‘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.
