The Moonless Night by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Gallant, Joan Smith/Jennie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romane
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1980-12-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

For some time Marie sat wondering what she ought to do, but no inspiration came to her. At length she decided she would at least check the stable and see if Cicero had in fact gone out at all. She was quite surprised to see the Arab stallion standing in his stall. Had Sanford taken his curricle then? No, the grays too were munching hay, and a rapid review of the other stalls told her there were no nags out but David’s and Benson’s. She was just turning to go back into the house when she heard a step at the doorway. Quick as a wink, she slid into her own mare’s loose box to conceal herself. By patting the animal’s nose she kept it quiet, and by peering between the slats she saw the newcomer was of course Sanford, with a dark cape thrown over his clothes so she couldn’t see if he wore the incriminating set of brass buttons. He went immediately to the stand to lift his saddle down, so he was going out, all right.

Before he had got the saddle buckled, a groom padded forward, Sanford’s groom.

“Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?” the man asked. A Frenchman! He had a French groom.

“Je crois que la nuit est venue,” he answered.

I think the night has come? How absurd! Of course it was night time. Or did he mean the night—the night on which Napoleon was to be rescued?

“Il n’y a pas de lune,” the groom mentioned. No moon! “Vous aurez besoin de moi?”

“Non, j’irai seul,” Sanford answered off-handedly, spurning any help. “Tu restes ici, et n’aies pas les yeux en poche.”

Don’t keep your eyes in your pocket? She pondered this. He meant of course that he would go alone, and the groom was to keep his eyes open here.

“Compris,” the man replied jauntily. “Vous avez le pistolet?”

“Bien entendu,” Sanford answered, patting a bulge in his pocket.

Of course he had a pistol. Naturally a traitor would not run about unarmed. The saddle was buckled on, Sanford hopped up and went out of the stable, while Marie waited on tenterhooks for the groom to leave, that she might dash out after Sanford and see which way he had gone. The stubborn Frenchman took his time about leaving. It seemed an hour he stood looking all around with a suspicious eye, but at last he turned and walked off towards the grooms’ room, and she could make a hasty dart to the yard to watch Sanford.

He was off to Madame Monet’s, she assumed, but was no longer sure. If this were the night Napoleon was to be rescued, he might be going elsewhere. And David and Benson wasting their time spying on Madame Monet! She soon realized it was no such a thing. Only David was gone there. Benson had somehow discovered this was the night, and was already out in advance of Sanford to thwart his plans. She felt a swelling of triumph, also considerable relief to know the whole onus was not on her own slim shoulders.

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