Title: 216 Tangled part one

Author: Mary Whimsey

DISCLAIMER: Property of Village Roadshow Pictures Television, Gaumont Television Network and South Pacific Pictures. No profit is made by this venture.

Unable to leave David Grief just staring out to sea at the end of season one of TALES OF THE SOUTH SEAS Susan Zell and Mary Whimsey are working together to create a new series of adventures for David, Mauriri, Isabelle and their friends. The stories are intended for readers who are familiar with the series. Please read them in order starting with story 201, DROWNING found on TLWFIX.com

Rating: Maybe PG

Tangled is a long story that will be continued in Episode 217. The entire story will be posted in four parts over the next month. It is completed. I hope that you like it. And as usual I am begging for any feedback good or bad.

I want to thank Susan Zell for her inspiration and SantaCrux for her excellent editing. And of course RANN for her beautiful site and posting the story.

Tangled

Glancing through the grimy, half opened window of the small room behind her office Claire Devon tucked a stray strand of long, honey brown hair up under her kerchief. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was bright and the steady breeze brought the scents of the sea and flowers. She looked down at the sectioned tray of movable type on table in front of her; her ink stained fingers picked out a capital T.

The story should take less than an hour to set the type. She would print a copy for Mrs. Russell to proofread with the other stories for which the type was already set. It was such a help to have a reliable proofreader like Mrs. Russell. The proofreading had been the hardest part of the work for Claire when she started the newspaper, it had taken her hours and still she missed mistakes. But thanks to Mrs. Russell’s enthusiastic support she could in good conscience finish work for the day in an hour.

Then she would go look for Isabelle with the hope of talking her into riding along the shore road. They could go as far as the Bradford plantation house and beg a cup of tea and scones before they turned back. There were certain advantages in being thought of as the heir apparent to the mistress of the house. It would be just the way to spend such a glorious afternoon.

It had taken several months but life was finally normal again after the devastation of the hurricane. The debris had been cleared away, homes and businesses had been rebuilt, and lives had been put back together. Tahiti was once again the paradise she had been captivated by when she stepped off the boat from England.

Claire bent her head again to her work and smiled.

“Miss Devon!”

There was a commotion in the outer office. Claire called out an answer that she was in the pressroom. When she looked up she saw a young Polynesian man, who she thought was a dockworker, leaning against the door jam breathing hard.

“There’s been murder done!”

“Murder?” repeated Claire skeptically. There were fights among the sailors on the waterfront which occasionally ended with a knifing, but a deliberate murder was extremely rare on Tahiti.

“It’s true!” he exclaimed. His dark eyes were wide with excitement. “Big story! Always bad business when a white man is killed. They’re bringing the body off the Malahini right now!”

Claire knocked the tray of dies off the table when she sprang to her feet. It fell to the floor, scattering them under foot but she took no notice. She pushed the young man out of the doorway as if he wasn’t there and ran. Claire picked her skirts up to her knees and ran through the street towards the dock. She went through the market, crashing into a cart of oranges and paid no heed to the vendor shouting after her. The kerchief fell from her hair, leaving it to fly in long streamers behind her.

Claire ran as she had never run before, aware only of the pounding of her blood in her ears and the icy fear clutching her belly.

The waterfront was crowded. She pushed through people as if she were parting draperies. She didn’t see them. All she saw was four soldiers carrying a long shape wrapped in a sail between them. They moved slowly along the dock and then turned towards the jail just as she reached them.

“Jack!”

The soldiers looked back at the sound of her hysterical cry. They looked at her with grave concern.

Claire stood with her arms extended towards the sail wrapped body, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. She turned towards the schooner, knocking gently against the wharf. Her brown eyes scanned the sailors standing on her deck.

“Jack! Please, dear God, where is he? Jack!”

“Claire.”

She whirled at the sound of his voice. He had not shouted but spoken her name in a low firm voice that cut through the noise of crowd. She knew that there were other people there but she didn’t see them. All she saw was Jack, her Jack as she had first seen him when he realized who she was on the day they met in person. The look on his face was a mixture of amazement and love. She had not understood it that first day. She had not realized how much she had missed it since the end of their relationship.

She threw herself against him, crying, “Oh, love, thank God, thank God.”

She leaned back to look up into his face, his eyes were narrowed against the bright sun, the stubble on his cheeks was thick, almost a full beard. He started to speak but she kissed him hard on the mouth. His lips yielded to hers. It was a long, hungry kiss. For that moment no one else existed for Claire. Every other person or responsibility, even the events of the past months, was forgotten as she lost herself in the knowledge that he loved her. She broke off the kiss reluctantly as slowly she became aware of their surroundings.

It was then that she realized his arms had not come around her. She ran her hands down his work hardened muscles and found his hands were shackled behind his back. She leaned back to look at him. She saw the bruise that darkened the skin under his right eye.

“Jack?” she said uncertainly.

“You mustn’t be here,” he said hoarsely, “not here. Go.”

“What?” she asked, her voice strained. She cocked her head to look at him. There was fear now in his face, fear and anger.

“I’m sorry, Miss Devon. I’m afraid that McGonnigal is under arrest. You will have to step back now.”

Claire turned to look at Lt. Morlais. He stood next to Jack. His voice was sharp but there was pity in his eyes. It frightened Claire.

“No,” she shook her head. Her voice trembled with emotion. “There has been a mistake.”

“This is no place for you,” muttered Jack as he pulled back out of her grasp. His eyes looked past her, fixing on someone in the crowd. “For pity’s sake, Grief, take her away from here!” he shouted.

Claire’s reached again for Jack, grasping his shirt front. She spoke to Morlais. “You can’t be arresting Jack. The boy said there had been a killing. Was there?” she asked Morlais, she glanced at the retreating figures of the soldiers.

She spoke slowly, trying to catch her breath. She’d made a fool of herself jumping to the conclusion that Jack was the victim. But that didn’t matter as long as he wasn’t. She looked towards the Malahini. She knew she would have a lot of explaining to do once she had sorted out what was happening. She would have to calm down and talk to Morlais sensibly.

“I’m sorry,” said Morlais gently, detaching her fingers from the rough fabric she clutched.

“You can’t suspect Jack,” she insisted. Morlais’s sympathetic manner seemed out of place, he should be much harsher with her. She was interfering with his duty. Why wasn’t he shouting orders at her? “Lieutenant, you are making a mistake. Jack, tell him!”

Claire looked at Jack who was standing very still with his head down and his eyes closed. He was muttering something Claire couldn’t hear. He was terribly dirty and disheveled. She reached out again to touch his face, he jerked away from her. All the love she had seen in his face just seconds before had disappeared.

She fell cold.

With a grim look of determination Morlais took Jack roughly by the arm and pulled him away. Jack followed, his head down, stumbling over his own feet.

“No!” screamed Claire with desperation. She tried to lunge after them as strong arms came around Claire, pulling her backwards.

“Let me go!” she screamed angrily. She felt a rising sense of panic as she fought to free herself and run after Jack. “He needs me!”

David tightened his embrace. He held her against his chest; he bent his head to rest his cheek against her hair. His voice was low, calm and soft in her ear. “Listen to me, Claire.”

“No!” she cried as she struggled to escape him. Instinct told her she didn’t want to hear what David had to say.

Jack looked back at her and said savagely, “You have no place here, girl!”

“Please, Claire, listen to me,” said David urgently. He rocked her gently as one would a hysterical child. “You have to hear this.”

“Let me go to him, David. Did you see his face? His eyes? He’s ill, he needs help. That’s why he isn’t speaking for himself. Morlais must have gone mad, he must know Jack couldn’t commit murder,” she spoke quickly, struggling against David. She was crying with frustration. There was a bitter taste in her mouth and she recognized it as fear.

She brushed angrily at her tears and looking around, said, “How could Gilles let Jack be arrested? He knows him. He knows he couldn’t do such a thing. Let me go!”

“Claire, please, listen!” insisted David, his strong arms still wrapped firmly around her. “I must tell you --”

“Not now,” she snapped. “Where is Gilles? He’ll speak for---”

She went stiff in his arms and David closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do to soften the blow. All he could do was hold on to her tightly while the full force of what had really happened to her world washed over her like a tidal wave.

“Gilles,” whispered Claire.

Her body went limp and for a moment David thought that she had fainted. He almost hoped that she had. Then he could pick her up and carry her to someone who could help her. But he heard her frantic voice almost chanting, “No, no, this can’t be. Jack could never. Not Jack, not Gilles. Please, God, let it be a mistake.” She was shaking and David could think of nothing to do but hold her.

“Claire.”

“Thank God,” breathed David.

He looked up and saw Lavinia standing a few feet from them. Her arms were open to Claire. Her large dark eyes were shiny with tears. David knew it had been months since Claire and Lavinia had exchanged more than a few words but when he released her, Claire walked into Lavinia’s embrace, burying her head into Lavinia’s slender shoulder.

Lavinia whispered Tahitian endearments as she looked at David over Claire’s head. He shook his head. He knew very little of what was going on.

The Malahini had docked less than an hour before. A crewman had been sent for Morlais. It was only luck that David had been on the waterfront at the time. All he knew was that Gilles Bradford was dead and Seraut was claiming that Jack was the killer.

Lavinia looked around and realized that Claire was drawing a great deal of attention. “Come, Claire, let’s go back to my house,” she said softly.

“No,” said Claire, shaking her head. Clumsily she wiped at her tear stained cheeks. “Thank you, but I must go to the jail. There has been some horrible mistake. Oh, David, are you sure it is Gilles.”

“Yes, Claire, I’m afraid that is the one thing of which I’m sure. He was found with a knife in his heart on the path leading from the village at St. Girons two days ago.”

“Oh, dear God, comfort us,” she said quietly with her eyes closed. She swayed slightly within the circle of Lavinia’s arm. When she opened her eyes she saw the worry in her friends’ faces. “I’m alright; I have to find where they have taken him. Do you think they will let me see him? Gilles, I mean. I—I should be with him, I mean--” This can’t be true she thought. Gilles can’t be dead.

“Seraut has gone for Mr. Bradford. I’m sure they won’t leave the body alone,” said David, looking at Lavinia, hoping she would back him up.

Lavinia understood immediately what David wasn’t saying. After two days the body would barely resemble the handsome, lively man of whom she and Claire were so very fond. It would be better for Claire to remember Gilles as she had last seen him.

“Claire, why don’t you come home with me for a little while,” said Lavinia gently. “Give yourself a chance to think.”

“Thank you, Lavinia, that is so kind of you,” responded Claire, squeezing her friend’s arm. “I--I should go to the jail. Jack has to know I don’t believe for a moment he could have done such a thing. Surely Morlais will let me talk to him for a moment. He looked so alone.”

You have no place here, girl. Jack’s harsh words echoed in her mind. He couldn’t have meant that. Not after that kiss. Not when he could look at her just a moment before with such love.

“He isn’t,” said David stoutly. He raised his hands to ward off her protest. “But I want you to go with Lavinia and let me go to the jail. You’ve just had an awful shock. Take my word for it you need a little time to think.”

“Come, Claire, we’ll have a cup of tea.”

“A cup of tea?” repeated Claire with a note of hysteria. I’m going mad. Gilles who was always so full of life -dead. Jack’s eyes filled with love after month of silent hate-filled distance. It has to be a bad dream. I’ll wake up soon.

“Isn’t that what you British do in a crisis? Have a cup of tea,” said Lavinia, drawing her close again.

“Yes,” said Claire, she tried to smile but her tears started again. She rubbed angrily at her eyes. “You promise you’ll come as soon as you can and tell me the facts?” Can you tell me if I saw the truth in his eyes, she thought but did not ask.

“I promise,” answered David solemnly. He dropped a brotherly kiss on Claire’s forehead and touched Lavinia’s hand. He watched as Lavinia led her away.

In a moment Mauriri was by his side asking, “How is she?”

“A hell of a lot stronger than I ever gave her credit for being,” said David softly still watching the two women walking away with their arms entwined. “It is all going to hit her in a few minutes. I thought she had collapsed when she realized it was Bradford but she managed to put it out of her mind and think of Jack. She won’t be able to do that for long.”

“Are you going to the jail?”

“Yes.” David turned to his partner and saw stark grief in his dark eyes. Mauriri had known Gilles Bradford his whole life; his death would cut very close to home. David’s loyalty was to Jack who had become a far better friend than David would ever have expected. But he hated the thought of being on the opposite side of anything from Mauriri and so tried to think how to ask him what he thought of Seraut’s account of the facts. “ Mo--”

Mauriri cut him off saying, “Don’t worry, David. I know Jack. Even better than you do. I know he isn’t madman and I know that he held nothing against Gilles where Claire was concerned.”

David half smiled and nodded as relief flooded through him.

“I’m going to talk to the Malahini’s crew before they get too far from the ship,” said Mauriri, gesturing towards the large schooner by the dock. “They are likely to talk more easily to me than Morlais.”

“Good idea,” said David, moving towards the jail. He turned back and called to Mauriri. “Do you know where Isabelle is?”

“At the stables I think,” he answered.

“She’ll want to know. She’ll want to be with Claire.”

“I’ll find some one to send to her.”

“Right,” said David and then he started running towards the jail.

***

Lavinia led Claire to the little house behind the tavern. In the main room there was a large dining table around which were several chairs. Lavinia pulled a chair out and Claire sat down like an obedient child. She folded her hands on the table in front of her.

Gently Lavinia pushed Claire’s loose hair back from her face. “Shall I get some tea?”

“Yes, please,” answered Claire so politely her voice sounded staged. “I’d like some tea.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Yes.” Claire looked up at Lavinia. She saw grief and apprehension in her old friend’s dark eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I just can’t believe that something so terrible has happened. I can’t believe it,” repeated Claire, returning her attention to her folded hands.

Lavinia watched her for a moment, biting her lip in distress. She whirled around and ran from the house. She paused long enough in the tavern kitchen to ask her cook to prepare a tea tray. Then she went into the taproom.

Colin was behind the bar listening to several sailors talking loudly about what had just happened at the docks. He faced her when he heard her footsteps and opened his arms.

She went to him quickly, for a moment she stood quietly with in the circle of his embrace. Lavinia willed herself not to cry. Gilles Bradford had been like family to her, a little cousin she had watched grow up. She would grieve for him for a very long time but now tears would do no good.

“So it is true?” asked Colin softly.

“Yes,” said Lavinia as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Claire is at the house, I’m going to take her some tea. Oh, Colin, she is so quiet. When she heard about the body she thought it was Jack. Her feelings for him, they overwhelmed her. She had no more discovered he was alive than she learned Gilles was dead.”

Colin’s blue eyes clouded behind the smudged lenses of his spectacles. “Do you think I can help?”

“Yes,” answered his wife, nodding her head vigorously. “I’ll sort things out here and bring the tea in a few minutes. You go to her, please.”

Just inside the door of his house Colin paused to look at Claire. He noted that she was dressed for work, she wore a serge skirt and a heavy cotton blouse with the sleeves rolled up above her elbows. Over them was a thick canvas apron stained with ink. Her light brown hair, normally so neat was half caught up by pins. She sat very still, her hands still folded in front of her on the polished surface of the table.

“Claire?”

Colin entered the room slowly and spoke quietly, concerned that he would startled her

She did not turn to face him but started to speak in a low, thoughtful voice. “We were going to be married. We talked about it as if he had already asked and I had already accepted. We were to have dinner last night. They didn’t make it back and I didn’t think anything of it. The schooners are so dependent on the wind, I thought nothing of it. I thought we would have dinner tonight. Why didn’t I think of Gilles when I heard they were taking a body off the Malahini?”

Claire looked up suddenly at Colin.

Colin took a step forward and pulled a chair out from the table. He sat down across from her and waited for her to go on. How young she looked, he thought. How confused.

“I ran the whole way through town only thinking of Jack. I don’t understand how I could have done that. I’ve barely spoken to Jack in months. But I thought only of him, I was so afraid that I would never see him again; that I had truly lost him forever. I should have been thinking of Gilles. I should have been thinking of him, of his safety but I was only thinking of Jack. Why didn’t I think of Gilles?” she asked angrily.

Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. Colin took a deep breath and said a silent prayer for wisdom. He spoke very slowly. “I don’t know why you didn’t think of Gilles first. Perhaps it is as simple as the Malahini and Jack are linked in your mind.”

“Yes, perhaps. He’s sailed on the Malahini for a long time now,” she said softly, returning her attention to her hands on the table. “I can’t sort my thoughts out. I start thinking about Gilles, how this can’t be true. He can’t be dead; we should be having dinner. And then suddenly I’m thinking about Jack. About what I saw in his face, for a moment--” she broke off, shaking her head.

“What did you see in Jack’s face, Claire?” asked Colin gently.

“Love,” she said softly. Frowning, she glanced at him. “For a moment I saw his love for me in his eyes. It is so strange. He used to look at me with such love in his eyes; it made me feel as if I were so special, so precious to him. I long since gave up the hope of seeing that look again. For so long I have feared that I had imagined Jack’s love for me, that everything about our time together had been as false as his letters. But it was there, I saw it, I felt it.” A few tears spilled down her cheeks. “And then it was gone. When he looked at me again his eyes were cold.”

Claire suddenly aware of what she was saying covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Colin, how horrible, how heartless you must think I am. I know I should be thinking of Gilles. I am thinking of Gilles but—“

Colin reached out and took her hands in his. “Claire, I could never think you were horrible. I know that you cared deeply for Gilles and that you will mourn him. I also know that no matter what happened between you and Jack he has a very special place in your heart. Please don’t worry about what I might think. Try to trust our friendship. I will not judge you.”

Claire looked at him and saw nothing in his kindly face but sympathy and affection. She pulled her hands from beneath his and put them on either side of her head. “My thoughts are so jumbled.”

“That is a perfectly normal response to a tragedy like this,” said Colin softly.

Claire rubbed her hands along her upper arms as if she was cold. “Yes, I suppose that is true. I’ve told myself for months that Jack doesn’t deserve the place he has in my heart. Maybe it isn’t so strange that I thought of him first. I’ve tried to only remember how he hurt me but the truth is any time I let my thoughts wander it is Jack and all the plans I thought we had that I think of. I have to remind myself of what he did so that I can hold on to my anger. Oh, dear God, but I can’t sort any of this out.”

Colin frowned. He wanted to tell her how Lavinia had always believed that Jack had rejected her because he had been convinced it was the best thing for her by Mrs. Russell but he had no proof. If it wasn’t true he would only make things worst by telling her.

Claire sat with her head in her hands and said, “The only thing I know for sure is that Jack is not capable of cold blooded murder.”

Based on what he had heard Colin didn’t know that it had been a cold-blooded murder. He discounted the wild speculations that were circulating around the bar. Most killings, especially among the sailors, were not premeditated. He did not think it would help to point out to Claire that she was jumping to conclusions. Colin didn’t believe that Jack had killed Gilles Bradford. Not so much because Jack was incapable of killing a man; Colin had learned to his sorrow that most men could kill, would kill, under the right circumstances. What Colin couldn’t imagine was that Gilles could have provoked Jack to violence.

“And why I should be so positive of that I don’t know,” continued Claire earnestly. “Jack has lied to me so often that I must be out of mind to be sure of any about him and yet I am sure that he would never have hurt Gilles. Most particularly not Gilles. But there is no reason for me to think that, is there?”

“Maybe there is,” said Colin quickly, relieved to have something to say. “Perhaps Gilles said something that led you to believe they were friends, good friends.”

Frowning, she sat still. “Not friends exactly.” She brought her fingers to her mouth and said softly, “Responsibility.”

Colin leaned his fair head closer. “Sorry?”

“Gilles said that Jack had a tremendous sense of responsibility, for the boat, for the crew, even for him and Henri,” she said in a voice soft with remembrance. “He quite admired Jack as a sailor. Gilles would have like to have been friends but he said Jack kept himself to himself even on the boat. I thought maybe it was because of me even though it didn’t make any sense since it was Jack who broke off our relationship before Gilles and I had gotten to know each other. I tried to tell Gilles about, about Jack and me but he never seemed very interested. He’d heard dozen versions from the gossips and he never cared.”

No, thought Colin, it would not occur to Gilles Bradford that Cannibal Jack could be serious competition for a young lady’s affections.

“So it isn’t that they were friends so much as Jack would never ever hurt anyone connected to the Malahini,” said Colin thoughtfully.

Claire nodded. A new notion came to her and she turned again to look at Colin, she spoke with great urgently. “I’m afraid that Jack is ill. He seemed confused; he was shaking.” She looked anxiously out the window towards the street. “Why doesn’t David come and tell us what is going on?”

Colin watched with a sense of helplessness. She was trying so hard to order her thoughts, to have the right thoughts. It was clear that she believed she should be thinking only of Gilles because he had lost his life and surely the woman who had plans to marry him should be thinking of nothing but him. Colin understood that her grief for Gilles was quite real but the agony in her voice, the fear and the hope was for Jack.

Colin didn’t doubt for a moment that the love Claire had seen how ever briefly in Jack’s eyes was very genuine. Would it help her now to believe in that love he asked himself, or is thinking even more about Jack only going to add to her confusion?

Colin glanced at the door. He wished Lavinia would come.

Claire pressed hard on her temples. It was as though her thoughts had become visible to her. They were a useless tangle of different colored yarns; Gilles, Jack, duty to the dead, duty to the living. She had to untangle them and roll the strands into balls so that she could make sense of what was happening. There was so much that she should be doing. She had to be calm. This would be a terrible blow to Mr. and Mrs. Bradford and to the younger boys. She had to think of them. Oh, God why would anyone want to hurt Gilles? For a moment Claire concentrated on Gilles. She could see his open smile and his lively dark eyes. She could hear his laughter. Gilles had a good word for every one and believed so completely in all things turning out for the best. How could Gilles be dead? But then she was seeing Jack’s face. She must be losing her mind, thinking of Jack at a time like this. Jack was not her concern, he had discarded her. He cared nothing for her and deserved nothing from her.

Oh, but his eyes were full of hope and love for that one moment.

“I can’t think,” she said fiercely, her fingers twisted in her long hair. “I can’t sort anything out. I should be doing something but all I can manage is to sit here with my thoughts jumbled.”

“Claire, you have had a horrible shock,” said Colin slowly, carefully. He let his words sink in. “Of course your thoughts are in a jumble. It will take some time to sort through all these different feelings.”

“But, Colin, there isn’t any time. There is too much to do. Mr. and Mrs. Bradford will be heartbroken. I must do something,” she mumbled. Her elbows were on the table, she held her head in her hands.

“May I make a suggestion?” asked Colin, tilting his head to get a look at her face. He had left the Church but his training had not left him. He fell back on it now.

Claire dropped her hands and looked up at him hopefully. “Please.”

“I am very sorry about Gilles. He was a splendid chap,” said Colin sincerely, “but it seems to me there is only one thing we can do for Gilles now.”

“Pray,” said Claire with a nod. “I want to pray, I want to pray about so many things but I don’t seem to be able to start.”

“You have been praying all along. Our Father does not need words to know what is in our hearts. But,” said Colin with a gentle smile, “we do need words, we need our rituals to help us at a time like this.” He stood and crossed the room to the bedroom he and Lavinia shared. A moment later he returned with a well-worn leather bound book.

Claire recognized it as his prayer book. Yes, she thought, that is the place to start. Those familiar words would give her direction.

***

With long stokes Isabelle pulled a brush over the hide of chestnut mare. The sturdy mare had a tendency to bite and so she was tied on a very short lead to the post outside of her stall. A satisfied smile spread across Isabelle’s beautiful face as the golden tint of the horse’s hide reflected the light of the sun. The mare was the perfect carriage horse for the Titchmarshs. The showy golden-red hide and her four white stockings would make the sale. Isabelle would neglect to mention the mare’s bad manners.

She heard a slight sound behind her and turned towards the arched entrance. She was half expecting David and so was disappointed, even a little concerned when she recognized the Rattler’s mate Tah-Mey. Tah-Mey rarely ventured into the commercial end of the little town.

“Something important I need to know?” she asked, standing a little straighter.

Tah-Mey nodded. With very few words he told her about the death of Gilles Bradford and the arrest of Cannibal Jack.

Isabelle stood with her mouth agape; the brush forgotten in her hand.

Tah-Mey looked at her with his head cocked to the side, his long curly hair brushing his bronzed bare shoulder. He eyed the large animal with distrust and waited for Isabelle to say something.

“Claire. Does Claire know?”

Tah-Mey nodded solemnly. He then gave Isabelle the most accurate but dullest description of Claire’s appearance on the docks that would circulate through the town that night. He finished by saying that Claire was with Lavinia.

Isabelle sighed slightly in relief. She trusted that Lavinia would know exactly how to take care of Claire who must be reeling. Thank God, she thought, Lavinia hadn’t let their petty argument prevent her from helping Claire.

She dropped the brush into a small wooden box at her feet. She untied the horse and led her back to her stall. She paused at the door and asked, “Are you sure it was Cannibal Jack they arrested?”

As if he could mistake Cannibal Jack after all these years, he thought, trying not to show his annoyance with her question. Tah-Mey nodded. He watched her face and was pleased to see disbelief remain in her large light eyes.

For months Isabelle had had not one kind thought about Jack McGonnigal. She blamed him for hurting Claire and she never missed an opportunity to express her contempt for him. But she simply couldn’t accept the idea of him as a murderer. Why she couldn’t say. After all she had long ago learned not to be surprised at what men were capable of. Still Jack would have no motive unless –but no, that didn’t make sense. Of course men killed each other over women all the times. But surely a man had to care about a woman, even love her or think he did to commit murder.

Isabelle sent the horse into its stall with a light slap on the rump. She secured the door behind it. She dipped her dirty hands into a bucket of water and swished them around. Flinging the excess off her fingertips, she picked a long sleeved shirt off a hook and slid it on over her camisole.

Still frowning she walked quickly out of the stables to the street.

***

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said a young soldier in French as he opened the door to Lt. Morlais’s office. “Captain Grief would like a word, sir.”

“Should you have the misfortune of getting to know Captain Grief better, Colbert,” said the lieutenant with a grimace, “you will discover he never stops at just a word. Send him in.”

David burst into the small office already talking, “You can’t seriously think that Jack would kill Gilles Bradford.”

Morlais sat behind his desk and looked up at Grief, frowning. Since he was considerably the shorter of the two he always found it better to deal with Grief from behind his desk. He hoped that it reminded Grief of his authority, that he had the weight of the French government behind him.

“At the moment Cannibal Jack is in custody as much for his own protection as anything else,” said Morlais slowly, looking David in the eye. “I have not had an opportunity to examine the facts. All I know is a man, a very well thought of and prominent citizen of this community, is dead. And I have witnesses that say Cannibal Jack was seen standing over the body.”

“Seraut.”

“And Chief Marheyo”

David paused for a moment. He knew Chief Marheyo; he was a very reliable man. “Have you spoken with the Chief?” he asked cautiously.

“No, I understand he is expecting me to come to him. I have only briefly spoken to Seraut,” said Morlais with a trace of annoyance. “He wanted to be the one to tell his uncle about the death of his son. He has ridden out to the plantation.”

“Then you have little more than an hour before Tom Bradford will be in here demanding blood.”

Morlais inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I had hoped to hear Jack’s side of the story before Bradford arrived.”

David cocked his head and looked closely at the lieutenant who returned his gaze blandly. He had entered the office ready to argue with Morlais. They had had many arguments in the past

“You don’t think Jack did it,” said David, watching Morlais’s expression.

“At this point I think nothing,” said Morlais’s evenly. “I don’t have the facts. Until I have spoken to everyone who has any knowledge of what took place I simply don’t know.”

“You aren’t taking Seraut’s word?” asked David. He was surprised. Morlais generally like things as simple as possible. A ready-made suspect to such a high profile crime was the sort of option David would expect him to jump at.

“All Seraut has said to me is that he saw Jack standing over his cousin’s body in the middle of the path. That is not the same as saying he saw him plunge the knife into Gilles Bradford’s chest.” Morlais stood and crossed the room to pour himself a glass of water. “My interest is in the truth of what happened. I will not jump to the conclusion that McGonnigal is guilty simply because he has an unfortunate history. After all he has been based here for more than a decade and except for several arguments over cards, which according to witnesses he did not start, I have only two reports concerning him in the files. Both, once during my predecessor’s tenure and once during my time here, were when he came to the assistance of young native women being annoyed by drunken sailors. Both times he did considerable damage but it appeared justified. It strikes me as unlikely he would suddenly have gone mad and struck down his employer. Although men often do things out of character when women are involved, Miss Devon’s appearance on the dock certainly put things in a different light. It was my understanding that her involvement was with Gilles Bradford not Cannibal Jack.”

He turned in order to gazed at David with a raised eyebrow.

David knew that he was waiting for him to fill in the details. He thoughtfully fingered the cleft in his chin and consider how best to present Jack and Claire’s relationship. A relationship that David thought resembled an iceberg, far more of it under the surface than above, even for the two of them.

“I suspect you know that she and Jack were involved some time ago,” said David carefully. Morlais was an efficient policeman, who would not be unaware that Claire’s place in the small but complicated white society of Matavai had changed since the arrival of her godmother. “But I know for a fact that Jack broke things off and neither of them have made any attempt to reconcile in the months since. I’m very sure they have barely seen each other.”

“And yet it was Cannibal Jack she was looking for when she came to the dock, not Gilles Bradford.”

David was saved from the need to answer by a loud commotion outside the door. It opened and Mauriri stormed into the room.

“Do come in, Lepau, don’t stand on ceremony. Treat my office as your own,” said the lieutenant in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mauriri was breathing heavily as if he had run quite a distance. “Have you given Jack food or water?”

“He will be fed this evening with the other prisoners.”

“He’s had nothing for two days but rum,” exclaimed Mauriri. “I talked to the crew. Seraut would let no one near him but his fellow, oh, what’s his name, Marco. All they gave him was rum.”

“No wonder the man was barely able to say his own name,” growled the lieutenant. He picked up the water carafe and handed it to David. “Alright, take him this. I’ll arrange for some beef broth and bread. Corporal!”

“Yes, sir?” answered the young man who was hovering behind Mauriri.

“Lock these men in with the prisoner. Don’t let them out until I return,” he said as he put his cap on his head and started for the door. In the hallway they parted.

David stopped and called over his shoulder. “Morlais? Thank you.”

The lieutenant gave him a grim nod of acknowledgment.

***

Jack pressed his back against the rough, damp wall of the cell. He was sitting on the cot with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He was trying to stop shaking. His head was a little clearer; at least he thought it was. He felt light headed but not drunk.

There was an ache in his belly, hunger. Jack understood the ache of hunger better than most. But for him it meant more than just physical discomfort. There were always memories, bad memories that even in the daytime took the shape of nightmares. There were the voices of long dead men whispering in his ears; those that hated him for surviving when they did not, those who urged him on to do unspeakable things.

A tremor went through him and he closed his eyes. His throat was parched and he wanted to cry out for water.

There was a sharp pain around his right eye. It was swollen. He could barely see out of it.

Where am I, he asked himself. He should know. He was sure that he should know but the events of the past days were twisted in his mind. The only thing he was sure of was that Claire had been close to him. Or was he sure? Perhaps he had conjured the scent of her English soap and the taste of her mouth, so fresh and soft against his. He might easily have imagined her voice, she’d called him love. Yes, he must have made her up out of thin air. Claire would never again call him love.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his knees. His right hand closed over the smooth tusks of the talisman he wore around his neck. He was back in hell, that’s where he was. He was scared and alone with the voices of dead men whispering in his ears. This was no place for Claire; it was a sin even to think of her here.

There was the clang of metal scraping against metal. He opened his eyes and saw two men moving towards him. He raised his hands, surprised that they were free. This time, he thought, I will fight them.

Startled, David danced backward, swinging the water carafe out of reach of Jack’s fists. “Jack, it’s us!” he shouted. He exchanged a worried glance with Mauriri.

Mauriri caught Jack around his shoulders and pulled him back against his massive chest. Leaning forwards, his mouth close to Jack’s ear, he said softly, “Jack, you’re safe. It is only water. David and I are here to help. It’s water. You need water.”

Jack struggled against the strong embrace. The words repeated over and over started to make sense. He recognized Mauriri’s voice. He grew still, his eyes cut to David.

“Water?” asked Jack uncertainly.

David took a step forward. He held the carafe to Jack’s lips, he drank greedily. David looked over his head at Mauriri. He knew they were thinking of the same night. The night Mauriri had found him in that horrid hut, half dead with fear and fever. The memory took David’s breath away and he felt cold sweat break out along his spine.

Jack grew calmer. He looked up at David; there was recognition in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I – I just didn’t know where I was. My head is so full of memories, bad memories. I’m sorry.”

“Its okay, Jack,” said Mauriri. He helped Jack to the cot and sat down beside him. “The lieutenant has gone to get you something to eat. You’ll feel better after that.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Jack, nodding his head up and down. Then he grew still and looked up at David. “Claire?”

David sat on his heels and looked Jack in the face. “She’s fine. She’s with Lavinia and Colin. You know they will take care of her.”

“But-but I saw her?”

“Yes,” said David, nodding. “On the docks when you came off the boat. Jack, you seem--”

“No, no, I’m alright,” he said sharply. He took a deep breath and sat back against the wall. His right hand clutched the boar’s tusk talisman he wore around his neck. He could feel Mauriri’s thick arm still around his shoulders. He looked at David and saw concern in his greenish eyes. He was scared but he wasn’t alone. The cool water sliding down his parched throat had focused him. His belly still ached with hunger but he could ignore it and concentrate on his friends. They would listen to him and they would tell him what the hell was going on.

“Claire was--”suddenly he was afraid to ask David if his memory of Claire was accurate.

David reached out his hand and clasped it over Jack’s knee. He recognized the look in Jack’s eyes, fear and hope clashing. He could remember the feeling that went with it. He knew based on his own experience that the most important thing they could do for Jack was reassure him he hadn’t lost his grip on reality. “Claire was afraid for you. She came to the docks to find you and she was very relieved when she found you alive.”

Jack considered his words for a moment. “She kissed me.”

“Yes.” David nodded. On the docks when he’d seen Claire throw herself against Jack he had thought that that passionate public display of her feelings was the worst possible thing that could happen at that moment. Murders had motives. For most people in town the only connection between Gilles Bradford and Cannibal Jack was that of employer and employee; by all accounts it was a satisfying arrangement for both. Some might remember that Claire Devon, the woman Bradford was expected to marry had once kept company with Cannibal Jack. However that relationship had been low profile and had ended before Bradford had become Claire’s constant suitor. There would have been no reason for anyone to think jealousy existed between the two men. No reason until Claire had run onto the docks.

David feared that unwittingly Claire had given rise to the idea of a rivalry between the two men that could be turned into a motive. His first instinct had been to protect both Jack and Claire by getting them apart as quickly as possible

Jack closed his eyes. He forced himself to search through his confusion for that one moment when all that existed in the world was the feel of Claire’s slender body pressed against him, the sound of her soft voice and her clean, sweet scent. He shuddered.

David and Mauriri looked at each other with apprehension. They knew from the glimpse they had gotten of Jack on the docks he was in bad shape. Close up they could see that he had been beaten around the head and shoulders. But even after they had heard he had had only rum for two days they had not expected him to be so bewildered.

“But then she didn’t know about Bradford,” said Jack softly. He looked up at David and asked, “Does she now?”

“Yes,” answered David, nodding his head.

“Oh, God, her heart must be broken.” It was almost a wail.

David and Mauriri exchanged another glance. They didn’t know what to say. Neither of them doubted that Claire was very fond of Gilles Bradford, probably fonder than many women where of men they considered marrying. However, if her heart really belonged to Bradford wouldn’t it have been he she had come to the docks looking for?

There was a noise behind them. The three men looked towards the door of the cell. A young soldier carried in a tray and sat it beside Jack on the cot. On it was a bowl of dark beef broth and baguette. For a moment Jack closed his eyes and let the fragrance fill him. Then he tore a piece of the bread off and dipped it into the broth.

The soldier withdrew and the lieutenant appeared at the door. He stood very straight and watched Jack eat without expression. After a few minutes, he said, “I would like to hear your side of the story now, McGonnigal. It would be helpful to know what happened before Mr. Bradford arrives.”

“Right,” said Jack, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He was steadier now. His memory of the day before he was thrown into the Malahini’s hold was clear. “It is easily told. We were finished our business but two of our boys are from that village so Bradford --he says we’ll spend the afternoon so they can see their families. The chief, you know, how friendly he is, he invited Bradford and Seraut to have lunch. An old mate of mine lives up the mountain a ways from the village.”

“Fitzpatrick?’ interjected David.

“Aye, has a wife and a couple of kids. I ran in to him on the beach and decided to spend the afternoon with him. Had a meal. Headed back down the mountain well before dark. I was nearly back to the village when I saw a man lying with his back to me across the path.”

“Did you recognize him?” asked the lieutenant. in his calm official voice.

“From his size and his clothes I knew it could only be Bradford or Seraut. I ran up to him. Yelled at him, shook him, turned him--” Jack swallowed hard. He was shaking slightly. The story was harder to tell than he thought it would be.

“You turned him over?’

Jack nodded. He closed his eyes and saw again the dead man’s face. Not just any man’s face, the face of a man he liked, and a young man he had felt some responsibility for. “He was dead. His eyes were open. The knife, a long knife like any of us might have, had been thrust in to the hilt between his ribs.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I didn’t get a chance to do anything. I heard an awful shout. Next thing I know my arms are pulled behind me and my hands are lashed together. Seraut was screaming at me in French but I couldn’t understand him. They dragged me back to the boat and threw me in the hold.”

The lieutenant started to speak but a noise from the front of the building drew his attention. He glared at them with irritation. “Come out, you two,” he ordered, “I need to lock him in.”

Mauriri from the other side of the bars said, “Look, Jack, we’re going to figure this out. You have to take heart that Morlais was willing to listen to you.”

“Maybe,” said Jack slowly. He had gotten up off the cot and followed them to the cell door. He could never have admitted it aloud but he had taken comfort in Mauriri’s solid bulk beside him. “But Tom Bradford is a man use to having his way. This is one time he will be sure to get it.”

Neither David nor Mauriri had a reassuring response. What Jack said was true. No matter how fair and impartial an investigation Morlais wanted to make there would be pressure brought to solve the case very quickly. Tom Bradford was a rich man who had the ear of every official on the island. The death of his eldest son would hit him hard. If he assuaged his grief by looking for vengeance neither of them would be surprised. Jack would make an easy and quick target.

David was reluctant to leave Jack looking and no doubt feeling like a lamb for the slaughter. He wanted to say something to bring a spark of hope into his friend’s eyes. “Jack, about Claire--”

“You keep her away from this.”

David was stunned at the vehemence in his voice. “I’m not sure that I can. She is worried about you.”

“No.” He shook his head hard. “She’ll want nothing to do with me now that she knows it is Bradford who died.”

“She knew on the docks,” insisted David, taking a step closer to the bars that separated them. “She figured it out for herself when she realized Bradford wasn’t there speaking up for you. She was still trying to come after you.”

“No. I won’t see her,” said Jack almost to himself as he turned away from them. It will be a scandal. It would destroy her reputation; all of her work on the newspaper would be for nothing.

“I don’t want her anywhere near me. You tell her that,” he said with a sudden sharpness in his voice. “Bradford loved her, and if she was going to marry him then she must have cared for him. Claire needs to mourn him. He was a good fellow. He deserves to be properly mourned.”

“A lot of people will mourn for Gilles, Jack,” said Mauriri with feeling. “And a lot of people will want justice for him. Real justice. You have to believe we can figure this out; that we are not going to abandon you. Jack, do you hear me?”

Jack was standing in the middle of the cell with his head in his hands. He was thinking about Claire. He wouldn’t let himself hope that David was right about her feelings. He had never been worthy of her. And though he was innocent of the murder he would be even less worthy of her now. The only thing he could do for Claire was to demand that she be kept away from him.

“Jack!” David’s voice was sharp. It was the voice of a captain demanding attention.

Jack turned immediately to look at them. They stood looking back at him with worry in their eyes. Mauriri and David were men he admired, men he trusted. He squared his shoulders and took a breath to steady himself. Then he said, “Thank you.”

***

Tah-Mey said that Claire was with Lavinia but as she passed the newspaper office Isabelle glanced in out of habit. To her surprise she saw Mrs. Russell standing by the door to the inner room. Isabelle paused to observe her.

Mrs. Russell had her back to Isabelle; she looked as she always looked, fearfully proper. She wore a linen skirt sensibly hemmed above her heavy leather shoes, a high necked cotton blouse and a wide brimmed straw hat. But even from the back Isabelle could tell Mrs. Russell was not as she always was. Her right hand was gripping the side of the door way. She almost looked as if she needed it to hold herself up. . Isabelle went into the office and said, “Mrs. Russell?”

The woman jumped and then turned. “Miss Reed, good—good afternoon,” she stammered.

The news had spread through the town like a brush fire so Isabelle was sure that Mrs. Russell knew Gilles was dead but she wasn’t prepared for the change the knowledge had worked on her. The face beneath the hat brim looked ten years older than the last time Isabelle had seen it. Her eyes were dry but Mrs. Russell had developed a nervous tic at the corner of her right eye.

“I was looking for Claire. She must have been here when she heard about Gilles; she would never have left the dies all over the floor like that,” said Mrs. Russell, gesturing towards the floor of the inner room. “I should pick them up. She mustn’t lose any of them; she needs them for her work. But I must find her. I’ve heard such an awful story.”

“She’s all right,” Isabelle declared as she stepped forward and took Mrs. Russell by the arm. “She is with Lavinia at her house.”

“Oh, oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Russell softly. She put her hand over Isabelle’s and patted it. “That’s good, isn’t it? Then she isn’t alone. She shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. I-I-”

“I think you better sit down. Claire must have some water here somewhere,” she said as she led her to a wooden armchair near Claire’s desk. To her surprise Mrs. Russell did not resist.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Russell with a small, nervous smile.” I’m sorry to be taking on so. It is just such a terrible shock. Gilles was such a delightful boy. I simply can’t believe that he is gone, that he is dead in such a horrible way. Please forgive me; I know I must compose myself. I must think of Rachel and Claire. Rachel always treated him just as if he was her own child.”

Isabelle found a covered carafe of water on the Claire’s desk. She poured a glassful while watching Mrs. Russell try to compose herself. She took the water to her.

“Thank you,” she said. She took a healthy gulp of water and set the glass down. “I believe that you said Claire is with Miss, that is Mrs. Trent.”

“Yes, why don’t we go and find her together.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, standing up and brushing at the wrinkles in her skirt.

It was then that Isabelle noticed Mrs. Russell was still wearing her apron.

Isabelle went out to the street and waited while Mrs. Russell pulled the office door closed. They set off at a good pace in silence. They were both aware of the electric buzz of excitement in the evening air.

They were making their way around the bar towards the vine covered house in the back when a bearded sailor came up to Isabelle and said, “Have you heard then? Cannibal Jack has done lived up to his name. He killed poor young Mr. Bradford and cut his heart out. He would have eaten it had they not caught him in the act.”

Mrs. Russell’s face went white. She stood still as if rooted to the spot and looked at the sailor in horror.

“Harry, how can you say such an awful thing,” shouted Isabelle. It was all she could do to resist the desire to slap him hard across the face.

“It’s what they’re saying,” insisted the man. He took several steps back. Isabelle Reed was not a woman to trifle with; she could knock him six ways to Sunday.

“I don’t give a damn what they are saying. Jack deserves better than that from you,” Isabelle snapped as she took hold of Mrs. Russell’s arm. She pulled her roughly towards the little house.

***

“Bloody hell, he’s a wreck!” growled David as he and Mauriri came down the stairs from the jail. They heard Tom Bradford’s raised voice when they past Morlais’s office. David was glad there were armed guards between the office and the cells.

Mauriri kept walking toward the other end of the street and the bar. The expression on his face was thoughtful. “Yeah, looks pretty hopeless doesn’t he.”

“He looks bad but what do you mean hopeless?” asked David. His handsome face was troubled; his long fingers tapped against his thigh with agitation. “You don’t think he has given up already do you? That doesn’t show much faith in us.”

“Faith in us he might have. But faith in his own luck,” Mauriri shrugged his wide shoulders.

“That’s awfully pessimistic, Mo. I know Jack has never been the most cheerful fellow around but given his past I’ve always thought he got on fairly well.”

Mauriri chewed absently on his bottom lip and sent David a side-long glance. “What do you know about his shipwreck?”

The question took David by surprise. He supposed that it shouldn’t have. Jack had said something about bad memories; he must have been referring the shipwreck and the aftermath. “Not much. The boat sank in a storm and when Captain Mac chanced on the island Jack was the only one left alive. I remember you saying that the captain brought him back here and Lavinia’s godmother nursed him.”

Mauriri nodded and stopped walking. He pensively looked out towards the bay. It was turning a soft silver blue in the dying light of the day. “I don’t know when the last of his mates died but I do know he was six months on that island, much of the time alone with—“

“The corpses of his shipmates,” finished David. David was neither superstitious nor squeamish still he felt a shudder run the length of his body.

Mauriri continued looking at the water and seeing the past, “I left for Europe soon after Captain Mac found him. I remember him being nothing but skin and bones and scraggly hair, raving with fever. As a matter of fact when we found you it went through my head that I hadn’t seen a man look that bad since my first sight of Cannibal Jack all those years ago.”

David easily saw the image Mauriri was describing. It gave him a sudden deep empathy for Jack. David’s experience had been bad. He had been beaten, poorly fed and under the constant threat of death. By the time his partners had found him he was sick with fever and drifting in and out of reality. But the one thing he had never been was completely alone. Outside his little hut the life of the large sugar cane plantation went on. He had his hate for his captor to keep him alive. And he had his faith in his friends need to solve the mystery of his disappearance to give him hope of surviving in the end.

Jack would have been alone; no one to hate or to believe in; simply alone at the mercy of fate.

“He was young, not twenty yet,” said Mauriri, picking up the story. “There was a rumor that he bit Captain Mac when he brought him on aboard. Another one that all he would eat was raw meat. And another one that said he couldn’t talk. I’m not sure any of them were true. He was sick with fever, I do know that. Vivi took him in. She called him Christmas Present for a while,” he said with a deep throated laugh.

“Christmas Present?” asked David, puzzled.

“Yeah, it was Christmas Day when Captain Mac showed up with him. God, he was mess. If you believe in the old ways I guess you would say that she had an exorcism done for him; saved him not only from hunger and fever but from the ghosts of the dead. I don’t know what Jack believes about what she did. I do know I have never seen him without that boar’s tusk talisman Vivi had made for him. Some of the rumors made it sound like he had caused the wreck and murdered the crew. I doubt anyone ever believed the worst of them but you know how people, especially sailors, like a good story. By the time I left Jack was up and around. He didn’t mix with people and he didn’t stray far from the bar. At some point while I was away he crewed for Captain Mac but he was here when I got back. Still keeping to himself but staying close to the bar. It had been better than two years but people would still drag out the story now and then and everyone called him Cannibal Jack. After a while I guess it just became his name. You know thinking about now I wonder if he’d have preferred Christmas Present. It puts a better picture in your head, doesn’t it?”

David thought about Jack before Claire came to Tahiti. Jack hadn’t exactly been a hermit. He’d spent a lot of time in the bar, drinking, and playing cards. David wouldn’t have said that he knew him well. In fact he had paid almost no attention to him unless they were playing cards. His reputation had been as a good sailor but a lot of captains wouldn’t sign him because the name and the story behind it made them uneasy. They would say they weren’t superstitious but David thought most sailors were at least a little. As for the name Cannibal Jack, David thought he must have heard the story early on. He had never given much thought to what the name would remind Jack of, for David it was simply his name.

“I wonder why he stayed here,” said David thoughtfully. “He could have gone anywhere, started over.”

Mauriri rubbed his large hand over his chin. “I’ve never asked him but I think he stayed because of Vivi.”

David thought of Lavinia’s godmother. She had been about forty and frail when he met her, wasting away from cancer. She was still lovely, her European and Polynesian heritage mixing to make her an exotic beauty even on an island of beautiful women. She had also had-- David wondered what word would describe her personality. She had had a sort of power about her, a wild sort of charm.

“A lot of men kept coming back to Matavai in those days because of Vivi,” said Mauriri. He shook his head slightly, smiling. “She was really something, like a flame that drew moths. For most men it was, well, the obvious that they were after. They wanted to be the one who would finally win her. But for Jack , it was different. She didn’t play any games with him. She saved him. And she created a safe place for him. No one bothered him in the bar under Vivi’s watchful eye. Over time people lost interest, left him alone. By the time Vivi died Matavai was his home but until Claire came I would have said he didn’t care much about anything.”

Watching the sky go from soft blue to pink, David said, “Jack told me one time that he lived in his head; that when he wrote to Claire the life in his head was what he told her about, not the life he actually led.”

“That makes sense,” acknowledge Mauriri. He took a deep breath and blew it out through his teeth. “You know what surprises me isn’t that he looks beat to hell now but that he got through losing Claire without diving back into a bottle of rum. I’ve known Jack -what twelve, thirteen years. I’ve crewed with him. I never remember him laughing, joining in the way he would Sundays at our house when he and Claire were together. I really thought that losing Claire would break his spirit. But except for Christmas Eve I haven’t seen him drunk, have you?”

“No,” David shook his head; he thought about Christmas Eve. “That was more than just thinking about Claire; as near as I could tell that was about being Cannibal Jack. When I found him out on the rocks he was going on about, ah, how did he put it? Being a specter to scare little children with. Something happened that day that pushed him right to the edge. A couple of more gulps of rum he might well have gone over.”

They stood silently for a few minutes in the gathering dark. David kept thinking how just that morning everything in his world had been getting back to normal after the destruction of the typhoon. Except he realized he was wrong. Gilles Bradford was already dead by that morning and Jack was being forced fed rum and locked up in the hold of the Malahini. David just hadn’t known all of that while he was drinking a cup of strong coffee and admiring Isabelle as she brushed her beautiful hair.

“You know,” said David pensively. “I think the reason he didn’t go back to the bottle is that Claire didn’t leave him, he pushed her away. I told him I thought he was wrong about how he went about it but to his mind he did it for her. That would have made it less of a blow to his self respect. And there is Jim Lodge. Jim showed faith in him. Jack had a responsibility to him to take care of the Malahini.”

“Yeah,” nodded Mauriri. “Yeah. He was responsible for the Malahini and the crew which I’m thinking in Jack’s mind would include Gilles. Gilles is killed practically in front of him and he gets throw in the hold with his memories. No wonder he is a wreck.”

David, who had for months felt a sense of uneasiness every time he found himself in a small room with the door closed, understood the look in Jack’s eyes very well. He glanced at Mauriri and once again felt a profound sense of gratitude. Not only that Mauriri and Isabelle had found him and thereby saved him but that he had had them to believe in. A whole group of friends that, while he was being held captive, he knew were looking for him, praying for him. It was the knowledge that had kept him sane in that horrible little hut. “He needs something to believe in, something to fight for.”

“He’s going to have to fight for his life,” said Mauriri gravely. “Tom Bradford is going to be on a rampage. And it won’t just be him. Gilles grew up here. People, all kinds of people really liked him. Jack getting anything like a fair trial is going to depend on hard evidence or better yet the real murderer.”

“You’re right but how is Jack sitting in that cell going to fight for his life? Even if he believes that we are fighting for him he is still stuck in there with his bad memories. We have to get him out of his head. And the best way I know to do that is for him to see Claire, for him to believe she believes in him. He will fight anything, even his memories for her.”

“I don’t know, David,” Mauriri said with a frown. “It might just make everything worse. It would feed the image of a love triangle if Claire was publicly on Jack’s side. Besides, now that she has had time to think about it Claire may not want to help Jack. You’d be asking a lot of her. He really hurt her breaking off things between them the way he did.”

David pushed his hands through his hair. “If you had seen the poor girl’s face, my God, to go through so many strong emotions so quickly, even after she knew about Bradford she was still worrying over Jack. Maybe if she had all the facts about why Jack broke things off, maybe she would at least see him. Tell him she thinks he’s innocent.”

Mauriri scratched his ear thoughtfully. “We’d have to be careful when she went. I’ll bet you there is not a person in town who hasn’t heard some version of Jack and Claire and that kiss while her intended was, well, dead and being carried off in a shroud not more then twenty feet away. She may just want to stay hidden away.”

“Oh, hell, why would anyone kill Gilles? It doesn’t make any sense,” said David with a groan. “We have to find a starting place in all of this.”

The tropical night was falling quickly around them. Lanterns were being lit in the windows along the street. The bay had deepened in hue from a pewter gray to deep black.

“True but right now I’m going home,” said Mauriri as he started to walk again. “Lianni will be desperate for news. Do you want to come along and have some supper?”

“Ah,” said David, wishing he could say yes. Lianni would be upset but eating dinner with her and the kids would be so much easier than go to Lavinia’s to face Claire’s frightened, confused eyes. “No, I promised Claire I’d bring her news. I’ll see you in the bar later.”

“Right.”

***

When Lavinia returned to the house with the tea tray, she found her husband and Claire sitting at the table with Colin’s prayer book open between them. They were reading responsively aloud.

She set the tray silently on the table and pulled out a chair. Once she was seated she bowed her head. She knew the traditions of the Christian church. Her schooling like many young Tahitians had been in a convent mission school. She respected those traditions particularly in the manner in which Claire and Colin chose to put them into practice. But they were not her traditions. She had prayers of her own to say, prayers for the dead and prayers for the living.

When Colin said the final Amen, Lavinia poured out the tea. She watched Claire hold her cup in both hands. Claire didn’t take a sip but appeared to hold it for warmth, in spite of the day being quite hot. Lavinia poured a cup for Colin. As she handed it to him she sent his a questioning glance. He shrugged slightly in response. They would have to wait for Claire to give them some clue as to how they might be of the most help to her.

Claire stared into the golden green depths of her tea cup. As Lavinia had said, A cup of tea was the British answer to any crisis. When her father died, Mrs. Russell had made her a cup of strong sweet tea. They had sat together on the uncomfortable horse hair settee in the sitting room of the London flat. Claire could remember the sound of her mother crying in the other room. Mrs. Russell had held her hand, said prayers with her and answered her questions about the future.

Claire took a deep shuddering breath. She knew instinctively that her godmother would not have the answers to her questions this time.

The prayers had helped. Whatever the manner of his death, Gilles was a good Christian. It was cold comfort. As the same knowledge had been when her father died and when her mother died and left her alone. Grief was an honest emotion. She recognized it; she could even embrace it knowing that someday Gilles’s death would be like those other deaths. She knew eventually her memories of him would not bring a penetrating sense of loss but gratitude for their friendship.

Yes, grief was something she could survive.

But what was this other emotion that threatened to engulf her each time Jack came into her thoughts? She had no name for it, for it was a mixture of fear and anger and hope and longing. If Jack was a malicious liar who had hurt and deceived her with such contempt then surely he was capable of murder for some reason she could not fathom. Yet everything in her rejected the very thought. The man who wrote her those beautiful, poetic letters could not commit such a crime. The man who had walked along the beach with her listening to her share her hopes for the future, he could not be a murderer. But you didn’t know him said the voice of her anger at being rejected. For all their beauty the letters had been nothing but a pack of lies.

I knew him today on the dock. The man who kissed me, the man who looked at me with so much love, I knew him.

The knots of her tangled thoughts tightened hopelessly.

Claire did not hear the scrape of Lavinia’s chair against the polished boards of the wooden floor. Lavinia struck a match and lit the lantern that hung from an iron chain from the ceiling. She lit the thick pillar candles in the center of the table. She looked at Claire for a moment and wish she knew what she could do to help.

Claire felt Lavinia’s slender fingers loosing the strings of the heavy apron and pull it over her head. It was a relief to have it off although she had forgotten that she had it on. She looked up at Lavinia and saw her sadness reflected in her friend’s eyes. She leaned against her. Lavinia laid her hand on Claire’s shoulder.

Now I will cry, thought Claire but her tears did not come.

Rapid footsteps on the porch caused the three of them to turn their heads. Claire jumped to her feet and ran to her godmother as soon as Mrs. Russell and Isabelle came through the door. They embraced and Mrs. Russell said, “Oh, my dear, dear child, I am so sorry.”

Claire could say nothing in response. Seeing Mrs. Russell made her think of Mrs. Bradford. Although Mrs. Bradford was not Gilles birth mother she had raised him since he was four when she came out from England to be his governess. Claire felt they were in some ways more devoted to each other than Mrs. Bradford and her three sons were. This loss would devastate her.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Russell to Lavinia and Colin who were standing close together. “It is so kind of you to watch over Claire.”

“This is a great loss for all of us,” said Colin somberly. He held Lavinia’s hand tightly within his own. “Lavinia has known Gilles all his life.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Mrs. Russell. She was twisting her nervous, thin hands in front of her. “Please accept my condolences.”

“Thank you,” said Lavinia with a regal nod of her dark head. “You will be going out to the plantation?”

“Yes, yes, immediately,” answered Mrs. Russell. She turned to Claire, who was standing by Isabelle. “We must go, my dear. I can’t bear to think of dear Rachel alone at a time like this.”

“Go to the plantation?” asked Claire hesitantly. She looked at Isabelle as if asking for help.

Isabelle sent a questioning look to Lavinia who shrugged slightly in response.

“Yes, dear, of course;” Mrs. Russell’s thin eyebrows drew together in puzzlement.

“But it is so far out of town. So far from him,” said Claire, rubbing her hands hard against the thick fabric of her skirt. She couldn’t go out to the plantation and leave Jack in the jail. She couldn’t be so far away if something happened. She had to stay close to the jail, to Morlais the source of information. But Mrs. Russell was right; she had a responsibility to Gilles’s family; they had been so good to her. Jack had sent her away. He didn’t want her.

Claire’s head ached.

Mrs. Russell naturally assumed that Claire was referring to Gilles. “His father will bring him home, my dear. You know his mother is buried out there in the little cemetery just beyond Rachel’s garden.”

“Oh, yes, um.”

Claire walked away from her godmother. She looked at Isabelle who stared back clearly at a loss for what Claire wanted her to say. Claire looked at Colin and Lavinia. There was more understanding in their eyes but they couldn’t help her tell Mrs. Russell what she wanted.

“The thing is,” said Claire hesitantly. She walked over to the window and looked out at the back of the tavern.

How could she possibly explain why she was unwilling to leave town to Mrs. Russell? Claire wasn’t sure that she could explain it to herself. A same woman would surely want to be as far away from the man accused of murdering –should she think of Gilles’s as her fiancé? There was nothing official between them. Yet everyone who knew them assumed they would be married. Would have been married, she corrected herself with a shudder.

She thought again of the look in Jack’s eyes when she kissed him. He was innocent. Whatever else he was, whatever he might feel about her, he was innocent of Gilles’s murder. Of that she was certain, if nothing else.

Claire took a deep breath and said as calmly as she could manage, “The thing is that there has been a terrible mistake, you see.”

“A mistake, child?” repeated Mrs. Russell. “I should think murder is a great deal more than a terrible mistake, it is a horrid crime, a sin.”

“But they have arrested the wrong man. That is the mistake,” said Claire, turning to look at Mrs. Russell. “I can’t be so far--”

“Wrong man?” cried Mrs. Russell. Her face blanched as she thought of the lurid story she’d heard of Claire running through the town not in search of dear Gilles but of that wretched man Cannibal Jack. She had willed herself not to believe it. Not to believe that Claire had embraced, kissed that murderer in a most public display.

“My dear, you are understandably overwrought,” said Mrs. Russell anxiously. “You must go nowhere near that horrid man. Why, do you realize he must have gone mad to kill Gilles who could never have done him any harm? If I hadn’t have warned him off it might have been you he killed when he lost his reason.”

It was Lavinia stiffening beside him that alerted Colin to what Mrs. Russell had just admitted to. Lavinia had long suspected that Mrs. Russell had done something to force Jack to break off his relationship with Claire.

Colin glanced at Isabelle and saw that she had understood immediately. For a moment her mouth hung open. When he looked at Claire he could tell that she had missed the importance of what Mrs. Russell had said. Claire was still preoccupied with meeting all the obligations that she felt.

“What does that mean?” asked Isabelle, moving closer to Mrs. Russell. Her light eyes were bright with wrath. “You warned him off. What did you do?”

“I had a conversation with him in which I explained how his presence in Claire’s life would ultimately destroy any chance for her happiness,” said Mrs. Russell quickly, almost absently. She was concentrating on Claire and had barely noticed Isabelle standing beside her.

“Him. Jack,” said Claire softly. Her eyes had gone very wide. She was staring Mrs. Russell. Awkwardly she felt behind her for the edge of the brocade covered chair Colin used for reading. She sat down abruptly.

Mrs. Russell looked from face to face. In Lavinia’s face she saw condemnation, in Colin’s sadness and in Isabelle’s such fury it startled her. She squared her shoulders and said firmly, “I had an obligation to do anything in my power to save Claire from a life of misery. Surely you didn’t think I could stand by and let that man’s past destroy Claire’s future.

Claire sat very still.

What is it that Mrs. Russell is saying? She couldn’t let his past destroy my future. Jack’s past, my future,-- oh, dear Lord, how could I have been so blind? She interfered. She ruined everything because Jack didn’t measure up to her stupid standards. How could she be so cruel? How dare she hurt Jack so!

Claire took a deep breath and started to rise. She glared at her godmother.

Mrs. Russell stood in the middle of the room looking perplexed and worried. She stood very straight and her voice had remained low in spite of her obvious agitation. But her hat was tilted over one eye as if she had rammed it down over her hair. Untidy strands of brownish-gray hair escaped from under it and clung to her perspiring face. Her right eye twitched as she clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her.

It was then that Claire realized Mrs. Russell still wore her apron; that she had run from the house in distress to find her, to take care of her as she had always done. Claire sank back into the chair.

She was wrong, terribly wrong but she didn’t interfere out of cruelty. It was out of responsibility. How could I have possibly thought that Mrs. Russell would sit idly by when she thought I was in danger? I should have predicted all along she would warn Jack off. Oh, my darling, she would have believed so completely in what she was saying you would have been swamped by her arguments.

Claire closed her eyes and immediately thought of the last walk on the beach she and Jack had taken together. It had been a beautiful night the memory of which had plagued her thoughts for months.

“Claire?” he had whispered softly into her ear.

“Mm?”

“Are you happy? I mean right now, right here?”

“Blissful,” she answered slowly. “Right now, right here, I believe I may be as happy as I have ever been in my life.”

Jack tightened his arms around her. “Make me a promise?”

“Of course.”

“Promise that you will never forget how happy we are this minute. That you won’t forget the sound of waves or the silver of moonlight or how much I--” his voice broke and he sighed deeply.

Claire twisted her head to look up at him. His eyes were closed and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth. “Jack, what is it? We are talking about being happy but you seem--”

“I just want to be sure that you know that , that--” Again he paused.

Claire turned within the circle of his arms to face him. She slid her hand gently along the side of his face. Playfully she touched the hanging earring and set it swinging. “Of course I know. How else could I be so happy? An amazing man loves me and I love him. Nothing else matters.”

“Just promise that you will remember,” he whispered as he pulled her closer to him.

“I promise that I will remember this moment as I will remember all of our happy moments to come. I will keep them in my memory, each distinct as a bright star in heaven,” she said solemnly, smiling up at him. Then she pulled his head down to press her lips to his.

She had remembered but what she had tormented herself with was that he never said he loved her. And that the next time he saw her he broke things off. Now finally it all made sense. He hadn’t said he loved her that night on the beach because Mrs. Russell had already warned him off. He couldn’t get the words out without thinking about how he would soon have to break her heart. He had been so withdrawn, so cold the day he told her but no—

Oh, dear Lord, I have remembered it wrong all this time. Jack never said he didn’t love me. I said it. He just let my words hang between us until I ran away. He never looked me in the eye. If he had looked me in the eye then, or that day he saved me from the cotton bales on the dock or when we were arguing in the cellar during the storm, I would have seen what I saw today. If just once he had looked me in the eye in all this time I would have known that he loves me.

Claire felt the tangled knots of her thoughts loosen. She took a deep breath. There was much she had to do. She had not forgotten Gilles’s death. Her affection for him was deep and she wanted to honor his memory. She would do what she could for his family. She felt a new sense of resolve. Jack was her main concern. Jack was the man she had long believed him to be. He could not possibly have killed Gilles. What was most important was proving his innocence.

Claire opened her eyes and saw Lavinia looking at her. She smiled sadly. She stood and walked over to her godmother. She put her arm around her godmother’s shoulders and started walking with towards the door.

“You must go to Mrs. Bradford,” said Claire calmly. “She needs you. I suspect the carriage is already waiting for you at the house.”

“Yes, but,” said Mrs. Russell, twisting her head so that she could see Claire’s face from under her hat brim. “You’ll come with me.”

Claire shook her head. “I wish that I could. I wish that I could sit vigil with you and Mrs. Bradford. Gilles.” She paused for briefly to regain control of her voice. “Dear Gilles deserves no less from me and if the circumstances were any different I would come with you. Any different at all.”

“Circumstances?” repeated Mrs. Russell faintly. She was looking closely at Claire. She seemed to sense some important and frightening change in the young woman she knew so well.

“Yes, I must stay here.” Claire took a deep breath. Her pretty face was serious; a new measure of confidence had come into it. “I must be close to Jack. I have to know what is happening in the investigation. Please try to understand Jack needs me.”

“J-Jack?” stammered Mrs. Russell. The name had hit her like a blow. She took hold of Claire’s arm. “No, no. He could be dangerous to you.”

“Never. Jack could never be dangerous to me,” said Claire, a faint fleeting smile passing over her face. She patted the older woman’s hand. “You mustn’t worry about me, Mrs. Russell. Mrs. Bradford needs you. That is where you should be. I will be, well, not fine, but I will be alright.”

“Claire, please,” begged Mrs. Russell. In her agitation she pulled Claire towards the door.

“Colin,” said Claire, looking in his direction. She was thankful to see that he understood immediately what she needed for him to do.

“Yes, yes, indeed,” said Colin, stepping forward. He had been observing the subtle but profound change in Claire’s manner. He was proud that she had not vented anger and frustration on her godmother for her part in the charade that had kept Jack’s true feelings from Claire. “I will walk you back to your house, Mrs. Russell. I’m sure Claire is correct that the carriage was sent immediately to fetch you to Mrs. Bradford’s side at this sad time.

“But I can’t leave you here,” cried Mrs. Russell. She looked towards Isabelle and Lavinia as if she hoped they would back her up.

Isabelle looked at her with bright, angry eyes.

With effort Lavinia kept the glow of grim satisfaction out her eyes as she stared back at Mrs. Russell. She had understood it all almost from the beginning.

“I am alright, Mrs. Russell. I am with friends,” said Claire kindly. Don’t think. Not now. Wait until you are alone. “Take care of Mrs. Bradford. And of poor Michael, he must be devastated. He loved his brother so and Gilles loved him. Please, please give them my deepest sympathies and tell Mrs. Bradford if she will receive me I will come to her soon.”

“If she . . . ” Mrs. Russell’s words trailed off. She stared at Claire with worried, almost frightened brown eyes.

Claire kissed her cheek and pushed her gently towards Colin saying, “Godspeed.”

Colin paused long enough to tell his wife to stay with Claire. He would deal with the evening crowd in the bar once he had seen Mrs. Russell safely home. Then he drew the bewildered woman’s arm through his and led her out of the house. She came reluctantly, looking over her shoulder at Claire who stood in the doorway watching her with a quavering smile.

Behind her both Isabelle and Lavinia began to speak. She heard Lavinia say, “I knew she had something to do with Jack breaking things off. I just knew she wouldn’t stand by while Cannibal Jack was romancing you.”

Isabelle was sputtering, “That interfering old biddy.”

Claire took a deep breath and pressed her hands down her dark skirt. She turned slowly to look at her friends. She could see that Lavinia was doing her best not to look triumphant. She had never liked Mrs. Russell. She had found her too English, too bound by the rules of a society for which Lavinia had little respect.

Isabelle just looked angry.

“Good God, Claire, how could you be so polite to her? Why didn’t you just push her out the door, tell her you were never going to speak to her again?” demanded Isabelle.

Claire closed her eyes. When she opened them both women were looking at her with concern. She tried to smile but it was too much effort. “I have no reason to speak to her in such a way.”

“Claire, you have to be furious.” Isabelle was nearly shouting. She walked to the table and picked up the tea pot. She looked at it for a moment as if she didn’t know what it was; then set in down again with a bang.

Lavinia stood with her hands gripping the back of a chair. She looked from Claire to Isabelle and back again. Claire seemed too calm for the situation and Isabelle seemed too angry.

“Will it help if I’m furious?”

“What?” demanded Isabelle, half-turning to look at Claire.

“Will it help?” repeated Claire. She looked steadily at Isabelle, her arms crossed over her chest as if she were cold. “My fury can’t bring Gilles to life. It can’t ease his family’s grief or bring his murderer to justice. My fury won’t help Jack. All my being furious with Mrs. Russell would do is distract me from what is important, from what I can do. And it would hurt her.”

“But she destroyed your relationship with Jack,” insisted Isabelle, her light eyes blazing with indignation.

“No,” said Claire, shaking her head slightly. “Jack destroyed our relationship and I let him. Mrs. Russell did exactly what was expected of her. What I should have known she would do.”

“She treated you like a child,” snapped Isabelle, still pacing the room like an enraged cat.

“Yes,” said Claire, pulling the rest of the pins out of her hair. She ran her fingers through it. “She treated me like a child and I let her. Jack hurt my feelings and I ran away like a child who needed to be comforted.”

“Don’t do this, Claire. Don’t blame yourself,” said Lavinia softly.

Claire turned to look at her. There was a challenge in her brown eyes. “Do you think I should blame Mrs. Russell, Lavinia?”

“She did interfere.”

“Yes,” Claire nodded several times. “She did what she thought was best for me.”

“Claire, don’t make excuses for her,” said Isabelle with exasperation.

Claire sighed. She knew no matter what she said they couldn’t understand how Mrs. Russell had only done what she thought was right. Of course she should have brought her concerns to Claire. She should not have gone behind her back to poor Jack who had always questioned his worthiness of her. Claire knew that Mrs. Russell had told Jack the truth, at least as she understood it. Mrs. Russell done exactly what she had said, she had tried to save Claire’s future. What Claire didn’t understand was why it had never occurred to her that Jack had broken off their relationship because of Mrs. Russell’s influence. It was almost as if she hadn’t looked for explanations for why Jack broke things off, it was almost as if she had expected him to.

Lavinia put her hand on Isabelle’s arm. Isabelle looked at her with annoyance. Lavinia nodded towards Claire. Isabelle followed her glance. This was not the time to challenge Claire. Her voice had been oddly calm but she looked as though she might shatter at any moment.

“If Jack had trusted in us he would have told me what she said,” said Claire more to herself than to her friends. “If I had trusted in us instead of running away I would have demanded to know why he would suddenly change towards me. He had never been anything but kind and considerate of my feelings. And suddenly he was cruel.”

They heard a heavy step on the porch that Isabelle recognized as David’s. All three women turned anxiously towards the door.

David paused in the doorway. He looked at the three women in front of him. To his surprise it was Isabelle who looked the most upset. Her thick, curly, dark hair appeared as if she had been running her hands through it in distraction. Her beautiful, changeable eyes were oddly dark, a sign David had always thought meant she was angry. Why would she be angry? He asked himself. Why would she be emotional at all? She wasn’t particularly close to Gilles Bradford.

He glanced at Lavinia who met his gaze with solemn, dark eyes. She nodded slightly in Claire’s direction and David could almost hear her saying. Go easy.

“What news?” demanded Claire just as David turned to look at her. She was very pale and dry eyed. Her hands were clenched by her side.

“Ah, well, I think we should sit down,” said David carefully. He took Claire gently by the elbow and guided her to the table. The other two followed.

***

Colin guided Mrs. Russell away from the main street to the wooded path that ran up into the hills where the houses of the white community were built. For several minutes she was quiet, she leaned heavily on his arm and her footsteps were slow. The look on her face showed confusion. Then he heard her muttering.

“This is madness. Why has all of this happened? Everything seemed so possible. She was safe. She was happy. Now it is all destroyed because of a madman. Where is God’s plan in this? I can’t see it.”

Colin felt sympathy for her. She believed so completely in living a good life according to Christian principles. Not that she was a fool or that she had led a charmed life. He knew that she had suffered the normal disappointments and losses of life. But he suspected that violent tragedy was something she had no experience with, she could only response to it by grasping hold of rituals. That Claire would reject the expected behavior of a bereaved young woman had shaken Mrs. Russell badly.

“Claire mustn’t go near that man,” she said loudly. She pulled at his arm, forcing Colin to stop and look at her. “Do you hear me? You must keep her away from him. I have always known he was a danger to her a horrible, horrible danger.”

“Mrs. Russell,” said Colin cautiously, “I know that it is difficult given the shock that you have had, but please at the very least you must have an open mind about Jack’s guilt. I find it inconceivable that Jack killed Gilles. He could never be a danger to Claire. He would give his life to protect Claire.”

Colin could tell by the distant, frightened look in her eyes she had barely heard him. He would need to be very patient with her. He was sure there were things he could say to her now that she might not understand but upon reflection she would. He had faith in her ability to reflect upon their conversation, in her desire to truly understand why Claire was behaving as she was.

As if she had heard his thoughts she said, “Why is Claire doing this? Her place is with the Bradfords at a time like this.”

“Her prayers are with the Bradfords. Her place is where she believes she can do the most good.”

“And that is here in town close to him?” said Mrs. Russell bitterly.

“Yes,” said Colin firmly.

He now had her full attention. “How can you say that? You are her friend. How can you tolerate her being anywhere near that madman?”

The obvious answer was to say that Jack wasn’t a madman but Colin knew Mrs. Russell was not ready to hear his opinions of Jack. He chose instead to direct her thoughts to Claire’s feelings by referring to the part she had played in Jack’s choice to break off the relationship with Claire. “I’m sure you would not have done what you did had you not believed that Claire’s feelings for Jack were quite strong. It isn’t really surprising that she would choose to stay close to him now that she has discovered that the real lie between them was that he cared so much for her.”

“Love conquers all,” said Mrs. Russell sarcastically. “I knew that there was a danger her romanticism would lead her in to difficulties. She was a lonely child who believed in fairy tales, in happy endings. She has always been so trusting. I’ve tried hard to protect her, to live up to my vow.”

“You knew her well as a child. Not everyone takes their responsibility as a godparent seriously,” he said with genuine admiration.

A faint, sad smile graced her pale face as she retreated from the tragedy of the present into the past. She spoke softly, “Her parents and I were all brought up the village together. John was very ambitious. All the Devons were. They all moved to London as soon as they could to pursue careers in the newspapers. Claire’s mother was a beautiful, fragile, nervous sort of a woman. Lillibet hated London. Not long after Claire was born she became a semi-invalid. John gave up his dream of reporting from faraway places as his elder brother did in order to stay close her.

“My husband’s parish was in the East End in those days. I was able to see Claire often. Their lives, Claire’s life revolved, around her mother’s illness but John was determined that Claire’s world would be bigger than their quiet flat. He adored her. He took her everywhere in the city. Her conversation was full of adventures with her father. She loved the docks. I was horrified that he took her someplace so dangerous but she loved to look at the ships and make up stories about where they were going. If John had lived, Claire would have gone away to a proper school. She would have opportunities. But he died when she was twelve.

“Her mother insisted they go back to the little village where we had lived as children. A pretty place but there was nothing there, no friends, no opportunities for Claire. They could have gone to her sister Harriet’s, where Claire lived later. But what Lillibet wanted was a quiet life centered around her own illness. Oh,” cried Mrs. Russell, putting her hands to her flaming cheeks.

She was rambling uncontrollably. The words were just pouring out of her. She had never before expressed her opinion of Lillibet as a mother. It was unlike her to be so harsh but the news of poor Gilles’s death had her emotions so close to the surface. “That sounds very lacking in charity doesn’t it? Especially about a friend.”

Colin offered her his arm again and started walking. He spoke softly with out any censor in his voice. “It sounds observant. Claire told me her mother died when she was eighteen. I believe that she then went to live with her aunt’s family.”

“Yes,” she nodded. She considered for a moment tempering her description of Claire’s life in her aunt’s home. She was quite sure whatever Claire had told him in the past had stressed how grateful she was to her aunt and uncle for giving her a home.

It was such an effort to watch her tongue in such a state of high emotion, thought Mrs. Russell. She liked Colin Trent. She didn’t understand why he had given up the useful life for which he had been so well suited to marry a notorious woman and spends his days tending bar. But she did trust him to consider her state if she said anything too harsh about Harriet, a woman she had known and disliked her entire life.

“After six years of a life in complete retirement she found herself in a well off household of marriageable girls. She was so lively, so bright, so full of information she had learned from her reading. She should have been the belle of that house. She was far lovelier and more accomplished than those girls. Her cousins were spoiled and self-centered. Harriet’s plan was to marry her own girls off and keep Claire as a companion. I suppose she thought Lillibet had trained her well.

“I was so angry that I actually encouraged Claire to take the job at the local newspaper, anything to get her out of the house so that she could be appreciated. I would never have approved of her writing to a gentleman on the other side of the world, I suppose that is why I heard nothing about it until she came to say good bye. She was so excited; she had believed all that wretched man’s lies,” said Mrs. Russell, clenching her hands into fists. She was speaking too freely. She had to get control of her tongue. She had to calm down. Talking about the past was not going to save Claire from this heart ache.

Colin smiled slightly. He thought of Claire when she first came to Tahiti. So young and eager, so in love with a figment of her imagination that poor Cannibal Jack hadn’t stood a chance. “It did take her quite a long time to realize that the lies were a small part of his letters and not the part that spoke to her. Once she did she was willing to see Jack for who he really is.”

“Who he really is,” she said haughtily, “is a journeyman sailor with a savage past and now very likely a murderer.”

“Who he really is,” Colin pausing until she was looking at him, waiting to hear what he would say. “Is a man capable of appreciating Claire.”

Mrs. Russell’s mouth gaped. Her brown eyes looked at him shrewdly. “Do you think I am an interfering old biddy?”

Colin gave her a thoughtful, appraising glance. The situation was terrible. He wanted to say something healing, something that would not add to the distressed woman’s problems. He wanted as well to be honest, to be loyal to Jack and Claire.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that you were genuinely afraid for Claire’s future. On the face of it Jack doesn’t appear to have much to offer an educated, middle-class girl like Claire. I know that Claire has had some concerns, deep concerns about how her family would receive Jack, most particularly because of the tragedy in his past. It is the natural impulse for a parent or those who stand in the place of parents to step in and save a child from what they see as a sure disaster. Claire is an adult and I think deserved to have you voice your worries to her rather than to Jack.”

Mrs. Russell considered his words for a moment. Then she said, “But you know she wouldn’t have listened. I remember what it was like to be in love with a handsome man, to have every thought colored by that feeling. Once one has abandoned oneself to being in love even the most obvious character defects and practical challenges are obscured in a rosy haze. The most wonderful alternatives might well be lost while one is engaged in a fantasy. Surely it is the responsibility of those with a clearer view to intervene. If Claire’s father were alive she would never have been in such jeopardy. She would have discussed those letters with him. It seems entirely possible that John would have seen through the lies. If John had lived Claire would never have been so lonely she would have answered an advertisement in the back of a magazine in the first place. ”

Colin sensed some part of Mrs. Russell’s life story. Had she as an impressionable young woman been saved from a relationship that had been doomed to failure? He knew that popular fiction would have it that overbearing fathers caused the heartache of many a young devoted couple. However he thought Jane Austen was closer to the truth. Young people of both sexes often were deceived, many times by their own fantasies. Not only illusions about being in love. Colin had been passionate about mission work. His passion had obscured many truths at the beginning of his work.

He realized as well that Mrs. Russell had been chosen Claire’s godmother through her friendship with Claire’s father who she clearly admired rather than a close relationship with Claire’s mother.

“I thought it could all come right you see. I thought if only she didn’t have stars in her eyes about Mr. McGonnigal she would see what a chance she had. Gilles was such a good boy,” said Mrs. Russell sadly. “A bit thoughtless at time I know but generous and kind. Rachel will be destroyed by this. How can Claire be thinking of that madman with poor Gilles lying dead? He admired Claire. He had so much to offer her. They would have been so happy, had such a good life, such a productive life.”

“Yes, yes, I think they could have had a very successful life together,” said Colin solemnly. He believed what he was saying. Gilles was a very decent fellow who did obviously care for Claire. And Claire would have done her best once her decision was made. But would it have been the happy, well matched life that Mrs. Russell clearly thought it would have been Colin was not so sure.

They walked along in silence for several minutes. Colin looked ahead and saw the Bradford’s carriage waiting beside the little house Mrs. Russell and Claire shared. If he still had standing in the community he would have gone with Mrs. Russell to the plantation and offered what ever comfort his ministerial skills could provide to Mrs. Bradford. But he no longer had any standing, at least not with the planters and merchants who had been members of his congregation.

Colin glanced at his companion. He noticed that her hands were gripped in fists so tight that her knuckles were white.

“Mrs. Russell, this may not be the time but I feel there is something I must say.”

She stopped walking and looked at him. Her normally bird-bright brown eyes were wary. “Yes, what is it?”

“Jack McGonnigal is not a madman.”

For a moment she stood very still and then said with false calm, “He must be insane to have killed Gilles. Unless he killed him out of jealousy. How will Claire live with the memory of such wickedness? It would be better if he were proved mad.”

“It would be better if he were proved innocent; which I have every confidence that he will be,” said Colin in a slow, measured voice. “It is early days yet. Once Morlais has investigated the case the truth will out. What that truth is I can not fathom but I am positive Jack had nothing to do with Gilles’s death.”

“How can you say that?” she demanded furiously.

“Because I know Jack, he is my very good friend,” replied Colin steadily. He looked her directly in the eye. “Have you asked yourself why you thought going to Jack in the first place would succeed? He could have gone to Claire. Had he done that, given her feelings for him, it might well have been your relationship that was destroyed.”

Mrs. Russell glared at him. Her lip trembled slightly as she said defensively, “It was a risk I had to take.”

“But was it really a risk? Weren’t you reasonably sure that Jack’s love for Claire would make him do the right thing for her future? Didn’t you know that you were appealing to his good conscience, his sense of responsibility for her?”

Mrs. Russell stood very still and looked at Colin. He looked back at her with mild blue eyes behind the smudged lenses of his spectacles. Unbidden the memory of her conversation with Cannibal Jack returned to her. Hadn’t she said just that, ‘I leave it to your conscience.’?

“You don’t believe that Jack is good enough for Claire. He agrees with you. In truth Jack has trouble believing he is deserving of love, of friendship.” Colin paused and took a deep breath.

Mrs. Russell watched him carefully. Something in his manner had gotten through the dense fog of emotion she felt at that moment. He had something important to say to her, something out of his own experience. It was difficult for him. She had to listen to him whether she wished to or not.

Colin gave her a fleeting, nervous smile and continued, “People who survive a tragedy such as the wreck of Jack’s ship when others don’t are often plagued by a horrible sense of guilt. It makes them question their worthiness. I know this from my own life. Guilt can destroy everything, even one’s faith.”

Colin paused for a moment. He looked down at the toes of his heavy leather shoes. He could feel the intensity of her gaze. He took a breath and went on.

“I don’t want you to think that Jack has discussed Claire with me. He has been very quiet, very distant these past months. He had in fact retreated into the almost reclusive life he led before Claire came. However, Jack has been fortunate in his friends. David and Mauriri were unwilling to see him sink into loneliness. They made every effort to draw him out, conning him into coming to dinner, taking a hand of cards. I have gotten to know him rather well through our shared interest in literature.”

“Literature?” she repeated in surprise. A voracious reader herself, literature was not a word that she would associate with Cannibal Jack. She felt as if Colin were talking about a different man altogether than the rough sailor.

Colin nodded. “I realize that it is the name Cannibal Jack and the story behind it that caused your concerns over Claire’s attachment to Jack. However, I wonder if even without the past you would have been comfortable with Claire’s infatuation with a common sailor”

Although his tone was respectful Mrs. Russell felt rebuked. “You think I am a snob,” she said rubbing her hands nervously against the apron she still worn.

Colin chose his words carefully. “I think that like me you know Claire to be an intelligent, courageous and refined young woman. It is not surprising that you would see her being happier in a home like the Bradford’s full of music, books and the advantages and comfort that wealth brings than in a very small cottage with someone who may appear to you to be a very simple and perhaps brutish man.”

“I have never referred to Mr. MacGonnigal as simple or brutish. It was obvious he was not in Claire’s . . .” she hesitated over the word class. It did sound snobbish. She was also aware that Colin might feel it was an insult directed towards his wife. Mrs. Russell certainly would not have been in favor of the marriage of the Reverend Colin Trent and the saloon keeper Lavinia Temuto. But what was done was done. Though she was sorry he had given up his vocation she sincerely wished them every happiness.

“That is to say that I foresaw a hard life,” she said, making an effort to sound less judgmental. “Without the joys of real companionship such a life becomes drudgery. I did not want Claire to be sacrificed to such a life merely because she had succumbed to a youthful infatuation with a handsome face and a fine figure made all the more romantic by a tragic story. I won’t apologize for wanting the best for Claire.”

“No one would expect you to. What one might suggest is that wanting the best for Claire and deciding what is best for Claire are very different,” said Colin, watching her face. He was afraid he had gone too far in his criticisms for her to really listen to him. He knew from experience no one liked to have their motives questioned. Given her emotional state he would not be surprised if she vented her distress on him.

The tic at the corner of her right eye became more noticeable. Mrs. Russell raised her chin and squared her shoulders. Her next words surprised Colin slightly.

“I still find your reference to literature in regards to Mr. McGonnigal a mystery.”

Colin smiled slightly. He supposed it was craven of him but he was relieved she had chosen not to comment on what he had said.

“Not long ago,” said Colin, “I loaned Jack some books for the empty hours of a long journey. It was my plan to give him Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s new book and several other adventure stories. When he came by the house for them he noticed my copy of LORD JIM.”

“Joseph Conrad’s LORD JIM?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes,” answered Colin quickly. He saw the consternation on her face. “Not a book for a casual reader, would you agree?”

“Yes, I would.”

Pleased that she was listening to him so carefully, Colin went on, “He brought me several books from China. One of them was the American novel MOBY DICK. Perhaps you know it?”

“MOBY DICK; is that the book about a whale, a white whale?” she asked.

“Yes,” nodded Colin. “It was written some time ago. It has never received the praise it deserves. It is a beautifully written book; quite the best I’ve ever read about life at sea.”

“I had forgotten the name but I do remember my sons reading it. I have not read it myself,” she said, thinking of a thick book her sons had read to each other to pass the hours of a cold Christmas holiday. Her husband had blamed the author Melville for their younger son’s interest in the sea.

“Jack said MOBY DICK and Stevenson’s TREASURE ISLAND were among his favorite books,” said Colin. He paused for a moment. He had kept her long enough. It was unreasonable to think he could change her mind about Jack by telling her his taste in reading. She had more than enough to deal with at the moment.

He concluded by saying, “He is a complicated man, Mrs. Russell. He has terrible demons, a powerful guilt that he survived when he shipmates did not. But he is not mad. He’s most certainly not a murderer. He is a thoughtful, intelligent, rather shy man. He loves Claire. If he didn’t, your plan would never have succeeded. I know that Jack’s fate is not what you must concern yourself with at the moment. Mrs. Bradford needs you; their entire family will need the support that your friendship can give them. But please don’t condemn Jack because of the prejudices his past has created against him. Claire deserves more than that from you.”

Mrs. Russell looked away from him. Her hat hid her face. She was very quiet.

“You are a great loss to the church, Colin,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek. She looked up at him. “You are an exceptionally kind man. And patient. I will think about what you’ve said. I know that it is wrong to condemn that man without proof . I hope that you can believe that my only concern is and was to protect Claire.”

Colin nodded. “I know that, Mrs. Russell. But don’t you see much more than your protection, Claire needs your respect. She needs to know that you will still love her even if she disappoints you.”

“Yes, I do see what you are saying,” she said wearily, nodding. “I will try to keep an open mind about Mr. McGonnigal,” she said, glancing towards the waiting carriage. “I must go to Rachel. Could you please tell the driver I will be with him as soon as possible? I need to gather a few things.”

“Of course.” He left her at the steps of the porch and started towards the carriage.

“Colin?”

“Yes?” He stopped and looked back at her. He was struck again by the change this tragedy had wrought in her. She seemed smaller, the lines of her face deeper.

“You will watch out for Claire, won’t you?”

“Absolutely; Claire has many friends who will watch out for her,” he assured her. “Please tell Mrs. Bradford if I can be of any help to not hesitate to call for me.”

***

Jack tore another piece off the baguette. He chewed it slowly and swallowed it thankfully. He could hear shouting coming from the direction of Morlais’s office. He couldn’t make out the words but he had no doubt that it was Tom Bradford demanding his head.

Jack gagged and coughed. Yes, quite literally demanding his head. The French authorities used the guillotine for capital cases. He felt a cold sweat break out across his shoulders.

To be put to death for a crime he didn’t commit, a crime he would never even have considered, that was what had him shaking with—Jack gave a low bark of a laugh. He wasn’t he realized shaking with fear but with indignation.

The worst of his hunger had been assuaged. The ghosts of his past had receded to the edge of his thoughts, still restless. He could think clearly now.

“Who could want that boy dead?” he asked himself softly aloud. Instead of an answer he got a memory.

They were in Shanghai. Like most large port cities Shanghai teemed with delights for sailors on shore leave. Few of the delights were harmless. Shanghai offered every vice known to man. The rest of the crew had disappeared into Blood Alley for the week they would be in port. Jack was walking with Gilles Bradford along a street made narrow by stalls of dried herbs and crates of live chickens.

“I know Henri told you to keep me out of trouble, Jack,” said Bradford, tipping back his straw hat so that he could look at his taller companion. “But there is no need to deny yourself the dubious pleasures of Blood Alley. I don’t see how I can get into trouble doing some shopping for my stepmother, Mrs. Russell and Miss Devon.”

Jack glanced behind him at the street he knew all too well. There was nothing a man could desire or think he desired that wasn’t available for a price there. The notion of losing himself there was tempting except somehow he knew nothing there, not opium nor liquor nor women would fill the void he felt. It was simpler, healthier, he thought with a wry smile to save his money.

“That’s all right, sir,” he said to Gilles with a nonchalant shrug of his wide shoulders.

“Not gone all temperance on us, have you, Jack?”

Jack chuckled. Something he rarely did. But the notion that he had found religion and sworn off all vices struck him as hilarious. “I’ll stand you a round at dinner, sir.”

“Well, I’m happy for the company. I swear all of my father’s contacts here are a hundred years old. One thing you can help me with, I want to get an invalid’s chair for Mother. Where do you think I might look?”

“In Shanghai you can have anything made in a day but we might start at the British hospital. See where they get theirs.”

“Capital idea. Ah, look there,” said Gilles, gesturing towards a silversmith’s window. “I might find something for Claire there. Let’s go in a moment.”

Jack followed him into the shop. It glittered with jewelry made from thin wires of silver. There were thousands of pieces. Some in the shapes of animals, some tiny musical instruments and still others twisted into hair ornaments. Bradford was clearly enjoying himself picking out different delicate pieces for several ladies, including his stepmother, Lavinia and Claire. He and the proprietress were carrying on an interesting conversation partly in French, partly in English and partly in Mandarin.

Jack smiled and looked idly at the hair ornaments. One piece caught his eye, a slightly bowed rectangle of filigreed silver with a small skewer to hold the hair in place. He picked it up and closed his eyes. He thought of Claire’s hair pulled back from her face to fall in a long, smooth, silky curtain down her back.

“What did you find, Jack? Something for someone special?” asked Bradford, looking at the piece in Jack’s hand.

Jack prevented himself from saying yes. Instead he shook his head and handed the piece to Bradford.

“It is perfect for Claire. It will look very elegant in her lovely hair,” said Bradford, twisting it to catch the light. He started to say something else but stopped to look closely at Jack. After a long minute of silence he said, “Miss Devon is a wonderful girl, don’t you think?”

Jack felt his scrutiny. He returned his steady gaze and nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, she is a very accomplished young lady.”

Bradford’s normally lively dark eyes were oddly somber for a moment. Then he smiled and they became bright and friendly again. “You have an excellent eye for pretty things, Jack. I think she will enjoy this piece,” he said, turning to add the piece to the considerable pile he had already collected.

Matavai was a small place. The colonial community, separate as it was from the native population and from sailors who came and went, was particularly small. It was not possible that Bradford didn’t know some version of the story of how Claire had come to Tahiti. Perhaps, thought Jack, he had paid little attention since it was clear that she was free to receive his addresses when he started to court her. Whatever he had thought before, it was certain that day in the silver shop that he realized the man that captained his boat knew the woman he intended to marry quite well. Jack had been pleased that the knowledge had not seemed to bother Bradford. His manner toward Jack was always friendly.

***

David tried to give a clear account of what he had learned from Morlais and from Jack’s story. He found it more difficult than he expected to look at Claire while he spoke about Gilles Bradford’s body being found lying across the path outside of the village. She sat very still, her hand tightly gripping Lavinia’s. Isabelle was full of questions. Questions David had difficulty answering b