Rick shelley dirigent.., p.10
Henrietta (The Shackleford Legacies Book 4), page 10
Raphael had asked her to wait until after the current situation was resolved, but Henrietta knew very well that it might never be solved at all. What would happen then? Would he walk away?
Would he be allowed to walk away? He was undoubtedly the keeper of a multitude of secrets. Could someone like that ever have a normal life?
Henri didn’t have any of the answers, nor would she any time soon. Whether she wished it or no, her only option was to watch as she’d been asked to do and let things run their course and when it was over, pick up the pieces…
‘I have to say I am disappointed in you, Sir.’
Reverend Shackleford looked over at his curate in surprise. ‘What the deuce are you mumbling on about Percy?’ he asked.
The three of them were the first to board the Faith and Fortune, having arrived bright and early for two reasons. Firstly, Finn had spent the entire previous day ingratiating himself with the crew, and naturally they wished to take advantage of the excellent relationship the boy had cultivated. Secondly, and arguably more importantly, one more second in the bed with Percy and Finn could well have resulted one or both of them leaving the room through the window… What made it worse was the knowledge that Dougal had his own bedchamber.
‘I brought my son to Torquay under false pretences,’ Percy continued firmly.
The Reverend sputtered in indignation. ‘You can’t deny the lad’s been having a wonderful time,’ he went on, waving towards Finn, who was running up and down the deck under the benevolent eye of the crew, being chased by Flossy.
‘You asked me to come to Torquay because you were concerned about Dougal’s immortal soul,’ Percy insisted.
‘Well, that’s not qu…’ Augustus Shackleford, only to stop as Percy held up his hand. ‘You said you thought he was possessed.’
‘Well, I…’
‘…That you thought Finn might well benefit from coming face to face with the forces of evil.’
Reverend Shackleford winced.
‘Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Dougal Galbraith could make even a saint’s entry into heaven uncertain,’ Percy went on sternly, ‘but I think we both know he is not possessed, Sir.’
‘I don’t think the forces of evil would give him house room,’ the Reverend muttered under his breath. At the curate’s sharp look, he gave a sigh and nodded. ‘You’re right, Percy, lad. Though I’m not proud of it, I can’t deny I’ve been tempted to violence on more than one occasion when dealing with Dougal. However, I have to admit there’s been no evidence to suggest that old Nick has any particular interest in the bampot’s soul – and I can’t say I blame him…’
‘Then, why did you ask me to come?’ Percy quizzed him crossly. ‘I had to leave the parish in old Tom’s hands, and the last time he took over, he had half the congregation stocking up for the Second Coming.
‘I assume that you had no idea that Finn might be asked to investigate a traitor when you sent the missive?’ The curate’s voice had turned from cross to suspicious, and with a small cough, the Reverend looked round at the mention of the word traitor. ‘Keep your voice down, Percy, lad. We don’t know who might be eavesdropping.’
‘Well, did you?’ the curate repeated.
‘Absolutely not,’ Augustus Shackleford retorted, now using his best fire and brimstone voice. ‘That was entirely the Froggy’s idea.’ He tucked his crossed fingers inside his cassock and stared at the curate innocently.
Percy narrowed his eyes. He’d spent so many years with the Reverend, he knew exactly when the old reprobate was pitching the gammon.
‘I think…’ the clergyman went on, only to pause as Finn came running up. ‘Ah jus’ seen one o’ the sailors leavin’ the ship,’ he hissed, pointing to a shadowy figure walking down the gangplank.
‘Tare an’hounds, the others aren’t here yet,’ the Reverend grumbled. ‘If he’s our traitor, ain’t he supposed to wait until his absence is not likely to be noticed?’
‘Ah dinnae think anyone explained that tae ‘im,’ Finn shrugged, ‘an naeboddie be watchin’ anyways. Shall ah gaun tell the Captain?’
‘Has he told the crew about the change in destination?’ Reverend Shackleford asked, watching the sailor’s progress down the wharf.
‘Ah dinnae kenn,’ Finn answered, running along the deck to keep the man in sight.
‘Thunder an’ turf,’ the Reverend grumbled. ‘Why does every conspiracy we come across have to be so deuced complicated?’ He shook his head in disgust as Finn began hopping up and down in nervous excitement, looking for all the world as though he was about to enter a boxing ring.
Augustus Shackleford ground his teeth in annoyance, unsure what to do. In the end, Finn made the decision for him. Shaking his head in frustration, the boy turned and ran towards the gangplank, Flossy at his heels.
‘Fiend seize it,’ Percy muttered in a rare display of temper. Then, by unspoken mutual consent, the two men lifted their cassocks and took off after the boy.
As they hurried along the wharf, the first carriage was arriving carrying Roan, Gabriel, Faith and Hope. Seeing the two clergymen heading towards them, Roan commanded the driver to stop and leaned out of the window.
‘What’s happened?’ he demanded as the two clergymen came up alongside.
‘I reckon our bloke’s legged it,’ Augustus Shackleford wheezed as Percy ran on ahead. ‘Finn’s on his tail.’
‘Please don’t do anything foolish, Father,’ Faith called worriedly, leaning round her husband.
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ the Reverend groaned, leaning against the side of the carriage. ‘By the time I get there, it’ll likely be all over bar the deuced shouting.’
‘I think one of us should accompany you,’ Gabriel announced, leaning forward to open the door.
Reverend Shackleford shook his head. ‘Finn’s headstrong, but the lad’s not bird-witted. Just tell the Froggy.’ And with that, he took off again.
‘Damnation,’ Hope muttered. ‘Finn might not be bird-witted, but I can’t say the same about Father.’
By the time Augustus Shackleford turned onto the main quayside, he could see no trace of either Percy or Finn. ‘Thunder and turf,’ he puffed, sitting down on a convenient lobster pot to get his breath back. A couple of minutes later, he caught sight of Percy coming towards him.
‘Finn’s vanished,’ the curate reported, his face white.
The Reverend felt panic grip him the like of which he’d not felt since the incident with old Queen Charlotte and the duck-pond. ‘He can’t just have disappeared into thin air. Which way did he go?’
Percy shook his head, sitting down next to his superior. ‘There are several small warehouses just before the end of the quay. I think he might have gone into one of ‘em, but I daren’t go in and look. If the lad’s hiding, my arrival could give him away.’ The curate looked as though he was about to cry, and for a second Augustus Shackleford felt like joining him.
‘Did you see Flossy?’ Percy shook his head. ‘Well, in that case, it stands to sense they’re both in hiding. It’s what Finn and Flossy do best. If they’d been found, you’d have heard the deuced commotion from here.’
The Reverend laid his hands on his knees, thinking for a second. ‘I think our best option is to get as close as we can to the warehouses without being seen,’ he went on, his voice growing more decisive. ‘The lad’ll send Flossy for help if he needs it, so it’s our job to be as close as possible, just in case.’ He clambered to his feet. ‘Come along, Percy, my man, there’s no time to lose.’
Finn was undeniably proud of his ability to blend in with his surroundings whenever he needed to. It was a skill he’d learned as an orphan on the streets of Banalan, though he hadn’t had cause to use it so much since Percy and Lizzie Noon had become his parents.
He slowed down as he got closer to his quarry, calling Flossy to him and strolling casually, while making sure to keep his distance. At the end of the main quay, the sailor turned to the left and was abruptly out of sight.
Picking Flossy up, he hurried towards the place he’d seen the deckhand disappear and peered cautiously round the corner. In front of him were three warehouses – or at least that’s what they’d been in the beginning. Finn doubted they’d housed anything more than rats in a long time.
‘What do you think, Floss?’ he whispered. He cast his eyes slowly over the dilapidated buildings. Initially, he could see no sign of the man he’d been following until all of a sudden he spotted movement. A door opening and closing.
Finn felt his heart slam against his chest and wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction. But what good would that do? If he was going to discover anything useful, he had to get closer. Unfortunately, that meant crossing the very empty distance to the warehouses. After a moment’s hesitation, he buried his head in Flossy’s soft fur, gaining comfort from the little dog’s warmth. Then, straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath and stepped out into the open. Whistling softly, he sauntered across the empty piece of ground, looking for all the world as if he was enjoying a morning stroll.
With every step, he expected a sudden shout ordering him to stop, and by the time he reached the shadow of the first warehouse, he was trembling almost uncontrollably. Leaning against the sagging wall, he stayed put, allowing his quaking to subside while Flossy licked his ear.
Finally, after about five minutes, his shaking stopped, and he took a step away from the wall and crept towards the far warehouse where he could hear the sound of voices. All too soon, he reached the same door the sailor had vanished through, and tucking Flossy under his arm, he eased the door open. At the sudden sound of footsteps, the little dog started growling under her breath. Hushing her urgently, Finn tucked her small body inside his vest, freeing up both of his hands. ‘We have to be quiet, Floss,’ he murmured to the top of her head, ‘but you need to be ready to run when I tell you.’
Carefully, he stepped into the gap made by the open door and peered into the gloom. He could just make out the back of the sailor standing at the other end of the room. He was facing another closed door, obviously waiting for something - or someone.
To Finn’s right was a pile of old lobster pots, and as he heard the sudden echoing of footsteps, he quickly crouched behind them and peeped over the top. Seconds later, the door opened, and a man stepped through. To Finn’s surprise, he looked like a toff. He was even wearing a top hat. The boy held his breath, straining to hear the conversation.
After a few seconds of mumbling, the deckhand raised his voice. ‘I’m tellin’ you, Sir, they’re anchorin’ at Solidor Bay outside St. Malo. The Captain told us, plain as day.’
‘Did he say why?’ For some reason, the cultured voice turned Finn cold. Helplessly, his stomach churned.
‘I dunno, yer ludship, I ain’t a Jack Tar by trade as yer know. Taffy’s coverin’ fer me.’ There was a pause, and then the sailor spoke again, this time with more confidence.
‘I know yer ludship wants this bloke in Davy Jones' Locker afore ‘e gets to Montclair, an’ I reckon I’m the man fer the job,’ he declared. ‘I’ll slit ‘is throat an’ send ‘im over the side wi out anyone ‘seein’ or ‘earin’ a thing.’
‘You think you can do that?’ The cultured voice sounded bored.
‘No one’ll even know ‘e’s gone,’ came the boastful reply. Finn watched the toff stare down at the smaller man, his face expressionless in the gloom. He said nothing. Just… stared.
‘But if a job’s to be done right, it deserves a bit extra.’ The sailor was babbling now, clearly reciting words he’d told himself over and over again. Finn watched, his heart suddenly in his mouth as the deckhand took a small step backwards.
‘Is Taff onboard?’ the man asked softly.
‘Aye, yer ludship.’
‘And he knows what must be done?’ The sailor nodded.
‘Have you told him your… little plan?’ The sailor swallowed visibly and took another small step backwards. No stranger to violence, Finn gave a small moan and squeezed his eyes shut, instinctively knowing what was about to happen.
‘You’re quite right, sometimes a little extra is exactly what’s required.’ Finn heard a scuffle, then a muffled gasp, and when he opened his eyes, the sailor was sliding slowly towards the floor.
Holding his fist against his mouth in horror, the boy remained still, not daring to move a muscle. Seconds later, the toff gave a grunt and finally let the man drop. In his hand was a narrow, pointed blade. Leisurely bending down, he wiped it clean on the prone sailor’s jacket. Then he slid it into a small sheath and slipped it inside his coat.
At that moment, the early morning sun came out from behind the clouds and shone directly through the window. It was too grimy to give much light, but there was just enough for Finn to notice a scar beginning at the base of the gentleman’s thumb and disappearing up his sleeve. Unfortunately, before he could study it further, the sun disappeared, returning the room to shadow.
After one last look at the corpse lying at his feet, the man turned on his heel and quickly walked back the same way he’d arrived without a second glance.
For several seconds after the door slammed behind him, Finn remained where he was. That the sailor was dead, he had no doubt. The blood was slowly seeping out from a puncture wound in his side, pooling grotesquely on the floor.
Finn was no stranger to death, but the complete lack of concern exhibited by the stranger chilled him in a way he couldn’t even begin to explain. But though he was terrified of moving, the boy knew he would be in far more danger if he stayed where he was. Toffs like Mr Top Hat Man didn’t do their own dirty work, and he knew that somebody would be along soon to get rid of the body.
Slowly and carefully, he got to his feet, and keeping his eyes on the far door, backed quietly back towards the entrance he’d come through earlier.
As he finally slipped through the door, out into the blessed fresh air, Finn realised what it was about the killing that had made it extra horrifying. Toffs didn’t generally do their own dirty work.
Mr Top Hat Man had killed the sailor himself because he enjoyed it…
Twelve
‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again, lad?’ Raphael’s questioning was compassionate but matter of fact.
The combination worked, and Finn nodded, determinedly wiping away his tears with a grimy hand. ‘Ah niver did see a muir terrible sight,’ he declared with a shudder. ‘That man – he enjoyed the killin’.’
They were seated in the Captain’s cabin underneath the poop deck. The Reverend, Percy, Roan, Gabriel and Tristan were also present as Finn described what he’d seen.
‘Do you think my son’s in danger now?’ Percy questioned the King's agent, his voice tight with worry.
Raphael shook his head. ‘Whoever the killer was, he had no idea he was being observed.’ He looked over at the boy, who was rapidly becoming much more himself. ‘As awful as I know the experience must have been for you, Finn, your bravery has given us more than you can possibly imagine. We now know that there are or were two traitors onboard the ship and the one still living goes by the name of Taffy which is a nickname given to men born in Wales. We also know that there is indeed someone directing things from the shadows. Mr Top Hat Man, as you very usefully called him, has made a grave error. But best of all – he doesn’t realise it.’
The boy visibly swelled with pride and looked round with a wide grin, but before he had the chance to speak, Raphael continued, his voice turning stern.
‘In truth, you were lucky today, Finn. It could easily have ended with you dead on the floor next to that sailor - and I doubt very much we’d have known your fate.’ He held up his hand as Finn opened his mouth to protest. ‘We will undoubtedly continue to need your help, young man. However, in the future, I must insist that you never lie, never act on impulse, and never do anything without first gaining the approval of your father.’
‘Well, you can’t argue with that, Finn, my boy,’ the Reverend commented cheerfully. ‘You’ve only got to look at me – following the rules has never done me any harm…’
The identity of their traitor hadn’t been difficult to discover, since only one Welshman had been recruited in recent months. However, by the time everyone in their party had been informed, Faith and Fortune was under sail. Each person had been issued strict instructions to observe, nothing more, while Tristan was strongly advised to avoid going up on deck alone or giving any noticeable attention to his fiancée in the event it should be noticed.
Henrietta was especially confused. Though she couldn’t be entirely certain, she was reasonably sure that Taffy wasn’t the man she’d seen in the garden at Redstone House. Did that mean there might still be more than one traitor on board? Despite keeping a sharp lookout, she’d failed to spot him amongst the crew. She gnawed anxiously at her bottom lip. She hadn’t mentioned the incident to her father, having assumed Raphael had done so. But then why had neither of them mentioned it?
After a few minutes, she sighed and determinedly put her concerns aside. There was undoubtedly a very good reason why it hadn’t been brought up. Raphael had asked her to be vigilant, and she would continue to be so. If she caught sight of the man, she would inform the agent, but otherwise there were other, more urgent matters that required her attention – primarily tending to Roseanna, who’d unfortunately been struck down with the dreaded mal de mer. Percy too had been similarly afflicted and was being tended to by her mother and Aunt Hope.
Fortunately, by the time dinner was served in the Captain’s private dining room, both patients had recovered sufficiently to be left alone.
‘If the wind remains consistent, we should reach Perros-Guirec in under three days,’ Roan stated after their plates had finally been taken away. He took a sip of his wine before lowering his voice. ‘I understand that Lannion is roughly twenty miles inland, and Chateau Montclair is about three miles from the town. God willing, we’ll reach it while Fontaine is still waiting at St. Malo. Hopefully, our traitor will try his luck tomorrow before we get close enough for him to swim to shore.’
