Glamour in Glass (28 page)

Carefully, she wrote in the dirt:

VINCENT. IT IS JANE.

A long minute passed before Vincent saw her writing. She recognised the moment by the way his head jerked as though he were going to lift it, and only just stopped himself. The sentinel marched, his feet grinding against the dirt of the yard. Dice rattled together and a soldier shouted with laughter. In the distance a rooster crowed.

When the sentinel’s back was once more to them, Jane wiped her words clear and wrote, I WILL CUT YOUR ROPES. DO NOT MOVE.

He coughed and adjusted his head in a nod masked as a lolling movement. Jane let out a breath she had been unaware she was holding and waited until the sentinel faced away again. She stretched her hand out, keeping within the limits of the
Sphère
’s glamour, and put the knife against the rope on Vincent’s right hand. His eyes widened at the touch of the blade, and he held very still.

It was but the work of moments to cut through the ropes binding Vincent. His hands freed, Jane looked again to the guard. His steady pace took him past Vincent again, ennui clear in each step.

She wrote: WHEN CAMP FOLLOWERS COME. I COUGH 2, YOU ROLL LEFT.

He grunted to show he understood.

While they waited for the followers, Jane adjusted the manikin she had so carefully built, and composed it in Vincent’s sprawling posture. Each scrape of her boots on the gravel sounded as thunder in her ears, making her freeze in terror, but it seemed that the sounds blended into the general hubbub of camp life.

As the sun crept on its path, Jane eased her way around the trellis, moving the
Sphère
and the manikin in a slow, careful progression, until she was standing by the side of the trellis, ready to spring forward. Until the camp followers arrived to provide a distraction, Jane could do nothing but wait.

She thanked the heavens for the glass
Sphère
, without which she would have had no way to reach her husband. Even were she not with child, walking any distance while controlling the glamour of a
Sphère Obscurcie
would have been too great an effort to have been successful.

A bead of sweat tickled past her ear. One of the flies on Vincent found her and buzzed around her head, tempted by the salt on her skin. Jane’s apprehension grew with each passing moment, yet she could do nothing but sit and count each breath Vincent took.

The laugh of a woman echoed over the wall. Jane lifted her head and stared at the gates as the first of the camp followers arrived. Still, she did not move, waiting for more to come so that they might distract the guards. As the women arrived in twos and threes, there came an unexpected but hoped for sound: the clop of horse hooves and the rolling grind of wagon wheels against gravel filtered through the orchards to the east of Gemioncourt. Anne-Marie and an aged driver pulled up to the gate of the farm. Piled in the back of their wagon were the crates and trunks holding Jane and Vincent’s possessions.

She had not been sure if Anne-Marie’s guilt would exceed the opportunity offered by Jane’s supposed departure from Binché. It is a grim situation when one finds oneself hoping to be betrayed, and yet that is exactly what Jane had wished for. She could not ask for a greater distraction than that which Anne-Marie unwittingly provided.

Laughing gaily, Anne-Marie hallooed the farm. Lieutenant Segal swung her down from the wagon, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. From across the courtyard came fragments of Anne-Marie’s merry chatter as she talked of how she had fooled Mme Vincent and assured her of sending her things on to her in England. How she was certain that the secrets Lieutenant Segal sought would be in one of these trunks.

Jane coughed once. Before she could draw her breath to cough again, Lieutenant Segal turned to the trellis. He strode across the yard, beckoning a soldier to accompany him. His intent was clear. He wished to question Vincent about the contents of the trunks. This, Jane had not considered.

When he arrived, Segal would find Vincent unbound. With his attention fixed on the trellis, there was no time for Jane to swap the manikin for her husband. Her mind raced, seeking some answer, but Lieutenant Segal was upon them too swiftly for any to present itself.

Segal’s soldier bent down to untie Vincent’s bonds. The moment the soldier’s hand touched Vincent’s wrist, he moved with a speed that belied his wounds, grabbing the man’s leg and toppling him.

With a single motion, Vincent pummelled the soldier and forced himself to his feet. Lieutenant Segal drew his pistol, aiming it at Vincent.

Jane leaped forward with the
Sphère Obscurcie
held firmly in her grasp and pushed Vincent out of the way. Lieutenant Segal cursed as Vincent came within the influence of the
Sphère
and vanished from view.

“What good will it do you to be invisible, Vincent?” Lieutenant Segal shouted. “You cannot run from us.”

As he kept his gaze on the spot where Vincent had last stood, Jane and Vincent crept away from the trellis. It was apparent to Jane that the cost of his flurry of movement was great. Vincent leaned much of his weight on her. She transferred the glass
Sphère
to her left hand and wrapped her right around his waist to help support him. Her hand brushed something rough and sticky as Vincent gave a muffled cough and tensed under her arm.

She had touched the mass of wheals on his back. Moving her hand lower, she braced herself as he put his arm around her shoulders.

Jane risked a glance behind them.

Lieutenant Segal had his men surround the area where Vincent had been and tighten the circle. This gambit would have worked well, had Vincent still been there. As it was, their attention was drawn away from the Vincents’ careful progress. Locked in step, Jane led her husband through the maze of sunlight.

The manikin tangled their footsteps, slowing them. Jane squeezed Vincent’s waist as they passed a supply wagon, bringing their progress to a halt. She eased the manikin off her shoulder and tucked it into a nook in the supplies. Though it would not serve her intended purpose, she hoped it would still act as a distraction.

The progress was slower than her route in, as Vincent needed to stop every few feet. His breath was ragged and hot against her skin. She feared what would happen if he fainted while they were in the middle of the courtyard.

Lieutenant Segal shouted in rage, drawing Jane’s attention back to the trellis. He and the soldiers patted the ground where Vincent had been, clearly bewildered about where he could have gone. Crossing the yard in great strides, Segal bore down on Anne-Marie where she stood by the wagon. “Where is he?”

“I do not know!” She held up her hands in protest.

Segal slapped her. “Liar. You brought us the news of his technique. Tell me how he can walk with it.”

Anne-Marie’s hand went to her cheek and her voice caught before she answered him. “He cannot. It is impossible.”

Snorting in disgust, Segal looked at the items on the wagon. “I am not insensible to the fact that he made his escape only after you arrived with the Vincents’ effects. Do you think me such a fool as to believe that this is a coincidence?”

The astonishment on Anne-Marie’s face was unmistakable. “I tell you, it is not possible to walk any distance and support a glamour.”

“And yet, he is gone.” He gestured to the wagon, directing soldiers to it. “Unload it. I will find the answer even if I have to throw sticks instead of arrows.”

Jane watched this activity, wincing. The carter had stopped the wagon in the sun.

It lay directly across the path where Jane and Vincent must walk. She pulled to a halt and surveyed the farm. Unable to speak for fear of drawing attention, she could not explain the trouble. If they retraced their steps, there was a route that passed through only one shadow, but it was farther away, and she had her doubts about how much longer Vincent could remain standing. Another option would be to pass behind the wagon and try to hold the
Sphère
in the sun. The third choice was to walk toward the front gates, which she could reach without shadow, but which opened onto a tree-lined drive.

As the soldiers worked to unload the wagon, she realized that their activity would, of necessity, take them inside the farmhouse. There would be very few people in the courtyard, and perhaps the carter might pull the wagon out of the way.

Jane watched as the last trunk came off. Anne-Marie, rather than moving the wagon, stayed in the courtyard, hand pressed against her bruised cheek. She alone stood near their path, and Jane judged that they would not have a better opportunity.

Tightening her grip around Vincent’s waist, she started them forward again, conscious of how much weight he leaned upon her. They reached the wagon and moved as close to its bed as she could. Jane stretched her left hand out to keep the
Sphère
in the sun as they crossed the cool shadow.

On the far side of the shadow, Vincent stumbled.

Jane threw her hip under him trying to slow his fall, but he outmassed her by a considerable percent and dragged them both down. The glass
Sphère
tumbled from her grasp.

She and Vincent tangled together, trying to catch it, but it shattered against the ground. The crack of breaking glass bounced off the buildings around them. All other sound in the courtyard stopped.

Anne-Marie turned, spying them. Her eyes widened.

They were, for the moment, blocked from view by the bulk of the wagon to everyone save Anne-Marie, but other footsteps ran toward them. Vincent lay nearly insensible on the ground.

Jane could not let them take him again, and if discovered, they would take her as well, which would put their child in danger. Where before one life had been at risk, she had now imperilled all three of them.

Desperately, Jane reached into the ether and drew out a fold of glamour. She twisted it, and with a speed she had not known she possessed, blew a
Sphère Obscurcie
around them. Spots swam in front of her eyes and the courtyard pitched beneath her. Jane dragged air into her lungs.

Anne-Marie shrieked. Flinging her hands in the air she raced toward the house and away from Jane and Vincent. “If they have broken Mme Vincent’s looking glass, I shall have words with them. I had my heart set on it.”

At the end of the wagon, Lieutenant Segal stood staring in their direction, but did not come any closer. He tilted his head as if it would change the view. “You think of looking glasses when our prisoner has escaped?”

“Has it escaped your notice that I am a French woman?” Anne-Marie walked next to him and pressed her body against his. Her voice softened. “I am sorry you are angry with me. Is there nothing I can do to make it up to you?”

He traced the back of his hand down her face, pausing to caress the bruise beneath her eye. “Perhaps.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, eyes never leaving her face. “Napoleon will be so interested to meet you, tomorrow.”

“Will you see to my looking glass?”

“No. I must find our prisoner before the Emperor arrives.” He kissed her again. “The mirror will not be any less broken if I attend it now.” Turning from her, Lieutenant Segal shouted for his horse, and made arrangements to begin the search for Vincent.

When he had gone, Anne-Marie stood with her hand at her breast, fingering the bumblebee pendant which hung there. Spinning so that her skirts flared around her, Anne-Marie took up one of the blankets and shook it out. Then she lay it over the rails of the wagon so it formed a tented space large enough to cover two people.

She patted the bare wood bed of the wagon the way one might beckon a dog. “Before I change my mind.”

Jane got to her knees and pulled Vincent up to his. Helping each other, they clambered to their feet. Jane reached again for the folds of the
Sphère Obscurcie
but Vincent stopped her with a hand on hers. He shook his head once.

Untying the threads, he managed them for two steps and then swayed. Jane caught the fold from his hand and played it out two steps more. Passing it back and forth between them, they reached the end of the wagon. Anne-Marie stood in the bed with her back to them, holding a blanket outstretched and shaking it occasionally. With the cover in place, they could safely drop the glamour long enough to clamber on board.

The wagon creaked and groaned under their weight. The driver shifted in his seat. “What are you doing back there?”

“Just arranging the blankets.” Anne-Marie lowered the cloth and tossed it behind her, keeping her attention focused away from the wagon, as if she wanted to be able to say in truth that she had not seen them.

Jane caught the blanket as it fell and pulled it over them. A hand pressed her shoulder and the wagon creaked as Anne-Marie crouched beside her. In a low voice, she whispered. “I do not want you to think that I betrayed you again. I had thought to endear myself to the camp to tend M. Vincent in your absence. God speed, madame.”

Her hand lifted, and the wagon shook as Anne-Marie hopped down. Muffled in the dark, Jane lay scarcely breathing, moved beyond all measure by Anne-Marie’s words. Then the tail-board latched shut and they rolled into motion.

Twenty-four

Into the Rye

Through the blanket, sun and shadow alternated in dappled patterns that gave hints of their whereabouts. When the sun predominated, Jane pushed the blanket off and peeked out. They were on the road to Binché, but to Binché they must not go. The soldiers would almost certainly think to look for them in the wagon and the Chastain house. Though Jane had thought that possibility was a natural misdirection, it had only been desirable when the plan had them travelling to Brussels.

She was not sure how long Anne-Marie’s change of heart would last, but was grateful for it. Nor did she wish to chance what the driver would do upon seeing them, and for both reasons thought it prudent to take their leave. Jane pressed her mouth to Vincent’s ear. “We need to get off the wagon.”