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‘No one.’
‘You were not afraid he might escape?’
They both laughed. ‘He would not get very far,’ the older one said. ‘He is an old man and too feeble to run. You will be lucky if he does not expire before you reach Paris, then all this fuss will have been for nought.’
Jay risked a quick peep at the old man; it would be a terrible blunder to rescue the wrong man, but it was undoubtedly the Comte who was leaning back with his eyes shut. He hardly seemed to be aware that the coach had stopped; he certainly showed no interest in what was happening in the road. His condition had deteriorated since the few days since Jay had seen him in prison and that worried him. They had to move fast, because once the guard returned to Honfleur the cry would go up and they would be pursued. He hoped fervently the Comte could withstand the jolting.
‘Off you go back to your wives,’ Jay told the guards. ‘No doubt they will be pleased to see you.’
They hesitated, but Jay’s air of authority, their disinclination to go the distance to Paris and the thought of returning home to a hot dinner finally persuaded them. They turned back the way they had come.
Jay and Sam turned their horses to ride alongside the vehicle. ‘On you go, driver,’ he said to the coachman.
‘Pity you didn’t bring a driver too,’ he grumbled as they set off at the pace of a snail. Jay knew he could not hurry; the guards were watching them go and, until they were out of sight, they must continue on the road to Rouen.
‘Faster,’ he told the driver when the old guards had disappeared from sight. ‘We will be a month of Sundays getting to Paris at this rate.’
The driver cracked his whip over the horses’ backs, but they were old and skinny and although they tried, the pace hardly increased. Jay hoped and prayed Georges and the Giradet carriage had waited. It was long past the time they had expected to make the rendezvous.
Thankfully the sea was calm and the yacht rode easily at anchor. The rowing boat which had brought Lisette on board had gone back to the shore to wait for the rest of the party. She could see it on the beach, rocking on the slight swell.
‘Take this, miss.’ Lieutenant Sandford offered his telescope. ‘You will be able to see better.’
She put the glass to her eye. The two sailors in the boat were resting on their oars. A few people moved up and down the beach, picking up shells and seaweed. There was traffic on the road, horses, carts, an odd carriage or two, but not the longed-for carriage. ‘How long will they wait?’ she asked. She had been standing at the rail, refusing to go below, for what seemed hours.
‘The Commodore said two hours after the appointed time, but it has already been longer than that. I shall have to recall the men soon, before they begin to attract unwanted attention. We cannot afford to lose two of our crew, quite apart from causing a diplomatic incident. In the present unsettled situation it could even lead to war between our two countries. At the moment we are supposed to be neutral.’
‘I wish I had not allowed myself to be persuaded to come aboard. I feel as though I have abandoned my poor father. I shall be miserable not knowing what has become of him. It would be better to share his fate.’
‘I understand, miss, but I have my orders.’
‘But you would not leave without the Commodore, surely? How will he get home if you leave him?’
‘No doubt he will find a way.’
She was reminded of his words: if we do not come, then the chances are we have perished in the attempt. It did not bear thinking about. ‘Just five more minutes,’ she said.
‘The Commodore will skin me alive if I disobey him. I shall already be in trouble for waiting so long.’ If he, too, thought of the dreadful possibility that they were all lost, he did not voice it. He beckoned to a sailor who was carrying a small flag. ‘Call them back, Sadler.’
The man raised the flag.
‘Wait!’ she shouted, scanning the shore through the telescope. ‘There is a carriage on the road. It looks like ours.’
The rowers had already taken a few strokes from the shore. She watched in dismay as the coach stopped, two people got down from it and lifted something from the interior. It looked like the Commodore and Mr Roker, but the bundle they were carrying? Surely that was not her father? Was he ill? Wounded?
They waded out to the boat, which had stopped and waited for them, just as two maréchaussée galloped up and began shooting. With her heart pumping, she watched as the two men with their burden tumbled into the boat with shots spattering all round them. Not until they were out of range did she let her breath go.
Slowly they approached until they bumped against the hull. By leaning over the rail she could see down into the boat. Surely the bundle at the bottom was not her father?
