Title: 217 Tangled, Part Two

Author: Mary Whimsey

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

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

Rating: Maybe PG

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

Tangled, Part Two

“Is she asleep?”

Claire heard David ask the question but she was too drowsy to bother telling him she wasn’t quite asleep. She was warm and safe within the curve of Jack’s arm, his heavy hand cradling her head against his chest. The panic she’d felt earlier in the evening was gone. She wasn’t going to lose him. She was sure of that. She had done the right thing in insisting that she come with them. Of that she was sure as well.

“Aye, she’s fair worn out, poor lass.”

“Well, she’s had a bloody awful couple of days. Was that Gaelic you were singing?”

“Yeah, Claire likes my singing for some reason. Sorry to keep you awake.”

“You didn’t,” David yawned loudly. “My mother used to sing that song.”

It was strange, thought Claire, how much stronger their accents were now that they were so tired and speaking so softly. Jack’s brogue, barely noticeable most of the time, had thickened. David sounded more Australian, his vowels muddled. They were nice voices; low, easy on the ear, comforting in the dark, damp night.

“Was she Irish?”

“No, Scottish,” answered David.

“Ah, you could see Scotland from the village I was born in. The tunes they go back and forth with boats between the islands. Just like here when you think of it. Funny to think that a Tahitian would see no more difference between a Scotsman and an Irishman than you or I see between a Tahitian and a native of Moorea”

Claire smiled at his words. It was the sort of comment he used to make in his letters.

For a few minutes there were only the sounds of the night insects then Jack asked, “Do you suppose I might know what the plan is?”

David chuckled lowly, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Of course, the only part, I’m sure has gone according to plan, is that Morlais and Colin kept the mob busy long enough for us to get out of town. God knows, what happened after Bradford discovered you were gone.”

“Morlais knows his business. He’ll have taken control quick enough.”

“True, still I hate not knowing that Colin made it home to Lavinia all in one piece. And then there is Mrs. Russell,” said David with a groan.

“Mrs. Russell?” repeated Jack sharply. “What does she have to do with tonight?”

“She brought us word of the mob. Without her, I doubt we would have convinced Morlais to let you loose. I must say she is the last person I ever thought I’d be worrying over. I hope she had sense enough not to go back to the plantation. Bradford is in an ugly mood, fueled by whiskey. It might not be safe for her.”

“Mrs. Russell saved my neck?” asked Jack incredulously.

“I guess you’ve grown on her.”

“Not bloody likely.”

Claire quelled the desire to come to her godmother’s defense. She was thankful that Mrs. Russell had found the courage to come and warn them. She was also proud of her. But Jack had every right to despise Mrs. Russell for the hurt she’d caused. Claire knew that if it weren’t for their long history she would have reacted to Mrs. Russell’s interference just as Isabelle and Lavinia had expected her to; she would have vowed never to speak to her again. But there was their past to consider; the countless moments of small kindnesses that Mrs. Russell had shown her; all the advice and encouragement she had offered over the years. However much damage she had done by warning Jack off, Claire knew she had done it out of a sense of responsibility and love. She didn’t expect anyone else to understand that, least of all Jack.

“Anyway,” began David, “the plan was for Mauriri to put the Rattler to sea making everyone think we had gone with him. With luck Bradford and I hope Seraut insisted on going with Morlais on his sloop to catch the Rattler. Mauriri lets them catch her and they discover you’re not aboard.”

“They also discover you’re not aboard which lands you in this mess with both feet.”

“Well,” drawled David. “It’s not the first time I’ve landed in a mess with both feet. What we hope will happen, is that Morlais takes Bradford and Seraut back to Matavai and sets off again. He is supposed to meet up with the Rattler and go with Mauriri to St. Girons, while the official sloop makes a show of searching the coastline for us. With a little bit of luck, and I must say you’re due for some, Mauriri and Morlais will have found someone who can prove your innocence by the time we get there.”

“And what exactly,” said Jack slowly, “what is Isabelle’s part in all of this that makes you and Claire so concerned for her safety? It has to be more than just getting her horses back to the stable.”

It seemed to Claire that it took a long time for David to answer. When he did, his voice was oddly flat.

“She is going to stay close to Seraut and try to catch him out.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. I suppose you tried to talk her out of it.”

“Using every means of persuasion I could think of. The problem is she knows we need to keep an eye on Seraut and she is our best hope. Isabelle doesn’t back down from a challenge. That he killed his own cousin in cold blood doesn’t scare her. It bloody well terrifies me.”

Claire had complete faith in Isabelle’s ability to take care of herself. No one thought better on their feet than Isabelle did. Claire also knew that Isabelle had no illusions about Seraut. If he was guilty she wouldn’t let their friendship cloud her judgment. But the deep concern in David’s voice frightened Claire. She shivered involuntarily.

Jack was concentrating on David. He felt Claire shiver and glanced down at her. She appeared to be sleeping. He drew closer, concerned that she was cold. Then he looked back up at David, who he couldn’t quite see in the inky blackness of the forest night.

“I’m so sorry that you all got pulled into this, David.”

“Hell, you didn’t pull anyone into this mess. Seems to me you are the only one who got pulled in. The rest of us, including Isabelle, jumped in all on our own.”

“Maybe Isabelle is perfectly safe,” said Jack slowly. “It could be Seraut didn’t do anything but jump to a conclusion. After all I was standing over the body when he rounded that bend.”

David fingered the cleft in his chin and looked thoughtfully at Jack. Jack, who knew the situation best, hadn’t been part of the discussion about Seraut. Seraut as the villain worked well for David. But he didn’t want his personal feeling getting in the way of finding the truth.

“You don’t think our arguments make sense?” David asked.

“Oh, as Claire says, when you add it all up it makes a horrible sort of sense. Still it makes it easier to add it all up to murder when you don’t like him anyway. After all, he has never shown you the proper deference.”

“What’s that mean?” asked David with his tone something being insulted and amused.

“Ah, come now, David, you know there’s not been a young buck come into Lavinia’s these past five years who wasn’t hoping to sign on with the famous Captain Grief. You must have gotten used to having young men look up to you.”

David laughed deeply. “Mo would say they only look up to me because I’m taller than most of them. I suppose Seraut is just too old to be impressed with my exploits.”

“He’s the same age as Gilles Bradford was and he certainly thought you were a legend in your own time.”

“You know, you are mighty cheeky for a man with his head on the block.”

Claire winced at David’s choice of words but both men laughed. Gallows humor, she thought.

“Are you sure about Seraut’s age?” asked David. “I thought he was at least your age.”

Claire bit her tongue to keep from interrupting. She didn’t want them to stop talking, and she was afraid they would if they thought they were keeping her awake. She, too, wanted to question Jack about Seraut’s age. Gilles had always followed his cousin’s lead and she had been sure Seraut was the elder by several years.

“A couple of months back they were both with us on a voyage,” said Jack softly. “Gilles gave the crew an extra ration of rum in honor of his cousin’s birthday. Gilles said he was twenty-seven. I was surprised. You’d think he’d have to be older than that to have gotten so arrogant.”

There was a long pause, then David asked seriously, “Do you think really we’re on the wrong track? After all being on the Malahini you’ve spent more time with Seraut than any of us. You must know him pretty well.”

“I could have spent years in a rowboat with him and never gotten to know him. I can only think of him in contrast to Gilles.”

Curious , thought Claire, that is the only way I can think of Seraut, all the ways he was different from Gilles in spite of looking so much like him.

“What does that mean?” queried David.

Jack sighed. “Well, Gilles liked to play at captain, take the helm, call out orders. Honestly, for as playfully as he went about it, he was a good sailor. He knew what he was doing, and the boys never minded taking orders because he was so good natured. But if we hit rough water, he’d turn the helm over to me with a mock salute and say ‘what are your orders, captain?’ He liked being on the water, he wasn’t afraid of the storm, but he didn’t want the responsibility for the boat.”

“So you’re saying Seraut wouldn’t give up the helm in a storm?”

“Seraut never got near the helm. Being on the water meant nothing to him. I doubt he could name our crew after all these months. He spent his time poring over ledgers and writing letters. The only time he ever spoke to me was to ask how long the trip was going to take. All he cared about was making money. The Malahini could have been a steamer or a barge, hell, she could have been a locomotive for all he cared. He just wanted his goods moved as fast as possible.”

Claire smiled to herself. The conversation was very serious but she couldn’t help it. Jack sounded so aggrieved that Seraut did not appreciate the beauty of the Malahini.

“You know those perfect days at sea, when even an old salt with 40 years of decks under his feet will stand in the bow and stare out at nothing but the deep blue of the ocean and the bright blue of the sky? When you’re going so fast and so smooth that you think you know what it feels like to be a bird gliding through the heavens?”

“Of course,” answered David. “Those days are the reason we put up with all the days when it rains or there’s no wind. They are the reason we keep going back to sea.

“I remember a day like that. Gilles called out to Seraut to look at how wonderful it was and Seraut asked him something about a cotton dealer in Hong Kong. He just didn’t care, and I don’t think I have any hope of understanding a man like that. I always thought that murder, at least the murder of someone you knew, was a crime that took,” (Claire felt Jack shrug his broad shoulders) “well, that took passion, fury, anger, something. Something I’ve never seen in Seraut.”

“How about jealousy? Not about Claire or another woman but of what Gilles had being a rich man’s son. Isabelle says she has heard Seraut refer to the Bradford’s wealth with bitterness. She thinks that he believes that because it was his grandfather who got the cotton plantation started all those years ago he is as rightful an heir as Gilles was, and more so than the rest of the Bradfords. What do you think of that notion?”

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Jack gave the idea some thought. “I’ve never heard him say anything against any of the Bradfords. There was a time on Malahini when one of the old chief said something about him looking like his grandfather. The old man practically spat when he said it, Old Seraut had quite a reputation as a blackbirder, as I understand it. But that day I remember Seraut smiling, as if it was the kindest thing ever said to him. And you know he lets old van Gulik think he is the old pirate. Sure, I can see where he thinks he should be the one to benefit from what the old pirate started, but jealous enough to kill a man, especially such a decent sort of Gilles Bradford? That stretching it a bit don’t you think?”

“Probably.” David sighed deeply. “But I know in my gut that Seraut is not the upstanding citizen he pretends to be.”

“Maybe not but it don’t make him a murderer.”

“You’re not helping your own cause much.” complained David. “If not Seraut, then who? Who killed Gilles?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Jack sadly, pulling Claire a little closer.

They were quiet for several minutes then David said with frustration, “God, but I wish there was some way of being sure Isabelle got back to the stables without being seen. Beyond that, I wish there was some way to know Seraut went with Morlais and, at least for tonight, she is safe from him.”

“Well, it’s cold comfort, but I’ll say it again. I’d always put my money on Isabelle.”

“You can have first watch, though I doubt you’ll be watching anything but Claire sleep,” said David as he tried to find a comfortable position on the rough ground.

“I’ll try to raise my eyes now and again,” answered Jack with a hint of humor. Then he went on seriously, “David, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Sure you do,” said David yawning. “Use that fine Irish voice of yours and lullaby me to sleep with a chorus of LOCH LOMOND.”

***

The morning dawned windy and threatening rain. Colin, who retained his habit of rising early to say his morning prayers, kissed his sleeping wife and slid noiselessly from the bed. Remembering that Mrs. Russell was in the house, he pulled on his trousers leaving the braces to hang around his hips. He paused at the curtained doorway to look back at Lavinia.

She lay curled on her side, her thick black hair spread over her slender brown body. Colin smiled and said a silent, heartfelt prayer of thankfulness before he went into the main room of the little house.

He knew that Lavinia and Mrs. Russell had argued about where she would stay. Mrs. Russell understood that returning to the plantation was unwise. However, she thought she would be perfectly all right in the little house she and Claire shared. Lavinia had insisted that she stay with them. She explained that she had promised Claire that she would look out for Mrs. Russell. Colin didn’t know if Mrs. Russell had succumbed to Lavinia’s argument, or if she had simply not wanted to be alone and so was grateful to have somewhere to go. Whatever the reason, she and Lavinia had gone by the little house, gathered a few things, and returned home for the night.

Given the lateness of the hour that they retired to bed and the eventfulness of the preceding day, he was expecting Mrs. Russell to sleep most of the morning; he was therefore surprised to see her standing in the middle of the room. She wore a dressing gown belted tightly around her waist and her hair hung in a braid over her shoulder. In her hand was a small book that, Colin rightly surmised, was her prayer book.

“Good morning,” he said as he pushed his arms through the sleeves of a collarless cotton shirt.

She turned to him and he saw uncertainty in her face. He wondered idly, how often this very proper woman had been seen in her dressing gown by anyone but her husband. It made him smile to think how a short time ago he would have retreated to his bedroom red-faced to be caught coming out of it half dressed. Now such things seemed so unimportant.

“Good morning,” she responded, averting her eyes until he had finished buttoning the shirt and pulled braces over his shoulders.

“I’ll go and stir up the fire in the tavern kitchen. There will be hot water for you shortly.”

“Thank you,” she said, straightening her shoulders.

Colin noticed deep lines around her eyes and mouth. He suspected she had gotten little rest. He knew she was worried about Claire, and probably those she had left at the plantation. He was walking out onto the porch as another thought occurred to him about how out of place she must feel in their house. Because he was so happy, Colin found it easy to ignore the gossip and scandal his marriage to Lavinia had created in Matavai. He was aware that it had been a topic of many conversations among the women of his former parish. Mrs. Russell had never been openly rude nor had she invited Lavinia to tea. It must feel very strange to her to find herself in league with Claire’s “questionable acquaintances.”

He turned back and said, “In the meantime would you like to join me in reading Morning Prayer?”

Gratitude and relief flooded her face.

Colin marveled at what the simple observance of a familiar ritual could do to restore a person’s equilibrium. When Lavinia joined them at the table for breakfast Mrs. Russell was dressed for the day in her normal tropical outfit of a poplin skirt hemmed sensibly at the top of her heavy leather shoes and a long sleeved white shirtwaist, a black mourning band wrapped around her arm. She had pinned her hair up high on her head. Although her eyes looked tired, she had regained her confidence.

Having finished her bowl of cold creamed rice and bananas, Mrs. Russell pressed a napkin to her lips carefully. She turned to Lavinia and asked, “Mrs. Trent, do you think that Mrs. Lepau would be willing to go out to the plantation today?”

Lavinia looked up from her own bowl. She nodded.

“You must be very concerned about Mrs. Bradford,” said Colin as he picked up the teapot and offered Mrs. Russell another cup.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Russell, holding the delicate china cup and saucer up to him. “I am very worried about her. I understand the wisdom of my not going back. I was already on thin ice because of Claire; a confrontation between Mr. Bradford and me would be very upsetting to Rachel. But I feel I’ve abandoned her when she needs me most.”

“Will Mr. Bradford suspect Mrs. Bradford’s collusion?” asked Colin with a deep cease between his mild blue eyes.

Lavinia glanced at her husband. She knew that he was very fond of Mrs. Bradford. She had been a tremendous support to him when he was the minister of the mission church. Although Lavinia had no doubt their marriage had shocked and dismayed Mrs. Bradford she had sent a wedding gift, a small but very beautiful silver vase. The gesture had stunned Lavinia. They had lived in the same small town for most of Lavinia’s life; they had never exchanged a word. She had expected Mrs. Bradford to shun Colin as others of his former parishioners did.

“I don’t know,” answered Mrs. Russell anxiously. She stirred her tea slowly with a silver spoon. “Tom is a reasonable man, used to having his own way but generous and kind. Normally he is quite willing to listen to Rachel. Since learning of Gilles’s death, I hardly recognize him. He is relying heavily on his nephew who is a clever fellow. I’m sure he realizes there was a warning given to Lt. Morlais and even if no one saw me in town last evening it won’t take much thought to realize I was the one giving it. To answer your question; yes, I believe they will be sure that Rachel knew what I was doing.”

Colin and Lavinia exchange a glance at the mention of Seraut’s influence on Bradford. They had speculated on how the mob had developed out of a group of mourners. It had seemed to them possible Seraut might have dispensed the idea, with Bradford’s whiskey.

“I’m sure that Lianni will be very happy to go. She has always spoken highly of Mrs. Bradford,” offered Lavinia.

“Rachel is very fond of her,” said Mrs. Russell, a smile lightened her grave face briefly. “I suppose I could ask Madame Ivy or Mrs. Connors, I’m sure they would be willing to go. But I fear my courage fails me at the thought of explaining why I’m not there myself.”

“When the truth comes out and Jack is exonerated I’m sure Mr. Bradford and the others will thank you for your actions,” said Colin sincerely.

Lavinia glanced at the older woman. She was surprised that Mrs. Russell would make such an admission. The look on her face told Lavinia that she didn’t agree with Colin that Bradford would be grateful to her for her interference. At best the men who made up the mob would just want to forget it had ever happened. Some she thought would still believe they were justified in their actions. For them Mrs. Russell had thwarted justice.

Colin thought of the scene at the jail the night before, when the heavily armed men had broken through the line of soldiers and discovered Jack’s empty cell. He’d admired Morlais cold contempt for the mob. Titchmarsh had accused him of letting Jack go. Morlais had said blandly that his soldiers could not be in two places at once, guarding the prisoner and guarding the jail from the townspeople. That Jack had escaped was more their fault than his. It was at that moment there was a shout in the crowd that the Rattler was putting to sea. Colin was sure that he was the only one to realize the man shouting was Isabelle’s trusted groom, Paiku. Morlais led the charge towards his official sloop. Bradford, Titchmarsh and Seraut insisted that they be allowed to go with him. The rest of the mob, now rapidly growing more sober and shamefaced, melted away into the darkness.

“I fear Rachel will be worried about me. I did tell the boy when he took the horses back to be sure to tell her I was all right. She has so much misery at present; I don’t want to add to her burdens. Mrs. Lepau could tell her that I have come to no harm. She would also give a straight accounting of what happened here in town last night. That will be important to Rachel. I fear Tom will not have told her anything. Perhaps Mrs. Lepau could take the children. They might distract Michael a little.”

“I’ll send word to Lianni right away.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Russell with a weak smile. She stood, pushed in her chair and picked up her tea cup and saucer. She walked across the room to the open door. She looked out at the fine mist shrouding the banana trees at the side of the house.

“It is strange,” she said softly.

“What is strange, Mrs. Russell?” asked Colin, watching her from his place at the table.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever felt such a conflict of responsibilities,” she answered, still looking outside. “I should be with Rachel at a time like this. She has so much to contend with; her own grief, Tom’s and poor young Michael’s not to mention the running of the household itself. It is too much to ask of a woman in her state of health. I knew last night when I left her Tom would see my actions as a betrayal. But I couldn’t neglect such an obvious duty.”

“Mrs. Russell, I, a – ”

Mrs. Russell turned around and looked at Lavinia. “Yes, Mrs. Trent?”

“I don’t understand why you did it,” said Lavinia bluntly. Her pretty face was marred by a frown as she looked at her guest. That Mrs. Russell, of all people, would have taken such chances for Jack was a riddle that plagued Lavinia. “You were risking your life taking a ride like that. And, as you said, Bradford will want to punish you even if he is sober this morning. He is sure to take away your house here in town. He will probably prevent you from seeing Mrs. Bradford at all. I thought you were convinced of Jack’s guilt. Why would you take so many risks for him?”

“His guilt is immaterial,” answered Mrs. Russell with a small shake of her head. She was clearly puzzled by the question.

“What? I don’t understand.”

Colin had been collecting the breakfast dishes. He stopped and looked at both women. He thought about Claire’s disappointment that Lavinia and Mrs. Russell could find no common ground. If these two women were ever going to learn to appreciate each other, this was the moment. He quelled the desire to jump in and explain what he thought Mrs. Russell was trying to say. He prayed that she would explain it well, and that Lavinia would understand her.

“He hasn’t had his day in court,” said Mrs. Russell, walking across the room slowly. The teacup rattled slightly against the saucer. “If they had taken Mr. McGonnigal from the jail, and summarily hung him, it would have been murder. No different than Gilles’s murder. Mr. McGonnigal may well be guilty, but until that is proven in court, no one has the right to execute him. Had I done nothing after seeing that mob forming, I would have been party to his murder.”

She paused to gather her thoughts. Her face was animated with the depth of her belief. She took a step closer to Lavinia.

“You see without the rule of law we would be nothing but warring clans. Life would be Old Testament – eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, any eye or any tooth. And it would never stop. English folklore is full of stories of feuds going on for generations. We tell them as if they are heroic, romantic. But ROMEO AND JULIET is a tragedy, a story of wasted lives. It is the rule of law that brings real justice, real opportunities for truth telling. Men who deny others their day in court are tearing at the very fabric of our civilization.”

She blushed suddenly and looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry to go on so,” she murmured.

“It was very well said, ma’am,” said Colin quietly. He felt a stirring of pride in his heritage. This is the best of us, he thought, this is what we sometimes manage to rise to for all our faults. He knew by the look on Lavinia’s face that she was surprised by what Mrs. Russell had said. And that she had listened carefully.

Mrs. Russell smiled almost shyly at Colin. She turned and walked again to the door. She went out on the porch and looked not towards the sea but towards the rugged mountain behind the house.

Colin and Lavinia finished collecting the dishes silently. Preoccupied with her thoughts, Lavinia loaded them on a tray to take to the tavern kitchen. When she stepped onto the porch Mrs. Russell asked her, “How far will they have gone?”

Lavinia glanced up at the mist shrouded mountain. She shrugged her shoulders. Because it was damp and windy, she wore a blouse with long sleeves. “It is hard to say. Don’t worry, they won’t get lost, there is really only one trail and David knows it fairly well. But it is rough going; it could take them a while.”

“Claire was so determined,” said Mrs. Russell more to herself than to Lavinia.

“Yes, she was,” said Lavinia firmly. She balanced the heavy tray on the railing. “You don’t need to worry about her. Claire is strong and she’s smart. She’s proven herself before. She knew what she was getting into. Besides David and Jack would never let anything happen to her.”

“Jack,” said Mrs. Russell faintly. She was twisting her hands in front of her. “You really believe in his innocence, don’t you?”

“I know him.”

Mrs. Russell looked through the doorway at Colin and said, “That’s what you said, isn’t it? You said something like he’s my friend, I know him.”

“Yes, I did,” responded Colin. He walked over to them and stood in the doorway. He sensed that there was more she wanted to say.

“After the funeral yesterday, I heard so much against McGonnigal. Henri Seraut said he was sure if he had only rounded the bend a minute or so earlier he could have saved Gilles. Some of the things McGonnigal was accused of were so brutal, inhuman,” said Mrs. Russell with a shudder. “I still believe it is more than likely he is guilty. It terrifies me that Claire is with him.”

“It shouldn’t. You must realize that those stories are exaggerated. I remember when Jack was first brought here. He wasn’t a monster, he was skin and bones; a scared, sick kid. Whatever the truth is about his past, he only did what he had to in order to survive. Those people may talk about him, tell stories about him, but I’ve known him all this time. Jack is a good man,” said Lavinia with feeling. Her dark eyes stared into Mrs. Russell’s.

“Perhaps so,” said Mrs. Russell, holding Lavinia’s gaze. “But no one disputes the fact that he was found leaning over Gilles’s body; jealousy has been know to drive many men to desperate acts. Anything could happen to Claire on that mountain.”

“You’re wrong,” declared Lavinia. “Claire is safe. She’s with David for whom she is family and with Jack for whom she is the whole world.”

Mrs. Russell looked away frowning. “How could a man capable of such treachery, such evil as murder, love a woman so much?” she asked softly. She was not asking the question of them.

Colin shifted his glance between the two women. “You have doubts now, don’t you?” he asked Mrs. Russell, taking a step closer to her. “Doubts about Jack’s guilt, I mean. Why?’

She didn’t answer immediately. When she did she was looking once more at the mountain. “I realized that I don’t know him. I formed an impression of him in the very first moment.”

“Not a favorable one,” interjected Lavinia.

“No, not a favourable one. I suppose in truth all I saw was a man with his arms around Claire, a rather shocking sight. Perhaps you remember that evening?”

“I do,” answered Lavinia with a nod. She also remembered how stunned Claire was by her godmother’s sudden appearance. She had been shocked into silence and embarrassment. “They’d been sailing with Isabelle and David. They’d had a race up the beach.”

“And the losers bought the beer. It was first time I’d seen my goddaughter in more than two years and I remember thinking at the time she looked like an escapee from the chorus line of The Pirates of Penzance.”

Lavinia was confused by the reference. Colin on the other hand found it extremely apt and amusing. He covered his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. He didn’t want to distract Mrs. Russell from her thoughts.

“I asked at my first opportunity about Jack McGonnigal. I believe it was Enid Titchmarsh who first referred to him as Cannibal Jack.”

“That was really all you needed to hear to decide he was wrong for Claire, wasn’t it?” declared Lavinia angrily.

“Yes,” Mrs. Russell responded calmly. “However, that he is wrong man for Claire does not mean he is a murderer. I gave it a great deal of thought during the night, and as a result, as you say, I now have doubts about his guilt. Partly ,because Claire is so devoted to him; she is a bit romantic, but she is not a fool. Surely, she would recognize that sort of evil in a man. And I did listen the other day, Colin, when you told me about your friendship with him. It gives me pause that you described a man that Claire once tried to convince me existed, a man I thought her imagination had created. But I suppose what really gives me doubts about his guilt is Mr. Lepau.”

“Mauriri?” exclaimed Lavinia. She looked at Colin who shook his head slightly. He had no idea what Mrs. Russell was referring to.

“What did Mauriri say?” she asked, taking a step closer to the older woman.

“Oh,” Mrs. Russell said as she turned to look at them with a slight, nervous smile. “It wasn’t what he said. It was what he’s done. Mr. Lepau is taking such great personal risks to prove Mr. McGonnigal’s innocence. I realize that you all have put something on the line, so to speak, for Mr. McGonnigal, and that Captain Grief is taking a real risk, as well. Somehow it doesn’t seem as great in his case, because this isn’t his home, his childhood home, I mean. If things go badly, and he found himself a fugitive, he could take his boat and run. Miss Reed as well. But Mr. Lepau would be leaving family, heritage. His identity is here in this place and those of his wife and children. Were he to have to exile himself, the loss would be incalculable. He seems like the sort of man who would only take such a risk for a cause he believed in wholly. I know that he and Gilles were friends. I can’t believe he would take such risks if he had any doubts about Mr. McGonnigal’s innocence.”

Lavinia stared at her with her lovely mouth hanging open in surprise. It was excellent reasoning. That it would be Mrs. Russell’s reasoning stunned her. Lavinia was used to Polynesians being invisible or interchangeable to most whites. Clearly Mrs. Russell saw Mauriri as an individual, more than that as someone she respected.

“I hope I didn’t say something inappropriate,” said Mrs. Russell nervously. She shifted uncomfortably under Lavinia close scrutiny. “I only meant – ”

“It is all right, Mrs. Russell,” said Colin, stepping forward to rescue the tray of dishes before it slid over the rail. He smiled at Lavinia. “I think my wife agrees with you. Mauriri is willing to risk so much because he knows Jack is innocent. I’m very glad that you realize that. It will mean a lot to Claire. Hopefully they will find the evidence to prove Jack’s innocence. In the meantime I fear all the ordinary things must be done. Lavinia, I’ll take these into the kitchen. The carpenters will be here soon. We are still slowly making repairs from the storm damage.”

Colin lifted the tray to his shoulder and stepped off the porch.

“Yes,” answered Lavinia with a final puzzled look at Mrs. Russell. She followed him. “I’m going to collect the linens for Tia to launder. There is a British gun ship in the harbor. With luck the officers will want rooms on shore.”

“Mrs. Trent?”

Lavinia turned back.

“Is there anything I can do to be useful? I find it very difficult to simply wait for news. I’d really like to be doing something, anything. Perhaps I could help you with the rooms.”

Lavinia understood perfectly what Mrs. Russell was saying. She too couldn’t stand to be idle. For a moment she toyed with the idea of Mrs. Russell as chambermaid then she had a more practical thought. “Claire is always raving about your baking. Do you think you could make something that would tempt those British sailors?”

“Oh, I think so,” responded the older woman eagerly. “Shortbreads, honey cake, ginger cake perhaps.”

Lavinia nodded. “You’ll find everything you need in the tavern’s kitchen.”

“Would you like for me to light the stove in my kitchen?” asked Colin quickly

“No, if I won’t be in the way I believe I would prefer to work in tavern’s kitchen. It would be nice to be around people at a time like this. I brought an apron from the house last night. I’ll just be a minute getting it,” she said as she went back into the house.

Colin and Lavinia walked towards the tavern. Lavinia looked back over her shoulder several times. As she held the door open for Colin to pass through with the tray she said, “Did Mrs. Russell just say that she wanted to spend the morning working in the tavern kitchen?”

Colin chuckled; he couldn’t help it. Lavinia looked so confused and the image his mind produced of Mrs. Russell at work among the sarong wearing island girls in their kitchen stuck him as very amusing. “Wanted may be too strong a word. I think she wants to be busy and be close to us because we share her concern about Claire. I’m sure you can understand that.”

He thought again of Claire saying that in many ways Lavinia and her godmother were much alike. He wondered if the two of them might come to realize that over the next few days.

***

It was a misty morning, almost cool. David stretched, trying to work out the kink in his back from sleeping on the damp ground. He picked up the rucksack and started to search through it. He smiled as he said, “Bless you, Lavinia.” From the sack he pulled a loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel and a wedge of cheese. Hanging the rucksack on a convenient branch David sat cross legged. He unwrapped the bread and laid it, and the cheese, on the towel.

Not a bad breakfast considering they were on the run although he did miss his coffee. No, not his coffee. He had never really mastered the art of brewing a pot of coffee. It was Isabelle’s coffee he missed, hot and flavorful.

Glancing up he saw Claire by the stream washing her face. She pulled a comb from the deep pocket of her trousers and started working out the snarls in her long hair. The last thing Isabelle had said to him was an order to take care of Claire. But Claire was in danger of nothing but blisters. Isabelle was with Seraut, that was where the real danger was.

David blew his breath out through his teeth making an angry, whistling sound. He should have dragged her off of Dante and forced her to come with them, he thought. Then ruefully he shook his head. It wouldn’t have worked. He couldn’t force Isabelle to do anything, no one could.

Jack was folding the blanket Claire had used. He walked very slowly over to David saying, “I’ve been thinking about our talk last night.”

“Oh?” responded David, his dark eyes bright with interest. He was glad to think of something besides the perilous situation his mind was seeing Isabelle in. He broke off a hunk of bread. “Did you remember something about Seraut?”

“No, not Seraut. He’s been the same from the day I met him. But, Bradford,” Jack hesitated, rubbing his hand over his chin.

“What? What about Gilles?” urged David. He looked up at Jack, the bread still in his hand forgotten. “Look, Jack, anything might be helpful.”

“I suppose so but I wouldn’t want to lead you astray.” Jack stuffed the blanket into the rucksack. Then he sat down across the makeshift breakfast “table” from David.

David pointed to the bread and cheese. He took a bite of his piece of bread and waited somewhat impatiently for Jack to go on.

“Well,” began Jack slowly, “when they first took the lease on the Malahini Seraut worked out some deal that took us to Hunihini. When he told Bradford – that is Gilles, he told Seraut about a friend he has there who sets a good table. He didn’t ask a thing about the deal or who it was with.”

David swallowed and reached for the cheese. “I’d always heard he wasn’t interested in the details of their business.”

“That was true for most of the time I’ve worked for them. But lately, since the storm, he’d been taking more of an interest; asking a lot more questions, tagging along with Seraut when he met with someone. I even heard him ask to see their books.”

“You think he was suspicious of Seraut.” David’s voice full of his own conviction that Seraut was a man to be suspicious of made it a statement not a question.

“Not a bit,” said Jack firmly, shaking his head. He glanced towards the stream where Claire was plaiting her hair. A shadow seemed to cross his face as he went on, “I think Claire getting hurt, the way she did during the storm, brought him up short. Gilles had always had things his own way; he was the sort who thinks they have all the time in the world to – well, to grow up. That storm, it made him start to think maybe he should be taking a bit more interest in his own affairs. He was thinking about getting married and well, he wasn’t a boy anymore. It only makes sense.”

“How did Seraut feel about Gilles’s interest in their business?” asked David as he pulled out his knife. He reached for the wedge of cheese and sliced off a piece. He handed it to Jack who took a bite of it absently.

“I couldn’t say for sure. What I saw of them there was nothing for him to object to. Gilles wasn’t trying to take over the business. He never argued with Seraut. He was just taking what most people would see as a natural interest in his own affairs.” Jack took another bite of the cheese and chewed it thoughtfully before he went on. “Seraut looked like he was alright with Gilles’s interest. I’d say he acted as if he welcomed it.”

“Which isn’t the same as saying he did welcome it,” David said softly. He sat quietly, his dark eyes watching Jack. “Do you think he found something out that Seraut couldn’t afford to have known?

“Well, that’s the thing. If you’re right about Seraut and there is something crooked about what he’s doing – well, Gilles wasn’t stupid. He could be lazy and a – what’s that word – oblivious but he wasn’t stupid. If there was something illegal going on it is likely he would have figured it out eventfully.”

“Probably so,” agreed David, nodding. He cut off another slice of cheese. “But Claire and Lavinia both insist that if Gilles was suspicious or worried about anything they would have known. He wouldn’t have kept it to himself.”

“I’d say they were right. He wasn’t one for keeping anything to himself good or bad. But they wouldn’t be the first to hear about it.”

For a moment David looked confused then distressed. “Seraut,” he said flatly. “No, Gilles couldn’t have been that stupid.”

“Now, think,” said Jack quickly. He still felt a strong desire to defend Gilles Bradford, perhaps for Claire’s sake. “If you had questions about your business, wouldn’t you talk to your partners first?”

“I trust my partners,” said David emphatically. As he said it he realized how far he and Isabelle had come since their first voyage together when he refused to let her out of his sight.

Jack shrugged. “Gilles trusted his partner. You don’t like Seraut. You’ve had your suspicions of him all along. But he was Gilles’s cousin, his friend, the fellow that created the business that made Gilles’s father take him seriously. Look, I can tell you a lot about a man by how he acts towards me. An awful lot of men hear Cannibal Jack; without knowing a single fact of my story, they use the name alone to treat me with contempt. Gilles never did. I never saw him treat anybody with anything but friendliness unless some other person was being hurt. That’s not a man who is going to jump to the conclusion that his partner is a crook based on some records that don’t make sense. Before he did anything about it, no matter what it was, he’d talk to his partner.”

For Jack that was a long, well reasoned speech. David nodded to acknowledge it. Then he stood and started to pace. “But don’t you think you would have known if he had confronted Seraut about something? The boat isn’t that big.”

“That’s just it. He wouldn’t have confronted Seraut. He would have asked him. That’s different than confronting him. Seraut would have had a ready answer to allay his concerns. If I know Gilles was capable of understanding the books and the correspondence and whatever else he might look at, then you can be sure that Seraut wasn’t underestimating him. He’d have been ready for any questions Gilles had.”

“If that were true why,” David paused, thinking hard. Then went on saying, “Because he couldn’t be sure Gilles wouldn’t say something to Claire.”

“Or to his father,” added Jack. Now that he had told David what he’d been thinking about he concentrated on eating. He reminded himself to save some for Claire.

“Yeah, the old man wouldn’t be fobbed off with some easy explanation especially since it is his money behind them. So,” said David as he started to pace again. “Gilles asks a question that Seraut is worried will lead to discovery of what he’s been up to and he decides to kill Gilles before he can talk to anyone. He takes the first opportunity where suspicion won’t fall on him.”

“No, it quite naturally fell on me,” said Jack softly with bitterness.

David stopped and nodded with satisfaction. “That actually makes sense.”

“Too bad we don’t know of anything illegal Seraut has actually done.”

David twisted his mouth and growled. “You sound like Mo, always demanding facts to back up gut feelings.”

“Good morning,” said Claire as she came up to them. Her hair was slightly damp and divided into two neat plaits. She looked hopefully at the remains of the bread and cheese and asked, “Anything left for me?”

***

Isabelle had been grateful to return to the stables deep in the night and discover a dozing Paiku. He helped her take care of the horses and gave her a long note from Colin. The note detailed what had happen at the jail after David and Jack got away. He also told her that the Rattler’s lights were nothing but a speck on the dark horizon by the time Morlais’s official sloop got underway. Most welcome of all was the news that Bradford, Seraut and a bristling Titchmarsh had insisted on accompanying Morlais.

Being confident that Claire was safe with David and Jack and that Morlais was following the plan Isabelle had slept well. In the morning she did her shopping in the marketplace with her ears open. Several people asked her if it was true that her partners had broken Cannibal Jack out of jail and escaped with him on the Rattler. Isabelle had looked at them with wide apprehensive eyes and said that she certainly hoped her partners would not be stupid enough to involve their ship in something so illegal.

She was pleased to discover some support for Jack among the sailors and dockworkers. But for the most part feelings remained high that Jack was the murderer and running had proven it. Whether it was a mob that had gathered outside of the jail the night before or simply a group of concerned citizens depend on who was talking and where they stood on Jack’s guilt.

She was working in the stables when she got word that the official sloop was in the bay. It seemed to her half the town had gathered on the waterfront by the time Morlais had disembarked. He looked furious. He was barking orders about having the ship ready to search the shoreline by late afternoon. Isabelle hid her smile. It appeared that Morlais was sticking to the plan.

She watched as Tom Bradford and Titchmarsh made their way towards Titchmarsh’s offices. Although she despised Bradford for his treatment of Claire she felt sorry for him. He seemed shrunken. Titchmarsh had him by the arm, almost as if he was leading him.

Her light eyes scanned the waterfront for Seraut. She caught sight of him at the far end of the docks talking to several sailors she didn’t know. She approached him slowly. The sailors had moved away by the time she reached him. Isabelle noticed Seraut was holding a small piece of paper in his hand. It had a ragged edge, as if it had been torn carelessly from a larger piece.

Isabelle took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Then she walked rapidly down the dock to Seraut, the leather soles of her riding boots making a sharp slap on the decking.

Unlike the others Seraut did not look particularly upset. A slight smile lightened his sharp features when he saw her. Seraut had an innate appreciation for beauty. When he looked at Isabelle he was often reminded of a rough diamond. Anyone could see that she was pretty even in mannish clothing with a thick cobweb caught in her loose hair. But Seraut saw potential for her to be far beyond pretty. He saw in her walk, the way she held herself that properly dressed she could be elegant. In his opinion all Isabelle lacked was education; she already had intelligence and ambition. She could be with some finishing a woman capable of anything.

“People are saying that you were chasing the Rattler. Didn’t you catch her?” Isabelle demanded as she approached him.

“Yes,” said Seraut, nodding his dark head. He folded the paper in his hand without looking at it. “We caught her, not long after dawn.”

“From the look on Morlais’s face I’d guess you didn’t find Jack on her,” said Isabelle, looking back over her shoulder at the lieutenant who was stomping off towards the government building. “Thank God, I was afraid David had done something really stupid and broken him out of jail.”

Seraut gazed out over the water as he said slowly, “Whether Captain Grief has done such a stupid thing or not has not been proven as of yet.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Isabelle quickly.

She tried not to look at his hands. She was aware he was tearing the paper in to small pieces. He did so without looking at it. One might think he did so without realizing what he was doing. For someone else ripping the piece of paper might be a nervous gesture. But Seraut did not make nervous gestures.

“You are correct in your supposition that we did not find Cannibal Jack on the Rattler. We did not find Captain Grief either.”

“What?” exclaimed Isabelle. She force her eyes wide open as if surprise. She reminded herself not to overact.

“Lepau said that the Rattler was on a regular copra run,” he answered as he turned to look at her. “He said Grief had elected to stay in Matavai. Lepau claimed that he had no idea when he saw our lights that we were chasing him. He claimed that when the Rattler left Matavai Cannibal Jack was locked up tight in the jail.”

“So you think David –”

“Obviously, he helped McGonnigal escape and they used the Rattler as a decoy. Unfortunately we have no way of proving this and Lepau knew that so he just kept repeating his story. Morlais had to let the Rattler go on her way. It was a clever ruse; I must give them credit for quick thinking. Grief and McGonnigal may still be on Tahiti or they may have found passage on another ship.” Again he looked out over the turquoise bay towards the blue of the deep water of the Pacific beyond the headland. He spoke seriously as he said, “They have gotten a good head start but whatever the case they will be found and this time Captain David Grief will have to answer for flouting the law.”

Seraut turned to Isabelle before he continued. “Your partner has run afoul of the wrong people, my dear. I know you don’t like advice but I would be remiss if I didn’t encourage you to sever all ties with Grief. My uncle will not rest until his son’s murderer has been brought to justice. And anyone who abets McGonnigal will also be arrested and punished. No matter how long it might take to accomplish this.”

Isabelle looked down at her booted feet. She heard a warning in his voice. She knew she would have to be very careful if she was going to convince him that she wasn’t working with David to help Jack.

David and Isabelle had been uncharacteristically circumspect about the change the big storm had worked on their relationship; which didn’t mean that they were trying to hide it. It was more that having become lovers (finally, thought Isabelle) had simply been the natural progression of their partnership and so neither had any reason to proclaim a sort of ownership over the other to the world.

Most people had thought there was a sexual aspect to their partnership all along. David certainly had never been known to have a monkish streak. As for Isabelle, well, it seemed to her that the world had three roles available for women; the nun, the devoted homemaker and the whore. Since she had no desire to be the first or second she was automatically cast as the third. She found this particularly unfair as her time in Matavai had been very lacking in sexual gratification.

So although their close friends were certainly aware that something important had evolved between the partners, to their greater world they seemed much the same as they had. But, thought Isabelle, this would not include Seraut. He was too observant to have missed any clue including the most obvious – seeing her leaving the Rattler very early in the morning.

So if she was going to actually gain Seraut’s confidence she was going to have to convince him that she was willing to leave not only her partner but her lover.

Isabelle knew that Seraut was waiting for some sort of response from her. She wanted to be sure that she appeared worried and angry when she answered him. The worried part was easy. Seraut was right. If they didn’t find evidence to clear Jack in St. Girons David would have to go on the run. Morlais was complicit in Jack’s escape but Isabelle didn’t believe for a moment he would jeopardize his own career to save David. If they succeeded and brought the right man to justice Morlais would be happy to share the praise. If they failed it would all be on David’s head.

It struck Isabelle suddenly that she was accepting David’s part in all of this too easily. So she asked, “You really think David is behind Jack getting away?”

“I fail to see how McGonnigal could have escaped without help. Although I have not made a study of his friends I would venture a guess that Grief is the only one capable of such a plan. I refuse to believe that the Rattler just happened to set sail at the very moment the prisoner was discovered missing. It is far too much of a consequence. Have you seen Grief since last night?”

She shook her head. Her hair bounced on her shoulders. The strong morning night making it glow with sun reddened streaks.

“I haven’t seen him since we argued about Jack being arrested. Damn it!” Isabelle moaned softly as she prayed she would strike the right tone. “I told David to stay out of this but he never listens.”

“No doubt given his past success at avoiding the consequences of his actions the captain believes he can return without the miscreant and bluff his way out of trouble. In this he will be mistaken. As I say it would be very wise to distance yourself from him and his actions. If you want to,” he said slowly watching her face.

Isabelle was aware of his scrutiny. She looked him squarely in the eye as she gritted her teeth and said, “Of course I want to. David is always running off trying to play the white knight. We’ve had this argument for the last time. I’m not in business for anything but making money. David’s escapades don’t make money.”

“No,” murmured Seraut, “He is quite Quixotic, the captain, always tilting at windmills.”

Isabelle nodded. She didn’t know what Seraut meant by Quixotic. She guessed that it was some sort of literary allusion because it sounded like some of the things Claire and Colin said. She’d have to remember to ask Claire what Quixotic meant. In the meantime she would have to bluff. She didn’t want Seraut to know how lacking her education had been. “There is no money in windmills; at least not on Tahiti.”

Seraut made a sound that might have been an appreciative laugh.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked. She thought she could risk showing a lot of interest now that it was clear David’s actions were her business. “I heard Morlais say he would take the sloop out this afternoon; will you go with him?”

“I am not a policeman or a soldier. Finding Cannibal Jack is Morlais’s responsibility. Now I am going to go home take a bath and have decent meal. I would never have insisted going with them last night if it hadn’t been for Bradford. Poor man,” said Seraut with a sigh.

Isabelle wasn’t sure if the sigh indicated sympathy for Bradford or frustration. Or if it was simply a bit of acting to get her to think he was feeling sorry for Bradford.

“I suppose I should see that he goes back to the plantation.”

Isabelle followed his gaze. She saw Bradford standing at the end of the dock. He looked lost. She noticed a glint of silver in his hand. It was his whiskey flask. She felt a wave of pity.

“How is he?”

“He has taken Gilles’s death very badly,” said Seraut gravely. “One would not suspect it to look at him but my uncle is a sentimental man. He is devoted to his family and was particularly fond of Gilles I think because of the connection to my late aunt. Have you ever seen her portrait?”

Isabelle shook her head. She noticed that he repeatedly referred to Tom Bradford as his uncle. She couldn’t remember his doing so in the past. She wondered if he could be trying to strengthen the appearance of his family connection to the Bradfords and their businesses. It would be a clever move. If Bradford was unable to recover from the blow Gilles’s death had dealt him it would be thought only natural that his nephew would step in to lead the family since the other sons were still so young.

“There is a portrait of my aunt hanging in Gilles’s room at the plantation. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman and I’m sure resembled my late father in personality, elegant and witty. There is no doubt she was the great love of Bradford’s life; a man like him would never have expected to have won a woman like her; losing Gilles means losing that last part of her. It is devastating to him.”

To her surprise it bothered Isabelle that the current Mrs. Bradford and the twenty years she and Mr. Bradford had spent building a life together was dismissed without a word. It also surprised her that Seraut, who was neither sentimental nor romantic, appeared to believe what he was saying about Bradford’s grief.

“Bradford is lucky to have you at a time like this when his world is falling apart. Old Titchmarsh would be happy to step in and take advantage of the situation.”

“Yes, a very unpleasant, greedy sort of man is Mr. Titchmarsh,” said Seraut with vehemence. “The family must be protected from his friendship and that falls to me. I owe no less to Gilles; he was my family after all. And so I will spend the remainder of the day encouraging my uncle to take up his business concerns again. I fear he will not be able to do so in his condition. But there are so many details in a business like his. One must be diligent.”

Puzzlement narrowed Isabelle’s light eyes. It was unlike him to leave something unfinished. The hunt for Jack was certainly unfinished. “So, you’re really going to leave this manhunt to Morlais?” she asked as again the tiny pieces of paper in his hand distracted her. There was no reason to think there was anything of any use to her on that note. But she wanted to see it. She forced her attention back to his face.

“Ah, Morlais,” he repeated softly. His dark, unreadable eyes glanced towards the official sloop. “Would you say Morlais is an honest man?”

Isabelle shrugged. The question felt loaded with some hidden meaning. “I don’t know. I’ve never had much use for government officials, honest or not. He always goes by the letter of the law I know that. Worried about his position I guess –”

“You can’t see him risking his career to help Cannibal Jack?”

Again her heavy hair flew about as Isabelle shook her head. “I can’t think of any reason he would.” That she thought was an understatement. She still had trouble believing that Morlais had released Jack, especially into David’s custody. During their ride to the trailhead David told them about the scene in Morlais’s office. He claimed that Colin and Mrs. Russell had convinced Morlais.

Isabelle did not like Mrs. Russell, but she grudgingly admired how Mrs. Russell could stick to the point. She could almost hear the woman’s dry, slightly superior voice asking Morlais how his career would be advanced by shooting the leading citizens of the town he was sworn to protect. Backed into a corner, Morlais was given a way out by Colin offering to take Jack’s place in the cell. David had said that Morlais considered this for a moment. In the end he had looked David squarely in the eye and said, if Jack wasn’t returned to his custody in St. Girons at the appointed time, Colin and Lavinia would be the ones to suffer.

It was a shrewd move on Morlais’ part. He knew David well enough to know he would never deliberately betray Colin or Lavinia. Their livelihood depended on the bar; that Morlais could use his authority to shut it down made them, by far, the most vulnerable of those David cared about.

“No,” said Seraut thoughtfully, his dark eyes still on the official ship. “It is difficult to imagine that the lieutenant would risk anything for someone so insignificant. It does, however, remain a mystery to me that McGonnigal managed to escape, at the very moment Morlais and his soldiers were occupied with the group of men gathered in front of the building. Morlais has always appeared competent enough to realize he should have posted a guard within the cell block.” His voice was low and calm but there was an undercurrent of fury.

“There was probably a lot of confusion. After all it isn’t every evening that a mob shows up on Morlais’s doorstep.”

Good heavens, thought Isabelle, has my world really gotten so tangled up I’m defending Lt. Morlais?

“Actually the lieutenant was expecting the – a – group of concerned citizens. He and his men were waiting for us on the steps of the building quite as if they had been warned. It was not much of a confrontation. I tried of course to avert the whole affair. But with a group of men stupid with drink what can you do?” said Seraut with an elaborate shrug. “So I went along in hopes of keeping my uncle from harm. A few harsh words were exchanged. Then my uncle and Titchmarsh pushed their way past the guards and discovered that McGonnigal was not in his cell. He couldn’t have been unguarded for more than a few minutes and yet those were the minutes that Captain Grief took advantage of.”

“David is an idiot but he is good at spotting an opportunity,” said Isabelle. She had noticed he’d made a point of distancing himself from the actions of the mob. She’d bet that he had not been stupid with drink.

“Yes, very good,” responded Seraut with a nod.

What did he know? Isabelle asked herself. Did he know Mrs. Russell had warned Morlais? If he didn’t already he would know when he returned to the plantation. And what did he really think about Morlais involvement in Jack’s escape?

“You’re right of course. I should get out of that partnership before David is charged with a crime and the French take the boat. I hate to give up trading,” she said with a bitterness she didn’t need to fake. … “I’ve finally learned enough to make some real money.”

She knew that David hadn’t thought about what would happen if they failed to find the evidence that would clear Jack. She had. If David had to go on the run she would have a very difficult choice to make. She could stay in Matavai and run the stables or she could go with him and lose her investments. Either way she would lose a lot of money because without David and the Rattler she wouldn’t be able to trade anytime soon.

“There is no reason to give up trading, my dear,” said Seraut with a small, pleasant smile that made his face quite handsome. “I still hold the lease on the Malahini and I am sadly in need of a partner.”

“Are you serious?” she asked with genuine interest.

“You know that I am always serious in manners of money.”

“That would certainly be a change from my current partner,” said Isabelle, thinking how she was speaking the truth – David, as she had once told him, couldn’t hold on to money if it was glued to his fingers.

Briefly his smile broadened lightening Seraut’s somber features. “I will be engaged in my uncle’s affairs for the rest of today. Why don’t you come with me on the Malahini tomorrow and we will discuss the future.”

“I’d love to,” responded Isabelle eagerly. For just a moment she let her thoughts wander. Was it possible that Seraut had nothing to do with Gilles’s death? He was offering her a wonderful opportunity. A partnership with Seraut, especially if he was running Bradford’s ventures could mean lots of money and everything it brought with it. Of course it would complicate things with David.

Isabelle reined in her imagination. Complicated didn’t begin to describe it, even if Seraut wasn’t a murderer.

She smiled brightly at Seraut and hid her thoughts.

He took her hand and rather than kissing the back of it in the formal way turned her hand over and kissed the palm. It was an intimate gesture. The shiver that went through Isabelle had nothing to do with romance. What was he up to? Did the gesture mean he believed that she was anxious to sever her relationship, both business and personal, with David and that he saw a future for them?

Yes, she thought, he is probably just that arrogant.

As he walked away he stuffed the torn paper into his pocket. One piece escaped. It fluttered to the ground without Seraut noticing. With great self control Isabelle waited until he was talking to his uncle before she picked it up. The paper was heavy like that which navigational charts were printed on. The letters on it were thick, block print in pencil. Only two words were complete; “in league”. She didn’t recognize the writing; she had no idea where he might have gotten the note. For all she knew it was a piece of paper he had had in his pocket for weeks. Frustrated she walked back to the stable.

***

There were places where the path went straight up. Jack would haul himself up using roots and vines. Then David would give Claire a leg up and Jack would catch hold of her hand and pull her. It was hard work although not much harder than the work he and Jack did every day on the ships. To David’s surprise Claire showed no signs of fatigue. If anything she grew more cheerful as the morning wore on.

“That series of ridges that Melville crossed on the island in the Marquessas must have been just like this,” said Claire, pausing to catch her breath.

“Aye, very like,” responded Jack with a nod. “You’ve never been there, have you? You must go. The waterfall is just as he describes it. I don’t know how they ever managed that climb down into the valley.”

“Who’s Melville?” asked David, pulling the water flask from the pack. He handed it to Claire.

“He was American. He jumped ship on Nukuheva and then wrote a book about his adventures. It was back in the 40’s, wasn’t it, Claire?”

“Yes,” answered Claire as she passed the flack back to David. “My uncle attended a lecture Melville gave near the end of his life. It was in New York, in America. He said Melville appeared to be quite a miserable old man. It seems such a shame when he was clearly such a happy young man writing about his adventures here.”

“Ah, well, that was his problem,” said David with a grin. “He went back to a place like New York which has always sounded to me just as bad as any other city I’ve ever been to.”

Jack stood quietly for a moment and looked around them. They were at the top of one of the narrow ridges that ran from the mountainside down to the sea like the roots of a cypress tree. In the distant he could see a glimpse of the deep blue Pacific. Close around them was the forest, shades of green and brown dappled with sunlight.

Jack said thoughtfully, “I suppose he had family waiting for him back there. Of course, if he hadn’t gone back he would never have written MOBY DICK and that would have been quite a loss.”

“What is MOBY DICK?” asked David. He might as well be listening to Mauriri and Colin having one of their literary discussions which he swore they had just to show him he didn’t know everything.

“It’s a book, a novel,” answered Claire as she tucked stray strands of dirty brown hair into her thick plaits. “It is about a whaling captain’s obsession with the hunt for a white whale.”

“You might like it, David,” said Jack, looking over his shoulder as he started down. “In some ways it reads like Captain Mac’s stories about when he was boy on the clippers. Years ago I found a copy of it a passenger had left behind on the steamer I worked. I don’t think I slept again until I’d read it twice over. Do you remember the part, Claire, when he is up in the crow’s nest on watch?”

“Oh, yes, and it is so cold that he has to keep some part of him exposed to the air just to be sure the rest of him hadn’t frozen solid.”

David hung back and watched the two of them half slide down the steeply sloped trail. Jack went ahead pulling vines down and holding branches back so that Claire could pass. David thought of the dozens of times he and Isabelle had walked trails like this. He knew more than once he had let go of a branch too quickly and Isabelle had gotten slapped by it. Well, he thought, nothing to feel guilty about. After all Isabelle was proud of the fact that she led a life as rough and ready as he did. She wouldn’t want him to watch over her as if she were a child on the trail. She could take care of herself.

Then David frowned as he quickened his steps to catch up with his friends. Jack wasn’t offering Claire his arm every other step. He was setting a good pace and obviously thought she could keep up. It was simply that he was aware of her; that he stayed close enough to help her if she needed help. David wasn’t sure why Jack’s behavior made him feel as if his own behavior had been less than admirable.

Their letters must have been like that, he thought as David listened to Jack and Claire talk about favorite passages from the book. He had idly wondered on occasion why it was that Jack had bothered to put an advertisement in an English magazine looking for a lady correspondent. The islands were full of beautiful, young, native women who would not have cared about his past. If it had simply been lively, female companionship he was looking for he should have had no trouble finding it. But clearly what he had been looking for had been someone who cared about all those books he had read. No wonder Claire had believed he was a gentleman, he sounded like a school teacher droning on about that fellow Melville’s descriptions of life on a whaling ship.

Another steep ridge rose in front of them. Jack clambered part of the way up. He tested several foot holds.

Claire, waiting for him to find one he was satisfied with, said softly to David, “He’s limping.”

“What?” responded David, who was still amused by the picture his mind had created of Cannibal Jack with his dangling, silver earring sitting behind a schoolteacher’s desk.

“Jack is favoring his left leg.”

“So he is,” said David. He had noticed in an absent minded way that Jack put less weight on his left leg as the morning had worn on. “He banged it up rather badly during the big storm. I’m not surprised it is giving him trouble on a hike like this.”

“It was when the tree trapped us in the cellar, wasn’t it? Oh, God, David, I’m such a ninny,” said Claire tersely. Tears welled up in her brown eyes. She rubbed them away angrily.

David looked down on her with a frown. He asked, “What brought that on?”

She sighed deeply and answered him saying, “He wouldn’t have told you. You know he was in the cellar with me. You know he saved my life. He came to check on me, to see if I was safe. Instead of thanking him, instead of realizing he cared about me, I berated him.”

“This was during the storm?” asked David with a raised eyebrow. “So I suppose he came down into the cellar and asked you politely to go somewhere safe.”

“No,” said Claire, shaking her head. For a second she could see Jack stomping down the cellar steps, a flash of lightning behind him. “He bellowed orders at me,”

“And you bellowed right back, doesn’t sound like the response of a ninny at all. Maybe someone too preoccupied with her work to realize the danger she was in but not a ninny,” said David, smiling at her. He gently brushed her cheek. “Come on, Claire; let’s see that lovely smile of yours again. You’ve looked so happy all morning.”

“I have been happy this morning.” Her brown eyes glanced down at her heavy boots. “Is it terribly wicked of me to be happy, David, with Gilles just days dead, Isabelle in so much danger and the future so fearfully uncertain?”

“Wicked?” repeated David, frowning. Where, he asked himself, do people get the idea that it is wicked to be happy. Thank God, Isabelle didn’t have such scruples. “No, not wicked at all. You can’t do anything about the past, and you can’t know the future, so why let it spoil the present?”

“Have you two stopped for lunch?” called Jack from his perch part way up the steep path.

“Go on,” said David, giving her a gentle shove, “up with you.”

***

Mrs. Russell left the tavern by the kitchen door and made her way around the building to the street just as Lavinia, her market basket hung over her arm, stepped out of the front door. They had not intended to go to the market together. Finding themselves face to face neither felt she could walk away from the other without being churlish, after all they shared common cause at least for the moment. So they fell uneasily into step with each other.

“I can hardly believe my own eyes!”

They had almost reached the stalls, where they could part company without fear of giving offence. Lavinia was slightly surprised to see the spasm of distaste that crossed Mrs. Russell’s face at the sound of Mrs. Titchmarsh’s voice.

An instant later the lady herself stood before them. Her wide, purple silk clad body, effectively blocking their way; somewhat behind her stood her companion, the wife of a French official.

“Good morning, Mrs. Titchmarsh, Madam Ivy,” said Mrs. Russell with a very formal nod of the wide brim of her hat.

Lavinia considered taking advantage of this awkward moment and slipping away. She did not like the picture they presented. It was too much like a white woman and her native maid being there together with Mrs. Russell carrying on a conversation and she standing silently behind her. It was not Lavinia’s way to stand silently by.

“Don’t you good morning me, you traitor,” said Mrs. Titchmarsh harshly. The woman was bristling with indignation.

Curious Lavinia decided to stay and watch.

Mrs. Russell glanced at Madam Ivy. The lady blinked her slightly protruding blue eyes and glanced around the market. Her cheek had grown a dull red.

Lavinia knew, that although she was married to a French official, Madam Ivy was English. Claire had once told Lavinia that she was from an aristocratic family. She was often in Mrs. Titchmarsh’s company, although it was Claire’s belief that this was not of her choosing. Mrs. Titchmarsh, who considered herself the leading light of the colonial community, had latched on to Madam Ivy upon her arrival on the island. In spite of her background Madam Ivy seemed incapable of escaping her clutches. She was a rather shy woman who devoted herself to her children and to church work. The poor woman was clearly not used to participating in confrontations on a public street.

“My dear Mrs. Titchmarsh, you appear to be,” said Mrs. Russell carefully, “aggravated. However this is hardly the place to engage in a discussion.”

Mrs. Titchmarsh stood a step closer. The long white plume on her hat trembled as she declared, “I’ll discuss anything I like with you, any place I like. I’m not the one with something to be ashamed of. Do you deny your part in the escape of that madman?”

Lavinia kept her thoughts from showing on her face. The question had frightened her. How much was known about Jack’s escape? Was it known that Morlais had conspired with them to allow Jack to get away? That could be a disaster. If they were not successful in clearing Jack’s name with evidence found in St. Girons, there was no possibility of David escaping prosecution if Morlais were replaced. And it was possible that Mauriri and Colin would also be in danger of being charged.

“My part?” repeated Mrs. Russell, visibly squaring her shoulders. She sent Madam Ivy an apologetic look and took a deep breath. “If what you are asking is did I come into town last night and warn the authorities that they were likely to find themselves under attack by a mob of drunken half-wits then no, I do not deny my part. Nor am I ashamed of what I did.”

“That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Mrs. Titchmarsh shrilly. “Those gentlemen are all upstanding members of this community. They simply wanted to see justice done. It was clear the French were not properly motivated. That stupid man didn’t even have sense enough to put a guard out the monster’s cell.”

Lavinia breathed a small sigh of relief.

“How dare you, an outsider, think you know what is best for this community. Thanks to you that savage escaped. A madman, a monster. None of us will be safe in our beds with a devil like that running around loose. Heaven knows what he might be capable of!” shrieked Mrs. Titchmarsh, her large hand clutching her silk clad bosom.

Silently Lavinia cursed the woman. It was so horribly unfair that that woman would pass judgment on Jack. Haunted and ragged he might be but in Lavinia’s opinion he was far more of a gentleman that Mrs. Titchmarsh’s overbearing husband; a man the barmaids never turned their back on once he’d had a few drinks.

Mrs. Titchmarsh glanced briefly at Lavinia. The woman blinked, as if startled to find Lavinia looking her directly in the eye. She returned her hard stare to Mrs. Russell and continued, “Why you have no more sense than that idiotic goddaughter of yours! At least she has enough shame to not show her face among decent people. You, madam, were accepted at the very heart of our community but you are nothing but – but a snake in the grass. It is clear you have sought your own level.”

“I’d like to think so;” responded Mrs. Russell sharply. “It is a great comfort to be among those who understand the meaning of civilized behavior and the rule of law.”

It took Mrs. Titchmarsh a moment to realize she had been insulted. Once she had her face grew purple, almost matching her dress. She turned away abruptly, her heavy skirts stirring up a cloud of dust.

“Really,” she declared then said to her companion. “Come along, Elizabeth.”

Madam Ivy hesitated and then said softly but very firmly, “I will be right along, Mrs. Titchmarsh, please do go on ahead.”

Lavinia had no experience with English aristocrats. However she had no difficulty recognizing that Mrs. Titchmarsh had been dismissed.

Mrs. Titchmarsh, her face still mottled, marched away. She stopped several times and looked back over her shoulder.

“Madam Ivy, I do so regret this unfortunate encounter,” said Mrs. Russell softly.

Madam Ivy smiled rather nervously. She said, “Mrs. Russell, I wanted you to know that my husband was not among the mob. He was home with me when one of the soldiers came to tell him what was happening and he went immediately to lend Morlais support.”

“I am very glad to know that,” said Mrs. Russell pleasantly, “I have always had great respect for your husband.”

“And he for you. Please give Claire my best wishes. When she is ready for company I hope she will call on me.”

It was quite a gesture on Madam Ivy’s part. Her own standing in the community was unassailable.

By extending an invitation to Claire she had effectively told Mrs. Russell that she had not accepted Tom Bradford’s harsh judgment of Claire’s actions. Lavinia wondered if she would still feel so kindly towards Claire when she knew that instead of hiding at home Claire was tramping over the mountains with the escaped prisoner.

“You are very kind, my dear,” said Mrs. Russell, touching the younger woman’s gloved hand.

“I should go,” she said with obvious reluctance as she glanced towards the waiting Mrs. Titchmarsh. “There is a meeting at the church.”

“Yes, there is always a meeting at the church,” said Mrs. Russell with a slight smile. “Good-bye, my dear.”

“Do take care, Mrs. Russell,” said Madam Ivy as she started to turn away. She stopped and looked for the first time directly at Lavinia. Politely she said, “Please give your husband my best, Mrs. Trent. Good morning.”

Lavinia was so startled she barely managed to say good morning in response.

Mrs. Russell watched Madam Ivy rejoin Mrs. Titchmarsh. Quietly she murmured, “Well done, Elizabeth. You just took quite a step forward.” Then Mrs. Russell turned to Lavinia and said, “I am terribly sorry. That must have been most unpleasant for you.”

“It was interesting,” said Lavinia then a sparkle came into her dark eyes. “I am afraid that Mrs. Titchmarsh is doomed to disappointment.”

“Disappointment? Why do you say that?” asked Mrs. Russell, cocking her head in puzzlement.

“I’m quite sure she is perfectly safe from Cannibal Jack,” she paused for a second and then continued, “in her bed.”

Mrs. Russell made a very strange sound. At first Lavinia thought she was choking, and then she feared she was crying. It took her a moment to realize Mrs. Russell was laughing.

***

They were all dirty and tired when David stopped at the edge of a tumbling stream.

“Oh, how beautiful,” exclaimed Claire, kneeling at the edge. She took her scarf from around her neck. She dipped it into the cold water to wash her hot, red face.

“Yeah, beautiful,” groaned David. He ran his hands through his hair as he stood frowning at the stream.

The water cut a silver and white path through the deep green of the forest. It gushed over boulders loudly; a cooling spray drifted over them.

Jack knelt beside Claire and brought a handful of water to his mouth. He glanced up at David, saying, “I don’t suppose Lavinia packed you a rope along with the bread and cheese.”

David grimaced. “The last time I came this way was at the very end of the dry season; a trickle of water and lots of nice dry rocks. We just walked across, didn’t even get our feet wet.”

“I see plenty of rocks,” said Claire, gesturing towards the stream. “It can’t be more than ten feet across. It can’t be very deep as steep as it is.”

“Yeah but the current is really strong. If one fell one would be pulled downstream banging their head on rocks all the way.”

Claire came gracefully to her feet. She looked first at David and then at Jack. She put her hands on her hips and sighed deeply. “You mean if I fell. It is me you’re worried about isn’t it? If I weren’t here the two of you would have already bounded across like goats.”

Jack looked away sheepishly. David shrugged

“Well, let’s go. We can’t wait for the dry season,” said Claire far more cheerfully than she felt. The water really was moving very fast.

Neither man moved. They exchanged frowns.

“Well, come on,” said Claire impatiently. If they didn’t do this quickly she would lose her nerve. She didn’t want either of the men to know she recognized there was some danger. She had sworn she would not be a hindrance on this trip. “Nothing to worry about. Remember my dancing, Jack. Nimble as a goat.”

“Wasn’t exactly how I would describe you,” said Jack, slipping his roped soled deck shoes off his feet. “Take your boots off. You’ll get a better grip with your toes. I’ll carry your boots.”

Claire sat down and started to untie the laces of her boot. “You just want a look at my bare toes,” she said saucily.

It was a ridiculous thing to say to men who lived their lives around women who would be considered indecently covered by the standards she grew up with. Perhaps, it was because it was so unexpected, that both men laughed heartily.

Still smiling, David walked around a large tree close to them. He yanked on a heavy vine growing up the side of the tree. It took him quite a lot of effort to pull it loose. It came down with a great deal of noise to lie in a tangled heap on the forest floor.

“That’s a good idea,” acknowledged Jack, gesturing towards the vine.

“It should work. If we wind it about the tree on this side then I’ll take it across and you can use it to balance off of.”

“I’ll go across with it,” said Jack. “You know how nimble my dancing is.”

David chuckled and shook his head. Teaching Jack to dance had been one of the daftest things he had ever done. He sobered suddenly, thinking of Jack’s weakened ankle. He started to protest but changed his mind. Since Gilles’s death, people had been pushing and pulling Jack, giving him no say in anything. David could understand why he wanted, indeed needed, to risk going across the stream first.

“Make sure you hold on to it, so I can fish you out when you fall in,” said David as he securely wrapped the vine around the trunk of the tree.

“Aye-aye, Captain” said Jack with a grin. He looked at the stream. He was choosing which rocks he would use as stepping stones.

“What’s that smile for?” asked David when he noticed Claire’s face.

“Do you remember the last time I was up to my knees in rushing water?” asked Claire as she caught her boot by the heel and pulled it off.

“Sure,” answered Jack, looking back over his shoulder at her. “You and Isabelle were on the run from the miners. You rose up out of that stream like some sorceress in an old King Arthur legend.”

“The whole time we were tramping through the woods Isabelle was muttering about how riding boots were not made for hiking. When you were in Auckland the last time,” she said, glancing up at David. “She bought pairs of the best English walking boots for both of us. When I told her to be careful of Seraut, she told me to remember my boots.”

David thought, I hope she put as much thought into her own preparations — such as carrying a gun and several knives when she was with Seraut.

Jack took Claire’s boots and knotted the laces together. He hung them around his neck. His own shoes he stuffed deep into the pockets of his loose trousers. He reached down and took Claire’s hand to pull her up.

She stood on her bare toes and brushed her lips over his. “For luck.”

“Oh, I think we need a bit more luck than that,” said Jack, doing a more proper job of kissing her.

David watched the two of them with what he recognized as satisfaction. Whatever came of the gamble they’d taken in going on the run, at least ,Jack and Claire had regained much of what they had lost. He could only pray that they found the evidence they need to clear Jack, so that Claire didn’t lose him again – permanently.

If they couldn’t find the evidence to clear Jack, David would turn him over to Morlais. He would hate doing it, but he would never put Lavinia and Colin at risk. Morlais was an honorable man. He would keep his part of the bargain. If Jack went on the run, Morlais would use his office to close the bar. It helped a little, not much, that he would not have to make a choice between Jack and the Trents. Jack knew what the agreement with Morlais was. If they failed, he would willingly surrender to the lieutenant in St. Girons.

And if that happened, thought David looking at his embracing friends, Jack would die, and Claire’s gentle heart would never be whole again.

***

Tahnee had been sent to find Michael, and ask him to come back to the house for lunch. She called out to him, but got no response. Frowning, she scrambled down the path and ran towards him, her bare feet leaving delicate prints in the sand.

“Go away!” shouted Michael, without looking at her.

Tahnee stopped several feet from him. In a way, she had known Michael all her life, because they had gone to the small church together. But truly, she didn’t know him well at all. She was seven; he was eleven. That alone created a huge gap between them. He was white and she was Polynesian. And most importantly, he was a boy, who was on occasion willing to entertain her little brother when their mother had brought them out to the plantation to meet with Mrs. Bradford on church business, but he certainly wasn’t going to spend time with her. Tahnee had never minded that Michael had ignored her on those visits; she had friends of her own among the children of the plantation workers.

Today, he couldn’t ignore her. His mother had asked her to bring him back for lunch. His mother was so very sad because poor Gilles Bradford was dead. Even if Michael was a white boy who lived in a big house, it wasn’t right for him not to listen to his mother.

“Everyone is waiting for you. It is time for lunch.”

“I don’t want any lunch,” responded Michael. He had a large stone in his hand. He threw it as hard as he could into the cove. It landed with a splash and disappeared into the pale turquoise water.

“Your mother said you were to come now,” insisted Tahnee. She liked Mrs. Bradford who had been her Sunday School teacher when she was very little. Now Mrs. Bradford legs hurt her too much for her to come to the church the way she use to.

Tahnee frowned. She was determined that Michael would listen to her.

“I said go away!” said Michael again. He turned and looked down on her.

Tahnee took a step backwards. At first she thought he was very angry, but then she saw the tracks of tears on his dirty cheeks. She realized he too was very sad.

Tahnee shook her head, her thick, black hair swung against her bare brown shoulders. “I can’t go back without you.”

“Then you’ll be here a long time,” snapped Michael. He leaned over and picked up another stone. He flung it with all his might into the water. Then he picked up another one.

Tahnee retreated a few more feet up the beach. She sat down with her knees drawn up. She rested her chin on them, and watched the boy throw stones into the water. The smooth surface of the cove was now covered with colliding circles.

Michael didn’t know how many stones he’d thrown. He was tired. His arm ached. He was hot; sweat was seeping down his face, it made his eyes sting. He turned around and saw the girl looking at him with her dark eyes.

“I told you to go away!” he shouted. Michael wanted to sink down into the sand and sob. He couldn’t do that with a little girl watching him. He was a man. He couldn’t shame his family by dissolving into tears.

“I can’t go back without you,” repeated Tahnee simply.

For a minute they stared at each other, then Tahnee said softly, “I’m very sorry your brother died. I liked him very much.”

“My brother didn’t die,” said Michael savagely. “My brother was killed. He was murdered.”

Tahnee nodded solemnly. She knew that Gilles Bradford had been stabbed with a knife. It was all people were talking about in the market place.

“Cannibal Jack is a monster!” screamed Michael; he kicked furiously at the dry sand. “I want to see them cut his head off.”

“No!” cried Tahnee. She jumped to her feet.

She knew that Cannibal Jack and her father’s friend Jack were the same man. She liked Jack. He told the best stories. He said they were stories his mother had told him in a far off place called Ireland. He couldn’t have killed a nice man like Gilles Bradford. Her father had agreed with her, and told her not to listen to the people in the marketplace. “No, No. You mustn’t say wicked things like that.”

“He killed my brother,” screamed Michael, “I want to see him killed.”

“But he didn’t,” declared the girl. She wished with all her heart that her father was there to talk to the angry boy. Or Uncle Colin, he was good at calming Tevaki down when he was throwing a tantrum. But they weren’t with her, and she would have to try to talk to Michael Bradford. “Jack couldn’t have killed your brother.”

“What do you know about it? You are just a little kid!”

Tahnee took a deep breath and looked into the boy’s red, dirty face. His eyes were blue, a startling bright blue.

“I know that murder is a sin, a terrible, terrible wicked sin. And I know that your brother was a nice man, a good man. Someone who would kill such a good man must be very, very wicked.”

“Yeah, like Cannibal Jack.”

“But he isn’t wicked,” insisted Tahnee, standing on her toes to shout at him.

“How could you know?” demanded the boy.

“He is my friend. He taught my little brother how to play soccer.”

Michael laughed bitterly. “He let me steer the Malahini. I thought he was my friend too. Gilles thought he was his friend.”

Michael didn’t want to remember Christmas Eve when he had felt so proud to be standing beside Cannibal Jack on the deck of the beautiful Malahini. Cannibal Jack had treated him like an equal. He had let him take the helm right there in front of his older brothers.

In the months since, even though his father had ordered him to stay away from Cannibal Jack, he had snuck down to the docks when the Malahini was in port and spent hours on the boat talking to Cannibal Jack, to the native crew, learning everything he could about sailing. His brother Gilles had been his co-conspirator. Gilles said Father was wrong about Jack but it was no use to talking to him when his mind was made up.

Gilles had known Michael wanted to be a sailor more than anything in world. He had been happy to have him tag along. He’d encouraged him to talk to Cannibal Jack, saying Jack was a capital sailor. At first Cannibal Jack had stayed busy. He hadn’t been unkind but he’d answered Michael’s questions with very few words. As time went on his answers became longer, he showed Michael how to tie knots and explained how the sextant worked.

At home when his father would ask where he had been all day Gilles would answer for him. He’d say they had taken a ride, had some lunch and done a little work with Henri Seraut on the ledgers for the business. All of which was true. Gilles would leave out how most of Michael’s day was spent on the Malahini with the crew. When their father turned away Gilles would wink at Michael.

Gilles would never wink at him again, thought Michael miserably. Father had been right all along and Gilles had died because he trusted the wrong man.

“He is nobody’s friend,” growled the boy, balling his hands into fists. “He’s a monster!”

Tahnee eyed him uneasily. “My papa says that there has been a mistake.”

“He’s wrong. They caught him but now he has escaped and he will probably kill other people. I heard your Uncle David is with him,” sneered Michael. “He’ll probably stab him in the heart.”

“No, no,” cried Tahnee, shaking her head. She was afraid she was going to start to cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of the boy. She didn’t believe him. Jack wouldn’t kill Uncle David, they were friends. Who was this stupid boy to say that her papa was wrong?

“You are wrong! You and your father are wrong! Uncle Jack is a good man!” In her anger she forgot her English and shouted at him in Tahitian. She used the Tahitian word for uncle, claiming Jack as a member of her family.

Michael blinked his blue eyes. He understood her. His nursery maids had all spoken Tahitian and he spoke it as easily as English. It was her fury that took him by surprise. Michael was only eleven but he was savvy enough to recognize conviction when he heard it. Tahnee had no doubts about Cannibal Jack’s innocence. To his chagrin he realized he did have doubts about his guilt. He didn’t want the man who had patiently taught him the names of all the sails on a schooner to have killed his brother. His doubt made him feel disloyal to his brother, to his own father’s conviction that Cannibal Jack was the murderer.

“You are nothing but a silly little girl,” raged Michael in Tahitian. “Now go away!”

Tears were spilling out of Tahnee’s large dark eyes. She wasn’t used to arguments. Still she was determined to stand her ground. She crossed her slender arms and glared up at the boy.

Michael knew that the little girl was fighting tears. It was not his nature to be deliberately hurtful. It was just that he was so angry he felt as if he would explode. His brother Gilles would never be so cruel. Gilles never made anyone cry, he made them laugh. Just yesterday Michael had vowed to be like his brother but already he had broken the vow.

“I cannot go back to the house without you,” said Tahnee carefully in English. “I promised your mother I would bring you in for lunch. Your mother is very sad and she wants you to eat. You are a very bad boy, Michael Bradford”

All the fight drained out of Michael. He felt young and lost. He could not avenge his brother. He couldn’t even manage to fully hate the man accused of killing him. His sense of failure made him blush with shame.

Suddenly Michael realized he knew what his brother Gilles would have done. He would have gone back to the house and eaten his lunch. He would have done what he could to ease Mama’s sadness.

Without a word Michael passed Tahnee and trudged wearily up the rough trail towards the plantation house.

***

David wanted to reach the nearly abandoned village of St. Martins before they stopped for the night. It had at one time been a thriving native village and the missionaries had built their first church there. In recent years, the villagers had started to move down the mountain to be closer to the sea. A fair-sized town had now grown up around the sheds where copra was collected until it was loaded on the schooners to be taken for processing. The mission church had been moved to the seaside town and named St. Girons.

It was nearly dark when they stumbled, tired and hungry, into what was left of St. Martins. An elderly man came out of the house to greet them. He was quite short, dressed only in a loincloth. His weathered skin was covered in elaborate tattoos. Behind him, his wife peeked out of the doorway to their home.

The man bowed to Claire and said “Hello? Bonjour?”

Claire, now bleary eyed with fatigue, ran her hand over her tangled hair. She struggled to straighten her shoulders and responded politely by saying, “Good evening.”

The little man then said something in rapid Tahitian. Jack answered him slowly in the same language. Jack turned to David and said, “I think he’s offering to share their dinner with us.”

“Are you sure it’s not to have us for his dinner?” asked David as he let the pack slip from his shoulders. “Tell him, we accept. You two, wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes. And, Jack, put that leg of yours up. I don’t want to be carrying you the rest of the way.”

Jack nodded. He knew it was good advice; his ankle felt like it was on fire.

Claire watched David as he walked towards the ruin of the church. “Where is he going?”

Turning away from accepting the dinner invitation, Jack said gravely, “Father Paul is buried up there. I suppose David is paying his respects.”

“Father Paul,” repeated Claire with a slight, thoughtful frown wrinkling her forehead. “He was the priest who was killed by pirates robbing the church. I remember Colin talking about him. It happened, I think the day I arrived in Tahiti.”

“That’s right. Mauriri says David blames himself for Father Paul’s death because they arrived here too late to save him.”

Claire looked at Jack. She knew he was thinking of Gilles, blaming himself for not being able to save him. Then she felt a light touch on her arm.

An old woman was standing beside her. “Lady, come, wash, yes?”

Claire was reluctant to leave Jack with his thoughts but he told her to go, she mustn’t hurt the old woman’s feelings. For the next hour Claire sat in the hut and let the old woman fuss over her. She was particularly interested in Claire’s long, light hair; she unplaited it and ran her fingers through it.

The attention reminded Claire of her godmother. She wondered if Mrs. Russell was still with Lavinia and Colin. She hoped that she was. She didn’t see any way that Tom Bradford and Seraut wouldn’t know she was the one who had raised the alarm. Mr. Bradford had been so horrible, so out of control really, at the funeral that it was hard to know what he might do now. Claire didn’t think she was being fanciful to fear that he might take his frustration out on Mrs. Russell.

Well, she thought, I have Lavinia’s promise that she will look out for Mrs. Russell and I know I can trust to her to do so.

It occurred to Claire that Mrs. Russell was about to find herself in a very unfamiliar position. At least some in the colonial community and they were likely to be the most vocal would take great exception to what she had done. Mrs. Russell might well be shunned.

Knowing her as she did Claire wasn’t surprised that Mrs. Russell had acted dramatically to stop the mob. She had always been a woman of high principles but they had always been the traditionally accepted principles. The only unconventional position Claire ever remembered her godmother taking concerned women’s rights. Women’s rights in England were gaining adherents to the point where calls for reform would soon, Claire hoped, be considered mainstream.

Claire smiled as she remembered how incredulous Jack had been when David told him what Mrs. Russell had done for him. If only they knew each other better she thought. I really must do something so –she stopped the thought there. First the truth must be found out about Gilles’s death. Then she could think about the future.

After dinner David gave the old man rolls of tobacco as thanks. The three of them were shown to the small empty house that the priest had lived in when the mission was active.

Well fed and almost clean Claire settled gratefully onto her blanket. She rested her head against the soft woven wall. Jack sat beside her Moonlight filtered through the ruined roof, it played over their faces.

We had a day , thought Claire as she looked at Jack, a whole perfect day, when we talked about anything we wanted, when I could touch him anytime I wanted. It wasn’t enough. I want a lifetime. And we can have that if only we can solve the mystery of who killed Gilles

David was pacing the floor, sipping tea out of an ancient tin cup. “You know, Jack, I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning. It makes me all the more sure that Seraut was the only one who had anything to gain by Gilles’s death and perhaps a great deal to lose if Gilles made it back to Matavai.

Claire looked up at David, frowning. They hadn’t talked about the murder all day, at least not to her. She was about to complain when she realize that the perfect day she and Jack had shared would not have been perfect if they had been discussing the murder of her friend.

“Explain, please,” she said with careful politeness. She appreciated their consideration for her feelings but she wanted to help.

“Um,” said David, caught slightly off guard. “Well, Jack was saying that Gilles was taking a lot more interest in the business recently. And we thought maybe, well, maybe he had stumbled upon something Seraut didn’t want him to know.”

“Something illegal? Something he might tell, well, say, his father about.”

“Exactly.”

“You really are sure, aren’t you, David, that Henri Seraut is a villain, a crook, perhaps a murderer?”

“I am,” answered David flatly.

Absently Claire rubbed her hands together. Why? Why was he so positive? Surely she knew Seraut better than David did. She had certainly spent more time with him; all those meals at the Bradford house. She knew he was clever at least at business which was all he appeared to care about. No, that wasn’t completely true. He knew a great deal about music and wine, she’d heard him talk about wine. Truthfully she hadn’t paid a lot of attention to him. He was dull compared to Gilles.

Claire looked up again at David. He had never liked Seraut. Did that mean he was a good judge of character or just jealous because Seraut had always been interested in Isabelle? David was clever. He didn’t always pay attention but when he did no one was better at figuring things out than David. Perhaps that was because he was such a good schemer.

A good judge of character, no, the evidence was against it, thought Claire remembering how completely taken in David had been by Jenny. Lavinia hadn’t been taken in by Jenny and she didn’t trust Seraut but she had past history with his family which wasn’t good. It was Isabelle who was the best judge of Seraut. She knew him and she liked him. Isabelle believed he was guilty. That was a better reason for believing it than David’s gut; however Claire wouldn’t tell David so.

“Let’s go through the day of the murder again,” said David, still pacing. He’d been thinking about Isabelle too, thinking that she was sure to go through with the plan to get close to Seraut. Since he could do nothing to stop her he wanted to stop thinking about it.

“A – maybe, that’s not –” responded Jack, glancing at Claire. It was one thing to talk about Seraut’s guilt and quite another to go through that day hour by hour.

“Jack, I want to hear everything,” said Claire quickly.

She reached out and took Jack’s hand in hers as she said, “We can’t solve the crime if we don’t examine what happened. I want to know for Gilles’s sake as well as yours. I owe it to him and his family. Tell me first about St. Girons. I’ve never been there.”

David shrugged his wide shoulders. “It isn’t much different than any other copra collection point. It is a big village. There is the church; I don’t know the new priest. There is a trading post, a small inn run by a –well, I know he is from South America.”

“I’m fairly sure he is Brazilian, he speaks Portuguese,” offered Jack and then he continued the description of the town. “There isn’t much else, except the sheds for the copra and the native houses. The chief has a fairly big complex, three or four houses and pavilions with a woven fence around the whole place.”

Tightening her grip on his hand, Claire asked Jack, “When did you last see Gilles alive?”

Jack twisted his generous mouth into a grimace and looked down at the dirt floor. He wanted to know who had killed Gilles. He just didn’t want to talk to her about Gilles’s death. But it was easy to see that she wasn’t going to let it alone. What was that word? Persistent. It certainly described Claire when she was looking for answers.

“Late morning,” he answered. He took a deep breath, looked up at her and went on. “The crew had liberty until about an hour before the tide which was four or five in the afternoon. Chief Marhoya had been down on the beach with us. He invited Bradford and Seraut to have lunch with him.”

“Was that typical?” asked David. He swirled the contents of the cup and drank the last of it. “Seraut always struck me as the type to keep his distance from the natives.”

“He is. Normally when we were in St. Girons he would go to the inn and have lunch with the fellow who runs the trading post. Bradford on the other hand always visited in the village. Any place we stopped he always spent time in the village. He was a great favorite with the kids.”

“He loved that,” said Claire with a sad smile. She brushed at a tear that ran down her cheek and leaned back against the wall. “He said all he had to do was pull an Indian rubber balloon out of his pocket, blow it up and he would have a flock of children around him. It made him feel like the Pied Piper.”

The men looked at Claire. They hadn’t heard a word of complaint from her the entire day but it was clear she was exhausted. Her back was against the wall. Her head listed to the left, her long dirty hair hung limply over her shoulders. Her legs were sticking straight out in front of her. She looked like a rag doll that had been tossed away by a thoughtless child.

“But that day Seraut accepted the Chief’s invitation?”

Still watching Claire, Jack nodded in answer to David’s question.

“Why didn’t you have lunch with them?” asked Claire as she pulled her scarf from around her neck. Absently she rubbed the soft silk between her fingers.

“I ran into Fitzgerald on the beach. He said he had lost the roof off his house during the big blow; he was still working on getting it replaced. Since I had a couple of hours I offered to help.”

“That is your old shipmate who lived there with his wife and children.”

David shifted his glance between the two of them. Claire was right. She was a skilled questioner. Even suffering from fatigue, she asked relevant questions and followed up on details. But it wasn’t an inquisition such as Morlais might put a suspect through; it was more like a conversation. Jack was starting to relax and answer more naturally.

“Right,” nodded Jack, kneading the muscle of his aching leg. “His house is about a mile above the village.”

“And what did you do there?”

Jack shrugged, “We worked for an hour or so then we ate lunch, I told the kids a few stories and took a siesta.”

David stopped pacing and looked down at Jack He asked, “You told the kids stories?”

For years Jack had been the quiet man at the card table. Someone he knew as he knew other sailors in Matavai. If it hadn’t been for Claire bringing him into their circle of friends that is who he would still be for David.

“Fitz figures his kids ought to know Irish stories as well of Tahitian stories so when I’m there I tell them stories.” Jack explained slightly defensively.

He liked children, children who hadn’t been told to be afraid of him. He knew a lot of stories, without intending to he had collected a great many during his travels. But those he loved best were the old tales his mother had told him in that other lifetime

David shook his dark head slowly, saying, “You are a man of hidden talents, Jack.”

Jack laughed lowly. He went on, “After siesta I headed back down the path.”

“Where did you find Gilles?” asked Claire, determined to soldier on and hear every detail. She was glad she was so tired. It made it easier just to listen and not rush to judgment.

“About a quarter of a mile from the village.”

“On your way back to the village?” asked David abruptly. His dark eyes were puzzled. “Gilles was headed up the mountain towards you?”

“Right.”

Claire sat up straight and moved closer to Jack. “What reason would Gilles have for going up the mountain? Did he know Fitzgerald?”

“I don’t think so,” answered Jack slowly. “I don’t know why he was coming up the path, there are a few houses but they all belong to native families. I can’t think there would be anyone he knows. I guess he could have been looking for me.”

“Do you know how long,” Claire paused and looked away for a moment. “Do you know how long he had been dead when you found him?”

Jack shook his head. He knew a lot about dead bodies. In the warm air of the tropics they did not cool with death. They rotted, quickly, like fallen fruit. He knew that Gilles had not been dead long enough to grow stiff.

“How long was it from the time you last saw him alive until you found him?” asked David of Jack. He was watching Claire. She was sitting very still, looking down at her folded hands in her lap. Maybe Jack was right, maybe this was too much for her.

“Four hours, maybe four and a half,” answered Jack absently. He was staring straight ahead of him, seeing not the dark room but the sunlit path down the mountain and the body of the young man lying across it.

“Morlais told me what his sergeant learned from the chief,” said David, he was hoping they could fill in some of the blanks spaces in the story. “Gilles and Seraut went with him to his compound and had lunch; based on my experiences of eating with Marhoya that would have taken two hours or more. Then they’d have been offered a place for their siesta, probably the pavilion furthest from the main house where the children were sleeping. Just about the time the chief was waking up from his nap Seraut came out of the pavilion looking for Gilles. He wasn’t in the compound so they set off together to look for him.”

“And came up the path just in time to see me standing over him,” murmured Jack, still staring into space.

“If they were sleeping in the pavilion wouldn’t they have been in plain sight the whole time?” asked Claire, her eyes now on Jack. “Someone should have seen Gilles if he left during siesta time.”

“Maybe not,” offered David, thinking of the open layout of the chief compound. “The household would have been asleep. The pavilion probably had at least half of it blocked off by curtains. They soak them in water and the air moving through them is cooled. So if Gilles was in the far sleeping pavilion he could have gotten to the mountain path by the back gate of the compound without being seen by anyone in the main section.”

“But why would he?” asked Jack, turning to look at David. He was trying to clear his head of the vision of Gilles’s body and rejoin the discussion. “And why would the chief and Seraut search up the mountain and not in the village.”

“It might be they had already searched in the village. It wouldn’t take very long.”

“I suppose,” responded Jack, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip.

They were all quiet for several minutes. The only sounds those of the night and the soft thud of David’s footsteps. The questions they had asked had only led to more questions. Then Jack said, “You know I have never known Seraut to take a real siesta.”

“What do you mean?” asked Claire, sinking back against the wall. She was so hoping they would stumble upon the answer by this discussion but they seemed no further ahead.

“I don’t know, it is probably not important, but when was the last time you actually slept during siesta?” Jack asked, looking at David.

“You mean not counting today,” said David with a grin, remember how all three of them had collapsed on the trail during the hottest part of the day. They had slept for more than two hours.

Like most tropical towns, Matavai shut down for several hours in the afternoon. The stores closed, the government offices were emptied, and the docks were deserted. Generally, if he was in port, David spent those hours in the dim, relative cool of the tavern playing cards. Lavinia had learned that many of the sailors didn’t like napping. Since nothing else was open, it was often a crowded time in the bar. Lavinia would have preferred taking a siesta, but business was business.

Occasionally, lately, David could convince Isabelle to spend the time in a more pleasant manner; a sort of pretend nap. Jack was right; he very rarely actually slept during the day.

“I see what you mean,” said David, nodding. “Seraut isn’t the type to sleep away part of his day. But the chief told the sergeant that Seraut stayed in the compound. So, I suppose, what you’re getting at is, it is unlikely that Seraut slept soundly enough for Gilles to leave without his knowing about it.”

“Exactly.”

“So,” said Claire with a trace of excitement in her voice, “we are back to everything fitting together for Seraut to be the murderer. If Gilles could have gotten out of the compound without being seen, then they both could have left, and Seraut could have gotten back in without being seen. Could he have killed Gilles in his sleep and then carried him up the path?”

Jack and David exchanged glances while considering the question. David answered, “He’d have needed help.”

“Wasn’t Marco, Seraut’s man, with him?” asked Claire, unwilling to let go of the idea. As horrible as it was to think of Gilles being killed while he was asleep at least then he would not have been afraid. He would not have known he was being betrayed by some one he trusted.

“He was on the boat with us, which is rare in itself. But he had already gone to the inn for lunch by the time Seraut and Gilles set off with the chief for his compound.”

“What do think of him?” asked David

“Not much,” said Jack with a small shrug. “I never pay him any mind. He’s a poor sailor, always looks about half sick when the boat is under sail. Other than that, I can’t say I have any opinion of him at all.”

Claire tried to hide a yawn behind her hand as she asked. “Seraut didn’t have him with him when he first came from France with Gilles. Didn’t you bring Marco back from China months ago? How did Seraut come to hire him?”