Page 75 of The Count’s Charade

For the first time in his narrative, Henri smiled. “Not only the order, ma chère.” He came to the table and reached for the other document with its broken seal. “You permit?”

Sir James looked puzzled, but waved a dismissive hand. “Take it, man!”

Henri glanced about the library, and his gaze returned to the magistrate’s face. “You have a candle?”

On Sir James’s instruction, Mayberry lit a taper using the flint upon the mantel, and presently brought across a lighted candle in a single stick and placed it upon the desk. Henri had spread the paper open and he now held it over the heat as the rest of the party crowded round. Under Grace’s startled gaze, a series of words appeared at the top.

“It is addressed to Loriot!”

“Secret writing?” said Mayberry, awed.

“Likely it’s lemon juice,” suggested Wooferton without emotion, taking the paper from Henri and checking it again over the candle flame. “Not that it proves nothing. Could a’ been written on there at any time.”

“Which is why, I dare say,” stated Sir James, “young Rousselle was loath to produce it in evidence. Most interesting.”

Standing a little apart, Henri watched them all. For the first time in weeks, he felt the beginnings of relaxation. It was all but over. Whether or not Sir James believed his story — though it looked very much as if he did — Henri trusted too many questions had been raised for the magistrate’s innate sense of justice. He would not condemn where he could not be certain of guilt. How was it the English had it? Innocent until proven guilty, beyond any reasonable doubt. A far cry from the prevailing criteria in France.

Grace detached herself from the group, limping out into the room. Henri remembered the long walk she had undertaken on his behalf and warmth spread across his chest. She would be rewarded, he would see to that. But before he could speak, Sir James came out from behind the desk. Henri saw an unexpected frown in his eye, and balked at it.

“What more, Sir James? Have you not sufficient to know I speak truth?”

The elder man’s tone was gruff. “Never does to be too hasty, my young friend.”

Henri’s rising annoyance was pre-empted by Grace. “For shame, Sir James! After he has told you everything? How can you say so?”

“He hasn’t quite told me everything, my dear.”

Her gaze shifted to Henri’s face and found his closed look there again. Then there was something! “What more could there be?”

Grace hardly knew she had spoken aloud, distracted by a ripple of apprehension. She looked from one face to the other and saw a gleam in the eyes of the magistrate.

“I’ll be obliged to you, Rousselle, for whatever it was that prompted you to take that dangerous path for the sake of your aristocratic countrymen.”

The disquiet intensified as an elusive memory began to niggle at the back of Grace’s mind. Instinct urged her to deflect it. “Isn’t it obvious? Henri is a gentleman. That much has been evident from the first.”

Sir James Levisham’s regard did not waver from Henri’s face. “No denying that. From what I hear, he wouldn’t be the first of his kind to throw in his lot with the revolutionaries, even in earnest.”

A muscle tightened in Henri’s jawline as he met the man’s stare head on. “It has been thus with some.”

“Your friend Loriot, for one.”

The sense of tension grew too strong for Grace. “What in the world are you at, Sir James? What would you have him say?”

The magistrate’s glance barely grazed her. “If I’m to release him into English society, my dear, I’ve to be sure of my ground.”

“Zut alors!” Exasperation was in Henri’s face and voice. “You force me, m’sieur! Then let it be thus. Yet know that I reveal it against my will.”

Bewildered, Grace looked from him to Sir James and back again. “I don’t understand.”

Henri’s tone gentled. “Forgive, ma chère, but I have not a choice. Please to allow me to remove your boot.”

Grace gazed at him blankly. “Have you run mad, Henri?”

He shook his head, and she was a little reassured by his smile. “Sit, if you please.”

Willing but mystified, Grace clumped to the chair she had vacated and sat down again. She flushed a little as Henri removed his arm from its sling and knelt at her feet, drawing Sir James to follow them to the desk.

“What in thunder are you at, young Rousselle?”