head out of the open window and shouted for Henri, who was already scurrying across the courtyard with the offending bricks clasped tightly to his chest.
Williams opened the door, and Henri’s face appeared. He looked up anxiously as he deftly placed the bricks around Sir Nicholas’s feet. “I am positive the comte sent his man here to check the validity of Mlle. Rushforth’s story,” he said softly. “He doesn’t suspect a thing. However, I think you had best not return for a while, Sir Nicholas. It would not be safe. The comte will have someone watching my inn for several weeks; of that you can be certain.”
Roberta, straining to hear the conversation, caught only the last part and was intrigued. Sir Nicholas, however, merely growled and dismissed Henri brusquely.
Henri’s face disappeared, the door was slammed shut, and they were on their way. Sir Nicholas shut his eyes and held his injured arm. Roberta could sense it hurt him and suggested he put his feet up on the seat and stretch out.
“I think not, Miss Rushforth,” he answered. “If we are stopped, it might arouse suspicion. However, if you could contrive to push an extra cushion under this wretched arm of mine, that might ease the pain.”
Henri had thoughtfully supplied plenty of pillows, and Roberta wedged a few of them about his injured limb. “I think that will absorb most of the jolts and bumps,” she said. “Does it throb dreadfully?”
“Quite,” he replied, opening his eyes. “But if you sit across from me, the sight of that absurd confection atop your head will take my mind off it entirely.”
Roberta laughed but did as he requested, while Mrs. Ashley clucked disapprovingly.
They journeyed on in silence. Sir Nicholas dozed fitfully, and Mrs. Ashley busied herself with her tatting. Roberta tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate. Her mind, as if with a will of its own, kept wandering over the events of last night. Nothing made sense. She was still engaged in trying to pull Sir Nicholas’s story apart, when the carriage halted abruptly.
Mrs. Ashley immediately dropped her half-finished doily on the floor and looked fearfully toward the window. Sir Nicholas opened his eyes and quickly hunched himself over, half turning his back to the window. Roberta picked up her book and made a great pretense of being deeply involved in its pages.
A few moments later, a man dressed in military uniform rode up. He opened the door of the carriage, and the three occupants stared at him with varying degrees of outrage.
“How dare you intrude on our privacy, young man! Close the door immediately,” Sir Nicholas roared. “I don’t know when I have been so rudely treated.”
“There, there, Papa,” Roberta said, “I’m sure there must be a good reason for this stoppage.” She turned back toward the soldier and leaned forward slightly, enough to shield Sir Nicholas from any penetrating stare. “Can we help you, sir?” she inquired, and then repeated it in French when he looked confused, adding, “Have you lost something, perhaps?”
The soldier, obviously enchanted by the picture she presented, smiled at her nervously. “I am so sorry to have intruded, mademoiselle. In truth, we are searching for a fugitive—a man some five and thirty years, with an injured right arm.”
Roberta shook her head, her eyes wide with apparent fear. “Is he dangerous?” she asked, her voice breathless.
“Desperate, ruthless even, so I have been told,” the young soldier answered. “But I doubt he will bother you. I’m sure he couldn’t have reached this far, but we have orders to stop everyone.”
“Roberta,” Sir Nicholas interrupted impatiently, “whatever it is that you find of such great interest, I demand you cease your inquiries. I will not tolerate such ragged manners from anyone, and to be disturbed in the middle of my rest by some whippersnapper who can do no more than ogle you in the most disgusting fashion is outside of
Williams opened the door, and Henri’s face appeared. He looked up anxiously as he deftly placed the bricks around Sir Nicholas’s feet. “I am positive the comte sent his man here to check the validity of Mlle. Rushforth’s story,” he said softly. “He doesn’t suspect a thing. However, I think you had best not return for a while, Sir Nicholas. It would not be safe. The comte will have someone watching my inn for several weeks; of that you can be certain.”
Roberta, straining to hear the conversation, caught only the last part and was intrigued. Sir Nicholas, however, merely growled and dismissed Henri brusquely.
Henri’s face disappeared, the door was slammed shut, and they were on their way. Sir Nicholas shut his eyes and held his injured arm. Roberta could sense it hurt him and suggested he put his feet up on the seat and stretch out.
“I think not, Miss Rushforth,” he answered. “If we are stopped, it might arouse suspicion. However, if you could contrive to push an extra cushion under this wretched arm of mine, that might ease the pain.”
Henri had thoughtfully supplied plenty of pillows, and Roberta wedged a few of them about his injured limb. “I think that will absorb most of the jolts and bumps,” she said. “Does it throb dreadfully?”
“Quite,” he replied, opening his eyes. “But if you sit across from me, the sight of that absurd confection atop your head will take my mind off it entirely.”
Roberta laughed but did as he requested, while Mrs. Ashley clucked disapprovingly.
They journeyed on in silence. Sir Nicholas dozed fitfully, and Mrs. Ashley busied herself with her tatting. Roberta tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate. Her mind, as if with a will of its own, kept wandering over the events of last night. Nothing made sense. She was still engaged in trying to pull Sir Nicholas’s story apart, when the carriage halted abruptly.
Mrs. Ashley immediately dropped her half-finished doily on the floor and looked fearfully toward the window. Sir Nicholas opened his eyes and quickly hunched himself over, half turning his back to the window. Roberta picked up her book and made a great pretense of being deeply involved in its pages.
A few moments later, a man dressed in military uniform rode up. He opened the door of the carriage, and the three occupants stared at him with varying degrees of outrage.
“How dare you intrude on our privacy, young man! Close the door immediately,” Sir Nicholas roared. “I don’t know when I have been so rudely treated.”
“There, there, Papa,” Roberta said, “I’m sure there must be a good reason for this stoppage.” She turned back toward the soldier and leaned forward slightly, enough to shield Sir Nicholas from any penetrating stare. “Can we help you, sir?” she inquired, and then repeated it in French when he looked confused, adding, “Have you lost something, perhaps?”
The soldier, obviously enchanted by the picture she presented, smiled at her nervously. “I am so sorry to have intruded, mademoiselle. In truth, we are searching for a fugitive—a man some five and thirty years, with an injured right arm.”
Roberta shook her head, her eyes wide with apparent fear. “Is he dangerous?” she asked, her voice breathless.
“Desperate, ruthless even, so I have been told,” the young soldier answered. “But I doubt he will bother you. I’m sure he couldn’t have reached this far, but we have orders to stop everyone.”
“Roberta,” Sir Nicholas interrupted impatiently, “whatever it is that you find of such great interest, I demand you cease your inquiries. I will not tolerate such ragged manners from anyone, and to be disturbed in the middle of my rest by some whippersnapper who can do no more than ogle you in the most disgusting fashion is outside of