Letter from a Dead Man Page 17

  The groom looked down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable, and mumbled, ‘I don’t rightly know what to say, my lady.’ ‘Very well, let’s start at the beginning. Last week you left Yarmouth and sailed to London.’ He didn’t answer, and I persisted, ‘You did go to London, didn’t you?’ He hesitated, then gave a slight shake of the head. I gazed at him, puzzled. ‘Was there was a change of plan?’

  ‘No, my lady.’ And he said guardedly, ‘Mr Giles does mean to go to London later, that I do know, but I can’t say where he is now.’

  ‘Can’t? Or won’t?’ I asked in a gentle tone. The groom shifted from one foot to the other, clearly not knowing how to answer, and I urged, ‘Under normal circumstances Leatherbarrow, I shouldn’t dream of asking you to break a confidence, but there is nothing normal about what is happening now. I simply cannot tell Mrs Saxborough that you don’t know where he is.’ I didn’t need to explain why. Every servant at Ledstone knew how she fretted over Giles. ‘Nor can I concoct a story that will satisfy her, unless I know the truth. You do see that, don’t you.’

  ‘Yes, my lady, I do,’ he sighed.

  ‘At least tell me where you left him.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but that won’t help you.’

  ‘Allow me to be the judge of that.’

  With considerable reluctance, he obeyed. ‘He’s in France, my lady.’

  ‘France?’ I gasped, utterly taken aback. I took a long deep breath. ‘Whereabouts in France?’

  ‘He went ashore in Normandy, my lady.’

  ‘Where precisely?’

  ‘It’s a remote spot on one of the beaches, well away from any village.’

  The manner in which he spoke made me say, ‘You speak as if you’ve been there often.’

  ‘Not often, my lady.’

  ‘But you have left Mr Giles at this place before?’

  He covered his face with his hands. ‘He’ll skin me alive.’

  ‘I promise you he won’t,’ I assured him kindly. ‘I’ll explain I gave you no choice. How long has this been going on.’ He hesitated, and I said, ‘You may as well tell me now, Leatherbarrow.’

  He looked at me and whispered. ‘Since he came down from Oxford.’

  ‘Four or five years?’ I spluttered. The years before the outbreak of hostilities, when he’d travelled abroad for pleasure. Preferring to cross the channel in his own yacht, mooring at one of the bigger ports. Or so he’d told me.

  We were still standing by the paddock, and I hoped Leatherbarrow wouldn’t notice I was using the upright post beside me as a support. ‘What did he do on these visits to France?’

  ‘I don’t know, my lady. He wouldn’t say. Only I wasn’t to tell anyone where I left him.’

  My throat suddenly felt very dry, and I went on a little shakily, ‘What happens when you arrive at this beach?’

  ‘There’s always a Frenchie waiting with a horse, my lady.’

  ‘This Frenchman,’ I said apprehensively, gripping the wooden post tightly. ‘The one with the horse. Is - is he a smuggler?’

  ‘I believe so, my lady.’ I closed my eyes, but it was dark now, and I doubted he noticed. ‘When he wants to be picked up, he sends Jacob with a message.’

  I swallowed, recalling the casual way Giles had asked me to do him a favour. ‘Only this time Jacob will come to me.’

  For the first time Leatherbarrow relaxed. ‘So I understand, my lady,’ he grinned.

  I thought for a moment. ‘When the message comes, you’ll pick him up from Normandy and sail on to London?’

  ‘That’s it, my lady. He says his business there won’t take more than a week and I’m to wait for him.’

  In desperation I asked, ‘Leatherbarrow, doesn’t he even hint where he’s going to in France?’

  He wavered. ‘Not normally, my lady.’

  ‘Only this time he did?’ A small groan escaped him. ‘Come on Leatherbarrow, I must know.’

  After a moment, he said, ‘I suppose it won’t do no harm now.’

  I was of the opinion it would do me a great deal of good. The thought of Giles alone in a hostile country run by a bunch of uncivilised cut-throats, where mobs ran riot in the streets, and one unwise remark could mean arrest and execution, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Why had he taken such a risk? He was getting married in a few weeks. What could be so important? And then an awful thought struck me.

  Barely able to get the words out, I whispered, ‘Does it concern my uncle?’

  Even in the darkness I caught the slight fluttering of his eyelids. ‘It seems he’s in a prison in Normandy, my lady.’

  I ran my tongue round dry lips. ‘Yes, I know that.’

  ‘He’s being moved to Paris early this week, and Mr Giles said once there, he’d never get out alive.’

  My voice shook as I asked, ‘Has — has he gone to rescue my uncle?’

  He looked at me helplessly. ‘Yes, my lady.’ Now I understood the sparkle in Giles’s eyes, and why he’d left in a hurry. But how could he actually enjoy risking his life?

  I didn’t ask what crime my uncle was accused of, for the bloodthirsty tyrannical Committee of Public Safety had swept aside the kind of truth and justice we were accustomed to in England. Those who dared to criticise the revolution, or suggest life had been better under the monarchy, were silenced by the guillotine. If Giles was caught trying to rescue my uncle, justice would consist of a sham trial and swift execution.

  ‘Are you all right, my lady?’ Leatherbarrow inquired worriedly. Swallowing hard, I reassured him, and asked if anyone else knew where Giles had gone.

  ‘Oh no, my lady. Mr Giles won’t have spoken of it. He says the only sure way to keep a secret is not to share it with anyone else.’ I smiled grimly, remembering Giles had once said the same thing to me, and asked how the rescue was to be achieved. ‘By stopping the coach on its way to Paris. He said one prisoner wouldn’t warrant much in the way of guards. And he could have Miss Lucie’s papa safe on the Island in a few days.’

  I groaned. ‘Didn’t he stop to think what it would mean to Miss Lucie and Mrs Saxborough if he was captured or killed?’ My godmother, for one, would never recover from such a blow.

  ‘I did try to make him see sense, my lady. But it’s a long time since he took much notice of anything I said. And you know what he’s like once he makes up his mind.’

  ‘Indeed, I do,’ I muttered with feeling.

  ‘I begged him not to go risking his life, but he said there was no risk, because he and this Frenchie had it all worked out.’ He owned anxiously. ‘I wish he hadn’t gone, my lady, and that’s the truth.’ I gave a shiver, for even as we spoke, Giles might be in prison, or dead. And there was absolutely nothing we could do, except wait. And pray.

  I couldn’t help admiring his courage, although he wouldn’t have seen it like that. Indeed, I knew exactly how it had been. Giles, discovering Lucie’s father faced certain death, saw a chance to save him, and had not hesitated. The possibility of failure probably hadn’t entered his head, as he would have planned everything with his usual thoroughness. Yet, how could anyone be safe in France when the King himself has been forced to climb the steps to the guillotine?

  I returned to the house intending to tell Marguerite that Leatherbarrow couldn’t leave before morning because of the tide, praying I could think of a better excuse overnight. I found Mr Reevers sitting with her, and she greeted me with relief, her eyes begging me not to leave her alone with this man again. He sat on the other side of her and could not see her expression, but she could not quite keep her dislike of him out of her voice. ‘I was just explaining to Mr Reevers why Leatherbarrow is going to bring Giles-----’

  Mr Reevers intervened, ‘Frankly ma’am, I consider it both unnecessary, and unwise, to send Leatherbarrow on such an errand.’

  ‘Unwise?’ I repeated, puzzled.

  ‘Certainly. Giles will instantly rush home and seek out these French smugglers himself. In my opinion, men who would kill a m
an and a boy for the sake of a ring, no matter how valuable, are not to be trifled with.’

  Marguerite gave a cry of alarm. ‘Oh no. That’s just the sort of thing Giles would do. Drusilla, I absolutely forbid you to write to him.’

  I assured her I would naturally abide by her wishes. Thankful to have that problem solved so easily, I eyed Mr Reevers with some curiosity, for while Giles might well act in the manner he had said, I had the oddest feeling he had another, quite different, reason for not wanting a message to be sent.

  That night at Ledstone the weather remained calm, and when I retired to my customary guest bedchamber, the only sound I heard was an owl hooting nearby. But my fears for Giles kept me awake, and in thinking of it all, I suddenly saw he might have another reason, apart from the joy it would bring Lucie, for wishing to reunite my uncle with his family, and I laughed softly to myself.

  If my uncle did not survive, Giles would insist on my aunt making her home at Ledstone, but as she did not get on well with Marguerite, such an arrangement would cause endless friction. If, however, my aunt and my uncle were reunited, they would set up home together elsewhere, enabling Giles and Lucie to start their married life without that kind of discord. As he naturally wished to do. And Giles had always found a way to get what he wanted. As a child, he’d learned not to confront a situation head-on when a subtle approach achieved the result he wanted. True, he wanted to get my uncle out of prison, but the secondary benefit would not have escaped him.

  I was up early as usual the following morning, and walking down to the stables before breakfast, told a relieved Leatherbarrow that my godmother had decided not to send for Giles. If people considered that odd, then her fear that he’d go after the murderers himself would do very well as an excuse. Everyone would understand that.

  As breakfast would not be served for half an hour, I went for a stroll to get some fresh air. I climbed up the steep incline that ran from the edge of the rear gardens onto a small plateau, from where there was an excellent view of the house, stables and gardens on one side, and the parklands on the other. It was a short, if arduous climb, and as I stood at the top regaining my breath, I heard the sound of a galloping horse. Glancing in the direction of the parklands, I soon recognised the rider. It was Mudd. And he was heading for the stables at breakneck speed.

  I frowned. Why was he in such a hurry? And why had he come so early? I had distinctly told him to come after breakfast. On reaching the stables he leapt off his horse, passed the reins to a groom, and start to run towards the house. My heart began to pound, for Mudd never ran. My first thought was that he had news of Giles. That something had gone terribly wrong.

  I began to make my way down the hill, and when Mudd saw me, he stopped and looked up. Although he didn’t speak until I reached him, I saw he was beaming from ear to ear. ‘My lady, there’s wonderful news. Miss Lucie’s papa is home. He turned up at Westfleet in the middle of the night.’ I closed my eyes momentarily, overcome with relief that my uncle was no longer in the hands of the revolutionaries. And if he was safe, then surely Giles was too.

  ‘The Frenchies had him in prison, but he escaped,’ Mudd went on, still grinning. ‘He came over on a smuggling run, his face blackened with gunpowder, just as if he was a common smuggler. Miss Lucie said she didn’t recognise him at first.’

  Giles had wanted my uncle out of France quickly and quietly. A smuggling run was fast, and he would have paid the men well. As the wonderful news sank in, I was filled with so much joy I could not trust myself to speak. I brushed away a tear and Mudd, who missed very little, merely said, ‘I felt a bit tearful myself, my lady. Cook said most of the servants were crying too.’ I laughed a little shakily, and he went on, ‘Cook said it was the Frenchies who ought to be locked up, and not a God-fearing gentleman like Mr Frere.’

  With a slightly watery chuckle, I pointed out, ‘My uncle is half French.’

  ‘Yes, my lady, but cook said he was half English too, and as far as she was concerned, that was the only half that counted.’

  Laughing, I regained control of my emotions. ‘How does my uncle look, John?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him myself, my lady, but Miss Lucie says he’s very thin and rather weak.’ Then choosing his words with care, went on, ‘Mrs Frere charged me with a message. She would be obliged if you would return home as soon as possible.’

  I stifled a chuckle, guessing her actual instruction had been to insist I came home at once. ‘I shall, of course,’ I said, eager to see my uncle for myself. ‘As soon as I’ve breakfasted and taken leave of Mrs Saxborough.’

  In the event it was over an hour before I left. Having had breakfast, I sent for Marguerite’s maid who, on my instructions, roused her mistress. On entering my godmother’s bedchamber I found her propped up against the pillows, her nightcap askew, trying to shield her eyes from the sunlight streaming in through the window.

  Sleepily she grumbled, ‘Whatever is the matter, Drusilla?’

  Drawing up a chair beside her bed, I sat down. ‘My uncle has escaped from prison in France,’ I explained cheerfully. ‘He arrived at Westfleet last night, so you see I really must go home at once.’

  She tried hard to take it all in, but was never at her best in the mornings. ‘Your uncle was in prison? How on earth did he escape?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I haven’t spoken to him. I’ll come back later and tell you all about it.’

  Her face brightened at that. ‘You promise?’

  ‘Of course.’

  As I stood up to go, she asked me what time it was. The clock on the mantle shelf over the fireplace was one Giles had brought home from Paris a few years earlier, but she couldn’t see the hands on the clock face without her spectacles. When I told her it wanted a mere three minutes to eight, a look of such horror crossed her face that I left the room laughing. As I closed the door, I heard her instruct her maid to draw the curtains again as she refused to get up at such an unreasonable hour, even with guests in the house.

  Looking in at the breakfast parlour, I found Mr Reevers enjoying a substantial plate of ham and eggs. ‘Please don’t disturb yourself,’ I said quickly, as he started to rise from his chair. ‘I only came in to take my leave.’

  ‘Are you going home this minute? Won’t you have some breakfast first?’

  ‘I’ve already eaten, thank you.’ And I told him the good news.

  He leant back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Came back on a smuggling run eh? These free traders have their uses, I must say.’

  I agreed that, on this occasion, they certainly did. But recalling what he’d said last night, I blurted out impulsively, ‘Mr Reevers, would you tell me—‘ and hesitated, trying to frame my question diplomatically.

  His eyes softened into an expression that made the colour rise in my cheeks. ‘Stuck for words ma’am? I don’t mind what you ask me.’

  Annoyed at the effect he was having on me, and the fact he was aware of it, I snapped, ‘Yes, but will you give me a straight answer?’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Why don’t you want Giles home?’

  He blinked at me in surprise. ‘For the reason I gave Mrs Saxborough. If Giles knew those French smugglers had murdered Thomas and young Tom, he wouldn’t hesitate to go after them.’

  I knew he was right, but I said, ‘Is that your only reason?’

  A slight smile played on his lips and he shook his head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  My heart sank. I desperately wanted him to be a man with high principles. To be honourable and incorruptible, and I was so afraid that he wasn’t. I took a deep breath. ‘Will you tell me the other reason?’

  ‘If you insist. If Giles comes home I won’t have an excuse to stay here, and I don’t want to leave the Island at present,’ he murmured a little huskily. And he smiled up at me in a way that left me in no doubt of his meaning. I wasn’t able to answer him, as Vincent come into the room at that moment. Having told him the good news, I simply took my
leave, saying I was eager to see my uncle.

  Wanting a quiet word with Leatherbarrow, I walked down to the stables, where one look at his face told me he’d heard the good news. I smiled. ‘Mudd told you, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I was never more thankful. I just wish Mr Giles was out of France too.’

  So did I, but I said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s bound to send word for you to bring the yacht any day now.’

  When I explained Giles’s part in it all to Mudd, as we rode home, he merely said, ‘He always was a daredevil, my lady.’ We skirted our way round some sheep, and Mudd asked thoughtfully, ‘Why didn’t Mr Giles come back with them?’

  ‘I doubt he ever meant to. It wouldn’t do for Mr Saxborough of Ledstone Place to be caught on a smuggling run.’

  Mudd chuckled. ‘I see what you mean, my lady. Especially with them being Frenchies.’

  ‘French?’ I gulped, swallowing hard. ‘The smugglers were French?’

  ‘So Miss Lucie said, my lady.’ Then I remembered the French smuggler who always met Giles on that beach in Normandy. No doubt he had arranged it.

  Some gulls swept across in front of us, making Orlando toss his head, and Mudd said, ‘When I think the danger Mr Giles was in, my lady, well — I would have been shaking in my shoes. Only I swear he actually enjoys it.’

  ‘Indeed,’ I agreed sardonically.

  ‘I expect he had it all worked out, like he did as a boy. I remember him clambering down a cliff to get his kite and telling me I needn’t worry because if he’d fallen, there was a wide ledge half way down that would have saved him. And there was too.’

  ‘Clambering down a cliff is very different from helping my uncle escape from France,’ I remarked dryly.

  ‘Yes, my lady, I see that. What I mean is he wouldn’t have gone down the cliff if the ledge hadn’t been there.’

  ‘There wouldn’t have been a ledge to save him in France,’ I pointed out.

  ‘No, my lady. But he’d have something in mind if things got difficult.’

  A sudden breeze sprang up and I filled my lungs with the refreshing salty tang of the sea. ‘You may well be right, John. When Mr Giles returns I mean to ask him.’ That wasn’t all I meant to ask him either.