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‘Send the chair down.’ Sam Roker was standing up, steadying himself by hanging on to the ship’s ladder hanging over the side. ‘The old man cannot climb and the Commodore is wounded.’
Lisette was politely ushered to one side as a chair was lowered from a hoist and slowly, inch by inch, it brought her father to the deck. It was her father. This emaciated man, with the snow-white hair and beard and hands like claws, was really Papa. She watched as the chair was set down on the deck and then ran to kneel at his feet, eyes streaming with tears. ‘Papa. Oh, Papa! Thank God you are safe.’
The seamen were going to send the chair back for Jay, but before they could do so he appeared at The top of the rope ladder, pulling himself up with his right arm. The left hung uselessly at his side. The sleeve was ripped and covered in blood. ‘Set sail before we lose wind and tide,’ he commanded, though it was an effort to speak. ‘I am going below. See to the Comte’s comfort.’ Helped by Sam, who had followed him on board, he staggered away, leaving Lisette to help her father.
‘Michel?’ he queried. ‘Is he with us?’
‘No, Papa, he is still with the King. I have seen him and he is well.’
‘He is a good boy.’
‘Yes.’
It was always Michel he thought of first, she mused as two sailors carried him down to a cabin set aside for him, not a word about how she had managed in his absence.
Only when he had been comfortably ensconced in his cabin, had been given a light repast, which she fed him spoonful by spoonful, and he had fallen asleep did she go in search of Jay. By that time the land had disappeared and they were sailing north east with a fair wind.
Sam let her into the cabin where Jay lay propped up in a bunk that seemed too short for him. The servant had stripped off his coat and shirt and bandaged his upper arm and shoulder. His broad chest was bare. ‘Mademoiselle, you should not be here,’ he said as Sam disappeared. ‘It is hardly proper. I am not dressed.’
She ignored this objection and, looking round, saw a stool which she pulled to the side of the cot. She realised as soon as she sat on it that it made her even nearer his bare chest. She had never been close to a man in that stage of undress before and became almost mesmerised by the narrow thatch of dark hair that started just below his throat and disappeared into the top of his breeches. It was having a strange effect on her breathing and making her feel hot. She forced herself to look up into his face to meet quizzical blue eyes.
‘I had to come to thank you,’ she said, making herself sound calm. ‘There are no words to express my gratitude.’
‘Then do not try.’
‘I must. Without you, Papa would surely have died, if not at the hands of the court, then of neglect and starvation. I do not know how I shall ever repay you.’
‘I want no payment, Miss Giradet. How is your father?’
‘He is very weak and confused and I am not sure if he knows where he is, but your men have provided food and drink and I helped him to eat.’
‘Good. We must build up his strength.’
‘I am hopeful that with careful nursing and good food he will recover and be his old self.’ She paused to look at him, though doing so brought the warmth back to her face and made her tremble. Beneath his tan, his face had a greyish look. ‘But you have been hurt. I would not have had that happen for worlds. According to Monsieur Roker, if you had not been protecting Papa with your own body he would have been killed, which makes me doubly in your debt.’
‘It is nothing but a scratch. Sam dug the ball out of me and I think I will live.’ This last was said with a wry smile which turned to a grimace when he tried to move.
‘Are you in great pain?’
‘No, a little discomfort, that is all.’
She stood up to reach across him to make his pillow more comfortable and found her face inches from his. It would be so easy to put her lips to his in a kiss. The thought flitted across her brain and vanished, but she saw, by the look in his eyes, that he had read her mind and was amused by it. She sat down again quickly and tried to compose herself. Talk, she admonished herself, say something, distract him, distract yourself.
‘If anything I have done has made matters worse for you, then I am truly sorry,’ she said, averting her gaze from his. ‘But tell me what happened. You were so late coming I was afraid everything had gone wrong and you had all perished.’
He told her about stealing the uniforms and the long wait and the confrontation with the guards and the Comte’s struggle when they realised they would have to manhandle him from one coach to the other because he had grown too weak to walk. ‘We were dressed as maréchaussée and he thought we were taking him out to kill him,’ he said. ‘Your coachman calmed him and he consented to being put in his own carriage. We set off for the rendezvous at a fierce lick and for once I hoped my orders had been disobeyed and the boat had waited.’
