Vintage Love (21 page)

Eric refused to be upset. “One should come along soon. The people coming here must have transport.”

At his side she suggested, “Most of the men in there are sailors who have walked up from the docks. And the girls are street walkers who live in the district.”

“You’re probably right,” Eric said, concerned for the first time. “Take my arm and we’ll walk toward the city as quickly as we can.”

She pressed close to the tall, handsome Eric as they made their way along the narrow sidewalks. She had never known a darker night, and the people whom they encountered along the way were anything but prepossessing. A drunken sailor and his girl lurched out of a doorway unexpectedly giving them a scare. Further on a snoring seaman lay stretched out on the sidewalk. A short distance from there a group of drunken, noisy sailors came staggering by and shouted foul words at her over their shoulders.

Eric gave her a worried glance as they kept walking on briskly. He said, “I’m beginning to see you were right. This whole experience has been a mistake.”

“There is an evil atmosphere here,” she said with a tiny shudder.

“I cannot understand why there aren’t any carriages,” he grumbled.

“They could be afraid to come here late at night. They might be targets for robbery.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I have exposed you to needless danger.”

“And yourself as well,” she noted.

“I’m not worried about myself,” he said looking around in the shadows as they kept walking. “I’m concerned about you.”

She said no more. It was evident that he had recovered from his wine drinking and was now soberly seeing their plight as she had from the first. It seemed wrong to continue reminding him of his error. The thing now was to reach the inn safely.

Eric halted with a troubled look on his handsome face. “I hate to say it. But I think we made a wrong turn.”

“Where?” she asked in dismay.

“I think back a distance,” he said, “I’m almost sure we’re going in the wrong direction now. If we keep on this way, we’ll be circling back to the docks.”

“Anything but that!”

He sighed. “I’m afraid there is nothing for it but to retrace our steps. Perhaps we’ll meet someone who can set us straight.”

“We don’t seem to meet anyone sober enough to give us help,” she lamented.

“I know,” he sighed.

They walked back until they came to an intersection of the cobbles toned streets at the top of a hill. They hesitated and then took an opposite direction. The streets were deserted in this area and all the houses were in darkness. Betsy almost began to wish to see some of the drunks again. At least they had been company.

As they walked, she suddenly thought she heard a sound from behind them. She tugged at her companion’s arm and in a low voice asked, “Do you hear footsteps following us?”

“I don’t know,” Eric said uneasily.

“I’m sure we’re being followed,” she worried. “What shall we do?”

“I think you’re wrong,” the young man said, but his tone was troubled. Then the footsteps became so apparent and so close that they could not be ignored.

Eric unlinked his arm from hers and turned quickly. She also swung around and saw that they had been followed by the man who had performed onstage in the soldier outfit. He was wearing drab, old clothes now, but he carried his sword on a belt at his hip. As they discovered him, he drew the weapon and crouched to attack Eric!

“Look out!” Eric screamed, pushing her aside so roughly she almost fell. Then he drew his pistol and fired at the man.

The bullet missed, and the swordsman lunged at Eric and caught him at the wrist, sending the pistol spinning. She watched and prayed as Eric dodged about. Then Eric sprang at the man and caught him by surprise. There began a grim struggle between them. Soon they were rolling on the ground. Eric twisted the sword from the man’s hand and began pummeling him with his fists!

It was not a one-sided struggle! The man fought back savagely, and she saw that Eric had become the underdog. Then the battle began to go Eric’s way, and he pounded his opponent to unconsciousness. Rising from the fallen swordsman, he stumbled back, his handsome face dirtied with blood, sweat, and filth from the street. His shirt and jacket were torn, and he seemed at the point of exaustion.

He bent down to pick up the pistol when from out of the shadows appeared the malevolent bald dwarf with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other. A look of hatred showed on his big, ugly fece, and he fired at Eric. To Betsy’s horror the bullet struck Eric, and he fell down near the body of the man he’d been battling with. Now the dwarf chortled gleefully, and stuffing the pistol in his coat pocket, he came at her with his sword on the ready!

Almost automatically she bent down and swooped up the sword which had fallen from the other man’s hand. She saw the look of astonishment on the dwarf’s face as she thus armed herself. He laughed again, but it was more a rattle of hatred in his throat than a normal sound of laughter.

Betsy took a few steps back to be clear of the fallen two and kept her eyes fixed on her weird opponent. She had no illusions as to the dwarfs ability to manipulate his weapon. He had shown himself to be a master of fencing when he was onstage.

Without warning he darted at her and engaged her sword, attempting to twist it from her by a harsh turn of his wrist. But she was too experienced to be defeated so easily. She disengaged her weapon and moved swiftly back before waiting to lunge at him. She almost caught him, nearly broke through his guard, but he fended her off in time.

She could think of nothing but survival now. It was clear the ugly little dwarf intended to disarm her and perhaps kill her. She could only guess that he and his companion were agents of Valmy out to eliminate them from investigating the facts of the death of LaFlenche!

They parried for a little while and then, as she’d hoped, the ugly little man became impatient. He lunged at her, and as he did so, he stumbled. It was the moment she needed. She did not even think but sent her sword through his chest. He opened his eyes wide in a horrified stare as he staggered back gasping. He still held onto his sword and remained standing as blood began to dribble from his mouth! Then he raised his sword, attempted to come back at her, and fell to the ground with a weird cry, her sword still through him!

She was repelled by what she had done, and yet she knew shed had no choice. She gazed down at the dwarf with the point of the sword showing through his shoulder blades and with a gathering pool of blood circling him. She was sure she was going to be ill.

But it was a luxury she could not afford at the moment. First she had to check on Eric and see how badly hurt he was. She was alone in this deserted area of the port city with one man dead and not sure about Eric or the soldier. She saw that the soldier was still motionless, and she went and knelt by Eric.

His left temple was bloodied. As she spoke urgently to him and cradled his head in her hands, he slowly opened his eyes and stared up at her in a dazed fashion. Then remembrance returned to him, and he struggled to sit up.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Just so long as you’re not badly hurt!”

With her assistance he struggled to a standing position and gazed down at the soldier and then the dwarf. He gave her a look of disbelief. “Did you do that?”

“Yes,” she said. “After he shot you, I picked up the other man’s sword and went after him.”

“You did well!”

She tugged at his sleeve. “We must get away from here before anyone else arrives.”

“Yes. They may have friends. And we want no trouble with the authorities.”

Betsy saw the other man stir a little and groan. She said, “Hurry! He’s coming round!”

“I can see that,” her companion said grimly. He went and found his pistol and then joined her to rush off into the darkness.

She gave him support now and kept him moving as swiftly as she could. Gradually the exercise and the night air restored him to a more normal state.

She glanced up at him anxiously. “Have you lost much blood from that wound?”

“No. The bullet merely grazed me,” he said.

She gazed ahead and said, “I think we’re coming back to the main section of the city.”

And she was right. They recognized a church and then some other official buildings. And by a major miracle a late-night carriage driver appeared, and they were able to hire him to take them back to the inn.

He eyed them warily. “You’ve not been in trouble with the police?”

“No,” Eric said grimly. “A drunken friend went wild on us. He nearly tore us apart as we tried to subdue him.”

“All right, monsieur,” the driver said, still not certain about them. But he took them to the inn.

A distraught Kingston was waiting up for them, and when he saw their condition, he groaned. “I knew I ought to have gone with you two!” he exclaimed.

“It might only have made things worse,” she said grimly. “Get me some water and a clean cloth so I can look after his head.”

Eric sat dejectedly in a chair before the last embers of the dying logs in the fireplace. Betsy went about cleaning the wound and was delighted to find that it had been only a minor one. Still it would mean he would have to wear a bandage about his head for a day or two.

He said, “I can’t go around with a bandage. I’ll seem an idiot.”

She was firm. “You must!” she said. “We can’t risk your getting an infection.”

“Not at this point,” George Frederick Kingston said. “We are only just beginning our business here.”

“Another night like tonight and we’ll be finished,” Eric said with a deep sigh. “I take full blame. It was my idea.”

She speculated, “Do you think that strange duo were out to rob us or that they were agents of Valmy designated to eliminate us?”

“It’s hard to say,” Eric worried. “Whatever their motive they meant us no good.”

“I’m certain I killed the dwarf,” she said. “Do you think we should report the incident to the authorities?”

“Under the circumstances we daren’t,” Eric told her. “I rather imagine the authorities will be glad to find one or two less thugs for the city to deal with. Swine like them proliferate about every waterfront.”

“I shan’t sleep tonight,” she said solemnly.

Eric rose with his bandaged head. He put an arm around her. “You must try! We have that important appointment in the morning.”

He saw her to her door and kissed her tenderly. “You saved my life tonight,” he told her.

“Don’t let’s talk about it!” she protested with a shudder.

“Very well,” he said. And kissing her again, he saw her safely into her room. Then he went to join the actor.

She had not been wrong when she’d predicted that sleep wouldn’t come to her easily. She sat on the side of her bed and thought about all that had taken place and began to tremble. For a little while her trembling was uncontrollable. She stretched out on the bed and sobbed bitterly.

Tonight she had slain a man! It would forever remain in her memory. True, she’d had no choice since the dwarf seemed intent on murdering both Eric and herself. She had not had any chance to reason, no choice but to try and defend herself. And her training had come to good advantage. She had defended herself with skill, but in doing so she had killed her opponent! She finally fell into an exhausted sleep with her clothing still on as she lay there on the coverlet.

When they all met the following morning for breakfast in the dining hall, she saw that Eric Walters had removed the bandage from his head and brushed his hair over to cover the small wound.

She smiled grimly and said, “You will have your way!”

“It is not wise to show any weakness in the face of the enemy,” her handsome companion said.

Kingston sat bleakly without showing much interest in his breakfast. He said, “I have talked with the innkeeper and he tells me a waterfront entertainer was murdered last night. He and a companion were attacked in the street and a sword was driven through him.

Eric listened and innocently inquired, “And what of the companion?”

“He survived though badly beaten,” the veteran actor said. “The city is shocked by the incident according to our landlord.”

“I doubt that Marseilles is such a stranger to violence,” Eric said easily. “At any rate it has nothing to do with us.”

“Quite!” Kingston said awkwardly and gave Betsy a furtive glance.

She ignored the glance and said nothing. With the coming of another day she felt less guilty. She knew that it had been a case of kill or be killed. This eased her conscience a good deal.

Shortly after breakfast they left for the shipyard of Pierre Bartel in another of the familiar open carriages. Betsy thought what a king’s ransom they would have paid for one the previous night. They were driven out of the city and had a chance to view the colorful countryside with its rich green vegetation and preponderance of white buildings.

The shipbuilding plant was located on the edge of the ocean with the yards located so they could be flooded and the constructed vessel launched when it was completed. There were also ways, built on a downward slant. And when smaller ships were constructed on these, they were blocked in place until the last moment, then the blocks were removed, and the ship actually slid down the way into the ocean.

When they reached the stone building which housed the offices of the shipbuilding yard, they were greeted by an aged male clerk who ushered them into the spacious office of the owner which had windows overlooking the yards below. Pierre Bartel was a portly man with a black beard and a rather bulbous nose. His close-set eyes had a shifty look, and Betsy at once decided she didn’t like him.

Eric took care of introductions, naming her as his fiancée and Kingston as his father. The bearded Pierre Bartel was polite but not enthusiastic about seeing them. However, he provided chairs for them and then seated himself behind his desk and proceeded to discuss his partnership with LaFlenche.

He said, “Jean LaFlenche owned fifty percent of the firm, so when he died, I simply bought his shares from his daughter.”

“I’m told she is a very solitary person,” Eric said to the owner of the shipyard.