Page 9 of A Christmas Love Redeemed

Chapter Eight

Despite the distance from the village, the bells of the village church drifted in on a cold, clear morning. The Linton women and their two servants had gone to church and Fabien was alone in the house.

Mrs.Linton had left a pile of neatly folded clothes on a chair but Fabien dressed in his ruined uniform. To be caught out of uniform might lead to allegations of spying, and that meant certain death. Better to be taken as a prisoner of war.

A razor would have been useful, but in this house of women that was too much to expect. He was vain enough to frown at his ruffianly appearance in the speckled mirror, and grimaced. Nothing to be done to remedy his vanity.

The shoes that had been provided by Mrs.Linton were well-kept and well-worn but they were a little large so Hannah had stuffed paper in the toe. Dead man’s shoes, he presumed, but he doubted William Linton would grudge him the use of his footwear.

He thought about the cost of the war and the young man whose death at the hands of his countrymen had turned the lives of these two women upside down.

He was tired of war.

When… if… he returned to France, he would set his sword down and go home to his estate.

Downstairs in the parlour, a clock struck eleven. The sooner he was away, the better it would be for them all. He donned the heavy coat Mrs.Linton had left and stuffed the grey woollen scarf into a pocket before turning to the window to check the weather.

His heart lurched at the sight of a little figure in a dark cloak running up the path, holding on to her bonnet with one hand. Hannah. They had said their goodbyes. Something had to be wrong.

He hurried down the stairs and caught her as she threw open the door. She gripped the sleeves of his great coat.

‘You have to go right now, Fabien.’

He caught her urgency. ‘What has happened?’

‘I overheard Noah telling Sir Simon that you were here. Mercifully, it is Christmas Day, and it will take him a little while to organise his men, but you must hide. You can’t take the lane. They will be coming that way.’

He shook his head. ‘Where will I go?’

‘Go to the cave where I found you. You should be safe enough there until dark and then you can work your way around the beach.’

A cold wave of fear and despair washed over him. ‘I knew I was bringing nothing but danger to you and your mother.’

Tears started in her eyes. ‘Go, Fabien, go now.’

He pulled her towards him, folding her in his arms and kissed her. Kissed her as if he intended to never let her go. She pressed against him, her need as great as his.

If times were different, if… if… if.

He pushed away. ‘Hannah—’

‘Go!’

‘I will find you—’

She laid a finger on his lips. ‘No, don’t make promises, Fabien.’

Unable to bring himself to see the tears in her eyes, he turned and ran from the house.

* * *

Sir Simon Maxwell seemed to fill the little parlour. He had arrived barely an hour after Fabien had left and Hannah glanced through the open front door at the half dozen red-coated soldiers lounging against their horses. One of Maxwell’s men held two beagles on long ropes.

Her mother had only just returned from church with Bet. She undid her bonnet strings and set the hat on the table.

‘Sir Simon, I assure you we have seen no Frenchman here.’

‘That’s not what I’ve been told. I have it on good authority that you have been harbouring an enemy under this roof. Now hand him over at once, or my men will tear this cottage apart.’

Mrs.Linton straightened. ‘It’s Christmas Day. A day for peace. Come back tomorrow.’

Sir Simon threw open the door and roared, ‘Sergeant, bring me the informer!’

The soldiers straightened and dragged Noah in by the arm.

‘Now then, man, tell these ladies what you told me.’ Maxwell demanded.

Noah looked from Hannah to her mother. He swallowed and straightened.

‘I told ’em it was wrong. Her…’ he pointed at Hannah. ‘She brung him here and the two of ’em have been looking after him, all cosy like. My nephew died in Spain. I hate the goddamned French bastards.’

‘Noah…’ Mrs.Linton began but sank onto a nearby chair with a shake of her head. She waved a hand in the direction of the stairs. ‘Search the house.’

Hannah gripped her mother’s hand as the soldiers tore their little home apart, looking for a Frenchman in places no man could hide. They threw the cupboards open, upended drawers, and pulled the mattresses from the beds.

‘Not a sign of him,’ the Sergeant reported at last.

He held up Fabien’s ruined and bloodstained shirt. Hannah should have burned it, but it had been balled into a corner and forgotten.

‘Someone’s been here. Found this. It’s a man’s garment.’

Hannah’s hand tightened on her mother’s.

‘He was here this morning,’ Noah said. ‘Can’t have got far.’ He pointed a gnarled finger at the shirt. ‘You can see for yourself, he was wounded.’

Maxwell considered the two women for a long, long moment. ‘Get the dogs,’ he said, ‘and bring the women.’

Maxwell’s hunting beagles strained at their leads as their handler thrust Fabien’s shirt into their snouts. Hannah’s heart fell as the two dogs wasted no time seeking out the scent and with bays of delight at their own cleverness headed off in the direction of the beach.

One of the militia men held the two women by their arms, pushing them ahead of him. They stumbled on the narrow path but he just dragged them up.

Down on the beach, Fabien’s footprints could be seen in the sand, but he’d had the presence of mind to go down to the water’s edge and from there his footprints and his scent disappeared.

‘Could he have taken a boat, sir?’ the sergeant asked.

Maxwell looked up and down the beach.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Spread out. These cliffs must be riddled with caves. He won’t be far.’

Maxwell’s gaze fixed on the fallen rocks at the far end of the beach.

With a quick nod to the man holding Hannah and her mother, he strode in that direction.

He stopped a few yards short. Even from here the entrance to the cave was not visible but the imprint of a man’s shoe could be seen in the damp sand.

The two dogs sent up cries of delight at having found their quarry.

‘I have the women,’ Maxwell shouted in English. ‘Surrender yourself and they’ll not be harmed.’

Hannah cried out and struggled against the man who held her, but he twisted her arm behind her back, provoking a yelp of pain.

Maxwell raised his pistol and shot into the air. The sound splintered the quiet cove, sending a flock of seagulls rising in protest.

‘The next one will be for Mrs.Linton, execution for harbouring the enemy,’ Maxwell said.

He nodded at her captor who thrust her forward. She fell on to her knees in the sand.

‘Release the women.’ Fabien came out from behind the rocks, his hands above his head. ‘My name is Lieutenant Fabien Brassard. Please accept my surrender as an officer of the French Navy. Alas I have no sword to offer you.’

Sir Simon stared, his jaw working as Fabien came towards him, and for an awful moment Hannah thought Maxwell would order him to be shot out of hand.

Fabien bowed. ‘Your servant. Sir Simon Maxwell is it not?’

Maxwell looked from the Frenchman to the two women. ‘You bloody traitors,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for this.’

Fabien raised a placating hand. ‘Please, Sir Simon. It is not the fault of Mrs.Linton or her daughter. I forced my way into their house and threatened harm should they betray me.’

Sir Simon looked him up and down. ‘Harm? With what? You said yourself you have no weapon, Lieutenant.’

‘I had a belaying pin that had washed up on the beach.’

‘But you don’t have it now?’

‘Sir Simon. The lieutenant was wounded. It was my Christian duty to tend to his wounds. We intended to advise you of his presence, but with the weather and time of year…’ Mrs.Linton was struggling for words and it was clear from the high colour in his face that Sir Simon believed none of their concocted story.

Sir Simon turned to his sergeant. ‘Take him away,’ he said.

The man advanced toward the Frenchman. Fabien straightened, tugged at the collar of his battered uniform jacket, and bowed to the two Linton women.

‘Au revoir. I apologise for my intrusion and the risk at which I have placed you.’ He looked at Sir Simon. ‘For the last time, you have my word as a gentleman these women are innocent.’

Sir Simon made a noise somewhere between a snarl and a grunt.

‘Take the women back to the house. I’ll deal with them shortly.’

* * *

It seemed like an eternity before Maxwell entered the cottage and ordered his man from the room. Mrs.Linton drew Hannah into her, closing her arms around her daughter as Sir Simon drew himself up and turned his thunderous gaze on them.

‘Does the word traitor mean nothing to you?’ he raged at them.

Mrs.Linton straightened.

‘I only did what my Christian conscience dictated,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see an enemy; I saw only a sick boy who needed help.’

‘How many more English lives will he take? Eh, madam?’ Sir Simon thrust his choleric face into Mrs.Linton’s. ‘I should have you both hanged for treason!’

Mrs.Linton thrust her daughter behind her.

‘Then take me, Sir Simon,’ she said. ‘This is none of my daughter’s doing!’

Sir Simon turned away to gaze out of the window, his hands behind his back, the fingers working almost as if he were playing a musical instrument. When he turned back, the anger in his face had been replaced by something else… a slyness that made Hannah’s skin crawl.

He crossed to them and pulled Hannah out from behind her mother’s back. ‘How old are you?’

‘Nineteen,’ Hannah responded.

He put a finger under Hannah’s chin, tilting her face up towards him. He nodded as if in approval of what he saw.

‘I will make a pact with you, Mrs.Linton. You can buy my silence for the price of your daughter. I need a biddable wife to give me an heir, and she’s fair enough.’

‘No!’ Hannah and her mother cried out as one.

Sir Simon grasped Hannah’s arm, spinning her around to face her mother.

‘Very well, if that is what you wish. Mrs. Linton my men are still outside... You can both rot in Dorchester Gaol tonight and you’ll hang in the new year.’

Hannah turned a stricken face to her mother.

‘No! This was my doing. Sir Simon, I will marry you on condition you spare my mother.’

‘Hannah, no!’

Tears were running down her mother’s face and Hannah took a deep shuddering breath.

‘We have no choice, Mama.’ She turned back to Sir Simon. ‘When?’

He licked his lips. ‘As soon as a licence can be arranged, my dear. You see, I’m not an unreasonable man and you’ve made a very wise decision.’

One I shall live to regret.

‘Just to make sure you don’t abscond, Miss Linton, you can both come back to the hall with me now. We have a fine Christmas meal planned, and what better way to celebrate our betrothal?’

He smiled, revealing a row of yellowing, mottled teeth. Hannah thought about Fabien and the kisses they had shared. Those precious moments in time when she had known perfect happiness. She had to put those memories away in a locked box in her mind. Never to be brought out.

It was too late now for Hannah and Fabien.

She touched the band of the little ring he had given her and made a silent vow that while she had breath in her body she would never take it off.

It would serve her always as a reminder of what it was to know love, even for a fleeting moment.