“These were the best that were to be had, I’m afraid.” Emmie hurried on before anyone could disagree with her. “We need to get them to Grécourt. And feed them. Poor things, they look quite hungry.”
“So you really are going on with your plans, then.”
There was something in the way he said it that made Emmie duck her head, feeling awkward. “We’re trying to. I’m afraid I’ve made a hash of this. We brought the jitney, you see, and I haven’t the slightest idea of how to get the cows into it. . . .”
The captain turned to look at the jitney and broke out in a fit of violent coughing. “My dear girl, you can’t mean to get those cows into that?”
“If Sir Percy Blakeney can get into the Bastille, I don’t see why we can’t get the cows into the jitney,” said Kate acidly, moving to stand next to Emmie.
“It was the Temple prison,” said the captain helpfully. “Not the Bastille. But even the Scarlet Pimpernel couldn’t spirit those cows away in a Ford van. I think I might be able to help, though. If you’ll pardon me?”
As he strode away, looking impossibly British, Kate turned to Emmie. “My dear girl?”
Emmie hunched her shoulders. “I don’t think he meant it personally. It’s just that he’s English.”
“Mmm,” said Kate. “And a fictional character, apparently.”
The fictional character was looking quite solid as he returned from the stationmaster’s shanty.
“The stationmaster has a nephew who would be delighted to drive your cows to Grécourt for you.”
“Tonight?” asked Kate skeptically.
“Tonight. He knows these roads and is well acquainted with cows—or was, before the war. Your cows should be delivered to you at some point no later than midnight.”
“Goodness,” said Emmie. “Thank you.”
“You’re both of you city-bred, aren’t you?” said the captain, sounding deeply amused. He smiled at Emmie. “A word of advice: a good stationmaster knows everybody and can arrange anything.”
“How much do we owe him?” asked Kate.
“Nothing,” said the captain. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Oh, but we can pay! We do have funds. We’re not nearly as destitute as we appear, are we, Kate?”
“Neither is the British Army, just yet.” Someone called to him, and the captain raised a hand in response. He bowed to Kate and Emmie, a neat inclination of the head. “Consider this payment for getting your cows off our railway line. Good night, ladies. Enjoy your livestock.”
“I really should have insisted on paying him back, shouldn’t I?” Emmie craned her head to try to catch a glimpse of him as she and Kate returned to the jitney. “Perhaps if we could find out how much he paid the stationmaster . . .”
“It was just what he said; he wanted to clear the line.” Kate settled herself behind the wheel. “Let’s hope I can remember the way back.”
Emmie dug around on the floor for the map, losing another four pins in the process. “If he hadn’t been here—”
“We would have thought of it ourselves.” Kate backed the jitney up, inching past an army camion. “Eventually.”
“I feel the worst sort of fool. I should have known we couldn’t get six cows into the jitney.” Or any cows. Now that she thought of it, it did seem insane. Emmie found herself truly, deeply hoping that their agriculturalist would arrive before she could make any other foolish mistakes. The captain was right; for all that her family spent a month every year in their camp in the Adirondacks, she was, fundamentally, city-bred. It would never have occurred to her to speak to the stationmaster. Or that a cow couldn’t go in a jitney.
Kate shrugged. “No one else knew either. Mrs. Rutherford was the one who suggested it.”
It made it even worse that Kate was being so nice about it all. “Yes, but if Mrs. Rutherford had been here, she would probably have persuaded those cows to march nicely up the plank and arrange themselves neatly on the bench like animals in a children’s book. I couldn’t even get them to come out of the boxcar.”
“Yes, you did,” said Kate reluctantly, and Emmie thought how like her it was to be fair even when she was furious. “Eventually. With a little help.”
“Sir Percy Blakeney, baronet. Oh Lord. I forgot to ask him his name. Again. Do you think it’s something deeply awful, like Algernon?”