Page 33 of The Count’s Charade

Curiously, she was less infuriated by the gossip, with its blatant assumption of her lack of morals, than by the villagers taking it upon themselves to decide her future. She knew her living alone was generally disapproved of, and it had been relayed to her enough times that the villagers held it to be a shame her disability should prevent her finding a husband. But to have married her off in this ridiculous fashion was a great deal too bad. As if a man like Henri Rousselle could not do better for himself.

But the memory of that fleeting kiss last night could not but obtrude, sending a sneaking ray of unfounded hope rising into her bosom. Foolish though it was, Grace found it hard to shake off. Had she not berated herself with strong common sense last night, when her loins would persist in defying every vestige of reasoning? She knew it was ridiculous to refine upon a kiss given for comfort. It had meant nothing more.

Those endearments he had uttered, treacherously returning to torment her, were not to be taken seriously. Henri had been addressing her lightly as ma chère for days. A familiarity no more intimate than that used to her by Sir James Levisham, who invariably also called her “my dear”. But in French, and coming from Henri, Grace felt it as a caress. Despite her conviction Henri could not have meant to encourage her to suppose he liked her more than as his saviour. Friend, perhaps. But, lover? It was not to be thought upon, and to the devil with those gossiping tongues who knew nothing of his handsome looks and his darkly secretive past.

Besides, she had every expectation he would be leaving her today. Leaving here, she corrected herself, thrusting down on the pain engendered by this thought. Wooferton was likely seeking Sir James at this very moment. Grace fully expected him to return, armed with his warrant and accompanied by Doctor Ffrith, this very afternoon.

A belief that held her in a trance-like state of mind, until the arrival of Joe Piper less than an hour later. Let in by his daughter to the parlour where Grace had settled down to work, he lost no time in delivering extremely welcome tidings.

“Mr Mayberry sent me to say as Sir James went off to the coast near a se’nnight since to stay with his daughter and the Reverend. He ain’t expected back for two more days.”

A leap of joy shot into Grace’s bosom. “Then Wooferton cannot get his warrant!”

“No, and them Frenchies are wishful to remove from the Three Crowns down Rainham Creek Mouth and have upped and arst Wooferton for rooms at the Black Horse.”

“He ain’t never going to let them stay there, is he, Pa?” demanded Jemima, shocked.

“He has no choice, Jemima,” Grace pointed out over her own dismay. “As long as he has rooms, he cannot refuse to accommodate them. As excise officer, Mr Wooferton is bound to keep to the law.”

Jemima snorted. “Who’s to say he has got rooms then? For my money, nobody ain’t going to report him if he refuses to put up no Frenchman.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my girl,” pronounced her father loftily. “There’s them as hold grudges agin Wooferton, seeing he’s done ’em for brandy smuggling. ’Sides an’ all, Wooferton ’ud rather have ’em at his place so as to keep his eye on their movements.”

Grace found some comfort in this, although it did not augur well for Loriot’s belief in her story. “Is that all your message from Mayberry, Joe?”

Piper eyed her a trifle askance, his sharp face watchful. “I dunno, Miss Grace. He said owt to me, but I dunno if’n he meant for me to repeat it.”

“If it’s good for Miss Grace to hear, Pa,” chimed in Jemima, “you just go on and tell her, and never mind what Mr Mayberry means.”

Her father cast her a glance of faint contempt, but paid her no further heed, his attention all for Grace. She met his gaze steadily. “There can be little to be said worse than I have heard already, Joe. Pray understand all my concern is for Henri’s safety and nothing else.”

“Then it won’t hurt none if I happens to mention as it’s Mr Mayberry’s say-so as the feller is better off here than otherwhere. No knowing, says he, when them Frenchies might take it into their heads to come nosing round again, and no one ain’t more fitted to keep ’em off the scent than Miss Grace, says he.”

Jemima beamed. “There now, I knew you had ought to hear it.”

Two days. Three, by the time they had the necessary warrant and could come to fetch the fugitive. They could not be here before Saturday, and if luck was with her, Sunday might well intervene. Time at least for Henri to recover his strength. Time for her to think of a way to keep him out of the clutches of authority. And time for her to keep him by her, to see him, touch him now and then, and to know he was alive.

“What about Doctor Ffrith?” she asked, recalling another of Wooferton’s intentions.

“He’s to come along ’twixt now and then, for he says as how he ought look at the wound in any event afore Wooferton and Mayberry get their warrant.”

And there was little doubt he would pronounce Henri fit to be moved, since it had been his wish to remove him from the first. There was nothing to be done about that. For the moment, the reprieve was all in all to her.

It was Jemima who voiced an oddity. “Wonder why Sir James never come to see you afore he went, Miss Grace. Might have been as you wished to send a message to the Reverend.”

“Yes, that is curious,” Grace conceded, and immediately noted Piper’s expression. “Oh, what is it? Is there something wrong at my brother’s?”

Joe shifted uncomfortably. “It ain’t for me to say, Miss Grace. Seems as Sir James left in a bang, like, which is why nobody didn’t hear nothing of it ’til now.”

“Lord, perhaps Serena is ill again!”

“Aye, it’s what Mr Mayberry supposed, being as Mrs Dovercourt ain’t in prime twig at the best o’ times.”

Guilt struck Grace, for such news ought to have demanded the utmost distress from her. She was sorry for her sister-in-law, if she was indeed ailing, despite having journeyed to the coast in hope of improvement. But, to her shame, she could not conjure a tithe of the feeling that beset her at the plight of Henri Rousselle, a stranger, and a Frenchman to boot.

Chiding herself, she put her attention upon it. “If you should be in the vicinity of Rainham Lodge, Joe, perhaps you might enquire there for me whether there was any message from Mr Dovercourt that took Sir James away.”

Piper immediately said he would make it his business to go to Sir James Levisham’s house and pump the butler for information. “Though it ’ud likely draw more from him if you was to give me a note, Miss Grace.”