Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant (20 page)

‘Perhaps,’ he murmured, unconvinced. Stepping close to her, he placed his hand on her arm when he thought she was about to turn away. He was still looking at her in a peculiar way—as though she might be hiding something. ‘Can I tempt you to take a walk in the garden before dinner? Some light exercise might relieve your headache.’

Disturbed by his touch, Lucy looked down and found herself staring at his hand—strong, his fingers long, it had the power to tame a spirited horse yet could be gentle and caressing and soothing...

She had a wild desire to hold out her arms to him, but she couldn’t. Oh, why didn’t he give her the opportunity to tell him how she felt—and that she was going to have his child?

She looked away, pulling herself together, refusing to be seduced any more by him. She didn’t mean to pull back from him this way, but she couldn’t help it. She was afraid to let herself become open to him again for fear that it would deepen the hurt. Taking a deep breath, she summoned her courage.

‘Some other time, Nathan. I really am feeling extremely tired. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to my room and rest before dinner.’

Nathan stepped back. If only she knew how desperately he wanted to take her in his arms. Being away from her had made him realise he could not go on without her. But she had clearly made up her mind to keep him at arm’s length. ‘Of course. I’ll see you at dinner.’

Chapter Ten

B
efore they knew it, the eve of departure was upon them. The meal that night was over. Katherine was putting Charles to bed and Robert and Maria were chatting over coffee. Nathan had gone to the harbour to make final preparations about boarding the ship and Lucy took a last stroll in the garden.

It had been raining heavily all day. Now that it had ceased and the clouds had passed over, everything was clear and bright and the air fresh and clean. While sad to be leaving Lisbon and the warm hospitality they had received from Sir Robert and Maria, Lucy was glad they were to return to England at last. They had been away longer than she had expected and she worried terribly about Aunt Dora.

It wasn’t until she had reached the limits of the garden that overlooked the road leading down to the harbour that she realised how far she had walked. It was almost dark. Before turning to return to the house, she looked along the road in the hope of seeing Nathan, but it was empty. Suddenly she felt uneasy about being alone. Something in the shadows along the side of the road moved. She was certain of it. Concealing herself behind the stout trunk of a palm tree, she strained her eyes, scrutinising the shadows. Nothing moved, but she continued to stand there.

Suddenly a figure slipped out into the road. It was a man and he was looking in the same direction as she had to look for Nathan. Whoever he was he seemed to be unaware of her watching him. He wore a hat with the brim pulled well down. His clothes were dark, his body language furtive. When he removed his hat to scratch his head, Lucy’s mouth went dry and her heart lurched. Although the man was devoid of his black beard she recognised him. Panic gripped her.

It was Claude Gameau and she knew he was waiting for Nathan.

The situation demanded action. Lucy could see that for herself. Like a shadow she slipped from behind the tree and headed back to the house.

* * *

Even now, many weeks later, the memory of the attack and the fact that Rochefort, the English spy in league with the partisans, had outwitted him, filled Claude Gameau with bitter rage. It was only by his own cleverness and cunning he had escaped the partisans and British soldiers, leaving the rest of his band of deserters to their fate. The knowledge was more galling than the attack on his hideout.

He’d escaped into the hills where the terrain was harsh and wild, where he was at one with the brigands and murderers who bowed to no law but the gun and the sword. Having discarded his French uniform and dressed in the clothes of a peasant, his face windburnt and gaunt, he had lost none of his determination. Despite the dangers, he had driven himself relentlessly. He knew where he was bound—to Lisbon and all the way to England if necessary, to revenge himself on Nathan Rochefort.

Rochefort had come after him, this he knew for a fact, having watched him and his companion from the lofty mountain heights of the Sierras. He knew Rochefort would kill him, he had recognised that, so he must kill Rochefort. And if he succeeded in killing the English spy, then there was always hope.

Hearing the sound of a carriage, Gameau slipped back into the shadows.

Nathan stepped down from the carriage at the bottom of the drive leading to the house, waiting in the road until it had gone on its way. In no particular hurry he turned towards the house, skirting the large puddles that had accumulated during the day’s rainfall. An almost imperceptible footfall behind him made him look around expectantly, hoping it was Lucy out for a last stroll before bed, which was her usual pattern. But the dark figure that stood there was not Lucy.

Claude Gameau looked straight at him as he aimed a pistol directly at Nathan’s chest. ‘Now I have you,’ Gameau boasted.

Nathan realised he was utterly defenceless. He had no weapon and he cursed himself for his carelessness. He wasn’t even close enough to Gameau to launch himself forwards against the man and take him down. All he could hope to do was to gain time until circumstances could be turned in his favour.

‘You must be aware that I’ve just spent the last few weeks searching for you, Gameau, so if you kill me, everyone will have a good idea who did the deed and they will hunt you down.’

‘That does not worry me. I should never have let you go. I should have killed you the day you entered the castle. So look now, Rochefort,’ he uttered with a terrible triumph. ‘See how I will exact my vengeance on you. It was you who brought the forces down on me and I damn you for it.’

‘You are wrong, Gameau. The attack on you was planned before I put in an appearance. I merely provided the partisans with necessary information on what I saw in your hideout when I handed over the ransom money.’

‘And they acted on that information. You exposed me. I warned you that if we should meet again I would kill you. I always keep my word.’

‘So you came all this way to find me. You must want me dead very badly, Gameau.’

Gameau shrugged. ‘I had nothing better to do and I knew that, no matter what you do in the future, you will not rest until you have killed me. I have my pride, Rochefort, which you have trampled on for the last time.’

‘Pride?’ Gameau’s mocking tone and easy manner made Nathan angry. ‘Is that what you call it? Avarice and lust for power is how I would describe it.’

‘I do not deny it. I am all those things you accuse me of.’

Gameau stretched out his arm and levelled the pistol at his foe’s head, but Nathan threw himself forwards. Even as he heard the faint rasping of a trigger being squeezed, in the next instant an explosion rent the silence. Nathan looked at Gameau as he tottered stiltedly forwards. A strange gurgling gasp came from his throat and then a heavy trickle of blood spilled down the corner of his mouth. He gaped at Nathan, his astonishment supreme before his knees buckled and he fell forwards on to the ground.

Nathan was equally stunned as he watched the man and saw blood seep through a hole in his chest where the lead shot had passed clear into his lung. In slack-jawed wonder, Gameau lifted his eyes to the slender form standing in the drive, towards which Nathan had directed his gaze a moment earlier.

Lucy lowered the still-smoking pistol to her side. ‘You shouldn’t have tried to kill Nathan.’

Gritting her teeth together to keep them from chattering, Lucy made a valiant attempt to control her shaking limbs, but her composure was steadily collapsing.

Still clutching his pistol, Gameau turned it awkwardly towards her, but Nathan kicked his foot forwards and knocked it out of his hand. The deafening roar of the exploding weapon seemed to echo across the Tagus below, sending water fowl flying upwards in diverse directions. Gameau attempted to struggle to his knees, but the effort cost him the last of his strength and his breath, for he fell forwards and jerked and then went still. The pool of water in which the deserter’s body had fallen was red with his blood, and as the red spilled out farther to the outer edge, it was diluted to pink.

Nathan looked at Lucy. Even in the meagre light he could see that she was shaking uncontrollably, having killed a man. Quickly he covered the distance between them and took her in his arms, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he tried to quell her trembling.

‘Whatever made you come down here with a pistol, Lucy?’

‘I—I saw Gameau when I was walking in the garden,’ she uttered brokenly. ‘I recognised him even without his beard. I knew he was waiting for you—to kill you. I ran back to the house for my pistol. I had hoped to warn you before you got out of the carriage.’

‘Thank God for your quick thinking. I was unarmed and wouldn’t have stood a chance. With my experience I should have known better than to leave the house without a weapon, although it worries me to imagine what he might have done to you.’

‘I was ready for him. I can’t even allow myself to think otherwise.’

Nathan groaned. His heart had already turned cold at the dreadful prospect of her being killed.

Lucy shivered as she stared fixedly at the dead man. ‘Why do you think Gameau came to Lisbon to look for you?’

‘I suspect he came to kill me because he held me responsible for the attack on his hideout.’

‘I doubt he ever considered his hatred of you would cost him his life.’

‘Were you not afraid to confront him?’

‘I was angry,’ she answered quietly, ‘the kind of anger that conquers fear.’

As a soldier Nathan knew the kind of anger she spoke of, having experienced it many times himself. It was a rage that one might regret, when it banishes all humanity and makes a man into a killer, but the rage could keep the man from being dead and so the regret was mixed with relief.

Nathan rubbed her arms vigorously to chase away the cold she was suffering. The shock was settling in. He would have to get her away from the dead man. ‘Come, I’ll take you to the house and arrange for Gameau to be moved.’

Lucy looked at the lifeless body sprawled out on the road, frightened in the face of death. She had to get away from here, to some place safe away from what she had done. Drawing away from Nathan, she straightened her spine with wilful resolve and, by slow degrees, took hold of herself.

‘I’m all right, Nathan, truly. And see, the shot has brought Robert from the house. Here,’ she said, thrusting the pistol into his hand. She couldn’t wait to be rid of it. ‘I’m done with that now. I’ll leave you to explain things while I go and find Maria.’

Before she turned and walked away, in the moonlight the anguished eyes and the total despair about the beautiful mouth impressed themselves more vividly on Nathan’s mind than anything else.

He had done this to her. He had caused this terrible transformation. It was just as well they were leaving in the morning. He had treated her badly, taking her from a life in which she was happy and secure to a war-torn country to face possible death. There had been many obstacles to overcome and he had nothing but admiration for her. She had not deserved to be treated so badly.

* * *

Lucy moaned and opened her eyes, and the sunlight streaming into the room was dazzling, making bright patterns on the polished floor. A bird was singing in the gardens, warbling throatily and lustily. The window was open—the maid must have opened it earlier—and a warm breeze caused the white faille curtains to flutter. Feeling dazed and disorientated, she struggled into a sitting position, resting her shoulders against the pillows. She stared at the room, forcing herself to go through the ritual of waking up. This morning it took more of an effort than ever—her head ached and she had the uneasy feeling that something disturbing had happened.

Then she remembered and her stomach plummeted. Last night she had killed a man. The fact that it had been Claude Gameau and that if she hadn’t shot him he would have killed Nathan didn’t make it any easier. Last night she had entered the house and informed Maria of what had taken place, but, having no desire to relive what had happened and what she had done further, she had excused herself and gone to her room. Yielding to weariness, she had pulled off her clothes and climbed into bed, where she had fallen into an exhausted and troubled sleep.

She was still caught somewhere between sleep and awareness when Katherine entered the room with a cup of hot chocolate.

‘Oh, you are awake,’ she said, placing the steaming beverage on the bedside table. ‘I was worried that you had taken ill.’

‘Why?’ Lucy asked, her hands trembling a little as she lifted the cup and saucer and raised it to her lips.

‘Because you went to bed without saying goodnight. I came to see you earlier to ask if you would like me to help you prepare for our departure, but you were fast asleep.’

‘What time is it?’ Lucy asked.

‘Nearly nine o’clock. We are to leave in a couple of hours so that doesn’t give us much time.’ Katherine looked down at her, her expression one of concern. ‘I know what happened, Lucy, what you did. It’s bound to have upset you.’

‘Yes,’ Lucy whispered, placing the cup and saucer down. ‘I hope I never have to do such a thing again.’

‘You saved Nathan’s life. Gameau came here to kill him. He would have succeeded but for your quick thinking. Nathan would have liked to speak to you when he returned to the house and was sorry you had gone to bed without waiting for him.’

‘I was tired, Katherine. Besides, there was nothing to talk about. The deed is done and that’s an end to it.’

‘Things are no better between you and Nathan, are they? I—can’t help noticing how strained the two of you are when you are together.’

Lucy nodded unhappily. Katherine’s eyes were too wise for her age, too knowing. She was, and always had been, in Lucy’s opinion, extraordinarily observant. ‘You would have to be blind not to. I think he’s still trying to punish me and make me suffer for what I did—and I really can’t blame him for that. Having jilted him, I can’t blame him if he doesn’t want anything to do with me. When I think about it all, I feel shattered at the thought of what I might have had—and what I have lost.’

‘I don’t see how you can be so fair and objective, Lucy.’

‘Perhaps that’s because I’m beginning to see things from Nathan’s viewpoint. I made a terrible and lasting mess of things,’ she said, knowing she sounded sorry for herself, but she couldn’t help it. ‘I doubt he will come near me when we get back to London.’

‘Do you truly think that?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘And I was hoping that I would be the catalyst for bring you back together. If you and Nathan do part company—and I sincerely hope that does not happen—what will you do when you are back home? Will you return to the stage?’

‘I—I thought I might join a travelling theatre company—do the provinces and the like,’ Lucy replied, lowering her eyes so Katherine would not see the lie.

‘But you’ve done all that.’

‘Then I’ll do it again. I doubt Mr Portas would welcome me back.’ Tossing back the covers, she swung her legs over the bed. ‘I must get dressed if we’re to leave soon.’

‘I’ll send one of the maids to help you,’ Katherine said, crossing to the door.

‘There’s no need, Katherine,’ Lucy was quick to say, having no desire to be fussed over, feeling as wretched as she did. ‘I intend to wear my breeches for the time we are on board. I can dress myself.’ She glanced at her friend as she was about to leave. ‘Katherine.’ She turned and looked back. Lucy smiled, although she was unable to dispel the strain on her face. ‘You and Charles are safe and Gameau is dead. Let us not talk of it any longer. I am impatient to leave Portugal and, like you, I can hardly wait to be back in England with Aunt Dora. Thank you for your concern, but I am all right. Truly.’