“That must be it, then,” Sandrine said. “Thank you for your time. We’ll take luncheon here.”
“We’ve plenty of rooms at the inn, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, if you decide to pass the evening here.”
After a quick bite, they said goodbye to the innkeeper.
“Don’t tarry too long in the countryside. It’s going to rain. I can feel it.”
“What’s he on about?” Sandrine asked. “The sky is brilliant blue with not a cloud.”
The former sanatorium, while a cavernous building that could have housed a hundred elderly supplicants, was being transformed into a schoolhouse.
“I can’t help thinking that this is all interrelated,” Sandrine said. “The charity that can’t be found. The threat made to you. Something very sinister is happening here. I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I. I’m beginning to think that my brother created a fictitious charity.”
“And printed the name in his pamphlet? Wouldn’t he have been worried about being exposed?”
“Either he did this knowingly, or someone was hoodwinking him.”
“That seems more likely, don’t you think? Perhaps he never checked on the charity personally but only relied on the word of others.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Dane pushed the door open for Sandrine, and they stepped out into a sky gone dark and tearful, rain pouring in sheets that soaked them to the bone in seconds.
“We’d better hurry home.” He helped her into the curricle, gave a few encouraging words to the horses, who were eyeing the sky nervously, and they set off as fast as they could go over the rough lanes that led back to the main road.
The rain didn’t let up, and soon the lane was muddy and the carriage lurched and heaved.
“We’ll be stuck in the mud,” Sandrine said.
“Don’t worry, my horses are strong.” And they were: they pulled them straight and true back to the crossroads. “We’ve reached the main road now. I’ll have you back within the hour.”
They hadn’t gone more than ten minutes down the road when they encountered a long line of carts and carriages. Dane jumped down to make inquiries.
He was back in a matter of minutes, his face grim, rain streaming over the brim of his beaver hat and splashing his face. “Bad news, I’m afraid. There’s a downed tree blocking the road. We can’t pass through here until it’s dislodged. I’d go and offer to help but I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Go and help. I’ll be all right if you secure the horses to a tree.”
“I’ll only be a few moments. They’ve made fair progress, and one more heave should do it.”
Sandrine shivered. The covering of the curricle allowed a steady stream of rain to trickle down one edge and onto her back.
Dane was visible through the trees, as soaking wet as the first day she’d met him. His shirt had mud on it, and his hair was plastered to his head. He was nearly to the carriage when a loud crack of thunder sounded. One of the horses reared up, neighing loudly, and the carriage lurched dangerously to one side, throwing Sandrine againstthe door, her head hitting the hard edge of something.
“Whoa there,” Dane shouted, grabbing the horse’s bridle and righting the curricle.
He jumped into the curricle and gathered her into his arms. “Sandrine, are you hurt?”
“O-only shaken up. I hit my head on the door, but I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t see anything in this light. You could be injured. We must make certain that you’re all right. We’re turning around and going back to the inn and fetching the doctor.”
“I’m all right. I didn’t hit my head very hard. Truly.” She brought his hand to her head. “See? Only a trickle of blood. I don’t feel woozy or faint. I was only frightened of what might have happened.”
“My brother walked away from the carriage and was laughing and joking with people. He only had a cut on the back of his head. It wasn’t until later that night that he collapsed with internal bleeding. I’m not taking any chances.” His lips were bracketed by lines, and his jaw was rigid. “I’m taking you to see a doctor. Now.”
Chapter Twenty