The Cockney Sparrow (45 page)

Clemency’s heart jolted against her ribs. She shivered and it was not just the cold blast of air from the lake that made her tremble. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He challenged Marceau to a duel.’

‘No. He can’t have. Nobody does that nowadays.’

‘He said it was the only way to settle old scores. He didn’t want me to tell you until it was all over, but they were meeting at dawn this morning, in the grounds of a château on the outskirts of Paris.’

‘Oh, my God. He could be dead or injured. Take me to him, Ned.’

A shadow loomed over them. ‘He’ll be dead, all right. Monsieur Marceau is a crack shot.’ Hardiman’s bulk filled the entrance to the cavern and his harsh laughter echoed off the stone roof, coming back to them across the water in a mocking chorus.

Ned pushed Clemency behind him. ‘You’re lying. Don’t take any notice of him, Clem.’

‘Lying am I?’ Hardiman advanced on Ned with his hands fisted. ‘Come on, young ’un. You caught me off guard just now, but let’s see what you’re made of in a fair fight.’

‘No, Ned. Don’t,’ Clemency cried, grabbing his arm. ‘He’ll kill you.’

‘That’s right. I’ll kill him and then I’ll take you back where you belongs, missy.’

Ned lunged at Hardiman with a roar, but was felled with a single blow to the back of his neck. Clemency stared in horror at his prostrate body. When he didn’t move, she was certain that he must be dead. Hardiman turned on her, advancing slowly and with menace, cutting off her escape through the theatre. Behind her the
lake was smooth as glass, inviting her to dive in and allow its cool green waters to soothe away her grief and terror. She took flight into one of the underground passages. She could barely see anything except the greenish-yellow phosphorescence of the lake’s surface, but she could hear his footsteps coming closer and closer. She stumbled on the slimy rock path. Hardiman’s hands were round her throat choking the life out of her. With strength born out of rage and desperation, she brought her arms upwards and outwards, breaking his grip. Wild with fury, she twisted round and butted him in the stomach, pitching him into the lake. She leaned back against the dripping stone wall, gasping for breath and trembling violently. In the faint beam of light emitted by the oil lamp, she saw his head break the surface as his arms flailed about, sending ripples across the surface. He uttered a cry for help as the water closed over his head again, but she could only stare in horror at the death throes of a drowning man. Even if she could have galvanised her frozen limbs into action, she could not swim, and there was nothing that she could do to save him. The water was oily calm now, and there was silence, except for the slow drip, drip, drip of moisture oozing from the rocky ceiling.

A low moan from the mouth of the cavern brought her back to life. ‘Ned.’ She felt her way
towards him, hardly daring to believe that he could have survived Hardiman’s vicious assault. She found him crouched down, with his head resting on his knees. She knelt on the ground, flinging her arms around him. ‘Ned, I thought he’d killed you.’

‘Where is he? Help me up and I’ll give the bugger what for.’

‘It’s all right. He won’t harm anyone ever again.’

‘You mean …?’

Clemency nodded, shivering violently at the realisation that she had killed a man. ‘I did it, Ned. I pushed him in, and he drowned. I’m a murderer.’

He wrapped his arms around her. ‘He had it coming, ducks. Don’t waste your sympathy on him.’

‘I thought he’d done for you, Ned.’

‘It wasn’t for the want of trying. It’s lucky I’ve got a thick skull.’ His generous mouth twisted into a rueful grin. ‘Are you all right, Clem?’

She nodded. ‘I’m fine, or I will be when I know that Jared is safe.’

He scrambled to his feet. ‘We arranged to meet at the Gare du Nord. If he is not there by midday, we have to leave without him.’

‘Never!’ Clemency stared at him aghast. ‘He’ll be there. He can’t be dead. I won’t let him be dead.’

He took her by the hand. ‘I hope not, for your sake. I really do.’

As they climbed the stone steps, Clemency glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Shouldn’t we tell someone about him?’ She jerked her head in the direction of the water.

‘What? And have the French police holding us for questioning while they dredge the lake? I don’t think so. Don’t waste your time worrying about Hardiman – he got what he deserved.’

Outside in the brilliant July sunshine, the world seemed such a different place. Clemency breathed in the fresh air and put Todd Hardiman out of her mind. He had preyed on Ma, turning her into a prostitute and a drunk. He had almost ruined their lives and had probably committed murder amongst his many other crimes. There would be few to mourn his passing, if anyone even noticed that he was missing. Her one aim now was to find Jared and to get home. She would not allow herself to believe that Marceau had killed him in the duel. She would have known if he were dead – she would have felt it deep inside. She smiled up at Ned as they made their way to look for a cab that would take them to the Gare du Nord. The streets were already hung with bunting in readiness for Bastille Day: wrought-iron balconies groaned with the weight of terracotta pots overflowing with scarlet geraniums, and in the distance she could hear a
band playing. The streets of Paris vibrated with anticipation of the festivities to come.

They reached the station a little before noon. Ned bought three tickets for Calais and Clemency craned her neck, searching for Jared’s tall figure amongst the travellers who had just arrived or were waiting to depart. She was feverish with anticipation and suppressed anxiety – the train was already in the station, and people were boarding. She could not stand still. She paced up and down, struggling to remain calm, but without much success. The hands on the station clock moved inexorably towards midday, and porters bustled past them, pushing trolleys laden with trunks and suitcases. Guards waved flags and carriage doors were slamming as tardy travellers leapt on board.

‘Clemmie, we’ve got to get on the train.’ Ned caught her by the sleeve. ‘Jared said we must leave with or without him.’

She shook off his restraining hand, anger welling up inside her as cold fingers of panic closed on her heart. ‘No. I won’t go without him. I won’t leave him here in Paris.’

‘If he doesn’t come it’s because he can’t come. You’ve got to understand that.’

‘Don’t you dare talk that way. He’s not dead. I’d know it in my bones if anything had happened to Jared.’

The guard nearest them was waving his flag at
the engine driver. He shouted something in French, but Clemency chose not to understand. She stood on tiptoe, staring into the crowd. ‘I won’t leave without him. He will come. I know he will come.’

Ned held the carriage door open. ‘Get in, Clem. I won’t tell you again.’

‘No. You go without me if you must. If he doesn’t come then I’m going to that place where he was to meet Marceau. I’ll find him if it’s the last thing I do.’

A loud blast on the whistle drowned her words. Ned caught her round the waist. ‘You’re getting on the train, even if I have to carry you.’

She kicked and fought, lashing out with her fists in desperation. ‘I won’t go. He might be wounded and lying there all alone, with no one to care for him.’ Her voice broke on a sob. ‘I can’t leave without him, Ned.’

A cloud of steam belched from the engine and slowly, very slowly, the great iron wheels began to turn.

‘He’s not coming.’ Ned shouted above the noise. ‘He must be dead and Marceau will have the French police out looking for you. Jared made me promise to take you home, and I’m not going to let him down.’ With one arm round her waist and the other holding the door, Ned struggled to get her into the compartment.

Her screams were drowned by the blasts of
steam from the engine. The train was leaving but she was desperate. Life without Jared was unthinkable, and she didn’t care what happened to her now. All she knew was that she had to find him, alive or dead. She sank her teeth into Ned’s hand and he let her go. The train was moving but the platform was not, and she lost her balance. She fell to the ground, cracking her head on the concrete. The world was spinning in concentric circles as she lay stunned and semi-conscious. Jared was dead – killed in a duel. She was going to join him in heaven or hell. She closed her eyes.

‘Clemency.’

She heard her name repeated again and again amidst a low buzz of chatter. Her head hurt, and the sounds were loud one moment and then faded to a whisper. The only constant was the achingly familiar voice that was calling her name. She opened her eyes and his face swam above her, now blurred and then more distinct. ‘Jared?’

She felt a warm tear splash on her cheek, and she realised that it had spilled from his blue eyes. She looped her arms around his neck and he raised her gently to a sitting position. ‘My darling, my darling.’ He buried his face in her tumbled locks.

Dimly she realised that she had lost her hat. She had a sudden and overwhelming desire to laugh. She had lost her hat, but she had found the man she loved more than life itself. She leaned her head against his chest, clutching the lapel of his jacket with a trembling hand. ‘Jared, I thought you were …’

‘Hush, my love, it’s all right.’ He laid his finger
across her lips. ‘I’m here now. No one is going to part us again.’

She gazed into his face and saw runnels of dirt where tears had flowed freely from his eyes. She reached up and touched his cheek with the tip of her finger. ‘I thought he had killed you.’

‘I’m very much alive, but I saw you fall, and I thought I had lost you.’

‘We must get her onto the train, Jared.’ Ned’s voice held a note of anxiety. ‘They won’t hold it up any longer. At least, I think that’s what the guard is saying.’

Clemency was suddenly aware that a crowd had gathered round them and the guard was speaking in rapid French, gesticulating and pointing his flag in the direction of the driver, who was leaning from his cab.

Jared winced as he shifted position. ‘You’ll have to lift her, Ned.’

As Ned helped her to her feet, Clemency saw a dark stain spreading from a jagged rent in Jared’s coat sleeve. She stifled a cry of horror. ‘You’re hurt. We must get you to a doctor.’

He rose slowly, shaking his head. ‘There’s no time for that. We must get away from here before the French police come looking for me.’

‘You did for him then?’ Ned gave him a searching look as he helped Clemency onto the train.

Jared nodded. ‘His seconds will inform the authorities.’

The guard blew a sharp blast on his whistle and slammed the carriage door. The train jerked forward, as if annoyed by the delay, and they were thrown down on the seats. Jared groaned with pain and fell back with his eyes closed. His face was ashen and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Clemency moved swiftly to his side. ‘Let me take a look at your arm. Ned, help me get his jacket off.’

Between them they removed his outer garment, and Clemency stifled a gasp of dismay at the sight of the blood seeping from a wound in his upper arm.

Jared opened his eyes. ‘I think the bullet went straight through. We both fired at the same time. I was lucky but Marceau was not.’ He gripped Clemency’s hand and his features contorted with pain and anger. ‘He told me what he’d done to you. He boasted about it, and I wanted to shoot him like a mad dog, but I did it fair and square. I had my revenge for all the evil that man did to my family and to you, my love.’

‘I’m glad,’ Clemency said fiercely. ‘I’m glad he’s dead. Hardiman and he will meet up in hell.’ She felt a wave of nausea as she peeled back the ripped material, revealing the extent of the injury. She knew nothing about gunshot wounds, but this one seemed clean enough. Jared had been right – the bullet appeared to have gone straight through the soft flesh just
below his shoulder. ‘The bleeding has almost stopped. I think we’d best leave it untouched until we can get some clean water and linen.’

Ned helped Jared on with his jacket. ‘We’ll find a doctor in Calais. Let’s hope the gendarmes don’t think to telegraph the port authorities.’

‘I’ll be all right. I’m just a little tired. I think I must have lost rather a lot of blood.’ Jared’s voice tailed off and he closed his eyes.

Clemency stroked a lock of hair back from his forehead. Her head ached miserably, but the pain in her heart hurt more. He looked deathly pale and helpless. She choked on a sob and covered her face with her hands.

‘He’ll be all right, Clem.’ Ned patted her on the shoulder. ‘Let him sleep.’

By the time they reached Calais it was quite obvious that Jared was far from all right. He had developed a fever and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. Ned had to heft him over his shoulder and carry him from the train. Clemency wanted to find a doctor, but Ned pointed out that to make enquiries would draw unwanted attention to them. The sight of a gendarme patrolling the streets was enough to send Ned straight to the quay in search of a boat bound for England. He was gone for what seemed like hours as Clemency waited, sitting on the ground in a quiet alleyway with Jared’s head pillowed in her lap. She could feel the heat from his body as the
fever raged within him, but there was nothing she could do until Ned returned. She was exhausted, hungry and terribly thirsty. It was shady in the alley, but the heat was intense and clouds of flies buzzed around them, attracted no doubt by the smell of blood. When at last Ned appeared, she could have cried with relief.

He squatted on the ground beside them. ‘There are no ferryboat sailings until tomorrow morning, but I’ve found an English fishing boat that put in here to repair a fouled rudder. The skipper has agreed to take us back to Dover, but it won’t be very comfortable.’

‘I don’t care, Ned. Just get us home.’

It was such a relief to hear English voices once again and to be heading home, that Clemency felt she could have suffered far worse than having to sit on the heaving deck of a small fishing boat. The crewmen gave them mugs of hot, sweet tea to drink, and hunks of bread and jam to eat, which tasted better than any of the elaborate meals Clemency had eaten in Marceau’s Paris mansion. She could do little for Jared except wet his dry and cracked lips with tea. He was now delirious, and unable even to sip water. She cradled him in her arms during the crossing, and was thankful that the sea was calm and the weather mild.