The Panther and The Pearl (35 page)

“
Mais oui.
Henri Duclos and Pierre Montand.”

“Then summon them here. If she hired a coach or went to another hotel she would probably have asked one of them to help her.” 
The stationmaster sighed.

Kalid produced another five hundred francs.

“Duclos is on another run. You will have to wait until he returns to the station to see him.”

Kalid nodded.

“But I will call Montand now. Wait here.”

Kalid nodded again.

The stationmaster went out and Kalid began to pace the small room, oblivious to the train schedules and posters and notes tacked to the peeling plaster walls, to the overpowering smell of garlic and sardines from the stationmaster’s lunch.

He had to find Sarah.

By the time Sarah reached Dover it was late evening and she decided to spend the night at a local inn called the Leaping Stag. James’ letter was not likely to reach Aunt Emily before Sarah herself did and although Sarah had sent a wire, she knew that Emily’s house was in a small village which did not have a telegraph office, so service was always delayed. She thought it impolite to barge in late at night unannounced, so she planned to hire a carriage in the morning and arrive at a reasonable hour.
 

Her room was cozy with a cheerful fire, and although she had missed dinner the innkeeper said he would send up an order of “starry gazy pie”, a local delicacy on the order of shepherd’s pie. Sarah found that she was very hungry, which followed the pattern of her days now. She couldn’t think about food in the morning and by evening was ravenous, but because of the traveling and pregnancy induced seasickness she had skipped lunch on the boat. She was warming her feet before the fire when there was a tap at her door and the barmaid entered with a tray, the plate on it covered with a checkered napkin.

“All cozy now?” she said, when she saw Sarah with her feet up on the embroidered footstool.

Sarah nodded. It was wonderful to hear voices speaking her native language, even if it was with a thick Kentish accent sometimes difficult to decipher.

“I saw you when you arrived tonight and you looked all done in, if you don’t mind my saying so,” the barmaid added, bending to place the tray on a table by the fire. “Cut up quite nasty outside, hasn’t it? Rain, rain, rain, this autumn, nothing but storms and showers, and now it’s gotten cold too. Did you have a long trip?”

“Yes, from Turkey on the Orient Express, and then to Calais to take the packet to Dover.”

The barmaid clucked her tongue sympathetically as she whipped off the napkin and poured a tankard of ale into a glass mug. “You HAVE had a long trek, pet, small wonder you looked all at sixes and sevens. Better now, though, eh?”

“Yes, I think so. That food smells good.”

“Oh, indeed, Albie serves up the best tucker in the district and no mistake. You’ll enjoy that, it’ll put some color back in your cheeks. Go ahead, don’t let me stop you.”

Sarah took a bite of a biscuit and a sip of ale as the barmaid looked on approvingly, her beefy reddened hands folded over her apron and her kindly face wreathed in smiles.

“You’re not British, are you?” she said, as Sarah chewed enthusiastically.

“No, American.”

“Have you been away from home long?”

“Several months. It seems long.”

“You must be missing the States, I expect.”
 

“I didn’t realize how much until I got off the boat in Dover and saw all the signs printed in English. It was like a...welcoming sign, somehow.”

“Oh, it would be. I’ve never traveled abroad myself, if you’re happy where you are I think you should stay there.”

Sarah put down the biscuit and looked out the streaming window at the dark. “There are times I wish I’d stayed at home,” she said softly, and to her horror, she started to cry.

The barmaid sat on the edge of the featherbed and patted her hand.

“There, there, miss. Have you got troubles?”

Sarah nodded, wetly.

“Something to do with your trip?”

“Yes.”

“Did you meet a man?”

“How did you know it was a man?” Sarah inquired, her eyes streaming.

“With pretty young ladies, it usually is. Have you left him, then, is that the problem?”

“I’ve left him, and what’s more, I’m pregnant,” Sarah replied, sobbing louder.

The barmaid sighed. “You are in a pickle, aren’t you?” she said quietly.

Sarah wiped her eyes with her fingers and the barmaid handed her the checkered napkin. Sarah blew her nose, wondering how much lower she could sink.

She was now having weeping fits in front of strangers.

The barmaid handed her the mug of ale and Sarah drank deeply, closing her eyes.

“My name is Ethel,” the barmaid said, “and in this job I’ve heard everything, so you can tell me all about it.”

Between bites of her dinner, Sarah did.

“So you thought he would come after you,” Ethel said twenty minutes later, as Sarah pushed aside her empty plate and picked up an apple.

“In the beginning I was too angry to think about anything, I just wanted to get away from him. But then I began to miss him terribly, and when I heard from Roxalena that he was watching James’ house I thought...”
 

“Roxalena is the Princess?” Ethel said.

“Right. She said that he arranged it so I couldn’t get a train ticket and I thought that meant he was delaying my departure so he could intercept me...”

“But he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t. And now here I am and I’ll never see him again and I’m going to have his baby and I’m just...”

“Miserable?” Ethel suggested.

“Pretty much. I mean, I’m happy about the baby, but the thought that I have to live the rest of my life without him is overwhelming, do you understand?”

Ethel nodded. “But why did you come to England? Aren’t you going home?”

“I’m visiting my aunt. She lives in Gilly-on-Strait. How far is it to the village?”

“About two miles straightaway down the post road. What’s her name?”

“Emily Hepton. She’s a widow now, she was married to Giles Hepton, the cabinetmaker? He had a store in Dover.”

“I knew him well, he used to stop off here for a pint on his way back from the market. Never met the wife, though.”

“She kept the house and stayed on alone. We all thought she’d come back to Boston, but she prefers to remain where she lived with her husband.”

“People get set in their ways, love.”

“But she must get so lonely,” Sarah said, threatening to lapse into tears again.

“Then she’ll be very glad to see you,” Ethel said, standing. “I’ve got to go down and do the washing up for the night or Albie will be getting after me. You’re our only guest tonight but we get the old duffers in the bar until all hours and the glasses will be standing there waiting for the cloth.”

“Yes, yes, go ahead, I understand. I’ve kept you too long already, please forgive me.”

Ethel gathered up the tray and bent to put another log on the fire.

“Got to keep you and the little one warm,” she said.

“It was so hot in Turkey I can’t get used to the change of weather here,” Sarah said.

“You’re a long way from Turkey now.”

Sarah sighed in agreement. “Do you know where I can hire a coach in the morning?” she asked.

“There’s a livery stable just down the road. My boy Henry works there, you can ask for him and tell him I sent you. He’ll take care of you right enough.”

Sarah looked up at her and smiled. “Thank you for your kindness, and I’m sorry about...you know, the little scene I made.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Ethel said. “Don’t give it a thought. You’re just going through a bad patch, and we all hit them. I’ll set you up with a hearty English breakfast in the morning and you’ll feel much better when you see your auntie.”

Sarah nodded, trying not to think about breakfast, especially a hearty one, since she knew she would be in no mood for it when the sun rose.
 

When the door closed behind Ethel the room seemed suddenly very empty.
 

Sarah let her head fall against the plush back of the overstuffed chair and stared morosely into the fire.

“Calais?” Kalid said, staring at the porter. “What do you mean, she went to Calais?”

Henri Duclos spread his hands. “Just what I said,
Monsieur.
The American woman you described asked me to arrange transportation for her to Calais.”

Kalid was stymied. Why would Sarah be going there, when she could sail for New York or Boston without traveling a mile out of her way?

“Did she say anything else?” Kalid asked.

“She inquired about the sailing times for the packet from Calais to Dover.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place? She must have been going to Dover!”

Duclos shrugged. “It’s possible.”

Kalid stared the man down, exasperated. The next one of these Frenchmen who shrugged at him was going to get punched.

“Did she say anything about why she was going there?” Kalid demanded.

“She said nothing about Dover. You did.”

Kalid looked over at the stationmaster, who was watching the byplay with a detached expression.
 

He had already been paid.

Kalid handed Duclos a two hundred franc note and said,
“Merci.”
Then he stalked out of the stationmaster’s office and hailed a hansom cab at the curb outside the station.

“Take me to the docks,” he said.

It took him a couple of hours and a good deal more
baksheesh
to determine that Sarah had indeed sailed for Calais, and to get a ticket for himself. He was leaning over the railing, studying the churning waves from the deck of the last boat of the day before he stopped to examine what he was doing.

He had now pursued Sarah through several countries, gone without sleep for two nights, and spent an untold amount of money. He wasn’t even sure Sarah would listen to him if he found her, and in the meanwhile his own country was rudderless as he ran around the globe anonymously trying to track her down. He had come by himself, against the wishes of his grandmother and his closest advisors, because he thought this personal mission should be his alone. But he was now bone tired, exasperated with Sarah for unwittingly leading him on this merry chase, and, if the truth be told, weary of being treated like an ordinary citizen when he was used to special handling. His passport carried only his name and a sepia toned daguerrotype, and without his robes and his entourage, foreign travel was a different event altogether from what he had experienced previously. Only his fierce desire to see Sarah again kept him from turning around and going straight home.

He looked into the distance in the fading light, idly watching the gray clouds merge with the gray sea.

Across the water was England, which he knew well from his time at Oxford.

Hopefully, Sarah was there.

“My dear, this is such a surprise!” Emily Hepton said, kissing Sarah on both cheeks. “When I didn’t hear anything further from James, I assumed you weren’t coming to see me.”

“I got here before his letter did,” Sarah said, removing her hat as Emily gestured for her umbrella.

“How did you get here?”

“I hired a coach at the livery in Dover. The driver dropped me off at the end of the lane.”

“Then you must be wet quite through. Let’s get those things off you.” Emily hung her jacket and other effects on a clothes tree next to the door and then led the way inside the house into a cozy sitting room. It was still raining, and the wind blew through the eaves of the cottage as they sat before the fire and Emily put aside her knitting. A striped tabby rubbed up against Emily’s legs luxuriously and then bolted down the hall.

“Samantha is a little shy with strangers,” Emily said, smiling fondly. “She’ll come sneaking back in here shortly to take another peek at you.”
 

Sarah laughed.

“Now let
me
look at you. I haven’t seen you for...how long is it?” Emily asked.

“Ten years.”

“Yes, and you’ve become a lovely young woman.”

“And you haven’t changed at all.”

“Telling fibs is a sin, child.”

“I’m not telling fibs. You look exactly the same as I remember you, right down to the cameo brooch.”

Emily fingered the pin fastened to the bunch of lace at her throat.

“Yes, Grandmother Gibson’s brooch. I always wear it.”

Emily was soberly dressed in a navy fitted dress with a sweeping apron front and the full bustle of some seasons past. Her graying reddish hair was swept up on top of her head in a loose knot, and held in place with two ebony hairpins like skewers that Sarah remembered from her childhood.
 

“Now, what would you say to some tea?” Emily asked. “I’ve already fired up the stove for lunch so I’ll just go and put the kettle on now. Then we can settle down and have a nice, long chat.”