Pegel plucked the page from Florian’s hand and opened it out. It was a drawing of a cross with a rose at its centre.
‘What on earth was that about? Fellow must be a bit simple. Do you know him?’ He glanced up when Florian did not reply. He looked pale. Pegel looked down at the paper again and frowned. ‘Still, not that much of a warning, is it? A picture?’ A shadow fell across him and he looked up again to see a man twice the size of the last with the red face of a drinker and the blossomed nose of a fighter towering over him. The giant spoke. ‘That be more of the signature, gentlemen. This is the warning.’
He grabbed Florian by the collar with his right hand and slapped him across the face with his left. The boy’s head was twisted sharply sideways and the giant dropped him to the ground, drew back his boot and kicked Florian hard in the stomach. Florian groaned and curled into a ball and the man drew back his foot again. Pegel lowered his head and charged him, catching him while he still had one foot lifted and making him stagger away from his victim. Pegel lifted his fists and stared up into the man’s glowing face. Behind him he heard a retching noise as Florian tried to lift himself up. The giant let his arms hang at his side and lifted one eyebrow. Pegel clenched his fists more tightly and gave a tiny nod. The blow came from his left and he felt himself flying through the air. A star-burst of pain spread over his face and he found himself suddenly on his knees. The giant hesitated a moment. Someone emerged from a shopfront on the side of the square and yelled something Pegel could not quite hear through the thumping of blood in his head. The giant looked about him, then set off down the side-street at a lumbering run. Trying desperately not to faint, Pegel stumbled over to Florian. The shopkeeper who had shouted took a step or two towards them, looking a little uncertain. Jacob got his arm under Florian’s and hauled him to his feet. His right cheek was raw and red and it seemed he could not stand straight.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Pegel hissed, watching the shopkeeper, ‘before that man calls the bedales. My rooms are near here. We can recover there. Can you walk?’ Florian managed to nod. ‘Come on then.’
II.4
Monsieur Clemme had the sense to do no more than open the door and then depart murmuring something about seeing to the disposal of their belongings. Harriet stepped into the large parlour in time to see her sister stand, but before she could form any impression of Rachel’s looks, the latter had thrown herself into her sister’s arms and buried her face in her neck.
‘Oh Harry, you came! Thank God!’ She stepped back and offered her hands to Crowther and then Graves. ‘Crowther, Graves — how glad I am to have you here.’
Her composure deserted her entirely and she burst into tears. The gentlemen examined the furnishings of the room, a great deal of gilding, while Harriet put her arm around her sister’s shoulders and gave her a handkerchief. She leaned her cheek against her hair, which was silk smooth. Rachel had been only fourteen years old when their father had died. Harriet had walked into the salon of the parsonage, and after four years of sailing with her husband around the world it had seemed small, and her own clothes and demeanour too grand for the modest little room. Then Rachel had hesitated, only for a moment, before running to embrace her sister, and Harriet had thought, Lord, another person to look after. It was months before she discovered that her modest, quiet little sister had been her father’s housekeeper and nurse, that Rachel’s trials might not have been as dramatic, bloody or adventurous as Harriet’s but she had faced them alone and withstood them bravely.
The room in which she now held her sister could not have been a greater contrast to the modest parsonage. The walls were a frenzy of plaster figures picked out in gold against pale green panelling, and the furniture itself, all gilt flourishes and elaborate curves, seemed to disapprove of them. The parsonage had smelled of mown grass, of the Norfolk summer; this room tasted of hot-house lilies. It seemed to Harriet that even the carved marble Graces holding up the mantelpiece were staring at them.
After a few moments Rachel managed to say, damply, ‘My apologies, but I have so wished to have you here. However did you manage it? When Colonel Padfield told me you were arriving today, I did not think it possible.’
Harriet guided Rachel to a chair in a convenient grouping by the fireplace and the gentlemen took their seats opposite the sisters. ‘Michaels, Mrs Clode!’ Graves said, smiling. ‘We would have been another fortnight on the road at least, were it not for him. He knows the lingo and he knows when to press and when not. But that’s all that needs to be said of our journey.’
‘Michaels here too? Lord, what trouble we have given you all.’
Graves leaned forward and took Rachel’s hand with the easy intimacy of long friendship. ‘What of you, my dear? How are you and poor Daniel managing? Verity, Mrs Service and the children send all their love.’
‘Their letters outpaced you, just. I had my first words from home only two days ago. Verity said the kindest, wisest things and poor Susan sounded quite distraught.’ She smiled very slightly and freed her hand to wipe her eyes again. It was known that Lady Susan had fallen madly in love with Daniel Clode at the age of nine while he helped save the lives of herself and her younger brother the Earl, and was still, while also loving Rachel sincerely, not quite free of the attachment. ‘I am as well as you might expect. The District Officer, Krall, has been fair, and Colonel and Mrs Padfield have been quite kind. The Colonel is an Englishman employed by the Duke. His wife is a German lady he met here; she accompanies me whenever I am allowed to visit Daniel in Castle Grenzhow and waits in the carriage for me. But none of them know us! They all think Daniel did this terrible thing. They all but confess they think it would have been better if he had died in that horrid little room! Lord, I am so glad you are come! You know he didn’t do it, don’t you?’
Harriet held her to her side. ‘Of course he didn’t, darling. We have been reading all the papers since this morning.’ She held her away from her for a second. Her sister’s green eyes seemed rather large in her face, and her skin had a grey tinge to it. ‘You have grown thin, my love.’
‘I am well, Harry. Only promise me you can make them set Daniel free again and I shall be better.’
‘We have enough to save him, even in those papers, I think, thanks to Crowther. But who would do this? Who would frame Daniel for the killing in such a way? And attempt to murder him?’
She saw a wild hope light in Rachel’s eyes. ‘There was a man! You think so? We have been trying to believe, I have been trying to think, some terrible accident. But who could we have offended so? We are strangers here …’
‘And how is Daniel?’ Graves frowned as he asked the question. The letters that had met them on their way had been from Rachel alone. They reported her husband’s health as good and his mind clear, only he seemed unable to remember any more than snatches of the night of the festival parade. No word written by his own hand, however, was found in the packets.
Rachel leaned into Harriet’s shoulder and Harriet bent to kiss the top of her head.
‘Oh Graves, I cannot say. Not well. He says he has bad dreams. The wounds on his wrists are healing cleanly, but he lost a lot of blood — it left him weak and confused for days. He spends hours staring out at the forest from that horrible place and trying to recall.’ She shook her head. ‘I have told him a thousand times I think him incapable of doing harm to that woman, but he tortures himself. He could never have harmed her, could he?’