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Gideon didn’t answer.
Mr. George looked from one to the other of us and shook his head. “What a disaster! Your mother will murder me, Gwyneth! It was supposed to be the safest of operations. A conversation with the count in the same house, no risk at all. You wouldn’t for an instant have been in danger. And instead the two of you go halfway around the city and get set upon by footpads.… Gideon, for heaven’s sake, what on earth did you have in mind?”
“It would have been fine if someone hadn’t given us away.” Gideon sounded angry now. “Someone or other must have known about our visit. Someone who was in a position to persuade this man Wilbour to drive us to a meeting place in the park.”
“But why would anyone want to kill you two? And who could have known you would be visiting the count on that very day? None of it makes sense.” Mr. George was chewing his lower lip. “Ah, here we are.”
I looked up. Yes, we really were in front of our house, all its windows brightly lit. Somewhere inside, my mum was waiting for me. So was my bed.
“Thank you,” said Gideon.
I turned and looked at him. “What for?”
“Maybe … maybe I really wouldn’t have lasted much longer,” he said. Another crooked grin flitted across his face. “I think you actually did save my stupid life.”
Oh. I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was look at him, noticing that my silly lower lip was beginning to quiver again.
Gideon quickly brought out his lace-edged handkerchief. This time I took it. “Better mop your face with this, or your mother might think you’ve been crying,” he said.
He meant to make me laugh, but at this moment, that was right out of the question. At least I didn’t burst into tears again.
The driver opened the car door, and Mr. George got out. “I’ll take her to the door, Gideon. I won’t be a minute.”
“Good night,” I managed to say.
“Sleep well,” said Gideon, smiling. “See you tomorrow.”
* * *
“GWEN! GWENNY!” Caroline was shaking me awake. “You’ll be late if you don’t get up now.”
I pulled the covers over my head. I didn’t want to wake up. Even in my dreams, I’d known there were dreadful memories waiting for me when I came out of my present blissfully drowsy state.
“Honestly, Gwenny! It’s quarter past!”
I kept my eyes closed, but it was no good. Too late. The memories came rushing in at me like … er … Attila attacking the … er, the Vandals?
The events of the last two days were unraveling vividly before me like a film.
But I couldn’t remember how I wound up in my bed, only that Mr. Bernard had opened the door to me last night.
“Good evening, Miss Gwyneth. Good evening, Mr. George, sir.”
“Good evening, Mr. Bernard. I’ve brought Gwyneth home a little earlier than we planned. Please give my regards to Lady Arista.”
“Of course, sir. Good evening, sir.” Mr. Bernard was as expressionless as ever when he had closed the door behind Mr. George.
“Pretty dress, Miss Gwyneth,” he had said to me. “Late eighteenth century?”
“I think so.” I’d been so tired that I could have rolled up on the rug in the hall and gone to sleep on the spot. I’d never looked forward to my bed so much. I was just afraid of running into Aunt Glenda, Charlotte, and Lady Arista on my way up to the third floor. They’d all pester me with scolding and questions.
“I am afraid the family have already had dinner. But I’ve prepared a little snack for you in the kitchen.”
“Oh, that’s so kind, Mr. Bernard, but I—”
“You want to go to bed,” said Mr. Bernard, and a tiny smile appeared on his face. “I suggest you go straight to your bedroom. The ladies are all in the music room. They won’t hear you if you keep as quiet as a mouse. Then I will tell your mother that you are back and give her the snack to take up to you.”
I’d been too tired even to feel surprised by his caution and his concern for me. I just said, “Thank you very much, Mr. Bernard,” and went upstairs. I had only the vaguest memory of the snack and my conversation with Mum—I’d already been half asleep. I’m sure I couldn’t have made the effort of chewing anything, but maybe it had been soup.
