Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

 

 

At the discovery that Sylvie and Bastien were nowhere to be found, the window pane in her room expertly picked open, the house fell into an uproar. Search parties failed to find any trace and, with Dee declaring that time was of the essence, the party prepared to make its farewells. His warnings that Tessier’s own forces may be nearby drove everyone along at some speed, yet Adam was distracted, something about Bastien’s disappearance striking him as a little off-kilter.

Gone Sylvie may have been, but her son’s belongings remained, including the walnut box so lovingly crafted by Thierry Charron, sat atop the tricolor flag that the disappeared woman fashioned into a sash when she fancied some flare. It was this discovery that caused Adam to search the yard and pastures, the pig field where the boy had taken to roaming, yet there was no sign of the child to be found. Adam was almost ready to admit defeat when he decided to look once last time around the yard, alerted to the child’s presence in the corner of the stable block by the sound of soft sobs.

In the days they had known one another, Bastien Dupire had become a constant shadow to Adam. He was always somewhere nearby, watching, questioning, learning all he could absorb about caring for the horses for which he seemed to have such an affinity. Sure that he was not the sort of child who would welcome being caught with tears on his cheeks, Adam stood in the doorway to give him time to recover and called, “You in there, lad?”

There was a scuffling sound and a possible sniff before Bastien appeared, sporting his usual swagger despite the redness of his eyes. “I was just checking the horses. They want to know what we’re hanging around for.”

“Got something for you,” Adam told him casually, heart going out to the boy whose mother had left him without a second thought as the child dragged his sleeve across his nose.

“What is it?” Bastien’s words were studiedly careless.

“One thing about being a coachman, I always seem to have these hiding in the pocket of every coat I own.” He held out a single key. “So this one’s for you.”

“What’s it for?”

“My house in Dublin.” Adam shrugged. “So you’ve always got a place to call home.”

“Why would you do that?” The boy peered at him, curiosity and suspicion warring in his eyes.

“Because that’s what mates do—they help other mates.”

A flash of something that looked like pleasure passed across Bastien’s face, chasing away the misery for just a second. He took the heavy key in his hand, examining it for a moment before slipping it into a pocket. “Better hang on to it then.”

“Just don’t bring too many girls back,” Adam told him. “The beds squeak.”

“Not too many,” Bastien agreed with the slightest hint of a grin. “One or two.”

“I know you Frenchmen.”

“Put you English to shame.” The boy sniffed. “As it should be.”

“English?” Adam drew in a deep breath, looking with comical shock at the boy. “Did you call me English, laddie?”

“Might’ve done!” Bastien turned, the swagger he had already learned from Adam evident as he started to whistle the coachman’s favorite tune.

“Aye, well, maybe I’ll start calling you a…a bloody Prussian.”

“You’d better bloody not.”

“I’m Irish, you cheeky bugger.”

“You and that professor both.” He rolled his eyes. “I know, I know.”

“You going in the carriage or up at the business end?” Adam reached out to scrub Bastien’s hair. “We get the guns and the brandy at the front.”

“All those hours in a carriage?” The boy shuddered. “I’ve had enough polite conversation to last a lifetime.”

“And before we hit the road, you got anything you need to get off your chest?”

Something passed across the youngster’s face and for a moment Adam didn’t think he would answer.

“I hope—” Bastien admitted, his voice small and soft, that of the child he tried to hide. “I hope she’s all right.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for her.” Adam scrubbed the boy’s hair again. “And for each other.”

“Sounds good.” Bastien ducked away, familiar grin firmly back in place. “Now get to work.”

“Me?” Adam shook his head. “I’m the foreman, lad. You’re harnessing the horses, so get to it.”

With a roll of his eyes, the boy did so, whistling and decidedly more cheerful than he had been.