Read Online Blood From a Stone by Dolores Gordon-Smith - Free Book Online Page B

understood. The glittering stones weren’t just stones to this man, but a home and food and freedom from want.
    I’d have been tempted to steal them, thought Isabelle, then saw the hungry look in his eyes. He did think of taking them, added Isabelle sympathetically to herself.
    With a reluctant shudder, he thrust them into Isabelle’s hand. ‘Sapphires are meant to be unlucky. They were certainly unlucky for him.’ His voice broke as he said it. ‘Poor devil.’ He glanced down at Agathe. ‘She seems all right, doesn’t she? I was worried about her seeing that, ’ he added, jerking his thumb in the direction of the compartment.
    â€˜I don’t think she realised what had happened,’ said Isabelle. ‘She was more interested in the jewels. I’d better take her back to her mother.’
    â€˜Isn’t she your little girl?’ asked the man. He eyed up Isabelle’s fashionable coat and wide-brimmed hat with a puzzled frown. ‘You’re not her governess or anything, are you?’
    â€˜Good heavens, no. She’s French.’ She indicated the compartment behind them with a tilt of her head. ‘Little Agathe’s brother ran slap into that poor man in there – at least, I think it was him – and Madame Clouet, Agathe’s mother, couldn’t apologise properly in English. That man obviously couldn’t understand French, so I stepped in to help as best I could and got roped in for the rest of the journey.’ She bent down to Agathe. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go back to Mummy. Laisse le retour à la Maman, oui? ’
    â€˜Shouldn’t you wait?’ asked the man. ‘I expect all sorts of people will want to ask us questions about what happened. I’ve never been caught up in this sort of thing before but I imagine that’s the drill.’
    â€˜I’ll be back. I’m Mrs Stanton, by the way. Isabelle Stanton.’
    â€˜My name’s Duggleby. Leonard Duggleby.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘I’m a journalist, or, at least, I try to be.’
    Isabelle nodded towards the compartment. ‘You should find something to write about there.’
    Leonard Duggleby closed his eyes and clapped his hand to his mouth. For a moment Isabelle thought he was going to be sick. ‘I suppose so,’ he said at last. ‘It’s beastly though, isn’t it? I don’t know if I can do it.’ He grasped the window-frame for support. ‘I don’t think I can write about it. It’s horrible.’
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ said Isabelle gently. ‘You’ll feel better once the shock’s worn off. I’d better get Agathe back to her mother but I’ll be back soon.’
    In the event, it was a good ten minutes before Isabelle returned. The corridors were crowded with passengers in various degrees of irritation and she had to find enough French to give Mme. Clouet an idea of what had happened. She couldn’t possibly describe what had happened. That was far too horrible, so she compromised by saying there’d been an accident – which was true enough – before threading her way back along the train.
    She was greeted with frank relief by Leonard Duggleby who was besieged by the ticket inspector, guard and driver. He broke off with as she came into the coach. ‘There you are, Mrs Stanton!’
    â€˜You didn’t ought to have gone, Mum,’ said the ticket inspector disapprovingly. ‘The police will have to know about this and it didn’t look right.’
    â€˜We were about to search the train for you,’ added the guard. He looked grim and shaken. ‘Have you told anyone about this?’
    Isabelle shook her head. ‘I said there’d been an accident, but I didn’t give the details, of course.’
    The guard, the driver and the inspector swapped looks. ‘It’s a bit more than an accident,’ said the