He listened intently. He could hear the woman dealing most adroitly with their pursuers. She was sending them off into the warren of the old city. It was the place where any fugitive would choose to hide, of course, but she had even concocted a story as to why there would be no blood trail to follow. What a woman! Not only was she ready to confront robbers at the dead of night, she was also extremely quick-witted. Jack was not sure he would have done half as well.
He could hear the sound of the men rushing away in pursuit of their phantom quarry. The woman would come back now, and then Jack and Ben would need to find somewhere else to hide. It could not be among the harbour inns, that was for certain, for they had already been betrayed once by that route. Perhaps if—
The carriage door opened. It swayed as someone climbed in. ‘Do not move an inch.’ It was the lady’s voice, soft but strong.
The coach swayed again as the lady took her place on the bench seat.
‘Put the provisions on the floor, Guillaume,’ she said, in a slightly louder voice, ‘and then let us be off. I have had quite enough of this city, full of thieves and vagabonds. Let us show it a clean pair of heels.’
‘Yes, miss.’ It was a man’s voice, an older voice, and it was followed by the sound of the door closing.
‘Don’t move yet,’ she whispered. And then the carriage started forward. She was leaving Marseilles. And she was taking Jack and Ben with her.
Jack did as he was bid, though he worried very much for Ben. He might have lost his senses, but he would still be bleeding. There had not been time to staunch his wound, which needed to be tended. And yet the lady was right to bid them stay concealed, for those blackguards might easily catch up with the coach in the busy streets of Marseilles. And if they did, the consequences could be dire. Two able-bodied men, one of them old, against five armed ruffians.
After some minutes, he felt the coach make a sharp left turn. Peering cautiously out from among the packages, his gaze met the shifting, dappled light of a tree-lined avenue. They must be well away from the harbour now.
The coach picked up speed for a while and Jack breathed more easily. They were leaving the centre of the town. Perhaps now he could—? But then the coach slowed once more, almost to a stop. What now? He tensed, ready to defend Ben.
‘Be easy,’ she said softly. ‘We must go through the Porte d’Aix. I do not expect to be stopped.’
But what if they were? Jack listened intently, trying to make himself as small as possible. He heard a muttered exchange outside. Guillaume must be talking to the guards on the gate. Would they—?
The coach was pulling away again. They were through! Jack continued to lie motionless, however, for he did not know how far they still had to go to leave the city altogether. He took a deep breath. Yes, surely that was the smell of trees, and good moist earth? But he did not stir. He would wait for her to give the word. Gratefully he breathed in the fresh country smells. And then he realised there was something more. It was the smell of the sea.
‘Sir, I think it is safe now. We have reached the Aix road. There is nothing here but fields, and the sea beyond.’ She was starting to remove the packages of silk that lay on top of them.
Jack sat up and quickly pushed the rest away. The coach was barely a hundred yards from the shore. White-crested waves were beating in to break on the rocks. He felt his stomach heave, but he forced himself to concentrate on their escape. He was in a coach, after all, not a ship. ‘You put yourself in grave danger, ma’am.’
She dropped to her knees beside the two of them. ‘No more danger than you were in last night, sir. Now, let us see to your friend.’
She was right. For several minutes, they worked together in silence, stripping off Ben’s coat and pulling open his shirt to get at the wound. It was high in his shoulder. The shot seemed to have missed the vital organs, but there was no exit wound. It would be necessary to find a surgeon to remove the ball. She lifted her skirt and reached for her petticoat, as if about to tear off a bandage.
‘No, ma’am. There is no need. For some reason, I kept hold of my bag.’ He nodded towards the battered valise, which lay at a peculiar angle against the far door. He reached for it, pulled out his spare shirt and quickly made it into a pad to apply to Ben’s wound. Then he tied the pad in place with a makeshift bandage of his stockings. ‘Thank God he fainted.’
The lady nodded. ‘Shall we put him on the seat?’
‘I think he is probably better there on the floor, among the bales of silk,’ Jack said after a moment. ‘It would hurt him if we moved him. And, to be frank, it is easier to conceal him there.’
She thought for a moment, but then she nodded again. ‘Yes, you are right.’ She pushed herself back up on to the seat and took a handkerchief from her reticule to clean the blood from her fingers. Then she looked out of the window. The sea was no longer in sight. ‘Guillaume has made good time, even though he does not know what dangerous cargo he carries.’She gave a small, nervous laugh. ‘He will berate me when he discovers it, but never mind. I owe it to you, sir. After last night.’
Jack made Ben as comfortable as he could, adding extra parcels of silk to stop him rolling with the movement of the coach. Then he looked up at the lady.
‘Pray sit.’ She indicated the other half of the bench seat. ‘There is no need for you to remain on the floor. Not now.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Jack ran a nervy hand through his hair. Then he dived into his pocket for a handkerchief to mop his brow and clean his hands. ‘I’d wager I look as much of a ruffian as those five.’
‘I think not. You, sir, are clearly a gentleman, and they—’ She shuddered. ‘They were not.’
‘No, I—’ Jack stopped, thunderstruck, for she had taken a pistol from the seat under her skirts and was calmly returning it to the leather holster by the window. ‘A pistol, ma’am?’
‘After last night, I was prepared to use it, I may tell you. It was concealed in my skirts all the time I was dealing with those men. It gave me a degree of courage I might not otherwise have had,’ she added simply.
‘Madame,’Jack said, very seriously, trying to bow from his sitting position, ‘you have as much courage as any woman I have ever met, and I salute you for it.’
‘Thank you.’ She would not meet his eyes. ‘Thank you, Mr…?’She looked up then. Her eyes, he could see at last, were an unusual shade of blue-green, and very wide. As beautiful as the sea. And as easy to drown in. ‘I am afraid I do not know your name,’ she said quietly.
‘Nor I yours, ma’am. My name is Louis Jacques, from Paris. My poor wounded companion is a German, Christian Benn. I am escorting him to Paris, on behalf of a mutual friend.’ Jack cursed inwardly. He had been paying too much attention to the fair Amazon’s eyes, and hazarding his mission as a result. He really should have prepared their cover story with much more care. He had assumed, stupidly, that he would never have to go into detail. How wrong could he be! His brothers, Dominic and Leo, would never have been caught out in that way. They always had a plan B, and usually a plan C as well.
Jack resolved to be more prudent in future. And also to tell this lady nothing more. For all he knew, she might be a Bonapartist, in spite of the fact that she had saved them. Indeed, he should have thought of that before. Still, he had told her only his nom de guerre, and Ben’s. The mention of Paris as their destination was harmless enough. He had given away nothing of importance. He and Ben would be safe, even if she did favour the enemy, but he must say nothing more. She was a remarkable woman, and he might admire her, but he must not trust her. He could not afford to jeopardise his mission for a pair of limpid blue-green eyes.
He plastered what he hoped was a charming smile on his face, and said, in his most confiding voice, ‘We are much in your debt, ma’am, and I should be glad