Page 70 of The Count’s Charade

“As far as Rainham only. By good fortune, I found Mr Holwell about to set out in his cart upon some deliveries, and obliged him to bring me on here.”

“You came in a cart?” broke in Sir James, amazement in his tone.

“It was a good deal more comfortable than walking, let me tell you.”

“Of this I am assured.” Henri brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “You arrive in a good hour, ma chère.”

“You arrive, on the contrary, in a very bad hour, my dear Grace,” put in Sir James, coming out from behind his desk to approach them. “I must ask you to retire, for —”

Grace interrupted him without ceremony. “You are in the middle of your investigations, I take it?”

“Just so. And for that reason —”

“It is why I am here, Sir James. I have some papers which —”

“You have brought them?” broke in Henri sharply.

Grace turned back to him. “I had to, Henri. You had best know at once that I have broken those seals, for —”

“Will you kindly attend to me, Grace!”

The violence of the magistrate’s tone brought her head round with a jerk. But it was Henri who protested.

“M’sieur, this is not a fashion in which to address Mademoiselle Grâce!”

But Grace noted the imminence of explosion and made haste to explain herself. “I beg your pardon, Sir James, but the fact is I have brought papers belonging to Henri which I think you will find of interest.”

The magistrate looked anything but gratified. “Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you have a means of establishing your credentials, and have failed to make use of it?”

“Because he was like to be disbelieved,” said Grace before Henri could answer. “That’s the trouble. His papers give no conclusive proof of anything, only they raise questions to which Henri alone can give the answers.”

She glanced at Henri and found him looking at her with much the same perplexity in which he was being regarded by Sir James. A smile wavered on her lips.

“I have guessed the answers, Henri. I know you for what you are.”

“Then I’ll be obliged if one of you will see fit to enlighten me,” came the acid response from Sir James as he shifted back to his desk. He looked across to the stalwarts by the door. “Set a chair for Miss Dovercourt, if you please.”

Mayberry hurried to comply, and Grace sank gratefully into the wooden armchair he placed before the desk for her use. Her discomfort must have shown, for Henri, about to take his own seat, paused to eye her in frowning question.

“What is it with you, Grâce?”

She gave a dismissive shake of the head. “Nothing to signify. My hip is a little out of sorts from walking.”

“Not surprised,” commented Sir James, who had resumed his place behind the desk. “It’s not fit for you to be traipsing all over the countryside, silly girl!”

“I had no choice.” With difficulty, she dragged her gaze from the concern in the green eyes and fastened it instead upon the magistrate. Without roundaboutation, she embarked upon her mission, bringing it out flat. “Henri is not a revolutionary, Sir James, but a royalist.”

The statement appeared not to have moved him. He looked neither surprised nor disconcerted. Glancing at Henri again, she found his frown now directed upon Sir James.

“How do you make that out?” grunted the latter.

Grace dug her fingers into her pockets, feeling for the documents. “Henri gave these into my keeping when I first found him. I had read only those that were open, until last night. When I heard this morning from Joe Piper what had happened at the Black Horse, I decided it was time to produce them for your inspection.”

Sir James was watching with interest as she brought out the papers, sorting them into sequence on the desk.

“That is Henri’s identity paper. This one gives information about a coming trial — his own. You will find the witnesses he had expected to call upon are the very men who have been at pains to persuade you to release him to them. Here is a document listing persons known to Henri who might have helped or hindered his escape. I imagine they are part of the royalist network.”

She flicked a look at Henri as she spoke. He was sitting now, but his features were impassive. Grace understood: he would not plead his innocence. Was it pride? Or a belief it would do no good? He preferred to let his judges make up their own minds as she had done.