Extract:
AN HOUR, it could not be more, before the French arrived. Karelius peered through the window of the property wagon at the smoke-shrouded campfire. He could still distinguish the shadowy figures of the players. He had changed back into the civilian clothes of the late Fabre; anything else would have made him absurdly conspicuous outside the camp. For a weapon, a duelling sword – not the puny rapier used by Scaramuccia, but a heavy epée he had earmarked a day or two before. And a gun; a pistol from the property chest. Now might be the time, before the others dispersed back to their respective wagons. It would not be easy, for most of the horses were tethered not far from the fire. It might be as well to wait a few minutes yet; his chances could be improved once the meeting broke up, if it ever did.
He picked up the slightest of sounds – a stealthy footfall at the side of his wagon. He crouched below the window and waited. If it were someone wanting to see him, he would take off his sword and feign sleep.
A knock at the door. Softly at first, then louder and more urgent.
‘Hurry, please,’ said a voice. Columbine.
She stood in the shadows, dark features glowing faintly in the light of the lamp hanging beside the door. As he opened it she brushed past him hurriedly.
‘You must leave at once.’
Karelius smiled and indicated his clothes. ‘I’m just about to.’
‘Then you know?’
‘What?’
‘The others have held a meeting. They have decided that you are the murderer and are to be handed over to the French as such immediately they arrive. I don’t know whether they believe it, but …’
‘It is sufficient that you do not. For the rest, I am the outsider. It would suit them if I were guilty. Are they coming to arrest me?’
‘No, they are too afraid of your sword. But they intend to keep your van under surveillance. If you try to leave, they hope to stop you.’
‘If they are watching, they will know that you are here.’
‘I think not. I left before the meeting finished and returned to my wagon. I was so angry. They might see me leave here, but it cannot be helped.’
‘Thank you, Columbine. I wish I could take you with me.’
‘That is all right. You need not explain.’
‘But I would,’ he said earnestly, ‘were it not for the danger. A man alone stands the best chance. With a woman –’
‘I have said that you need not explain. Why were you planning to leave?’
‘I am anxious to avoid the French.’
‘Are you a deserter, as they say?’
‘No.’
‘When we talked last night, I said I thought you were an Englishman. Was I right?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, Columbine, you were right. About everything, even down to the hussar uniform, and the lack of epaulettes.’
‘I would not have told the French, if that was what you were afraid of.’
‘No, Columbine, it was not that. There is amongst the French a man I wish to avoid, called Thiercelin. He is likely to be in charge of the investigation.’
‘Does he know you?’
‘Unless he has forgotten, which is unlikely. By the way, tell him to beware of Remuet. The man’s an assassin.’
‘If this Thiercelin is your enemy, why should you warn him?’
Karelius shrugged and smiled. ‘Better the devil you know … Besides, he is a good man, indeed were it not for the accidents of birth and fate, we might have been friends.’
‘If you think that, you are not true enemies.’ She turned to look out of the window. ‘They have returned to their wagons, save for Pulcinella and Orazio. They are looking this way; no doubt they are the ones deputed to watch you.’
He pulled a wry face. ‘Escape will not be easy.’
‘Not too difficult, perhaps.’
‘Why not?’
She smiled. ‘Madame’s horse. I unhitched it just now. It is waiting for you outside.’
Perhaps it was true that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. The other members of the company thought her plain, which was one reason why she never took big parts. They were wrong.
‘You took a risk.’
‘Not much. It is tethered to your wagon, on the far side from them, so they cannot see. But you must go now. I hope you have not forgotten your little hussar.’
He took it from his jacket. ‘I could not forget him.’
‘I am glad. I put a blessing on him before I gave him to you, Gypsies can bless things as well as curse them. I hope he brings you luck.’
‘He has already done so. One other thing.’
‘Yes.’
‘I know you only as Columbine. What is your real name?’
She shook her head. ‘Columbine will do.’
‘I should like to know, nevertheless.’
She smiled sadly. ‘If you remember me, think only of a girl who helped you. No more.’
‘More than that, Columbine. Much more.’
The jet hair tumbled beneath the scarf as she shook her head. ‘I am a plain girl towards whom you feel some gratitude. For my part, I shall always remember el Espada, the mysterious stranger I knew for ten days, and who then vanished from my life.’
‘Would you not do better,’ he said with an effort, ‘to settle down with Pierrot?’
‘Oh, that. It is over between us.’ She seemed near to tears. ‘He would not support you just now. I was ashamed of him.’
‘I shall always remember you, Columbine. In all else I have dissembled, but not in this. Ever since I came, with the rest of the troupe I have been suspicious and on my guard; even with those I like, such as the Harlequin and the old Dottore. But not with you, Columbine. Never you.’
She turned away. he could see the gleam of tears on her cheek. He turned her face back and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I love you, Columbine,’ he said simply.
‘What a sad thing,’ she said as he was leaving, ‘that a man like you should have to resort to deceit and lies.’
He sighed. ‘Circumstances force me to play the hypocrite from time to time.’
‘I think not. A hypocrite deceives himself too, does he not? You may deceive others, but not yourself. Save perhaps in your feelings toward me. Tomorrow you may feel differently.’
People changed, it was true. As he had himself, up to a point. For it was a long time since the Fräulein, or even Charlotte Von. But it didn’t stop him feeling guilty. They descended the steps from the wagon. There were livid clouds to the south-east, where the moon was about to rise. The black trees rustled softly. The horse was there, as she had said. He took her hand and kissed it. Then he turned in the saddle to look at her for the last time. Queen of the Night, he thought. Or Morgan le Fay. From within the wagon he could hear a clock chiming. Chimes at midnight. He smiled and said, ‘It’s tomorrow now.’