As they walked down the beach he saw fishing boats strung along the sand. A couple of fishermen were kneeling, watching the small family pass. They said nothing, but nodded at Charlotte. She nodded back. They stared at him with low-voiced comments among themselves. Nothing untoward from this group. What was it that had her back straighter, her body radiating a new tension?
Finally they reached Georges. Gabriel could tell by the smell of his tobacco. From what little he could see, the boat looked clean and tidy. Not at all the “scow” he had expected from Charlotte’s comments.
“Bonjour, monsieur,” she called as she walked up to Georges. “Here we are. Ready to fish all day.” She sounded just the right tone of faux excitement. She and Georges shared a low-voiced conversation and then she came back to stand next to Gabriel. “The colonel is headed this way with three officers and at least a dozen soldiers.”
Gabriel did not raise his head, but he raised his eyes to stare at her. She had herself under control now, though he could tell that she was concerned.
Conscious of the children next to him, he did not ask the dozen questions spilling through his head. Will he recognize us? Does he know Georges? What can I do if there is trouble?
“I think,” she said, “that we must board the boat slowly so that they believe we are not in a hurry.” She waited. He could see the children nod their understanding. She continued. “We will help Papa on first, then I will board, you children will be last. Pierre, you sit in the back with Papa, and Claire will sit in the front with me. If the soldiers stop us I will speak to them. If they ask you a question, pretend you are afraid of them.”
Pretend? He did not think any of them would have to “pretend” to be afraid.
She had no sooner finished speaking when a gunshot shattered the morning quiet. Jolted out of his role, Gabriel swore and, as another shot sounded, reached for Charlotte. He pushed her to the sand even as she pulled the screaming girl close to her. As they fell, Charlotte contrived it so that he was the one beneath them, her body sheltering the two of them. As she lay next to him he could feel her heart beating wildly. Aha, so she did not have ice in her veins.
“The boy?” he whispered.
“Safe with Georges.” She rested her head on his back. They lay waiting. For disaster, discovery or, please heaven, deliverance.
“Listen!” a commanding voice rang out. “Every one of you. Men, women and children.” It was the colonel. His voice, if not his obese body, was well suited to a battlefield. It carried to all of them along the broad strip of beach. “Not one of you is to leave until we have searched your boat.”
“Did he shoot off that gun so we would listen,” Gabriel whispered, “or to scare years off of our lives?”
“Shhh,” Charlotte hissed. “They are spreading out in small groups, each with an officer in charge.”
Gabriel’s “family” resumed their tableau, though not all of them were acting. Charlotte was still giving most of her attention to the piteously weeping girl. Her brother stood as still as a statue and almost as white as marble. Georges drew on his pipe. The only sign of concern that Gabriel could see were his narrowed eyes.
Gabe let his head drop, doing his best to appear disinterested, while every part of him readied for action. The rattle of the officer’s sword announced the squad’s arrival.
“Bonjour, madame and messieurs.”
He recognized that voice and with it came relief and rage. It was the damned interfering guard captain. Was this whole expedition his idea? Did the man have nothing to do but dog their every step? The effort to control his movement was so great that Gabriel started shaking.
Georges had ignored the colonel’s words and the captain’s presence and made to help Gabriel into the boat. Gabriel could hear low-voiced conversation between Charlotte and the captain.
It was dark enough and there was a chance that he would not be able to see clearly enough to recognize her. Them. Had Desseau seen Georges before? It seemed that Georges and Charlotte were together as often as she and the captain.
Georges had him settled in the boat, with his back to the beach. The captain came over as Charlotte made to join them.
“What kind of injury, madame?”
“Some damage to the brain. I remain hopeful that he will recover. Today will be the test, for he loved the sea and fishing.”
Desseau waded into the water and came to the side of the boat. He put his arm on Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel did not move, did not look up. He continued to stare at the coil of line until it became his whole world.
“Wait!”
The colonel’s voice stilled all of them. He made his way to their gathering even as Gabriel could feel the captain tense and Charlotte swear.
“Who is this wounded man? The others say they have not seen him here before.”
The guard captain began to explain, but something stopped him.
“Let the woman tell me,” the colonel said.
“My husband always preferred to leave from the western shore, on the other side of the docks, but it is too far for him to walk now.” Charlotte gave her explanation in a hesitant way, as though she were afraid and trying to be brave. What an actress she was. Or perhaps, in this case, no acting was required.
The colonel leaned over to raise Gabriel’s face to his. Gabriel could feel sweat on his brow. It was not because the bandage fit too snugly.
“Please, Colonel.” Gabriel could hear the pleading in Charlotte’s voice. “He does not like to be touched. See how he shakes.”
“Bien,” he said, and ripped off the bandage with a wicked laugh.
Gabriel screamed like a wounded animal, bending double, covering his head with his hands, being sure to let his nasty “wound” show. After a moment, he stopped screaming, settling for a keening sound that went on and on.
“Search the boat, Colonel,” Georges said, pushing Charlotte and the children out of his way. “I have known him all his life and will no doubt be with him at his death.”
“Is that so,” the colonel said. Gabriel could see him raise his pistol and felt the coldness of it pressed against his temple. “Shall I put him out of his misery now? Surely, madame, you would be better off as a widow.”
The little girl began to scream. Her brother was finally driven to action, shouting, “No, no.”
“Take care of your sister,” Charlotte said to the boy. She came to the colonel. The old soldier smiled a little, still holding the gun at Gabriel’s head. Gabriel did not, could not move. Images of home, his family, swirled through his head. Those memories were interrupted by Charlotte and her clean sweet smell. He drew in her scent and prayed to a God he was beginning to hope did exist.
“Please, Colonel. I beg you. The children need their father.”
There was a long silence. Then the colonel put his gun away and grabbed Charlotte by the chin, ordering one of the soldiers to raise the lantern. “I know you.” He looked at Desseau. “Where have I met her?”
Desseau had the look of a man caught in a trap. Or a lie. The regret was real even as he stepped away from her.
Brain damaged or not, Gabriel looked at Charlotte.
“Please, Captain. Please.” She begged Desseau this time. The tears in her voice left no doubt of her fear.
“I am sorry, madame, but I must tell him.” Desseau put some more distance between them.
Gabriel closed his eyes. To have come this far only to have it ruined was not possible. What kind of jokester was God to tease them this way? He would fight, fight and die, but he was not going to his death like a coward. He clenched his fists and waited.
“Colonel, she is Charlotte Parnell’s sister. Her family is disgusted by Charlotte and mortified at the shame she has brought on them. Madame will not acknowledge the connection, but Charlotte herself told me.”
The man is a spy, Gabriel realized. Or so besotted with Charlotte that he would risk life and honor to protect her.
The colonel looked at her with this new bit o
f information. “Yes, I can see the resemblance.”
Charlotte turned her face from the colonel’s but said nothing.
“It appears she is as virtuous as her sister is daring,” the colonel added, looking over his shoulder at Desseau.
“Hardly worth your time, sir. But if you wish, I could bring her along for questioning.”
“Bring Charlotte along for some questioning and I will say merci bien, Desseau,” the colonel said, laughing, and walked on to harass someone else without another word to any of them.
Raoul Desseau scooped up the bandage and tossed it in the boat. He leaned closer and whispered, “Bonne chance, mon ami,” then stood. Calling to his squad, Desseau followed the colonel down the beach.
Had the man wished him luck? Gabriel tried to interpret his words as he controlled the urge to let his anxiety go in a huge breath of relief. His aborted sigh sounded like the troubled breathing of a sick man.
The boy was babbling, little Claire still sniffling as Georges helped them climb aboard. Gabriel watched them but could not rid his mind of Desseau’s words.
Luck was no more than one soldier would wish another. That was what they both were: soldiers. It did not even matter what side Desseau was on. They both were soldiers for a cause that gave them purpose.
For his part, Gabriel wanted desperately to save his family name and personal honor. For that he would need all the luck he could find. With the hope of escape at hand, he felt generous enough to wish the captain the same.
He watched as Charlotte let Georges help her into the boat, where she made her way to the prow, taking the now whimpering girl, settling her on her lap, tucking a blanket around her.
Georges pushed off fully from the sand. None of them made a sound. Gabriel did not even dare breathe too deeply in case the colonel should change his mind. Would the boat sprout a leak? Or the sail rip in half? One of the children plunge overboard? This day had started out poorly. He hoped that their bad luck had run out.
Georges settled in the middle of the boat, sitting on an upturned wooden crate. He raised the sail.
Gabriel estimated the boat was about twenty-five feet. Something one man could handle alone. Yet large enough to cross the channel if necessary. Surely that was not what Charlotte planned to do.
The sail luffed as the boat tacked to catch the wind. Gabriel raised his head into it. It seemed to him it was just the sort of gesture a man on the verge of recovery might make.
The wind was at his back soon enough and the boat gained speed. With his eyes still closed, he embraced the sensations that surrounded this passage to freedom.
The noisy, fish-laden smell of the shore gave way to the salty clean tang of the sea. The water slapped the sides of the small boat with a comforting rhythm. The deck beneath his feet felt solid even as it thumped over the waves. The lines rattled against the mast as the sail pushed them farther from the shore. As they left France behind, Gabriel allowed himself to think of what it would be like to return home. Where his family was waiting. Not only his family, but the authorities as well.
Would they both be there when he arrived? Would he be held in another prison while the war department was notified of his return?
A trial was inevitable and his execution a possibility. He had a debt to pay and he would do what was needed to spare his family embarrassment. He did not allow the hope that the government would believe his story and release him.
“Is there family waiting for word of you, sir?”
Gabriel’s companion had been stone silent. His question took Gabriel by surprise. “Yes. Yes, Pierre, there is.”
The boy did not appear to be enjoying the trip as much as he was. His shoulders were hunched and he was a bit green. Gabriel rambled on about his brothers and sister.
He stopped short. He cursed to himself as he realized that Pierre did not have family to look forward to. “Where will you go when we land?”
“I will go where Madame Mama takes me.”
The prospect of yet another orphanage did not seem to frighten him.
“My sister and I will stay together; Madame Mama has promised me that.”
So the girl was his sister. “How is it that you speak such excellent English, Pierre?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. Madame said we were to tell you nothing other than that she will take care of us.”
“Aha. I see.” And damned irritating to be labeled as suspect. Charlotte would infect them all with her mistrust, he thought. He turned to look at her.
She was staring intently at the harbor. His sense of safety evaporated as thoroughly as the fog had. Were they being followed? He turned slightly, not caring that it was out of keeping with his role. Madness would claim him if he had to go another round with a Frenchman.
There was no one to see.
No boat overtaking them, only the empty water and the sun beginning to rise, coming up behind the city, casting the buildings into shadow. It was a dramatic picture in black and gray. The church spires were black arrows against the gray sky. The water was a silver blue mirror broken into pieces by the wind, reflecting no more than the colorless dawn. He would never forget the sight. It so matched the life he was leaving behind.
The sun blinking over the city’s buildings changed the image in an instant. He turned back, blinded by it.
With his back to it he looked again at Charlotte.
She was watching him now, smiling. She might as well have been shouting, “We did it!” He smiled back, nodding. She shook her head in relief and disbelief, her smile growing to a grin. For the first time in the days they had known each other they were in complete agreement.
He closed his eyes and raised his face skyward again. In her smile he had caught a glimpse of the real woman. The woman who did not wear a costume or pretend a life. It stirred his curiosity. She was as confusing as the chemistry experiments that had nearly blown the roof off the dower house, and if there was one thing he liked it was puzzling things out. He would see that smile again, he decided.
16
EVEN AS CHARLOTTE watched him marvel at the sunrise, the little girl pulled at her sleeve.
“What is the man, Papa, doing?”
“Worshipping the sun, mignonne.”
“Why?” she asked.
Her puzzlement told Charlotte this one must learn to have more fun. “He has been held prisoner by the French. This is the first sunrise he has seen in a long time. It is his way of celebrating.”
The child did not ask anything else, and when Charlotte stopped watching Gabriel to look at the girl she saw the child studying the man and then the sky.
“Can you think of something you would like to celebrate, Claire?”
“Oui. I would dance and sing if I could have a mama, but I will be happy if I can have a kitten.”
Charlotte felt the start of tears to her eyes. She knew exactly how that felt. She might be too old to admit it aloud, but she herself wanted nothing more than her own mama welcoming her home, fussing over her, tucking her into bed. A few days yet. Just a few more. With her arm around Claire, she kissed her hair. “I hope all your dreams will come true, and I can promise you a kitten.”
The day dragged on, the cool damp air giving way to an unseasonable warmth that made her welcome the water and the fruit that Georges had tucked in the basket under the bench. The apples were bruised but delicious. She watched Pennistan eat his as though it were manna sent from heaven.
He saw her laughting at him and shouted above the wind and down the length of the boat, “The last time I had an apple was in Spain, at least a hundred years ago.”
With a look of surprise, the boy said something to him, speaking so quietly that the words did not reach her, even with the wind to help.
“He has been in prison for one hundred years?” Claire asked.
“No, it only feels that way to him.”
“What did he do that was so bad?”
Charlotte thought about her answer. What had she told Pierre? Th
at he had lost a dangerous game, people had died because of it and he might pay with his life. It was the truth. If she had been feeling kinder toward him she would say that he had been trapped by another’s deceit.
How did one explain that to a child? It was impossible when she could hardly understand it herself. “It was a terrible mistake, Claire. He was rescued and now he is going home.”
“Will he live with us?”
“No, he has his own family. They are waiting for him.”
“Oh,” Claire said, biting her lip. “Pierre says the orphanage was like a prison.” She reached out and trailed her hand in the water. Only for a second. “But I think I miss it already.”
Charlotte felt those damn tears again. “New adventures can be as frightening as they are exciting. Where we are going will be far better than an orphanage.”
“England.” Claire nodded. “Pierre made up stories of what it will be like. No place could be that wonderful.” She watched Charlotte for an answer, her eyes daring her to lie.
“Probably not,” Charlotte said. “I can promise you one thing, mademoiselle. It will be better than France.”
“Bien,” Claire said, smiling a little. “I can really have a kitten?”
“But of course.”
Claire grinned and settled back again. “Merci, Madame Mama.”
“Il n’y a pas de quoi, comme toujours, mon petite.” You are welcome, as always, little one. For the first time she understood what Georges meant by that phrase. It was more than generous. It was a pledge.
“A HUNDRED YEARS, Monsieur Papa? No one could survive a hundred years in jail. You are lying.”
“To me it felt like a hundred years. It was less than one.”
The boy nodded, but still looked as though he was ready for a fight. He had been since the colonel had manhandled them, Gabriel suspected. “So, did Mama tell you where I am going?”
“Perhaps to prison, perhaps to the gallows, perhaps home to your family,” Pierre answered promptly.
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