Return of the Runaway (9 page)

‘And now they are being used by their tenants,' remarked Raoul coolly. ‘It is merely a redistribution of wealth.'

Her chin went up a little and she turned to regard him. ‘Something you heartily approve.'

Raoul met her eyes steadily. ‘I have never approved of violence, Lady Cassandra. It is my calling to save lives, not take them.'

She turned her gaze back to the fireplace, knowing she did not wish to fight him tonight.

‘So they cooked on an open fire. How old-fashioned,' she murmured, thinking of the closed range in Grandmama's house in Bath.

‘There might well have been a dozen or more servants in here,' Raoul replied. ‘Slaving to provide meals for their masters.'

‘Not necessarily slaving,' Cassie demurred. ‘In Bath my grandmother was at pains to provide the very best equipment for her cook. She said he is a positive tyrant.'

‘Yet she has the power to dismiss him on a whim.'

Cassie shook her head, smiling a little. ‘You are wrong, sir. The man is very aware of his own worth and paid well for his skills, I assure you. He also is the one with the power to hire or dismiss his staff as he wishes.' Her smile grew. ‘And before you berate me again for the inequality of English society, I would tell you,
monsieur
, that the cook is a Frenchman.'

He grinned, acknowledging the hit.

‘Very well, I will admit that it is in most men's nature to be a tyrant if they are not checked.' He turned slightly and raised his glass to her. ‘A truce, Lady Cassandra?'

She returned his salute. ‘A truce, Monsieur Doulevant.'

They returned their attention to the food, but the atmosphere had changed. Cassie no longer felt at odds with her companion and she was a great deal happier.

A basket of logs had been placed near the fireplace, but the size of the hearth was such that it was soon emptied and by the time the farmer's boy brought over their bedding and carried away the empty dishes the room was growing chilly.

‘We should get some sleep,' said Raoul. ‘We will have another busy day tomorrow.'

There were two sacks of straw. Raoul placed one on either side of the kitchen table and handed Cassie one of the two blankets that had been provided.

‘Your bed awaits, my lady.'

* * *

She tried to make herself comfortable, but the sack was not well filled and the straw flattened quickly beneath her. She could not help a sigh that sounded very loud in the quiet, echoing kitchen.

‘Is it not luxurious enough for you, my lady?'

Tiredness made her irritable and she snapped back.

‘This is not what I expected when I left Verdun.'

‘I am surprised your husband agreed to your travelling alone.'

‘He did not agree. He's—'

She bit off the words.

‘He what?' Raoul asked suspiciously. ‘He does not know?'

‘That is true.'

It was not exactly a lie. Cassie knew it would sink her even further in his estimation, yet she was unwilling to admit she was a widow. She clung to the belief that there was some small protection in having a husband.

‘But of course. You told me yourself that you grew bored at Verdun.
Tiens
, I feel even more sympathy for your spouse,
madame
. You have quite literally abandoned him, have you not?'

The darkness was filled with his disapproval. It cut her and she responded by saying sharply, ‘That is not your concern.'

‘No indeed.
Mon Dieu
, but you are a heartless woman!'

‘You know nothing about me!'

Tell him, Cassie. Explain how you remained with your husband, endured the pain and humiliation of knowing he only wanted your fortune.

Pride kept her silent. Better Raoul should think her heartless than a fool. She turned on her side and pulled the thin blanket a little closer around her. ‘Oh, how I pray there will be a ship in Rouen that will carry me all the way to England,' she muttered angrily. ‘The sooner we can say goodbye to one another the better.'

He gave a bark of bitter laughter.

‘Amen to that, my lady!'

Chapter Five

I
t took the best part of the morning to repair the chaise. Discussions with the farmer elicited the information that their meandering route, chosen to minimise the chances of encountering soldiers on the road or passing an army garrison, meant that they were a good half-day's drive away from Rouen and he doubted they would reach the city before nightfall, but Cassie was as anxious as Raoul to press on and echoed his refusal to remain another night.

She climbed into the chaise and watched Raoul scramble up on to the long-tailed bay. She was thankful he was not in the carriage with her, she did not enjoy travelling in the company of one who disapproved of her so blatantly. He saw her as a rich and spoiled lady who had run away from her marriage when the novelty had begun to pall. It would be useless to explain, because she knew that men saw these things differently. A wife was a mere chattel, was she not?

Cassie looked up as the chaise slowed. The road was winding its way between dilapidated cottages at the edge of a village. Through the window she watched Raoul exchange a few words with the postilion before bringing his horse alongside the carriage. Cassie let down the glass.

‘This is Flagey, it is very small and the post boy tells me there is a much better inn about an hour from here where we may change horses and dine,' he informed her. ‘If we do not tarry he thinks we may still make Rouen tonight.'

‘Very well, let us push on. I—' Cassie broke off as a loud rumble, like thunder, filled the air. It shook the ground and the carriage jolted as the horses sidled nervously. ‘What on earth was that?'

Raoul was already looking towards the cluster of buildings ahead of them. Above the roofs a cloud of dust was rising, grey as smoke. The bay threw up its head as the church bell began to toll.

‘An accident of some sort,' he said, kicking his horse on. Cantering around the bend, he saw that a large building had collapsed on the far side of the village square. People were already congregating at the scene. Some of the women were wailing, a few holding crying babies, but most were helping the men to drag away the stones and rubble.

Raoul threw the horse's reins to a woman with a babe in her arms and immediately ran forward to help, casting his jacket aside as he went.

‘How many men are in there?' he demanded as he joined the rescuers.

One of the men stopped to drag a grimy sleeve across his brow.

‘Eight, ten, perhaps more. 'Tis the tithe barn. They were working to secure the roof before the winter when the timbers collapsed.'

Raoul joined the group, scrabbling at the wreckage. The dust was still rising from the debris, making everyone cough. It was clear that the roof had collapsed inwards, bringing down parts of the old walls. Muffled shouts and screams could be heard, so there were survivors, but Raoul knew they must reach them and quickly.

The first man they pulled out had a broken arm, but the next was badly crushed and groaning pitifully. An old woman standing beside Raoul crossed herself before trying to drag away another rotted timber. There would be more crushed bodies, more broken limbs.

‘You will need a doctor. Or better still, a surgeon.'

‘Dr Bonnaire is ten miles away,
monsieur.
' The old woman took a moment to straighten up, pressing her hand to her back. She nodded to a group of young men working frantically to pull away more stones. ‘Jean can go, he is the fastest runner.'

‘Take the horse.'

Raoul heard Cassandra's voice and turned to see her leading the bay forward.

She said again, ‘Take the horse. It will be much quicker to ride.'

‘Then let me go,' said an older man, stepping up. ‘I can handle a horse and Jean's strength would be better used getting those poor fellows out.'

‘Good idea,' agreed Raoul.

He watched the man mount up and gallop away, calculating how long it would take the doctor to get there.

‘What can I do?' asked Cassandra.

‘Where is the carriage?'

‘I have told the post boy to drive to the
auberge
at the far end of the village. What may I do to help you?'

He regarded her as she stood before him. She was too petite to be of help moving the rubble; her hands were unused to any type of work at all. He was also afraid that they would be bringing bodies out soon and he did not want her to witness the carnage. He looked towards a group of women and children crying noisily as they watched the proceedings.

‘Get them away,' he muttered. ‘They are doing no good here.'

‘Of course.'

She nodded and Raoul went back to the laborious process of dragging away the rubble stone by stone.

As word of the disaster spread more people turned up to help with the rescue. Raoul left them to finish digging out the survivors while he attended those they had already pulled out of the building. He had not wanted to reveal that he was a medical man, but there was no sign of the doctor and these people needed his help.

After sluicing himself down at the village pump he went to the nearest house, where the injured men had been taken. There were four so far: a quick glance showed him that the man who had been severely crushed would not survive. There was nothing he could do for the fellow so he left him to the care of the local priest while he set the broken arm and patched up the others as best he could. Thankfully they were not seriously hurt, but others were being carried in, each one bringing with him the damp, dusty smell of the collapsed building. He had no instruments and his equipment was limited to the bandages piled on a table, but there was hot water in a kettle hanging over the fire and a large flask of white brandy to ease the suffering of the injured men.

* * *

It was growing dark and Raoul was working alone in the little room when he heard the thud of horses and the sudden commotion outside the door. The doctor, at last. He looked up, his relief tempered by surprise when he saw a fresh-faced young man enter the room.

‘You are Dr Bonnaire?'

‘Yes. And you are?'

‘Duval. My wife and I were passing through here when the accident happened.'

‘It was good of you to stay and help.' Dr Bonnaire looked about him. ‘Are all the men recovered, did everyone survive?'

‘Everyone is accounted for now, nine men in all. Two are dead, four had only slight injuries. I patched them up and sent them home. These three are the most seriously injured.' He nodded to a man sitting by the fire. ‘I have set his arm, but he has also had a blow to the head and is not yet able to stand.' He walked over to the two men lying on makeshift beds. ‘These two are the worst. They were both trapped by their legs.'

As Bonnaire knelt beside the first of the men Raoul heard a soft voice behind him.

‘I thought you would need more light.' Cassandra came in, followed by three of the village women, each one of them carrying lamps and candlesticks. ‘We collected these from the other houses.'

The doctor shot to his feet. ‘How thoughtful of you, Madame...?'

‘Duval,' she said quietly.

‘Ah...' he glanced towards Raoul ‘...your wife, sir.
Enchanté, madame
.'

Raoul saw the faint flush on Cassie's cheek and knew she was not happy with the subterfuge, but it was necessary.

‘Aye, Madame Duval and her husband arrived most providentially,' put in one of the other women.

‘Madame Deschamps owns the
auberge
at the far end of the village,' explained Cassie. Her eyes flickered over Raoul and away again. ‘She and her husband have offered us a room for the night.'

‘Well, 'tis too late for you to be travelling on now and 'tis the least we can do, for all your trouble.'

‘You are very kind,' murmured Raoul.

‘Nay, 'tis you and
madame
that have been kind,
monsieur
, helping us as you have done.'

Madame Deschamps appeared to be in no hurry to leave, but once the other women had gone Cassie touched her arm and murmured that they must not keep the good doctor from his work. She cast a last, shy glance at Raoul and ushered the landlady from the room. Bonnaire stood gazing at the door and Raoul prompted him gently.

‘Well, Doctor, would you like to examine your patients?'

‘What? Oh, yes. Yes.'

It did not take long. Raoul had already stripped the men of their clothing and cleaned their lacerated bodies. The doctor gently drew back the thin blanket from each of the men and gazed at their lower limbs.

‘Legs crushed beyond repair,' he observed.

‘Yes.' Raoul nodded. ‘Both men will require amputation at the knee.'

The young doctor blenched. He placed his case upon the table, saying quietly, ‘I thought that might be the situation and brought my tools.'

He lifted out a canvas roll and opened it out on the table to display an impressive array of instruments, very much like the ones Raoul had lost when he had fled from Paris, only these looked dull and blunt from lack of use.

Raoul frowned. ‘Have you ever performed an amputation, Doctor?'

Bonnaire swallowed and shook his head.

‘I saw one once, in Paris, but I could not afford to finish my training. These tools belonged to my uncle. He was an army surgeon.'

Raoul closed his eyes, his initial relief at finding a medical man on hand rapidly draining away. He sighed.

‘Then you had best let me deal with this.'

‘You? You are a surgeon, Monsieur Duval?'

‘Yes. And I have performed dozens of these operations.'

The relief in the young man's face was only too apparent. A sudden draught made the candles flicker as the door opened and the priest came in.

‘Ah, Dr Bonnaire, they said you had arrived. Thanks be! A sad business, this. Will the Lord take any more souls this night, think you?'

‘I hope not, Monsieur le Curé,' was the doctor's fervent response.

‘Good, good. I came to tell you that you are not to worry about your fee, Doctor. If these poor people have not the means there is silverware in the church that can be sold. You shall not go unrewarded for this night's work.'

The young doctor bowed.

‘Thank you, but if anyone is to be paid, it should be this man.' He glanced at Raoul. ‘He is the more experienced surgeon and is going to perform the operations necessary to save these two men.'

‘Is that so indeed?' declared the priest, his brows rising in surprise.

‘It is,' said Raoul, grimly inspecting the instruments spread out before him. ‘But to do so I will require these to be sharpened.'

‘But of course,
monsieur
! Give me the ones you need and I shall see it is done without delay.'

‘And get someone to take this fellow home,' added Raoul, nodding at the man dozing in the chair by the fire.

‘I will do so, sir, I will do so.' The priest gathered up the instruments and bustled away, leaving Bonnaire to fix Raoul with a solemn gaze.

‘Thank you,
monsieur
, and I meant what I said about payment.'

‘I do not want the church's silverware, but you should take it, Bonnaire, and when this night is done you should use it to go back to Paris and finish your training.'

* * *

They set to work, preparing the room and arranging all the lamps and candles to provide the best light around the sturdy table that would be used to carry out the operations. The situation was not ideal, but Raoul had worked in worse conditions during his time at sea. A woman crept in timidly and helped the injured man out of the room just as the priest returned with the sharpened instruments.

‘Thank you.' Bonnaire took the honed tools and handed them to Raoul. ‘Perhaps,
mon père
, you could send someone to attend to the lights and the fire while we work.'

‘But of course. I will ask Madame Duval to step in.'

‘No.' Raoul frowned. ‘She is not used to such work.'

The priest stopped and looked at him in surprise.

‘Really,
monsieur
? If you say so. Madame Deschamps, of course, is a woman most resourceful, but she is very busy at the
auberge
.'

‘Well, there must be someone else who can come in,' said Raoul irritably.

The priest spread his hands.

‘These are simple people,
monsieur
, uneducated. They are easily frightened and I fear they would be sorely distressed by the sight of their neighbours in such a situation as this.'

‘But my wife...'

Raoul's words trailed off. What could he say, that his wife was a lady? That she was too cossetted and spoiled to be of any use here?

‘Madame Duval has shown herself to be most resourceful in this tragedy,' the priest continued. ‘The villagers turned to her in their grief and she did not fail them. While they could only weep and wail she arranged who should go to the fields to fetch the mothers and wives of those who were working in the barn. She helped to feed the children and put them to bed and it was
madame
who organised the women to prepare this house for you, to boil the water and tear up the clean sheets for bandages. Even now she is helping to cook supper at the
auberge
for those who are grieving too much to feed themselves or their families.'

‘Practical as well as beautiful,' remarked Bonnaire. ‘You are to be congratulated on having such a partner, Monsieur Duval.'

Raoul's jaw clenched hard as he tried to ignore the doctor's remark. He did not want to be congratulated, did not want to think how fortunate a man would be to have a wife like Lady Cassandra.

He shrugged and capitulated.

‘Very well, let her come in.'

They had tarried long enough and he had work to do.

* * *

They lifted the first man on to the table. He and his fellow patient had been given enough brandy to make them drowsy and Raoul worked quickly. He was aware of Cassandra moving silently around the room, building up the fire to keep the water hot, trimming the wicks on the lights and even helping Bonnaire to hold down the patient when necessary. He glanced up at one critical point, fearing she might faint at the gruesome nature of the business, but although she was pale she appeared perfectly composed and obeyed his commands as steadily as the young doctor.