Page 55 of The Count’s Charade

“You expect Mr Wooferton?”

“’E’s coming at six, Miss Grace.”

“And Mr Mayberry with ’im.”

Armed with their warrant, no doubt. Turning from them, Grace went back to the house, ushering Jemima, suitably goggling, before her. She closed the door and leaned against it. Dismay took the place of feigned astonishment in the maid’s features.

“They’re coming for Mister Henry, ain’t they?”

Grace nodded, placing one hand below her breast as if she might still the fluttering there. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jemima shifted from one foot to the other. “That ain’t like you, Miss Grace.”

A faint smile was drawn from Grace. “Thank you, Jemima. But I fear this time I am beaten. We can’t get Mister Henry out of the house with all those men watching. And unless I can convince Wooferton and Mayberry that he is not here —”

“Beats me why they think he is,” interrupted the maid. “No one couldn’t have known as he’d come back ’cepting me and you, miss.”

Grace pushed away from the door, and clunked to the entrance to the parlour, glancing at the case clock on the mantel. “Half past five. They will be here in half an hour. Run upstairs and tell Mister Henry to stay in the bedchamber. And then I suppose we had best eat. At least let him not go hungry this time.”

It was a long half-hour, and although Grace sent Jemima upstairs with a tray, she could not herself touch the coddled eggs the maid had hastily prepared. Contenting herself with tea, she settled down at her bureau in the parlour, her gaze fixed through the window on to the lane.

At last the clopping sound of horses’ hoofs rewarded her. Immediately she found herself wishing she had instead stayed upstairs, and waited with Henri. Only she would not have been able to bear the sight of him, knowing if she failed she would have to watch him being taken away into captivity. She was relieved he had remained sensibly above stairs.

Wooferton and Mayberry came into sight, riding together. No sign of Sir James. Yet it was his doing that these men were upon her. Flaring resentment sent Grace out to meet the officers with fresh determination.

They were dismounting when she opened the door. Her advent was remarked by Clem and Samuel, waiting to hold the horses. Mayberry looked round, and exchanged a glance with Wooferton. The excise officer came first down the path, followed by the burly form of his colleague.

Grace forestalled anything they had been about to say. “May I ask what in the world you mean by surrounding my house with your men?”

Wooferton pursed his lips, intensifying the hawk look. “It ain’t no manner o’ use taking that tone, Miss Grace.”

“And it’s no use your forcing your way in here, Mr Wooferton,” she retorted.

“Now then, Miss Grace,” came from Mayberry, pushing forward, “no one ain’t talking o’ forcing nothing. Only you had ought to let us in, no question, for Wooferton has his warrant all right and tight.”

Grace glanced at the three men in the lane, noting sheepish looks and curiosity. But there was no mistaking the underlying determination. She stepped back into the house, making for the parlour without waiting to see if they followed. When she turned before the mantel, Mayberry’s sturdy form was filling the aperture, while Wooferton had entered to within a couple of feet of her. He was holding out an official-looking paper.

Without a word, Grace took it, dismayed that her fingers quivered, and ran her eyes swiftly down the sheet. The warrant, signed by Sir James, was perfectly in order, allowing Wooferton carte blanche to remove the said Henri Rousselle into custody. Her heart sank, but she allowed nothing to show in her face. Raising her eyes, she prepared for battle.

“What is the use of bringing me this? Mr Rousselle left here yesterday, as Sir James very well knows.”

She was subjected to a resigned look from Wooferton. “Aye, we know that.”

His companion trod into the room, revealing Jemima hovering in the hallway behind him. “We all know it, Miss Grace, for we was out a-hunting him most of the day and half the night. But that ain’t the full sum of it, now, is it?”

Was there a faint note of compassion in Mayberry’s voice. Grace’s throat felt dry, but she stood her ground. “I don’t understand you.”

Mayberry sighed. “Thing is, Miss Grace, as he were seen going in.”

Shock held her silent. Was it a bluff? Balked, she feigned stupidity. “Seen going in where, Mr Mayberry?”

“Lookee here, Miss Grace,” intervened Wooferton impatiently, “this won’t do! The feller were seen coming in the back here lateish last night.”

Grace stared him out. “Indeed? Who saw him?”

For the first time, the two men looked uncomfortable. They exchanged a glance, and Mayberry took it upon himself to answer.

“Well, it were they Frenchies, Miss Grace.”