Free The Honorable Officer by Philippa Lodge Page A

not think of the words he needed? He didn’t know how to go forward. He got up and strode to the window again, only vaguely aware of the others. He stayed back a few feet, trying to remain indistinct to anyone looking in. He glanced at the houses across the narrow street. There were shadows of people behind two windows, but all was quiet. He leaned forward to see the upper stories through the thick, warped glass. The window exploded around him and a bang echoed up and down the street. He staggered back, sitting hard on the shard-covered floor.
    “Down! Get down!” he shouted over Ondine and Charlotte’s screams.
    Mademoiselle Hélène slid off the high divan, pulling the widow with her. Ondine was already on the floor, where she’d been playing with some sticks. She stood up. He shouted, “Stay there, Ondine! Don’t move!”
    The little girl was already running across the room to Mademoiselle Hélène.
    Years of ducking below parapets and low walls served Jean-Louis well. He shook glass from his clothing as he scrambled, doubled over. He grabbed Ondine and carried her to the door, which banged open on a white-faced Fourbier. He shoved Ondine into Fourbier’s arms. “Check her for glass. Close all the curtains.”
    He turned back to the ladies, who crouched awkwardly amidst long skirts and shards of glass. He yanked the curtains closed over the broken window, but remained bent down as he walked to them.
    “I will help you first, Madame Pinard. Take my arm. Bend down as much as you can.”
    The lady stumbled across the room, clutching the front of her dress and shawl, her face horribly pale.
    “I’ll be right back, Hélène. Stay still,” he said.
    He left Madame Pinard in the hall on a chair and stepped back into the room just as there was another bang, another shattering of glass, and curtains swung inward, with a hole suddenly torn in them.
    He raced across the room and lifted Hélène, much as he had on the night of the fire, and carried her out.
    Once in the dark hallway, he set her down and removed his gloves to use them to brush shards of glass from her.
    He said, “The shots couldn’t have been more than a minute apart, which means he has more than one rifled musket, though why he didn’t take both shots within seconds, I do not know. Maybe he was waiting for a clear shot on the second one and got frustrated.” He eyed the shards of glass on the wooden floor of the hall.
    Mademoiselle Hélène’s hands gripped his arm, making him fumble his gloves. “They were shooting at you,” she said in a squeaky voice. “They couldn’t have mistaken you for Ondine.”
    He froze, mind whirling. “They might have thought I was you.” His throat closed up. “Or maybe they hoped to leave Ondine defenseless.”
    She whimpered and gripped his arm more tightly. He cupped her cheek, his rough fingers sliding across her silken skin. He almost forgot the danger they were in. Her huge, blue eyes darted around his face. Her mouth was open, panting in fear. He was already starting to step toward her, to claim a kiss for his heroics, to steady his own nerves, when Fourbier cleared his throat.
    Jean-Louis stepped back, shocked at what he had almost done, angry at Fourbier for witnessing it and for interrupting.
    “Ondine and Charlotte are in the kitchen, Monsieur. Charlotte is dandling the little girl on her knee, playing horses. Ondine does not have any scratches, and only a few bits of glass were on her clothing.”
    “We all have to change.” Hélène sounded calmer than she looked.
    Mademoiselle Hélène , he reminded himself, taking another step back. Not Hélène .
    “We should all get the glass-covered clothing off and shake it out and brush it, to be sure there aren’t any bits working their way through,” said Jean-Louis.
    “Madame Pinard has suffered a bad shock. Her maid and our groom are putting her to bed,” said Fourbier.
    “Oh! Nonni!” Mademoiselle Hélène turned toward the stairs.
    “Change