He reaches the Maud before noon. Maud Bouchée is shocked to see him walking through her door. She is busy at her desk and looks over her glasses at him as if she has seen a ghost. She almost faints as she holds onto the counter and takes a few deep breaths. She quickly comes around the counter and holds him as a lost son, with tears in her eyes. Garty feels quite embarrassed at this gesture. His heart is thumping wildly and he feels a few jabs of pain across his chest.
“Thank you for sending those medical supplies. They saved my life!”
“Come and sit down,” says Mrs Bouchée. “We thought you were fallen,” she says in a hushed tone. There is no-one in the reception room of the inn and the places for lunch are already set. “What else should a body have done for someone who is like a son to me?” She stares at him as if she is his mother.
Garty sits down, almost overwhelmed by her reception. He would never have believed she felt this way about him until this happened.
“Something to drink!” She yodels as she quickly rushes away and returns with a large glass of apple juice.
“Get this into you, for you look as weak as water,” she exclaims. “Are you recovered so quickly?” Mrs Bouchée asks.
“Mrs Bouchée, thank you for your concern. I am almost completely healed from my wounds,” he says smiling as sweetly as he can. “You sent Bubba to me today, I believe?”
“I did indeed! She was up before the crack of dawn and completed all her chores, so I asked her to visit you at St. Benedicts again. We collected more funds from locals, so I wanted you to have them straight away of course!”
“Well, she did not get to St. Benedicts,” he replies dourly.
Mrs Bouchée’s face turns snow white in an instant. She clutches the back of a chair and tumbles into it. She puts her face in her hands.
“Dearest Lord, no!” She looks at Garty? “What happened to her?” She asks in a breathy voice. Garty shakes his head.
“I have an idea but it needs a posse of searchers to find out if she was taken?”
“Who on earth would take a young woman on a horse, on a mercy mission?” She speaks as if Garty is not present. “But pray tell me, how do you know all this if you are not a witness?” She asks suddenly. “How did you get here?” She asks two questions at once, as her mind fills with conclusions to the mystery of the missing Bubba.
“I believe she was followed and fell off Brill at some point. I took care on the way here to note any disturbances in the trees or bushes, but it was pointless, nothing was visible to my eyes.” He drains the last of his apple juice and shudders. “I fear for her life,” he says at last. His face is ashen as he looks into Mrs. Bouchée’s countenance. They stare into each others eyes for a moment. Both feel devastated and understand each other perfectly.
“She is my charge,” says Mrs Bouchée at last. “Bubba is as a daughter to me since I fostered her. We will search until we find her,” she exclaims, forming her plan.
“I believe it may be the men that stayed here when you left. They asked strange questions about you and stole some of my silverware,” she says, banging the table with her palm. “They will pay!”
Garty watches her, visibly distraught. He too is straining to think of a plan and now to find a resolution for his chest pain that has returned in vengeance. He tries to steady his breathing but it feels as if he has a tourniquet around his chest.
“Now, you must rest a tad for thou seems to be hurting,” she says unexpectedly returning to Garty. “I have a great tonic I shall minister to you, but do not say a word about this drop.”
She heads into the kitchen and after a few minutes returns with a small measure of a liquid in a vial.
“Drink and say naught.”
Garty drinks as instructed.
“This tastes like something I have drunk before…” He can still feel the pain but after a few minutes it seems dulled a little. “It is working,” he says, quite surprised. “You should give this recipe to Saint Benedicts,” he adds coyly.
“That is where it came from,” she says and her mouth tweaks into a smile. “And I did give some to Bubba and Lad to take to you with other supplies as you already know.”
She sounded as if she was now finished with this topic, so Garty remained quiet. He did not wish to upset someone who was now becoming his ally in a mission of necessity.
“We shall begin by taking a picture of the young lady and posting it around the region,” Mrs Bouchée says. “Also, we shall ask for a newspaper advertisement.”
“I have a hand-drawn picture of Bubba,” says Garty. “It is at Etty’s place!”
Mrs Bouchée looks aghast.
“We can ask Ted to visit there and to bring it here,” she suggests.
Garty coughs and squirms in his facial features.
“Is that a problem?” she asks.
“No, no, I am being pedantic, but I would prefer to ask Lad!”
Mrs Bouchée shrugs her shoulders. He was hiding something from her, she senses. But, now that they needed to work together she did not argue.
“We can ask Lad?”
“Thanks. I would prefer that. Also, if he could bring my files, stored in a cupboard in the room, I will ask no more.”
“My sister must be out of her mind wondering what on earth happened to you! I shall send Lad as soon as I can,” Mrs Bouchée says, dashing off through the wooden doors as if she can wait no longer to put her plan into action.
Garty began to feel so exhausted that he was minded to ask for a bed to rest properly as his breath came with gasps. His pain is inflamed by the thought that Bubba may have been taken captive and she is now his priority. He needed to find her and to bring her home. He closed his eyes and lay his elbows on the table with his hands on his forehead.
“Come on, we’ve got you!”
Garty hears the words as if he is in a dream. His chin is siting on his Adam’s Apple, and his arms are being lifted by two men. Vaguely he recognises their voices.
“Sorry,” he hears his own voice utter these words.
“We can take him in here and he can lie down for a time,” says Mrs Bouchée in a full fluster. “I should nay have left him in this state!”
“Lay him down there, careful,” she says as Garty feels a hard edge under his legs. A bed! He lay on his side and a rug is placed over him. His eyes refuse to open.
“I shall call the doctor,” says Mrs Bouchée. “You two get on with the plan,” she says to the two fellows who helped him to the room.
It seems like a few minutes before Garty wakes up to find himself in a room he does not recognise. He sees a jug on a small table nearby. There is also an empty vial. He picks up the vial and sniffs.
“Opium,” he says aloud. He knows that he had a visit from someone who gave him something to drink. He tries to sit up and calls out, “Mrs Bouchée, Lad!” His voice is a little weak but the words are clear enough if someone is nearby.
“Hey, how are you?” Ted comes through the door. “We found you in a sad state and had to call the doctor,” he says, coming right over to Garty and standing over him as he lay on the bed.
“Can you please help me up and fetch me a drink of water?” Garty asks. His pain was lessened, probably by the medicine.
“Surely,” says Ted. He heads off to the kitchen and returns with a drink in a cup. “Here you are. Doctor said you should rest for a few days,” he adds mechanically.
“A few days?” Repeats Garty, exasperated. “No, I must look for Bubba before something terrible happens to her,” he replies.
“Nothing will happen to her, just rest a while,” says Ted comfortingly.
Garty’s head is spinning and he takes a few deep breaths to get his bearing. “Where’s Mrs Bouchée?” He asks.
“She’s around somewhere, shall I go and find her?” He asks politely.
“Yes, please,” replies Garty. He really wants to know what her plan is for rescuing Bubba. He does not feel confident in discussing the details with Ted. Garty rests his head on the pillow behind his head. He does not hear Ted return with a drink.
“Drink up now. We were all worried about you.” Garty hears a click as Ted shuts the door.
“In a moment,” Garty mumbles, moving and sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. The floor moves even as he stares at it, making him feel nauseous. He sucks a deeper breath, closes his eyes and opens them again. “That’s better,” he mumbles. At least the floor has stopped swaying.
He had not failed to notice that something is amiss in this household. Why did Ted bring him a cup of apple juice and not water? Mrs Bouchée always kept cold water on the stone in the kitchen. Still a little unsteady, Garty heads towards the door, finding his balance at the same time. He presses the door handle and it does not open.
“What? Locked?” He says aloud. Why would Ted lock the door? He knocks on the door and calls out, “Hello, anyone there? The door is locked!” Surely Ted is not stupid?
How on earth can I get out of this room, he wonders? There is no window, just this door as an entry point. It is some sort of storage room with a bed and cupboards. He feels improved by the moment as his anger mounts, overcoming his dizziness by default.
The fireplace is open and he looks up the chimney but hesitates about leaving through there! He cannot see any light and it needs the services of a chimney sweeper. It is too dark up there! If he was ten years of age he might stand a chance of climbing up there, but now it is hopeless. I am not fit enough, or thin enough, and would definitely get stuck somewhere in there. Perish the thought. I must find a reasonable way out! Was someone trying to keep me locked away? Why was Mrs Bouchée not bustling about?
Garty looks around for something long and sharp. He opens old jammed wooden cupboards filled with bits and bobs. Maybe there is a craft kit somewhere? Finally he uncovers a small box with hat pins inside.
Just the ticket to freedom, maybe!
He flops down near the door and begins to figure out the mechanics of the lock. His eyes are usually super sharp but now everything appears a little blurry. He toggles the mechanisms of the lock. Time passes as he twists and turns the hatpin. Finally, he hears a click. He gets to his feet and holds the wall nearby for a moment to steady himself. The door opens. For an instant he barely believes his luck.
Success, hallelujah!
He runs his hands over his perspiration covered face. Gingerly he pulls the door inwards and slides through, closing the door behind him silently. He walks quietly through the small corridor towards the main reception room. His heart is thumping madly as he moves gingerly. He senses danger may be lurking, not because of his recovery progress but because there is a spy living here!
He walks into the reception room and Ellie, Mrs Bouchée’s casual helper is near the counter, wearing her new outfit, yellow bonnet and long sleeved shirt over a black pinafore covering a black full skirt.
He approves deeply and instantly wishes to whisk her into his arms and float away. But that is stupid!
“Is Mrs Bouchée around?” Garty asks.