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‘Good idea,’ agreed Raoul.
He watched the man mount up and gallop away, calculating how long it would take the doctor to get there.
‘What can I do?’ asked Cassandra.
‘Where is the carriage?’
‘I have told the post boy to drive to the auberge at the far end of the village. What may I do to help you?’
He regarded her as she stood before him. She was too petite to be of help moving the rubble; her hands were unused to any type of work at all. He was also afraid that they would be bringing bodies out soon and he did not want her to witness the carnage. He looked towards a group of women and children crying noisily as they watched the proceedings.
‘Get them away,’ he muttered. ‘They are doing no good here.’
‘Of course.’
She nodded and Raoul went back to the laborious process of dragging away the rubble stone by stone.
As word of the disaster spread more people turned up to help with the rescue. Raoul left them to finish digging out the survivors while he attended those they had already pulled out of the building. He had not wanted to reveal that he was a medical man, but there was no sign of the doctor and these people needed his help.
After sluicing himself down at the village pump he went to the nearest house, where the injured men had been taken. There were four so far: a quick glance showed him that the man who had been severely crushed would not survive. There was nothing he could do for the fellow so he left him to the care of the local priest while he set the broken arm and patched up the others as best he could. Thankfully they were not seriously hurt, but others were being carried in, each one bringing with him the damp, dusty smell of the collapsed building. He had no instruments and his equipment was limited to the bandages piled on a table, but there was hot water in a kettle hanging over the fire and a large flask of white brandy to ease the suffering of the injured men.
It was growing dark and Raoul was working alone in the little room when he heard the thud of horses and the sudden commotion outside the door. The doctor, at last. He looked up, his relief tempered by surprise when he saw a fresh-faced young man enter the room.
‘You are Dr Bonnaire?’
‘Yes. And you are?’
‘Duval. My wife and I were passing through here when the accident happened.’
‘It was good of you to stay and help.’ Dr Bonnaire looked about him. ‘Are all the men recovered, did everyone survive?’
‘Everyone is accounted for now, nine men in all. Two are dead, four had only slight injuries. I patched them up and sent them home. These three are the most seriously injured.’ He nodded to a man sitting by the fire. ‘I have set his arm, but he has also had a blow to the head and is not yet able to stand.’ He walked over to the two men lying on makeshift beds. ‘These two are the worst. They were both trapped by their legs.’
As Bonnaire knelt beside the first of the men Raoul heard a soft voice behind him.
‘I thought you would need more light.’ Cassandra came in, followed by three of the village women, each one of them carrying lamps and candlesticks. ‘We collected these from the other houses.’
The doctor shot to his feet. ‘How thoughtful of you, Madame...?’
‘Duval,’ she said quietly.
‘Ah...’ he glanced towards Raoul ‘...your wife, sir. Enchanté, madame.’
Raoul saw the faint flush on Cassie’s cheek and knew she was not happy with the subterfuge, but it was necessary.
‘Aye, Madame Duval and her husband arrived most providentially,’ put in one of the other women.
‘Madame Deschamps owns the auberge at the far end of the village,’ explained Cassie. Her eyes flickered over Raoul and away again. ‘She and her husband have offered us a room for the night.’
‘Well, ’tis too late for you to be travelling on now and ’tis the least we can do, for all your trouble.’
‘You are very kind,’ murmured Raoul.
‘Nay, ’tis you and madame that have been kind, monsieur, helping us as you have done.’
Madame Deschamps appeared to be in no hurry to leave, but once the other women had gone Cassie touched her arm and murmured that they must not keep the good doctor from his work. She cast a last, shy glance at Raoul and ushered the landlady from the room. Bonnaire stood gazing at the door and Raoul prompted him gently.
‘Well, Doctor, would you like to examine your patients?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Yes.’
It did not take long. Raoul had already stripped the men of their clothing and cleaned their lacerated bodies. The doctor gently drew back the thin blanket from each of the men and gazed at their lower limbs.
‘Legs crushed beyond repair,’ he observed.
‘Yes.’ Raoul nodded. ‘Both men will require amputation at the knee.’
The young doctor blenched. He placed his case upon the table, saying quietly, ‘I thought that might be the situation and brought my tools.’
He lifted out a canvas roll and opened it out on the table to display an impressive array of instruments, very much like the ones Raoul had lost when he had fled from Paris, only these looked dull and blunt from lack of use.
Raoul frowned. ‘Have you ever performed an amputation, Doctor?’
Bonnaire swallowed and shook his head.
‘I saw one once, in Paris, but I could not afford to finish my training. These tools belonged to my uncle. He was an army surgeon.’
Raoul closed his eyes, his initial relief at finding a medical man on hand rapidly draining away. He sighed.
‘Then you had best let me deal with this.’
‘You? You are a surgeon, Monsieur Duval?’
‘Yes. And I have performed dozens of these operations.’
The relief in the young man’s face was only too apparent. A sudden draught made the candles flicker as the door opened and the priest came in.
‘Ah, Dr Bonnaire, they said you had arrived. Thanks be! A sad business, this. Will the Lord take any more souls this night, think you?’
‘I hope not, Monsieur le Curé,’ was the doctor’s fervent response.
‘Good, good. I came to tell you that you are not to worry about your fee, Doctor. If these poor people have not the means there is silverware in the church that can be sold. You shall not go unrewarded for this night’s work.’
The young doctor bowed.
‘Thank you, but if anyone is to be paid, it should be this man.’ He glanced at Raoul. ‘He is the more experienced surgeon and is going to perform the operations necessary to save these two men.’
‘Is that so indeed?’ declared the priest, his brows rising in surprise.
‘It is,’ said Raoul, grimly inspecting the instruments spread out before him. ‘But to do so I will require these to be sharpened.’
‘But of course, monsieur! Give me the ones you need and I shall see it is done without delay.’
‘And get someone to take this fellow home,’ added Raoul, nodding at the man dozing in the chair by the fire.
‘I will do so, sir, I will do so.’ The priest gathered up the instruments and bustled away, leaving Bonnaire to fix Raoul with a solemn gaze.
‘Thank you, monsieur, and I meant what I said about payment.’
‘I do not want the church’s silverware, but you should take it, Bonnaire, and when this night is done you should use it to go back to Paris and finish your training.’
They set to work, preparing the room and arranging all the lamps and candles to provide the best light around the sturdy table that would be used to carry out the operations. The situation was not ideal, but Raoul had worked in worse conditions during his time at sea. A woman crept in timidly and helped the injured man out of the room just as the priest returned with the sharpened instruments.
‘Thank you.’ Bonnaire took the honed tools and handed them to Raoul. ‘Perhaps, mon père, you could send someone to attend to the lights and the fire while we work.’
‘But of course. I will ask Madame Duval to step in.’
‘No.’ Raoul frowned. ‘She is not used to such work.’
The priest stopped and looked at him in surprise.
‘Really, monsieur? If you say so. Madame Deschamps, of course, is a woman most resourceful, but she is very busy at the auberge.’
‘Well, there must be someone else who can come in,’ said Raoul irritably.
The priest spread his hands.
‘These are simple people, monsieur, uneducated. They are easily frightened and I fear they would be sorely distressed by the sight of their neighbours in such a situation as this.’
‘But my wife...’
Raoul’s words trailed off. What could he say, that his wife was a lady? That she was too cossetted and spoiled to be of any use here?
‘Madame Duval has shown herself to be most resourceful in this tragedy,’ the priest continued. ‘The villagers turned to her in their grief and she did not fail them. While they could only weep and wail she arranged who should go to the fields to fetch the mothers and wives of those who were working in the barn. She helped to feed the children and put them to bed and it was madame who organised the women to prepare this house for you, to boil the water and tear up the clean sheets for bandages. Even now she is helping to cook supper at the auberge for those who are grieving too much to feed themselves or their families.’
‘Practical as well as beautiful,’ remarked Bonnaire. ‘You are to be congratulated on having such a partner, Monsieur Duval.’
Raoul’s jaw clenched hard as he tried to ignore the doctor’s remark. He did not want to be congratulated, did not want to think how fortunate a man would be to have a wife like Lady Cassandra.
He shrugged and capitulated.
‘Very well, let her come in.’
They had tarried long enough and he had work to do.
They lifted the first man on to the table. He and his fellow patient had been given enough brandy to make them drowsy and Raoul worked quickly. He was aware of Cassandra moving silently around the room, building up the fire to keep the water hot, trimming the wicks on the lights and even helping Bonnaire to hold down the patient when necessary. He glanced up at one critical point, fearing she might faint at the gruesome nature of the business, but although she was pale she appeared perfectly composed and obeyed his commands as steadily as the young doctor.
Midnight was long past before the operations were complete and the patients could be left to recover. Raoul felt utterly drained and when Bonnaire offered to sit with them through the night he did not argue. He shrugged on his coat and escorted Cassie to the auberge, where the landlady was waiting up to serve them supper.
Cassie was bone-weary and after all she had seen that evening she had no appetite, but she had eaten very little all day and she sat down opposite Raoul at the table while Madame Deschamps set two full plates before them.
The hot food warmed her and she began to feel better. She reached for her wine glass and looked up to see Raoul watching her.
‘I am sorry we have had to delay our journey, milady.’
‘I am not.’ She continued, a note of wonder in her voice, ‘Truly, I do not regret being here. It has been a difficult day and a sad one, too, but I am pleased I could be of help.’
She took a sip of wine while she considered all that had happened. Raoul had thrown himself into assisting the villagers and she had done the same. The people had been shocked and frightened, unable to think for themselves. They had needed someone to take charge and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world for her to step in, deciding what needed to be done and setting villagers to work. They had not questioned her, instead as the day wore on they had looked to her even more for guidance. She glanced shyly at Raoul.
‘For the first time in my life I think I have done something truly useful.’
Silently he raised his glass to her and, smiling, she gave her attention to her food. They finished their meal in silence and she sat back, watching as Raoul wiped a piece of bread around his plate. He was looking a little less grey and drawn than when they had come in, but she knew how tirelessly he had worked all day.
She said suddenly, ‘You must be exhausted.’
He pushed away his empty plate.
‘It has been a long day, certainly, and I cannot wait to get to my bed.’ He drained his wine. ‘Well, madame, shall we retire?’
Cassie had given little thought to the sleeping arrangements until the landlady showed them upstairs to what was clearly the best bedroom. A large canopied bed filled the centre of the room, its curtains pulled back to display the plump, inviting mattress. It was then that Cassie’s tiredness fled, replaced by a strong sense of unease. She stopped just inside the door and did not move, even when the landlady left them.
‘Ah. There is no truckle bed,’ she muttered. ‘I forgot to mention it.’
‘Then we must share this one.’ Raoul unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat and threw them over a chair.
‘No!’ Cassie was scandalised. To sleep in the open was one thing—even to curl up together on the floor before the fire had not felt this dangerous, after all the old woman had been sleeping in the same room and providing some sort of chaperonage. But to share a bed, to have that strong, lithe body only inches away— ‘Out of the question,’ she said firmly.
Raoul yawned. ‘You need not fear for your virtue, milady, but if you think I will sleep on the floor tonight you are much mistaken.’
She eyed him suspiciously. If her own fatigue could vanish so quickly, she was sure his would, too. She remembered waking on the cottage floor to find his hand cradling her breast. The thought made her grow hot, but not with embarrassment. She began to recognise her own yearning for a man’s touch. She watched in growing alarm as he sat down to pull off his boots.
She said quickly, ‘I know how men use soft words and pretty gestures to seduce a woman, but I am not so easily caught, monsieur.’
‘Confound it, woman, I am not using any soft words,’ he snapped, but Cassie was so on edge she paid no heed.
‘I know ’tis all a sham,’ she continued, in an attempt to quell the flicker of desire that was uncurling inside her. ‘A man must have his way and the result for the woman is always disappointing.’
‘Disappointing, milady?’
With a growl he rose from the chair and came purposefully towards her. It took all Cassie’s willpower not to back away from him. She tensed as he put out his hand and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
‘Mayhap you have only had English lovers so far.’
She pulled her chin from his grasp. Her heart was hammering and panic was not far away, because she knew she was ready to fall into his arms at any moment. She started to gabble, trying to convince herself that such an action would be foolish in the extreme.
‘Lovers? The word is too easily used, monsieur. Love rarely comes into it, in my experience. The coupling that ensues is for the man to enjoy and the woman to endure.’
His eyes narrowed and for one fearful moment she thought he might see that as a challenge, but after a brief hesitation he turned away.
‘You might be the famous Pompadour herself and I could not make love to you tonight. I am too tired to argue the point with you now, madame. Sleep where you will, but I am going to bed.’
To Cassie’s dismay he threw himself on to the covers. He could not sleep there! She must reason with him, persuade him to move.
‘I am glad you will not try to woo me with soft words,’ she told him. ‘It will not work with me. Let me remind you I have had a husband.’
‘But not a very good one,’ he muttered, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.
‘Gerald was a very accomplished lover,’ she told him indignantly.
She turned away to place her folded shawl on the trunk. Would he notice she had used the past tense? Suddenly she did not want to lie any more and she exhaled, like a soft sigh.
‘At least, he had any number of mistresses and he told me they were all satisfied with his performance. I confess I never found it very enjoyable, even when I thought I was wildly in love with him.’ She clasped her hands together and stared down at the shawl, as if gaining courage from its cheerful, sunny colours. ‘But perhaps it is wrong of me to say that, now he is no longer alive. You see, monsieur, I did not abandon my husband. I remained at Verdun, at his side, and would be there still, if he had not been killed. I made up my mind that I would not leave him, even though the provocation was very great indeed.’
There. She closed her eyes, feeling a sense of relief that she had at last confessed it. She was a widow and her husband had been unfaithful. Let him sneer at her if he wished.
A gentle snore was the only answer. Cassie turned to see that Raoul was fast asleep. Even a rough shake on the shoulder failed to rouse him. How dare he fall asleep while she was pouring out her heart! She looked at the sleeping figure. At least he was not taking up the whole bed. She blew out most of the candles and sat down on the edge of the bed, her indignation dying away as she regarded him. She reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his brow. He had worked tirelessly today, using all his strength and his skill to help the villagers. He deserved his rest.
Raoul surfaced from a deep sleep and lay still, eyes closed. He felt supremely comfortable, a soft mattress beneath him and a feather pillow under his head. He was still wearing his shirt and breeches but someone had put a blanket over him.
Someone.
Lady Cassandra.
He turned his head, expecting to see her dark curls spread over the pillow next to his, instead he found himself staring at a wall of white.
‘What the—?’ He sat up, frowning at the line of bolsters and pillows that stretched down the middle of the bed. On the far side of this downy barrier was Cassandra, wrapped snugly in a coverlet. He felt a momentary disappointment when he saw that her hair had been tamed into a thick plait.
She stirred, disturbed by his movements.
‘It is called bundling,’ she said sleepily.
‘I beg your pardon?’
She yawned. ‘The feather barricade between us. It is a device that I understand is often used in village courtships in England, so a man and woman could spend time together and find out if they truly liked each other without...committing themselves.’
‘I do not think it would prove much of a deterrent, if the couple were willing.’
She was awake now and eyeing him warily.
‘Well, in this case one of the couple was not willing,’ she told him, throwing back her cover and slipping off the bed.
He saw she was still wearing her stays on top of a chemise that stopped some way above her very shapely ankles.
‘I would consider that contraption of whalebone and strong linen to be a more effective deterrent than a few bolsters, milady.’
‘If you were a gentleman you would not be looking at me.’ She added scornfully, ‘But what else should I expect from a foreigner?’
Raoul picked up one of the bolsters and put it behind him, so he could lean back and watch Cassandra as she walked across to the washstand. He was well rested now and fully appreciative of the picture she presented.
‘So it is only foreigners who look at pretty women? Mon Dieu, Englishmen are not only dull, they must have ice in their veins.’
She turned, clutching the towel before her.
‘Of course they do not. They—’ She stamped her foot. ‘Ooh, you delight in teasing me!’
He grinned. ‘I cannot resist, you bite so easily. By the way, how did you sleep in that corset? It must have been very uncomfortable.’
‘I loosened the laces, naturally. And before you say anything more I do not need your help to tighten them again!’
He laughed and climbed out of bed.
‘No, of course not, milady. I shall tease you no more. We must break our fast and move on. What is the time?’ He looked out of the window. ‘Tiens, it must be noon at least.’
‘It was almost dawn before we went to bed,’ said Cassie. ‘I asked Madame Deschamps not to disturb us.’
She felt her cheeks burn as she remembered the landlady’s knowing wink when she heard the request. When she had eloped she had been subjected to many such looks and rude jibes, too, but then she had thought herself too much in love to care about such things. How she was ever to explain these past few days she did not know. She could only hope that when she returned to England the details of this journey would remain a secret.
Raoul turned from the window.
‘I had best go and see the patients. I hope Dr Bonnaire would have called me, if he needed my help in the night.’ He grabbed his clothes and dressed quickly. ‘We are still a good half-day’s travel from Rouen. We will need to leave soon if we are to get there tonight.’
‘Naturally we must stay here, monsieur, if you are needed.’
He looked a little surprised at her words and nodded as he picked up his hat. ‘I will go now to see how the men are doing.’
With that he was gone. Cassie finished dressing in silence, pushing aside the fleeting regret that Raoul had said he would stop teasing her.
Raoul spent an hour in the house that had become a makeshift hospital and when he returned to the auberge Cassandra was waiting for him at the door. His mood brightened when he saw her, pretty as a picture in her yellow gown, her dark curls brushed and pinned in a shining disorder about her head.
‘Madame Deschamps insisted on cooking for us,’ she greeted him. ‘I have packed everything, and the carriage and your horse are ready to depart as soon we have broken our fast.’
At that moment the landlady herself came bustling out, insisting that they must not leave Flagey until they had eaten a good meal.
‘I have bread and eggs and ham waiting for you, monsieur, and you will have the room to yourselves, you will not be disturbed.’
There was no point in arguing, so Raoul followed Cassie and their landlady into the little dining room.
‘How did you find your patients?’ asked Cassie as they settled down to their meal.
‘The two men we operated on are awake and recovering. It will be slow, but I have hopes that with a little ingenuity they will be able to get around again. Most do and consider themselves fortunate they have only lost a leg and not their life. Bonnaire is happy to look after them now. And I called in on the fellow with the broken arm. His head has cleared, I think he will make a full recovery.’
‘They must all be thankful you were here to help them.’
‘They were. That is why it has taken me so long to get back. Everyone in Flagey wanted to speak to me.’ He grinned. ‘I cannot tell you the number of gifts I have had to decline, but I did not think you would wish to have a basket of eggs or a plucked chicken in the chaise with you, although I was tempted by the flitch of bacon.’