HEATHCLIFF LENNOX--FRANCE 1918 by Karen Baugh Menuhin

Author:Karen Baugh Menuhin
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Little Dog Publishing ltd
Published: 2021-03-05T10:58:22+00:00

Chapter 5

It was dusk when she woke, the ground growing cold beneath us. I hadn’t moved for fear of disturbing her, she gazed at me, I kissed her gently, then she sighed and whispered my name.

‘We should be going,’ I murmured, but remained where I was.

She gave a quiet laugh. ‘It is time.’

I sat up, listening intently to the sound of the world outside. Birds sang, full of that joyous season, and an indication that the forest was free of soldiers and hunting hounds. I crawled from our hiding hole and cautiously rose to my feet. The air was crisp and clear; it felt a million miles from the war although I knew it wasn’t far at all.

‘Hurry,’ I called in a low tone.

Eloise must have had some trouble rousing Greggs because it was a few minutes before they emerged. He was still clutching his hat. His butlering togs were crumpled, muddied and tagged with ragged tears. The poor chap looked dreadfully dishevelled.

‘We’ll find a boat,’ I promised, although I hadn’t a clue how to go about it.

‘It may be possible, I know of one’ Eloise whispered. ‘But we must join the river further south.’

She led off into the forest and we made our way as the night grew quieter and darkness fell.

It was a long, tedious affair. We followed animal trails where we could, other times we had to push through brush and undergrowth. By dawn, my poor butler was all in. We sat, bone tired and aching on a rise at the edge of the tree line, gazing through a fine mist at the winding River Meuse below.

‘Slow flowing,’ I remarked, watching ducks drift past a vacant jetty which jutted out into the water.

‘Oui, but it is wide, with places to hide.’ Eloise indicated the thick reed beds filling the shallows.

‘There don’t appear to be any boats,’ Greggs observed.

‘They come,’ Eloise replied. ‘We wait.’

I tried not to think about breakfast, or the lack of it.

We heard the bleating first; sheep in a flock coming along the broad river bank. Men whistled, dogs ran around the herd to keep them moving at a trot, then steered them toward the long expanse of the jetty. It was a sturdy affair, built with thick planks, a gate at the end and robust rails to prevent the unwary plunging into the water. We waited while the men and beasts arranged themselves along the dock. An open decked barge chugged into view, emerging from the mist with plumes of black smoke rising from its stubby funnel.

‘Allons y,’ Eloise strolled down as though we were merely passengers waiting for a ferry.

Greggs brushed away the worst of the mud from his clothes, wiped his bowler on his sleeve and put it on his head.

‘Ready?’ I asked.

‘Indeed sir.’

We followed her to the dock where she’d started an animated discussion with the shepherds. They were all old men, the youngsters would have gone to war. Phlegmatic, unhurried and amiable, they nodded agreement to the uncommon request.

‘They only go to the front line, not beyond,’ Eloise explained as we stood surrounded by sheep.

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