Page 25 of The Count’s Charade

“Mr Mayberry, thank goodness!”

He doffed his hat politely. “Is owt amiss, Miss Grace?”

“There is a great deal amiss!” Dispensing with all preamble, Grace pointed. “Do you see those men?”

Mayberry glanced to where the Frenchmen were stepping into the road, pausing as his frowning gaze raked them. “Who are they?”

“They are French, Mr Mayberry, here on Government business. Or so they say.” Now came the tricky part. She could only trust in the parish officer’s intelligence. “They told me they are looking for that wounded man who came here last week.”

Mayberry’s frowning gaze came back to her face. “You don’t say so?”

“But I do say so, Mr Mayberry.” Grace looked him straight in the eyes. “I do not know why they will not leave, though I told them the man disappeared that same night — as you remember.”

For a moment Mayberry stared at her, clearly turning her words over in his mind. It was apparent the significance of her emphasis had not escaped him. Then his gaze left her face, went across to the hovering Frenchmen, and came back again.

“Aye, Miss Grace, I remember it,” he said with deliberation.

“Well, it seems he was a Frenchman, Mr Mayberry.”

“Was he, now?”

Grace held his eyes. “They say so. I told them I had no idea. Did you suppose he was French?”

Mayberry’s ruddy cheeks became redder. “If I’d thought as he was French, Miss Grace, I had ought to have brought in Wooferton, no question.” There was severity in his tone, but he continued loudly, “Still an’ all, it wouldn’t have done no good, seeing as the man went off quiet-like in the night, just like you said.”

Grace threw him a fleeting smile of gratitude, and then resumed the haughty expression with which she had faced the Frenchmen earlier. “Would you be so kind as to deal with them, Mr Mayberry? I have no notion why they are still here. Would you believe it? They asked if they might search my house.”

To her secret enjoyment, the ruddy colour in Mayberry’s cheeks grew deeper, and he turned a belligerent eye upon the culprits. “Search your house? I’d like fine to see them try it!”

By this time, Loriot and his companions were shifting slowly across the lane. Out of the corner of his mouth, Mayberry muttered words for Grace’s ears alone. “You leave this to me, Miss Grace. I’ll rid you of them, and come back soon as ever I can.”

“Thank you!” Fervently whispered.

She then watched in growing delight as the sturdy farmer proceeded to demolish the Frenchmen. Loriot attempted to take a high hand from the start, flourishing his papers.

“We are here on the affairs of the French government, monsieur. You will assist us, if you please.”

“Ho, will I?” demanded Mayberry, instantly bucking his head. “Let me tell you, moosoo, that the French government don’t have no jurisdiction in my parish. I’m parish officer hereabouts, and if you’re the fellows as have been questioning folks without my say-so, you had ought to stop right now.”

“We cannot stop. We seek an enemy of the République. This man who has been wounded some days since. Mademoiselle says he has been here, and it is necessary that we search the house.”

“Over my dead body!”

Loriot looked very much as though he would have liked to test this, and his companions stepped forward, ugly menace in their faces. The leader waved them back. “This man that we seek, monsieur, he is a fugitive.”

“You’ll have to prove that before you go searching in any of the houses round about. So happens I’m looking for someone myself. More than one fellow, by the evidence. Only them as I’m looking for ain’t fugitives, but a set of murdering coves as I’m minded to throw in gaol, and that right speedily.”

To Grace’s surprise, the Frenchman did not blench. Perhaps he had not taken the underlying meaning? He eyed Mayberry blandly. “You have a man dead?”

Mayberry grunted. “He ain’t dead yet. Or he weren’t when I last saw him. He were mortal bad, I’d say, wounded in the shoulder.”

“Ah, then you have seen the man we seek.”

Mayberry snorted. “I’ve seen someone, but it ain’t to say he’s the feller you want. See here, moosoo. If you wish to lodge a report about a missing person, you’ll have to come along o’ me to South Hall and give a description. And after that, we’ll be off to Mr Wooferton, as is excise officer hereabouts. He’ll want to know of it, if there’s a Frenchie hiding in the parish. Not that I’d suppose yon feller is still at large in these parts. Likely he’ll have made his way west along Dagenham Breach, if he ain’t died on the way.”

“What place is that? Dagenham…”

“Breach, west of Hornchurch Marsh. If yon feller o’ yours is a fugitive, he’ll keep to the marshes and follow the Thames. Ain’t no sense going anywhere but London way.”