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‘Mr Linton, I really see no need for—’
I squeezed his injured arm, causing a hiss of pain. ‘And I see no need for torturing you,’ I told him with a sweet smile, ‘but I might just do it if I feel like it. You will take care of yourself, understood? You are not allowed to die!’
In the shadowy corner where we sat, no one noticed as his eyes darkened, and he reached up to caress my cheek.
‘You will pay the bill, of course.’
Placing my fingers gently over his, I squeezed. My eyes didn’t leave his for a second. ‘Of course.’
‘Adequate. Are you finished? We must be on our way.’
‘Nearly,’ I told him—and quick as a flash leaned forward to place a featherlight kiss on his lips. When I leaned back again, his eyes were swirling maelstroms of dark ocean, threatening to pull me under.
‘You know, Mr Linton…I don’t know whether I’ll need that doctor after all. I suddenly feel quite energized.’
‘Good.’ I stood. ‘Then let’s go kick Dalgliesh where it really hurts.’
‘Admirable suggestion.’ Rising to his feet as well, he marched out the back door. Outside, the horses were waiting for us, along with an impatient Karim and a joyful Jacques. As soon as he saw us, he thrust his fist into the air.
‘Mort aux Aristos!’[42]
‘Yes, yes.’ I gave him an encouraging nod. ‘Moron Aristo, absolutely.’
‘Vive la révolution! Vive la liberté!’
‘Yes definitely! I love going to the library.’
‘Come on, Mr Linton. Let’s go.’ With incredible ease for a man who wasn’t supposed to be able to use one of his arms, Mr Ambrose swung himself onto the back of his horse. I followed suit, with not quite as much ease.
‘Where to, Sahib?’ Karim enquired. He had a glitter in his eye that, not for the first time, made me wonder whether delivering a message was all he would like to do when he met the governor-general.
‘Northeast, Karim. I’ve received reports Auckland is approaching from that direction.’
‘How far?’
‘If all goes well, he’s still a good distance from Paris. Keep your eyes open for his crest, three bales of hay on a red field.’[43]
‘Yes, Sahib.’
And we were off. Karim rode in front, because nobody would be stupid enough to get in his way. Mr Ambrose came right behind him, and I brought up the rear. I knew that Mr Ambrose thought that was because the rear was the safest place for me. But, really, I kept back because it was a place from where I could keep an eye on his bandage. A bloodstain had once again started spreading there, and although Mr Ambrose still sat in the saddle as steady a rock, I wanted to be close behind. If the worst came to the worst, I would catch him—or at least try, and be squashed underneath him. There were probably worse ways to go.
Winding our way through alleys and backyards with crisscrossing washing lines, we headed in a meandering line towards the Porte de la Chapelle. When we finally reached the city gate, Mr Ambrose glanced back, his stone face implacable.
‘We’ll be out of Paris in a minute. The moment we are, we’ll speed up. We have to get a head start. It won’t be long before Dalgliesh’s men report back to him and he figures out what we are up to. We’ll have to ride hard.’
‘But Mr Ambrose, your shoulder—’
Somehow, his face grew even harder. ‘No argument, Mr Linton. We ride hard.’
‘Yes, Sir!’
We passed under the arch, and the darkness of the countryside enveloped us.
‘Now, Mr Linton. Ride! Ride, and don’t stop for anything!’
I gave him my best smirk. ‘Not even if I find see a purse full of gold lying on the road?’
‘Shut up and move!’
