Claire slept heavily in the second bedroom of Lavinia and Colin’s house. She had worked long past mid-night setting type for the newspaper and proof reading her efforts. She had forced herself not to think of all that had happened in the hours since she had knocked over the tray and ran out of the office. She was use to working against a deadline, used to keeping herself focused on the task at hand. Isabelle had tried to get her to stop many times as the night wore on. She finally gave in when David arrived to walk them back to the little house. She fell onto the bed still dressed.

There was a moment before she was completely awake when she felt oddly happy and then she remembered the day before.

Claire rolled on her side and stared at the wall. It was early; the sun had not risen high enough in the sky to shine through the window over her head. She heard the low murmur of voices, men’s voices. Colin and Mauriri, she thought, working on the story for the Messenger. She could smell sausage frying. They must be in the small kitchen behind the house.

Then she heard the tap of Lavinia’s sandals on the floor in the main room. Isabelle and David would come soon, she thought. They would sit around the table and eat the breakfast Colin was cooking. They would take stock of what they knew and make plans for the day ahead.

I should get up and help Lavinia set the table , she thought but Claire felt a childish urge to pull the sheet up over her head and pretend to sleep. If only she could go back to sleep then she would not have to face the facts; the fact that Gilles was dead, the fact that Jack was in danger. If only she could go back to that glorious moment when she felt oddly happy, when all she remembered was that Jack loved her.

But it wasn’t possible.

By the time she took her place at the table after making herself somewhat presentable, David and Isabelle had arrived. The table was loaded with bowls of fruit, sausage and ham, fried eggs and sweet potatoes. They were quiet at first. Claire looked at her friends from beneath her lower lashes as she pushed the food around her plate.

Mauriri had his head bent over his plate, eating steadily. Colin was rereading the story they had written, his spectacles perched out further on his nose than normal. Lavinia was going back and forth to the kitchen, making sure everyone had what they needed. David was pacing around the room. His plate was on the table, he would return to it every few minutes to take a bite; then continue his pacing. Isabelle, sitting beside her, was eating slowly. Claire could feel her worried side-long glances.

There was a sense of expectation in the room. Claire felt they were waiting for her to begin the discussion. She sat back in her chair and looked at David. The intensity of her gaze fixed him in mid stride.

“We need a starting place,” said David, answering the question she didn’t ask. “We need a way to figure out what we know and what we need to find out.”

“We have a starting place,” interjected Mauriri with a wave of his fork towards the sheaf of paper Colin held in his hand. “Gilles is found dead on the path and Jack is accused.”

“That’s too broad,” said Colin softly as he pushed his glasses back into their normal position. He handed the papers to Claire.

“What do you mean?” asked Lavinia, standing in the doorway holding a coffee pot. She had a white cloth wrapped around the handle to protect her hand.

“What we wrote,” answered Colin, gesturing at the story lying beside Claire’s plate, “was essentially that. It gives the facts but it asks no questions nor gives any answers. We need to be more basic. A man is found dead on a path outside of a village. Is he dead because of who he is or – ”

“Or where he is?” finished David. He nodded thoughtfully. Colin was right. Before they got caught up in how they felt about Gilles being the victim, they needed to be sure that it was important to whom the murderer was that he was the victim.

“Right,” said Colin nodding.

“Maybe it is that simple,” said Isabelle, speaking for the first time. “Maybe Gilles was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did anyone say whether he was robbed or not?”

“I don’t know that they would have even checked if Seraut thought he had caught Jack in the act,” responded David, resuming his pacing. “There would have been no mystery if Seraut had been right.”

“A lot of people think he is right,” said Lavinia angrily. She’d had a horrible night in the tavern listening to drunken men spin wild, ugly, baseless tales.

“Well, fortunately,” said Mauriri between bites, “Morlais is keeping an open mind. I really think he believed Jack’s version of events.”

“So it could have been a robbery gone wrong. That happens all the time,” said Isabelle with what Claire thought might be relief in her voice.

“In London or Paris where strangers kill strangers every day; but that sort of random violence doesn’t happen on the islands. St. Girons is a peaceful place. I can’t see one of the villagers suddenly becoming a thief and a murderer.”

Claire glanced at Mauriri. He sounded insulted. He was right, of course; although there were great stories of warfare among the people of the islands. There was very little meaningless violence.

“What about someone else, some madman like, oh,” Lavinia paused, a fierce frown marring her smooth brow. “What was his name? McCoy. He could have killed strangers without even realizing he’d done it. We ought to talk to Fitzpatrick, see if he has seen anything that might help.”

“It is pretty farfetched,” opined Mauriri. “It is a busy village. The locals would know if there was someone living rough around there.”

“It is no more farfetched than the idea that Gilles was deliberated murdered,” retorted Lavinia.

“She’s right. Gilles was about as harmless a fellow as there was.”

“David, please don’t call him harmless,” said Claire sharply. She stood, rubbing her hands against her wrinkled cotton skirt. “It makes him sound so ineffectual.”

Five pairs of eyes followed her movements. They exchanged worried glances.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” said David gently. His handsome face was clouded with concern. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. I liked Gilles.”

“I’m sorry I snapped,” said Claire, touching his arm lightly as she passed. She walked towards the door. “I know he wasn’t the sort of man who changes the world. It is true that he was completely in his father’s shadow and happy to be so. But he was very kind. He loved all the happy things in life.”

“Yes, he did,” agreed Lavinia earnestly. Her dark eyes followed Claire’s slow progress across the polished floor. “And he was a good friend to a lot of people. He honestly liked people. Black, white, yellow, it didn’t matter to him. He always found the good in people.”

“There couldn’t be any reason for someone to hurt him. It has to be some horrible act of random violence,” said Colin, laying a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“We have to find proof of that,” said Mauriri, forking his last bite of eggs into his mouth. “The more quickly we find it, the better.”

Claire was standing in the doorway, looking out at the narrow view of the turquoise bay visible between the buildings. She spoke softly but clearly. The others had no trouble hearing her. “Yes, of course, because the town has Jack convicted, haven’t they? Half of them probably believe he has been eating human flesh all these years. And the other half no doubt think he killed Gilles because of, oh, God, I was so stupid.”

“Claire, don’t do this to yourself,” said Lavinia soothingly. She set the coffee pot on the table and walked over to her friend. “You reacted honestly.”

“I made it look like Jack had a motive, as if we were still involved.” Claire turned around abruptly and spoke directly to David. “Didn’t I?”

Before he responded to her, David exchanged a glance with Mauriri. Mauriri gave a small shrug of his massive shoulders.

David bit his bottom lip and wished himself a thousand miles away. “I won’t lie to you, Claire. You throwing yourself at Jack while Gilles’s body was being carried away is something people are going to talk about. Chances are very few of them will realize you had no idea Gilles was dead. But it is still a good thing that you showed your feelings for Jack.”

“You don’t need to spare my feelings, David,” she asked, her brown eyes staring at him steadily. “It’s obvious that I put him in more danger.”

“The greatest danger to Jack is Jack himself,” said David, feeling a bit melodramatic putting things that way.

“What does that mean?” asked Claire, her eyes growing wide with fear. She had made such an effort to get her thoughts ordered, to come up with a viable plan of action. But it was all for nothing if she had failed Jack by not going to him immediately. “David? You said he was alright. That he wasn’t ill. That was the only reason I didn’t go to him last night because you said he needed time alone.”

Claire was shaking. Lavinia wrapped her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. Claire clutched at Lavinia’s hand.

“Look, Claire, I meant what I said. He doesn’t need nursing or anything like that and he does need some time to collect himself. But-” David looked helplessly at Colin.

Colin took a deep breath. He knew what David wanted from him. All of them felt protective towards Claire but they wanted to be honest with her.

He’d seen Jack late the night before. Colin had taken him warm food, clean bedding, soap and hot water. He’d brought several books, paper and pencil as well. Jack had been pleased to see him and interested only in Claire’s state of mind. He was adamant that he wouldn’t see her. He told Colin to keep her away. She had problems enough to deal with and any connection between the two of them could only hurt her.

“Claire,” said Colin firmly. He stepped into her line of sight and waited until he had her attention before he went on. “I saw Jack last night. What David means is that Jack’s scared. Any of us would be scared. Look here, Jack is a smart fellow. He knows that he is an easy target. He wants to fight but he knows that there are a great many people in town who believe that he is capable of terrible violence.”

“But he’s not. Jack didn’t kill Gilles,” declared Claire. It was the closest any of them had heard her come to crying. She steadied her voice immediately. “We have to find the proof.”

“Agreed,” said Mauriri. He felt it would be best to drag them back to the point of the discussion. “So, if it isn’t likely that Gilles was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time then he was killed because he was Gilles Bradford. The question is why?”

Claire returned to her chair and sat down heavily. Lavinia picked up the coffee pot and filled the cups that Mauriri and Isabelle held out to her.

“Motives for murder are what?” asked Colin rhetorically.

Isabelle answered almost absently, “Greed, jealousy, revenge.”

“But we are talking about Gilles. People liked Gilles. It wasn’t possible not to like Gilles,” insisted Lavinia. She had spent her life behind a bar in a waterfront tavern. Lavinia had seen thousands of men, many of whom she could have easily imagined as victim or murderer. But she simply couldn’t understand why anyone would hurt Gilles. “I can’t imagine that he had ever done anything that someone would feel the need to revenge themselves against him. I know he was a rich man’s son but where is the benefit to anyone in killing him. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“What about someone with a grievance against Tom Bradford?” asked David as he paced the floor. “A man that successful must have a few enemies.”

“True but is it reasonable to think that someone with a grudge against Tom Bradford would just happen upon his son on a path near St. Girons and decide to kill him,” said Mauriri sensibly.

“No,” said David somewhat sourly. “Not when you put it that way.”

“Maybe that is the approach we should take,” said Colin as he started to collect the plates from the table. “Who had opportunity? Who was in St. Girons?

“The villagers. Fitzpatrick and his family. I don’t know of any connection between Fitzpatrick and Gilles or his father. Do you, Mo?” David asked his partner.

Mauriri shook his head. “No, not Fitz, not the fellow that runs the tavern nor the one at the store. I can’t think of any reason anyone in St. Girons, native or white to want Gilles dead.”

“That leaves the crew of the Malahini unless there were other boats anchored there,” Colin pointed out. “I haven’t heard that there were.”

“But I’m sure that the crew liked Gilles,” said Claire softly. “He treated them very well.”

Mauriri nodded. “I talked to the crew on the Malahini. To a man they like Gilles, and they weren’t just covering themselves. Two of them told me they wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been Seraut who was killed. They don’t like him and they don’t make any effort to hide their feelings.”

“What did they say about Jack?” asked Colin. There were still several pieces of sausage on the serving plate. He slid them on to Mauriri’s plate.

“Jack is one of them,” answered Mauriri, smiling up at Colin in thanks. “None of them believe he could have killed Gilles. They say Jack always watched out for Gilles. And that Gilles treated Jack well, showed a lot of respect for his knowledge as a sailor. It is a native crew. They’ve known each other their whole lives and they keep their eyes open. Lani, the mate, made it clear they knew about both Jack’s previous relationship with Claire and the fact that Gilles was seeing her currently. He said, more than once, there had never been a cross word between Gilles and Jack, on that or any other subject.”

“That fellow Marco was with them wasn’t he?” said David thoughtfully.

Mauriri nodded. “But what reason would Marco have to kill Gilles?”

David shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know anything about Marco beyond his working for Seraut.

“Which brings us back to where we were,” said Lavinia, sinking into the chair beside Claire. “No one could have any reason to kill Gilles.”

David resumed his restless pacing around the room. He stopped in front of Isabelle and regarded her thoughtfully. She had pushed her chair away from the table. She held a cup in both hands in her lap. Her head was down and her thick hair hid her expression. David realized she had said almost nothing during their discussion.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he said, cocking his head to try and see her face.

“Just thinking,” she mumbled. She lifted the cup and took a long drink of the coffee.

“Anything you want to share?” asked David. His green eyes watched her carefully. It wasn’t like Isabelle to hold back during a discussion. Something was bothering her, something beyond the obvious.

Isabelle looked up at him, her expression guarded. She waved her slender hand in a halfhearted gesture. Finally she said, “There is one person who was there we haven’t examined.”

The others looked at her expectantly.

A frown darkened Isabelle’s lovely face. She sounded almost angry when she spoke. “Henri.”

“Seraut,” said Mauriri and David together. They turned to face each other. There was new energy in their voices.

“Oh, but surely he couldn’t be a suspect,” said Colin anxiously.

“Why not?” demanded his wife.

“He and Gilles were cousins, first cousins. They were partners,” said Colin, aghast at the very notion of such treachery.

“Cain and Abel were brothers,” said Mauriri solemnly.

“Look,” said Isabelle rather loudly, “I didn’t say that Henri killed Gilles. I just said we hadn’t talked about him and he was there.”

David walked over to his place at the table and picked up his coffee cup. After taking a sip he said, “He probably would have had Marco’s help that would make things easier. It would be very clever to arrange to be the one who discovers the body in someone like the chief’s company.”

“Yes, but how would he arrange for Jack to have come along at that very moment?” challenged Isabelle as she stood up.

David shrugged his broad shoulders. “Jack coming along just then might just have been bad luck for Jack and good luck for Seraut.”

“Maybe,” said Mauriri, pushing his chair back from the table. He looked thoughtful for a moment then said, “You know it couldn’t have been that hard to know when Jack would be headed back down the trail. They were to catch the tide. Jack would have had to have been on the ship in plenty of time to be ready

“Slow down,” snapped Isabelle. She pushed her chair under the table with force. “You can’t convict a man of murder just because you don’t like him.”

“She’s right,” said Colin, adding Mauriri’s empty plate to the stack on the table. “What motive would he have?”

“He’s the surviving partner,” responded Mauriri.

“Oh, come on, they’re traders just like us. We certainly haven’t made enough money to kill each other over. They don’t even own the Malahini. Claire, tell them how Gilles and Henri got along.”

Claire had been watching her friend for several minutes. Isabelle was agitated. She was now pacing the room just as David had been a few minutes before. Claire knew that Isabelle was unhappy about having to examine her partner as a potential murderer but she must think that it was within the realm of possibility or she would never have brought Seraut’s name up.

“Quite well, I should think,” said Claire finally. She took a deep breath. She didn’t look at anyone while she was speaking. “Gilles was very fond of Henri. He loved to talk about the time they spent in France together. He said he had been so pleased and so thankful when Henri announced that he would return with him from France and go into business with him. I’ve had the impression that Gilles was a little surprised when Henri said he would come out here. The idea of going into business together was something they started talking about late in Gilles’s visit. Gilles was always full of praise for how well Henri handles the business. And Isabelle is correct, they were making money as traders but it was largely due to Tom Bradford’s support. There is no advantage to Henri in Gilles being dead.”

“Are we sure about that?” asked David over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I think as far as their business goes we are,” responded Mauriri. “Whatever capital Gilles had in the business would go to Seraut but that would hardly off set the lost of a direct connection to Tom Bradford’s deep pockets.”

“But would that necessarily happen?” asked Colin thoughtfully. “Tom Bradford is a fair man with a deep sense of family obligation. It strikes me as unlikely he would abandon Seraut at this point.”

“Seraut isn’t Bradford’s family,” Lavinia pointed out as she stood to help her husband with the stack of dirty dishes he had collected. “He has no blood relation to him at all. Only Gilles was actually related to Seraut.”

“Mr. Bradford will be hit very hard by Gilles’s death,” said Claire softly more to herself than the others. She was thinking of dinners she had shared with the Bradfords. Mr. Bradford ruled his family but it was not with an iron fist. He enjoyed his sons. He had given Gilles every advantage and clearly thought he had gotten a good return on his investment when he looked at Gilles and saw a gentleman. Like many self-made men Bradford had been both slightly contemptuous of and yet impressed with his son’s “sophisticated” ways.

Claire looked up and said, “I don’t think the lack of a blood relationship will make much difference to Mr. Bradford. I don’t think he would make that sort of distinction. Henri is Gilles’s family and therefore he is family. Besides Henri is a clever businessman, isn’t he, Isabelle?”

“Very.”

“Why do you ask that, Claire?” asked Mauriri, watching her face. She looked drawn, as if her night’s sleep had given her little rest.

“Oh, it’s only that the other Bradford boys are so young. I suspect Mr. Bradford may rely rather heavily on Seraut at least until Tommy is finished with school. He is to go to England within the year to spend time with family there as Gilles did.”

David was watching Isabelle pace around the room. Her sun streaked brown hair was unbound. It bounced on her shoulders as she moved. She wore a man’s shirt, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, her jodhpurs and riding boots. She reminded him suddenly of a tiger he had once seen as a child. It was on a trip to Sydney. There was a traveling circus and his sister had begged their father to let them go. The tiger had been in cage on wheels. David had stood in front of it for an hour, watching it pace. He had been fascinated by it power and it fury. In fact he would have let it loose if his sister had not persuaded him a tiger would be a hard pet to keep on a cattle station. Isabelle, he realized, could fascinate him in the same way.

David stepped in front of Isabelle causing her to stop abruptly. She glared at him.

“Look,” said David with exasperation. “I know Seraut is your partner in the vanilla plantation but we have to consider him just like anyone.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you taking on so?” asked David, looming over her with his hands on his hips. He was doing his level best not to let the jealousy he felt creep into his voice.

Isabelle sighed deeply and pursed her lips. She folded her arms across her chest as if to hold in her restless energy. She looked away from David as she said, “Because I think Henri may have a very good motive.”

Lavinia and Colin who were about to carry the dishes to the kitchen stopped by the door. Mauriri and Claire turned in their chairs to look at Isabelle. They were all waiting, almost holding their breaths to see what she would say.

David, still standing in her way, finally demanded, “What motive?”

Isabelle twisted her lovely lips and spat out, “Jealousy.”

Claire’s brown eyes opened wide. “Isabelle, you know Henri Seraut has no interest in me. I’m not sure he even likes me. Are you saying that Gilles and Henri shared an interest in another woman?”

“No. That not what I’m saying at all,” countered Isabelle quickly.

“Then what the devil are you saying?” asked David impatiently.

Isabelle threw her hands up in wild, angry gesture. “That it is about money, power, and position.”

“They are both old Seraut’s grandsons but because Henri’s father sold out and went back to France it is Gilles who is really the heir,” said Lavinia speculatively. “You’re saying that Seraut is jealous of what the Bradford created out of what his grandfather started all those years ago.”

Isabelle nodded; her thick hair fell over face. “Henri once told me that he had been brought up on stories of Tahiti where his grandfather lived like a king. I know it sounds ridiculous but it was the way he said it. There was bitterness in his voice when he said it. We all know Gilles was as nice a fellow as you would ever meet but he played at everything. He never really had to work for anything, it was handed to him his whole life. Henri hasn’t exactly shared his circumstances growing up with me but I do remember him saying his father had spent his inheritance on fine wines. He was jealous of everything Gilles had. ”

“So one day he just loses control because of this jealousy and kills Gilles,” suggested Mauriri, his dark eyes watching Isabelle.

“Henri doesn’t lose control,” answered Isabelle evenly. She turned to face all of them. “He doesn’t let his emotions rule his actions. If he killed Gilles he killed him for a reason.”

“What reason?” asked Mauriri. Mauriri was willing to speculate on anyone’s motives but he insisted that things make sense. “There would be no purpose to it. If Bradford does come to depend on him he might make more money than he would completely on his own but hardly a reason to kill his cousin.”

“The Bradfords are far richer than they appear. It is a big prize,” said David, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. He knew there was a danger of accepting this new idea too quickly. He didn’t like Seraut. In fact he had expended quite a lot of metal energy trying to make Seraut fit his picture of the Devil, the shadowy figure who had taken David prisoner for some reason of his own. Seraut didn’t fit. He was too young and too obviously French. David was sure that if he were ever in the presence of the Devil again he would recognize something about him; at least he hoped that he would. All he felt in Seraut’s presence was annoyance at the man’s obvious interest in Isabelle. And although he had made an effort to find some connection between Seraut and what David was sure was illegal activity on Tikai Island he had been unable to do so.

“But the younger boys all stand between Seraut and the prize,” said Mauriri almost dismissively.

“Oh, my God,” said Claire in a horrified whisper. She turned to Isabelle and said, “Surely you don’t think--”

Isabelle closed her eyes and stood very still for several seconds. She didn’t like what she was thinking. Although she had occasionally used Seraut’s obvious romantic interest in her to annoy David Isabelle had never seriously entertained thoughts of a relationship with Seraut that went beyond friendship and their business partnership. Still she had always considered him a good partner and it made her faintly sick to be thinking of him as a cold blooded murderer. In her murky past out of necessity she had had a few partners who she knew where capable of murder but she’d known that about them. Until they had started talking about motives it had never crossed her mind that Seraut was capable of murder.

“Isabelle?

Isabelle opened her eyes and looked at Lavinia.

“Are you saying that you think Seraut is planning to kill the younger Bradford boys to get hold of the Bradford fortune because he thinks he is entitled to it?” asked Lavinia. Seraut as a man evil enough to be capable of murder was not hard for her to believe. Her beloved godmother had been old Seraut’s daughter. Although the old man had given Vivi her start with the tavern he had never treated her as well as his “legitimate” children. The rest of the Serauts had treated her with contempt. In truth, the only one from the family that ever really acknowledged any sort of connection between Vivi and the family was Gilles.

“I think – ” Isabelle paused and cleared her throat. “I think that he definitely believes that Tom Bradford is an interloper. That doesn’t make him a murder.”

“Are you sure?” demanded David.

“He would never get away with killing all four of the Bradford sons. He would have to be mad to think he could,” said Mauriri forcibly. He didn’t like Seraut but in spite of the speculation he and David had about Seraut being involved with running guns he didn’t actually know anything to Seraut’s discredit. To plan what they were suggesting would take a man devoid of conscience.

David knew that saying what she had had upset Isabelle; that it had been so hard for her to say made him think that she actually believed Seraut could be guilty. In spite of her extensive knowledge of the evil men were capable of Isabelle was a loyal partner. She would not have brought Seraut’s name up if she thought there was no chance he had killed Gilles.

“How old is Tommy Bradford?” David asked Colin.

“Eighteen, I think,” answered Colin, looking at Mauriri for confirmation.

Mauriri nodded. “John is fifteen or sixteen and Michael must be twelve. What are you thinking?” he asked, narrowing his dark eyes at his partner. “You don’t actually think he’s planning to kill them all.”

David gave a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “That it is a long time before any of them would be ready to take over from their father. An awful lot could happen in that much time: illnesses, accidents, real or arranged. Bradford is not a young man; it is more than possible he could die of natural causes before the boys were of age. If Seraut played his cards right he could step right into Gilles’s place as the big brother, the one they all looked to.”

“But a man would have to be diabolical,” Colin insisted. He moved closer to Lavinia as if even thinking about such wickedness was cause for drawing together. “We’re talking about him arranging not just the deaths of boys but boys he knows. Blood relation or not he has been treated as a member of that family. He’d have to be mad.”

“No,” said Lavinia solemnly. “Not mad, just evil.”

“You know him better than any of us, Isabelle,” said David, turning back to her. “Is he evil?”

“I don’t know,” answered Isabelle miserably. She was still standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Like it or not she was going to have to explore the idea of Seraut as the murderer completely. “He is deliberate. He has amazing patience. He is very careful about details. He is very reserved; I suppose one could almost say cold, but is he evil enough to plan to kill four people simply because they were in his way? I don’t know.”

“It sounds like something out of Shakespeare,” said Colin faintly.

“Richard III killing the little princes in the Tower of London,” added Mauriri softly. “You don’t think about ordinary people doing something like that.”

“That’s what he is counting on.”

They all turned to look at Claire who had spoken quietly. She was still sitting in her chair at the table. She was looking at her hands in her lap; her long hair obscured her expression.

“What do you mean?” asked David, walking over to her.

Claire gave a little wave of her hand, a restless gesture. She didn’t look up when she answered. “We were examining all the facts so carefully but until Isabelle said something we didn’t consider Henri as the possible murderer. We believe in the sanctity of family, of friendship. We knew Gilles, we cared for him, knew what a good person he was. None of us would have dreamed of hurting him so we can’t imagine why anyone else who knew him would. That was why we kept looking for a stranger to blame. Killing within a family is for us something out of old plays.”

David nodded thoughtfully. He resumed his pacing and said, “So Seraut hides in plain sight.”

“Exactly,” said Claire, looking up suddenly. “Jack being discovered with the body may have only been a stroke of luck for Seraut. But if so he was cool enough to take advantage of Jack’s past to throw the suspicions on him.”

“It is so evil. So cold, so calculating,” murmured Colin. He shoved his spectacles up on to his forehead and rubbed his eyes.

“Yes,” agreed David, stopping by the window to look out at the street. “But it makes a horrible kind of sense. Our sticking point has been who could have a motive to kill Gilles. Seraut has the classic motive, greed.”

“Are you sure we aren’t just writing a good story?” asked Mauriri gravely. “We have no proof that Seraut had anything to do with Gilles’s death. After all if he wanted Gilles dead he has had ample opportunity. Why not kill him when they met in France or on their trip to Sydney. Men get killed in the back alleys of Sydney all the time and no one is ever brought to book.”

Colin took comfort in the skepticism in his friend’s voice. “Mauriri is talking sense. We are leading ourselves up the garden path with these wild speculations. Getting away with murder once is hard enough; an intelligent man like Seraut can’t believe he can get away with it four times.”

“Look,” insisted Isabelle as she walked over to David, “I know I said that Seraut was bitter about the Bradfords. I really do think that he is. But it isn’t a good enough reason to kill Gilles. More than once Seraut has told me Gilles was the perfect front man, just want he needed in a partner. It doesn’t make any sense that he would kill him. I didn’t mean to lead you all astray this way; all I was doing was pointing out that he was there.”

“You sounded like you believed he could kill all of them a minute ago,” challenged David, lifting one dark eyebrow.

Isabelle glared up at him. “I know. I got caught up in the web we were weaving. It’s dramatic, a good story, like one of those books Claire reads. But it doesn’t make sense. Seraut wants to make a fortune. He had a much better chance of doing so with Gilles alive.”

David looked from one to another. They shrugged and nodded, admitting they had gotten carried away by the sheer evil of their argument.

Twisting his generous mouth into a grimace, David said reluctantly, “Maybe we did get caught up in the notion that he would kill all the Bradford boys. I admit it is a bit over the top. That doesn’t mean there isn’t another reason Seraut would kill Gilles.”

“Like what?” asked Claire. She was surprised how easily she’d convinced herself that Henri Seraut was a villain worthy of Shakespeare. Was it because she was so tired or so desperate. “Isabelle is correct. He is a completely practical man.”

“I know in my gut Seraut’s dealings are not on the up and up. If Gilles found out and threatened to expose him – ”

“If Gilles has found out anything questionable about Seraut I guarantee I would have known about it,” interrupted Claire with a frustrated sigh.

Lavinia walked across the room to stand behind Claire’s chair. She put her hands on Claire’s shoulders and rubbed them gently. She said, “She’s right. Gilles wouldn’t keep anything to himself. And truthfully I don’t think he knew that much about the business. As Isabelle said, he was the front man.”

“Even if we could find a motive,” said Mauriri slowly, “St. Girons seems like the worst place Seraut could choose to kill Gilles. How could he think he wouldn’t be a suspect?”

Isabelle chewed on her lip and looked at Claire for a moment before she said, “Whoever killed Gilles must have known suspicion would fall on Jack. Even if Jack hadn’t been discovered with the body it wouldn’t have been that hard to point the investigation in his direction. People tend to be suspicious of him just because of the name Cannibal Jack.”

“And there is the jealousy angle. Gilles may never have shown any interest in Claire and Jack’s past relationship but Seraut and a great many other people certainly knew about it,” added Lavinia. She noticed that Isabelle was suddenly referring to Seraut by his surname. She wondered if it was Isabelle’s way of distancing herself from such evil. “It just wouldn’t be that hard to get people to believe that Jack killed Gilles in some sort of rage or moment of madness.”

“We’ve played right into his hands,” moaned Claire, covering her face with her hands.

“You know,” said Mauriri, his dark eyes narrowed with thought. “If it were Seraut it would explain what happen on board the Malahini

David pivoted towards Mauriri; his dark eyes bright with interest. He asked, “What happen on the Malahini?”

“It’s puzzled me that it took them two full days to get back from St Girons. It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours even with moderate winds.”

Recalling a conversation they had had the preceding evening, Colin said, “You said the mate told you that Seraut kept giving conflicting orders. Didn’t you say at one point he actually had guns on the crew? You made it sound like they were lucky to make it back at all because of the chaos on board.”

Isabelle had wandered back to the table and picked up her coffee cup. At Colin’s words she stopped with the cup half way to her mouth and demanded, “Seraut what?”

“Lani said when they put to sea Seraut kept barking orders and threatening to shoot anyone who disobeyed him,” answered Mauriri.

“He wouldn’t do that,” said Isabelle, frowning. She crossed the room and sat down in Colin’s reading chair.

“What do you mean?” asked David. He was leaning against the wall watching her closely.

Isabelle took a sip of her coffee to give herself a moment to think. Then she said, “I can see him holding a gun on the crew if he thought they would mutiny but he wouldn’t try giving sailing orders. He doesn’t know enough to captain a canoe. Seraut doesn’t do what he doesn’t do well. ”

“He was upset about Gilles,” said Colin reasonably. “He had to take charge in the situation. If he believed Jack was guilty of killing Gilles, one could hardly expect him to let Jack give the orders.”

Isabelle shook her head. “It just doesn’t sound like him. He would take charge, you’re right about that. He might put a gun to old Lani’s head and say if we aren’t back in Matavai by dark I’ll shoot you but I can’t see him giving orders about something he knows little more about than Claire does. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense,” said Lavinia, sitting down in the chair beside Claire. She stared at the dirty dishes now stacked in the center of the table. Any other morning she would be rushing to get them washed up before the work of the day began. How unimportant they were this day. She would have one of the kitchen maids wash them later.

“Unless the idea was to take as much time as possible to get back,” said David, turning to his partner. “Is that what you were getting at?”

“But what would be the purpose in that?” asked Lavinia.

Mauriri shrugged and said, “Think about it. The longer it took them to get back, the more time Jack had spent in the hold with nothing but rum. It seemed like half the town was there when Morlais led Jack off the Malahini. He was stumbling and looking around wildly; just like a madman. When he heard Claire calling his name he was able to focus for a few minutes but by then that image of him looking mad was already in people’s minds.”

“Nothing but rum,” repeated Claire to herself. She grew very pale.

“It’s alright, Claire,” said Lavinia softly into Claire’s ear. “Colin took him hot food last night. He is fine, I swear.”

“We are doing it again,” Colin pointed out. “We are convincing ourselves that Seraut is guilty but we haven’t come up with a reasonable motive. Your gut feeling is not proof.”

“Well, I’m not convinced that we were wrong thinking he is after the Bradford wealth,” said David as he started to pace around the room again. “But if we go to Morlais with nothing but speculation he’s going to accuse us of trying to pin the murder on a man we don’t like.”

Claire looked at each of her friends. The men were shaking their heads. Lavinia looked grim and teary eyed. Isabelle was just staring into space.

“I should have gone out to the plantation with Mrs. Russell,” said Claire quickly. The silence frightened her. She had great trust in her friends’ cleverness. If they could think of no plan how were they going to save Jack? “At least then we would know how bent on immediate revenge Mr. Bradford is. Perhaps if I went out there now, before the funeral I could convince them that I was overwrought, that I didn’t know what I was doing when I threw myself at Jack. I could say that I have thought it over and believe that – that Jack could have killed Gilles.”

David looked up expectantly. Before he had fully formed the thought of how helpful it would be to know how Bradford was proceeding he realized Lavinia was staring at him, shaking her head slowly. He knew that she was telling him that Claire couldn’t manage it. He turned towards Claire and realized Lavinia was right.

At first glance Claire looked as she always did although a bit rumpled; her brown hair not as smooth as normal, her clothes were from the day before. She was very still, waiting for him to say something. David looked more closely at her. There was a slight slump to her shoulders; her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest as if she were cold. Her brown eyes, normally so bright and eager were wary.

Damn you, Jack, thought David. She was afraid. The grief of losing a friend would be enough to rob a young woman of her freshness but what he saw in Claire’s eyes was fear. He knew she wasn’t afraid for herself but for Jack.

“I don’t think you should, Claire.”

“I could do it, David,” she insisted. She stood and automatically pressed her hands over her skirt. Her efforts had no effect. The skirt was a mass of wrinkles. “It would make them happy if I said I believed the simple answer. Please, David, I want to do something to help.”

“I know but it would be too hard on Jack.”

“He won’t even talk to me,” she said with equal parts sadness and anger.

“He will soon,” said David gently, thinking he will if I have to hold him down. “Claire, Jack has to know that you trust him. If he somehow heard you were with the Bradfords, he might think I was lying to him when I said you believed in his innocence.”

“We’re missing the obvious here,” interrupted Isabelle. She stood and placed her hands on her hips. “If we’re on to something, then it is what Seraut is doing that is important and I’m the one to watch Seraut. I’ll go to the funeral and stay close to him. Claire and I can glare at each other across the crowd and if he asks I’ll tell him I think Claire is a fool to believe in Cannibal Jack. If he is innocent, it won’t do him any harm. If he’s guilty, maybe I can learn something useful.

“That’s a good plan,” said Mauriri, glancing at his partner.

David, his mouth twisted in a grimace, nodded.

A few minutes later Isabelle excused herself saying every horse and conveyance she owned had been rented for the day. She needed to go back and help the grooms get them ready. She passed Lianni on her way out the door.

Claire still standing in the middle of the room looked at Lianni for a full minute before she realized what was different about her. She was wearing a western shirtwaist in dark blue linen; it had long sleeves and a round neck. A plain cream colored sarong was tied around her hips in imitation of a western skirt. Claire looked down over her dirty, wrinkled work clothes.

“I need to change,” she said to no one.

Lianni turned to her and offered to go with her. Mauriri told them they would come for them at Claire’s house when it was time to go. Isabelle had reserved her best carriage for their use.

Giving her companion a sidelong glance as they walked along, Claire thought, Lianni was a comfortable sort of person to be with when one was sad and tired. She asked no probing, hurtful questions, demanded no explanations.

“I don’t know what to put on,” said Claire wearily as she stepped on to the wide veranda of the little house and opened the door. It seemed very, very long ago now since she had last walked through that door calling good-bye to Mrs. Russell over her shoulder. It was only the preceding morning, almost exactly twenty-four hours.

“It is important what you wear?”

Claire looked at Lianni thoughtfully. The words were both statement and question. All societies had rituals to surround death. Lianni knew enough about the white community to know that for someone of Claire’s standing it was considered to be important what she wore to a funeral. White widows wore heavy black sometimes for as much as a year, a few for the rest of their lives. Claire wasn’t Gilles’s widow and yet it was possible that a great deal of attention would be paid to her at the funeral.

The question was, with all that was going on, was it important to Claire what she wore.

Claire sighed heavily as she walked towards her bedroom door. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t be, should it? But I want to do the right thing. I want simply to be there, to honor Gilles, to mourn him. I don’t want my clothes to be any reason for comment, any reason for anyone to notice me. I don’t have anything really appropriate; I’ll have to look for . . .”

Claire stopped in the door way. Frowning Lianni asked, “Is there something wrong, Claire?”

“No, not wrong; surprising perhaps given the circumstances of our parting.”

Confused Lianni peaked around Claire to look in the room. On the bed she saw a plain dark lavender dress laid out flat. At the waist, the cuffs and around the hem black ribbon had been added. Claire’s high crowned straw hat was also laying there, black ribbons streaming from it.

“Mrs. Russell knew you would be concerned about what to wear.”

“Yes,” whispered Claire. It was a silly thing, to worry about what color one was wearing when the whole world was crashing down around her. Yet it touched Claire deeply that her godmother would take the time and the thought to prepare the dress especially when she must have been so disappointed, perhaps even horrified by Claire’s decision to stay in town to be near Jack.

***

“I know it is a good plan but I don’t like it,” declared David as he followed Isabelle up the stairs to her rooms above the stable.

“You’d rather send Claire out there?” asked Isabelle, pulling her shirt from the waist of her jodhpurs. She crossed her office to her bedroom. Once inside she poured tepid water from a large pitcher into a wide bowl.

David stopped in the doorway. He was watching her wash her face as he said, “Claire wouldn’t be in any danger. The Bradfords would not actually hurt her even if they discovered her purpose. If we are right about Seraut, he will kill you if he figures out you’re spying on him.”

Isabelle looked over her shoulder at him and rolled her beautiful, expressive eyes. “Stop being melodramatic. I can handle Seraut.”

“Isabelle,” responded David angrily, taking a step into the room. “Whether Claire likes it or not Gilles Bradford was harmless. He was a fun loving boy, no danger to anyone. Hell, chances are he’d have given Seraut a share of his inheritance if he’d asked. I honestly believe that he killed Gilles in cold blood and I think he is capable of killing those boys if they get in his way. Michael Bradford is just a kid for God’s sakes. A man who would kill those boys wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Oh, thanks, David.”

David groaned. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He asked himself why it was every time it was really important that she listened to him they ended up arguing instead of talking.

“You know what I mean is that you are a far greater threat. I don’t doubt for a minute that he likes you, admires you. He certainly wants you.”

“So,” she said, turning to look at him. Her shirt hung open revealing the lacy camisole beneath. Her face was pink from its scrubbing “All this bluster is about you being jealous.”

“My being jealous is the least of it. I’m trying to keep you alive.” David was angry and frustrated. Gilles Bradford had certainly not been his responsibility; still it turned his gut that he had been killed in what David was sure was a cold blooded, calculated manner. As for Jack, at this point David just hoped that Jack lived long enough for his luck to change. If it really did all go back to that bastard, Seraut, David would break the man in half. The problem was he needed some sort of proof and as Isabelle said she was the one to watch Seraut.

“Really, David, the way you go on someone would think you care.” Isabelle grimaced as the words came out of her mouth. She was glad she had turned away from him so she couldn’t see his face. She knew better than to say something like that to a man. It was almost like begging for him to say that he did care. The silence behind her hurt her a little even though she knew that David did care about her. She didn’t expect poetic proclamations of love from him.

David stared at the back of her bent head. She had pulled her hair to one side and the slender column of her neck was bare. She looked so vulnerable. David shook his head. He knew she wasn’t as vulnerable as she looked. Isabelle could be nearly as deadly as she was beautiful; still he hated this plan.

He pulled the door shut and crossed the room slowly, quietly. He placed his hands on her upper arms and said softly into her ear, “If you have any doubts about my caring for you, then I am definitely not doing something right.”

“David, I have to dress,” she said but her voice belied her sensible words. That’s right, she thought, you don’t have to say it right out, just show me. Show me how good life can be at least for a little while. Let me forget all of this tragedy and fear for a little while.

“Mm, let me help you with that,” he said as he peeled the shirt off her arms. His supple fingers opened the eye hooks down the front of her boned camisole.

Isabelle leaned back against him. She stretched her neck, pressing her head into his shoulder. David’s breath was warm on her skin.

He reached around her and took the soft sponge from the soapy water. Slowly he ran the sponge over her shoulders, around her breasts and across her flat belly.

For a few minutes Isabelle luxuriated in the softness of his touch and the spicy scent of her soap. Then she turned within the circle of his embrace. Soft, scented, foaming bubbles soaked the front of his shirt as she pressed her bare breasts against him. She slid her arms around his neck and sought his mouth with her own.

David dropped the sponge. He put his hands under her firm buttocks and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his hips. Never breaking contact with her mouth he carried her to the bed.

***

An hour later David stood in the shade of a large banana tree; he was looking at Seraut’s house built on the narrow flat ledge in the side of the mountain. It was a solid little house built of bamboo and woven palm like most the other houses in village. Being high up and against the solid bulk of the mountain it had suffered less damage than many of the houses during the recent storm.

It looked empty. Seraut would be at the funeral. David was sure of that. It was the reason he had decided not to go to the funeral. He figured he would better serve Gilles’s memory by finding the murderer than listening to dignitaries drone on and on. David hoped that Seraut’s man servant was at the funeral as well.

He took a deep breath and blew it out between his teeth. Slowly he walked up to the house. In front of it were several wrought iron chairs and a glass topped table. The door to the house was closed. The latch was a simple affair. It wasn’t locked. Locks were almost unknown in Matavai. What good would it do to lock a door made out of palm leaves? That being the case David didn’t expect to find anything of real value in the house. It was probably a waste of time to search it but at least David would feel like he was doing something active.

He walked in to the cool dimness. After his eyes had adjusted he looked around the large room. Briefly he searched the two adjoining rooms. They contained narrow beds, washstands and small trunks; nothing of interest. Without going through the trunks David was unable to say which of the rooms Seraut used as his own.

He returned to the main room. It was sparsely furnished. A large desk was the only significant piece of furniture. The desk was made of mahogany, the edge was beveled and at the bottom were several inches of fancy carving. It was polished to a high gloss. David had seen such desks in Hong Kong in the offices of wealthy men.

It was the desk of a man who had plans for the future.

On the top of the desk were a brass ink pot, a large blotter and several pens. Everything was lined up carefully with the edge of the desktop. There were three drawers on either side of the knee hole. They were locked. David was not surprised. He took a heavy needle used to mend sails from his pocket. He worked slowly on the locks, careful not to scratch the brass work. In the drawers he found Seraut’s records in neatly labeled files. He took a few minutes over the bank statements. Could Seraut and Gilles’s have been doing that well as traders? David asked himself. Or did Seraut have some other source of income? It wasn’t the vanilla plantation. There hadn’t been time for a crop to mature.

The size of the bank balance was interesting but David could see no connection to Gilles’s murder.

In the bottom left hand drawer David found a craved teak box with a wide ribbon tied around it. Love letters was David’s first thought though that thought did not square with his impressions of Seraut. He turned the box over and looked at it carefully. The bow was intricately tied but most certainly not a sailor’s knot. It would be hard, perhaps impossible for David to retie it exactly the same. The box was locked but the lock was not nearly the deterrent the piece of ribbon was. An interesting form of security, Seraut would know if anyone opened the box. The bow would be tricky enough; but getting it tied so that the creases on the ribbon were all in the same place looked impossible to David.

He groaned with frustration. He wanted to know what was in the box but not enough to tip Seraut off that his things had been searched. He put everything back he hoped exactly as they had been. Standing in the middle of the room he looked around it for signs that he had been there. He noticed the powerful telescope near the window. Without touching it David looked through the eye piece. The docks were suddenly clear to him in every detail, so clear he could recognize the individual workers.

David took a step back, frowning. He knew if he moved the telescope slightly to the left he would see the jail and to the right Lavinia’s would come into view. There was nothing unusual about a European having a telescope. The clear air made star gazing a popular activity. Seraut’s telescope was not pointed at the stars but at the town.

David remembered Isabelle mentioning once that Seraut had an eagle’s eye view of Matavai from his house on the hill. David had dismissed it at the time. He was sorry now that he had. If Seraut really sat up here and watched the town he could learn an awful lot. He would know who did business with whom, who courted who, what boats came into the harbor and what they carried. Harmless information David supposed but still the notion of Seraut spying on the life of the town gave him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had found nothing concrete and yet he was leaving the little house more convinced of Seraut’s guilt. There was something about the emptiness of the house, its neatness, its lack of personality except for the huge desk and that powerful telescope which brought all of David’s vague uneasiness about Seraut together into a solid certainty that the man was dangerous.

***

The funeral was held on the wide expanse of grass in front of the plantation house. The coffin sat on sawhorses on the covered veranda. The family sat around it. All the chairs from the house were assembled for the various dignitaries that had come from Papeete. Townspeople and the plantations workers sat on blankets spread about the lawn.

It was a long service; presided over by an elderly monsignor from the cathedral in the capital. The governor gave a eulogy in French, Mr. Connors, a merchant in Matavai, spoke in English. Isabelle, fluent in both languages, was aware that the words were designed to flatter Mr. Bradford more than eulogize Gilles.

She glanced at Tom Bradford and thought they could have saved their breath. He wasn’t listening. He sat between his wife and his youngest son staring straight ahead with a glassy look in his pale blue eyes. The older boys were in Auckland in school. It was more than possible that they didn’t know their brother was dead.

Seraut spoke for the family. Isabelle listened to him carefully. In French he spoke smoothly. It was a restrained eulogy, not the emotional gush one might expect for a best friend and close relative. But then, thought Isabelle, that told her nothing. Seraut was a restrained sort of man; were he to gush Isabelle would find it suspicious. He was also a smart man, he would have thought of that.

She had stationed herself on the edge of the crowd. Carefully she looked over the people gathered on the lawn. Even among so many dark heads Mauriri’s height made him easy to pick out. In front of him sat a woman with a wide straw hat and thick black ribbons fluttering slightly in the breeze. Although she couldn’t see her face Isabelle was sure it was Claire.

Isabelle was worried about Claire. She’d had so much to cope with in such a short period of time. Isabelle would have liked to have talked her out of coming to the funeral but she hadn’t tried. She understood Claire would never shirk what she would see as a duty, an almost sacred duty, to Gilles’s memory.

It was Isabelle’s opinion that Claire had never been in love with Gilles Bradford. She suspected that Gilles had known as well and hadn’t cared. Unlike his cousin Gilles had not been a complex man. He’d been looking for a wife, someone like his stepmother. Claire had fit the bill admirably. She was pleasant, a good manager and well schooled in what was expected of her. It was an added bonus that she was already happy on Tahiti, the place he considered his only home in spite of his travels in Europe.

Isabelle knew that she was a bit cynical about marriage, but for a girl like Claire, marriage wasn’t such a bad idea. In Gilles she would have gotten what she had been brought up to expect in a husband as he would have in a wife. The way most people would look at it was that what they were young, educated, European and from what would be called good homes, meant they would make a successful marriage.

It wouldn’t have been perfect. Being married to Gilles meant being married to the Bradford way of life. Who Claire was, intelligent, passionate and ambitious about the newspaper, might not have fitted into that way of life very comfortably. At the very least Claire would have been in danger of being bored to death by endless tea parties. Still the Bradford’s had real wealth. Money might not buy happiness but it did go a long ways towards comfort especially once the purse strings were held by a man as manageable as Gilles Bradford would have been.

As Isabelle had told David, Gilles and Claire were easy together; they were very fond of each other. But there had been no passion between them. Isabelle knew that Gilles could never have broken Claire’s heart. But then Claire couldn’t have given him her heart even if she had wanted to.

Claire had stopped listening to the eulogies; they weren’t talking about Gilles, at least not the Gilles she knew. It didn’t surprise her. For the governor and Mr. Connors Gilles was nothing more than the amiable son of a man whose good will they wanted to keep. It wasn’t fair. This day should be about Gilles; the void his absence would leave in the lives of those who loved him.

A noise drew her attention. She looked up and saw there was a moment of confusion on the veranda. While the monsignor was coming slowly to his feet to make his way to the lectern that had been placed near the coffin, Michael Bradford had jumped up and almost run across the veranda.

He was just tall enough to be seen easily over the lectern. His fair, slightly curly hair flew about his round young face. His coloring was completely different than Gilles’s but in the shape of his nose and the curve of his mouth Claire could see that as a man he would look a great deal like his brother.

The crowd was quiet, uncertain why the boy was standing in front of them. His father had taken no notice of him. His mother had half risen from her chair but a spasm of pain crossed her face and she sat down again. Michael looked a little frightened as if he was surprised to find himself looking out at so many people.

Michael gripped the sides of the lectern with a hand on either side. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. When he spoke, it was not with the voice of a child.

“My brother, Gilles, was a good man. Those of you who work here know that. He was kind and fair. He was never too busy to look at your work and tell you how you were doing a good job. He was never too busy to teach me to sail. He loved music, he loved to laugh, he loved people. He was a good man and I will always remember him. I will do my best to grow up to be like him,” finished Michael, his voice cracking on the last few words. He turned away and walked into the house.

“Well done, Michael, well done,” whispered Claire. She was profoundly grateful.

The family cemetery on the plantation was a short walk through Mrs. Bradford’s lovely garden from the main house. It was on a bluff looking over the sea. There were a dozen graves. The new grave had been dug beside Gilles’s mother who had died when he was a child.

The coffin was positioned over the hole on ropes. The bearers lowered it carefully as the Monsignor recited the solemn final prayer. When he was finished the mourners began to file by slowly. They each took a handful of dirt from the mound beside the grave and let it fall on to the coffin. As they filed past workers from the plantation sang an old hymn. Their rich voices rolled over the crowd, mixing with the sounds of the nearby sea.

Claire walked slowly behind Lianni, her face hidden by the wide brim of the hat. The coffin was covered with a thin layer of dirt when it was her turn to look down into the grave. “Good bye, my dear friend,” she whispered as she let the handful of fine dirt sifted through her fingers. “I will never forget you.”

“Get that whore away from my boy!”

Claire was caught off guard by the power of Tom Bradford’s voice that seemed to cut the singers off in the middle of a note. At first the words had no meaning. She was aware only of the fury, the hatred that reverberated off the mountain side. Absorbed in her sad thoughts she didn’t realize that the statement was directed at her until she felt Bradford physically coming towards her.

Claire looked up at Bradford. He was unrecognizable. The gentleman planter she knew so well had disappeared. Tom Bradford had started life as a street Arab on the docks in Liverpool. A rough childhood that had prepared him for every hardship he’d known during a life as a ship’s carpenter and carving out his business empire in the South Seas.

He advanced on Claire, tall, thick bodied, red-faced. The crowd parted silently before him; everyone watching, some with a sense of sorrow and embarrassment; others with gleeful malice in their eyes. Claire stared at him, her mouth going suddenly dry. She was faintly aware of Mrs. Bradford’s feeble voice calling, “Please, Tom, no.”; and of Mrs. Russell, in her rustling black silk, running after him.

“You have no place among decent grieving folk, you whore,” he thundered down on Claire, when he stopped just few feet from her.

“Please, Tom,” pleaded Mrs. Russell, laying a restraining hand on his arm. “Please don’t do this.”

“Shut your gob, woman,” bellowed Bradford. “It is your doing she got her hooks into my boy. You live here on my charity; say another word and you’re out on your bony ass.”

Without looking at Mrs. Russell, he shoved her away with great force. She would have fallen if Mauriri had not stepped forward and caught her.

Claire, stunned by such violence directed at her godmother, said softly, “Go back to Mrs. Bradford. I’m all right.”

“All right are you? Are you sure? I’ll see that you are never all right again,” spat out Bradford. His blue eyes were blood shot and his breath was hot, it smelled of whiskey. “He got it wrong, did he? Your Cannibal Jack, your lover. He was to wait until you’d married my boy, wasn’t he? Until you had a bit of money before he killed my son. What – was he over come with lust? With jealousy? Or just plain madness? Is that why he killed my boy before you got the money?”

Colin had made his way through the dumbfounded crowd. “Mr. Bradford, please, you are overwrought.”

“No, Colin, let him have his say,” said Claire. The steadiness of her voice surprised her. Inside she was shaking. The sheer physical power of his anger was terrifying. Claire fought the desire to step behind Mauriri.

“My say, is it? My say is you are an adulterous slut who seduced a gullible lad to get hold of his inheritance. You wormed your way into my family. We treated you like a daughter. And how do you repay us but by making a fool of my boy. But by stealing his very life. You filthy whore.” He raised his right hand and would have slapped Claire across the face had Mauriri not stepped forward and stayed his arm.

There was moment of terrible silence. The two strong men glared into each other’s eyes. The crowd held its collected breath. Claire stood very straight, the black ribbons of her hat blowing behind her. She felt Lavinia and Lianni just behind her. Colin was close by and although she couldn’t see her she could almost hear Isabelle somewhere in the crowd saying don’t be afraid, Claire.

I am not alone. My friends are here. He can’t hurt me with lies.

Slowly the two men moved apart. Mauriri stepped back closer to Claire. His weight still forward, he was ready to step again in front of her, ready to do what ever was needed to protect her. Bradford held his ground, only slightly more in control of himself.

“Now I will have my say, Mr. Bradford,” Claire declared loudly, her voice slightly shrill. She was trembling but she made herself look Bradford in the eye. “I respect your grief. Say whatever you like about me, Mr. Bradford, if it gives you comfort. I have done nothing to be ashamed of. What you choose to believe about me is your own affair. But you will not speak of Gilles with such disrespect in my presence. Few men are fortunate enough to have a son who love and respect them as Gilles did you. And how do you repay that love and respect? You stand over his grave and call him a fool. You brand him a cuckold. You are wrong on both counts, Mr. Bradford. Gilles was my dear friend and I was honored to receive his attentions. Gilles deserves justice, real justice, not to have his death pinned on the man who is most convenient. And I am going to see that Gilles gets justice. I’m going to see that in death he gets the respect he deserves.”

She walked away then with her head held very high. She did not see the people who scrambled to get out of her way. She walked with great dignity, inwardly afraid that any misstep would cause her to shatter into a thousand pieces. Lianni and Lavinia followed her in silence. They walked to the carriage and mounted it with Colin’s help. Mauriri took the reins and they drove away, leaving the crowd just as it stirred to excited whispering. .

In the carriage Claire sat between her friends gripping their hands tightly. They were waiting for her to cry, to break down. But she didn’t. She sat dry-eyed, staring straight ahead. So tired, so emotionally depleted she would have no memory of thinking about anything at all.

Isabelle seethed. It was all she could to do to keep herself from running across the crowded garden to slap Tom Bradford’s drunken face. She forced herself to look away and watch as her friends’ carriage turn on to the main coast road.

Her instinct was to follow them but there was still much she could learn by staying. She would have to trust Lavinia and Lianni to take care of Claire until she got back to town.

Isabelle saw Seraut walking towards her. With an effort she composed her face.

“My dear Isabelle,” said Seraut as he kissed her on both cheeks formally. “How kind of you to be here.”

Isabelle answered in French, the language they always spoke together. “I was very fond of Gilles.”

The Frenchman turned and glanced over the crowded lawn. “So many people were fond of Gilles. It is a great loss.”

“For you, especially.”

She wondered if she imagined the pause before he nodded and said, “Yes, I will miss him very much. In his own way he was the perfect partner.”

He sounded sincere, genuinely sad. For just a moment it appeared he had forgot her presence. Then he turned to her and said, “It is so horrible to know that had I been but a few minutes earlier I could have prevented this tragedy.”

“You are positive that Jack killed him?”

“Yes,” he nodded and looked her in the eye. Then he sighed, “I suppose I should apologize for my uncle’s behavior.”

Isabelle knew this was her opportunity but she hated saying, “Claire brought it on herself.”

Seraut’s dark eyes scanned her face. “You are angry with your friend, perhaps with many of your friends. I noticed you were not sitting with them during the service.”

Isabelle shrugged her silk clad shoulders. “Loyalty is a good thing but blind loyalty is just plain stupid. You were there. You have no doubts about Cannibal Jack’s guilt. Why should I? I’ve never been very fond of him anyway.”

He offered her his arm and they started to walk towards the house. Although Seraut had never pretended not to enjoy her company in public, Isabelle was slightly surprised that he was being so open about their friendship in the circumstances. As she had reason to know many men who moved without censor in society had relationships with women of questionable reputations. A colonial community like Tahiti’s white community accepted many things that would not be accepted in Europe. However the Bradford plantation was the center of the most conservative colonials.

Isabelle wasn’t certain if Seraut was simply distracted by his grief or deliberately flaunting their friendship. She suspected a great many people thought them more than friends.

“Do you think,” he asked hesitantly, “perhaps, there is something to my uncle’s accusation?”

“That Claire had something to do with Gilles’s death?” responded Isabelle, her eyes wide with what she hoped looked like distress. She quelled the desire to slap his face for suggesting such a vile thing.

“Oh, no,” protested Seraut, shaking his head. “I’m sure she never meant Gilles any real harm. But she is young and McGonnigal is a savage but he is cunning. Such a man could seduce an inexperienced woman like Claire. She could have found herself drawn into a plot to defraud Gilles.”

“Defraud?”

“Well, Gilles would have been a careless but generous husband. McGonnigal might have benefited greatly if he had some hold over Claire.”

Isabelle stopped walking. She dropped his arm and turned away as if she were thinking. In fact she was trying to hide the fury she knew was making her eyes silver. “I suppose,” she said slowly, “such a thing isn’t impossible. But killing Gilles before they married couldn’t have been part of the plan. Why would Cannibal Jack do it?”

“I am only speculating, of course but it is possible that Gilles had suspicions of what McGonnigal planned. If he confronted him McGonnigal might have felt cornered and killed him. It was only by sheer luck that he was discovered with the body. I’m sure he planned to throw my poor cousin’s body over the cliff into the sea.”

Seraut spoke as if the idea was just occurring to him but Isabelle felt manipulated. She was aware of his scrutiny. He wanted to see if she would defend Claire or if she would entertain the notion. It explained why he was walking with her

“Do you think Gilles’s had such suspicions?” she asked, glancing back at him.

“Sadly he did not confide in me,” said Seraut almost sighing. “However, thinking back now over the last voyage I do believe there was something preying on his mind.”

In spite of herself Isabelle was impressed with Seraut. She knew Gilles was suspicious of nothing. In part because it was completely foreign to his nature to keep any concern to himself; if he had any questions about Claire and Jack or anything else he would have asked them straight out. But more importantly Isabelle knew there was nothing for Gilles to be suspicious of; there was no conspiracy between Jack and Claire, there was nothing but angry silence between the two of them.

Isabelle realized that if she didn’t know Claire so well she might be tempted to give credence to what Seraut was saying. In fact he had suggested it so carefully some people might think they had come up with the idea themselves.

Seraut was looking back towards the house. Tables of food had been set up by the household staff. The crowd was moving in that direction.

“I should return to my uncle. He is very alone in all of this. His wife is so lost in her own grief and her health is very poor.”

“What about the other two sons?”

“Tommy and John? I informed them of course but I told them to stay at their school in Auckland. Like everyone else they were very fond of Gilles. They will want revenge. This situation is volatile enough without adding adolescent histrionics.”

He spoke with great authority and a trace of arrogance. He wanted her to know that he had taken charge of the Bradfords.

“Bradford does seem badly shaken. He is lucky to have you to depend on.”

“A family responsibility. I owe it to Gilles’s memory,” he nodded formally and started to turn away. Then looking back he added almost absently, “In a few days I hope we might talk about the future.”

“The future?” repeated Isabelle.

“Even in the midst of such tragedy there are opportunities,” he answered before he walked away leaving Isabelle to stared after him, speculating on what he meant.

She wandered through the crowd for an hour. Everything she heard worried her. Those assembled had already convicted Jack of Gilles’s murder.

***

Jean Morlais was often the recipient of letters from friends and family in France. Many of the letters offered him sincere commiserations on how his once promising career had stalled in a backwater like Polynesia. He always answered such letters by saying that as a soldier he served at the whim of his superiors. The truth was he lived in dread of the day that some well-meaning superior would decide to rescue him from his exile.

Morlais loved Tahiti. He loved the weather and he loved the beauty of the land and sea. But more than anything he loved the order of his life. Tahitians were a practical people, industrious and peaceful. The permanent white community was small and close knit. Most of them were interested only in making money; a small, wearisome faction wanted to convert the natives. What real trouble there was nearly always came from the waterfront and the sailors. These problems while vexing could generally be handled quickly and effectively by knocking a few heads together.

For years Morlais had been able to think of himself more as the mayor of a thriving community than a soldier. This suited him well. He enjoyed the trust of his superiors and the respect of the inhabitants, with he reluctantly admitted to himself a few notable exceptions.

He had a charming house that set on a hill above the town run by a beautiful Tahitian woman for whose many talents he had a deep appreciation. Life was very good.

Gilles Bradford’s murder shocked and angered Morlais. In his orderly little world people of wealth or power did not get murdered. The last time it had happened was the death of German counsel at the hands of a woman of astounding viciousness. Morlais fervently hoped he would never meet another human being as devoid of conscience as Jenny Devall.

In the present case he would like nothing better than to accept the account of the witnesses, bring the suspect to trial and get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. But he had a problem.

Morlais believed Cannibal Jack’s account of his movements on the afternoon of Gilles Bradford’s death.

Morlais didn’t want to believe Jack. He had no particularly fondness for him. In fact he had no real opinion of the man at all. The old story about how he became Cannibal Jack didn’t trouble the Frenchman; he’d heard worse stories during his time in the army. Although Morlais had been aware of Cannibal Jack on the waterfront he was not prone, as certain others were, to get into trouble and so had not often come into Morlais’s orbit.

He certainly wasn’t crediting Jack’s story because of David Grief’s championing of him. Grief had often put his trust in the wrong people in the past.

Morlais thought again of Jenny Devall and shuddered.

It did give him pause that Lepau was so certain of Cannibal Jack’s innocence. His partners aside, Lepau was a good judge of character.

In the end it was simply gut instinct that told Morlais that Jack was telling the truth. He thought again about how Jack had told his story. It was a straightforward account. He spoke clearly, which was an accomplishment in itself given the man was barely sober. The only time he faltered was when he spoke of young Bradford’s body. Some might think that faltering was an indication of guilt but to Morlais it had looked and sounded more like sadness, even grief. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise Morlais was forced to conclude that Cannibal Jack was sorry Gilles Bradford was dead.

Morlais breathed out a long dramatic, self indulgent sigh. After all, he comforted himself; Seraut didn’t say he saw Cannibal Jack plunge the knife into young Bradford. Surely, once Mr. Bradford had recovered a little from the shock of his son’s death he would be willing to listen to the facts. At least that’s what Morlais hoped because he felt absolutely compelled to conduct a thorough investigation.

There was a knock at the door. Morlais called out "Entrez!" and looked up. Claire Devon stood in the doorway with her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Her face was pale; there were dark circles under her eyes. His first instinct on seeing her was to stand up; his second was to make her sit down.

Claire shook her head. “Thank you, Lieutenant, but I won’t take up that much of your time.”

Morlais walked around his desk. “There is no reason not to be comfortable,” he said, taking her by the elbow and leading her to a chair. She didn’t flinch at his touch but he was aware of the tension in her body.

“Are you looking for a statement for the paper about the investigation?” he asked, leaning back against his desk. Morlais had gone to the funeral in an official capacity. He’d notice Claire among the crowd, noting that she was not with the Bradford family. He’d wondered about that at the time. In the small community Morlais had considerable standing; he socialized widely in the white community. He had often seen Claire and Gilles Bradford together. It had been his assumption, as it had been the assumption of everyone who paid attention to such things, that they would soon marry.

Morlais hadn’t stayed for the graveside service. He didn’t know about her confrontation with Tom Bradford but he was aware that she was now in considerable distress.

“Is there something new?” she asked eagerly, her brown eyes brightened. “I have just come from setting the type for the story but I can go back and change it if there is something new. My assistants won’t have started printing that page yet.”

“Nothing new, really. My sergeant returned not long ago after seeing Chief Marheyo,” answered Morlais. He wished again that he had been the one to question the chief. He sergeant was an able man but Morlais preferred to do his own questioning. However, it had seemed unwise to leave Matavai with so high profiled a prisoner in his jail. “He confirms the story Seraut told about seeing McGonnigal standing over young Bradford’s body.”

Claire winced at his words; the light died in her eyes.

Morlais felt sorry for her. He liked her, he always had. She was the sort of young woman he approved of, unlike her friend, Isabelle Reed. Claire worked hard, caused no trouble; she even showed him a proper amount of respect. He was aware of course that she had used his good nature to get hold of his printing press but he didn’t hold that against her. It was hard for a young woman to make her way in the world. Claire was managing do so without breaking any laws the least he could do was let her use his press. After all, she printed his official documents for free.

“I want to see Jack,” said Claire bluntly.

“Ah” responded Morlais. He supposed that he knew when he saw her that was why she had come. He had really hoped for her sake she had accepted the idea of Cannibal Jack’s guilt. That hope had been unrealistic, given the passion she’d shown in his defense on the dock, but it would have been better for her. She could have joined the rest of the white community in mourning Bradford and condemning Cannibal Jack. He should have known when she wasn’t with the family at the funeral she continued to believe in Cannibal Jack’s innocence.

“I’m afraid that is not possible, Miss Devon.”

“Not possible? He is here, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is here.”

“Then take me to him.”

“Miss Devon, Claire--”

“He’s told you not to let me see him, hasn’t he?’ she said quickly, “Just as he told David to keep me away. Does he think that I’m made of stone that I could stay away from him at a time like this?”

“McGonnigal has expressed a concern that you being allowed to visit him would be damaging to you.” That, thought Morlais, was putting it mildly. McGonnigal had been a model prisoner except for the lecture he had given Morlais concerning Claire Devon.

“Damaging to me, Lieutenant,” repeated Claire angrily. She leaned forward in the chair; her hands gripped the arms so tightly her knuckles were white. “Why should seeing Jack be any more damaging to me than it is to David, or Mauriri, or Colin? They have all been allowed to see Jack. Before you bother to explain the social ramification of my defending Jack, let me tell you that I don’t care. I know that Jack didn’t kill Gilles. That is all that is important; what any person in this town thinks of me is not. It is not your responsibility to protect me from damage. Your job is to discover who did kill Gilles.”

With an exaggerated show of patience, the lieutenant said, “I agree with you that it is my job is to discover who killed Gilles Bradford. Unfortunately at the moment Cannibal Jack is the only suspect. How you feel about him, even how I feel about him, is not evidence we can use in his defense.”

Claire started to speak but stilled suddenly. She looked at Morlais thoughtfully. Then she said with some excitement, “You believe that Jack is innocent!”

Putting his hands up in defense, Morlais said, “This is not a matter of my opinion or belief. The court will decide on McGonnigal’s guilt. Until that time I believe that he is correct you would be better served by staying away from him.

“I can’t stay away from him. I simply can’t. Please. There have been terrible misunderstandings between Jack and me. You must let me talk to him, please,” implored Claire. She stood up and walked nervously around the office. Her anger had disappeared to be replaced by vuln erability. “He needs to know I believe in him.”

Morlais looked severe. He prided himself on being neither romantic nor sentimental. His only responsibilities in this situation were to keep his prisoner confined and to collect evidence. It was not his job to reconcile young lovers. In fact anyone of even minimal intelligence would know that the best thing for a decent young woman like Claire Devon would be to stay very far away from a man like Cannibal Jack.

Morlais pushed himself away from the desk and drew himself up to his full height. He took a breath and prepared himself to order Claire to go home and stay away from the jail for her own well being. He might have done it if she had cried or shouted at him.

But she did neither. She stood quietly in the center of his office, her shoulders sagging with fatigue, her dark eyes full of pain and grief.

Morlais swallowed hard and frowned. Why exactly this girl of all girls should touch whatever tiny, latent, paternal instinct he had buried within him he could not imagine. Nor could he deny the impulse to ease her pain.

Very softly Claire said, “I need him.” With a sigh Morlais gave in.

***

“Don’t be a fool, McGonnigal,” said Lt. Morlais as he turned the key in the lock. He paused and looked at Claire. She gave him a small, grateful smile and nodded. He shook his head and turned away. He walked slowly up the short flight of stairs and waited by the doorway.

Claire took several steps towards Jack. She stood still in the center of the cell. The air was damp and close. Her long hair stuck immediately to the back of her neck. She folded her hands in front of her. She took a deep breath. There was a stench of boiled cabbage and unwashed bodies that turned her stomach. For a moment she simply looked at him.

He sat on the low cot. His feet were planted firmly in front of him, his elbows rested on his knees and his strong hands hung between them. His head was down and his gaze was fixed somewhere just in front of her feet.

“Jack, I know,” she paused and took a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her mouth. “I know that you think you are protecting me by refusing to speak with me. But I can’t bear it. Honestly, I think I can deal with anything else but I must be able to see you, to be able to talk to you. I have to be sure that you have hope.”

Jack didn’t move. It was as if he were carved of stone.

Claire sniffed, she wouldn’t cry. This was not the time for tears. She had managed to get through the funeral and that horrible scene with Mr. Bradford without dissolving into tears; she would manage to get through this. “There is good reason for hope. Did David tell you the theory we’ve developed? Of course we haven’t proved it yet but we are collecting the facts. I’m sure we are going to be able to discover exactly what happened when Gilles was killed.”

She took a step forward and extended her hand. She ached to touch him; yet the lack of any response on his part was like a brick wall between them.

“I’m quite furious with you, you know. Why didn’t you tell me what Mrs. Russell had said to you? Mrs. Russell, she’s always felt so responsible for me. I should have known she didn’t understand what you and I had together. She thought I was taken in by your handsome face. I’m so sorry she made you doubt our future but if you had only told me then what she had said, Jack, we could have talked it out. We are going to talk it all out just as soon as you are safe,” she said with her voice rising with anger.

He closed his eyes. She shouldn’t be here. This was no place for her. It made him sick at heart to have her see him like this. If he stayed still she would give up or Morlais would take pity on her and take her out. He had to stay still.

He had long practice in shutting out words he didn’t want to hear; years of not listening to the taunts when he sat in the bar and drank his rum; long nights resisting the accusatory voices of the dead in his head. Once she was gone, he would remember every word she said. Even if they were angry words he wanted to remember them. But not now; he wouldn’t listen now. He wouldn’t do anything that would encourage her to stay with him.

If she touched him, he wouldn’t turn away. He would do nothing at all. That would be best. Her feelings would be hurt by his lack of response. She would grow angrier and she would go away. All he had to do was stay still and she would go away and be safe.

Then Claire took another step towards him, he caught the rose scent of her English soap. He loved that scent partly he supposed because it represented Claire so well. In the tropics, so full of big blooms and strong fragrances, an English rose was rare and special, like his Claire.

Jack lost his concentration and looked up.

It was all the encouragement Claire needed. She took two rapid steps forward to stand between his knees. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head against her belly, folding herself over him. “Oh, my love,” she cried softly.

The sweet, clean scent of her was overwhelming. Her touch was gentle and his resolve gave way. He trembled within her embrace and slowly raised his arms to encircle her. For a long moment they stayed wrapped together. Then Claire tilted his face up to her. “You precious idiot,” she said fiercely.

His beard was rough stubble on his hollow cheeks. She took his face between her hands and leaned down. Her lips brushed his forehead, his eyes and then settled on his mouth. It was a gentle kiss that grew deeper. Jack drew her on to his lap. Breaking contact with her mouth he buried his face against her neck.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered hoarsely. I should push her away, he thought desperately but his arms only tightened around her.

“There is no where else on earth I should be,” said Claire fiercely as her fingers gently stroked his close cropped hair. She kissed the top of his head. In spite of all the danger, all the sorrow what she felt most of all was what she had always felt in Jack’s arms, a sense of homecoming. “No where else I want to be unless you can be there with me.”

“But, Claire--”

“Jack, look at me.” She sat back still with in his embrace. She cocked her head to look at him. “I know that you didn’t kill Gilles. I know it as surely as I know my own name. And I’m sure that we are going to be able to prove it.”

He sighed and rested his head against her shoulder. Her silky hair was soft against his face.

Did she really understand how this could all come out? Did she honestly believe she could stay beside him on his way to the guillotine?

“I’m so sorry, Claire,” he said hoarsely. He trusted her when she said she believed in his innocence. But it was important to him that she knew he was saddened by Bradford’s death. “He was a good man and he cared so much for you.”

“Yes, he did. We cared for each other. We were very good friends,” said Claire carefully. Not now thought Claire desperately as she felt hot tears smart her eyes. This is not the time to cry for Gilles. I’m here to give Jack hope.

Jack heard the catch in her voice. He felt her trembling. He raised his head so that he could look at her pale face. He saw exhaustion in her brown eyes and determination not to cry. He cupped his large hand around her head and pressed it gently against his shoulder.

Claire wept.

Jack said not a word. He did not try to comfort her by telling her not to cry. He knew she was crying for Gilles. He suspected it was the first time she had let herself cry for Gilles. There would have been so many things to take care of. He knew she would have kept her feelings in check, worrying about Gilles’s family, worrying about him. She would have stiffened her lip and kept her dignity and told everyone not to worry about her. He knew all of that because he knew his Claire. He could have recited her letter about the funeral of her grandfather word for word. In it she had told him how she had stood dry-eyed with the rest of her family politely receiving mourners while her heart was breaking that she had lost her one real champion within her aunt’s household.

It was the gentle pressure of Jack’s hand against the back of her head that gave Claire permission to cry. Unconsciously she molded her body to his and let her tears flow in silence. After a few minutes she became aware of the absurdity of the situation. She had come to convince Jack that she loved him and that he had to fight for his future, for her sake as well as his own. She had been so sure that by waiting until after the funeral she would be able to focus completely on Jack. Yet she was clinging to him, sobbing over the loss of the man she would have married instead of him.

She took a shuddering breath and tried to compose herself. What in the name of all that is holy am I going to say now?

Slowly she sat up. She looked up sheepishly at him. There was no reproach in Jack’s eyes.

“You need rest,” he said quietly as he pushed a stray strand of honey colored hair out of her eyes.

“No, I’m all right,” she said and then she blushed thinking how stupid she must sound saying she was all right after she had soaked his shirt with her tears. “Jack, I’m – ”

“Now, girl,” he said with a gentle smile, “don’t you apologize for crying over him. It’s wrong that he is dead. It’s just plain wrong. He was a good fellow. I think the two of you could have been happy together. That’s all I wanted was to see you happy.”

Claire sat very still and looked at him thoughtfully. He was sincere. He meant what he said or at least he believed that he did. It sounded very noble. She didn’t want him to be noble; she wanted him to want her as she wanted him.

“Did you, Jack? Did you really want to see me as another man’s wife?” Claire was appalled at the words that came out of her mouth. She couldn’t believe that she had so forgotten herself she was using dear Gilles’s memory to goad Jack.

Jack stiffened. He was unaware that he drew her closer or that his eyes betrayed his jealousy. He wanted to believe that he would have been happy for her to have married Bradford. He did want her to have the advantages that money would bring. And had she married Bradford, had she married anyone he wanted her to be happy. But something about how she had said the word wife made him remember something. They were on the beach. Her arms were around his neck and her face was tilted up to his for a kiss. She was lovely and sweet, still innocent and inexperienced, but in her eyes there was also hunger.

Jack swallowed hard. It was not the first time that the idea of another man satisfying that hunger she felt had tormented him. But it was the worst. How could he take any pleasure in the fact that she was there in his arms again when all around them was the damp cell and the stink of fear?

“Look at me, Jack.” Claire the girl brought up to be a lady might have been appalled but Claire the woman felt a shiver run through her entire body as his embrace tightened.

“Claire, you sh-shouldn’t – ” he stammered and swallowed hard.

She pressed her finger to his lips and said again, “Jameson Jackson, look at me.”

And so he did. He raised his eyes and looked into hers.

Claire’s hand cupped his cheek, drawing his face closer to hers. This was a different kiss, more than just the melting together of lips, the tangling of tongues. This kiss satisfied nothing; it only intensified their longings.

Jack forced himself to be aware of their surroundings, the cell bars, the dampness. He thought of Morlais waiting at the top of the stairs to let Claire out of the cell. He thought of the loss she had just suffered and the dire uncertainty of his future. She deserves better than this, better than me, he told him self as he pulled his mouth away from hers. He pressed her against his chest and he did his best to steady his breathing.

Claire felt dizzy. Jack’s physical presence had long had a strong effect on her. But never had she felt so close to losing control. She supposed it was because she was tired and emotional but the pounding of her heart almost frightened her. She found she was gripping the boar’s tusk talisman he wore around his neck.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a low whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with his voice shaking with emotion. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful – ”

She looked up. “Hush. You did nothing wrong.”

“You really must go.”

“Not yet.” She rested her forehead against his shoulder. She took several deep breaths. When she felt a little calmer, she looked up at him. She saw that he was worried about her. It made her smile sadly. His life was in jeopardy but he was worried that she had been offended or hurt by his actions. This was the man she knew, the shy, gentle man she fell in love with. How could she have ever believed he had hurt her out of cruelty?

“Oh, Jack, there are so many things we need to get straight between us,” said Claire hoarsely. “Once you are safe we’ll have a real donnybrook and we will sort it all out. We’ll yell and scream about Mrs. Russell, how you could be stupid enough to think that making me believe you never cared for me was the way to see me happy and how I could be stupid enough to let you do it.” She spoke quickly, brushing tears from her face.

A sad, fleeting smile crossed Jack’s face. He wondered for an instant how she had found out about Mrs. Russell’s part in his deception. He wished he could believe that she was correct, that some day they would have a chance to sort it all out.

“But right now you have to understand this.” She paused for a moment and took a steadying breath. Then she said very evenly, “I love you. I thought I was an idiot for loving you and I tried very hard to believe what I felt was nothing but a childish longing for something that couldn’t be. It is true that I might well have married Gilles. If I had I would have done my level best to be a good wife and partner to him.” She took another breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Gilles was a delightful man. I will miss him. But Gilles would never have known to let me cry as you did. Gilles would never have understood what the Messenger means to me even though he was happy to let me go on with it. Gilles with the best will in the world simply couldn’t know me as you know me. Jack, I know that you understand what it means to me to be known.”

Jack sat back against the wall and looked at her with his lower lip caught between his teeth. He wanted to do what was best for her. But he wasn’t a saint. He was a man afraid for his life. A man who had faced death in the past and knew he needed something, someone beyond himself to give him a reason to fight. She was his reason.

Very softly he said, “It was your letters. That’s why I know you so well. I told you lies but you told me truths. You told me when you were sad and what made you happy. You just poured out your heart and I read every word over and over.”

She reached for his right hand and held it tightly in both of hers. She thought of the girl she had been in England; the poor relation living on charity. Not quite as pretty as her cousins, not quite as accomplished, no dowry, no real prospects. When she claimed she would work and care for herself as a modern woman should, her aunt had laughed at her.

“I was so lonely.” But the word lonely could hardly describe her life between the death of her father when she was twelve and when she left England for Tahiti. It could not tell of the years in the little cottage with her invalid mother. It could not tell what it was like to be poor little Claire in the pretentious house of her aunt. Poor Claire who always said the wrong thing and would rather have her nose stuck in a book than spend an evening with vacuous young men who went pale when she asked their opinion of the Irish Troubles.

“So was I. That’s why I told you all those lies. I think maybe I believed them when I was writing to you.”

“It was a beautiful world that you described.”

“And comfortable,” he said with a self depreciating smile. “I remember telling you about a dining room table and eight chairs delivered from Hong Kong. I just neglected to mention that I had only been a sailor on the boat they were brought on and that they were delivered to the Bradfords.”

Claire sat quietly for a few moments, staring down at their intertwined fingers. She spoke slowly, “For the longest time I thought it was for that life I came to Tahiti. That the reason I was so beastly to you in the beginning was because I was disappointed.”

“No one could blame you for that.”

“I think I was embarrassed as well, partly because I had been taken in and partly because being disappointed meant I was such a social climber.”

“Claire, don’t,” he said gently. He reached out with his free hand and cupped her chin, turning her face to him. “We’ve talked about this before. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’d have been foolish if you had come all that way for a poor sailor who had no hope of supporting you. You’d have to have been mad to have come for Cannibal Jack. I told you a lot of fancy lies in my letters. I was the one who was wrong.”

Claire took a deep breath and said, “You do realize that the life I was looking forward to with Gilles, was much like the life you described.”

“Yeah, I realized that,” he said, nodding. “And don’t think for a minute I thought any less of you for it. Like you said you and Gilles were good friends, you would have had a good life together.”

“A comfortable life, yes,” she said with a nod. “And as happy as most, I suppose. But you see, what I’ve realized over these past months is that it wasn’t the promise of a well-off life I had come for after all. Until yesterday it was all right there in front of me, a good man, the promise of a comfortable life, friends and yet some part of me, of my heart, was empty because you weren’t a part of my future. Only it was more than that; it was because you claimed to have deceived me about everything even your feelings. That was why that part of my heart was empty. That was why I couldn’t trust my own feelings. I’d believed in your love for me, when you took it away, when you said it wasn’t real--”

“Oh, Claire-” whispered Jack

“I couldn’t be sure of anything if I was wrong about your feelings for me,” she said with her voice shaking with emotion.

“Claire, love, I just wanted to give you a chance for the kind of future you could never have with me. I never meant to hurt you; honestly, I didn’t think that I had, not really,” said Jack haltingly. “I thought you were quite well. I did watch you. You were always so beautiful, I saw you smile a lot. The paper is a grand success, even I can see that. It all seemed, Gilles as well, to be the life you were meant to have.”

“It was. It was the life my family would choose for me; Mrs. Russell did choose for me. I was ready to turn my back on all of them for you, for what we could build together when you turned your back on me. And, well, it was clear, they were right and I was wrong. Their judgment was sound and mine was faulty.”

Claire sat very still on his lap; her hands now gripped into fists. Time was short. She didn’t want to spend their few minutes together berating him. Yet she had to try and make him understand what his lies had done to her. She had to be sure he would not push her away again.

Jack swallowed hard; he rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “You were so angry with me, I thought that was good. I thought that being angry with me would move you forward.”

“It did. The anger I felt towards you was the one feeling I could trust. I could also trust Gilles’s feelings for me. He liked me; he loved me because that was what he was meant to do. I appeared to be just what he had always been told he wanted; a well-brought-up, middle-class, English girl. I don’t mean any disrespect towards Gilles; it is just that that is who he was. If I said something that didn’t fit his picture of me, he would look puzzled, not angry or even disappointed, just puzzled. Don’t you understand that that is why we could have been content together, Gilles and me? We expected so little of each other really; all we had to do was treat each other with respect and kindness, and we could have gone on for years and years. And in my heart I would have been just as lonely as I was back in my aunt’s house.”

Jack said nothing. He had his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He bit down so hard he drew blood but he took no notice. He started to raise his hand to brush the hair away from her damp face. He let it fall back to his side.

“You wouldn’t have been puzzled by what I said because you know me for who I am not what I’m supposed to be. I gave you my heart, Jack, and you threw it right back at me. I thought loneliness was my lot in life because the one man who had bothered to really know me, didn’t want me. I thought you hated me because I’d been selfish and mean in the beginning, because I’d hurt your pride.”

“Hated you?” repeated Jack hoarsely. “But I never said that, Claire. I didn’t have some grand plan that day. I just knew I had to break things off. . At first, I was afraid I was hurting you; but then you got angry when you thought I had had it all planned from the beginning. We just sort of fell into that and I thought it was for the best.”

Claire looked at him. He was distraught that he’d hurt her so. This isn’t the time for this, she thought. It is selfish to make him think about me now when he is in so much danger.

“I shouldn’t have run away,” said Claire with far more calm than she felt. “I should have made you tell me why you had changed towards me. But I got so frightened that it was because you knew me so well that you couldn’t care for me.”

“Couldn’t care for you,” repeated Jack bewildered.

She pressed her fingers against his lips. “I remember writing to you. At first, I was careful about what I said. I wanted to make a good impression but then before long I was telling you everything; every outrageous political opinion, every over reaching ambition. Things I never told anyone, not even Mrs. Russell who despite the harm she’s caused here was my greatest support when I was a girl.”

Jack watched her face in the low light of the cell. She had changed a lot from the soft, pretty girl who had first knocked at his disreputable door. He’d loved the girl in the letters, although he hadn’t actually believed she existed in the world outside of his head. The moment she’d said his name, his real name, he’d recognized her, even though he had no memory of the carefully arranged meeting they had planned in their letters. Everyday since, as he’d watched her meet all the challenges of being a young woman on her own in a strange place, his love for her had steadily grown.

Jack swallowed hard. Then he took a deep breath and said in his low, musical voice, “I cherished every outrageous political opinion, every over-reaching ambition, every astute observation about the town, every hint about how sad you really were there. I don’t mean to make excuses for misleading you about my life here but I wanted so much to create a world where you could be happy, where you could be the girl in the letters; the wonderful girl in the letters.”

She looked him in the eye and said, “I know there was a part of me that came to Tahiti because I thought you were a well-off gentleman and we would have a life where in I could play lady of the manor. But there was another part me, the part that took hold here and grew into the woman I hope am. You say that you lied in your letters, well, that’s true you did. But you also revealed a great deal of your heart, of the man you are. Those best parts of us are who walked together on the beach all those nights. At the end of the day I know it was for you, the man you are, I came. And now that I have you again no one is going to take you from me.”

Jack gave in. He would give his life for her. He wished with all his heart he could protect her from the pain of her sorrow and from the cruelty that she was sure to experience by publicly taking up his cause. But even for her own good, never again would he give her reason to doubt his love. Nothing could have been further from his intentions than undermining her confidence in herself. Whatever the future brought they would face it together, at least in their hearts.

He gently pushed her hair out of her eyes. He let his fingers trace the line of her cheek. Then he pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

“We will solve this horrible mystery, Jack,” whispered Claire as she nestled against him.

Some time later there was a sound behind them by the door of cell. Lt. Morlais cleared his throat loudly. They turned to look at him.

“I am sorry, Miss Devon,” he said firmly but kindly, “I think it might be best if you left now while there is no one about. I’m afraid that not every one would be understanding of why you’re here.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m just coming,” said Claire, slipping off Jack’s lap and standing. She knew that the lieutenant had let her see Jack against his better judgment. She did not wish to try his patience any further.

Morlais opened the door and then walked discreetly away.

Jack stood. Claire reached up to wind her arms around his neck and pull his face down to meet hers. She kissed him. He kissed her. He willed himself to make it a simple good night kiss, as if it would not be the last time that he ever kissed her. She stepped back reluctantly still holding his hand.

“Claire?’

“Yes?” she turned back eagerly.

“There is one thing I’ve regretted more than anything else. Do you remember our last walk on the beach at night?”

“Yes, of course.” She had thought of it a thousand times with fury and with sadness. They had been so close that night. She had been so sure of their future. After he broke things off she had asked herself how she could have been so stupid not to seen through his romantic ruse.

“I wanted to tell you then but, well, with what I planned to do it didn’t seem right.”

“Tell me what, Jack?”

“I love you.”

Claire smiled, really smiled, her whole face lit with a glow from within. “I know. I know.”

Jack gripped the rusting slats of the cell door with both hands. He leaned forward, stretching his neck so he could see Claire until Morlais led her around a corner at the end of the short block of cells. Once she was out of sight, Jack sat down again on the cot. He pressed his shoulders and head against the damp wall and closed his eyes. He knew that this time he was not dreaming that he’d seen Claire; that he had kissed her and held her in his arms. He was awake and he was sober. Maybe it would be better if he weren’t. His arms ached to hold her again, to feel her warm presence.

He tried to understand everything that she’d said. He tried to understand how he could have been so wrong. Not wrong about why he’d broken things off with her because any idiot could see Claire was better off not tied to a man with his past. But wrong about how he’d gone about it. He shouldn’t have lied to her; he wouldn’t lie to her again. He would let her come to see him, anytime she wanted. He would tell her over and over what she meant to him, how proud he was to know her, to love her, more than anything that she could find something left in him worthy of her love.

He opened his eyes and looked around the dark cell. He shivered with foreboding. He didn’t want to die. Especially not like this – trapped, lead to the slaughter like a lamb being sacrificed. Why? Was it just bad luck that had landed him here or had he been framed? It didn’t matter in the end, if the worst happened, if he died, then Claire had to know how much he loved her. He would write her a letter. A long letter with everything he felt poured into it so that she would know that the man who knew her best, the man she had showed her heart to believed she was wonderful, good and kind, capable any thing of which she could dream. A letter was best, something she could always have.

He would do that tomorrow. Writing a letter was something active, doing something useful. Writing a letter to her would keep him sane through all of this.

But now, right now, all he would do was remember what it was like to feel her in his arms again; to be able to look into her eyes and to speak to her from his heart.

Jack fell into a deep sleep, a restful sleep for the first time in months.

***

Morlais unlocked a small door set into the back wall of the jail. He stood back and allowed Claire to pass through it into the deepening twilight.

Turning back to look at him, she said, “I don’t know how to thank you, Lieutenant.”

“The only thanks I require, Miss Devon, is that you go home, get some rest and let me do my job,” said the lieutenant officiously.

“Well, I promise you I will go home now,” she said with a small smile.

Morlais sighed yet again, shut the door and locked it.

Claire leaned against the rough wall of jail. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was a stiff breeze blowing in from the ocean. The air smelled fresh and it was cool on her skin. She was awake. She wasn’t dreaming. She had seen Jack, kissed him and heard him say he loved her. She had to hold on to that moment and not let everything else that was happening crowd in on her thoughts.

“You know someday you are going to have to tell how it is you get Morlais to do what you want him to.”

Claire jumped at the sound of the voice. She opened her eyes and saw Isabelle standing a few yards away with her hands on her hips. She had changed back into her riding clothes.

“You gave me such a fright,” exclaimed Claire. “How did you find me?”

“You weren’t at the paper and you weren’t with Lavinia. Where else would you be but here trying to get Jack to talk to you. Did you manage it?”

“Well, it took a bit of doing but yes I finally got his attention,” answered Claire, glancing at the locked door she had just come through. Jack was on the other side of that door, inside of a locked cage. It wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be walking away and leaving him there.

“I don’t suppose you gave him the dressing down he deserves.”

Claire looked at Isabelle and frowned. “We talked about a lot of things. This isn’t the time for recriminations. David is right. Jack is terribly upset about Gilles. We have to concentrate on finding out what really happened on that path. We have to get Jack out of that cage. The past doesn’t matter, only the future does. After all what happen that day between us was no more Jack’s fault than Mrs. Russell’s – ”

“Who you let off without a cross word,” interjected Isabelle.

“I know you don’t understand but I have been thinking about that awful day. I’m as much to blame as they are for what happened.”

“Oh, Claire,” groaned Isabelle. She took a firm hold of her friend’s elbow and steered her away from the jail. Isabelle was accepting no more arguments. Claire looked like death warmed over and her voice was shaky. She was clearly on the edge of nervous exhaustion if she was going to take the blame for her and Jack’s break-up when it was completely Mrs. Russell’s meddling and Jack’s stupidity that was to blame. Isabelle was going to put her to bed and make sure she stayed there long enough to go to sleep.

“But, Isabelle, it’s true,” insisted Claire earnestly. “If only I had stayed and made him talk to me. If only I’d made him look me in the eye. When he looks at me I can see how much he cares for me, I can feel his love. He said it, don’t you see, he finally said he loves me. And it didn’t make a bit of difference that it was there in the jail in the midst of all this tragedy because I could feel his love. He didn’t want me to be there. He tried to shut me out but this time I stayed, this time I made him look at me, I made him talk to me.” Claire was nearly out of breath. Isabelle was pulling her along at a good clip. Claire knew she was babbling like the heroine of a melodrama. She didn’t care.

“Thank God the fool finally listened to you,” said Isabelle slowly her pace. She slipped her arm around Claire’s shoulders and felt Claire sag against her. “Look, Claire, I know you’re worried about him but you have to stop now. You didn’t sleep worth a tuppence last night and you’ve been at it all day. And a pretty rotten day it has been at that.”

“You heard Mr. Bradford,” stated Claire. She felt her cheeks start to burn. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, she told herself. Only Jack matters now.

“I heard him. The bastard.”

“In his mind Jack is as good as convicted. It is my fault. If I had made Jack talk to me that day instead of running away we would never have been estranged. I liked Gilles but I would never have looked at him as anything but a casual friend if I hadn’t been so muddled about Jack. What ever Seraut might have done to Gilles he would never have been able to incriminate Jack if I – ”

“Claire Anne Devon,” declared Isabelle.

Claire stopped and blinked her large dark eyes at Isabelle. She trembled slightly, finally noticing that Isabelle meant business.

“If you take responsibility for this mess Jack is in or worse yet for Gilles’s death I’ll – I’ll, well, I don’t know what I’ll do but something drastic. Now get in that house,” said Isabelle, giving her a firm push through the door to Lavinia’s house.

The house was dark and quiet. Meekly Claire followed Isabelle across the main room to the bedroom she had used the night before. Isabelle pushed the silk drape to the side so they could go in.

“Sit,” said Isabelle, pointing to the narrow bed.

Claire sat. She was suddenly so tired she could do nothing but sit. Her mind, however, kept buzzing with thoughts.

“Isabelle, have you ever thought that you might have reacted to something that didn’t really happen; that what you were really reacting to was what had happened in the past.”

“What?” Isabelle was kneeling before Claire unbuckling her sandals. She looked up, her light eyes full of puzzlement.

“Feeling as strongly as I did about Jack, I should have stayed that day and fought it out with him.”

“Oh, God, are we back to that?”

Claire paid her no attention. Finally succumbing to fatigue she was simply speaking her thoughts aloud. “I’ve been trying to understand why it never occurred to me that Mrs. Russell had pressured Jack. I should have thought it but I think I must have expected Jack to reject me. When he did it just made sense in a horrible sad way and I just accepted it. After all it had happened before.”

“What does that mean?” asked Isabelle; curious in spite of herself.

“Oh, years ago, in the village I lived in with my mother, there was a boy of whom I was very, very fond. We would take long walks and talk about serious sorts of things. He was several years older than I. I was very flattered that he bothered with me although thinking back there really wasn’t anyone else for him to talk to about such things. He won a scholarship to Cambridge. By the time he’d finished I was living with my aunt. He came to see me. I was so excited, I remember going out and buying ribbons for my hair.”

“When he came, it was to tell you it was all off between you, I suppose.”

“No, that took several visits and I didn’t see it coming. I was expecting a marriage proposal the day he told me we would always be friends but never anything more. A year later he married my cousin.”

“Stupid man.”

“Yes, he was rather. Of course at the time I thought him very sensible. She had a dowry and her father could help him make a start in the financial world. I forgot that fellow rather quickly given how long I had pinned my hopes on him,” rambled Claire, her voice blurry with sleep. “By the time they were married I was writing to Jack. But you see don’t you how when Jack — well, it’s just that it felt just the same only so much worse. My feelings for Jack, they run so deep. I feel, I want, things that I had never dreamt of before. Once I started to see Gilles I expected everything I felt for Jack but the anger to disappear. When it didn’t, I should have realized I’d made a mistake. I should have confronted him.”

“Claire, stop,” said Isabelle gently. She sat on the bed beside Claire. “You are too tired. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I can’t lose him,” said Claire, her voice suddenly sharp and full of panic.

“You won’t. I want you to lie down, come on, and listen to me. That’s right. Now close your eyes. Think about Jack. Think about how you felt a little while ago when you finally got that idiot to listen to you. Just let everything else go for a little while. We are going to figure it all out, I promise. Go to sleep now.”

“I can’t lose him. We must learn the truth quickly.”

Isabelle stroked Claire long hair. “We will, I promise, we will. Hush now.”

Isabelle sat on the edge of the bed until she was sure that Claire was sound asleep. Then she stood and walked through the doorway. As she pulled the silk curtain closed she paused to look at Claire. She couldn’t leave her alone. She might wake. With a sigh Isabelle closed the curtain and turned to look around the main room. She noticed Colin’s chair. She might as well make herself comfortable she thought.

***

David paused in the doorway to the house. He could see Isabelle in the upholstered arm chair that Colin used for reading; she was curled up with her cheek resting on her hands on the arm of the chair. He crossed the room slowly, careful not to make any noise. He knelt beside the chair and looked at her.

The moon light came through the window beside her and played over the soft curves of her face. She was beautiful even with her wondrous eyes closed. Her thick hair was a dark cloud around the pale oval of her face.

Gently, with the tip of his long, slender finger, David traced the shape of her mouth.

Isabelle’s full lashes fluttered against her cheek. She opened her eyes, frowning at first. Her expression changed to a smile when she saw David.

David leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. Then he stood and started searching for a match. Once he’d found one, he struck it and lit a hurricane lamp on the table by the door. Carefully replacing the chimney and twisting the knob to adjust the flame.

“Is it late?” she asked sleepily. She stretched her arms above her head. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Ten, maybe,” answered David, turning back to look at her. Some sentimental part of David’s heart was touched by how vulnerable and young she looked with her face still soft with sleep. He grinned when he thought of how much she would hate it if he said something of the sort. “The bar is quiet. Colin and Lavinia are going to bring dinner over in a few minutes.”

Isabelle nodded. She realized she was hungry. She had eaten little at the funeral, concentrating on hearing as much as she could. She glanced at the bedroom and said, “Claire was exhausted. I insisted that she lie down. She must still be asleep.”

David, his dark eyes following her glance, answered, “I suppose so. I haven’t seen her. How is she?”

Isabelle had started to get up. She stilled and looked down at her hands in her lap. “Nearly ill with worry. Did you hear about the funeral?”

“Yes,” he answered with a nod. His face was grave. “Mauriri said there was a confrontation between Claire and Mr. Bradford. He said it was – ”

“It was horrible!” interjected Isabelle angrily, looking up at him.

To David’s surprise tears welled in her light eyes as she went on. “I never thought Mr. Bradford would object to Claire’s presence. It isn’t like she expected to be treated as one of the family which she had every right to expect. He called her a slut. He has this ridiculous idea that Claire seduced Gilles for his money. Can you imagine anyone thinking someone as honest as Claire could be a seductress?”

David didn’t answer. He had already heard the story from Lavinia. She had described what had happened with a suppressed fury adding that she wished Mauriri had knocked Bradford onto his fat ass. David was glad he hadn’t. Mauriri was well respected and liked by the white community in Matavai, but he was still a Polynesian living under French law. If he had struck Bradford, even in Claire’s defense, he might well have found himself up on charges.

Isabelle blinked away her tears. She was aware that it was ironic she would feel like crying about how the established white community censored Claire when she cared nothing for what was said about herself. She knew she had been called a slut and worse. She had never given those opinions a moment’s thought. It was the hypocrisy of Bradford’s accusations that upset her so. Claire did her best to live up to their standards. She had done a far better job of it than most of those casting aspersions. Already Claire had too much grief and too much fear to come to terms with; now she had been hurt by false accusations and there was nothing Isabelle could do to protect her.

“Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Bradford pushed Gilles on Claire,” declared Isabelle bitterly. “She had no romantic interest in him at all while she and Jack were together. And she certainly didn’t care about being one of the almighty Bradfords. In fact, she was dreading the influence she knew Mr. Bradford expected to have over the paper once they were married. How dare that stupid man accuse her of anything!”

David could see depth of her emotions. He wasn’t sure why he took such comfort in Isabelle’s fierce loyalty to Claire; perhaps it was because he hoped, he believed, she felt the same loyalty to him. “The way I heard the story Claire stood right up to him.”

“Yes, she did. She gave better than she got too,” said Isabelle with a sudden, satisfied smile. “It is him who shouldn’t show his face in public, carrying on like that over his son’s grave.”

David grinned. He was sorry he had missed the confrontation. He respected Bradford’s grief and he had nothing against him except perhaps that his high handedness reminded David of his own father. If he thought he could see his father verbally bested by a slip of a girl like Claire he might be willing to see the old ogre again.

“Colin said Claire spent the afternoon getting the paper out and then she disappeared. He’s worried about her. Did she come straight back here?” he asked, glancing at the brightly colored silk drape that covered the doorway to the bedroom.

Isabelle stood and rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness in her back. When David spoke she turned around and cocked her head at him. “She went to Jack,” she said, her tone making it clear she thought he should have known that without being told.

“Of course,” said David slowly, realizing she was right he should have known Claire would go straight to Jack at the first opportunity. That he hadn’t known meant she had been discreet for which he was thankful. “Did Morlais let her see him?”

“Yes.”

“And?” questioned David with a raised eyebrow.

“Jack McGonnigal is a fool thinking he could protect her by pushing her away. Does he think she is such a ninny she can’t do anything but cry in her room when her world comes crashing down around her?”

“Isabelle, did Claire get through to Jack?” demanded David. He thought that Jack’s survival depended on his believing that Claire loved him and would fight for him. Jack knew the world too well to think all he needed was the truth to be proven innocent. David had seen him close to giving into despair in past. Jack needed Claire to fight for. “Did he at least listen to her?”

“She said it was a struggle but she finally got through to him. I doubt you need to worry about Jack giving up too easily. From what Claire said when I met her outside the jail I’d say he realizes he has plenty to fight for.”

David laughed lowly in relief. He felt a huge hurdle had been overcome.

They were quiet for a few minutes as Isabelle arranged plates and cutlery on the dining table in anticipation of the meal Lavinia and Colin were preparing. She wished they’d hurry up.

“What about you?” asked David from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Did you learn anything useful from being with Seraut during the funeral?”

Isabelle leaned over the table and lit the three thick candles that sat in the center. She thought about the long, hot afternoon. There had been so many people there. Many of them were really grieving for Gilles. But there were others who were eating the Bradford’s food and gossiping; whispering and speculating about Claire. Isabelle had hated not being able to speak in Claire’s defense. She knew drawing attention to herself would interfere with her being able to observe Seraut. So uncharacteristically she bit her tongue.

She grimaced and said, “I don’t know. Seraut is always reserved. I wouldn’t have expected him to show grief for Gilles in the same way Mr. Bradford has. He is staying very close to Bradford. And Bradford is staying pretty damn close to his whiskey bottle. You could look at Seraut and say he was directing everything, taking advantage of Bradford’s grief; or you could say he was just helping out, like any decent member of the family would.”

David nodded.

“There was one thing though,” she said slowly, wondering how she could relay not only the words but the feeling of her conversation with Seraut.

David looked at her; his dark eyes were bright with attention. “What was that?”

“He suggested very subtly that Gilles was worried about something and that that something was the relationship between Jack and Claire.”

“What relationship?”

“Exactly. Even Gilles wasn’t oblivious enough to have missed all the gossip about Claire and Jack in the past but if he had any questions about it he would have asked. The idea of Gilles keeping suspicions to himself just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“The idea of Gilles having suspicions doesn’t make sense to me,” said David, walking to the door and looking out into the night. “In fact, I’d say that Seraut is simply making things up to lay groundwork for a case against Jack, and maybe Claire as well.”

“You don’t really think he would draw Claire into it, do you?”

David tapped his long fingers against the door jam. “I don’t know. I hope not. We want things to settle down so that questions are asked; because surely, once the facts are out, no one is going to think that Jack had a reason to kill Giles. However, if Jack gets anything like a fair trial, there is a good chance his history with Claire will become the issue.”

“Oh, God, David, I know she hasn’t given a thought to how defending Jack is going to effect her future here, but if anyone ever suggests that she had something to do with Gilles’s death, it will kill her.”

“We won’t let it get that far. There have to be clues to what really happened. We just have to find them.

Isabelle watched him for a few moments. “I saw Marco helping with the funeral meal,” she said, referring to the man who worked for Seraut. “Were you able to get into house?”

“Getting in was easy. Searching without leaving signs that it had been searched was the hard part. Everything sat exactly square with the edge of his desk, he is worse than Morlais.”

“So there wasn’t anything?” she asked in disappointment.

“Well,” said David, thoughtfully fingering the clef in his chin, “there was a locked box I’d like to know the contents of. It had a ribbon tied around it, and I couldn’t figure out if I could retie it exactly the same, so I didn’t open it. The last thing we want to do is tip Seraut off we are suspicious of him.”

“Maybe I can get into it. Is it on the desk?”

“It is in the lower left hand drawer.” A frown darkened his handsome face. It was obvious that there was something important in that box. But whether it would have any bearing on Gilles’s death was impossible to know without getting a look at it. As much as he wanted to know what was in it, the last thing David wanted was Isabelle being caught breaking it open.

He decided to change the subject. “Are you going to wake Claire?”

“Yes,” answered Isabelle, moving towards the curtain. “She has barely eaten in two days. She has to be hungry by now.”

It was a somber meal. The mood was lightened some by her friends’ pleasure in Claire appetite. Colin smiled broadly at her when she asked for a second helping of curried shrimp. When they were finished, Lavinia went to check on the bar. It remained quiet. She noticed that a number of regular patrons were missing including Titchmarsh. As far as she was concerned he could stay missing. Still it struck her as odd so few of the merchants and planters were among the sailors in the tap room. Normally, the night after a funeral was busy with friends of the dead drinking to their memory.

When she returned to the house Mauriri was with her. She also brought rice pudding, a pot of strong coffee and a decanter of brandy. Colin got up from the table and started to pour the brandy into snifters while Lavinia spooned up the pudding.

“I wish we knew what we were looking for,” said Isabelle, moodily, to no one in particular. She sat with her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. She was staring at the shifting candle flame. She thought she would feel more confident if she knew for sure whether or not Seraut was involved in Gilles’s death. She wanted a definite piece of evidence.

“Anything that would connect Seraut to the killing,” answered Mauriri absently. He pulled a chair up to the table between Claire and David.

“But how are we going to know it when we see it? We could go through all of Seraut’s papers and I doubt we are going to find one that details how he planned to kill Gilles. He is too smart to let that sort of evidence around.”

“He’s too smart to let something slip to you about it as well,” said David quickly. He still hoped to persuade Isabelle there was no purpose to her spending time with Seraut.

“Maybe or maybe not,” said Isabelle, sitting up straight as Lavinia set a bowl of pudding in front of her. “Everyone, even Seraut, gets tired; lets down their guard. It is still our best chance of finding out something.”

Mauriri held his brandy glass between his palms. Thoughtfully he said, “We have to be careful, you know, that we don’t miss something else, now that we have this theory.”

Colin was pouring coffee for Claire. He paused and asked, “You don’t think Seraut killed Gilles?”

“I think he might have. We have put together a good motive and what facts we have certainly don’t disprove our theory. But if we don’t thoroughly examine our facts we are likely to miss the truth by making the facts fit what we already believe.”

A slight smile curved David’s well formed lips. Leave it to Mauriri to be reasonable and judicious about the whole thing, he thought. He also saw the wisdom in what his partner was saying, they wouldn’t do Jack any good if they falsely accused Seraut.

“Rather like those who believe Jack is guilty because Seraut says he is,” said Lavinia as she spooned up pudding to set in front of David.

“Exactly.”

“Do you think Morlais will really investigate?” asked Lavinia. She didn’t have a lot of faith in French law.

David licked the pudding off his spoon, for a moment he savored its sweetness. Then he said, “I think he wants to. He listened to Jack’s story, if he had already made up his mind, I don’t think he would have bothered. Still I don’t know how much investigating he can do with his superiors promising Bradford quick justice. Morlais is under a lot of pressure to let the case go to the magistrate. If he resists by saying he isn’t finished investigating, it will put him in an uncomfortable position with his superiors.”

“A position Morlais will want to avoid,” said Isabelle sourly.

“I don’t think Morlais would have let me see Jack if he thought he was guilty,” said Claire softly. Morlais had been kind to her. She wanted desperately to trust him.

“I’m sure you’re right, Claire,” said Colin. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. He frowned as he realized how tense she was.

“You know that is a good sized village,” said David between bites of pudding. He thought about another investigation. He had learned what the official investigators had missed by asking a local fisherman what he’d seen. “Morlais’s sergeant probably only talked to the chief. The lieutenant has a tendency to forget the locals are observant. Someone else could have seen something that would clear Jack.”

“Wouldn’t they have come forward?” asked Colin.

Lavinia looked at the table to be sure everyone had what they needed. She sat down and picked up her own spoon. “Not necessarily,” she said to her husband. “If someone had actually seen the murder they would have spoken up. Anything else they might not realize what they saw was important. Most of the villagers would believe that anything that took place between two white men wouldn’t concern them. Mauriri, maybe you, or I, should go and ask some questions. We are likely to learn a lot more than French soldiers.”

“She has a good point, David. What are you doing?”

David had gotten up and gone to the window. He stuck his head out. “I thought I heard something. The last thing we need is someone spying on us and tipping off Seraut,” he said as he turned back to them.

It was then that they all heard rapid footsteps on the porch. They turned to look at the door way just as a disheveled figure appeared in it.

Mrs. Russell wore the black silk dress she had worn for the funeral. It was now covered with a layer of dust. Her graying brown hair was tumbling about her narrow shoulders. She was holding onto the door jam, breathing hard. For a second she stared at them with her mouth hanging open.

“Good evening,” she said as she straightened her shoulders and gave herself a little shake. Soft dust floated about her in a thin cloud. “I’m so sorry to disturb your dinner. I’m afraid it is rather important that I speak to the Reverend Trent.”

For a moment everyone simply stared at her. Then knocking her chair over backwards, Claire jumped up and ran across the room. Putting her arm around her godmother, she cried, “What’s happened to you?”

“Oh, I must look a fright,” responded the older woman, pushing a limp strand of hair out of her face. “I do apologize. It has been such a long time since I’ve ridden a horse and I’m afraid I didn’t dare take time to change into something more appropriate.”

“You rode a horse!” exclaimed Claire. In her entire life she could not once remember seeing her godmother on a horse. Nor could she remember seeing her dirty.

Mrs. Russell slid her arm around Claire’s waist and said, “Time was of the essence, dear.”

Colin, who had followed Claire, from the table, asked, “How can I be of assistance to you, Mrs. Russell?”

“I fear something dreadful is about to take place, and I pray that you might prevent it.”

David approached Mrs. Russell slowly. He offered her his arm and said, “Please, Mrs. Russell, come and have a seat. Once you’ve caught your breath perhaps you could begin at the beginning.”

He led her to the armchair Mauriri had pulled forward to the center of the room, closer to the lamps. She sat down slowly with a small sigh. She smoothed her hands over her dusty skirt.

Claire sat on the arm of the chair. She looked apprehensively from her godmother to her friends. She noticed that Isabelle had moved into the shadows of the room, trying not to be noticed, but reluctant to leave so dramatic a scene.

David turned to Lavinia and said, “Maybe a cup of tea is in order.”

“I think a brandy is in order,” answered Lavinia, glancing towards Mrs. Russell. Seeing her nod, Lavinia poured a generous measure and brought it to her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Trent.” She took a careful sip and then another. She said anxiously, “You are very kind, Captain, but there is little time.”

David kneeling beside her, smiled encouragingly and said, “We are quite ready to hear you story, ma’am. Did something happen at the plantation to distress you?”

“I fear distress is hardly the word. Something has happened that terrifies me,” she gasped, paling slightly. “Rachel, that is Mrs. Bradford, and I were on veranda. We were worried about young Michael. He disappeared after service and refused to come out of dear Gilles’s room for dinner. Poor chap. Rachel really can’t manage the stairs anymore and so I offered to go and check on him. When I went into the house I noticed a great deal of noise coming from the study. The door was slightly ajar and I heard someone say, ‘the guillotine is too mercifully quick for the likes of him, it is a good English rope we need.’”

“Oh, my God,” exclaimed Claire softly as the blood drained from her face.

Mrs. Russell reached for Claire’s hand as she went on, “I make no apology for my behavior. I eavesdropped. I could not see the entire room but there were a great many men in it. I could see Tom, that is, Mr. Bradford and his nephew, Henri Seraut. Most of the men there were British settlers.”

“Do you think they were planning a lynching?” asked David solemnly.

Looking him directly in the eye she nodded. Then she looked up at the others and said, “I know it sounds melodramatic. However, there had been a great deal of drink consumed, and I feared they would take matters into their own hands. You see I saw a mob kill a man when I was a child. They were just ordinary townspeople but between drink and inflammatory rhetoric they became monsters. Tonight, these men, most of whom I know at least slightly, seemed to be working themselves into the same sort of frenzy. I went back to Rachel and told her what I had heard. We didn’t know what to do. We considered trying to reason with them but – You must understand, normally Tom is the most devoted of husbands, but since Gilles’s death he has – ”

“We do understand Mr. Bradford has been under a terrible strain,” said Colin gently.

Mrs. Russell sent him a grateful smile and continued. “We thought perhaps the best thing to do was to alert someone in authority to the situation. Rachel and I decided that I must come to town as quickly as possible.”

“By yourself, at night, along the coast road,” breathed Claire. Claire knew the coast road well. In the daytime it was pleasant ride with dramatic views of the sea. At night it was dangerous, even for an experienced rider. “You might have been killed.”

“The thought did occur to me, dear, about halfway here. But God answered my prayers, and here I am. I wasn’t alone, in the stables I found one of the grooms. He saddled the horse for me and offered to come along. I sent him to your establishment with the horses, Miss Reed. I hope that is all right.”

“Yes, of course,” responded Isabelle absently, she found she was unable to take her eyes off the older woman. She could easily imagine the scene in Bradford’s study.

“I came directly here.” Mrs. Russell turned and leaned towards Colin saying, “I thought perhaps, Colin, you could come with me to the lieutenant. I don’t know the man, and I fear he might not listen to me. I thought you could help me convince him that there is a real danger that his jail could be stormed. Oh, I know I must sound like a heroine in a bad play but we couldn’t just sit there while the men were working themselves up so. You know, Colin, that Tom is a good man. It is just that he is unhinged with grief. You saw him when he spoke so horridly to Claire. He isn’t himself. I don’t know about the others, but I didn’t hear a voice of reason in that room.”

“You’ve done the right thing, Mrs. Russell, a very brave thing,” said Colin, who then turned anxiously to look at David and Mauriri.

“Yes, Mrs. Russell, we are greatly indebted to you,” said David softly. He stood and walked over to Mauriri. “What do you think?”

“Tom Bradford was unrecognizable today when he went after Claire. I think she is right to be scared,” said Mauriri, nodding at Mrs. Russell. “Do you think we can convince Morlais there is a serious threat?”

“I hope so,” David answered with a grimace. “Morlais doesn’t have enough soldiers to hold off mob especially if he is taken unaware.”

Claire stood and took several steps towards them. Her voice broke with fear as she asked, “Are you saying that Morlais will give them Jack?”

“No, Claire,” said David quickly. He turned to look into her frightened brown eyes. “I’m not saying that. Morlais would never give them Jack even if he thought he was guilty, he is too good a policeman at heart.”

“If she’s right and they are nothing but a drunken mob there could be real violence. They may even be armed. Bradford has an extensive collection of fowling pieces. Someone could be killed,” said Colin anxiously, almost to himself. He knew those men; most of them had been his parishioners. It surprised and saddened him how easily he could imagine them as a mob. There was a chance that they would come to their senses on the ride into town, but he felt they didn’t dare depend on that.

“Please, Captain,” said Mrs. Russell, coming to her feet. She approached David with her slender hand extended. “If you gentlemen would just go with me I’m sure I can convince Lt. Morlais of the danger. I know I must seem hysterical – ”

“Mrs. Russell, you are one of the least hysterical women I have ever met. And given the women I know,” said David, glancing at Lavinia and Isabelle, “that is saying quite a lot. We will go with you, I promise, in a moment. We are just trying come up with a plan for what we can do to keep the mob out of the jail, and away from Jack, without anyone getting hurt.”

“What if Jack weren’t there?” asked Isabelle suddenly.

They turned as one when she spoke. “Do you mean break him out?” asked Mauriri.

“Yes” answered Isabelle, stepping out of the shadows. “Morlais puts up a token resistance making sure no one gets hurt. When the mob gets in we have already gotten Jack out.”

“You will be putting your lives on the line,” said Mrs. Russell, looking from one to the other. “Everyone knows that you are the only ones who believe in Mr. McGonnigal’s innocence. Were he to escape you would immediately be suspected of helping him.”

“She’s right,” acknowledged Mauriri. “The first thing they will do is come after the Rattler if we put to sea. We might outrun them.”

“You don’t need to out run them,” said David, pacing as he spoke. “You put to sea. They catch you. You say you don’t know what they are talking about. When you left port, you thought Jack was in the jail. They search the ship and don’t find Jack.”

“Because?”

“Because I’ll take Jack overland and meet you in St. Girons. Jack and I are sailors. Everyone is going to think we put to sea, if not on the Rattler, then on whatever other boat leaves here, or Papeete in the next 24 hours. By the time they think to look for us on Tahiti the trail will be cold. Any one who thinks Jack is guilty won’t be looking in St. Girons. We were right before. If we are going to find answers that is the best place to look.”

“It’s a good plan if we can get Morlais to go along with it.” Mauriri turned to Mrs. Russell and said, “How much time do you think we have?”

“I have no idea. It felt like they would break out of the house at any moment.”

“I hope I can find Tah-Mey and Sparrow quickly and get the Rattler ready to go. At least the tide is with us. To bad we don’t have some way of knowing they were on their way, before the mob appears in front of the jail.”

“The groom,” said Isabelle suddenly.

“What?”

“I’ll send the groom on to the coast road and post Paiku at the edge of town. When the groom sees them he’ll light a lantern. When Paiku sees it, he can run to the jail and give a few minutes warning.”

“That’s sounds as good as we can do. With a bit of luck they will all be too drunk to actually come to town, but we better be prepared. Colin, will you come with Mrs. Russell and me to try and convince Morlais of the danger?”

“Of course, David. If Morlais accepts the plan I can get word to Mauriri to set out.”

David nodded. He turned to Lavinia saying, “Get us a pack together, please, blankets, food-”

“I’ll take care of it, David,” said Lavinia already kneeling beside a large trunk in the corner of the room. From it she pulled Colin’s rucksack.

“If we take the horses as far as the fork,” said Isabelle, pausing by the door, “it will give you a good head start. I can – ”

“I’m going with you.’

Everyone stopped and looked at Claire. She stood by herself just outside the circle of light the lamp cast. Her head was up, her shoulders were straight and her hands were clasped together in front of her. She was looking at David.

“Claire – ”

“I’m serious, David. If you don’t take me I will follow you. I can’t just sit around here waiting, I’ll go mad.”

“Claire, dear, let the captain – ”

“I have to go,” said Claire firmly, turning to look her godmother in the eye. The older woman fell silent. Claire went on, “I know how to ask questions, how to get people to talk to me. I’ll be a help in the village.”

“Look, Claire, it is rugged terrain,” said David hesitantly.

“I won’t slow you down.”

David looked at Lavinia who was still kneeling by the trunk. She nodded at him. He glanced at Isabelle who said, “She’ll do just fine, David. Tell her where we are to meet you with the horses. I’ll see you at the stable, Claire; don’t forget your walking boots.”

There was no time to argue. David nodded sharply and said, “Right then. Let’s get this plan in motion. Mrs. Russell, if you will come with Colin and me we’ll see if we can convince Morlais to go along with us.”

David strode purposefully from the house. His long legs quickly covered the distance between the house and the official colonial building that housed the jail. Colin and Mrs. Russell were left to trot along breathlessly in his wake.

Propelled by the sense of urgency David did not wait for the young soldier on duty in the outer office to announce him. He entered Morlais’s office issuing orders and making demands.

When Colin arrived he found the two men growling at each other over Morlais’s desk. David was being his most commanding and Morlais was countering by being his most officious.

Dismayed, Colin attempted to assess the argument. It appeared to boil down to one, Morlais felt his trained soldiers were more than capable of defending the jail from any threat; two, were he to release a murder suspect into someone else’s custody it certainly wouldn’t be man with judgment as dubious as David’s; and three, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that the mob was a figment of someone’s overheated imagination.

Colin, conscious of the shortness of time, forced himself between the two men. He declared loudly that if David didn’t return Jack to Morlais’s custody as planned the lieutenant could arrest him.

For another minute the argument increased in volume.

TWACK!

There was a resounding crash behind them. The three men stopped talking in mid word and turned as one.

“That’s better,” said Mrs. Russell calmly.

On the floor in front of her was an untidy stack of heavy leather bound ledgers.

“Now, gentlemen, if you would all take a deep breath perhaps we can address the matter at hand in a more constructive fashion before someone gets killed.”

***

Lavinia was standing under the arched entrance to the stables. She was watching the street with a wrinkled brow. It was quiet, very few people about. She turned and looked in the direction of the jail. It was around a slight bend in the street. She wasn’t able to see it.

She walked into the stable yard. Approaching her friend, she said, “Isabelle, I think we should be careful being seen together if you are going to convince Seraut you think Jack is guilty. Everyone in town will know that Colin was at the jail to defend Jack.

Isabelle was slipping a bit into Claire’s horse’s mouth. Without glancing at Lavinia she answered, “You’re right. I’ll sent Paiku if I need to tell you anything. You send one of the girls. Tell them to leave messages with him. Maybe if she is seen people will think they are a courting couple.”

“Good idea,” responded Lavinia with a slight giggle. “Several of them would like to make that a true statement. Here’s Claire.”

“Did you remember your walking boots?” asked Isabelle, as Claire almost ran into the stables.

Claire stuck out her left foot out so that they could see the stout leather boot with a thick rubber sole on her foot. She looked towards the horses and asked tentatively, “Are we riding bareback?”

“Yes. If I’m seen on my way back I don’t want to have to explain why I’m leading a saddled horse. Without saddles I can say they got loose, somehow, and I was just bringing them home. Don’t look so worried. David will ride with you. All you’ll have to do is hold on to him. I know you would rather ride with Jack – ”

“But we’d be sure to fall off, given our combined lack of experience,” Claire finished for her.

“That’s what I thought,” said Isabelle, flashing her impish grin.

“Lavinia,” began Claire, twisting her hands nervously in front of her. “I need to ask you for a favor. It is a terrible imposition, and I am sorry to do it, but it is so important.”

Lavinia’s wide, dark eyes swept over Claire. She took a step towards her and laid her hand on her arm. “What is it? Anything you need, just tell me.”

Claire took a deep breath and rubbed her hand across her eyes. “I don’t think Mrs. Russell should go back out to the plantation. I know that she will hate staying away from Mrs. Bradford, but I’m afraid Mr. Bradford will find out that she gave the warning. He’ll be horrible to her. There was so much violence in him today at the funeral, I’m really afraid for her. I hate to ask this of you but – ”

“You’re right,” declared Lavinia. “It isn’t very wise for her to return there. I promise that Colin and I will keep her with us. At least for a day or so. We’ll tell her it is to ease your mind. I’m sure she will co-operate.”

“Thank you.” She gave Lavinia a hug.

For a moment they stood wrapped tightly together. Lavinia thought about how angry she had been with Claire for so long. It all seemed so unimportant now. “Safe journey. Isabelle, you’ll send word when you get back?”

“Promise. Come on, Claire, if Morlais went along with the plan David and Jack will be on their way to meet us.”

Lavinia walked with them through the back of the stables. She watched as they led the horses past the corrals ,towards the track that led along the edge of the forest just above the main street of the little town. Just as they disappeared into the darkness, a noise drew her attention. She ran back through the stables to the archway. Staying in the shadows she watched as six mounted men passed her at a fast trot. Behind them were two carriages with more men.

Lavinia mumbled a prayer, a Christian prayer, she’d learned as a child. She followed the carriages as quickly as she dared.

***

Jack was having an improbable, but delightful, dream about sailing on an ocean that smelled of English roses, when rough hands grabbed him by the shoulders. He became instantly, fully awake and swung his right fist out.

David might well have lost his front teeth if Jack hadn’t recognized Colin’s voice saying, “No time for that now, Jack.”

David had Jack by the arm and was half dragging him out of the cell. Jack sent a questioning look in Morlais’s direction.

Morlais only glared in answer, and led the way to the back door he had taken Claire out earlier in the evening. Standing aside to let them past, he said sternly, “Remember, Grief, it is Trent’s word I’m taking. If you don’t return McGonnigal to my custody in St. Girons it is him that you are betraying not me.”

“Understood,” said David with a sharp nod. Then he looked at Colin who nodded back and said, “Into God’s hands.”

David pushed Jack into the underbrush behind the jail.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Jack in a fierce whisper.

“We’re trying to save your worthless hide. Now shut up and stay close.”

It seemed to Jack that their path through the thick bushes and tangled vines was random. They were headed uphill, away from the waterfront, of that, Jack was certain. But what they were headed towards he had no idea.

After a few breathless minutes David stopped at the edge of dusty road. Jack recognized it as the main route into the interior although he had only traveled it once. There David jerked Jack to the ground and told him to be quiet.

The moon was nearly full. It was high in the sky. The road was wide enough that some of the moonlight fell onto the dusty track between the trees. Straining his eyes Jack saw large shapes coming towards them. Slowly he realized what he was seeing was two horses being lead.

“Where the hell are they?” he heard Isabelle say.

“If you aren’t a little more careful, you are going to step on us,” said David, coming to his feet and stepping on to the road.

Jack followed him and a second later Claire threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, thank God, Morlais listened,” she declared as she slid her arms around him.

Jack returned her embrace. “Listened to what? What is going on, love?” he asked anxiously.

“No time for that, you two,” insisted Isabelle as David gave her a leg up onto Dante. Then sweetly, she said, “You’re with me, Jack.”

“It’s alright, darling,” said Claire, as she reluctantly disentangled herself from his embrace. “No time to waste.”

Looking up at Isabelle’s beautiful smile, Jack hesitated.

David, lacing his fingers together to give Jack a boost, said cheerfully, “No worries, mate, her bite really is worse than her bark.

Once Jack was up behind Isabelle, David grabbed a handful of the mane of Claire’s horse. He threw himself up onto the animal’s back and reached down to pull, Claire, and the rucksack she carried, up behind him. The whole process of mounting took less than a minute.

“Well, hold on,” said Isabelle crossly. “We don’t have time to stop and collect you when you fall off.”

Tentatively Jack put his arms around Isabelle’s slender body and held onto a fistful of Dante’s mane. It was at that point he asked himself if it was possible that he was still dreaming, and in reality he was still asleep on his cot in the cell. He looked over Isabelle’s shoulder to see Claire looking back at him. A ray of moonlight struck her face and he could see her smile.

If he was asleep, he was content to stay so.

The ride up the mountain road was uncomfortable, to say the least. The horses covered the ground quickly at a steady trot. Jack, unaccustomed to riding horses, bounced and slid on Dante’s broad back behind Isabelle. He marveled that though she sat with in the circle of his arms, she appeared to stay perfectly in time with the horse’s movements.

He was relieved when David called a halt and jumped lightly to the ground. Awkwardly, Jack dismounted. He raised his arms to Claire who slid gracefully into them. She took the opportunity to kiss him.

Setting her on her feet, he looked at Claire and said with false patience, “Could you please tell why we are running about in the middle of the night like a bunch of pixies?”

For an instance Claire smiled, then she grew serious and said, “There was a mob coming for you. We had to get you out. Isabelle is going to take the horses back and we are going to go overland to St. Girons. We are sure that we can solve this mystery there.”

Jack noticed the barely visible opening to a track off the road. He guessed correctly that this was the trail he and David were to follow. He vaguely remembered something about meeting Morlais in St. Girons.

Frowning he looked back at Claire, “We’re going overland?”

Claire nodded repeatedly. “Yes, I’m going with you and David.”

“You most certainly are not,” barked Jack, his voice sharp, like a sea captain giving orders he expected to be obeyed. “You are going to get back up on that horse, and go with Isabelle back to Matavai.”

Claire squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up at him. “Are you going to carry the pack or am I?” she asked, swinging the heavy pack that dangled from her hand towards him.

The pack hit him in the middle section with a thump. He grabbed hold of it as he said, “Now look here, Claire – ”

Claire had already turned away. She was embracing Isabelle.

David laid his arm briefly across Jack’s shoulders and said philosophically, “I’ve already lost that battle, Jack. You’re going to have to accept that she is coming along.”

Still frowning Jack slipped the rucksack on to his shoulders. David walked towards Isabelle. As he passed Claire they exchanged a glance that was ‘I told you so’ on David’s part and slightly worried, but defiant on Claire’s part.

“Isabelle,” said David, brushing his hand along Dante’s strong, arched neck. “I really think you should come with us.”

“I can’t,” she responded saucily. “I’m wearing the wrong boots.’

David turned to her and glared down at her. “Will you stop joking about this? You don’t know how Seraut is going to take the failure of his plan tonight. By morning he could be out for blood, anybody’s blood.”

Isabelle shook her head, her thick hair bounced on her shoulders. “Poor Tom Bradford might lose control like that, out of frustration, but Seraut won’t. If you’re right, and he did stir up the mob tonight, Jack getting away is of no danger to him as he sees things. If anything, he’ll use it to convince everyone that it is an admission of guilt on Jack’s part.”

“Maybe, but we can’t be sure. Damn it, woman, would you just do the sensible thing and come with us?”

“David Grief saying just do the sensible thing,” said Isabelle, rolling her expressive eyes. “The next thing you know hell will freeze over. Besides, I have to take the horses back.”

“Just pull the bridles off of them and let them go. Dante is smart; he’ll find his way home, and Claire’s horse will follow him.”

“Chances are Dante would follow me. He’s the loyal type. Go on, David,” she said, giving him a push in the direction of the trail. “I can handle Seraut.”

David groaned and growled, “I hate this.”

Isabelle’s impish smile flashed. “You could give me a leg up.”

“I could give you more than that,” mumbled David as he pulled her into his arms.

Isabelle expected the kiss; a rough, angry kiss that would show his displeasure with her decision, while trying to display his affection for her. She was surprised, stunned, in fact, when he kissed her with such exquisite tenderness it left her breathless and aching for more.

“Alright, up you go then,” said David angrily as he literally tossed her up onto Dante’s back.

Isabelle, struggling to recover her aplomb, said, “Just make sure you take proper care of Claire.” Then she waved at Claire and, accepting the reins of the other horse, turned Dante back down the trail.

David watched until the darkness swallowed them up. He kicked a convenient rock in frustration and turned to his companions saying, “We might as well use the moonlight to get a bit further on.”

It was hard to keep to the trail in the dark. David finally called a halt, about an hour after they left Isabelle and the horses. “We may as well get a little sleep,” he said, as he dropped the heavy pack he had relieved Jack of during the hike. Rifling through it, he pulled out a blanket and tossed it at Jack.

“I’m-m just going to – ” stammered Claire, looking down at her booted feet.

David knew she was embarrassed. He said, “Sure. Just don’t go too far.”

“I won’t.”

David noticed Jack watching her walk into a thicket of bamboo. His shoulders were rigid. He’d been very quiet while they hiked up the trail.

“You’re angry that she is with us, aren’t you?” asked David softly.

Jack turned quickly to look at him. He said, “Not angry. God, David, you have to know how grateful I am. If you think she should be with us, then so be it.”

“I know you’re grateful. I also know that you think Claire should be waiting patiently back in Matavai.”

Jack rubbed his hand across his chin. “Look, I know she can be very persuasive when she wants something. And I know she hates to be left out of things. But is it so wrong to want her to be safe?”

“No, not wrong,” answered David, shaking his head. “Look, Jack, she isn’t a child. I couldn’t order her not to come along. Try thinking of it this way. Right this very minute, she is safe. She is with you and you know that if anything tries to hurt her you’ll be there to help her.”

Jack started to protest, but he heard an odd note in David’s voice. He looked more closely at him and thought, he’s worried about Isabelle. She could so easily be seen taking the horses back to the stable. Even with her ready story and glib tongue, it wouldn’t take much deduction to realize she had something to do with his escape. They were all taking these risks for him. He found it so hard to believe that he had such good, such loyal friends. The least he could do is not argue with David. “You’re absolutely right. A man shouldn’t waste his time with the woman he cares for.”

“Go on,” said David with a jerk of his head towards Claire, who had reappeared from the thicket. “Go offer to be her pillow.”

“Thanks, David,” said Jack as he walked away. He looked back. “You know something?”

“What’s that?”

“I’d put my money on Isabelle, every time.”

“Yeah,” said David with a board grin. “Me too.”

Jack walked slowly over to Claire. She was rolling a blanket out on the ground, doing her best to create a small level place without rocks. Her hair was loose, it fell over her shoulders. She’d left her shirt untucked from her baggy jodhpurs. It was, he realized suddenly, his shirt. He’d given it to her long ago when she needed something suitable for a sailing lesson.

Claire heard him and looked up. She smiled tentatively. She knew when she demanded to be brought along, Jack was not going to be happy about it. She supposed, in a way, she was being foolish. She’d like to believe that she could discover the truth by asking the right questions in St. Girons. However, her hundred words of Tahitian were hardly enough to effectively question the natives. She knew from past experience the trails across the island barely deserved to be called paths. She would have a difficult time keeping pace with the men. Even so, she was glad she was with them. Just being able to see Jack helped her to keep her emotional balance. She didn’t care if they fought the whole way across the island, or if Jack retreated into absolute silence.

“Are you cold?” he asked rather abruptly.

She shook her head. In truth, she was a little cold. The air was damp and heavy. This high it was colder than she had grown used to. However, she was determined not to complain.

“I’m sorry we can’t have a fire, but as David says, there is no reason to draw attention to ourselves.”

“I’m sure that is wise,” she said as she glanced in David’s direction. He was standing with his back to them, staring back down the trail. Claire knew that it was too dark for him to see anything; she wondered what he was looking for. “Is David all right? He looks uneasy.”

Jack sat down cross legged beside her. He pressed his back against the wide trunk of a tree. “He’s worried about Isabelle.”

“I am as well,” she responded with a quiver in her voice. “If we are right about Seraut’s guilt, Isabelle is in terrible danger.”

Jack looked at her thoughtfully. “You think it is Seraut who killed Bradford?

“Yes,” she answered with a slight nod of her head. “If one puts everything we know together, one begins to see that the stories Colin was hearing in the bar – dear God was it just last night –, even the mob tonight, must have been directed. Seraut behind everything makes a horrible sort of sense. I find it so hard to credit because it is just so evil to have killed Gilles.”

Jack watched as she rubbed the tears from her eyes. He said gruffly, “You should get some rest; there’s a lot of walking ahead of us tomorrow.”

She nodded and tried again to smooth the blanket. It was a hopeless task.

It is just so evil. If he had been asked, Jack would have sent her back to England before he let Claire become involved in something so close to something so evil. But he hadn’t been asked, and she was with them. As David had said, right this very minute she was with him and she was safe.

As he stared at her long-fingered hands on the blanket Jack asked himself why he’d objected to her coming along with them. It wouldn’t be an easy walk but she was strong girl. She could manage it, especially if he kept an eye on her. The greatest danger she was likely to face on the trail was a sprained ankle. The real danger was back in Matavai, because whether or not Seraut had killed Gilles, someone had. It didn’t seem likely to Jack that it had been a random killing. If someone (and Jack found the reasoning that it was Seraut an interesting idea) was willing to kill Gilles, then they were willing to kill anyone, including Claire. David was right. Claire was safer with him; physically safer at least. And then he realized why he’d tried to keep her from coming. The danger wasn’t the journey through the jungle. The danger was at the other end, when David would give him back to Morlais.

Jack would say that he was a realist. Most people including Claire would say he was a pessimist. He simply couldn’t believe that they had much chance of finding out the truth in St. Girons; especially if the murderer was Seraut. Seraut was a man who knew how to cover his tracks. Jack deeply appreciated the efforts of his friends, even of the lieutenant, in saving him from the mob. That he would get a trial gave him a little hope. Not much. In the end it was likely to work out just as whoever framed him had planned.

It never occurred to Jack that he could take Claire and make a run for it

It had been stupid to object to her coming along; a knee-jerk reaction of wanting to distance her from the trouble that surrounded him. The very thing he had promised himself he would not do after she told him what his cutting her off from him had done to her. This trek across the island was a gift. It could be their last opportunity to spend time together. He had to make every minute of it count; he had to be sure that Claire would be able to look back at this time, however brief, and remember being loved.

Tentatively he reached out to lift the curtain of silky hair. Claire stilled at his touch. Slowly his strong hand slid around to the back of her neck and he pulled her gently against his chest.

Claire closed her eyes and sighed. She stretched her legs out beside his and let her body relax into his. Instantly she was warm.

Jack settled her more comfortably against his shoulder and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut oil. They sat in silence for several minutes then without thinking Jack started to hum.

“That’s lovely. What is it?” asked Claire sleepily.

“A lullaby my mother sang me a thousand years ago. It just popped into my mind.”

“Do you know the words?”

“Aye, I think I remember them. It’s in the Gaelic.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Gaelic.”

“I don’t. Not anymore. Not since that other lifetime.”

Claire heard the echo of Ireland in his voice, she heard loss in it as well. She prayed that someday she would be able to fill at least some of those empty, sad places in his heart. “Will you sing it for me?”

“If you like.”

“Yes, please.”

“I don’t think I can translate it word for word but it is something about a golden cradle and the blowing wind.”

End of Episode 216

To be continued in Episode 217