A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) (27 page)

“You’re the spy for hire. I have no idea how to go about getting that sort of information.” She looked up into eyes that crinkled at the sides.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Finn murmured under his breath, and turned her toward the ferry. He signaled to the young man and woman waiting on the pier. “I wager these two know a good deal about the comings and goings on the Île de Ré.”

The young woman from the public room in the inn waved them aboard. “Won’t be long now, sir. Boiler’s near ready.” She wore trousers and a heavy woolen jacket.

Finn raised a brow and nudged Cate. “It seems you two have the same fashion sense.”

“Pay him no mind. He secretly likes girls who dress like boys—
comme les garçons
.” Cate winked at the girl.

The ferry was of open construction, with an engine house, boiler, and a smokestack all set beside a raised pilot station. “Tether your horse here, monsieur.” The young man beamed at Cate. “The seas are calm tonight, mademoiselle, the crossing will take but a few minutes.” They moved off the moment the girl tossed off the line and jumped aboard.

Finn secured his horse, and approached the pilot behind the steerage. “We’re headed for Saint-Martin-de-Ré. Dé Riquet suggested we spend tonight in La Flotte—there is a lighthouse keeper there?”

The young man’s gaze moved back and forth between
them. “My name is Bruno Géroux. This is my sister Laurette.”

Finn nodded to them both. “This is Miss Willoughby, and I am Hugh Curzon, her escort.”

The young woman took the wheel from her brother. “If you are friends of Dé Riquet, you will enjoy Sylvain Robideaux, he is
gardien de phare
.”

Cate addressed sister and brother. “We are most anxious for information regarding the Citadel.”

Finn nodded. “At the moment, our greatest concern is one of timing. Mostly regarding when the prisoners are to be shipped off.” Cate knew that hesitation; Finn waited for one of them to talk. A cold wind swept off the ocean and she huddled against him.

“Normally, we do not ferry past Sablanceaux, the eastern point.” Bruno pulled down his cap and stuck his in hands in his pockets. “Prisoner transport is one of the exceptions. Several days ago, we ferried men up to the fortress. The convict ship was anchored off Saint-Martin.”

Laurette nodded. “A great floating prison with masts. You can’t miss it.”

“And might I inquire how long this floating prison remains in port, normally, before making its transoceanic voyage?” Finn asked.

“Two or three weeks. Sometimes longer.”

“And this convict ship has been in port—?”

“Several weeks.”

“So any day now,” Finn ruminated aloud. “Thank you. You’ve both been most helpful.” He studied the outline of dark terra firma ahead. Cate craned her neck and could make out a pier and a few flickering gaslights.

Finn turned back to the Géroux siblings. “I’ve a mind
to push on—make Saint-Martin tonight. This fellow Robideaux. Why do you suppose Dé Riquet would have recommended him? Since the two are colleagues, I can wager a guess as to the man’s character, but why else?”

Bruno shrugged, shifting his gaze to his sister. “I have a thought. Perhaps more of an intuition, but here it is: You are interested in the fortress,
mais oui?
Sylvain Robideaux claims to have lived inside the walls undetected for many days.”

Laurette added a bit of laughter. “He also boasts that he led the only successful escape ever in the history of
Le Citadel.
”

Finn stared at the two of them. “So . . . you don’t believe a word of it?”

“On the contrary, he helped rescue our uncle, Fulbert Géroux.” Bruno cut the motor, and his sister guided the ferry up to the quay. “Sylvain is a friend—raving mad, but . . . a hero to our family.”

Finn paid their fee and something extra for the information. He also asked a few directions. Laurette called to Finn as the ferry putted away. “Stay close to your lovely woman—Sylvain has roving hands.”

Bruno barked a laugh. “Arms, hands, legs, feet—tongue.
Bonne chance!”

  *  *  *  

CATE WAVED, EVEN as Finn swept her up in his arms. “I wasn’t planning on getting much sleep tonight anyway.” He lifted her onto MacGregor’s back.

“And why would you say such a thing? Might you be expecting a reward of some kind for spiriting us safely out of town?” Cate fell back against Finn’s broad chest
as he settled in behind her, resting his chin against her hair.

“I was hoping for something warm and sloppy and wholly erotic.”

Cate muffled a snort with the lapel of his overcoat. “Friendly, weren’t they, the Géroux siblings? And very helpful, as well.” She angled her chin upward and caught a smug tilt to his mouth.

He looked down. “Are you always so trusting of people’s stories, Cate?”

“Are you always such a doubter?”

“Ah. That is why you need me on this adventure of yours. For I shall play the sober, unwitting suitor who bumbles along, yet somehow manages to keep the beautiful, strong-willed heroine alive.”

“No, you play the
handsome,
sober, unwitting suitor—and I am most certainly not an adventurer.” Indignant, Cate looked out into the blackness of the country road, beyond the thick mane and neck of Finn’s horse. Even the sound of the surf failed to soothe, for the moment. “My parents were adventurers. I am no such thing.”

His incredulous hoot made her cheeks hot. “You boldly sashay into anarchists’ dens. You enjoy a theatrical career, featuring a dangle in midair on gilded swing. You go about your daily life—whether in London, Paris, or Barcelona—unfettered and unchaperoned. I’d have to call you mightily adventurous. An uncivilized prig would call you worse.”

“Stop taunting me, Finn, or I’ll get down and walk.”

“We’ve several miles to go yet, and you’re yawning,” he teased good-naturedly.

“You’d best watch out then—I’m overwrought and peevish.”

Finn rubbed the top of her head with his chin. “Indeed, you are.” There was something comforting about those pinpricks of beard scratching her scalp. A bit uncouth of him, but also affectionate and intimate.

“I’d give anything for a few jelly babies right about now,” she sighed.

“Check my left inside pocket—there might be some seaside rock in there.” Cate dug around and came up with a sack of candy sticks. She swirled one of the hard sticks into her mouth and settled back against him.

“When Hardy and I were wee lads, Father would lay on the floor between our beds—he suffered from gout—and tell us battle stories. Mostly old Gunn clan legends.”

“My father told army tales.” Cate lay her head against his chest. “I should like an army tale, Finn.”

“Most of my service stories would give you nightmares.”

“You must have at least one.”

There was a long pause as he, presumably, shuffled through memories for a less gruesome tale. She had gotten the impression several times that his experience in Near Asia had been difficult. Perhaps more than difficult. Finally, he cleared his throat. “There is one . . . possibly.”

Cate yawned. “Tell it, please.”

“Not long after I arrived in India, I was transferred to Lahore, the Third Punjab Cavalry—made up of Sikhs, mostly, and a few British officers,” he began slowly. “We received orders to reinforce Kandahar and set off straightaway. The terrain was steep, rugged—completely unforgiving. We were attacked in a narrow pass and my horse was shot out from under me.

“I heard a shout—‘Behind you’—and rolled over in time to put a bullet in a man swinging a large curved sword at me. I then crawled over to the Sikh soldier who
had warned me. Both his legs were shot up. He pointed to a young horse, a cannon hauler. Part of the trail had collapsed under the horse, and he was mired chest deep in bodies and loose earth. To top it off, the loose ground around us threatened to slide again, to take everything with it—cannon, horses, wounded.” Finn checked his pulse mentally as he continued and found it elevated well beyond the norm. “Bullets were still flying, by the way.”

She sighed. “Making you all the more brave.”

Finn grunted. “Men take risks in battle. Risks they’d never take otherwise—for their comrades.”

Cate tilted her chin up and grinned. “Either two- or four-legged, I presume.”

“What was left of the regiment had taken cover. Pashtun snipers were picking off anyone who moved below. When the sun moved behind a mountain peak, everything in the ravine was thrown into shadow. I organized a few of our men to return fire, which gave me enough cover to get over to the trapped horse. I unhooked his rigging and slipped a bridle on him. I’ll be damned if the horse didn’t listen to me like he spoke English as well as you or I. Calmly, I coaxed him up out of the debris one leg at a time.

“I picked up two other injured men and the big red horse carried the three of us up the trail, where we met up with more of our men. We made the fort by nightfall. Late that evening, I got called to the infirmary. The chap who had called out—saved me and the big red horse—wanted to chat for a bit. Said his name was Sergeant Bhai Singh MacGregor. I thought he was not in his right mind—delirious—Scot and Sheikh? As it turned out, he was dying. And he, indeed, was part Scot. Adopted and raised by a Third Gurkha Rifleman named MacGregor.”

“And the big red horse—you named him Sergeant MacGregor.” Cate nestled into his chest. Finn rested his chin beside her temple.

“That, I did.”

“Did you and MacGregor have other adventures in Afghanistan?”

“Several. But I must reserve those tales for another day. Look ahead, Cate, toward the water.”

Cate straightened at the sight of the lighthouse. “This is where we find the man Sylvain.”

Chapter Twenty-one

F
inn stepped back from the door, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Bonjour! N’importe qui à la maison?”
He squinted up at the steep roofline. A row of gabled windows remained dark and closed. The residence turned out to be a two-story stone cottage, something that might accommodate the keeper and his family—but at the moment it seemed no one was home. Which was quite impossible, as a beam of powerful light swept past shoals and surf at regular intervals.

A strong offshore breeze whipped up from the shoreline. Cate pulled his coat tighter around herself. “There must be another entrance.”

Finn grabbed her hand, and they circled the residence. They found a rise of wooden steps leading up to the tower door. He rapped on the door. This time he tried the latch. The door swung open almost silently and he ushered Cate inside.

He kept his arm around her and pressed her against the closed door. “I can’t see a blasted thing—if you’ll excuse me?” He opened and slipped his hand inside his coat—the one Cate was wearing. His hands accidentally brushed
across her breasts. “Sorry for the rudeness.” He could not see her expression, but imagined a delightful eye roll.

Cate sighed. “Such a lie. You’re not the least bit sorry.”

“No, I am not.” He thought about kissing her. There was something about Cate that made him desirous of her in the most inappropriate situations. He groped around and found the deep inside pocket he was looking for. He pulled out the torch. “Ah, here you are.” He toggled the switch and for good measure banged the cylinder holding the batteries against his palm. A swath of light illuminated parts of the room. A modest secretary and traveling chest occupied most of the space. “The keeper’s office, is my guess.” He swung the beam over Cate.

“What is that thing?” She blinked at the gadget in his hand.

“An electrical torch powered by experimental batteries. Quite a miraculous bit of invention, compliments of Scotland Yard’s crime laboratory.”

Finn pointed the beam up a staircase that spiraled around the cast-iron cylinder that ran down the center of the lighthouse. “Hello? Anyone on duty?” Finn called out again and waited. Nothing but whirring and clicking . . .

He turned to Cate. “What do you make of those sounds?”

She peered up through the twisting stairs. “Clockworks, perhaps?”

Finn nodded. “Let’s have a look.”

They reached a landing near the top of the tower, which housed a number of clockworks, large and small, all buzzing and whirling. It appeared they were in some sort of service area, just below the lantern room. A shadow played on the stairs overhead.