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When he received the news that his older brother, the comte, had gone to the guillotine, he had been devastated. Thus, he lost no time in making sail for France, as he still had a dear and beloved sister in danger. He could not allow her to go the same route as his brother.
As it happened, he and Robespierre had an old friendship—and he was determined when he went before the powerful man. So it was he stood before Robespierre, who held the blade between life and death. He fought for his sister’s freedom, he drew on their long friendship and in the end, Robespierre granted him his sister’s life. One condition had to be met. He and his sister had to leave France forever. Gladly, he accepted. After all, his sister had been made a widow by the guillotine, and both their ancestral homes had already been deeded to the citizens!
He had no choice. He agreed.
Thus, it was, the present comte and his widowed, childless sister, made for the haven of an English island.
What would become of France, he thought as his schooner cut through the sea and into the open ocean.
* * * * *
“Bunky! Bunky!” Heather whispered directly into her companion’s ear as she nudged him. “Wake up!”
“OW…no need to shout,” he grumbled as he ran a hand over his face and then rubbed his eyes.
Heather was beside herself.
They had talked long into the night, telling each other about their lives, their pasts, and their hopes until they had each fallen asleep.
Something, she wasn’t sure what, had roused her.
As she stretched, she realized with a sinking heart it was the slapping of the waves against the hull. The boat was on the move!
“Not shouting, but, Bunky…we are in trouble,” she said on a hushed note.
It was still too dark to see anything in the storeroom, but Heather was certain because of the strips of light filtering through the cracks above that it was day.
Bunky
came to life and exploded with, “What the devil?”
Heather smacked a hand over his mouth. “Hush.”
“We are moving!” he said on a groan as she slowly removed her hand from his mouth.
“Indeed, and I rather think we have been for some time,” she said on a heavy sigh. She had lost all control of her life. Nothing she had done had brought her any closer to Godwin.
“Saints preserve us,” Bunky said woefully. “They’ll throw us over, they will. Make no mistake, ‘tis what they do with stowaways.”
“But we are not stowaways. We are here by accident. We can explain it all…oh, Bunky. If we explain that you saved me…that we only wish to get back to England, perhaps the captain will be kind?”
“Nay, ye be daft if ye think that. Ye don’t know the ways of these things. If this is a Frenchman’s yawl, they’ll never set us in Cornwall. What’s more, they might do much what Colin had in mind,” he said, and shook his head. “They might sell us into servitude.”
“We fell asleep. I can’t believe we didn’t get off before we fell asleep,” Heather said, and put a hand to her eyes. She had to be strong. Crying would not help. She put up her chin and said, “Time we faced them above and beg for some mercy.”
“No…they ain’t got mercy in ‘em. Don’t ye see, Miss Heather? They ain’t never had it easy. They give what they got, the seamen. No…no, we won’t see mercy. Not blaming them either. It’s a hard life and they work and work for their bread, they do. I know.”
“And yet you are good and kind,” she said softly.
He shuffled in place. “If I had been good and kind, I would have run towards town with ye when I had ye on horseback…that’s what I should have done.”
“No matter. Here we are and they will find us when they open the hatch for supplies,” Heather said matter a fact. “So, I say, let’s open it ourselves and face them with our story.” Godwin would never find her now. Would she be able to find her way back to him? And if she did, how long would it take? Then there was Sara. Would Sara attempt to murder him if she returned?
“What I suspicion is this, Miss Heather. If this be a French yawl, she may be putting in for one of the islands. We might yet be able to slip away when she docks if we can stay hidden here behind the grain bags.”
“Oh, Bunky, I don’t believe you have thought this out. We can’t stay holed up here for days and perhaps weeks on end. We shall starve…and we need drinking water. We must present ourselves to the captain and pray he is a merciful man.”
“That be a queer start if ever I heard one,” Bunky snorted. “They ain’t merciful…these Frenchmen. Didn’t ye hear what they be doing to their own? Taking their heads off without a care. Danged if I know what we can or can’t do, but I ain’t showing meself any time soon.”
