The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,61

had thinned sufficiently that she was able to lead her mother off the bench and assist her down to the ground.

“Stay here,” she said, tucking her under the edge of the highest seats. Then she crouched and peered into the shadows below, lip caught between her teeth.

A frightened pair of eyes gazed back, and she nearly sagged with relief.

Instead, she offered him her hand. “Come out, Ethan. It’s all right.”

He crept toward her, face striped by dust and tears. “I fell,” he said.

“I know,” she said, sending up a prayer of thanks and brushing dust from his hair as he reached her. “And you were very brave and very clever to stay still until we could find you.” She gave him a hug for good measure, then held him out at arm’s length. “Were you hurt?”

“Not much,” he said, rubbing at his backside. “Not like when I was sick.”

She did not want him thinking about his illness at the moment. “Good. Let’s collect your father and see what’s to be done.”

“He’s coming,” her mother put in, and Abigail turned to find Linus approaching.

“Miss Whitacre’s family came for her,” he reported. “A sprain only, as far as I can tell. Nothing broken.” He put his arm about Ethan’s shoulders, peered deep into his eyes. “All right, my boy?”

Ethan nodded. “I knew you and Miss Archer would come for me. And Mother Archer too.”

Her mother stretched out her arms as far as they would go and gathered them all close. “Of course I will. We’re family.”

The dream, the hope, was as warm as her mother’s embrace, but now was no time to discuss the possibility of making that dream a reality. As her mother released them, Abigail sent her a smile, then turned to look around. The grandstand was empty. So was the one across from them. The French sloop had taken up a position at the entrance to the cove, as if to stop anyone from escaping by water. Would they fire?

Would they land?

“Quickly, now,” Linus said, as if he had the same fears. “We must get off this headland.”

Abigail took her mother’s hand in one of hers and Ethan’s hand in the other, and they all hurried for the village.

But Grace-by-the-Sea was in an uproar. A few must have had time to return home, for they struggled up the hill now, arms laden with clothing, blankets, and family belongings. The militiamen were doing what they could to organize the evacuation, but they were down in numbers. Half of the troop was out on the water as crew or timers for the Regatta.

“Head for the Downs,” Mr. Greer was calling as he stood outside his apothecary shop near the shore, waving people up the hill. He had thrown his red coat over his waistcoat and hadn’t taken the time to button it. “Bring only what you need.”

“I won’t leave my best lace for the French,” Miss Pierce the younger informed him as she came out of her shop nearby. She clutched a bolt to her chest.

“We will leave nothing for the French,” Mr. Greer promised her. “We’ll torch every building as soon as we know everyone has escaped.”

Abigail gasped. “Surely not!” She hurried up to him, pulling her mother and Ethan with her, Linus right behind. “These are our homes, sir, our livelihoods.”

“That is a direct order from the Lord Lieutenant for Dorset,” Mr. Greer insisted. “Laid down in the evacuation plan for each village. We must leave nothing that might give the enemy aid or comfort.”

“If my linens would comfort a French soldier, I’d rather he had them than burn them,” Miss Pierce the elder said before pushing her sister up the hill.

Linus stepped forward. “Right now, we must think of safety first,” he told Greer, and she wanted to cling to his calm, reasoned voice the way Miss Pierce the younger clung to her lace. “You’re sending them to the Downs. Why? There’s nowhere to house them, no way to feed them. There isn’t even a source of drinking water from what I’ve seen. And any troops landing will march up that hill in the same direction, right into them.”

“I am merely following the plan of the Lord Lieutenant of Dorset,” Mr. Greer said testily. “It is not my place to question it.”

“No,” Abigail said. “Apparently it’s mine.” She turned to Linus. “We must send them to Lord Peverell’s Lodge. It’s hidden among the trees on the far headland, out of the way. The French might not even notice