Wide is the Water by Jane Aiken Hodge Page B

as an American merchant on his way to Philadelphia.’ She noticed that since the moment of crisis had passed, he was speaking with much less of an accent.
    â€˜I am sure you will succeed,’ she told him. ‘Of course, we will say nothing. I doubt my brother and sister have noticed.’
    â€˜You are all goodness.’ A sparkling glance from large dark eyes made her feel like a woman again. ‘Ah, here they come.’
    The new group of travellers approached cautiously through the gathering dusk, and Mercy raised her voiceto call to them. ‘We’ve been attacked,’ she said, ‘by bandits. We beat them off but are hoping for your company through the wood.’
    â€˜You were lucky,’ came a friendly voice from the shadows. ‘We had wondered if you were bandits yourselves, but I don’t believe there are women brigands yet. We’ll be glad to join you. Safety in numbers. Ah!’ Jed had got the lantern lighted, and the stranger could see them in its light. ‘So few of you, and you fought them off?’
    â€˜As you say, we were lucky. I’m Mrs. Purchis. My brother and sister, Pastons. Mr. Brisson, who is wounded.’
    â€˜Then we must lose no time. My name’s Palmer. George Palmer. My brother, Henry; our servant. We are bound for Philadelphia. And you?’
    â€˜Are going there too.’ While they talked, Jed had turned their sledge round to face once more towards the wood. ‘Let us go,’ she said. ‘Time to talk when we are safe at the inn.’
    â€˜Let me lead,’ said George Palmer. ‘I know the road.’
    â€˜That’s good. Jed, let them by, we’ll follow.’
    â€˜How many outlaws?’ asked Palmer as the servant edged his sledge past.
    â€˜Only two now, I think. We wounded two, but I saw them struggle away. I doubt they’ll attack again.’ She had been relieved to see that she had not actually killed her man.
    â€˜Then let’s go. Keep close behind. Sam—’ he spoke to the servant – ‘light our lantern so our friends can follow it.’
    Even with company, it was unpleasantly dark in the wood, and Mercy doubted if they would have found their way without the providential appearance of the Palmers. When they reached the inn at last, Charles Brisson was half-conscious from loss of blood, and Mercy was glad to find a capable landlady very ready to help change his makeshift bandage and get him into bed, while her husband looked after the other travellers.
    â€˜The wound’s nothing much,’ said the landlady when she and Mercy left him at last. ‘He should do well enough.’
    â€˜I hope so.’ Mercy shared her slight surprise that a mere flesh wound had weakened the Frenchman so much, but then she had no idea how far he had travelled. He was younger, too, than his voice made him seem, slightly built, with large dark eyes set deep in a pale face that just missed handsomeness. If he was a civilian envoy of the French govenment, this might, she supposed, have been his first encounter with violence and therefore much more shocking than it would have been to an American, after five bloody years of war.
    She found the rest of the party gathered in the kitchen, the men drinking rough cyder while the landlord’s daughter cooked their supper. The cyder was on the house, the landlord’s tribute to their encounter with the brigands, and he insisted that she drink some too, since she and Jed were the heroes of the hour. ‘I reckon it was the Bartram brothers attacked you.’ The landlord handed her a brimming pewter tankard. ‘Been plaguing these parts two years or more. If you’ve rid us of two of them varmints, you’ve done us a favour, ma’am, and no mistake. I drink to you.’
    â€˜A formidable young lady,’ said George Palmer. ‘I certainly hope to have the pleasure of your company for the rest of the way to Philadelphia,