Page 73 of Echo in the Wind

“Oui, Old François would never leave. He thinks the plants are his children. He even talks to them!”

“We have one like that at my home in England. I dearly love him.” Casting her gaze to the left of the gardens, Joanna glimpsed Donet and his quartermaster rounding a building. Throwing open the wide wooden doors, the two men went inside. “Whatever are they doing?” she muttered.

Zoé narrowed her eyes as she looked out the window. “Oh, that is where they took the broken carriage. I don’t like to go there.”

Joanna laid her arm across Zoé’s shoulder. “I would feel the same if I had lost my father that way. Mine died on the battlefield.”

With a worried glance, the girl looked up at Joanna. “Will my uncle take care of me now?”

Joanna smiled down at the pretty child. “I am certain he will. Monsieur Donet treats his daughter very well. Did you know you have a cousin named Claire?”

“Oui, my father once told me of her, but we have never met. Does she look like me?”

“She is very beautiful, just as you will be when you grow up. Like you, she has very dark hair, but her eyes are blue where yours are a lovely gray.”

Zoé smiled broadly, making Joanna think this young girl had missed the encouragement of a mother. At least Joanna’s mother had been alive as she was growing into womanhood. But Zoé’s mother had not been there and the governess had not seen fit to fill the role.

“You would like Claire,” she told the girl. “Her husband is a ship’s captain like your uncle.” Well, maybe not exactly like Donet, Joanna thought. As far as she knew, Simon Powell had never been a smuggler or a pirate.

Chapter 18

Jean walked around the remains of the carriage, studying the damage. The conveyance lay on its side. “It must have rolled as it left the road.” The top was crushed on one side, a door was torn off and a wheel had come loose.

“Does look like it was pulled from a ditch,” observed Émile, who stood to one side, his arms crossed over his chest.

“It bears enough mud to suggest that,” Jean replied, examining the axle.

“What are ye looking for, Capitaine?”

“Something out of the ordinary, something that should not be here. I only thought to examine the carriage more closely when Marguerite mentioned the driver had argued with my father and has not been seen since the accident.”

He stood and faced Émile. “You had to know him, mon ami, to understand. The late comte de Saintonge was a difficult man. Smart and clever, certainement, but, at times, he could be cruel. Coupled with the Donet temper, he was formidable. I don’t doubt he treated the driver harshly. How Henri endured him all those years, I have no idea.”

Crouching again beside the axle, Jean ran his fingers over the wood.

“Sounds like ye were well off to have been dismissed as ye were.”

“I have thought the same thing many times.” Jean reached out to touch the break in the wooden axle. “The driver could have been angry and taking the road too fast. Accidents sometimes happen that way.” He paused, encountering something he had not expected. The splintered wood would be common in an axle break but not the sharp cut his finger touched just before the break. “Or, this could be the result not of an accident, but of something more foul.”

“What? Show me.” Émile bent his head to look.

“See here.” Jean pointed to the cut. “The wood has been partially sawed through, weakening the axle and allowing it to break more easily.” Rising from his crouch, he faced a somber Émile. “This was no accident, mon ami, but murder.”

“Sacrebleu! What beast would do such a thing?”

“I do not know, but I intend to find out. If there are those who wanted the former comte dead, when they discover there is a new one, they may want me dead as well.” He thought about what he should do in light of that possibility. “While I seek the answers, Émile, I do not wish to advertise my presence.”

His quartermaster’s forehead creased in a harsh frown. “Ye’ll need to be watchful.”

“My father would have kept a town carriage in addition to this one he used when inspecting the vineyard. But that one will have the family crest. For the time being, I would rather ride in an unmarked one when not on horseback. See if our driver is willing to serve me for a while longer. I will pay him well.”

“It shall be as ye wish, Capitaine.”

Because the air was quite warm in the château, Joanna dressed for supper in a white chemise à la reine. Madame Provot had told her the style of gown was a favorite of the queen and very popular at the French Court. It was made very simply, the fabric the lightest of muslin. It felt like something she would wear under a gown. Its only decoration was a wide pink sash at the waist and a bit of lace at the cuffs.

The brim of the straw hat, circled by a pink ribbon, made her think of Tillie. How her sister would have teased her to see Joanna wearing the color Tillie had claimed as her own.

As Gabrielle dressed her hair, Joanna thought of her siblings in England. She didn’t worry for Tillie, enjoying her first Season, or Richard, consumed with the business of the Lords, but she did worry about Freddie, alone at The Harrows with only Zack and servants for company.