Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy (24 page)

Gabe put on his boots. “Shall I see if there is a newspaper to be found?”

She flinched as if struck by a rod. “Can it wait a little?”

“Of course.” He stood. “I could arrange for breakfast, then. Would you like to eat it in the room here?”

She shook her head. “Will you wait for me? I will dress quickly.”

He crossed the room to her and stood behind her. Gently he turned her around and held her against his chest. “Whatever you wish, Emmaline.”

She melted into him. “What do we do now? We’ve searched everywhere.”

“Make our way back to London.” He held her tightly. “Start all over again.”

Futile though it would be.

When they were on the road again Emmaline tried to cheer herself. They’d not found any news of Edwin’s murder in the papers, after all, and it was another fine day. She should be grateful for good weather. Their travel would have been slower and more miserable if it had rained.

She ought to be grateful to Gabriel, as well, for his tenacity, his willingness to drive all over the countryside, asking at inn after inn, for not giving up, not losing hope. In her heart, though, she knew all hope was gone.

Somewhere in England, Claude was near Edwin, planning Edwin’s murder. Or had already accomplished the deed and was arrested, awaiting hanging. Perhaps if a newspaper carried an account of the murder, she could still reach Claude in time to say goodbye.

Emmaline shook away that horrible thought and forced herself to gaze at the rolling hills of pasture and farmland that they passed. She let the steady pace of their intrepid horse lull her and ward off total despondency.

The land reminded her of Belgium, rolling grassy hills dotted with peacefully grazing sheep. She and Gabriel had once driven out into the Belgian countryside to similar scenes.

“This must be sheep-farming land,” she commented, to rid herself of the contrast between her happiness then and her misery now.

Gabriel shifted, as if surprised that she spoke. Their conversation had heretofore been less than perfunctory.

“It is.” He paused before adding, “I tended sheep on these very hills.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “Here?”

“The hill farm where my uncle is employed is close by.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “These pastures are part of it.”

“C’est vrai?”
She glanced at the land again. “Truly? Is this the uncle you told your brother we would visit?”

“Yes.”

He’d said when they started out this morning that they were not far from Blackburn. His plan was to return the horse and gig there and secure passage back to London for the morrow.

She set aside her own worries for a moment. “Gabriel, is this the uncle you told me about in Brussels, the one with whom you spent happy days?”

“It is,” he responded, his voice remaining even.

“We should call upon him, should we not? We are so close and you told your brother you would.” What did an extra hour or two matter? They would still have time to reach Blackburn. There was no real need to hurry now. Claude was lost.

He looked at her carefully. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “He is your
family.
” Her throat tightened at the word family and she turned away in case tears would burst from her eyes.

They quickly came upon an even narrower road leading up a gentle hill. He turned the gig on to it and, as they reached the crest, the farm and all its buildings could be seen in the valley below. A white-stucco farmhouse, three storeys high, with a shingled roof, was framed by large trees and a flower garden. Fanning out from the house was a series of outbuildings and beyond them half-a-dozen tiny cottages.

On their search for Claude they had passed many prosperous country estates with magnificent mansions and numerous farm buildings nearly as grand. This property was much more modest and, because of that, its appeal was greater. Emmaline could imagine a family running this farm, living happily in such a comfortable place.

As they descended into the valley Emmaline could see that the garden was tangled with weeds and the house was tightly shuttered. A dog crossed the path from one barn to another, followed by scampering chickens, the only signs of life. It made her sad. Why was such a lovely place neglected?

As if reading her thoughts, Gabriel said, “The farm is for sale, and the farmhouse is vacant. There are only enough workers left to tend to the sheep.”

“It is for sale? What happens to your uncle if it sells?” Would he be out of a job? Gabriel had told her that unemployment plagued the whole country.

“My uncle ought to have been pensioned off, but he stays on to keep the farm running. I do not know what will happen to him.” He paused and added. “I once considered purchasing it.”

“You have so much money?” She was surprised. “Why did you not purchase it?”

He looked sad. “I lost my reason to. Besides, I am a soldier, not a farmer.”

She did not have a chance to ask him what he meant by losing his reason to purchase the farm. An old man emerged from what looked like a stable. He stopped and gazed at them for a moment, then hurried to greet their carriage.

“Gabe! It is you!” The man laughed with delight. “What a surprise.”

Gabriel jumped from the gig and embraced the man. “Uncle.”

Emmaline’s eyes stung with tears at the reunion. She wanted so much for such a reunion with Claude.

“We were nearby,” Gabriel explained. With his arm around his uncle, Gabriel’s tall frame dwarfed the wiry, grey-haired man. He walked his uncle over to her. “Emmaline, this is my uncle, Mr William Deane.”

“I am enchanted to meet you, Mr Deane,” she said.

The man shuffled, looking shy.

Gabriel seemed to struggle for words. “This is… Madame Mableau, Uncle. We are travelling together.”

Emmaline’s brows rose. This time he did not tell his relation they were betrothed.

His uncle seemed to accept Gabriel’s explanation. “Well, I am glad you came to visit. I was about to go to the cottage for tea. Young Johnny is in the stable. He can tend to your horse.”

He shouted for the stable boy and Gabriel helped Emmaline from the gig. She was silent while she walked next to Gabriel on the path to a pretty thatched cottage. The dog bounded after them.

The cottage reminded her a little of her house in Brussels. It opened to a sitting room with a kitchen in the back. Stairs led to a second floor, but it was spare of colour and decoration. No lace in sight.

Gabriel’s uncle swept off the seat of a chair with his hand. “Sit, miss…
madame
…ma’am.”

She smiled at him. “Call me Emmaline. But you and Gabriel must do the sitting to share your news.” She removed her hat and gloves and set them on a side table near the door. “Show me the kitchen and I will make the tea.”

It felt almost normal to be heating water in a kettle and brewing tea. Uncle Will’s kitchen was easy to negotiate, as spare as the other room. Hearing Gabriel’s voice talking to his uncle gave her an ease almost like they had once shared together.

She brought the tea pot and cups to the small dining table.

“What news of the sale of the farm?” Gabriel asked.

“No one offering as far as I am told.” Gabriel’s uncle took the cup from Emmaline’s hands. “There was some talk of his lordship acquiring the land, but they say he and her ladyship are off to Brighton, so we won’t know until hunting season. His lordship will be back then.”

Gabriel turned to Emmaline. “He means the earl whose property borders this one.” He sipped his tea.

His uncle laughed. “News in the village is that his son and some friends have come to hide from creditors. His lordship will not like that when he hears of it.”

Gabriel’s tone changed. “His son is there?”

“That he is,” his uncle responded, apparently not noticing Gabriel’s heightened interest. “Came about a week ago. Mr Appleton—you remember him, Gabe? The blacksmith—Appleton has it from Connor, he’s one of the footmen at the Hall—that they have been emptying the wine cellar and causing havoc.”

Gabriel stared at him. “How many of them?”

“How many?” His uncle looked puzzled.

“How many of the son’s friends came with him?”

His uncle shook his head. “I don’t know. More than two, I think, from what was said.”

Gabriel shot to his feet. “I am going there.”

Emmaline stood, as well. “Is it—?”

“It must be,” he said, reaching for his hat.

“Then I am going with you,” she insisted.

His uncle rose with more difficulty. “What the devil is going on?”

Gabriel turned to him. “I cannot explain now, Uncle. We have been searching for someone, and I believe he is among young Rappard’s party.”

“But—”

Emmaline grabbed her hat and gloves, but did not bother to don them. They left his uncle standing in the doorway as they ran back to the stable. Gabriel reached the stable first and was already hitching the resigned-looking horse back to the gig, aided by a puzzled stable boy.

“Stay here, Emmaline,” Gabriel told her, quickly double-checking the harness.

“Non.”
She climbed on to the gig herself and quickly tied her bonnet and pulled on her gloves. “Claude may be nearby.”

He climbed up beside her and drove the gig out at a faster pace than heretofore.

Emmaline held on as they raced down dirt-packed roads. The same scenery she’d admired before whizzed by, a blur, while she prayed that Gabe’s intuition was correct, that Edwin Tranville would indeed be there. Alive.

A red-stone mansion came into view and Gabriel drove directly to its door. The sides of their stalwart horse were heaving when Gabriel jumped down and turned to assist her. They rushed to the door and Gabriel pounded on it. He glanced at her and Emmaline saw her own anxiety mirrored in his eyes.

If Edwin was not here… If they were too late…

After what seemed a remarkably long time to wait, the door was opened by a liveried footman.

Gabriel did not wait for the man to speak. “Is Mr Edwin Tranville a guest here?”

The footman looked surprised. “May I tell Mr Tranville who is calling?”

Edwin was here! Emmaline took a breath and attempted to calm herself. They’d come in time.

Gabriel spoke in a calmer voice. “I am Captain Deane from Tranville’s old company. I have been looking for him to give him news of some importance.”

The footman stepped aside to allow them entry. “Come in.”

They entered a hall with polished wooden floors and wainscoted walls. A huge painting of a man wearing armour was on one wall. On the opposite wall hung armaments in a symmetrical design surrounding a shield on which was the family crest. In the centre of the crest was a falcon, its wings outspread.

A crest with a bird on it.

Emmaline exchanged a glance with Gabriel. He nodded. He’d seen it, too.

The footman said, “You may wait in the drawing room. I will see if Mr Tranville is receiving callers.”

Gabriel handed him his hat and gloves. “Is there someone who can attend to my horse?”

“I will send someone for your horse.” The man placed Gabe’s things on the hall table and led them to the drawing room.

The drawing room had a carved marble fireplace with a huge mirror above it. There were several sofas and chairs upon which to sit. Gabriel and Emmaline remained standing.

The footman bowed and left them.

“He is here.” Emmaline whispered to Gabriel after the man was gone.

“Thank God.” Gabriel paced the floor.

Emmaline stared at the door. Her knees shook and she suddenly felt as if she could not breathe. “I have not seen him since that day.”

Gabriel came to her and held her arms in his strong hands. “He cannot hurt you.”

She nodded, only partly consoled.

They waited for what seemed like eternity. Each minute marked by the mantel clock made Emmaline’s heart pound harder.

Why was it taking so long for Edwin Tranville to appear?

Chapter Sixteen

F
ootsteps finally approached the drawing-room door.

In a moment Emmaline would face him, the man who had inhabited her nightmares for so many years, the man who had thought it a lark to watch her husband slain, who had tried to rape her and kill Claude.

The man whose life she needed to save.

She forced herself to turn towards the door.

It opened.

The creature who stood there was almost unrecognisable, slightly stooped, abdomen as round as a woman with child. He swept limp straw-coloured hair off his forehead and swayed slightly as he crossed the threshold. Surely she had never encountered this man before.

Except his yellow-tinged face was marked with a jagged scar from the corner of his eye to his chin, the scar she’d cut into him.

Edwin Tranville’s gaze passed over her without much interest and riveted on Gabriel. “Lawd. What the devil brings you here, Deane? Last time I had the dubious pleasure, you caused me the loss of my employment.”

Gabriel straightened his spine. “I lost you your employment? You were insensible from drink. Sidmouth sacked you for it.”