by Jane Feather
It was a bleak reflection, but honesty obliged him to accept it.
After a long while he felt confident enough to lay the child on the cot again and pull up the blanket. Jake lay on his back, unmoving, but his breathing had deepened and slowed, almost as if he were unconscious. Exhaustion, Nathaniel told himself, but a cold chill of terror lifted his scalp as he felt for the pulse in the fragile wrist. To his relief, it was fast but strong.
Taking the brandy, he crept on tiptoe to the companionway. At first he couldn't see Gabrielle on deck. The wind seemed to have lessened and the pitch and roll was not so pronounced. The light was graying with the approach of the winter dawn, and he discerned the dark, huddled shape by the leeside railing.
"Gabrielle?" He trod over to her.
A groan was her only response.
He squatted beside her, uncorked the brandy, took her shoulders gently, and turned her toward him. "Drink some of this. It'll help."
She gulped and gasped as the fiery liquid scorched her sore throat and warmed her aching belly. "Oh, God," she croaked. "Why are you all right?"
"I'm not feeling wonderful, if it's any comfort," he said, half smiling despite everything at this very typical Gabrielle comment even in the face of misery. "Drink some more."
She did so, and a little color returned to her cheeks. "How's Jake?"
"Sleeping, poor little tyke. I've never been so terrified, Gabrielle. Once or twice I thought he was going to give up on me," Nathaniel said, his voice grim. "There's nothing to him at the moment. He's like a husk."
"He's too small to be sick like that," Gabrielle said. "He needs water."
"We don't have any… remember? I gave him brandy instead. I don't know if it was wise, but at least it sent him to sleep."
"Then it was wise," Gabrielle reassured him. She ran her hands through her tangled hair and grimaced. "I think it's over now. The pitch isn't nearly so pronounced, but I'm so cold and wet."
"Come below and change your clothes." Nathaniel stood up, reaching down his hands to help her up. She staggered and fell against him.
"My legs are like jelly. I knew there was a reason why I prefer the Dover to Calais crossing. At least one's misery is short. I should never have let you persuade me into this."
She had amazing powers of recuperation, Nathaniel reflected as he held her against him for a minute. She'd been heaving up her guts for over three hours in the rain and the wind over a violent sea and could still come up with her half-amused, truculent challenges.
Jake stirred and moaned as they reached the cabin, and Nathaniel drew a sharp, anxious breath, crossing swiftly to the cot. The child's eyes fluttered open in the deathly white face.
"Want to go home," he whispered, his voice a fretful thread. "I want to get off this boat. My tummy hurts." Tears slid out of his eyes.
"Hush, now," Nathaniel said gently, kneeling down beside him, smoothing his hair off his damp brow. "Go back to sleep."
"I want Neddy… where's Neddy?" Jake's voice began to rise and he tried to sit up. "Iwant Neddy." He pushed at his father's restraining hands, his voice becoming a sob.
"What's Neddy?" Nathaniel asked softly over his shoulder as Gabrielle came up behind him.
"A knitted donkey," she told him. "He always sleeps with it."
He should have known that, Nathaniel thought with a stab of guilt. He couldn't remember when he'd last visited the nursery.
Jake's feeble protest died and his eyes closed again as exhaustion reclaimed him.
Gabrielle stripped off her wet clothes.
Nathaniel watched her rummaging through one of the portmanteaux in search of dry clothes. She was wearing only her drawers and chemise and, despite his preoccupation, his body stirred. How could she have this effect on him, even in these grim circumstances? Even in this cramped, fetid cabin? How could this heedless and all-consuming passion exist side by side with his savage anger, with his need for vengeance?
If it weren't for that passion, Gabrielle would now be screaming beneath the persuasive hands of the specialists and Jake would be waking up in the nursery at Burley Manor. Instead, driven by lust and pride, he needed to exact his own revenge. And he knew that need was as irrational as the passion, but he couldn't control either.
"I'm going on deck to see what progress we're making," he said abruptly, and left the cabin.
Gabrielle fastened her skirt, frowning in thought. She'd be staying in Talleyrand's house on rue d'Anjou. She didn't know whether her godfather was back from Prussia as yet, but his house was her home in France whether he was there or not. She hoped he would be, since she needed his counsel. Somehow she'd have to ensure that Fouche didn't get wind of the English spymaster's presence in Paris.
Talleyrand wouldn't betray Nathaniel, since he was vital to his own plans, but the brutal police chief would see only the opportunity to break a master spy. He wouldn't hesitate to use an innocent, either, to trap or blackmail. Jake would be in grave danger if Fouche learned the child was with his father. Fouche would certainly interrogate Gabrielle-civilly, of course, or as civilly as that profoundly uncivilized man could manage. He was clever and she'd need all her wits about her if she was to keep to herself those things that she must.
"Well, there are some compensations for your miserable night." Nathaniel jumped down from the hatchway, breaking into her grim reverie. "The wind was strong enough to save us a good hour or so on the crossing. We should pass the Scilly Isles by nine o'clock. We'll land by noon with any luck."
"In broad daylight?"
"There's a secluded cove, protected by a reef that only those who know it can negotiate safely. It's unpatrolled for that reason. The Curlew flies the French colors from now on, keeping well out to sea until we make the run for shore."
"You've done this before," she stated.
"Of course. Many times. And Dan's an expert at negotiating the reef." He went to the bunk, looking down at the still-sleeping Jake. "I suppose I can take comfort in knowing he's unlikely ever to run away to sea again."
"Yes," Gabrielle agreed with a half-smile.
"I'll have to buy him some clothes. These are still wet." Nathaniel shook out Jake's discarded britches and jersey.
"How fluent is your French?" Most educated Englishmen spoke it with a degree of ease, but Gabrielle wondered whether the spymaster could pass for native.
"Good enough. Not as good as your English, but it passes. I ensure I'm not garrulous."
"Even at the best of times," Gabrielle agreed with a touch of asperity.
"You're a trifle acerbic this morning, madame."
"Iwould kill for a cup of coffee," she said in excuse, licking her dry, salty lips.
"Try an apple instead."
"And some cheese. Ithink it's time for another picnic. I'm famished."
Nathaniel shook his head with the semblance of a grin, reflecting yet again that Gabrielle's powers of recuperation were astonishing. But then, she'd been trained in the same school of endurance he had, so it was hardly surprising. His grin disappeared.
He spread the contents of the bag on the table. They would both have preferred to go on deck, but it didn't occur to either of them to leave Jake alone.
The child slept until they were approaching the telltale greenish ripple of water crossing the opening to the narrow cove. The high cliffs of the Normandy coastline rose on either side, gray and forbidding despite the weak sunlight of a midday in early spring.
Gabrielle was on deck breathing fresh air and regarding the rippling line with some apprehension, when Nathaniel emerged from the cabin, carrying Jake, still wrapped in the blanket.
"He woke up and I thought the air might do him some good."
"Good morning, Jake." Gabrielle greeted the child cheerfully, bending to kiss a cheek that had lost the shiny roundness of health.
Jake turned his head into his father's chest. "I'm cold," he whimpered. "An' Iwant a drink."
"Have a look at the land." Nathaniel hitched him up in his arms,
turning so he could look over his shoulder at the approaching coastline. "Soon we'll be in France."
"Don't want to," Jake said. "I want Nurse an' Primmy. I'm cold."
"I can do something about the cold, but not the rest," his father declared with a valiant effort at patience that was obvious to Gabrielle if not to the pathetic, miserable child.
"I want Neddy and the pot."
"You can do something about the latter but not the former," Gabrielle murmured with a smile. "Shall I take him?"
"If you don't mind." Nathaniel handed his burden over with ill-disguised relief. Jake put his arms around Gabrielle's neck as she carried him back below deck.
Nathaniel leaned against the railing, gazing at the water and the curve of beach ahead. His son's intervention dramatically affected his plans. Until he'd returned Jake to the safety of Burley Manor, he'd have to lie low in Paris. He'd intended to pretend to establish Gabrielle within the network, having alerted his own agents to the impostor, and then feed her false information that would lead to the entrapment of Fouche's agents undercover in London. On this visit he would meet with his own agents in the city and explain the setup to them.
In Paris Gabrielle must be kept well away from himself and Jake. He was certain that she would do nothing deliberately to put Jake in jeopardy, wherever her patriotic loyalties lay, but she was dangerous. Fouche's men could well be watching her. She could let something slip-even the most skillful spies made errors sometimes.
The boat tacked across the mouth of the cove, and he glanced toward the fisherman at the helm. Dan's face was set, beetling brows drawn together as he stared fixedly at the line of green ripples, looking for the break that would grant them safe entrance through the reef.
He swung the helm, glancing up at the sail, gently pulling on the mainsheet to catch the wind at just the right moment. The craft bucked as the wind filled the sail and danced over the line.
Nathaniel held his breath, waiting as always for the sickening crunch as the keel scraped over the wicked, jagged teeth of rock. But there was nothing. The boat flew gracefully across the one flat patch of water and into the calm safety of the cove.
"All's well, sir," Dan called out, his face breaking into a smile as the tension left him, and his crew laughed and cracked a ribald joke. Dan produced a bottle of brandy, offering it to Nathaniel with unaffected camaraderie.
Nathaniel took a swig and handed back the bottle, offering a jest of his own, flexing his shoulders. They were through once again. One could never be certain, and each time there was the same surge of relief. And this crossing even more so. He had his son-a hostage to fortune-this time.
Gabrielle came up on deck and stood, feet braced on the gently moving deck, the wind whipping back her dark red hair, her face lifted to the sun. In the midday sunlight the lines of fatigue were etched clearly on the white face, but the charcoal eyes were as vibrant as ever and that little crooked smile curved the wide generous mouth. The warm wanting that he was so accustomed to feeling whenever he was with her seeped through his own fatigue.
God damn the woman! Why? Of all the women in the world, why did Gabrielle de Beaucaire have to be treacherous?
Chapter 16
"I don't want this. It's all crust." Jake pushed a piece of bread to the farthest extremity of his plate, his lower lip trembling.
"It'll give you strong teeth," Gabrielle said with determined cheerfulness. "Shall I put some more apricot jam on it?"
"I don't want it!" The child flung out a wild hand to ward her off. "I hate crusts."
"It's French bread, Jake," Gabrielle said, still patient. "French bread has a lot of crust."
"I don't like French bread!" Jake picked up the despised bread and hurled it to the floor, tears spilling from his eyes. "I want an egg. I always have an egg for tea… with soldiers."
"Soldiers?" Nathaniel exclaimed, pushing himself away from the door where he'd been leaning in ever-visible irritation.
"Strips of bread and butter," Gabrielle told him. "To dip in the egg. Surely you had soldiers with boiled eggs as a boy."
"I'm very sure I didn't," Nathaniel declared with disgusted vigor. "I've never heard such whimsy!" He came over to the table and hacked another chunk off the baguette. "I've had enough of this, Jake." He plonked the chunk on the child's plate. "Now eat that, at once."
Jake sniffed, but seemed to sense that he'd pushed to the limits of his caretakers' indulgence. "I want some jam."
"Please," his father demanded.
Jake snuffled again and produced the required courtesy in a barely audible whisper.
Gabrielle spread jam lavishly on the bread and glanced at Nathaniel's grim features. She jerked her head toward the window at the back of the room, and he nodded and accompanied her away from the table and its disconsolate occupant.
"He's dead tired, Nathaniel," Gabrielle said quietly. "He can't help being like this. Can't we stay overnight here? We could leave at dawn."
Nathaniel scowled, staring through the window down at the inn's stableyard. Since landing at noon, they'd bought an ill-sprung gig and undernourished nag from a local farmer who'd been only too happy to exchange these pathetic commodities for an excessive sum of silver. Any questions he might have asked were stillborn when Gabrielle flashed her laissez passer with aristocratic hauteur. The gig had carried them uncomfortably for twenty miles with Jake whimpering in Gabrielle's lap and Nathaniel cursing the scrawny nag along the mud-ridged lanes.
Early evening had brought them into the village of Quineville and Le Lion d'Or, where Nathaniel intended they should dine and exchange the gig for a postchaise that would double the speed of their journey to Paris.
He turned from the window and directed his scowling gaze at the child drooping over his plate at the table. "He can sleep in the chaise, surely."
"He needs a proper bed for a few hours," Gabrielle said, softly insistent. "He's still dreadfully weak after the crossing."
"The longer we hang around on the roads, the greater the danger." Nathaniel slammed one fist in the palm of his other hand and turned back to the window.
"I don't want this milk," Jake wailed. "It tastes horrid."
"For Christ's sake!" his father muttered.
"It's French milk, love," Gabrielle said, going over to the child, struggling to smile through her own weariness. "It will' taste different. The cows eat different grass."
"I hate French milk!" Jake burst into noisy sobs. "I want to go home. I want Nurse an' Primmy."
Gabrielle scooped him off the stool and held him, casting Nathaniel a speaking glance over the curly head.
Nathaniel ran his hands through his hair, disturbing the neat swatches of silver at his temples. "Very well. But we leave at dawn. I'll go and bespeak a bedchamber for you and Jake."
"No, you'd better let me do that. Since I'm here, you might as well spare yourself and take advantage of my native fluency." Her eyebrows rose in a semblance of her old mocking challenge.
Nathaniel failed to respond to this attempt at raillery. "Go and do it, then." He took Jake from her and waved her brusquely to the door.
Gabrielle shrugged and returned to somber reality. "See if you can persuade him to drink some milk. He needs something to line his stomach." The door closed behind her.
"Don't want any milk," Jake whimpered. "It's horrid milk."
"It's perfectly good milk, and you're going to have to get used to it, my friend." His father sat him down at the table and handed him the cup. "I want you to drink half of it."
The child ignored the cup, and his mouth took a stubborn turn that Nathaniel had never seen before. He'd never met with any resistance from his son, only passive compliance, and he'd assumed that was the child's nature. Now he wasn't so sure. There was something about the boy's expression that was uncomfortably reminiscent of himself on occasion.
He held Jake's gaze steadily, exerting his will in silence. If he couldn't win a battle of wills with an exhausted six-year-old, then the world was goi
ng to hell in a handcart. To his relief, Jake finally took the cup, and, his nose wrinkled, carried it to his lips. Between chokes and disgusted sips the level in the cup went down to half.
"That's all arranged." Gabrielle spoke as she entered the parlor, clear relief in her voice at the prospect of a few hours of civilized rest and refreshment. "Madame has given me a bedchamber across the passage. There's a truckle bed for Jake, so I'll put him to bed now. Then she's going to bring me dinner." She rubbed her hands with glee. "Saddle of hare with junipers, and a sea bream in parsley sauce. Oh, and a bottle of St. Estephe."
"You certainly seem to have seen to your own comforts," Nathaniel observed with asperity.
This unmerited grumpiness merely kindled Gabrielle's somewhat perverse sense of mischief. She'd invented a perfectly reasonable explanation for the innkeeper of why mistress and servant would be dining together in the parlor, but now she looked at him in wide-eyed innocence.
"I assumed you would eat with the servants. They're having tete de veau, I believe… or was it pig's cheek? And Madame said there's a spare pallet in the loft for you. I'm sure they don't have bedbugs; the inn seems very clean and well managed."
"You relieve me," Nathaniel said. "Your consideration is overwhelming."
Gabrielle hid her grin. "Oh, and also I sold the gig and nag for three livres and ten sous and hired a postchaise for the morning. There are plenty of changing posts between here and Paris, so we should make good time tomorrow."
"Such efficiency, countess. I'm in your debt." Nathaniel strode to the door.
"I'm only trying to help," Gabrielle declared, her eyes now flashing with irritation. If Nathaniel wasn't prepared to be joked out of his irritability, then she was fatigued enough to indulge her own.
"Why are you angry? I don't like it when you're angry." This extraordinary statement from Jake silenced them both.
They looked at the child, who was regarding them both with lackluster eyes.
