Page 14 of A Fierce Wind

Freddie was puzzled. “I’m not opposed to the assignment, sir, but why me?”

The inscrutable expression that crossed d’Auvergne’s face told Freddie the captain had yet to reveal a salient fact.

“It did not go unnoticed by me that you have formed a bond with the oyster fishermen here on Jersey, even traveling with them on occasion when they sail close to Normandy. Am I right?”

Freddie didn’t want to reveal all he had done. “Well—”

The captain raised a hand. “I am not asking for details. I am merely recognizing your initiative, which, I might add, gained us vital information. But there is more than initiative required here. You have the confidence of your brother-in-law, the Frenchman Jean Donet, who, in addition to his home on Guernsey, still maintains a home in Lorient on the coast of Brittany. Moreover, he has allowed you to use his ships to transport arms to the royalists. I am hoping he will agree to participate in this venture as well.”

“Likely he will,” said Freddie, “but I would not presume upon his good graces.”

“Given his views, I am confident Donet will agree to help. After all, he is married to the sister of an English earl and both Donet and his wife support the royalist cause. One of his ships can take you within striking distance of Lorient. From there you will receive help from La Correspondance, our network in the region. The Chouans on the coast will direct you to the interior.”

D’Auvergne got to his feet and pointed to a spot on the map in the easternmost part of Brittany. “Before you reach Maine, you will pass through the town of Fougères in Brittany. I’m told the leader of the Chouans there is Aimé Picquet, chevalier du Boisguy, not yet twenty, yet he is considered a skilled tactician.”

Freddie’s expression must have revealed his skepticism.

The captain returned him a sharp look. “Take Boisguy seriously, West. He has held the town against the republican soldiers for more than a year, an astounding feat. He will know of the needs in Brittany.”

“Very well, I will seek him out, but how am I to make contact with the Chouans in Maine?”

“It will not be easy, but Boisguy may prove helpful, which is why I ask you to meet with him. Cottereau’s followers are a devoted bunch. They live in secrecy in dense forests and must be approached with caution. Their small bands will be difficult to penetrate. ‘Chouan’ is a reference to the tawny owl whose call they use to identify themselves to each other.” At Freddie’s raised brow, the captain added, “Gaining that fact nearly cost a man his life.”

Freddie let out a huff. A man’s life risked for an owl’s cry?

As if reading his mind, d’Auvergne said, “The owl’s call is important. Before you take your leave, I will see you are instructed by one who is familiar with the bird’s call. Oh, and you will take Jean Donet’s niece with you when you sail to Lorient.”

“Zoé? No.” He shook his head. “I will not involve her in this. She already risks much for the cause.”

“I recognize involving her in this presents danger for her but she is needed and she may be the key to your success. Remember, you are English and, after Granville, we are currently out of favor with the royalists. Donet’s niece is not so hampered. She is trusted by the Vendéens and respected for her loyalty to their fallen leader, de la Rochejaquelein.”

Freddie ground his teeth at the name. “I don’t like it. Republican soldiers are known to patrol the streets of Lorient and I have to assume they hunt for these Chouans in the woods of Brittany and Maine. This will only expose her to further danger.”

D’Auvergne’s face took on a stony appearance. It was clear he would not yield, but Freddie had another thought. Perhaps Zoé might decline. After all, her hands were full with the émigrés escaping France, more every day. “And if she does not want to go?” he asked the captain.

D’Auvergne’s smile was nearly a smirk. “Why, then you will persuade her, won’t you? But from what I have heard, she will not fail to aid those royalists who lament de la Rochejaquelein’s loss and seek vengeance in his name.”

Freddie heaved a sigh. He knew Zoé well enough to hear the ring of truth in the captain’s statement. Hoping to stall for time, he said, “You should know, her uncle plans to sail from here to West Sussex to visit his wife’s relations and he is taking his niece with him.”

The captain waved a hand. “No matter. As long as the visit is but a few weeks, we can adjust. Besides, your wound must be healed and I’ll need a bit of time to prepare.” He rose. “On your way out, arrange for my man Ozanne to teach you the owl’s call.”

The captain picked up an item of correspondence and, after reading a few lines, glanced up. “Anything else?”

Freddie heard the proverbial door slam in his face. He shook his head and turned to go. Donet was his last hope. As a French citizen, he had authority over his ward. Perhaps he could order Zoé to remain on Guernsey.

While her uncle and young Jack were up on deck, Zoé went below to join her aunt for a breakfast of eggs and brioches.

“We sail for England in two days,” Tante Joanna reminded her, “which leaves us little time to have any clothes made.” She gave Zoé’s attire a studying perusal. “If you’re to visit the English branch of the family, you will require some new clothing. What you have is terribly out of fashion, dear. The waist on gowns is rising, you know.”

Impeccably attired in a round gown of mauve and silver striped silk with a higher waist than the dress Zoé wore, her aunt knew well of what she spoke. Zoé’s clothing was woefully out of date. Her last ensemble had been made for the Fête de la Fédération, an event she regretted ever attending. The gown, its military style in the blue, red and white of the revolution and its matching hat, had been dismissed from her wardrobe with the September Massacres. The terrible events that resulted in the murder of many clergy, including the bishop of Saintes, once her family’s bishop.

Her aunt gave Zoé an indulgent smile. “Beyond that, ’tis time you dressed as befits your station. How will you ever find a husband looking like a peasant waif?”

It was a testament to her aunt’s commitment to keep their lives as normal as possible that, despite war, revolution and death stalking the streets of France, she could maintain a peaceful oasis for them on Guernsey and concern herself with finding Zoé a husband.

“If I had a husband, Tante, he would only tell me to stay home. And you know why I dress the way I do.” It wasn’t that Zoé objected to her aunt’s wish that she wear a lady’s clothes, but rescuing people from the revolution’s atrocities required the clothes of a peasant, the plain and often soiled attire that allowed her to blend with the townspeople. “My safety depends upon the disguise.”

A cloud passed over her aunt’s face. “I wish you did not engage in pursuits that require such costumes.”