The Ruby Pendant Page 14

  `A froggy countess, eh? Valuable cargo, indeed.' The man was apparently the captain, for the rest of the crew stood behind him, gaping.

  `You have been paid,' Michel told him. 'Set sail, if you please.'

  `Not until we have negotiated a new price. Or overboard she goes.'

  Juliette turned her back on them, delved into the pocket tied about her waist under her skirt and produced a single string of pearls that her father had given her for her come-out. 'Will these do?' she asked, holding them out. `They are very fine. Enough for my fare and a cabin.'

  He took them and examined them, holding them up to the light. 'Cabin, eh? This ain't the cross-channel packet, you know.'

  `But you do have a cabin?' Pierre queried.

  `Naturally, there is a captain's cabin.'

  `Then you will not mind putting it at the disposal of the countess, will you?' He paused and looked round at the motley collection of crew and prisoners of war. 'Can you sail a ship when its crew are paying more attention to a lady's limbs than their work?'

  `Oh, very well,' the man conceded. 'I'll take the mate's cabin and he can move in with the crew. As for the rest of you, get below and stay there until we are safely out of reach of the revenue cutters. We'll be taking on another passenger at Lowestoft, but that needn't concern you.' To the crew he yelled, 'Weigh anchor and let's be away.'

  Five minutes later there was no sign on deck that the ship was anything other than an innocent fishing vessel. The crew were busy trimming the sails, the erstwhile prisoners were confined in the hold and Juliette was sitting on the bunk in the cramped cubbyhole that the captain graced with the name of cabin, wondering what she was doing there. She had come from a beloved daughter to fugitive, from a mansion to an evil-smelling boat, from dry land to heaving sea, all in the space of two days. Her carefree childhood, her growing up, were behind her and she could never return to them. They must be forgotten. She had thrown in her lot with the enemies of her adopted country and the penalty for that was death. The fact that she was travelling unchaperoned paled into insignificance beside it. And any one of these men could rape her and she would be unable to do anything about it. She doubted if Pierre would be much help, even if he chose to try. In the last two days she had lost all her illusions about him. He was not the romantic figure her imagination had painted. He was irritable and selfish and grasping and it was only the prospect of her supposed wealth that would protect her.

  But she had another protector - the sea. Within an hour of setting sail she was struck down by seasickness and the cabin became her prison. One of the sailors came in now and again to take away the bowl and replace it with a clean one. Twice a day he brought a jug of water. It was supposed to be clean drinking water, but it tasted bitter and made her feel worse.

  She ate nothing but still her stomach heaved. The room and her clothes began to stink, but opening the porthole let in cascades of water and soaked her bedding. It was shut again. She doubled over the basin, praying to die.

  Then, as her stomach emptied and there was nothing more to bring up, she sank back on the smelly bunk and dreamed of the sunlit gardens of Hartlea. The scent of roses filled her nostrils and she could hear laughter, her mother's and Anne's. There was someone else there too; a man. Not her father, not James Martindale whose features she now found difficult to recall, but Philip Devonshire. He was standing so close she could feel his warmth, the strength emanating from him and enveloping her like a cloak. He was smiling so that the dimple in his chin deepened.

  `Time,' he was saying in aggrieved tones. 'That was all I asked of you.' And then she was awake and weeping, tears she had not been able to shed before. Every pore of her longed for the time she had denied him, had denied herself. Now there was no time. She slept at last, through sheer exhaustion, and when she woke the storm had passed and the ship was on an even keel. She had to get out of that stinking cabin and go on deck, even if it meant mixing with the men. She would just have to behave with the dignity of a countess and hope for the best. She scrambled to her feet, stripped off the clothes she had been wearing and washed herself, using the clean basin and water from the ewer. Then she found her cloak-bag, which had been thrown into a corner, and pulled out a plain woollen gown and a shawl. Thus clad, she left the cabin and went up on deck.

  It was a bright sunlit day, the water was calm and sparkling. Above her the sails were filled with the breeze taking them southwards. She could not see land and wondered how long she had been confined to the cabin, how far they had come. There were men about, working or simply leaning over the side contemplating the water. One of them turned as she approached and she found herself looking into the amused eyes of James Martindale.

  At first she thought she must still be dreaming, but then he laughed. 'Surprised to see me, are you, my dear wife-to-be?'

  'How...? W-what are you d-doing here?' she managed to stutter at last. 'How did you get on board?'

  `I came aboard at Lowestoft. You were too ill to notice.'

  `Have you taken over the ship?'

  `Now why should I do that?'

  `To arrest these men, take them back to prison. Though how you knew...' She paused, suddenly remembering James's encounter in the park with the man in the long coat. It had been Michel! He was not an escapee, he was an informant and had betrayed the other prisoners to James. She was almost sorry for them. 'What are you going to do with me? Will I be arrested too?'

  `Why? Have you done something illegal? According to Lieutenant Veillard, you are merely returning to your homeland.'

  `He told you?'

  `Yes. Now, thanks to you, 'I have had to change my plans. I was to visit Hartlea, or had you forgot?'

  `I am sorry. Will you take me back?'

  `I do not see how I can do that, my dear, not immediately. We are very close to Calais.'

  She turned to look over the bows. A flat coastline was clearly visible and even a few houses and a church could be seen. One of the crew lowered the British ensign and hoisted a French one in its place. 'I had no idea we were so near.'

  He turned as Pierre joined them. 'Lieutenant, I have just been telling Miss Martindale...' he smiled and corrected himself with a bow to Juliette '...Mam'selle Garonne, that I have taken over her welfare. You may leave her in my care.'

  `But I promised...'

  `I absolve you from all promises, Lieutenant. The lady is betrothed to me; I do not recall the engagement being broken. When we dock, you may take your leave. Your task is done.' His manner brooked no argument and the young Frenchman moved away to join his compatriots.

  `There now,' James said, when he had gone. 'I shall look after you from now on.'

  `But you do not know the whole truth...'

  `Oh, but I do. The trouble is that you have been hopelessly compromised, even if the truth about who you really are is suppressed.'

  `Then you will wish to break off our engagement. I understand that. You need not spare my feelings.'

  `You do not understand.' For the first time his lazy voice was raised. 'His lordship wishes to recognise you and if that is so, nothing has changed, except your precipitous flight. What a ninny you were not to wait.'

  `That is exactly what...' She stopped. She could not mention Philip Devonshire, it would only anger him. `What I could not do.'

  `No, or the lieutenant would have gone without you. It had all been arranged weeks beforehand.'

  `You knew?'

  `Of course.'

  `Michel told you.'

  `Indeed he did. How clever of you to see that. But now, my dear, you are up to your pretty little neck in intrigue and only I can save you.' He paused and put a finger under her chin to lift her face to his. `Our story goes like this: Pierre Veillard inadvertently let slip to you the information that there was to be a break-out and, once he had done that, he could not let you go to raise the alarm. He forced you to go with him. I heard about it through Michel and followed in order to rescue you, but I could not bring it about before we arrived in F
rance. Consequently, we had to go along with the prisoners until an opportunity arose to escape and return. I shall be a hero.' He smiled and bent to kiss her lips, though he put no pressure on them, aroused no response beyond bewilderment. 'We were married at the earliest opportunity, of course.'

  She should have felt relieved at so simple a way out of her dilemma and one that meant she could return to Hartlea with her reputation almost intact, but there was something about his smug self-satisfaction that repelled her. 'Why are you doing this? Why are you putting yourself at risk to save me?'

  `Hartlea,' he said. 'You know what it means to me and I will not insult you by pretending otherwise. Oh, I know it will be mine one day; his lordship cannot break the entailment, but I need money to run it and the pay of a government clerk is a mere pittance. I need a dowry and yours is the most generous of any among this year's debutantes.'

  `It won't be now.'

  `Oh, I think his lordship will be magnanimous, you know. He loves you.'

  Did he? Then she had let him down very badly. If only she had been told the truth a long time ago, she might now have come to accept it; there would have been no need to flee. That was the coward's way. 'How soon can we go back?'

  `I really cannot say. But since we are here, we ought to go to Hautvigne.'

  `Why?' She was puzzled.

  `My dear Juliette, it is your birthplace. Are you not a little curious? After all, you have rights...'

  `I am not at all interested in claiming those.'

  `Why not? There are lands and buildings, a chateau full of furniture, not to mention hidden treasure, so I am told. And when the war is over and we are at peace again, they will be added to your dowry.'

  `Lieutenant Veillard is only guessing.'

  `Perhaps, but he seems well-informed. We cannot risk losing it for the sake of a few days' travel.'

  `But the risk of being captured must be greater. And besides, we would be unchaperoned.'

  He flung his head back and laughed until the tears ran down his face. 'My dear Juliette, how illogical you are! You left home with a gaggle of common French soldiers. Anything could have happened.' He stopped to look closely into her face and, for once, his eyes, were still. `Perhaps it did, perhaps Pierre has already enjoyed your favours, perhaps they all have...'

  She was so astonished, all she could say was, 'How dare you!'

  `Oh, I dare. I dare anything as far as you are concerned, because the rewards I expect to receive outweigh my natural repugnance. I shall be your husband and, for the purposes of our journey, I shall need a new name. Yes, I will be a Scotsman with a grudge against the English. James Stewart, how does that sound?'

  `No!'

  `You do not like the name?'

  `I care nothing for names. I meant no to marrying you.'

  `But we are already betrothed, my dear, we have made a sacred promise to each other. I realise it cannot be the wedding of your dreams, but a wedding there will be.'

  She did not want to marry him, even to save herself. `How can you go to a priest in France? You will be arrested at once.'

  `There is that possibility, of course.' He paused, enjoying tormenting her. 'We could be married at Hautvigne, surrounded by your family, though it would not do to let them know you really intend to return to England.'

  `You are so sure of yourself,' she said. 'When did you plan all this?'

  `Only since I came on board and found you here. Veillard supplied me with the details, which is what I meant when I said you had made me change my plans. I had intended to stay on board only a short time and then go to Hartlea as arranged.'

  They had entered a river estuary and were moving so slowly that the people on the towpath were able to walk alongside and call out to them. The Frenchmen on board called back, laughing at the realisation that at last they were free and among their own people. The side of the ship jolted against the bank, almost throwing Juliette off her feet. The sails were let down, a line was thrown out and caught and they had arrived. She watched the men swarming down the gangplank, laughing and joking in voluble French. She envied them; they were coming home. She felt no sense of homecoming. She didn't feel French at all. And all she could think of was what she had left behind, her home, her father, and the man she so dearly loved. If only it had been Philip instead of James who had come aboard! James was infuriatingly sure of himself and apparently not in the least concerned about her feelings at all. How had she come to accept him in the first place? He was rapidly becoming repugnant to her. And yet he was her only hope.

  `Here we are!' he said heartily. 'And no one stopped us.'

  `But they might still do so. You will be taken prisoner.'

  He laughed. 'No, I do not think so, but there are enemies all around us, so we must take care. Have you seen Philip Devonshire of late?'

  The question took her completely unawares and she stared at him, wondering what had prompted it. Enemies and Philip Devonshire's name spoken in the same breath, how significant was that?

  He smiled, aware of her reaction. 'He was at Hartlea the day before you left, wasn't he?'

  `There is nothing out of the ordinary in that,' she said, wondering how he knew. 'He is my father's friend.'

  `And yours too, I collect.' He paused, watching her face carefully. 'Though how you can entertain as a friend someone so lacking in honour, I do not know.'

  `I did not entertain him. We hardly spoke more than a few polite phrases. Why are you so interested? Surely you do not still consider him as a rival?'

  `Not at all. But do you think, being a friend of Viscount Martindale, he might be persuaded to come after you?'

  `To France?' She attempted to laugh but it sounded forced. 'Why should he do that? Why would a coward like Philip Devonshire risk his life for me? He could not even find the courage to fight a simple duel. I despise him.'

  He seemed to accept the lie and grinned easily. 'Yes, you are right, of course. He would never dare cross the channel. It would be certain death. Let us forget him and go ashore.'

  He took her arm to escort her down the gangplank on to French soil. She wished James had not mentioned Philip because now she could not stop thinking about him. She lived again every encounter she had ever had with him, dancing at her ball, waltzing her out onto the terrace, the meeting in the garden when he had hinted at... what? He had asked for time and that might have meant he had hopes of being able to unravel some problem that stood in the way of him declaring himself. Had she imagined the gentleness of his voice, the soft look in his eyes, the pressure of his lips on hers? And that last time, at Hartlea, when she had been so confused and unhappy - if they had been alone, would he have offered her any comfort?

  It was all too late now. She had been tried, found wanting and condemned, that was how it felt, and all she could do was to serve her sentence. Exactly what that would entail she did not know.

  Philip, at that moment, was cursing the rough weather that had delayed his crossing. His ride to Hartlea and back had made him late into the camp and the prisoners had already escaped. He had gone after them, but had wasted time trying to discover the name of the vessel they had boarded; by the time he had the information, it had already sailed.

  He had requisitioned a cutter in the name of the War Department and set off after them. The last time he had been in France a month before, he had almost been caught and he knew he was risking life and limb to return there, but that was no consideration now. He had a legitimate reason for going; Lord Martindale had asked him to find Clavier's British contact and, if his information was correct, the man was on that boat. But that task dwindled into unimportance beside the overwhelming need to find Juliette. Was she still with Pierre Veillard, or had he handed her over to his bloodthirsty companions? His blood ran cold at the thought. Would they stay in Calais long enough for him to catch up with them or move on immediately? But where? Oh, where was his darling? That he loved her had never been in question. Whether she loved him was more debatable, but he would not rest unti
l he found her.

  He paced the deck in a fever of frustrated impatience, his imagination painting lurid pictures of the fate that might befall her. Instead, he forced himself to think of the pleasure of their reunion, when he would, once again, hold her in his arms, when he could tell her of his love. But before that could happen there were other matters to resolve, not least the question of Le Merle and his informant, because they were all bound up together.

  Chapter Seven

  It was no good sighing for what might have been, Juliette scolded herself, as they journeyed through France, using several modes of transport, all of them exceedingly uncomfortable and furtive and matched only in unpleasantness by the inns and taverns in which they lodged.

  And though she cried herself to sleep each night in the privacy of her room, she faced each new day with stoic determination to put the past behind her and make what she could of her future. One day James would take her back to England as his wife but, judging by the danger of travelling in enemy France, that might not be until the war ended. She was surprised to discover he spoke very good French, better than she did, and he had some official-looking papers that ensured their safe conduct, but not their comfort. She was filthy, verminous and exhausted by the time they arrived at Hautvigne in the last of a succession of hired conveyances, a dilapidated one-horse carriage with no springs.

  The chateau sat on a hill just above the town, surrounded by what had once been a prosperous vineyard. Now it was neglected and overgrown. The vines still producing fruit had not been tended and the grapes were small and rotting. The building itself was made of mellow stone and beautifully proportioned, with a tall round tower at each of its four corners, though many of its hundreds of windows were broken and the great oak door, at the top of a sweep of steps, was damaged as if it had been attacked by a battering ram. It was nothing like the splendid picture Pierre had painted. She turned and surveyed the grounds surrounding the house. The gardens had once been well laid out, but were now a tangle of creepers, overgrown shrubs and long grass, though she could see that one corner had been cultivated recently for there were rows of cabbages and potatoes.