by Carola Dunn
A month passed. There were picnics, morning visits to neighbours, dinners at the Great House, a subscription ball at the Assembly Rooms in Maidstone. They were invited to attend Open Day at Knole, near Sevenoaks, the vast and magnificent mansion of the Earl of Dorset. Sponsored by Baron Everett, the Darcys merged into County society without the least effort on their part, and enjoyed it prodigiously.
Now and then they met Sir Oswald Harrison, with his pallid, subdued wife and sharp-faced daughter who, two or three years older than Gabrielle, might fairly be considered to have ended on the shelf. Their small estate was situated not far off, near Tunbridge Wells. Warned by Lady Harrison that, as far as she knew, Mr Everett’s investigation was continuing, they spoke to them politely but as rarely as possible, and avoided them when they could.
Sir Oswald was jovial in his cold way, and curious beyond the bounds of politeness about their sojourn at Wrotham. They received his promise of a visit as a threat, but the weeks passed and he did not come.
Nor did Luke come, nor Alain, nor Gabrielle and Gerard’s father. July passed into August, and Gabrielle knew Luke must have gone to Dover and back on his monthly visit without stopping to see them.
Had the news from France been so urgent it brooked no delay? Or was he deliberately staying away from Wrotham? And if so, why?
Chapter 17
Mr Everett posted north to Harwich. The French invasion force gathering in Boulogne was so thoroughly blockaded by the British fleet that the details of its doings had to travel all the way to Holland and across the North Sea to reach England. The Man in the Green Coat paced impatiently from end to end of the coffee room of the Anchor Inn; five days he’d waited while squalls delayed the crossing.
When the news came, borne by a friendly American, it was nothing new. The Corsican Monster continued to gather his Grande Armée; troop transports and landing craft were abuilding by the thousand; the construction of artificial harbours proceeded apace. To the ignorant it looked thoroughly alarming.
Mr Everett wondered whether it would be worth the effort to try to persuade the government that spending millions on raising a volunteer defence force was unnecessary. Even if good weather coincided with a momentary lapse on the part of the blockading fleet, it would take the French so long to sail out of their basins that the situation would have changed before they were all at sea. And besides, the transports would be sitting ducks before the guns of the Royal Navy.
Wearily he hastened back to London. As expected, his arguments went for nothing.
Mr Everett posted south to Brighton. The Duke of York, favourite brother of the Prince of Wales, wanted to lead an expedition to free the Dutch from the French yoke.
He spent a frustrating week of luxurious living at the magnificent Pavilion, attending balls and musicales, card parties, breakfasts and endless dinners. At last he obtained a private interview and succeeded in convincing His Royal Highness that the time was not yet ripe for an invasion of the Continent.
Hurrying back to London, he found that Georges Cadoudal had talked the government into subsidising his Royalist uprising to the tune of a million francs.
Mr Everett posted east to Dover. Le Hibou did not fail him. Méhée de la Touche was indubitably an agent of Fouché . The supposed conspiracy against Bonaparte was nothing but a plot to draw émigrés back to France and implicate General Moreau and anyone else foolish enough to oppose the First Consul.
Back in London, red-eyed from lack of sleep, he explained the intrigue to Hawkesbury, Cadoudal and Pichegru. Pichegru agreed to put off his return to France pending further investigation. Cadoudal, with his million francs in his pocket, was making preparations to depart at the end of August and no argument could sway his determination.
Lord Hawkesbury shrugged. The money had been handed over, there was nothing he could do.
As far as Mr Everett was concerned, there was only one good point to the whole business. General Pichegru’s secretary, Alain de Vignard, had been present at the meeting. Therefore he was not in Kent, dangling after Dorothea.
“What have you dug up on de Vignard?” he asked Davis the next morning, striding into the office well past noon. “And Harrison, too. Any results?”
“Good afternoon, sir. There is nothing to implicate Sir Oswald in any sort of espionage, other than his excessive curiosity when he calls in here. Nothing to suggest that he tries to pass on anything he learns.”
“Then it looks as if I shall have to tackle him myself, about the other matter. Devil take it! Strictly speaking it is none of my business. He’ll have every right to take umbrage.”
“If I may make so bold, sir, you might claim an interest on the grounds of being Sir Cosmo’s successor here at the Foreign Office. Keeping an eye on a colleague’s widow, if you see what I mean, sir.”
Mr Everett frowned. “Too officious by half. Let’s hope he doesn’t question my interest. I shan’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Might I ask what your interest is, sir?”
“A friend requested my help,” he said hurriedly, somewhat flushed. “What of the Frenchman?”
“Ah now, that’s another kettle of fish, sir. The young man has been keeping unsavoury company, that’s not to be denied. But there’s nothing to justify arresting him. No evidence that he’s passed any information, or even that he knows his contacts are on the other side.”
“And if we pick up the contacts, we’ll scare him off and never learn any more. There’s genuine cause for suspicion though, right?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. We’re keeping a close eye on him.”
“I suppose there’s no harm in him learning what Pichegru and Cadoudal are up to. De la Touche knows every move before they make it. Le Hibou has provided all the evidence I could ask for, and they won’t listen to a word.”
“There’s another message from Le Hibou, sir. Came in while you were in Dover, by another route.”
“What does he say?”
“He’s coming to England in September, sir, and that'll be the end of it. After twenty years, Le Hibou is resigning!”
* * * *
Gabrielle set a final stitch in the hem of her riding dress and shook it out.
“There,” she said, “just in time. Rolf and Dorrie are fetching us at half past twelve for a picnic.”
“I shall buy you a new habit,” insisted Lady Harrison. “That one grows positively shabby. I have saved a great deal of money living here, and I shall not buy any new dresses myself until I am sure I shall lose no more weight.”
“You must not fade away entirely, madame! You are looking simply marvelous already.”
“Marie had to take in another two inches yesterday,” beamed her ladyship, preening. “I feel twenty years younger.”
“And look it! Are you sure you will not come picnicking with us?”
“You go on horseback, n’est-ce pas? For this I am not yet ready. Where are you going?”
“A chalk quarry up on the downs. It sounds odd, but Rolf swears it is an excellent place for a picnic, sheltered from the wind, and Dorrie says it is full of wildflowers because it is never mowed. Oh, here they are and I am not changed yet! Pray tell them I will not keep them a moment.”
The quarry turned out to be as delightful as promised. Long disused, it was comfortably carpeted with the short, crisp grass of the downs. They tied their horses to a sapling near the entrance, spread rugs, and opened the hamper provided by the Everetts’ cook. Being by now well acquainted with that genius, Gabrielle had eaten no breakfast and was able to fully appreciate the ham and egg pie, cold roast chicken, greengages and crumbly yellow cheese.
Satiated, they lay back and watched the snow-white cloud puffs race across the sky, talking desultorily. Dorothea named for Gabrielle the multitude of flowers surrounding them: deep blue rampion and pale blue chicory, tall foxgloves and tiny lady’s-slipper, yarrow, tansy and blood-red pheasant’s eye.
“What’s that?” asked Gabrielle lazily, pointed at a stand of dark gr
een plants with purple heads like thistles.
“Burdock.”
"Burdock? Where?” Rolf sat up and looked around. “Oh, famous! Come on, Gerard. Let’s have a battle!”
Mystified but willing, Gerard stretched and rose to his feet. Rolf picked a handful of burrs, handling them with care, and showed him how the tiny hooks clung to the fabric of their clothes. Moments later they were pelting each other, while the girls shrieked and ran to a ledge a few feet above the floor of the quarry, well out of their way.
Sitting there, they contemplated the prodigious idiocy of brothers, and then moved on to other subjects. Eventually the boys ran out of ammunition, or possibly enthusiasm, and paused to disentangle the burrs from each other’s wildly dishevelled hair.
“Have you ever climbed out of here?” asked Gerard, seeing their sisters on the platform at the side.
“No. The chalk is not very stable.”
Gerard scanned the high, uneven walls. “It’s a steep slope, but it’s not quite vertical. I’ll wager it could be done. Look, suppose you started over there, where the girls are. Then up to that ledge on the left, about half way up. See it?”
“Yes. Then there’s that sort of crack, leading up nearly to the top. Come on, let’s try it.”
Naturally they took no notice of Gabrielle and Dorothea’s protests. They crept upwards, Gerard in the lead, moving carefully from handhold to handhold until they reached the ledge they had spotted from below.
“That’s far enough!” called Gabrielle. “Come down now.”
“Not likely! We’re going all the way. We’ll meet you by the horses. Don’t worry, it’s easy!”
Rolf started up the crack, Gerard close behind him. They moved more swiftly now, sure of themselves, until suddenly Rolf stopped. The crack had looked continuous from below, but he had reached a blank patch, with no visible holds. Clinging to the soft rock, he leaned back a little and peered upwards.
“I’ll have to go that way,” he said, pointing above Gerard’s head, “back the way we came, only higher up. You’d best wait here till I see if there’s a way.”
He pulled himself up until he was spreadeagled against the face, just above Gerard, then began to inch sideways. The girls watched, holding their breath.
His foothold gave way. With a cry of dismay he scrabbled at the wall, then tumbled backwards down the cliff. A flying foot caught Gerard on the shoulder, dislodged him, and sent him sliding and slithering downwards, feet first, scoring a path in the soft chalk.
“Gerard!” Gabrielle picked up her skirts and ran to him. Face white with chalk and shock, he stood up and turned to her, then crumpled to the ground.
“It’s my ankle,” he groaned, “but I’m all right. I think. What about Rolf?”
Dorothea was staring upwards, her hand to her mouth.
“He’s up there,” she whispered, “caught on the ledge. And he’s not moving!”
“Very sensible,” said Gabrielle hopefully. “At least he will not fall any farther. Rolf!" she called.
No answer. The sprawled figure lay very still.
“He’s badly hurt!” Dorothea’s eyes were huge with horror.
“Probably just knocked himself out,” said Gerard, trying to reassure both her and himself. He grasped his sister’s arm and hauled himself shakily to his feet. “Devil of it is, I don’t believe I can climb up to see.”
“Certainly not!” said Gabrielle. “I must ride for help.”
“Oh no!” cried Dorothea in dismay. “Pray don’t leave me here alone! I should not know what to do.”
“Well, one of us must go and one stay. Can you ride home on your own?”
“If you will help me mount,” said Dorothea. “I’ll go to the hop fields, it’s closer than the house and all the harvesters are there.”
“Come on then, quickly. Gerard, sit right here and don’t move. If your ankle is broken, you might damage it permanently. Keep an eye on Rolf, and if you see him move, shout at him to keep still.”
The girls hurried towards the horses. As they left the shelter of the quarry, a rider coming up the hill reined in, then spurred forward, calling, “Miss Darcy, Miss Everett! Lady Harrison said I should find you here.”
“Alain! I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life! Gerard and Rolf are hurt and Dorothea is going for help.”
Dorothea looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. He swung down from his mount and took her hand comfortingly, but spoke to Gabrielle.
“What can I do? Shall I go with her, or do you need me?”
“Please stay. Help her mount, then come with me. If we can plan the rescue before anyone arrives, it will go much faster.”
Dorothea cantered down the hill, and they hurried back into the quarry.
“Quick!” cried Gerard, as soon as he saw them. “He’s moving, but I don’t think he hears me.”
Alain took in the situation at a glance.
“I must go up to him,” he said quietly. “If I cannot bring him down, at least I can keep him still.”
“No!” Gabrielle foresaw all too clearly another accident, and three injured men on her hands. “It is much too dangerous. We must be able to make him hear!”
Alain shook his head, took off his coat, and started up the cliff.
Gabrielle sat down and hid her face in her hands. She heard Rolf moaning, the small sounds of Alain’s boots on the chalk, then Gerard’s directions.
“There’s a small knob just above you to the right. That’s it. Now there’s a bad bit, where I fell and scraped it smooth. Oh, well done! Now put your left foot a little lower. Nearly there. By Jove, I couldn’t have done it better myself. How is he?”
“Very restless, not more than half conscious. His head is bleeding badly and I don’t think I can reach it.”
Gabrielle stood up, shaded her eyes and stared upwards.
“How badly? Will he bleed to death?”
“I don’t know. Wait a bit, maybe if I crawl round here . . .”
“Oh be careful! Don’t let him knock you off!”
Alain, on hands and knees, straddled Rolf’s body. With one hand he wrenched off his neckcloth and pressed it to the boy’s head. She could hear him talking soothingly, but could not make out the words. Gingerly, he raised his other hand from the ledge, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and used the red-stained neckcloth to bind it about the wound.
“I’ve bandaged it,” he called down. “Now there’s nothing to do but wait.”
There was a sound of drumming hooves, and Lord Everett rode into the quarry.
“I met Dorothea,” he explained curtly, surveying the situation. He raised his voice. “How do you do, Monsieur de Vignard? I am Dorothea’s father. How is my son?”
“Not well, my lord. His head looks bad and I think he may have broken his leg. But I am no doctor.”
“No, thank God, or doubtless you’d not be up there taking care of him. Dorrie will send for the sawbones as soon as she has told my harvesters to come up here. Can you manage?”
“I shall have to, my lord,” said Alain drily. “Even if you could reach us, there is no room on this ledge. I cannot say that it is precisely adequate for two!”
“It’s all my fault, sir,” said Gerard. “It was my idea to climb the cliff.”
The baron turned to regard his white-powdered, scratched, bruised face. “I daresay you did not force Rolf to go up with you,” he said gently. “Nor push him down. You look as if you have suffered for your foolhardiness, and you cannot be blamed if Rolf has suffered worse for his. You’ve hurt your leg?”
“Yes, or I should have stood up when you came, of course. But I think my ankle is only sprained.”
“Let us hope so. Miss Darcy, be so good as to go and see if the men are coming yet.”
Only his unwillingness to leave the spot indicated his distress at his son’s accident. Gabrielle hurried to the entrance and looked down the hill. A dozen men trudged up the slope, carrying ropes and ladders and hurdles.
Seeing her waving, they quickened their steps, and a few minutes later she led them into the quarry.
They were not a moment too soon. Rolf was groaning, twisting and turning in pain, and it was all Alain could do to keep the two of them on the ledge. Standing at the bottom, Lord Everett directed the rescue, his voice calm but his fists clenched, face pale and set.
At last Rolf, roped to a hurdle and his leg splinted, reached the ground. His father knelt beside him. The makeshift bandage was soaked through with blood and there was no recognition in the boy’s glazed eyes.
Gabrielle stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder.
“Concussion,” she said. “It is not necessarily as bad as it seems. But he needs attention quickly.”
“Take him home,” ordered Lord Everett harshly, and rose to clasp Alain’s hand with a gratitude beyond words.
* * * *
After taking care of Rolf at the Great House, the doctor drove down to the Dower House to examine Gerard’s ankle.
“How is Rolf?” asked Gabrielle eagerly, as Tombaugh ushered him into her brother’s chamber.
He shook his head gravely. “Not like to die, ma’am, but there’s no telling yet whether the blow will affect the mind. The leg’s a simple fracture, no problem there, but I can’t deny I’m not happy about his head. Only time will tell. Now what’s the matter with you, young man?”
Gerard endured his probing fingers with clenched teeth. To their relief the doctor decided the ankle was indeed merely sprained, though badly. Cold compresses and a few days rest were prescribed, along with a sleeping draught in case the pain should keep him awake at night.
“I shan’t take it,” said Gerard firmly as the door closed behind the doctor.
“As you wish,” agreed his sister. “However, you will stay abed. And if I find you on your feet before he permits it, there will be dire consequences!”
“You say!” he jeered, then sobered. “I wish I had never suggested climbing! Suppose Rolf should never properly recover?”
