They were in a narrow twisting stone stairway climbing up through the bank and out by an iron gate that Ferret was holding open, on to a roadway wide enough for a horse and carriage. ‘Sentries down there.’ He nodded to the left where trees grew thick. And then gestured to the right. ‘And I can hear some that way, too.’
‘That’ll be the guard on the Governor’s house. This is where it gets interesting. Don’t try to be quiet now or we’ll get shot first and questioned afterwards. Just walk along the road so they have plenty of notice we are coming.’
They strode out towards the sounds of voices. Stones crunched underfoot and Ferret began to whistle. Averil smelled wood smoke and bacon. Breakfast. Someone was beginning to cook breakfast. She could eat a horse.
‘Who goes there?’ The challenge was a shout, then there was the sound of boots approaching at the run.
‘Captain Luke d’Aunay of His Majesty’s Navy to see the Governor,’ Luc said loudly, his accent once more impeccably English. ‘With escort and two prisoners.’
‘Halt!’ A new voice. An officer by the sound of it. A lamp appeared, illuminating black boots, white breeches and a scarlet coat. ‘Identify yourself. How the blazes did you get in here?’
‘With a key,’ Luc stopped and held up a hand to halt them all. ‘I have my papers here, if you will permit me?’ He reached into his coat, pulled out a slim oilskin package and proffered it. ‘Can we discuss this inside? These two are prisoners—one French captain, one English traitor. Their capture needs to be kept quiet.’
The officer looked up from the papers. ‘These appear to be in order. Why aren’t you in uniform?’
‘Clandestine mission, Lieutenant.’ There was an edge to his voice that would remind the army man who was the more senior officer.
He doesn’t trust us, Averil thought, standing on one leg and rubbing the other dirty, aching foot against the calf while she watched the officer’s face. I don’t blame him.
‘Titmuss, Jenkins! Bring them inside under guard until the Governor has seen these.’ They were marched forwards, across a sweep of grass and in through the wide front doors of a house.
Civilisation. Averil looked round at polished wainscots, pictures on the walls, heavy silk curtains drawn against the night, and felt weariness sweep over her. Her filthy bare feet sank blissfully into the deep pile of the rugs.
‘Keep them here. Sir George is not going to be pleased, being woken at this hour.’
The silvery chime of a clock struck five. Averil looked with longing at the chairs that lined the walls, then set her feet apart, locked her knees to stop herself swaying and resigned herself to wait. Luc caught her eye and tipped his head slightly towards the guards. He did not want them to realise she was a woman, Averil realised. So, it seemed, did Ferret.
‘You lean on me, mate,’ he said, standing next to her. ‘You’re in no state to be standing about.’ Averil swayed against him until their shoulders were touching. He slipped one arm surreptitiously around her waist and held on. With a sigh of gratitude she let his wiry, malodorous body support her.
‘Wake up.’ It was Ferret, an elbow in her ribs. ‘Here’s ‘is nibs.’
A big man in a splendid brocade robe, his grey curls still tousled from removing his nightcap, spoke to the officer in the hallway, then took Luc’s papers and scrutinised them.
‘Mr Dornay, the poet. I see I have been entertaining you on one of my islands under false pretences, Captain.’
‘Sir.’ Luc was unapologetic. ‘I need to speak to you alone as a matter of urgency.’
‘Very well. My study. What are we to do with these four, might I ask?’ He studied with disfavour the human flotsam dripping sand and seawater on his rugs.
‘The two with their hands tied need securing somewhere apart from each other and where there is absolutely no risk of them communicating with anyone in the town. He—’ he pointed at Ferret ‘—needs breakfast and somewhere to rest while he waits for me. That one …’ He leaned towards the Governor and murmured in his ear.
‘What? Well, I’ll be damned. Very well. Better stay in here then. Foster, close the door, let no one in to disturb this, er … person.’
Luc added something else. ‘Yes, yes. Foster, fetch a rug so he … er, they can sit down without ruining the upholstery. Now, let’s hear the whole of this.’
The officer went out and reappeared with a rug which he threw over a chaise, then Averil found herself alone. The room swayed a little as she stood there, but she found if she went with the motion it took her down on to the chaise and that was soft and solid and held a faint trace of perfume. With a sigh she let herself drift. It would all be fine now, she thought. She was safe, Luc knew what to do. Safe …
*
‘A female? George, really, you drag me out of bed and some ungodly hour to ask me to look after some disreputable female—’
‘Olivia, please! I beg you to keep your voice down.’ The door opened as Averil struggled upright and the Governor came in followed by a tall woman, fully dressed and with an expression that, Averil thought hazily, would stun wasps. Luc brought up the rear and closed the door.
‘This is Miss Heydon, Lady Olivia. She was washed up on St Helen’s after the shipwreck and, because of the extreme secrecy of my mission, I was unable to bring her over here at once. However, as you may know, there is the old isolation hospital there and Miss Heydon was able to sleep there behind locked doors.’
‘To which you hold the key, no doubt, Captain.’
‘Madam, Miss Heydon is betrothed to Lord Bradon—’