame filled with people, shouting, crying, issuing orders, and all trying to get into the safety of the cabin.

“Make way! Make way!”

A soldier came lightly down the steps to the table and swept it clear with the arc of his arm, sending cups, plates, playing cards, clay pipes, and newspapers hurtling to the floor. The ensuing commotion had Jacob Luytens and the Reverend Shirley scrambling out from their hiding place, wondering what was happening, a hand over their heads to avoid being hit, and tripping over smashed plates and cups.

The soldier who had cleared the table was followed down the steps by Jacob Luytens’ brother-in-law, Horst Visser, who had a limp Selina in his arms. Behind them came Evans, being supported at the elbow by the barge captain, then the Reverend Shirley’s granddaughter, who, upon spying her grandfather, rushed over and began frantically signing to him. Following up the rear, another soldier, who stayed by the steps, musket poised.

Alec was blind to everything and everyone but Selina.

The hood of her red wool cloak had fallen back off her apricot curls which were in wild disorder about her deathly pale face. The rest of this outer garment was so outrageously askew that it fell off her shoulders, muddied hem trailing on the floor, as Horst Visser laid her gently on the table, Evans quick to place her mistress’s enormous fur muff under Selina’s head.

There were calls for a physician. Someone. Anyone with medical knowledge. One of the officers, perhaps?

Alec wasn’t listening.

What had happened? Everyone spoke at once. Soldiers. Rebels. Fog too thick to see. The convoy had lost at least six soldiers. One of the barge horses had been killed in the cross fire. Who knew how many rebels were dead or dying out in the marshes. All of them, it was hoped.

Alec heard none of it.

Smelling salts. Bandages. A medical kit. Someone fetch wine, sweet tea, anything to help revive the beauty. Was the kitchen still functioning in the other barge? Who would go? The soldier who had cleared the table volunteered.

Alec distinguished individual words but still they made no sense. He stared across at Selina lying motionless on the table, and his feet would not obey his brain to go to her. He saw that the front of her gown was splattered with mud, or was that blood? The hook and eyes of her stays had been ripped from their stitching, and the many soft cotton quilted layers that made up the garment had peeled apart like the leaves of an open book. And in the center of this tufted cotton mess, a gaping hole that exposed a large glistening red mass that moved with the rise and fall of her exposed breasts.

Jesu—was that her heart
? With such an injury there could be no chance of survival.
What the bloody hell use was a physician
?
Or bandages or cup of sweet tea
?
Why were they talking drivel when the love of his life was dying on the table before them
?

He had to do something, anything, but stand there, gawping.

He came to life, shoved aside the small crowd, growling at them to stand back from the table and leave Selina to him. He grabbed up her fingers, pressed his lips to the back of her gloved hand, and went down on bended knee beside the table. He placed a cool hand to her forehead and stared at her pale face, disbelieving.

“Dear God, please,
please
let her live,” he prayed aloud, her limp hand pressed to his forehead. “Don’t let this happen. Our life together has yet to begin…”

“My lord, she—” Evans began, but then pressed her lips firmly together when her mistress rallied at the sound of his lordship’s voice.

Selina’s eyelids fluttered and she slowly turned her head on the muff and opened her eyes. Seeing Alec, she sighed and smiled.

“Oh, you’re safe. Good. I think I fainted when—never mind. Is Janet safe? The girl?”

“I’m here, m’lady,” Evans answered instantly from the other side of the table. She took hold of Selina’s free hand and managed to say evenly. “I’m safe. So is the girl. We all are.” She looked across at Alec, who had risen to his feet and had a shaking hand to his mouth, too overcome to speak, staring down at Selina as if she had come back from the dead. “My lord, one of soldiers with us was hit—killed,” she explained, and when Alec tore his gaze from Selina to look at her, a nod for her to continue, she said, “The blood on her gown and mine is his. He’d bent to scoop up her hair ribbon which had come loose in the strong breeze and fallen by the canal edge. He never did get to return it. The lead shot passed right through the back of the poor boy’s skull, and then straight across the front of my lady’s bodice. You see, she was standing side on, otherwise the lead shot would have gone through her too. It was the narrowest of escapes, thanks be to God. I think the jewelry helped—The jewels may have stopped the lead shot doing any real damage…”