The Maiden At Midnight (28 page)

‘You are a very bad woman, Isabella.’

‘And I am counting on you
being a
very
bad
man.’

Epilogue

The
Blue Swan
made its way across a
gentle swell, its prow cutting through the slate grey water that
had stopped belonging to France at some stage and had started
belonging to England, something that gave the young man standing on
the deck an enormous sense of satisfaction.

He was going home.

‘Nearly there, then?’ This from Tom, the
young cabin hand that had taken it upon himself to look out for
Marcus for most of the journey.

‘I am. It is hard to believe.’

Tom shook his head. ‘You were lucky. A lot
of you haven’t come back.’

Marcus was suddenly somber. It was true
enough. How many of the men that he had fought beside had returned
from the battlefield and how many had fallen? Incredibly, he had
been discovered by an old French couple who, with more mercy than
he could have believed possible, had taken him back to their small
village and nursed him back to health. Instead of turning him over
to Bonaparte’s soldiers, they had saved his life. He had been with
them for some months for he’d received several gunshot wounds, one
in the leg and one in the chest. Unlike a lot of his comrades,
however, he had survived.

‘I was lucky,’ he agreed and gave the man a
smile. ‘It seems that I’ve been fortunate all along. I was taken in
by people who were perfect strangers to me. And I’ve been
befriended by an impertinent sailor for no other reason than he
occasionally wins when we play cards together.’

Tom grinned. ‘You were born under a lucky
star, maybe. Reckon your people will be surprised to see you?’

‘Good God yes. They must think me dead.’

‘Well seeing that ugly mug again will give
‘em reason to smile. They’ll be pleased to have you back
again.’

‘I’ll be glad to
be
back again,’ Marcus
murmured as he settled on an upturned barrel. His leg was paining
him again but at least he had managed to retain it. For a time
there, it had looked as if it might have to come off – an operation
he would probably not have survived – but the elderly woman who had
nursed him so assiduously had been surprisingly
skillful.

He sighed and thought about his family. Mama
and Father, Isabella, Audrey and his dear little Millie. Had his
sisters changed very much in the fifteen months he had been away?
Probably, although it was difficult to think of Isabella – dear,
outspoken Belle – being anything other than what she was. He
wondered if she’d accepted an offer from Proctor yet. Perhaps she
was already married. The thought gave him a little pang but it was
only to be expected that life would have continued on. He tried not
to think of them grieving for him, wondering if he were dead, for
surely that was a possibility – he had been out of action for six
months and it had taken another three to get himself out of
France.

‘Did you get word to them? That you were
coming home?’ Tom asked quietly, as if divining his thoughts.

Marcus shook his head. ‘It was too
difficult. I feel bad about that.’

‘Whatever grief they feel, it’ll be gone the
minute they clap eyes on you.’ Tom said cheerfully, slapping Marcus
on the back.

Marcus winced but knew it was true. Whatever
suffering had taken place when he had not returned, surely it would
all disappear the moment he walked in the door?

He certainly hoped so for his family were
very dear to him and he would never have willingly caused them
pain.

He sighed, studying the grey mass before him
(for England, unsurprisingly, was shrouded by mist) that had been
steadily growing for the past few hours.

Landfall.

Home.

After fifteen of the longest months of his
life, he was going home again.