‘Not without my boy. We stay here until he’s ready to come home,’ said the father.
Jacob nodded. There was no point arguing with the grieving father and no harm would be done as they sat in vigil for the child who looked no more than Kir’s age, until the gardens management arranged for a coroner. Thank God, they had not brought Kir tonight, nor told him where they were going. He would’ve smuggled himself in to see this show and could now have been the one lying at Jacob’s feet.
‘What a bloody mess,’ he muttered to himself.
Taking out a handkerchief, Jacob wiped his face as the supper pavilion burned down behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Ithink this is far enough.’ Chest heaving as he sucked in breaths, Percy led Dora to a stone bench where they could both rest. It was surrounded by laurel bushes, a barrier of dark glossy leaves and dense branches giving the impression of seclusion. The fireworks still occasionally burst in the sky, but the cries were getting more distant, the immediate crisis abating. ‘Mon Dieu, they tried to kill me.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘But I have diplomatic status– that should be respected.’
Dora waited until she could string more than two words together before replying. ‘You are hasty, sir. I could claim the gunner aimed at me. It was pointed in our direction long before you came to sit with us. Could it not be an accident?’
He only shook his head, feeling his arms and legs for injuries. As an experienced agent, he would know that someinjuries only made themselves apparent after the initial shock had passed. Following his example, Dora checked herself over. Apart from a few minor abrasions, she was unhurt.
‘Who would put live ammunition in a pile of blanks by accident?’ wondered Percy.
True. With the attempts on their lives recently, it did seem very bad luck to almost die by chance. That wasn’t something she wished to discuss with him. She should continue to be ignorant. ‘Could it be a mix-up in the arsenal? The gun is no ordinary stage prop. The stagehand charged with firing it might not know the difference.’
‘He should’ve done. There is no excuse. I would not be surprised to read tomorrow that people died in that rout.’
A shiver ran down her spine. Without his quick thinking, she might have been one of the victims. Dora reached down to her bruised heel. It wasn’t bleeding, just skinned. ‘Thank you for keeping me on my feet.’
He reached into his pocket and took out a fresh handkerchief, acting more like his usual self as he regained his balance. ‘Mon plaisir. Tie that around your foot,ma chérie. It is better than going without shoes until we can find a conveyance.’
‘We must find Jacob.’
‘And how do we do that, pray?’
‘We agreed to meet at the statue of Handel if we got separated.’ Hopefully the statue would have escaped the conflagration. It stood alone in its little garden plot.
He nodded, accepting that. ‘Then when you are recovered, we will limp back in that direction and pay our respects to Maestro Handel.’
The big starburst overhead signalled the fireworks were reaching their crescendo. The flashes cast even deeper shadows in the already dark walkway. Dora tied the knot at her ankle and stood.
‘I am ready.’
‘Bon.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Allons-y.’
Speaking in French was fatal. A gang of young men surged out of the shrubbery.
‘I thought it was ’im!’ cried one, shoving Dora back and seizing Percy by the lapels. ‘You French bastard! You’ll pay for this!’ The thug shook Percy until his teeth must’ve rattled. His hat fell to the floor only to be stamped on by another in the gang.
Percy held up his hands. ‘It was not me! I am the victim in this!’
Dora could’ve groaned. That was the wrong tactic.
‘Victim? Bollocks to that! What’s a fucking snail-eater doing at our celebration, eh? You tell me that.’ The young man, one of the alehouse toughs who thought themselves the cock of the walk, wasn’t going to listen to reason.
‘I am a diplomat– I was with English friends. Miss Dora, explain, please!’ His eyes rolled to her in desperation like a calf sensing it was heading for the abattoir.
This wasn’t good– really not good. Dora couldn’t think of an escape, or words to calm the aggressors. They were looking for someone to blame and Percy was it. Still, she had to try.
‘Gentlemen, please?—’
Her appeal was cut off. ‘We don’t take the word of a slut who keeps company with a Frenchie.’ A second man grabbed Dora from behind, arm across her neck. ‘Whoring for the enemy, are you? Well then, you won’t mind giving us some of that, will you?’ His other hand spread across her stomach and scrunched up the material of her gown.
That was enough! Life on the road had taught her a thing or two about what to do when in a tough spot– swift action was one. ‘Get your dirty hands off me, you idiot!’ Dora jerked her head back to collide with his nose, seized his little finger and yanked it so he either had to let go or let her break it. She followed up with an elbow to his diaphragm. The man howled and released his hold on her. She darted forward and pushed the oaf off Percy. This gave the Frenchman time enough to recover and pull a blade from his pocket. He held it out.
