Homage and Honour (22 page)

“Did you
recognise any of the men?”

“No I didn’t,
nor would I have expected to my love. How many men of the South
have you met? They are definitely not slavers; if they had been
they certainly wouldn’t have housed us here, the ship’s hold more
like. No, I think he was telling the truth when he said we have
been taken on his Duke’s orders.”

“But why David,
why?”

They listened
to the muted shouts from the deck and sounds of sailors moving
around.

“Sounds as if
we are on our way, the tide must have turned,” announced David,
sitting down on one of the cots.

“It’s beginning
to get light,” replied Anne, looking out of the stern window.

David snuffed
out the safety lamp.

“I think,” he
added, “that we have been housed in the Captain’s own
quarters.”

“Did you notice
him when we arrived?” asked Anne.

“The Captain?
No, not particularly, why?”

“It was as if
he didn’t know how to treat us.”

“He never said
a word.”

“He didn’t need
to. He treated us as if we were important. He was almost
deferential.”

“How can you be
almost
deferential?” he teased. “We’ll learn more once we’re
at sea I’m sure. Lie down and get some rest.”

Anne nodded and
lay down on one of the empty cots.

The Captain was
on deck supervising his ship’s negotiation of the narrow
estuary.

The Arrowhawk
was his own ship and although he was being paid well for his
trouble he was a curious man and could not help but wonder what was
so special about this family.

The family had
not uttered a single word when they had arrived which was strange
in itself and now they had been secreted away in his own cabin with
a guard on the door. His other passengers, those who had
accompanied the Count on their excursion were resting in an
adjoining cabin.

Why this
secrecy?
He shook his head.

Count Charles
Cocteau knew that the Captain had many questions and invited him
into his own slip of a cabin (vacated by the Master’s Mate for the
duration of the voyage) as soon as he had broken his fast early the
next morning.

By now the ship
was well on her way south.

He sat
elegantly on the bunk like the scion of the noble house he was.

“It is time to
tell you some more about the task in which it is your good fortune
to be a part,” he began, “and may I remind you, you are being paid
for your trouble and for your silence.”

“I understand,”
answered the Captain.

“Our passengers
are important people, very important people.”

“I had gathered
that but why all the secrecy?”

“It is a matter
of inheritance and it is imperative that it is kept a secret. After
we disembark you will set sail immediately for the islands and stay
there for the next six months. You will not return either to
Vadath, Argyll or Murdoch until that time has passed.”

“But ...”

“I am empowered
by My Liege Duke to pay you extra for this disappearance and if you
break the agreement, well, we have ways of finding out such things
and steps will be taken to ensure, shall we say, a more
permanent
silence.”

The Captain
understood, or thought he did. He assumed that the Dukes of Murdoch
were yet again plotting against each other and that this silent
family was central to their plans in some way. He did not wish to
get involved in what might well turn into another civil war.

“I will do as
you say,” he said, “the coin?”

“When we dock.
You will treat the family with respect during what remains of the
voyage but you will not speak to them and you will instruct your
crew to do likewise. My own men will take them their meals. The
family may come on deck under guard but you and your men will avoid
them at all times.”

The Captain
agreed to this also.

Count Charles
sat back.

“That is
all.”

It was a
dismissal.

The Captain
returned to his duties a richer, if not a much wiser, man.

On the few
occasions when the family were permitted on deck for some fresh
air, he watched but saw nothing that marked them out as anything
special. If he had met them under different circumstances he would
have concluded that they were an ordinary farming family, more
prosperous than some and not as rich as others, which was in fact
what David, Anne and their children were.

It was dark
when the merchantman reached Port Duchesne.

The family had
been instructed by Count Charles (he had not introduced himself by
name and had refused, despite David’s pleas, to tell them anything
more) not to undress, as they would be disembarking as soon as they
arrived.

“Not that we
have anything to change into,” Anne complained, “I would have
preferred to face whatever is going to happen in clean clothes at
least.”

“That will not
be a problem My Lady,” Charles answered, “I have been assured that
hot baths and a change of clothing will be available once we reach
our destination.”

“You are the
very soul of courtesy,” replied an acerbic Anne (she had noticed
that their abductor had changed into superfine clothing of a dark
silken material) as she tried to bring some order to little Ruth’s
untidy hair, like the missing Jessica, the toddler had a short
curly mop of hair and it needed constant attention to keep it in
order. Anne was trying hard not to think about her eldest
daughter.

They felt the
ship dock, heard the hawsers being made fast and the shouts of the
men.

The ‘velvet’
man bowed very deep in Anne’s direction as they were ushered on to
the deck. David started and Anne gasped. Before this he had
acknowledged her with a polite incline of his head although he had
always been scrupulously polite.

“I am Count
Charles Cocteau,” he said. “Welcome to the Kingdom of Murdoch. I am
sorry that your journey was on the uncomfortable side but it was
necessary and if the situation had been different, you would have
made your journey in more opulent surroundings,” he managed to
convey regret, “we will provide you with every comfort now.”

“Well,” said
Anne in an aside to David, “what does that all mean?”

“I don’t
understand either Mummy,” said Annette who had been listening.

“A carriage
awaits to transport you to the castle. I must ask you to remain
silent.”

“So our
arrival, like our passage is a great secret?” asked David. He did
not get an answer.

“I have a bad
feeling about this,” said Anne, “it is as if impending doom is
hanging over us all. I am very scared David.”

“I don’t think
we are in any immediate danger,” he tried to reassure her.

“Not that sort
of danger,” she whispered, “after taking all this trouble to get us
here I’m sure they’re not going to kill us, no, it’s something
else, something life-changingly dreadful.”

“I think the
Count slipped up a bit a while back,” David whispered, “he called
you My Lady. Do you think you are some sort of southern
noblewoman?”

“There’s no
noble blood, southern or otherwise in my blood,” she replied with a
faint smile, “must be you.”

“Perhaps you
are the heir to a great estate,” he teased.

“Women can’t
hold property in Murdoch.”

“But it can
pass through them to their children.”

Her eyes swept
to Xavier who was sitting between his two sisters, an arm round
both. Who was comforting who was anybody’s guess.

Count Charles
was one hundred per cent positive that no-one who wasn’t meant to,
saw their carriage pass. Duke William Duchesne had declared a
curfew that night from eleventh candlemark and the sworn men who
were patrolling the area would say nothing. Their livelihood
depended on absolute obedience to the Duke.

The castle was
not inside the port so there had been little need to pass the
dwelling centres but when they arrived at the castle, Charles
breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Once he had
escorted the family to the tower apartments prepared for them, he
left them to the tender mercies of the servants and slaves and,
clutching the bag that contained the papers he and his men had
purloined when they had ransacked the farmhouse and also the locket
from the old lady’s bedside table, made for the ducal apartments.
Charles had realised that it was almost an exact replica of the
locket embedded within the royal regalia. During moments of leisure
during the journey he had taken it out and stared at it, another
item of proof that the family were the lost heirs.

The papers too,
he knew, were important, necessary original copies of birth
certificates that had been in the old lady’s strongbox under her
bed and if he thought back to that night, she had been most
distressed when he had found them. He wondered if he should have
insisted that she come along as well but discounted the notion: she
had been too frail for the walk to the river and he had not had
enough men to carry her and to guard the other five.

She, Charles
was convinced, alone of them all, had known who she was. She had
known how important her family was to the South and equally certain
she had not told her daughter. He wondered why.

He had
eavesdropped on the family talking during the journey, listened to
their speculations as to why they had been taken. He now believed
he knew why the elder daughter had not been at the farm that night.
She was with the Vada, that indomitable army of whom legends were
told, even in Murdoch.

William
Duchesne was waiting for Charles in his private study.

As his guest
settled himself in the other comfortable chair, William watched
him.

A pile of
parchment and papers sat on a low table in front of the Duke.
Charles placed his own bundle beside them and, with the air of a
conjuror, took the locket out of the pocket of his breeches and
placed it on top.

“The family
settled in?” questioned William eyeing the locket with interest and
a nagging sense of recognition. “I take it that they don’t know who
they really are or why they have been brought here.”

“I didn’t tell
them. They are in their rooms, I expect your Seneschal and his
servants will see to their every comfort.”

William nodded,
“I have chosen those who will look after our guests with much care.
The stakes are too high to take any chances. They are the oldest
and most trustworthy I can find, old Rulf I would trust with my
very life and his three daughters will say nothing.” He pointed to
the locket and the papers.

“Original birth
certificates and marriage documents plus one death certificate that
of the original Ruth, proof positive that the family are who we say
they are.”

William bent
forward and picked up the locket, “interesting, you found it
where?”

“Bedside table
of the old lady who was sleeping in the side-room downstairs, I
recognised it at once.”

“You have done
well Charles, this exceeds all my expectations. We have the copy
documents, purloined from the Argyll registrar, my operative
arrived last night; I never expected that the originals would still
exist. Foolish of them to keep them.”

“Good for us
though.”

“Indeed.”

He swung the
locket in front of his face, “and this little trinket is the icing
on the cake. Are you positive the family don’t suspect?”

Charles shook
his head, “they are scared and worried. They believe they may be
some sort of distant relative of one of the noble houses from way
back, nothing more. All the noble houses are interrelated, they
know of this.”

“Did you get
all of them?”

“No. We left
the old woman, I could do nothing else, she was too old and frail
and the eldest girl was not available.”

William
extricated the genealogical chart from the pile and placed it in
front of Charles on the table. “This shows Ruth Murdoch’s
descendants.”

Charles looked
at it (it was full of pencilled annotations and notes).

He pointed to a
woman’s name.

“This will be
the old lady. Technically, I suppose, she is the true heir.”

“Did you
question her?”

“There wasn’t
time my Lord.”

“Understood.
Please continue.”

“Anne and
David, yes, these are the parents.”

“Four
children.”

“We have the
youngest three, Anne, Xavier and Ruth. The eldest, Jessica, wasn’t
at the farm. I’m not a hundred per cent sure but I think she is
with the Vada. The family were being careful. They would have
suspected what they said might be overheard. I do know that she was
no longer living at the farm.”

“Three out of
four is a good catch and enough for our purposes. The boy now, is
he strong, well grown?"

“You intend to
put him on the throne instead of his mother?”

“No, a queen
will be more malleable.”

“The
husband?”

“Prince
Consort, no more.”

“He is a
strong-willed man,” Charles warned, “what news from Court?”

“The King still
lives and so does young Susan but she is ailing. The fever has left
her weak and she has little reserve with which to meet any other
sickness. If she lives out the year I will be surprised.”

“The King?”

“Weary of
life.”

“The
Dukes?”

“You’ll be
meaning Baker, Brentwood, Gardiner and Graham? Wheeling and
dealing, proposing candidates of their own. The Largan has also
sent envoys to Court, much to their discomfiture.”

Charles
laughed. “They are insisting the terms of the treaty are
upheld?”

“Yes, hence the
panic. My fellow Dukes, apart from your father and Raoul van Buren,
don’t know what we have been up to, nor that I have made my own
contact with the Largan’s representatives.”