The name meant nothing to the Reverend, but he saw Gabriel stiffen slightly at its mention. Clearly whoever Northwood was, he was known to their passenger.
‘Father please,’ came Hope’s wavering voice from inside.
‘What’s wrong with ‘im?’ asked the leader, dismounting and striding over to pull the door back open.
The Reverend’s heart thudded sickeningly as the man went to stick his head inside, ignoring the foxhound whose growling was getting louder by the second.
‘Shut the bloody dog up, or I’ll put him out his misery,’ growled the man, standing back.
Hope leaned forward and handed the lead to her father. They shared a worried glance as the Reverend pulled the reluctant hound out into the cold.
‘If you let go of the cur, my man’ll shoot ‘im,’ remarked the leader coldly as he climbed inside the carriage. Augustus Shackleford swallowed anxiously. Would the man realise they were shamming it? If he touched Percy’s face, he would surely recognise their deception.
‘I asked you what was wrong with ‘im?’ the man repeated impatiently.
As her father described later, Hope’s response was a consummate piece of playacting. If the Reverend hadn’t known better, he himself would have been convinced that Percy was truly about to pop his clogs.
‘I…I..’ she began, only to pause, gulping back a realistic sob. ‘It’s our belief he has….’ Hope’s voice was lowered to a whisper as she leaned forward, almost as if she couldn’t bear to say the word… ‘smallpox,’ she stammered finally, pulling back the kerchief to reveal Percy’s pox marked face.
‘Blast and bugger yer eyes,’ shouted the man, rearing back at the sight of the myriad of red pin pricks covering the curate’s deathly pale face.
‘Wha…’ began Percy, trying to sit up, only to be shoved ruthlessly back as Hope bent her now convincingly snot-streaked face and wailed almost directly up his nose. Percy began to struggle in earnest, possibly thinking he was about to be smothered, but luckily the leader was too busy clambering out of the carriage to notice.
‘This ain’t Blackmore’s carriage,’ he shouted to his men, hurriedly remounting his horse. ‘Leave ‘em be. I doubt any of ‘em will still be alive to see in the new year anyway.’ And with that he pulled on his horse’s reins and began galloping back down the road, clearly eager to put as much distance as he could between him and the plague-ridden coach. Startled, the other three looked over towards the now howling occupant for a moment before crossing themselves and hightailing back the way they came.
Chapter Four
One year earlier
The voyage through the Bay of Biscay went without any major incidents and within ten days they were approaching Cadiz. It had been a long, tedious voyage as far as the Viscount was concerned given that he’d deemed the wisest course of action was to spend as much time as he could in his cabin.
But now, standing in the bow, Gabriel stared over the water towards the shimmering fortress city. This was the first time he’d visited the former Moorish stronghold, but even from here, its Arabic roots were apparent, and he recognised that any force wishing to take the city would not find it easy providing there were sufficient troops stationed within its walls. Cadiz was located on the northwest tip of Isla de Leon, which in turn was separated from mainland Spain by a narrow saltwater channel. The city itself was protected by a four-mile-long sandy peninsula on which he could clearly see the continuous line of the Cortadura fortifications.
As the ship rounded the fortress of Santa Catalina on its way to the inner harbour, he pondered the unlikely alliance Britain had formed with Spain.
Three years earlier, Napoleon had sent a full twenty-eight thousand men over the Pyrenees, marching through Spain and into Portugal. His decision to then turn on the country that had stood with him in the Battle of Trafalgar had been a surprise, not least to the Spanish. But he could not have anticipated the backlash his decision to place his brother on the throne would have. That, together with the bloody reprisals after the taking of Madrid had prompted the Spanish to rebel. Naturally, the British saw the Spanish revolt as a way of putting a rub in the way of Napoleon’s plans and the unofficial alliance between Spain and Britain began.
Gabriel chuckled grimly at Napoleon’s description of his campaign waged in the Iberian Peninsula. The Spanish Ulcer he’d called it according to the broadsheets. But it looked as though the self-styled emperor’s determination to finally crush the Spanish into submission might well be about to come to fruition.
Gabriel had been in the north of Spain during the devastating defeat suffered by the Spanish inOcaña mere weeks ago and had only narrowly escaped with his life. Undoubtedly, after their victory, the French believed Andalusia ripe for the picking.
He watched as the ship sailed slowly nearer to the harbour. There were only a small number of Spanish ships at anchor and the city itself by all accounts was virtually ungarrisoned while the Spanish forces were massing along the northern border of Andalusia as they attempted to stop the French from marching south.
Gabriel was painfully aware that if the French army continued its unrelenting advance, he was already on borrowed time if he wished to avoid becoming trapped again.
The shouts of the crew as the first pair of anchors were dropped put an end to his uneasy musings and he headed down into his cabin to gather his belongings. The envelope with his orders remained in his bag where he’d left it.
Seating himself on the small bunk, Gabriel stared down at the brief message. He was to report to a Captain Ortega at the Castilla de Puntales where he would receive further instructions. He had no idea why his uncle was being so ambiguous but the only reason that made sense was that the Admiral was trying to protect something. But what that something was, and why, Gabriel had no clue, which was frustrating in the extreme - not least because of the implied a lack of trust. But if that was the case, why the devil send him in the first place? Mayhap he’d have been better to give the deuced mission to Henry.
But then he was more likely to risk his nephew’s skin than that of his only son, despite their mutual regard. And mayhap Henry was only here to keep a watchful eye on him. Gabriel frowned as a sudden thought occurred to him. Had this mission been officially authorised or was it unsanctioned?
And if it was the latter, was there anyone, aside from his uncle, his cousin and a small number of the Seahorse’s crew, who actually knew he was here?
∞∞∞
As soon as the riders were out of sight, Gabriel quickly climbed down from the box. ‘We need to keep moving,’ he stated. 'At this rate we’ll never reach Ravenstone before dark.’
‘Who were those varmints?’ asked the Reverend bluntly, ignoring the younger man’s urgent words. ‘And don’t give me any deuced Banbury story about putting us in danger, that ship sailed about ten minutes ago.’
