Amanda Scott (25 page)

The young sailor nodded, watching her with much the same fascination as a cobra watches a mongoose. “He be a proud man, right enough.”

“Yes, very. Too proud sometimes,” Diana said, shaking her head. “He would protect me when I am the best person to accomplish this one task for him. I speak French fluently, Darby. I know the person to seek and the right words to use in the seeking. I can do the thing faster and with greater efficiency than my lord himself! But though he has confided in me,” she added, with a shrewd glance at the burly man beside her, “he still thinks a woman too soft to deal with such stuff as this when, in fact, I shall do better because of my sex. No one will suspect that I have business at Beléchappé. Therefore, I shall be able to accomplish the matter quickly and without suspicion.”

“What be this matter ye speak of?”

“’Tis confidential. I am to present certain credentials and to receive certain important materials in exchange,” Diana said.

“Sounds t’ me like some sort o’ spying,” Darby said.

Diana nearly denied the suggestion indignantly before she realized that the lad’s eyes had lit up and that there was a sudden sense of suppressed tension in his demeanor. He was excited at the thought of being involved in a spy mission against France. Diana glanced around again. “Indeed, I should not have revealed so much. But I must tell you, Darby, that the fate of a good many people hangs by the thread of Beléchappé. If we can reach the château before anyone suspects that my lord has the slightest interest in the place, we can retrieve the…uh, the material and be back here before he returns. Otherwise, he may insist upon putting us all in danger by going to Beléchappé himself when he gets back from Paris. Now, will you help me?” She held her breath, watching him for further sign of doubt, but she needn’t have worried.

“Aye,” he said.

Diana had left him to explain as much as he thought necessary to the other three sailors and to arrange for proper clothing for herself and horses for both of them. At the same time she requested that he learn, as subtly as possible, the exact location of the Château Beléchappé. When Darby had returned from Le Havre without horses but with the information that the château lay nearly fifteen miles to the west of the city, Diana had been appalled. Neither of them knew the countryside, which would mean stopping frequently to ask questions. And even with her command of the language, she had no wish to draw that much attention to herself. She had a notion that even dressed in the peasant clothing Darby had procured for her she would have a difficult time convincing any French peasant that she was merely another like himself. No doubt her accent would be wrong, for one thing. She spoke the French of the nobility, not that of the peasantry. Darby, too, had been worried.

“I doubt we can do it, m’lady. It be too far.”

“’Tis on the coast, you say?”

“Aye, or as near as makes no difference.”

“Then the captain must sail us there. That is the answer. We will drop anchor offshore, and you and I will take the skiff, beach it, and go in search of Monsieur Milice, the man I am to meet. Once we have the material his lordship needs, we shall simply return to the
Sea Maiden
, and the captain can sail us back to Le Havre to meet his lordship and the others.”

“Aye,” Darby said, mulling the notion over in his head, “it might work that way, but the cap’n be a mite duck-headed ’bout going counter to ’is lordship’s command, ’n so far I only told ’im ye wanted a bit o’ exercise, like what ye said t’ me afore ye explained the lot. I’ll ’ave t’ tell ’im a bit more like, I’m thinkin’.”

“Tell him whatever you must, only get him to do what I need done,” Diana said fervently.

Darby had returned sometime later with the information that the captain flatly refused to drop anchor anywhere close to Beléchappé. “He says the shoals there be right dangerous, my lady, ’n ’e won’t take the responsibility fer either the yacht nor yet the skiff, fer the shore along that bit o’ the coast be all rocks and such like. Best ’e can do be t’ take us into Deauville, which be ’bout four miles this side, as I reckon.”

“Four miles is nothing,” Diana had said cheerfully, quickly recovering from the lurching feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought that the captain would fail them just when her goal seemed within reach. By then the tide was out and on the turn, the captain said, and even if the wind had not been in the wrong quarter, which it was, it would have required a far more foolish seaman than himself to consider taking the yacht out of the harbor and along the unknown shoreline with dusk rapidly coming on.

Diana chafed at the delay, but there was nothing to be done other than to await the morning light. At least by dawn the wind had risen, and the
Sea Maiden
, once her sails had been set, fairly skimmed across the bay, accomplishing the ten-mile journey in little over an hour. The captain had kept the yacht outside the harbor in order to avoid being at the mercy of the tides, and Darby had rowed ashore at once to arrange for horses. Although such arrangements were not so easily accomplished in the smaller village as in Le Havre, he had been successful and now, at last, they were on their way to the château.

Riding along the rutted, muddy road at a distance-eating lope, enjoying the caress of the cool breeze against her cheeks, her golden hair breaking free of the bun in which she had tried to confine it, Diana nearly forgot the importance of her journey. It seemed ages since she had felt this sense of freedom. It was possible almost to forget the burly sailor riding behind her, clinging to his saddle.

“Oh, aye,” Darby had assured her when she’d asked if he rode. “Brung up on a farm, I was. ’Course, it be a time since I last sat a horse, me lady, but I expect ye don’t be fergittin’ once ye know how.”

When he had clambered awkwardly into his saddle, glaring at his mount with undisguised suspicion as though he expected to be bitten or tossed into the nearest pig sty, Diana had nearly laughed. She controlled her mirth, however, knowing that laughter would humiliate the sailor. Now, she only hoped he wouldn’t fall off and that he wouldn’t be so sore when they reached Beléchappé as to be useless to her.

Remembering the comte’s words about his signet ring, she wondered now how she would convince his erstwhile major domo, Monsieur Milice, to part with the emeralds. For Milice must agree to part with them. Only by returning safely to Le Havre with the emeralds in her possession could she hope to mitigate Simon’s fury when he discovered, as he inevitably would, what she had done. By then, surely he would have come to recognize the truth of her warning that Rory would not leave France without the Beléchappé treasure. But even so, she knew him well enough to realize that he was not likely to welcome her assistance with open arms. Indeed, he would be beside himself with fury. But that mattered little if by retrieving the emeralds she had managed to spare them all a difficult time with Lord Roderick. Heaven alone knew what that gentleman might be capable of if pushed far enough. She had seen that look of purpose in his eyes at Alderwood. He would not be swayed from his intended task, certainly not by the brother he had fought one way or another all his life. She knew that under the bitterness and envy he loved Simon, but she was as certain as she could be that he loved Sophie more. And to win her, he needed to retrieve the treasure. To win her he would fight Simon.

She could not let them fight. Such a course would put them all at risk. Indeed, she was assuming, was she not, that Simon would manage to effect a release for Sophie and her mama as well as for Rory in Paris. What if he failed? But Simon would not fail, she told herself firmly. He had agreed to do what he could. Moreover, Rory would not let him leave Paris without the others. She would spare Simon further confrontation with his brother by getting the emeralds. He would not thank her. Her thoughts had gone full circle again. She caressed her stomach, wondering if the precious burden she carried would protect her against the full force of his wrath, then remembering that Simon himself had said it would not. At least the baby seemed calm this morning. She had not felt at all sick, either on board the
Sea Maiden
or since mounting her horse.

At last the outline of the château appeared on the horizon ahead. They had ridden past fields and an occasional peasant’s cottage, but there had been little sign of any real habitation since they had left Deauville. There were open fields, hedgerows as high as her shoulders, and gray alder and oak thickets that would be green and shady in spring. But now the fields were barren, the hedgerows ragged, the trees and shrubbery bare of leaves. Despite the roses Darby had seen growing in Southampton, there was still the look of winter here on these wild, windblown cliffs. Everything seemed drab and gray under the overcast sky, and the château, as they approached nearer, reminded Diana of nothing so much as Maria Edgworth’s
Castle Rackrent
. All it lacked were black clouds looming about its graystone turrets, with lightning flashing and thunder booming in the background. She grinned at her fancies and glanced back over her shoulder to assure herself that she still had an escort.

Darby was there, although his face was set and his muscles taut. As she slowed the pace to a trot, she saw him grab his horse’s mane in an attempt to stop the jarring of his bones. Taking pity on him, she slowed more till they were walking. He heaved a sigh of relief loud enough for her to hear.

“There is the château,” she said cheerfully.

“Aye,” he said on a long breath. “Do we just ride up to the front door? Don’t look t’ me as if there be anybody t’ home.”

Diana scanned the entryway with a sinking heart. A dirt road clogged with strawlike weeds led from two huge stone pillars straight to the main entrance of the château. Windows on either side of the entry were covered with weathered boards. Nobody had been home for a long time. No doubt Monsieur Milice lived somewhere else, even perhaps in Deauville. Why had she not thought of the possibility before?

But, no, she told herself firmly. He would know that eventually someone from the family would come to claim the treasure. The comte had called him devoted. Surely he would do nothing to put difficulties in the way of whoever came for the emeralds. She touched her mount’s flank with her spur and gestured for Darby to follow. There must be a way to find the old servant. They would start at the château.

From all she could discover, it was entirely deserted. A pathway of sorts led off toward the cliffs from a rear entrance. Following it as it wound through one of the alder thickets, she came upon a stable, long disused. But beyond the stable there was a cottage with smoke drifting from its chimney. Diana gestured for Darby to remain where he was and slipped down from her saddle.

She found it necessary to pound upon the door before she heard any sound from within, but finally there was a creaking and a shuffling of footsteps and the door opened to reveal a tiny, ancient woman wearing a shapeless black dress with a once-white kerchief wrapped around gray hair above a face that looked like a withered apple. Diana quickly explained that she was looking for Monsieur Milice, who had once been major domo at the château. The woman continued to stare at her through faded blue eyes, and Diana wondered if the dialect in this part of France was totally different from the French she was so proud of. Then the woman put a hand up to cup her ear.

“Eh?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Diana shouted, “Monsieur Milice!”

“
Il est mort
,” said the old woman, shutting the door.

Diana felt the wind go out of her. Standing on the little stone stoop, she looked back at Darby. “She says he’s dead.”

“Well, then, that be it, ’n there’ll be the devil t’ pay.”

The muscles in her jaw tightened. She couldn’t simply go back. Rory wouldn’t accept Monsieur Milice’s death as the end to everything, and neither could she. Diana turned back to the cottage door and pounded on it again, this time in anger and frustration as much as to draw attention. The shuffling noise sounded again, and the little old woman opened the door. She stared at Diana as she had done before.

“
Sa famille!
” Diana shouted. “
Où est la famille de Milice?
”

After a small hesitation during which the old woman continued to stare at Diana, she gestured to the right. “
Là-bas
.” She shut the door again.

“Talkative sort, ain’t she?” Darby said, smiling when Diana returned to her horse.

“She said enough, I hope,” Diana replied, leading her horse to a nearby stump so that she could mount. Darby hadn’t offered to assist her, and she wasn’t at all sure he would be able to get back on his own horse if he did. He looked every inch a battered man. Once in the saddle again, she said, “Down there. It looks as if there’s a path through the thicket, and it leads downhill. Come along, Darby.”

She led the way, and found the thicket overgrown but not enough to impede their progress. The pathway had the appearance of having been used by foot travelers rather than those on horseback, but it was passable. Ten minutes later they emerged into a clearing. In the center was another cottage that might have been cast from the same mold as the old woman’s. The thatch was moldy, black in patches, and the ground around the tiny cottage was hard-packed dirt with puddles of assorted sizes and patches of bent straw that looked as if snow had lain upon it fairly recently. Again, just as at the old woman’s, smoke came from the chimney, but here the smoke was thicker as if the fire inside burned more heartily.

Diana slid down from her saddle, but this time Darby followed suit, coming to stand beside her.

“I don’t like this place, m’lady,” he said quietly.

“Nonsense,” Diana replied, but she spoke in the same tone. There was a feeling about the clearing, about the cottage for that matter, that she could not place. She was near the treasure. That must be what she felt. “This is only a peasant’s cottage, Darby,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident that she felt. “I daresay the best we can hope to come by here is information. Surely, you don’t fear a French peasant or two.”