The Man in the Green Coat

by Carola Dunn

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am Luke Everett. I must assure you that I do not make a practice of removing the clothing from young ladies to whom I have not been presented in form.”

  Her eyes danced. “Nor I of being carried into unfamiliar bedchambers by gentlemen with whom I am unacquainted. I am Gabrielle Darcy, sir, and this poor suffering soul is my brother Gerard.”

  Gerard looked up, gave a sickly grin, and returned to the contemplation of his own misery.

  “If I might make a suggestion, Miss Darcy, I should not be too free with your name. It might prove embarrassing at some future moment, considering the—ah—circumstances of your arrival.”

  “You refer to my dress, I take it. I expect you are right. We are but now come from France, Mr Everett, and have had such adventures on the way!”

  “The evidence of that is plain before me, ma’am. Ah, Baxter, bring the bowl here, if you please. You see the fabric is stuck and I must soak it off. Miss Darcy, I fear this may be painful.”

  “Merely breathing is painful, sir. Pray don’t mind me.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it, then wet the cloth and laid it on her side. After several applications, he began to ease off the patch of her shirt he had cut loose. Gabrielle squeaked.

  He stopped at once. Her eyes were screwed shut, her fists clenched, but she murmured, “Go on. Finish it.”

  The rest came off more easily. Mr Everett looked at the wound and shook his head.

  “It appears to be considerably swollen. I fear the bullet may still be there. Where the devil is that doctor? Baxter, go and make sure Colby sent for him.”

  Before the servant could go about his errand, there was a knock at the door and it was flung open. Framed in the doorway stood a huge woman, mop cap askew, wheezily trying to catch her breath. Her triple chin shook with the effort. Behind her, a tall, thin man tried in vain to push around her.

  “You should stay in the kitchen, Mrs Colby, you should stay in the kitchen,” he admonished. “Climbing stairs is excessively bad for you. Let me pass, I say, let me pass.”

  The innkeeper’s wife recovered enough to gaze around the room.

  “What’s all this carryin’ on then, Mr Everett?” she demanded breathlessly. “I runs a respectable house, I does.”

  “Get on with you, woman, you have known me for years. Do you still harbour doubts about my respectability?”

  “Nay, sir, but I hear there be a young woman in here without an abigail, and I cannot spare a chambermaid to sit with her, the house being so full and all.”

  “The young lady’s brother is here; you need not fear for her reputation. But for her life, perhaps, if your husband has not sent for a doctor.”

  “Which he has done. Let be, doctor! Push, push, push till I don’t know if I’m on my head or my heels. I’m moving quick as I can.”

  Apparently deciding the chamber was already too full, Mrs Colby lumbered backwards into the passage and the tall, thin man darted in.

  “Dr Hargreaves, sir, Dr Hargreaves. What seems to be the problem now? Aha, the young lady has been shot, has she? She’s been shot?” He put down his green cloth bag on the foot of the bed and peered at Gabrielle’s side. “Nasty,” he decided, “nasty. Bullet’s still in there, don’t you know, still in there. Have to get it out or it won’t heal properly, get infected, finis, as you might say.”

  Gabrielle’s eyes flew to Mr Everett’s face. He took her hand and held it in a comforting grasp as the doctor fumbled in his bag. Gerard staggered to his feet.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked belligerently.

  “Have to cut it out, have to cut it out. Looks to be close to the lung, very dangerous, oh very dangerous. The lady must keep very still while I work. There’s two ways to do it, don’t you know. We can hit her on the head or we can give her half a pint of brandy and hold her. I’ll need help, I say, I’ll need help.”

  Gabrielle clutched Mr Everett’s hand convulsively.

  “Please, no!” she gasped.

  He sat down on the bed and looked into her eyes with his compelling gaze.

  “He’s right. But if you are unused to spirits, as I hope is the case, a glass of warm wine should be enough to deaden the pain somewhat. I take it you had rather that than be hit on the head, as the good doctor so uncouthly put it?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  She managed to smile. “Yes, of course. Please, you will stay?”

  He smoothed her hair back from her brow. “Indeed I shall. You do not think I should permit anyone else to help you keep still? Except your brother, if he is up to it.”

  “I can manage perfectly well,” said Gerard with dignity. “The floor is not moving near as much as it was.”

  “Need both of you, gentlemen, both of you. One at the head and one at the feet.” Dr Hargreaves was removing from his bag a series of evil-looking instruments. At least they were clean and unrusted.

  “Baxter, go and fetch a mug of mulled wine for Miss Darcy. And hurry, man. Anticipation is half the agony.”

  “Not in this case,” muttered the doctor forebodingly. “Not in this case. I shall need plenty of hot water, too, and ask Mrs Colby for a couple of old sheets. Old sheets, I say.”

  * * * *

  When Gabrielle woke in the morning, Gerard was stretched out beside her, fully dressed and snoring slightly. The multicoloured counterpane had been folded back over her as a coverlet. On her other side, Mr Everett slumped in a hardbacked chair, his head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed.

  She regarded him with interest. His face relaxed, he seemed considerably younger than she had thought. There was a hint of melancholy about his mouth, a sadness of lost hopes, perhaps. Otherwise he looked like a plain country gentleman, very ordinary in his crumpled, slept-in clothes.

  Last night he had been a much more romantic figure. Coming unexpectedly to the rescue, he had immediately won her trust with his gentle, comforting assistance. She had not hesitated to accept his assurance that the dreadful operation was necessary.

  Her memory of it was mercifully blurred. He had made her drink a huge mug of wine, then lifted her so that the sheets could be spread beneath her. By the time he laid her down again, her head was full of cottonwool. She had been vaguely aware of Gerard’s hands on her ankles and Mr Everett’s firm grasp on her wrists, until a piercing pain, worse than the original bulletshot, had driven her into oblivion.

  She moved, cautiously. The dull ache in her side flared into life, but it was not much worse than a scraped knee or banged elbow, she decided. Her chief sensation was of hunger, and she thought with longing of the garlic sausage and heavy, dark bread that she and Willem and Jan had shared on the boat.

  There was a soft knocking on the door and Mr Everett’s manservant opened it just enough to stick his head round.

  “Come in!” hissed Gabrielle. “Can you get me something to eat?”

  Baxter shook his head, then jerked it at his sleeping employer. “Ask the master,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Said not to.”

  “Why?” asked Gabrielle indignantly.

  She tried to sit up, groaned and lay down again. Mr Everett’s eyes opened instantly.

  “Miss Darcy, are you in pain?”

  “Not in the least,” she lied.

  He woke up enough to realize that she was regarding him with disfavour.

  “Perhaps you do not recall who I am?”

  “Certainly I do, and I should like to know what makes you think you can dictate whether I eat or not!”

  He glanced at Baxter, who shrugged expressively.

  “Pray hold me excused, ma’am. I have no wish to appear dictatorial, but Doctor Hargreaves advised that you should take nothing until he has examined you. He will come as early as may be, I assure you.”

  “But I am hungry!”

  Before Mr Everett had to think up a response, Gerard stirred and stretched.

  “Where the devil am I?” he mumbled. He sat up. “Oh, I re
member! How are you this morning, Gab? I could eat a horse, I vow!” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stretched again and yawned.

  “So could I, but Mr Everett will not let me.”

  “Oh, good morning, sir! I must warn you that it is not the least use telling Gabrielle what to do. Even my father gave up trying some years back.”

  “Papa did not ‘give up trying,’ but recognised that I am an adult and quite able to decide for myself. It would have been very inconvenient for him to have a daughter who could only act upon instruction, since he was so rarely there!”

  “Enough, Miss Darcy! I shall not attempt to rule you, but I am sure it would be unwise to ignore the doctor’s suggestion.”

  “Oh, if the doctor said so!” Gerard was obviously relieved not to find himself on a field of battle. “Surely you will not argue with that?”

  Gabrielle sighed. “I suppose not. I daresay the two of you will repair directly to the coffee room and break your fast?”

  Her brother looked guilty. “You cannot expect us to starve because you cannot eat. Besides, I have not so much as tasted a morsel since . . . since noon on the day before yesterday. Lord, no wonder I am sharp-set! I’ll tell you what, if the sawbones has not come by the time we are through, I shall go and fetch him myself.”

  “At least you will not leave me lying here. Help me to sit up, Gerard.”

  He stood up and moved to assist her, but Mr. Everett forestalled him, raising her shoulders and pulling pillows behind her back.

  “Thank you,” she said faintly, leaning back against his arm.

  He looked down at her critically. “You are dizzy,” he said. “I do not believe you are well enough to sit up.”

  “Yes, I am,” she insisted, raising her chin. “If I cannot eat, I should like more than anything in the world to wash myself. Do you suppose a maid could be spared to help me?”

  “Baxter, see to it,” ordered Mr Everett, cautiously removing his arm. He stroked his chin, and added wryly, “You are not the only one in need of making a toilet. I shall have to see if Colby can find us a private corner. I am sure at least a few of the other guests will have left already for London. Like you, most of them had just escaped from France, though with whole skins. Come, Gerard, we will leave your sister in peace, and we will not again mention breakfast in her presence.

  “Wretch!” Gabrielle flung after him.

  The reminder of their escape brought to mind the events leading up to the last frantic dash to safety. Gabrielle thought, for the first time since leaving his cold body in the barn, of the English spy who had given his life for his country. His message and directions were clear in her memory and she was determined to carry them out. When a short while later a chambermaid arrived with hot water, soap, sponges and towels, the first thing she said was, “What is the name of this inn, pray?”

  “The King’s Head, miss. Cor, miss, there been’t much left o’ your clothes!” She helped Gabrielle take off the ruined jacket and shirt.

  “Good, that’s just where I wish to be. There isn’t, is there? ‘Tis past time I changed to skirts again, at all events."

  “The mistress sent up a nightgown, miss. It’s ever so pretty. A grand lady left it ahind when she went off to London.”

  “That’s very good of her. I shall pay her, of course. Would she let you go out and purchase some clothes for me, think you?”

  The maid was more than willing to be of assistance, though she could not answer for Mrs Colby. “She’s a good heart, though, miss, for all she do shout fit to wake the dead when summat goes wrong.”

  “What is her husband like?”

  “Oh, the master’s easy enough. Lives beneath the cat’s-paw, like, and he don’t raise his voice often, but when he do, even she jumps.”

  “I must speak to him. Will you tell him so?”

  “0’ course, miss. Now if you’ll put your arms out, miss, let’s see if we can get this nightgown on wi’out hurting your poor side.”

  The nightgown was an insubstantial creation of frothy lace and pale pink ribbons. Gabrielle felt better just for having it on. The maid brushed her hair, and then held up a mirror.

  “You look right pretty, miss,” she declared with satisfaction. No one wouldn’t take you for a boy now, even wi' your hair cut short like that. It’ll soon grow out, I make no doubt. If there’s nowt more I can do for you now, I’ll fetch up Mr Colby to see you."

  Chapter 4

  Gabrielle awaited the landlord’s arrival with eager curiosity. Who was the Man in the Green Coat? Still more interesting, who was Le Hibou, whose name they had used to persuade Willem Snieders to help them? Were the little spy in the Flanders barn and The Owl one and the same person? And if so, how had Papa known of him? What with soldiers, seasickness, and surgery, she’d had no chance to tell Gerard about the spy’s message. Now she decided that it was not her secret to tell.

  Mr Colby knocked and entered.

  “You sent for me, miss?” he enquired, breathing heavily and wiping his forehead.

  “You are the innkeeper? Yes, I did. Please close the door.” When the man had done so, Gabrielle went on in a low voice. “Someone I met in France told me to go to you. He said to ask for the man in the green coat.”

  “The man in the green coat, miss?” Colby asked cautiously. “That’s an odd one. I don’t believe as we has any guests what wears a green coat.”

  “Then you must know where I can find him. I have a message for him that someone died trying to deliver.”

  Mr Colby looked startled. “Died, did he, the poor cove? And how did he happen to give you the missige, eh, miss?”

  “I don’t believe I ought to tell you any more,” said Gabrielle consideringly. “It is clear that you know what I am talking about, so will you please stop shilly-shallying and tell this person that I must speak with him.”

  “And who’s to say as you been’t sent to trap him, miss, if you’ll pardon my plainness? Partickly seeing as how...Nay, I can but give him the word and let him decide. Right you are, miss. If’n he comes, he’ll come right soon. And if’n your tale be true and you’ve brung the missige at cost of a bullet, I’ll take leave to tell you that you’re a right brave young lady, and I be proud to have you staying at the King’s Head.”

  Gabrielle blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “It is true, I do assure you, and I hope you will persuade this man of mystery to listen to me.”

  “Ah, that’s as may be.” The innkeeper turned to leave, and stepped back with a gasp of surprise as the door opened and Mr Everett came in, followed by Gerard. “Sir, he stuttered, “a word with you outside.”

  “What is it, Colby? Is your wife questioning my respectability again? Baxter told me you were up here; I hope you have not been upsetting the young lady with questions.”

  “Oh no, Mr Everett, it’s not my place to . . . Please, sir, just a word.” He tugged on the gentleman’s sleeve. Mr Everett glanced at Gabrielle, noted that she looked not only well but positively glowing, and allowed the agitated landlord to lead him out.

  “Whatever are you wearing?” demanded Gerard. “It is downright indecent."

  “Oh, do not say so. I believe it must be Parisian. It was left here by one of the guests and Mrs. Colby sent it up for me. Is it not pretty?”

  “Yes, but cut much too low. You must wear a shawl.”

  “How can I, when the saddlebags were lost? Not that I brought a shawl anyway. However, the chambermaid is going to buy some proper clothes for me. Gerard, how much money do you have left? I hope it was you who took off my money belt when I was shot, and not the fishermen.

  “Yes, I have it, or the contents anyway. There are twenty-five écus d’or and some silver. And the draft on Hoare’s bank, but I daresay that is useless until we reach London.”

  “Oh dear, that is less than I had supposed. You must have clothes too, before we go to Madame Aurore’s, and there is the shot here to be paid, and the doctor, and the fare on the stage. We shall have to be ver
y careful.”

  “I daresay Mr Everett would loan us something. He is a great gun for all his grim looks.”

  “Grim? I do not know what you mean, I’m sure. He is not in the least grim. All the same, I should not dream of borrowing from him. It would not be at all the thing.”

  “And nor is your nightdress. Do cover it up before he comes back.”

  “With what, pray? Really, Gerard, it is perfectly unexceptionable. And besides, I believe I hear Dr. Hargreaves outside. There is no time to find something.”

  The lanky doctor bustled in, Mr Everett a step behind him. The latter had a curious expression on his face, which Gabrielle read as disapproval of her dress. At once she felt both self-conscious and defiant.

  “I do not think Mr Everett should be present,” she said primly.

  He looked surprised. “I beg your pardon,” he apologised stiffly. “You are right, I have no business here. I had not considered.” He left without more ado, but Gabrielle, listening hard, thought he did not walk down the hallway. He must be waiting outside.

  “How are we feeling today?” asked the doctor. “I say, how are we feeling today?”

  “Ravenous,” complained Gabrielle.

  He laughed heartily. “Appetite excellent, a very good sign, a very good sign.” He felt her forehead. “And no fever. We have here a young woman in prime form, yes, in prime form. Would that all my patients were so healthy. Allow me, ma’am, to examine the wound.”

  With Gerard’s help, he unwrapped yards of bandages from about her middle. Gabrielle held her breath while he studied it, probing with unexpected gentleness.

  “Still sore, of course it is still sore. But no swelling, no infection and already beginning to heal, I say, already beginning to heal. An amazing constitution, ma’am, allow me to congratulate you. I shall not come again unless I am sent for. You will send for me if you see any untoward signs. We will put on a fresh bandage, which must be changed daily. It must be changed daily. You will remain in your bed today; tomorrow you may rise but do not overtire yourself. I say, stay abed today but you may rise tomorrow.”