"Oh, I have dreamed of that for so long," Charlotte said, swaying slightly. "To be clean again. It's more important than thirst, than starvation, than the darkness." A shiver ran through her thin frame.

"I can imagine," Arabella said, and she could. She took Charlotte's arm and eased her back into the rocking chair. "Would you try some more beef tea? Perhaps a little wine?"

"It would be ungrateful to refuse," Charlotte said with a faint smile. "I will try both to please you."

"May I open the door now?"

"Ask Jack to take away the tub," Charlotte said. "It would embarra.s.s me for anyone else to . . ."

But Arabella was already at the door, conferring with Jack, who came into the kitchen. He stared at his sister. "What the devil?" And for the first time in days he sounded like himself. "Did you do that, Arabella?" He spun around on his wife.

"At my request," Charlotte said, a smile in her voice.

"It was more of an order, actually," Arabella said. "We need you to get rid of the bathwater, Jack."

He needed no explanation, hefted the tub easily, elbowed the kitchen door open, and strode out to the back garden, where he deposited the last remaining evidence of his sister's imprisonment among the geraniums. When he returned the kitchen was once more full of life, Charlotte was sipping beef tea, managing to hold the spoon on her own, and a little wine had given her cheeks the faintest tinge of pink. For a moment he had hope. A surge of wild, irrational, impossible hope. But then he looked at her sunken eyes, at the paper-thin gray complexion, and knew that it was useless.

His wife laid a hand on his arm. Her tawny eyes were filled with love and compa.s.sion as she whispered, "Take what you have, my love. She is home now."

He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head before going back to his sister's side, where he stayed throughout the night, keeping vigil as she slept, talking softly to her when she was awake, replacing the b.l.o.o.d.y napkin after a coughing fit.

Arabella lay alone and wakeful in the apple loft, listening to the dreadful coughing. It would take them much longer to return to Calais with Charlotte than it had on the journey out and she wondered if the sick woman could manage the return trip. She'd tried to suggest to Jack that they should remain in Paris until his sister had regained a little of her strength but Jack would entertain no delay. He had failed to get Charlotte out of Paris once, he would not fail a second time. The securite could change their minds . . . anything could happen. The house on rue de Bievre could be raided . . .

Arabella had not argued. It would do no good and Jack was so consumed with grief and guilt he was like a man possessed. She fell asleep eventually, a fitful doze punctuated by dreams of women with haunted eyes floating in a filthy fetid darkness. She awoke before dawn, sweating and nauseated, at a shaking hand on her shoulder.

"We have to leave." Jack spoke crisply, urgently. "In five minutes. Marcel is bringing the cart. Wear what you wore to the prison." He was dressed in his filthy ruffian's garb.

She sat up, fighting the queasiness of a bad night. "What of Charlotte? What is she to wear? I brought some clothes for her."

"Therese has seen to that. Anything you brought will be too fine and none of us must draw any attention. Hurry up now." He picked up the valise and her cloak bag and disappeared down the ladder.

Arabella would have liked her comb at the very least but Jack had taken all her possessions. She dressed in the grimy rags she'd worn to the prison and combed her fingers through her hair before cramming the mobcap on top. She was hungry, at least she thought she was. Her belly certainly wanted something. She scrambled down the ladder, to find the kitchen filled with people.

Jack was standing at the table drinking coffee, a hunk of bread and cheese in his hand. "Eat," he said, gesturing to the table. Charlotte was still in the rocking chair but now wrapped in a cloak. She smiled at Arabella, who took bread and a slice of cold venison and went over to her.

"How are you this morning?"

"A little stronger," Charlotte said. "Therese has been spooning porridge down my throat for the last half hour." She gave a little laugh, an effort that made her gasp for breath.

"I have laudanum," Arabella said in an undertone. "I wonder if it would help for the journey. You might be able to sleep a little."

Charlotte shook her head. "Maybe if things get bad, my dear. But I would stay conscious for as long as possible. It's been so long since I've seen the outside world, I don't want to miss anything."

Arabella nodded as Jack came over, finishing his bread and cheese. "Let's go," he said, bending to lift Charlotte into his arms. "Marcel has the cart out front. The city gates will open in half an hour and I want to be the first through."

They had piled blankets and pillows in the back of the cart, and Charlotte with an effortful smile p.r.o.nounced herself snug and comfortable in her nest. Jack looked worried as he tucked a rug around her. "You'll be sadly jolted, I fear."

"Nonsense," she said stoutly. "Stop fretting, Jack, and get us out of here."

"I'll sit with Charlotte in the back," Arabella said, climbing into the cart. "You and Marcel can do the driving."

Jack jumped onto the bench, cracked the whip, and the cart lumbered through the still dark and deserted streets, towards Port St. Denis. The first streaks of light had appeared in the sky and shopkeepers were opening the shutters when they reached the gates, where already a small queue of wagons waited to exit the city. Farmers for the most part who had sold their produce the previous day and had been too late to leave the city before the gates were closed.

Their cart drew only a cursory glance as they drove through the gate, buried in the midst of the other traffic. Arabella saw Jack relax as they attained the high road. His shoulders lost their rigidity and he moved his head from side to side as if easing the stiffness in his neck.

Charlotte smiled a little and breathed deeply as the rising sun bathed her face. But as the day wore on she smiled less and less. The jolting of the cart on the rutted road tried her sorely and Arabella put her arm around her, trying to cushion her from the motion as much as possible. She was far from comfortable herself; the swaying movement made her queasy and the irregular jolts and b.u.mps jarred her spine, but she gritted her teeth and concentrated on Charlotte.

Jack refused to stay anywhere where his little party could be noticed and they stopped that night in a barn. Marcel went into the nearest village and brought back wine, bread, meat, and fruit. Charlotte tried to eat but she was exhausted and lay back in the straw that made her bed.

Arabella offered her laudanum and this time she took it. "Take some yourself," she murmured. "You look as exhausted as I feel."

"I didn't sleep well last night," Arabella said. "But tonight I shall sleep like a log." She lay next to Jack in their own bed of straw, wrapped in her cloak. He held her through the night but she sensed that he wasn't really aware of her. It distressed her that he wouldn't take comfort in her closeness, but she accepted that his preoccupation with his sister was so deep nothing could intrude upon it. She had lived long enough with this man to know that when he withdrew into himself in this way, he could not be reached, and she could only hope that once Charlotte was safely out of France he would return to his wife. She would not allow herself to antic.i.p.ate the effect his sister's death would have upon him. A death that could not now be long delayed.

They reached Calais on the sixth day and by then Charlotte was so weak she could barely lift her head.

Arabella was stiff, her every muscle and joint aching as if she'd been racked and it took no imagination to guess at how Charlotte was feeling. She had no flesh on her bones to cushion her from the jolting and the violent coughing fits left her so exhausted she could barely breathe.

But Tom Perry's paquet was tied up at the quay, the gangplank lowered, sailors running from quay to decks with bundles of mail, barrels of wine and cognac, boxes and crates of the goods that they would carry back to England.

Jack left the cart and loped across the quay to the deck where Tom stood supervising the loading of his boat. Arabella jumped down and stretched, rolling her shoulders, breathing deeply of the sea air.

"It smells so fresh," Charlotte said weakly. "And listen to the seagulls, Arabella. I never thought to hear them again." She struggled to sit up against the side of the cart and raised her face to the sky, where little clouds scudded under a light breeze.

"This is enough," she said in an undertone, reaching a hand to Arabella, who took it in a strong clasp. "It is sufficient. I never expected to see it again." She smiled at her sister-in-law, then said gravely, "You mustn't mind Jack when he turns in on himself. He's been like that since boyhood. He has dark corners of his soul."

"I have noticed," Arabella said. "And I intend to take a broom to them one of these days."

That made Charlotte smile. "Good luck to you, my dear."

Chapter 24.

Charlotte insisted upon sitting on deck as they cast off and the paquet threaded its way through the craft in the harbor towards the harbor bar and the open sea. She gazed backwards at the receding port, Jack standing beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder. Both in their way saying farewell to France. Arabella stood farther along the rail, leaving them privacy to share this moment. Finally they were past the bar and the little boat picked up speed under the freshening breeze, the red walls of Calais castle fading fast. Charlotte looked up at her brother. "It's over, then, Jack."

"For us," he agreed. "Let me take you below now."

She nodded, the strength that had kept her on deck to make this farewell had ebbed with the receding coastline and she wanted only to lie down. Jack lifted her and carried her to a cabin. "Arabella will help me to bed," she said, as he laid her on the narrow bunk.

He looked down at her in helpless grief. She seemed to be fading before his eyes. He turned as Arabella came in. "Come back in a little while," she said, setting down her cloak bag and a jug of water. He bent to kiss Charlotte's hot brow then left the cabin.

Arabella was used to helping Charlotte now with the most personal aspects of her care and the other woman gave herself willingly to her attentions. She lay still as Arabella undressed her and sponged her body with the cool water before helping her into the nightshift. She swallowed the laudanum that Arabella carefully measured out. It deadened the cough and allowed her some rest.

"Stay with me," she said, as Arabella packed the few things back into the cloak bag.

"I need to change out of these clothes," Arabella said, indicating her filthy rags with a grimace of disgust. "I don't know what Captain Perry must think. The last time he saw us we were the duke and d.u.c.h.ess of St. Jules, in suitable finery. We're lucky he agreed to give us pa.s.sage." She laughed, trying to cheer Charlotte. "I'll change in here."

She was in her chemise, sponging the travel dust from her arms and b.r.e.a.s.t.s when Jack came back in. He looked at her, noticing that she seemed thinner than before. Her face was paler than usual, her eyes larger. She didn't look well, he thought. But it was hardly surprising after the last ten days.

Aware of his gaze she gave him a tentative smile, but it died when he didn't respond, and she felt as if she was merely some object that he was a.s.sessing in an almost clinical fashion. It chilled her a little but

she understood that all his thoughts were with his sister. Jack knelt beside the bunk where his sister lay. Her eyes were heavy as the laudanum took effect. "I hate the way it makes my head thick," she murmured.

"What does, love?" He leaned close to catch her words.

"Laudanum," Arabella said from behind him, fumbling with the b.u.t.tons of her clean gown. "I've been giving it to her regularly. It calms the cough."He frowned. "Is it wise to drug her?""Yes," she said. "Do up these b.u.t.tons, please." She turned her back to him. He fastened the b.u.t.tons, still frowning. "It's addictive.""Do you think that matters now?" she demanded, glancing at the cot. Charlotte was asleep, breathing heavily through her mouth. "Jack, I know how hard this is for you-"

"How can you know?" he said, shaking off the hand she had placed on his arm. "My sister is dying and I can do nothing to help her.""Except make her last hours pleasant," she said in a fierce whisper. "You could try smiling once in a while. How do you think it makes Charlotte feel when you look at her as if she's already in the grave?"

Jack stared at her, then with a sudden shake of his head he turned and left the cabin. Arabella sighed. She had tried. Charlotte stirred and whispered, "Don't quarrel about me, Arabella.""We weren't," she lied, coming back to the cot. "But I have to confess that your brother can put a damper on a carnival if he chooses."Charlotte smiled faintly. "Will you help me sit up? It makes breathing easier."Arabella eased herself onto the bunk and sat upright beside Charlotte, lifting her so that she rested against her shoulder. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." Her eyes closed and she slept again for a few minutes while Arabella gazed at the far wall of the cabin, following its motion as it pitched with the gentle swell. "I'm going to be sick," she said hastily, sliding out from beneath Charlotte and reaching the chamber pot just in time. Charlotte awoke and watched in concern. Much to Arabella's dismay Jack reentered the cabin as she brought up the last of her breakfast.

"What's the matter?" he said, sweeping her hair away from her face as she crouched retching over the pot. "The sea's as calm as a millpond, love." It was Jack's voice, filled with concern, and despite her embarra.s.sment she felt only relief. Her words had had some effect. "I'm just not a good sailor," she said, wiping her mouth on her handkerchief as she sat back on her heels. "I'm sorry."

"Let me get rid of this." He picked up the chamber pot and flung open the porthole. "Fortunately the wind's in the right direction." He tossed the contents to the four winds and turned back, leaving the porthole open. "What's a man to do with two invalids on his hands?" he inquired good-humoredly. "I was going to suggest a game of three-handed whist, but you both look so wan, I doubt you'd be able to count the cards."

Charlotte managed a smile. "My head's too muzzy to count. Why don't you go and talk to the captain and leave the invalids to comfort each other."

Arabella, rinsing her mouth out with water from the jug, didn't say anything until she'd spat out of the porthole. "I, for one, am famished," she declared. "And Charlotte could manage some gruel. Why don't you go in search of food?"

"You lose one meal and immediately need to replace it?" He raised his eyebrows.

"It would seem so," Arabella stated, shooing at him with her fingertips. "Anything will do. Bread, cheese, soup. An apple."

"At your service, mesdames." He gave them a mock bow and left the cabin.

Arabella resumed her position on the cot, supporting Charlotte against her once more. She stared at the cabin wall, which was moving as it had done before, but she felt no nausea. Curious. Or was it?

"Oh," she said suddenly.

"Oh, what?" Charlotte turned her head drowsily against Arabella's shoulder.

"I don't think I'm seasick," she replied. "How stupid of me not to have realized . . . but so much has been happening I didn't notice that I haven't bled this month."

"Oh, my dear." Charlotte clasped Arabella's hand in thin hot fingers. "How wonderful for you. I always wanted children, but it just didn't happen." She closed her eyes again, adding in a thread of a whisper, "But perhaps it was all for the best. Children didn't live long in Le Chatelet."

Arabella said nothing, merely held her until Jack came back with a tray that he set on the table that was bolted to the floor. He looked at his sister and the effort to keep a cheerful smile on his lips stood out in harsh lines on his countenance.

He knelt by the bed again and said, "As soon as we land, we'll go into the mountains where the air is fresh and clean, Charlotte. You'll grow fat and pink on good milk and eggs and cream." His voice broke with longing.

She laid a hand over his. "Yes, yes, my dear. I shall grow strong again. I know it." But her sunken eyes told a different story and Jack knew that the truth could not be banished by his own fantastical wishes. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

He stood up again slowly and took a bowl from the tray. Forcing his voice to sound strong and cheerful, he said, "Come. You must eat or you will never get well." He sat on the corner of the bunk and raised a spoon of spiced gruel to her lips. She tried but after one swallow waved it away with a murmur of apology. Jack looked at her in helpless agony.

"I think you should entertain us," Arabella said swiftly. "I want to hear stories of your unrespectable youth. I'm sure he was totally unrespectable, wasn't he, Charlotte?"

She smiled. "Dangerously so most of the time. Jack never gave a thought to rules except to break them. Tell me how you met."

A current of tension flashed in the air, then Jack said, "I came across Arabella covered in sweat and dirt digging in a flower bed. For some reason I found the combination irresistible."

"And Jack, of course, was utterly immaculate," Arabella said. "Which I did not immediately find irresistible. But they do say that opposites attract and in the end that was true."

"I'm not at all sure when it comes to respectability that we're at opposite ends of the spectrum," Jack declared, seeing how his sister was suddenly more lively, the tiniest spark of light in her eyes.

"Well, it wouldn't do for only one of us to be unconventional," Arabella observed with a grin. "That wouldn't make for a happy union at all."

"I'd dearly like to see this child that you two have made," Charlotte said with a faint smile, shifting slightly on the narrow bunk in the swaying, creaking cabin.

Jack swung startled eyes towards Arabella, who still lay on the cot beside Charlotte, her arm supporting the frail form, Charlotte's head still pillowed against her shoulder. Arabella's smile was somewhat complacent. "I didn't think I was the type to suffer from seasickness," she said. "My const.i.tution is disgustingly robust."

Charlotte laughed weakly, but even that tiny effort was too much. The laugh began the dreadful racking cough and the towel she brought to her mouth turned scarlet in seconds. Arabella whisked it away, reaching down to grab the bowl she had kept ready on the floor beside the bunk. Jack turned aside, unable to bear his sister's torment. Finally it ceased and she lay back against Arabella's shoulder once again, her face paper white, her eyes set so far into her head they were like hollow caverns, the blue bruises beneath so large as almost to cover her cheekbones. The spark of liveliness was extinguished like the last flare of a guttering candle.

Arabella reached out to give the bowl to Jack, who wordlessly emptied it and set it on the table. Arabella resumed her position, supporting a frame so thin and birdlike it felt as if the slightest touch would break it. She held Charlotte while Jack sat on the window seat, gazing out of the porthole, his back stiff, shoulders set, and she felt the life bleed slowly from the woman. "Jack," she said softly.

He turned, rose, and came over to the bunk. He knelt on the floor and took his sister's dry, papery hand in his, cradling it against his cheek. And they stayed like that until some minutes after the last faint whisper of breath left Charlotte. Arabella was dry-eyed because Jack, his face drenched, had enough tears for both of them at this moment.

At last Jack silently lifted his sister away from Arabella, holding her against his chest. Arabella understood and slid away from the bunk, walking soundlessly to the cabin door, leaving Jack to his grief and his vigil.

They buried Charlotte at dawn, her body sliding softly away into the quiet pink-tinged sea. Tom Perry spoke the simple words, "We commit her body to the sea," while the sailors stood in silence and Jack, now dry-eyed, stood at the rail and watched his sister slip into the quiet waters. Arabella, beside him, placed her hand over his on the rail, but she knew he couldn't feel her touch. He had gone from her again. But she kept her hand there and struggled in vain to swallow her own tears. Tears for Jack, but also for herself. She had known Charlotte for a few days only but she had grown to love her as a sister and she wept for her own loss and for the child in her womb who would never know an aunt who could only have enriched a child's life.

And then it was over, the sailors broke their line, and Jack, with a word of thanks to Tom Perry, went immediately below to his own cabin. Arabella took a step after him but his hand flicked infinitesimally at his side and in dismay she understood she was being told to leave him alone. She hesitated, then quietly she turned back to the rail to watch alone as the dawn broke fully and the coastline of England solidified on the horizon.

She felt rather than heard Jack's return. He stepped up to the rail under the early rays of the morning sun. He leaned on the top rail and stared out across the smooth waters of the Channel, towards the harbor bar. Wordlessly he stretched one arm along the rail towards his wife and she took the few steps necessary to bring her beside him. He didn't touch her, but their bodies were so close she could feel his heat.

"Forgive me," she whispered.

"For what, Arabella?" He turned his head slowly to look at her. His expression was calm but his shadowed eyes were filled with pain.

She struggled to find the words. "For my brother."

"It's been many months since I thought of you as existing in the same universe as Frederick Lacey," he said. He slipped an arm around her and drew her tightly against him. "It's I who should ask your forgiveness, my love. It took me too long to understand the worth of the treasure I have in you . . . and how little I deserve such treasure."

Arabella felt the warmth seep into her. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let her head rest on his shoulder as the hurt and uncertainty finally fell away.

After a minute he spoke again. "I feel as if Charlotte died twice, Arabella. Twice I couldn't save her. I don't know if I can endure it." His voice broke and he dropped his face into his hands.

She held him, her tears mingling now with his. Shared grief . . . shared love. They were inextricable at this moment. And she had no words to comfort him. She could only hold him until he could endure again.