A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) (38 page)

The warden’s surprised stare quickly shifted to a sly glimmer mixed with genuine glee. She laid her back into both oars. “Turn us about, quickly, Mr. Prior.” Moreau’s orders carried through the pale mist that enveloped her small craft. Her hands burned from the rough-handled oars, but she paid them no mind and steered farther into a drift of heavier fog.

“Miss Willoughby,” he called out in a singsong voice. “Whore of the brother or the man who claims to be her cousin—which is it?” The warden continued to hurl insults and threats. She’d called him slithy this morning and she’d been right. The warden hoped to draw Finn out and recapture the escaped men. And it might work.

“Ahoy, Cate.” It was Finn, yes, she was sure of it.

“Ahoy, Cate.” The call came again from the west—a faint echo? She was so turned around, she hardly knew in which direction to row. The first call had likely come from Finn, and the second, an answer from Moreau. In the stillness, she was only sure of one thing. The pounding of her heart would carry through the curtain of fog and alert everyone to her presence. She took a deep breath and waited.

“Come to me, Cate—I’m here.”

The warden or Finn? Cate dropped the oars in the water and turned toward the voice. “Get those black-and-blue toes over here, this minute!” The voice was husky, insistent, and all Finn. She rowed toward the voice and
didn’t stop until she came upon him, hanging from the clouds on a rope.

He dropped into the dinghy and wasted no time lifting her onto the ladder. He tied his long guns to another line and they were lifted above.

“Moreau is close, watch your—” she whispered, but was not able to finish her warning. Brawny deckhands hauled her up into the airship’s cabin. Cate peered into the depths of the gondola. In the dim light, she could just make out a number of men hunkered down along the floor, looking plainly terrified. Others hauled luggage and guns up the ladder. She spied her brother crouched in a corner. “Eduardo,” she called out and he lifted his head.

Cate remained close to the hatchway waiting for Finn. Guns fired below. And another volley. She stuck her head out of the opening. “Get up here this minute!”

“Drop the ballast.” Those were the last words she heard from below. Two young men—speaking in French—pulled her away from the craft’s door. “No, please!” Cate screamed. “We cannot leave him.” Both young men held on as she struggled against their hold. “It is too dangerous. We cannot stay, mademoiselle.”

Cate fell to the floor as the great balloon lifted them into the air at such a speed, her stomach felt as though it rose to her throat. As soon as she caught her breath and gathered her wits, she begged the two men in charge for help. “We must go back.”

She searched the faces of the Frenchmen, who appeared almost as sad as she was herself. “Help me convince them,” she pleaded with Sylvain. “We cannot let Finn be captured by Moreau. You don’t understand, he will not—he cannot tolerate a dark cell.”

“A prison cell does not sit well with any man.” The last
man to climb aboard spoke to her in English—in a thick Irish accent. “He rowed away—tricked the warden into following after him.”

Dazed and slightly hysterical, she sobbed. “So that we might get away.”

“It seems so, miss.”

Cate sank down beside her brother and huddled close. Chilled and numb from the cold, her tears came slowly at first. It wasn’t long, however, before the dam burst and the real sobbing began. Her brother did his best to comfort her. “This man, Cate, you seem very attached to him.”

“His name is Phineas Gunn—Hugh Curzon on the Continent.” At mention of Finn’s name, the Irishman briefly slid his eyes her way.

Her brother groaned. “Not the British operative? The same one that got me into this mess—”

“No lectures, Eduardo. That British operative just risked everything—perhaps his life—to break you out of the Citadel fortress. Besides, Finn says the Deuxième Bureau was at fault at the farmhouse.” She hiccupped. “And I believe him.”

Blinking back fresh tears, she studied the Irishman. Presumably this was Nicolas Crowe. Good-sized, nice-looking man. He might even be handsome after a haircut and a washup. She lifted her chin. “I shan’t be aboard long. In my absence, might I ask you to watch over my brother?”

Eduardo protested. “Cate, I’m not a child.”

“No. But you
are
ill.”

“The fever is gone. I am sure to recover, I promise.” He smiled weakly. “Besides, it’s you who needs watching over.”

Cate shook her head. “I cannot leave Finn behind. I cannot.”

“Why such loyalty to an agent who would like nothing more than to see me locked up in Newgate gaol?” Eduardo stared. “Do you”—he recoiled slightly—“love this man?”

“Very much.” Cate sighed. “And if you can’t honor my feelings for him, say nothing at all.” She took in the strange surroundings. The two men piloting the ship—the Clouzot brothers, she reasoned—appeared cheerful enough. They were also wholly taken up with a number of mechanical devices midship. Below the gondola, she could hear the putt-putt of an engine motor and another sound, that of a windmill’s soft whir. Was that the propeller, perhaps? She had seen these fantastic flying machines hovering over Paris, and now she was being swept away in one. She raised her hand to Sylvain. “Help me up?”

Most of the men had settled in. Some lounged on the deck of the gondola, others peered out the observation windows. All at once, like singers in a choir, some of the men exhaled an “Ahhh!” Cate peeked over a shoulder to have a look. The airship broke through the cloud cover and putted quietly above the silver-white counterpane blanketing the earth. Overhead, a sliver of moon and stars cast enough illumination to light their way. She imagined how it might feel to have Finn’s arms around her as she saw the tops of the clouds. The scratchy affection of his chin stubble at her temple. A single tear defied blinking lashes and ran down her cheek.

“Mademoiselle—Miss Willoughby?” She found both Clouzot brothers standing behind her. “I am Aurélien, and this my brother, Gilbert.”

She nodded to each brother. “Finn speaks very highly of you both.”

“May we speak with you a moment?” They escorted her to the dais in the center of the gondola. Several steps
led up to a circular bridge surrounded by a brass railing. A panel filled with glass gauges and brass levers sat in the middle of what looked to be a kind of pilot’s station. Mesmerized, Cate turned a complete circle to appreciate the view from the surrounding glass dome. Sylvain joined them near the helm. As he approached, she couldn’t hold back. “What am I to do? I must return to the Île de Ré. He could be wounded—or captured.” She didn’t mention the other possibility, so much worse she could not bear to think of it.

Sylvain took her hands in his. “He might also be on his way to Cherbourg.”

Cate could not hold his gaze for long. She didn’t really believe that and neither did he, she could see it in his eyes. “I will find him, Cate, and wire you immediately. The Clouzots have agreed to drop me off, just as soon as the fog clears.”

“And when will that be?

Aurélien smiled at her. “As we travel north and inland, the skies will clear.” Cate nodded demurely. Inside, her heart raced with excitement as well as dread. How long would all this take? And how far north would they have to travel before the airship could set down? She needed to formulate a plan—quickly.

“
Merci,
you are all a great a comfort to me.” Her gaze shifted from Sylvain to the aeronauts and froze. “Eduardo!” Cate’s eyes grew wide. “Wha-what are you doing?”

Her brother pointed the menacing pistol at their pilots. “Sorry to interrupt your plans, gentlemen, but this airship travels to the destination of my choosing.”

  *  *  *  

FINN LAY IN a small boat drifting at sea. The sound of waves lapped against the sides of the dinghy as the surf
washed him ashore. Sand and seashells scraped along the flat-bottomed skiff as it beached itself. He opened his eyes and blinked back a smear of red. A faraway voice yelled, “We’ve got him!” Shadowed figures lifted him out of the small boat and lowered him into another.

“Quelle vue terrible!
He’s covered in blood.”

More shadowy figures played overhead. One jabbed. Another poked. “This one’s not long for this world, one way or the other.”

Finn let all of it fade away.

Chapter Thirty

“S
he needs to go back.” Eduardo waved his pistol. “No time to lose—
rápido.
” Both Clouzot brothers jumped to the ship’s control panel. Gilbert called out map coordinates and air speed while Aurélien reset the rudder by cranking the handle of a sizable brass wheel.

Her eyes watered. “Eduardo, I—”

Her brother narrowed his eyes. “No crying.”

“Crying,” she blinked back tears,
“eso es para los bebés.”
Eduardo should talk. His eyes were sunken and red rimmed, yet they smiled at her.

“You’re no crybaby, Cate.”

Under Eduardo’s watchful gaze, the Clouzot brothers turned the ship around. Aurélien eyed them over his shoulder. “We’ll head for the south side of the island—less fog. We’ll set down just long enough to drop you off.”

Cate turned to Sylvain. “I can’t do this without you.”

Sylvain’s eyes telegraphed adventure and something else—something more protective. “I am at your service, mademoiselle.”

She turned to the Clouzot brothers. “You must carry extra clothing with you. I’ll need to borrow some.” She
eyed Aurélien. The young man was thicker in build, but only a hair taller. “And a set of braces, if you can spare them.”

Eduardo leaned against the brass rail and gestured with the gun. “See to her request.” He nodded at Sylvain. “Cate seems to trust you—watch my back, and make sure she gets some privacy.”

Minutes later, the gondola door opened. She paused at the open hatchway and tucked a few strands of hair under a cap. Her brother emptied the gun of bullets and handed the pistol to Gilbert. She smiled. “I love you, Eduardo.”

He shot her one of those
don’t kiss me
brotherly warnings. “Go get him, Cate.”

She tipped her cap. “Meet you in Cherbourg.” She blew her brother a kiss. “For the loan of your trousers, monsieur.” She winked at Aurélien and descended the ladder. Holding on for dear life, she imagined her gilded swing at the Alhambra Theatre. A number of sand dunes dotted the strand of beach ahead. Timing is everything, she reminded herself, and let go. She landed on the back side of a dune and slid to the bottom. Sylvain came down not far away in patch of salt grass.

Once on the ground, she clambered over to Sylvain. “How far?” The Frenchman brushed himself off. “The Île de Ré is shaped a like a bent finger—many miles lengthwise, but a short distance across. Less than three miles to the other side.”

As the airship ascended into clouds above them, they struck out over the dunes, which quickly turned into a difficult slog through a boggy salt marsh. Finally—joyfully—they came upon a road. Cate glanced right and left. “Which way?”

Sylvain held his index finger to his lips. “Listen—
très
tranquillement.”
The low vibration of a foghorn carried faintly through the mist. Cate’s eyes widened. “Yours?”

“Oui,
the only on the isle.”

She and Sylvain picked up their pace, and it wasn’t long before they began to catch glimpses, through the haze, of the great bastioned walls of Saint-Martin-de-Ré. “Can you get us into the Palais des Gouverneurs?”

“But, of course.” Sylvain nodded. “We find out what Monsieur Fortesque knows.”

“I’m nearly certain he was in Moreau’s boat. He has to know something about what happened.” Sylvain studied her in a way she had never experienced from him. “Prepare yourself for the worst,
mon cher
.” Then, those playful eyes glimmered with a wink. “But we hope for good news,
oui
?”

Inside the township walls, Sylvain led her down backstreets and onto the palace grounds. “He has a suite in the east wing.” Cate followed him up the servants’ stairs and along the darker side of a dimly lit passageway. Beyond an empty second-floor parlor, they arrived at a set of double doors. “Locked.” Sylvain tested the door hardware.