She shook her head and said in the soft accent of a French girl who might work in a rather superior shop, “No, sir, I live in the town. On fine days I like to come down to the harbor to look at the ships. I didn’t expect the madness today! The soldiers, the shooting! That’s why I hid.” She shuddered. “What was the rioting about?”
“War has been declared and our job was to stop all Britons of militia age from going home and taking up arms against us,” the sergeant explained.
She looked at the nearly empty harbor. “Did they all escape?”
The sergeant shook his head. “A few did, but we arrested most of them.”
She widened her eyes. “What will become of them? There were women and children as well as men.”
The sergeant shrugged. “The women and children could leave or stay with their menfolk. The men will be detained till the war is over, I expect. France has the best army in Europe, so that won’t take long.”
“I hope you are right and this ends soon.” She tugged her cloak around her more closely. “You be careful in the fighting,monsieur le sergeant!”
“I always am,” he said with a smile. “Do you need an escort home?”
She shook her head. “It isn’t far. Thank you for your kindness.” She turned and walked briskly away. She must now find a place to stay and decide what to do next.
And do some praying as well.
CHAPTER8
Consciousness was slow in returning. Cade was bruised all over and his mind was so clouded that he had no idea where he was, or even who he was. He managed to open his eyes a slit and found that he was lying on a bed in a drab room. When he tried to roll over so he could sit up, he heard a metallic rattle and realized that a long chain was manacled around his right wrist. It was fastened to a heavy metal ring embedded in the wall. He was a captive.
He had only the barest spark of awareness and no curiosity about who or what he was or why he was imprisoned here. He closed his eyes numbly. After a long blur of time, his body insistently woke him. He opened his eyes and saw a china pot in the corner of the room. He dimly recalled what it was used for. Luckily, the chain was long enough for him to reach the chamber pot and use it before he stumbled back to the bed.
Then, in the formlessness of his spirit, he felt a touch of warmth. Of life, of recognition. That touch strengthened the faint spark of his being. He was called Cade, and that spark of warmth was from a friend.
Tamsyn. The name formed in his mind. A female. She was his best friend, and she was looking for him.
That knowledge was a warm comfort as he drifted into darkness again.
CHAPTER9
Tamsyn walked briskly into the town as if she knew where she was going. She couldn’t return to the hotel where the ambassador’s party had stayed. Where might she find refuge?
During the days of waiting for permission to leave France, she had explored the town with Cade, partly from curiosity but also from a general habit of learning the territory they were in.
They had stopped at a bakery to buy coffee and exquisite French pastries, and discovered that the woman who ran the shop liked to talk. She had mentioned that the building on the corner of the street was Madame Bernard’s boardinghouse for young ladies, most of them country girls who had come to Calais for work. The baker had emphasized that it was arespectablehouse, not for the naughty sorts of girls. Tamsyn had nodded gravely and done her best to look very respectable.
The memory made her bite her lip. That day had been so pleasant and normal. She and Cade had been enjoying each other’s company and preparing to escort the ambassador and his wife home. Though they’d both expected some kind of trouble in Calais, they’d not imagined the catastrophe that had just occurred.
Disaster had struck, however, and now it was necessary to keep moving forward. The boardinghouse should be a good place to go to ground. She had money and could afford to rent a room, but she would need a reason to explain why she was in a strange city on her own.
By the time she reached her destination, she had her story ready. The house was well kept, and a neatly dressed maid admitted her when she knocked. Tamsyn said shyly, “I’m Therese Martin and I was told that this is a respectable place for a single woman to stay. Do you have a room available?”
“You’ll have to speak with Madame Bernard.” The maid gave her a conspiratorial smile. “But I believe there is one. Wait in the parlor while I summon the mistress.”
Tamsyn sat in the comfortable room, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast. She was the portrait of unhappy respectability.
She stood when Madame Bernard entered. She was a short, well-rounded woman with a firm chin and kind eyes. “Good day, Mademoiselle Martin. I’m told you need lodging. Why are you here in Calais?”
“I’m a lady’s maid,madame. I speak good English, so I was offered a position with a wellborn English lady and was given the money for a ticket to Dover.” She bit her lip. “But when I went to the port to board the packet, all was madness! I was told that war had been declared, all Englishmen in France were being detained, and it was unlikely that there would be any more ships sailing to England.”
“You were at the docks today?” the landlady said with interest. “What did you observe?”
Tamsyn gave a succinct description of what had happened, concluding with, “I was afraid, so I hid under a cart and prayed to the Blessed Mother.”
“She seems to have looked out for you.” Madame Bernard cocked her head to one side. “Could you have taken passage on one of the departing ships?”
