The Heroic Baron (15 page)

Despite the arduous nature of the journey, there were
moments of joy. At one rest stop, Cecile played her violin for the little company, weaving a spell of peace
against the shadows of their small fire while Alain
lounged against a log, his appreciation evident in his
dark green gaze.

She took joy too in the continuing bond forming between Alain and Etienne. Alain had been right. Etienne
needed male guidance, and Alain was happy to provide it. She knew Etienne would thrive in Alain’s household.
With that knowledge came the lifting of another worry
from her shoulders.

It was a time to reaffirm her faith in Alain. He took
time to teach her a few English words during their
respites, and he spun endless tales of Hythe for her until she could imagine the town and his home with great
detail. She had not been hasty in her choice to follow
him. All that he had done confirmed he was a kind man,
a man who was desperately in love with her. Never had
she dreamed of such feelings as the ones Alain inspired
in her.

Early evening on the third day, Alain poked his head
inside the carriage. “We’ve reached the outskirts of Le
Havre. There’s an inn up ahead. I think we should stop
and I’ll ask around for news. Then we’ll know how to
go on”

Cecile glanced at Etienne, excitement flushing her
skin. Etienne felt it too. They had almost made it. There
had been no trouble so far. They were so close. All they
had to do was get to the docks and sail. She grasped
Etienne’s hand and smiled. The light from the window
caught her ring, causing it to shine. “I can almost believe our dreams will come true,” Cecile sighed.

“They will, CeeCee,” Etienne said without doubt.
“Mama and Papa would be so proud if they could see us”

Cecile and Etienne stayed in the carriage, but Alain
went about the inn yard with a hat pulled low over his
face. He was grimy with road dust. With his battered hat,
he was unremarkable in the inn yard except for his height.
The yard was alive with a certain aura of excitement. A
squad of soldiers had passed through town ahead of them.

They debated their options. They could simply drive
the post chaise down to the docks. At least it would
keep Cecile hidden from sight in case any of the soldiers recognized her. They could abandon the chaise at
the inn and walk to the docks, relying on their ability to
blend in with the crowd. They could take horses down
to the docks, but that only benefit was in providing
them with speed. Chances were, four riders would draw
too much attention.

Subterfuge had worked well for them thus far. They
elected to simply walk to the docks and slip aboard.
Cecile tucked her hair up beneath a floppy mob cap and
donned a clean apron from her satchel, doing her best
to look like the other nameless women hurrying home
to prepare the evening meal. Etienne needed no disguise since the soldiers would not recognize him. In
any case, Alain had pointed out that four people in hats
might seem a bit overdone.

It was decided that Cranston would board first and
tell the captain, a friend of Alain’s from Hythe, to get
the boat ready to sail. Etienne would follow a few minutes later with a crate of “supplies” on his shoulder,
looking the part of cabin boy. Cecile would follow and
Alain would board last. Alain reasoned that if anyone
was going to be recognized it would be him or possibly
Cecile. If the worst happened, at least Etienne and
Cranston would be safe.

“Don’t even think it!” Cecile cried, clutching Alain’s
arm in an uncharacteristically weak moment. “I
couldn’t bear for anything to go wrong.”

The other sticking point was Cecile’s violin. She and
Etienne were willing to leave all but the smallest of bags containing family heirlooms and Cecile’s violin
with its bow by Tourte. But there was no question of
Cecile carrying the violin case. Any soldier worth his
pay would notice how odd it appeared for a woman to
be carrying the instrument.

“We’ll put it in the crate Etienne will carry aboard
ship.” Alain decided at last, knowing he could not ask
Cecile to part from her beloved instrument.

They began their walk to the docks, carefully keeping each other in sight while maintaining a distance between each other so as not to be mistaken for being
together. Alain’s yacht The Pride was in place at the
pier. They had spotted a few soldiers in the streets but
none had taken notice of them. Down on the docks, it
was different. With the onset of the evening tide, boats
were making ready to sail. Soldiers were thicker on the
docks, boarding ships and checking papers.

Worried about Cranston’s inability to speak French,
the foursome waited until soldiers had passed The Pride.
They watched as the captain came up on deck and
showed his sailing permissions to an officer. The officer
and his assistants left. Cranston walked up the gangplank safely and the little group’s hearts soared. Etienne
went next, carrying the crate on his shoulder like a common dockhand. The yacht began to slip its moorings as
preparations got underway for a quick departure.

“It’s your turn, Cecile.” Alain motioned to her.
“Don’t be nervous. I’ll be behind you.”

Daringly, Cecile reached up to Alain’s cheek and
kissed him. “I’ll see you soon” Her voice gave a telltale tremble. She began to walk. The first ten yards she
rationalized her safety to calm her nerves. The soldiers might not even be looking for her. That argument
failed. It had been three days. Motrineau must know
she was gone by now and he must suspect why. The
next ten yards she gave herself encouragement. She
was within steps of the gangplank.

A commotion broke out behind her. Soldiers came
running down the pier, shouting and gesturing. “Arretez! Arretez! What is your business down here?
Where are your papers?” A rough voice barked. At
first, she thought they were shouting at her. They were
not pointing at her, they were pointing to someone behind her. Fear stopped her progress. Her first thoughts
were for Alain. Like Orpheus, she gave a fatal glance
backwards.

He was encircled by a ring of soldiers, his hat had
fallen off and his golden hair sparked in the twilight.
“Papers? Papers?” He feigned ignorance. Cecile
watched carefully, attuned to any subtle signal Alain
might make. Surely he knew as she did that there was
no way he could simply make a mad dash to the gangplank. Even with the preparations for a quick departure, the yacht could not get underway quick enough to
avoid being boarded. If he ran, they would all be lost.
Their success lay in being able to get underway without
suspicion. In a race, they would assuredly lose.

“Monsieurs, my French is not good,” Alain said in
halting French so unlike the excellent French he spoke
with her. “I am Captain Stanislawski of the Polish
Lancers”

“Where’s your uniform?” A soldier jeered, making a
jabbing motion with his bayonet.

“I am on a diplomatic mission, how do you say.. Alain gave a great impression of casting about for the
right word … “couvert?”

“A secret mission?” The apparent leader asked dubiously.

“I say, it is L’Un, the one they’re hunting for in
Paris.” Another spat.

“You’re under arrest, for the time being, Monsieur
Capitaine. You’ll need to come with us until this can all
be sorted out.”

“I am afraid I cannot go with you” She heard Alain
revert to his fluent French and saw him draw his hidden firearm. There was no more benefit in pretending
otherwise.

The fool! He could not shoot them all. He needed a
diversion, anything that would distract enough of the
soldiers so that Alain had a chance of fighting off the
remainder. She made a small sign behind her back, motioning the boat to begin to sail out slowly. Any small
distance would be an advantage for Alain when the
time came. It was going to be a messy getaway. All
hopes of subterfuge were gone now. Everything was in
the open.

She whispered a prayer that Alain would understand
her choice. If either of them could survive this growing
debacle of an escape by being left behind, it was her
with her connections and citizenship. The alternative
was unthinkable. If the soldiers took Alain, he would
die by execution. There was no ruse he could fall back
on now.

Timing her ploy carefully, Cecile sauntered towards
the knot of soldiers. No one stopped her. Most onlookers were fairly distanced from the commotion, hoping to keep themselves from the military’s notice. She removed her concealing mob cap and let her curls fall
free. Now, instead of hoping the soldiers would not recognize her, she hoped one of them would. She stepped
close and screamed, drawing their attention.

She was recognized immediately. “It’s the violinist!”
a voice cried. It was her cue to run. Cecile picked up her
skirts and ran into the twisting streets of town. She
didn’t run to escape. She had no hope of outrunning the
soldiers, but she sought to run long enough to help Alain
escape. She knew she wouldn’t draw off all the troops,
but she’d draw off enough to increase Alain’s hopes.

“Cecile!” Alain turned at the sound of her scream.
He lunged to break through the circle of his would-be
captors once he recognized her plan and saw several of
the soldiers set out after her. His lunge brought him up
against a brick wall of soldier.

“You’re going nowhere” The soldier swung a meaty
fist. Alain ducked and retaliated with a swift punch to
his gut. The man groaned and fell. Alain kicked him
hard, drawing a knife from inside his sack jacket. There
were others and Alain fought the remaining men, keeping his back to the wharf and his blade up. He jabbed
with his fist and stabbed with his blade, feeling the
knife thrust into soft skin on several occasions. He took
no glory in it but he could show no quarter. He was
fighting for Cecile, for the safety of those on the boat,
and for his own life. He could not fall although a knife
sliced at his arm, and the sheer number of five to one
threatened to overwhelm him.

Desperately, he wanted to search the town for Cecile but he could hazard a single glance into the streets.
Cranston and Etienne shouted to him from the boat. His
booted feet were on the planks of the wharf. He sensed
the change in surfaces. He discharged his pistol at the
closest attacker, taking the man in the shoulder. The
soldier fell, slowing down the advance of his remaining
comrades. It was enough time to turn and run.

Alain sprinted hard down the remainder of the
wharf. The boat had already left its moorings and sailed
a safe hundred yards from the pier. Without thought,
Alain dove into the cold Channel, going as deep as he
dared. The soldiers were not fools. They knew he was
not what he claimed. They would shoot into the water
in an attempt to catch him. There was no need any
longer to take him alive.

The water was cold against the steam of his heated
body. His powerful strokes propelled him forward
aided by the fight-induced adrenaline coursing through
him. Above him, bullets plopped in the water, useless.
He judged himself to be halfway to the boat and likely
out of range of the military-issued firearms. He surfaced and gasped for air.

Etienne called to him, giving him direction by sound
as to where the boat lay. He saw it not far from him.
Soldiers on the dock pointed at his head but could do
no more. A couple of them were struggling to launch a
small craft. Alain struck out for The Pride with swift
strokes.

At last, he felt Etienne and Cranston haul him onboard. He lay gasping, shivering on the deck. “Cecile,
we have to go back for her.” He choked through chattering teeth. Cranston threw a gray sailor blanket over him and tried to soothe him. But he would have none of
it. “Turn the boat back. We have to go back. We can’t
leave her there.” He protested, tossing his gaze to the
stricken Etienne. “Etienne, make them see reason”

Etienne slowly shook his head. “Monsieur Alain, we
cannot go back without accepting our deaths and that
her sacrifice was useless.”

With all his heart, Alain wanted to go after Cecile,
but such an action would make her sacrifice worthless.
He knew what she wanted. She wanted him safe. She
wanted Etienne safe. Etienne could only be safe if
Alain lived. Hythe would not be a new life for Etienne
without him.

When he could stand, Alain made his way to the railing. He had one more duty to discharge before he could
give in to his own grief. Etienne stood at the railing,
stoically facing north to England.

“Etienne, I am sorry. I could not save her.” Alain began, feeling wholly inadequate at explaining what had
happened.

Etienne nodded slowly. “I understand how you feel,
but it’s what she wanted” With a wisdom beyond his
years, he continued. “I think she knew she was the only
one who could save you and us. If any of us had been
caught, we’d not stand a chance at escaping execution
for treason. But she stands a chance, if she can access
her connection.”

“All the more reason to go back for her, to help her.”
Alain said through gritted teeth. The thought of his Cecile alone made his stomach clench and his anger rise.

They both knew Cecile would be caught. There was
no use pretending she would get away. It was only a matter of what they’d do to her once they caught her. In
spite of his grave words, the boy was trying hard not to
cry. Alain put his arm around Etienne and pulled him
close. “If there’s any hope, I’ll come back for her. I
promise you that I’ll risk anything for her.”

“Yes, sir. I know you will.”

There was no other consolation Alain could offer
Etienne. The boy was too old for false hope and Alain’s
own grief was too great. For all the things he could do,
he couldn’t save the ones he loved. It was the second
time he’d failed them.