Chapter 14
Fourteen
‘I think the varmint’s going down into the hold,’ whispered the Reverend as Percy tiptoed up behind him. Hidden behind a large barrel, they watched the sailor rummage around in the gloom.
‘What’s he looking for?’ the clergyman muttered.
‘We should go and tell Mr Augustin,’ Percy suggested in an urgent undertone.
‘And what good would that do now? The Lord knows what mischief the scoundrel could be up to in the time it takes us to get back up top. He could well blow up the deuced ship.’
‘Aye, ah cannae imagine the bampot be gaun fer a jobbie.’ The small voice came from directly behind them, causing both men to jump and swing round in sudden panic.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, Finn?’ the Reverend quizzed in a furious whisper. ‘You nearly gave me a deuced apoplexy.’
Percy groaned. ‘I told you to stay with Miss Carew.’
‘Ah cannae dae that, Da. Ye might need ma help.’
The curate was about to argue when a sudden noise had all three of them turning back towards their quarry, just in time to see him pull out a large knife from underneath a stack of what looked like old sailcloths.
‘Thunder an’ turf,’ Reverend Shackleford muttered, ‘what the deuce is he going to do with that?’
‘Be he gaunnae cut off somebody’s head?’ Finn asked, his voice a mixture of fear and ghoulish excitement.
‘Shut up, Finn.’ The heated whispers came back in unison.
As they watched, the sailor stepped towards the ladder leading down into the hold. ‘I was right,’ the Reverend crowed. ‘But he’ll need more than a deuced knife to blow up the ship. What’s the varmint up to? Come on.’
Percy gave a small moan as he tiptoed after the Reverend. ‘You stay here, Finn,’ he whispered, though his tone clearly indicated he thought there was more chance of hell freezing over.
As they reached the ladder leading down into the hold, the Reverend got down on his hands and knees, then, grabbing hold of Percy’s cassock to stop him falling headfirst into the gaping hole, he slid onto his stomach.
‘What on earth are you doing, Sir?’ the curate asked in a panicked whisper.
‘I’m going to have a quick look at what the blackguard’s up to.
Get ready Percy, we might need to move quickly.
’ The curate looked down disbelievingly, thinking it might actually take them the rest of the trip to get the Reverend up off the floor.
Even worse, the goosecap was now inching forward to hang his head down through the hole.
Hurriedly, the curate knelt down and took hold of the Reverend’s legs, indicating Finn should sit on his ample bottom.
‘Ouch, careful,’ Augustus Shackleford whispered heatedly, ‘I don’t want to end up with splinters in me nutmegs.’
As he slowly inched forward, Percy’s feeling of dread increased. ‘Can you see anything yet?’ he hissed as the Reverend’s chest slid down level with the ladder.
There was a brief silence, followed by a strangled sound. ‘Tare an’ hounds, the deuced varmint’s trying to cut the tiller ropes,’ came the hoarse whisper. ‘We’ve got to stop him else none of us will make it to France.’
‘What can we do, Sir?’ Percy uttered a small moan as the Reverend slid down further until Finn’s feet were dangling in midair over the edge of the hole.
‘I can’t hold you much longer,’ Percy groaned. ‘You need to come back up, Sir… Finn, what the devil are you doing?’
The boy’s feet had found purchase on the first rung of the ladder, allowing him to stand. ‘You pull the Revren’ back up, Da,’ he whispered excitedly, ‘an’ ah’ll goan gie that bampot a skelpit lug he’ll niver forget.’
‘No, lad, it’s too dangerous,’ Percy hissed just as Finn accidentally trod on the Reverend’s fingers, which were gripping the first rung as though his life depended on it – which it probably did. A stifled moan drifted up.
‘Sorry, Revren,’ the boy muttered, trying to find the next rung down with his other foot and inadvertently kicking the clergyman’s ear in the process.
In the meantime, the sawing sound continued apace.
In desperation, Percy threw himself on top of his superior, clutching the flailing legs as they both slid inexorably towards the opening, inch by agonising inch.
Just when it looked as though all three of them were going to become intimately acquainted with the deck below, a small whirlwind of fur appeared at the top of the hole and gave a short bark.
Hearing the noise, Taffy looked back and nearly jumped out of his skin as he caught sight of what looked like a giant bat hanging upside down on the ladder.
‘Stop, you craven, lily-livered blackguard,’ shouted the Reverend, realising the time for secrecy was well and truly past.
In answer, the sailor turned back to his task with renewed urgency.
By now, they could hear feet pounding down the lower deck ladder behind them, but help had come too late to stop the catastrophe.
Looking up at the little dog’s eager face, Finn pointed down to the desperate deckhand and yelled, ‘Stop him, Floss.’
She needed no further urging. Using the Reverend as a makeshift slide, Flossy was at the bottom of the ladder in seconds.
Without hesitation, she made for the traitor’s ankle, causing him to fall back with a cry.
As the dog’s teeth closed around his foot, he tried to roll over, brandishing the knife and kicking out in an effort to dislodge her.
But this was Flossy’s speciality. Nimbly she danced round the sailor’s jabbing hands and feet, growling and barking, while behind her, the Reverend was yanked unceremoniously back up through the hole.
Seconds later, Roan slid expertly down the ladder, closely followed by Raphael, Tristan and Gabriel. Without hesitation, Roan kicked the knife out of the traitor’s hand and felled him with a single punch before turning to the damaged tiller rope.
‘It won’t last much longer,’ he rasped. ‘You’ll need to give me a hand to hold it together. Finn, go up top and shout for help. Tell them it’s the tiller rope.’
‘For God’s sake, man, what in blazes were you thinking? Sabotaging the tiller ropes would have seen us all in Davy Jones’ Locker – you included.’ Roan stared at the sailor in frustration.
Tied to a chair in the Captain’s cabin, the traitor was terrified but defiant, and his only response was a careless shrug.
‘You must have received a considerable sum to take such a risk,’ Raphael observed calmly. ‘Who paid you?’ Sullen silence was his answer, and Rafe shook his head and smiled.
It was nothing like the smile Henrietta had been favoured with - this was a promise from someone who was well versed in getting information out of unwilling informants.
‘If you don’t help us, the best you can hope for is the rope,’ Raphael continued conversationally.
‘You know that. Did you believe that once we lost control of the ship, you’d be close enough to France to swim ashore?
If so, I think you miscalculated. We are still a day out from our destination. ’
The sailor glared up at the agent, but sweat was forming on his brow as his defiance began to fracture.
‘Do you think I care what state you are in when I deliver you to the authorities?’ Rafe questioned him.
He gestured towards his companions, standing in uncomfortable silence.
‘These men might be honourable, but my job leaves no room for chivalry. Make no mistake, I will do whatever it takes to extract the information we need.’
‘Can’t be any worse than what the bloody toff’ll do to me if I rat ‘im out,’ Taffy spat in one last show of bravado.
‘Can it not?’ Rafe responded softly.
Seconds later, the man crumbled. ‘Called himself Mr Smith, but I knew that weren’t ‘is name. ‘Ow many bloody Smiths are there with wearing a fancy ring – an’ over a pair o’ gloves.’
‘Did you recognise anything unusual about it?’ Rafe interrupted sharply.
‘Na, I only got a quick glimpse.’ He shrugged. ‘Just noticed he had the ring over the top of ‘is gloves – I mean who does that for Christ’s sake. More like a bloody macaroni than a nob.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘Tavern in Plymouth. Asked if wos lookin’ fer work. I told ‘im I wos a Jack Tar, an’ weren’t lookin’ fer a land job.
‘So, ‘e told me to get meself to Torquay to meet wi’ someone called Funtin. Bloody Frog, jus’ like the two o’ you buggers…
’ He gave a snigger, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth.
When Raphael simply stared at him impassively, his brief bravado fizzled out.
‘There wos two of us. We wos both told to report to the Fortune an’ wait fer orders.
’ He slumped back into his chair, the last of his swagger gone.
‘I din’t know about the accident they wanted ‘im to ‘ave,’ he muttered, nodding his head towards Tristan, ‘until I ‘ad a message from ‘is ludship tellin’ me Jim weren’t comin’ back to the ship an’ it were up to me to do the deed. ’
‘Did you know Jim was dead?’
Taffy nodded. ‘Aye. Sent me a bit o’ the bastard’s ear wi’ the note.’ He gave a sigh. ‘I’m no bloody murderer to off somebody in cold blood. The tiller ropes wos the best I could do.’
‘So you’d kill everybody onboard rather than just one?’ Roan cut in incredulously.
The sailor shrugged. ‘Din’t seem quite so personal.’
For a few moments nobody spoke, then Rafe turned a chair around in front of the captive and sat down, resting his arms on the back.
‘I want you to listen and think on what I say,’ the Frenchman commented levelly. The sailor frowned but nodded.
‘There’s only one way you’ll avoid the rope – and that’s if you cooperate.’
Taffy stared back at him warily, waiting.
‘Tell Fontaine you’ve done as you were asked. That Tristan de Montclair is no more…’
‘And?’ The sailor clearly knew there was more to come.
Rafe leaned forward. ‘Get me a name…’
‘Wot if I decide to tell Funtin everythin’?’
‘Then your days will be numbered in single figures. You know it, and I know it. But if you help us, I swear you will walk free when this is over.’
Henrietta paced the deck wondering what was being said inside her father’s cabin. ‘If yer tryin’ tae get a wee spot o’ exercise, lass,’ Dougal muttered, ‘could ye dae it elsewhere? Ah be fair puggled watchin' ye.’
‘What does puggled mean?’ Henri asked, stopping to look at the Scot.
‘Weary, lass. An’ right now ma bones be feelin every step.’
‘As much as I hate agreeing with Dougal on principle,’ her grandfather muttered, ‘you might want to save your energy for when we anchor in Perros-Guirec tomorrow. That’s when the real smoky business will start.’
‘I cannae wait,’ Finn enthused. ‘Will there be lots o’ fightin wi real swords an’ stuff?’
‘There won’t be anything like that,’ Percy scoffed. Monsieur Augustin will simply announce to the world that Tristan is the heir, and that will be that.
The other four, including Finn, looked at the curate with varying degrees of disbelief.
‘That sailor tried to kill the lot of us, Percy lad. I reckon that’s a good indication that the whole havey cavey business will be a bit more than a smile and a handshake.’
They’d taken refuge on the poop deck, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
While Henrietta knew she’d have been welcomed in the Captain’s cabin with her mother, aunt and cousin, somehow, after the events of the day, she felt a little detached from her female relatives.
She knew they would ask questions about her assertion at lunch, and she simply couldn’t face her mother’s shrewd gaze when she skirted around the issue.
And anyway, dinner would be in another hour – if they’d finished questioning their traitor by then.
Henrietta wondered what would happen to him. The thought that he might take the morning drop filled her with horror – even though his actions could have killed them all.
‘The Frog said he was gaun tae look fer somebody who might o’ bin there when Tristan was a bairn,’ Dougal declared thoughtfully. ‘Mebbe whoever it were that took the lad tae… where it be?’
‘Pontorson,’ Henri supplied.
‘Deuced needle in a haystack if you ask me,’ Reverend Shackleford retorted. ‘Whoever it was is most likely pushing up daisies by now.’
‘There’s bound to be someone who recognises Tristan,’ Henrietta argued. ‘I mean, he really is the image of his father. If enough people believe him the heir, then Claude Fontaine won’t have a leg to stand on.’
‘Ah doot it’ll be that simple, lass,’ Dougal bemoaned. ‘Right now, we dinnae ken where the bastard is – is he waiting fer us in Montclair, or did he take the bait?’
‘How far away is St. Malo?’ Henrietta asked, finally sitting down on the bench.
Her grandfather shrugged. ‘Far enough for us to reach Montclair before he does.’
‘But what if he’s waiting for us in the village?’ Percy interrupted. ‘We could be walking into a trap.’
‘Ah cannae argue wi’ ye, Percy,’ Dougal sighed. ‘But ah ken one thing. Them Frogs hae only ever fought wi’ Sassenachs. They cannae begin tae ken what it be like tae face a true Scotsman wi a battle lust.’
‘What be battle lust?’ asked Finn with interest.
The Reverend chuckled. ‘Whatever it is, I doubt Dougal’s ever felt it.’
‘Ah’ll hae ye ken ma ancestors were at Culloden,’ Dougal protested with a sniff. ‘Ah dinnae need tae hae bin in a battle tae know what it feels like. It be in ma body.’
‘What, like nits?’ Finn questioned.
Dinner that night was a subdued affair. Taffy had been placed in Raphael’s cabin under guard, and although the details his confession were shared with the rest of them, no one felt like celebrating – especially when Raphael coolly requested that his man remain undercover, even though their traitor had been caught.
Henrietta spent the whole meal fighting the urge not to cry.
She was the only other person who knew the informant’s identity, but Raphael had not looked her way until the very end, when he’d quietly, dispassionately, asked for her discretion.
At her brief nod, he’d looked around the table.
The inference was clear - the mission was far from over.