Nine Coaches Waiting

I was gripping the rail at the foot of Philippe's bed. Without it, I think I would have fallen. I said hoarsely: "Madame."

She took no notice. She put the tumbler down surely and quietly, and turned to go. The moonlight rippled along the lovely folds of her robe; it caught her face, gleaming back from eyes wide and glossy as a doll's.

I said: "Héloïse de Valmy, answer me. How will you kill Philippe?"

She was on her way to the window. I walked with her. She went smoothly, and at the right moment her hand went up to the curtain. For one fearful moment I thought I had been mistaken and she was awake, but then I saw her fumble the curtains and hesitate as a fold tangled in her robe. The fixed eyes never moved, but she fetched a sigh and faltered. Heaven knows what she has known. The obsessive question burst from me. "Is Raoul helping you to kill Philippe?"

She paused. Her head inclined towards me. I repeated it urgently in her ear: "Is Raoul helping you?"

She turned away. It wouldn't work. She was going, and her secrets with her, still locked in sleep. I reached an unsteady hand and drew the curtain aside for her.

She walked composedly past me and out of sight along the balcony.

But she had told me one thing. I saw it as soon as I turned.

God, God forgive us all. I stood over Philippe in the moon- dappled darkness, with the tumbler in my hand.

I woke him quietly. I used a trick I had read about somewhere in John Buchan-a gentle pressure below the left ear. It seemed to work; he opened his eyes quite naturally and lay for a moment before they focused on me in the moonlight. Then he said, as if we were resuming a conversation: "I had another nightmare."

"I know. That's why I came in."

He lifted his head, and then pushed himself into a sitting position. "What's the time?"

"Half-past one."

"Haven't you been to bed yet? Have you been to the dance in the village. You didn't tell me."

"No, I haven't been out. I got dressed again because-"

"You're not going out now?" The whisper sharpened so abruptly that my finger flew to my lips.

"Quiet, Philippe. No-that is, yes, but I'm not leaving you alone, if that's what you're afraid of. You're coming too."

"I am?"

I nodded, and sat down on the edge of the bed. The big eyes watched me. He was sitting very still. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. God knows what my voice sounded like. I know my lips were stiff. I said: "Philippe."

"Yes, mademoiselle?"

"Do you-feel all right? Not-not sleepy or anything?"

"Not really."

"Quite fit and wide-awake?"

"Yes."

I said hoarsely: "Did you drink your chocolate?"

His eyes slid round in that narrow sidelong look towards the tumbler, then back to me. He hesitated. "I poured it away."

"You what? Why?"

"Well… he said uncertainly, eyeing me, then stopped.

"Look, Philippe, I don't mind. I just want to know. Was it nasty or something?"

"Oh no. At least I don't know." Again that look. Then a sudden burst of candour: "They left the bottle last night and I found it and kept it. I didn't tell you."

I said blankly: "Bottle?"

"Yes," said Philippe, "that smashing lemonade. I had that instead. It wasn't fizzy any more but it was fine."

"You… never said anything when I went to make your chocolate."'

"Well," said Philippe, "I didn't want to hurt your feelings. You always made the chocolate and-what's the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Oh, Philippe."

"What is it, Miss Martin?"

"I guess I'm tired," I said. "I had a late night last night and I haven't slept much tonight,"

"You don't mind?" "No, I don't mind."

"Why haven't you slept tonight?"

I said: "Now listen, mon p'tit. Did you know your Uncle Hippolyte is coming home tomorrow-today?"

I saw the joy blow across his face the way a gleam runs over water and felt, suddenly, a deep and calm thankfulness. There was port in this storm, it seemed.

Philippe was saying in a quick, excited whisper: "When is he coming? Why is he coming back? Who told you? When can we get to see him?"

"That's what I came to wake you for," I said, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "I thought that we might go straight away. The-the sooner the better," I finished lamely, all my half-thought-out excuses dying on my lips under that steady wide stare.

"Do you mean we are going to the Villa Mireille now? To meet my Uncle Hippolyte?"

"Yes. He won't be there yet, but I thought-"

Philippe said, devastatingly: "Does my Uncle Léon know?"

I swallowed. "Philippe, my dear, I don't expect you to understand all this, but I want you to trust me, and come with me now as quickly and quietly as you can. Your Uncle Léon-"

"You are taking me away from him." It was a statement, not a question. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were intent, and he was breathing a little faster.

"Yes," I said, and nerved myself for the inevitable. "Why?" But it didn't come. The child supplied the terrible answer for himself.

He said in that sombre, unsurprised little voice: "My Uncle Léon hates me. I know that. He wishes I was dead. Doesn't he?"

I said gently: "Philippe, mon lapin, I'm afraid he might wish you harm. I don't like your Uncle Léon very much either. I think we'll both be better away from here, if you'll only trust me and come with me."

He pushed back the bedclothes without a second's hesitation, and grabbed at the back of his nightshirt, ready to haul it over his head. In the act he stopped. "The time I was shot at in the wood, that was not an accident?"

The question, coming grotesquely out of the folds of the nightshirt, made me gasp. There was no need, it appeared, to pretend, even about this. I said: "No, it wasn't an accident. Here's your vest."

"He tried to kill me?"

"Yes." The word sounded, so flat that I added quickly: "Don't be afraid, Philippe."

"I'm not afraid." He was fighting his way into his shirt now. As he emerged from the neck of it I saw that he spoke the truth. He was taut as a wire, and the long-lashed black eyes-Valmy eyes-were begi

"Philippe!"

He glanced up at me. "What would you? Murderers go to the guillotine. He's a murderer."

Tigers breed true, I thought wildly, tigers breed true. He had even, for a flash, had a look of Léon de Valmy himself. But he was only a child; he couldn't know the implications of what he was saying. I said: "He's not, you know. You're still alive, and going to stay that way. Only we must hurry, and be terribly quiet. Look, your shoes are here. No, don't put them on. Carry them till we get out."

He picked them up and got up, turning towards me, then, with a sudden duck back into childhood, he reached for my hand. "Where are we going?"

"I told you. To your Uncle Hippolyte."

"But we can't go to the Villa Mireille till he's there," he said uncertainly. "That's where they'll look for us straight away in the morning."

"I know." His hand quivered in mine, and I pulled him against my knee and put an arm round him. "But we'll be quite safe. We'll follow our star, Philippe. It'll not let us down. D'you remember Monsieur Blake, the

Englishman?”

He nodded.

"Well, he has a cabin up in Dieudo