him.
“My wife, “ he said, anxiously. “She’s—”
“Never mind your wife, step out of the coach!” Lady Blakeney moaned and started stirring.
“Thank God,” said Finn. “For a moment, I was afraid that—”
“Step out of the coach, I said!”
Marguerite opened her eyes and gave a start. “Percy! Lord, Percy, I’ve been shot!”
“No, my dear,” said Finn, stepping out of the coach slowly. “You only fainted.”
The soldier grabbed his arm and pulled him aside roughly, then looked inside the coach.
“If you’re looking for that ruffian,” said Finn, “I saw him leap from the coach and run off into the woods.” The soldier spun to face him. “Where? How far back?”
“Damn me, I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Finn, producing a handkerchief and waving it in front of his nose. He hoped his imitation of Blakeney’s voice would pass. He had not had much time to practice and he wished he had Lucas Priest’s gift for mimicry. “I was hell bent for leather to try to catch this runaway coach and rescue my poor wife,” said Finn, with a touch of indignation. “I was far too anxious about her welfare to concern myself with your renegade aristocrat. He jumped off back there, somewhere.” He waved his handkerchief in the direction of the road back to Paris.
“You three,” said the officer, indicating several of his men, “ride back and comb the woods; he couldn’t have gone far.” The men wheeled their horses and galloped off in the direction from which they came.
“Have you seen a wagon,” said the officer, “loaded with wine casks?”
“Lord, what do I know of wagons?” Finn said, rolling his eyes. “I was almost killed back there! And my wife was almost shot! There’s a hole inside the coach where the ball passed through scant inches from her head! It was a dreadful experience, quite unnerving. I fear that I won’t sleep for weeks! My insides are all in knots. This is all too much for my frail constitution. All I desire to do is get back to merry England and leave you to your Revolution. I don’t care if I never set foot on French soil again!”
“France will survive quite well without your kind, I think,” the officer said with a sneer.
“Yes, but I fear that I may not survive France,” said Finn. He leaned against the coach for support and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Gad, what a horrible experience! That terrible man! I hope you’ll catch him and clap him in the Bastille.”
“We shall do a great deal more than that,” the soldier said.
He put away his pistol, satisfied that Blakeney was no threat.
“You are bound for Calais?”
“Yes, if we can arrive there safely without being killed along the way,” said Finn. “Lord only knows what dangers await us on the road! I would be most grateful if you and your men would see us to our destination safely. I would feel far more secure in the company of soldiers of the Republic.”
“Soldiers of the Republic have far more important things to do than to nursemaid weak-kneed Englishmen,” the lieutenant said, harshly. “I would advise you to be on your way and not to stop until you’ve reached Calais. I wish you a speedy crossing of the Channel and good riddance.” The officer mounted and rode off with his two remaining men, heading away from the city on the trail of the wine wagon.
Finn took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“And good riddance to you,” said Finn. “Are you all right, my dear? You gave me quite a fright.”
Lady Blakeney gave him an arch look. “It would appear that it does not take very much to frighten you, Percy.”
“Not much, you say? Why, having my own wife almost shot to death and myself almost being trampled by a horse and then accosted by those rough-mannered brigands who have the temerity to call themselves soldiers—why, I would say that it was much, indeed!”
As he spoke, Finn took her measure. Marguerite Blakeney was twenty-five years old,
“My wife, “ he said, anxiously. “She’s—”
“Never mind your wife, step out of the coach!” Lady Blakeney moaned and started stirring.
“Thank God,” said Finn. “For a moment, I was afraid that—”
“Step out of the coach, I said!”
Marguerite opened her eyes and gave a start. “Percy! Lord, Percy, I’ve been shot!”
“No, my dear,” said Finn, stepping out of the coach slowly. “You only fainted.”
The soldier grabbed his arm and pulled him aside roughly, then looked inside the coach.
“If you’re looking for that ruffian,” said Finn, “I saw him leap from the coach and run off into the woods.” The soldier spun to face him. “Where? How far back?”
“Damn me, I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Finn, producing a handkerchief and waving it in front of his nose. He hoped his imitation of Blakeney’s voice would pass. He had not had much time to practice and he wished he had Lucas Priest’s gift for mimicry. “I was hell bent for leather to try to catch this runaway coach and rescue my poor wife,” said Finn, with a touch of indignation. “I was far too anxious about her welfare to concern myself with your renegade aristocrat. He jumped off back there, somewhere.” He waved his handkerchief in the direction of the road back to Paris.
“You three,” said the officer, indicating several of his men, “ride back and comb the woods; he couldn’t have gone far.” The men wheeled their horses and galloped off in the direction from which they came.
“Have you seen a wagon,” said the officer, “loaded with wine casks?”
“Lord, what do I know of wagons?” Finn said, rolling his eyes. “I was almost killed back there! And my wife was almost shot! There’s a hole inside the coach where the ball passed through scant inches from her head! It was a dreadful experience, quite unnerving. I fear that I won’t sleep for weeks! My insides are all in knots. This is all too much for my frail constitution. All I desire to do is get back to merry England and leave you to your Revolution. I don’t care if I never set foot on French soil again!”
“France will survive quite well without your kind, I think,” the officer said with a sneer.
“Yes, but I fear that I may not survive France,” said Finn. He leaned against the coach for support and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Gad, what a horrible experience! That terrible man! I hope you’ll catch him and clap him in the Bastille.”
“We shall do a great deal more than that,” the soldier said.
He put away his pistol, satisfied that Blakeney was no threat.
“You are bound for Calais?”
“Yes, if we can arrive there safely without being killed along the way,” said Finn. “Lord only knows what dangers await us on the road! I would be most grateful if you and your men would see us to our destination safely. I would feel far more secure in the company of soldiers of the Republic.”
“Soldiers of the Republic have far more important things to do than to nursemaid weak-kneed Englishmen,” the lieutenant said, harshly. “I would advise you to be on your way and not to stop until you’ve reached Calais. I wish you a speedy crossing of the Channel and good riddance.” The officer mounted and rode off with his two remaining men, heading away from the city on the trail of the wine wagon.
Finn took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“And good riddance to you,” said Finn. “Are you all right, my dear? You gave me quite a fright.”
Lady Blakeney gave him an arch look. “It would appear that it does not take very much to frighten you, Percy.”
“Not much, you say? Why, having my own wife almost shot to death and myself almost being trampled by a horse and then accosted by those rough-mannered brigands who have the temerity to call themselves soldiers—why, I would say that it was much, indeed!”
As he spoke, Finn took her measure. Marguerite Blakeney was twenty-five years old,
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