The Workhouse Girl (38 page)

Nettie's lips formed a moue. ‘Why wouldn't he do something to help a damsel in distress?'

‘Because you aren't a damsel in distress, and you seem to think that you're the heroine of one of your stage plays. Why was he on the packet from England to France in the first place? If he's a businessman I would have thought he'd be too busy to bother with us.'

Nettie elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Shh. He's coming. Stop acting like a governess and enjoy the thrill of doing something new and exciting.' She waltzed off to join Gaston with her coppery curls bobbing and her gold earrings catching the light as the sun's rays flooded through the open door. ‘Hurry up, Sarah,' she called over her shoulder as she linked her hand in the crook of Gaston's arm. ‘The carriage is waiting and we're paying by the hour. Do you want to find your friends, or not?'

NETTIE AND GASTON
kept up a lively exchange during the one-hour carriage ride through narrow country lanes. The vehicle bumped over potholes with the occasional jolt that almost threw them off their seats when the wooden wheels caught in ruts.

Sarah huddled against the squabs, trying to ignore the smell of sweat laced with garlic and the patches where Macassar oil had stained the leather. Her thoughts were with Grey and Davey as she stared out of the window at the winter landscape of bare trees, and the dark earth where ploughed fields waited for the touch of spring warmth to bring them back to life.

‘Where are your friends staying?'

She looked up to find Gaston staring at her. His lips were smiling which belied the calculating look in his eyes. She shook her head. ‘I don't know.'

‘No matter. There cannot be many Englishmen in the village who are hiding from the law.'

‘Who said they were hiding?' Sarah demanded, glaring at Nettie. ‘What have you told him?'

Nettie giggled nervously. ‘I said their boat had gone down in a storm, that's all.'

‘And you two ladies are going to bring them home,' Gaston said smoothly. ‘Or perhaps just one of them will be returning with you.'

‘Perhaps,' Sarah said stonily.

‘And I will make enquiries when we arrive.' Gaston turned his head to look out of the window. ‘We will be there very soon, I think.'

Minutes later the carriage drew to a halt and Gaston leapt out first. He helped Nettie to alight and proffered his hand to Sarah, but she climbed down without his assistance. Despite his pleasant manner she did not trust him. He did not seem put out by the rebuff and after a few words with the driver he turned to them with a smile. ‘We will start at the inn. This is always the best place to ask questions.' He raised an eyebrow. ‘Does that suit you, Mademoiselle Sarah?'

‘I don't want to keep you from your business,' she said coldly. ‘I'm sure we can manage from now on, but thank you for your assistance.'

His smile seemed to be permanently attached to his face. ‘But I have come this far with you beautiful young ladies. It would be ungallant to abandon you now.' He patted Nettie's hand as it rested on his sleeve.

‘That's very kind of you, Gaston,' she said, sending a warning glance to Sarah. ‘We're very grateful.'

Sarah could not disagree without appearing churlish and reluctantly she followed them to the inn. ‘We'll wait outside,' she said, grabbing Nettie by the hand before she could follow Gaston into the building.

‘What's the matter with you?' Nettie hissed. ‘He's gone out of his way to help us and you're behaving as if he's a spy or something.' She frowned. ‘No. Surely you can't think that?'

‘I don't trust him,' Sarah said in a low voice. ‘I know you like him and you think he likes you, but I can't help wondering why he's going out of his way to help a couple of strangers.'

‘He does like me,' Nettie said, pouting. ‘It's just possible that he's doing it because he's a gent.'

‘Is that so? What if George Fitch sent him to find out where Grey is? Your French gent could be a policeman for all we know, or a private detective.'

‘But that's silly.'

‘Is it? Well, we'll see, but I don't want him poking his elegant nose into what doesn't concern him.'

‘I think you're being unreasonable.' Nettie glanced over her shoulder. ‘Here he comes. We won't be able to find your mates without him, so for God's sake stop scowling and smile.'

‘All right, but don't encourage him.' Sarah shivered as a cold wind tugged at her bonnet and a bank of dark clouds obliterated the sun. She could not raise a smile no matter how hard she tried. ‘Any news, Gaston?' She made an effort to sound casual, but inwardly her pulses were racing and her palms were damp with sweat. If Gaston Fournier was in George Fitch's pay all her efforts to save Grey would come to nothing. If he was a policeman the end result would be the same. She crossed her fingers.

‘Indeed, yes,' he said, beaming. ‘There are two Englishmen staying on a farm nearby. I can take you there.'

‘You are so kind, Gaston.' Nettie fluttered her lashes and took his arm in a possessive gesture that was not lost on Sarah.

‘You mustn't waste any more of your valuable time on us,' she said hastily. ‘I'm sure you must be eager to go about your business, Gaston. If you give us directions I'm sure we can find our way.'

His expression was urbane and gave nothing away. ‘I wouldn't hear of it. We've come this far together and I want to see you safely reunited with your friends before I leave.'

Nettie smirked and Sarah seethed inwardly, but there was little she could do without appearing rude and ungrateful. ‘Is it far?'

‘It's quite near, but it looks like rain and we'd better hurry.' Gaston started forward at a brisk pace with Nettie making efforts to match his strides. There was nothing Sarah could do other than follow them. The narrow lane threaded its way between pastures where cows grazed and orchards filled with serried rows of dormant fruit trees. It had begun to rain as they reached the stone farmhouse, which was surrounded by a cluster of single-storey outbuildings. Once again Gaston asked them to remain in the shelter of the tiled porch while he went inside to make enquiries.

‘I don't like this,' Sarah murmured, wrapping her arms around her chilled body. ‘We don't know what he's saying to these people.'

‘It wouldn't help if we were in there with him.' Nettie looked around, wrinkling her nose. ‘This place stinks. I hope your mates aren't being kept in the pigsty.'

Sarah opened her mouth to retort but Gaston emerged at that moment with a smug grin that made her want to slap him. He either did not understand the seriousness of the situation or he was congratulating himself on his success. She waited for him to speak.

‘The gentlemen in question are in the barn,' he said, pointing at one of the outbuildings. ‘The farmer says we may visit them.'

‘I would rather go in alone,' Sarah said firmly. ‘I can't thank you enough for what you've done for us, Gaston. But I want to do this on my own.'

For once Nettie seemed to be on her side as she nodded in agreement. ‘That's right. If they're feeling poorly they won't thank us for barging in. Let me know if there's anything I can do, Sarah.'

Gaston frowned. ‘I might be able to help.'

Nettie laid her hand on his arm. ‘I would kill for a cup of tea, Gaston.'

‘We're in France now, chérie.' He smiled indulgently. ‘I think the farmer's wife might be persuaded to give us some coffee.'

‘Then let's go inside out of the rain. It's ruining me best hat,' Nettie said, dragging him into the kitchen.

Sarah could hear her speaking slowly and loudly to the farmer's wife as if by enunciating clearly she could make the woman understand English. Smiling to herself, she hurried through the rain and entered the barn. The smell of cow dung and urine-soaked straw caught the back of her throat making her retch, but she did her best to ignore it as she waited until her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom. The cows tethered in stalls looked at her with large, baleful eyes, swishing their tails and lowing. She hurried past them, and at the far end of the barn she could just make out two figures lying on piles of empty sacks. She moved closer and her heart did an uncomfortable leap in her chest when she saw Grey, pale-faced and either unconscious or in a deep sleep. Propped up against the wall, Davey was staring at her in disbelief. His head was roughly bandaged and one arm was tied up in a makeshift sling. ‘Sarah?'

She fell onto her knees beside him. ‘Are you all right?' It seemed like a silly question but she could think of nothing better to say. She wanted to hug him and sob with relief but she could see by the colour of his skin and the lacklustre look in his eyes that he was unwell.

‘My arm's broken,' he said dully. ‘And I've got a terrible headache – had it for days now. I don't know how long we've been here but it feels like forever.'

She laid her hand on his brow and breathed a sigh of relief as she felt his cool skin beneath her fingers. ‘You haven't got a fever, but you should be in a proper bed. This place is no good for you.' She turned her attention to Grey, but a cursory examination revealed that he was burning up with fever, and he did not respond to the sound of his name.

‘He's been like that since we were brought ashore,' Davey murmured. ‘He's in a bad way, but to be honest I thought we were both goners when the mast broke and the boat capsized.'

‘Don't talk,' Sarah said urgently. ‘Save your strength. I'm going to get you out of here. We'll soon have you on your feet again.' She stood up, gazing at them with a mixture of relief and anxiety. At least they had survived, but Grey was a sick man. Davey raised his uninjured hand. ‘Don't go, Sarah.'

‘I have to make arrangements to get you both out of here, but I'll be back as soon as I can.' She hurried from the barn, struggling to hold back tears of desperation. It was easy to make promises, but keeping them was another matter.

She found Nettie and Gaston in the farmhouse kitchen sipping coffee from china bowls. The farmer sat in a chair by the fire with his feet on the brass rail of the range. A cigarette drooped from the corner of his mouth and the odd-smelling tobacco smoke that she had noticed at the inn wreathed his bald head. He seemed unperturbed by their sudden arrival but his wife had the flustered look of a woman whose daily routine had been disturbed by the influx of foreigners requiring sustenance. She glanced nervously at Gaston who spoke to her in rapid French. He turned to Sarah. ‘I asked her if you could have some coffee. It's excellent.'

‘It's rather bitter,' Nettie said in a low voice. ‘But I don't like to ask for cream and sugar in case I offend her. She seems a bit put out.'

The farmer's wife poured thick brown liquid into a bowl, which she passed to Sarah with a hint of a smile.

‘Thank you, ma'am. Very kind, I'm sure.' Sarah sipped the scalding coffee and burned her tongue but she nodded and smiled, not wishing to appear ungrateful or rude. These people had sheltered Grey and Davey, even though they had housed them in the cattle shed without proper bedding or medical attention, but at least they had kept them alive and for that she was thankful. The bowl was burning her fingers and she put it down on the table. ‘Gaston, I'm afraid I must ask your help once again.'

‘I thought you might.' His dark eyes met hers with a steady look. ‘You want your friends moved to a hospital?'

‘No, not that, but perhaps I could rent a cottage where I could nurse them back to health. I think I have enough money.'

‘That is not a problem. I can give you what you need.'

‘Who are you?' Sarah demanded. ‘You're not simply a kind stranger who took pity on us. I think someone sent you to spy on us. Was it George Fitch?'

‘Sarah!' Nettie's shocked voice echoed round the kitchen and the farmer's wife moved closer to her husband, clutching his hand.

Gaston rose slowly to his feet. ‘You're right, but I'm not a spy. I am a lawyer and my services were engaged by Martin Moorcroft. I was to assist you in any way I saw fit, but you were not supposed to find out.'

‘Mr Moorcroft paid you to keep an eye on us?' Sarah stared at him in amazement. ‘Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?'

‘Would you have accepted my advice?' Gaston chuckled and the farmer's wife relaxed visibly.

‘I don't know,' Sarah said truthfully. ‘I hope I would.'

‘No, you wouldn't.' Nettie gurgled with laughter. ‘You was always a stubborn piece, Sarah Scrase. You wouldn't give in to nothing and no one. Mr Moorcroft has got your number, darling.'

Sarah smiled reluctantly. ‘Maybe, but I wish he'd told me what he was doing. I was thinking all sorts of things about you, Gaston.'

‘All of them wrong,' he said with an expressive shrug. ‘I am here to help and the first thing I must do is to ask these good people if they know of an empty property round here. ‘Have I your permission to do so?'

Sarah nodded wordlessly but Nettie clapped her hands. ‘I said all along that he was a toff. I should have guessed that dear old Moorcroft had something to do with it. He's a darling. I love him.'

‘He is a good man and a true friend,' Gaston said seriously. He turned to the farmer, speaking in his native tongue, and was answered with much gesticulation and a flow of words that left Sarah feeling breathless but none the wiser. She looked to Gaston to translate.

‘There is a house on the far side of the village. He says it has been empty for quite some time but the rent will be cheap. He's given me the landlord's name and address.'

The cottage in the woods was a perfect hideaway for a person on the run from the police, or so Nettie declared, striking a dramatic pose. Gaston laughed at her antics but Sarah was eager to inspect the interior and she could hardly contain her impatience as she waited for Gaston to pull away some of the creeper that clambered over the porch and partially obscured the front door. He wrenched away the trailing fronds and turned the key in the lock. The door opened with a groan of protest and Nettie covered her mouth and nose with her hand. ‘It smells,' she said in a muffled voice. ‘Something must have died in there, or someone.' She giggled nervously and hung back as Sarah followed Gaston into the building.