Page 81 of Echo in the Wind

Jean let out a breath. “It is enough to know he was murdered. I do not need to see the grave. You should be aware, he is not the only one deliberately killed. In examining the carriage involved in the accident, I discovered it had been tampered with.”

The estate manager furrowed his brow. “Mon Dieu. Do you mean—”

“Exactement. Do you know anyone who would want to kill my father?”

Giroud shook his head. “Non. He was ever at odds with the other vineyard owners, of course, but then you would know that. The peasants are not happy, but that is due to more than your father. ’Tis possible someone meant the comte ill for his noble status, but I know of nothing specific.”

Jean thanked him and turned toward his horse. “Take care, Giroud. I will see you at supper.”

“’Twill be an honor, M’sieur.”

Jean rode back to the château thinking of the carriage driver. Why had he been killed? The most obvious answer, of course, was that he had been complicit in the crime and his partners, worried he might talk, did away with him.

Jean thought of Joanna and Zoé, wondering about their day. If someone had meant to kill the comte, would they next seek to kill his granddaughter? She could not inherit, of course, but vengeance would not consider that. And if Zoé was in danger, then Joanna might be as well.

And suddenly he had to know she was safe.

Joanna’s feet hurt and she stopped to rest on a stone bench in the gardens in front of the abbey. Overhead, the clouds had darkened to the same color as the stone towers of the church.

Several feet away, Zoé spoke in animated fashion to M’sieur Bequel about the monks and their slow work on the church. The quartermaster patiently listened, seemingly entertained.

Gabrielle joined Joanna on the bench.

“A remarkable little town,” observed Joanna.

“’Tis very different from Lorient,” said her maid.

“Are you missing your home, Gabrielle?”

“I think of it, Mademoiselle, but miss it? Non, I don’t think so. I am enjoying myself too much. What about you, mistress? Do you miss England?”

“Sometimes, but like you, I am glad to see more of France. I never thought I would have the chance.”

M’sieur Bequel came toward them, Zoé at his side. “I think we should go,” he said. “The capitaine will be wanting to know what I’ve done with ye.”

Joanna grinned. “Or what we have done with his quartermaster.”

Zoé did not protest, but docilely went with Bequel as he turned to go. The two made an odd pair, but she could tell they liked each other’s company.

Joanna got to her feet and, together with Gabrielle, followed Jean’s niece and his quartermaster as they retraced their steps back to the carriage.

Soon, they were on the same road they had taken from the château.

About halfway there, the road narrowed as they entered a dense stand of oak. Joanna was thinking of Donet and their night together when, all of a sudden, two men on horseback, their faces masked in black, rode out of the forest, brandishing pistols.

Gabrielle screamed. Zoé’s face was frozen in terror.

Joanna’s heart was in her throat as she ordered Zoé and the maid to the floor of the carriage. “Stay down!”

There must have been a third man for Joanna heard a voice in front of the carriage commanding the driver to halt. At the same time, one of the two she could see shouted to his companion, “No shots into the carriage! He wants the girl.”

Suddenly, the air erupted in pistol shots. For a moment, smoke blocked her view. When it cleared, the two riders lay on the ground, blood seeping from their chests.

The sound of clashing steel sliced through the air. Bequel swore and hoof beats sounded as a rider galloped away.

Silence reigned until the quartermaster shouted, “Allons-y!” Presumably the coachman was still alive because she heard the lash of the whip and they took off, speeding down the road.

Gabrielle and Zoé resumed their seats, shaken but unharmed.