Chapter 6

Jules left Roberta to sleep, taking a room at the bottom of the stairs to watch out for her.

Phileas and the innkeeper came back from their task. They had put her father's body in the barn in a crate that approximated a coffin. It would do until arrangements for its proper burial. With the money Phileas gave him, Jacques would see James Fogg buried under his assumed name. Later, after the war, the family could retrieve the body for burial in England. On that assumption, Phileas planned to tell James's daughter of the arrangements.

Jules met Phileas in the hall. "Roberta is in the attic through that door. We have two beds in here." The room also had a low dresser and a small desk with a matching chair. "She is fine and resting." Jules said after they closed the door. "Miss Fogg intends to leave early in the morning." He then told Phileas everything Roberta Fogg had told him.

"I can't believe a father would risk his daughter in such a way." Phileas fumed in a low voice, pacing the room. The room was too small for a satisfying pace, barely five steps either way. "This is incomprehensible. More than that, it is reprehensible."

Jules ignored his friend's tirade. One would think a man of his background would have no problem with this sort of nepotism. But then again, Fogg had lost a brother and had lived in fear of losing Rebecca for years. Although Verne agreed with him, they didn't know much about her situation. Miss Fogg had seemed to think the situation perfectly acceptable. "She has been working with her father for years this way, Fogg, since before this war. You should have heard her interrogating me, before so much as saying hello. And as far as she knows, I am with the French resistance in Nantes, and you are an Englishman working on this side of the channel with me against the Germans. Listening in on the people downstairs gave me a little insight into what's going on. Germany invaded France early this year. They came in strong numbers and took over without much trouble. Since then, small groups calling themselves the French resistance, have been spying and making small raids against the occupying army." Jules's face went sour. "The emperor's army must have deteriorated badly to have allowed this."

Phileas ended his pacing and dropped to the bed beside the one Jules had claimed. "One lost, one unexpectedly saved. I shall consider it a wash."

Jules smiled and said, "By the way, Miss Fogg deduced that you are a relative. I didn't say anything. I thought it best you come up with that. She says you look like an uncle."

"Do I?" Phileas said, mildly pleased. "Let's get as much rest as we can. We will escort her back to England as soon as she is ready to go."

Roberta Fogg woke and dressed, a scant four hours after lying down, irritated she had slept that long. It had not been easy to wake with the remnants of shock and lack of sleep. The pain in her leg helped. It ached and sent sharp stabs through her with every movement. I have to get out of this inn and away before I'm discovered. I should have left right after the attack. Once Captain Holtz finds out father is dead, he will be after me. Damn this delay.

Of course, there was no help for it, and I know it.

A scant five hours ago, father had been waiting for me to change into street dress when the door slammed open. Deafening noise, machine gun fire, bullets tearing the dress blind and the wall behind me apart. Out of reflex and training, I hit the ground, then everything fell on me. I couldn't move or breathe. The ringing in my ears was like a train whistle. She slumped holding a boot in her lap. It wasn't until Jacques and the stranger lifted father's body that I could do more than tremble. Slight tremors ran threw her remembering that and the wet seeping through…

No! Don't even think about that.

Deliberately moving her thoughts further back, Roberta recalled the mission. The attack on a temporary ammunition depot went without a hitch. Their friends in the local resistance found the way station between the main armory and the airbase. Bombs, stacks and stacks of bombs intended for England. The resistance fighters had helped themselves to what small arms and munitions were easily carried away. Twenty minutes later, the old warehouse went up in a huge ball of flames with multiple massive secondary blasts going off over and over. "Bombs that won't make it to London," she had said.

Four different places we use as jumping off points before returning to England. No one ever knew which one we would choose. "How did those soldiers know we would be here?" An ignoble end to such a perfect last mission. How in the world were we discovered? Were they looking for us or was it just bad luck?

Roberta buttoned her dress, ignoring the bullet holes it had taken while draped over a chair. "It could happen one day, dear," her father had said. "Get back to England as fast as you can."

God, I wish you were here? Tears stung her eyes. Not yet. Dealing with his death will have to come later.

Roberta leaned over to zip her knee boots up over her calves. The one for the injured leg required some forcing, but it zipped. The fit is tight. That's good. The tight wrapping and boot will keep it immobile and secure. She stood carefully next to the bed, using a chair for balance. When she tried to put just a little weight on her injured leg, it protested loudly refusing to hold. Pain shot up blinding her, bringing fresh tears to her eyes as she clinched her teeth to keep from screaming. I can't stay here! I have to leave!

With all the determination she had, Roberta took up her two bags and used the chair as a crutch to get to the door of her attic room. Slowly, she lowered herself to the steps, scooting down the stairs one at a time, using the narrow space and the handrail to steady her movements. She was nearly exhausted from the effort and pain by the time she reached the bottom.

Roberta carefully rose to one foot and turned the knob on the door. The heavy door, ill set, didn't come loose from its casing easily. She listened to the silence before venturing out. Pushing hard, she forced the sticky door open only to get one of her bags caught on the handle. When the door came free, it swung wide-open, fast. She lost her balance, getting jerked forward. A cry escaped her when she hit the floor. Blinding pain… stunned… can't get up!

Footfalls came from the nearest room. The two strangers she had met last night surrounded her. The Englishman, who looked so much like her uncle Charles, helped her off the floor. He half carried her to one of the beds in their room.

Her leg was now intolerable. Roberta sat as still as she could, shifting just enough to take all pressure off the injury. Someone elevated it on a pillow. She forced back the tears and cursed her bad luck. I hate being this helpless! I hate having to depend on strangers. Get hold of yourself. She looked up at the two resistance workers. "I must leave here. If I don't leave before the Germans get her…

"There now," Phileas said. "We understand, Jacques will be here soon."

"Captain Holtz… He patrols this area. He will be looking for me. I can't be found here. Jacques and his wife are too important to be risked like this."

The Frenchman insisted on her staying still. He argued for taking her back to the attic room. This man must be very new in the resistance not to know the way German's took a house apart hunting for hidden places. The attic isn't the least bit hidden.

The Englishman knew better and said so. "How did you plan to get away?"

"Jacques will drive me to the field. From there, I will catch a lift to England. I told him to be ready by now."

"I am ready, Mademoiselle," Jacques, the innkeeper, said at the door. He was fully dressed and carrying a small package. "Are you sure you can make it?"

"I have to," Roberta said. She forced herself back up on her good leg. Mr. Verne caught her arm, steadying her.

"We didn't get a chance at an introduction last night," Mr. Fogg said. "I am Phileas Fogg. Your father and I were distant cousins. I have lived here in France for some years. I and my friend will be happy to escort you back to England."

Roberta saw no reason at present to doubt what he said. She had never heard of him, but he was undeniably family. In her present predicament, and state of mind, he felt like Uncle Charles, returning as her guardian angel. Roberta nodded acceptance and took his arm for support.

Jacques picked her up and carried her downstairs. On the way, the quiet of the nearly empty inn was disturbed by loud banging on the main door. The three men started badly. Jacques shifted Roberta out of his arms and into Mr. Verne's. "Go to the cellar and hide, now!"