Claire wasn’t happy with being left to cool her heels in the copra shed while the men worked their way closer to the inn. She knew that Jack was telling the truth. If she had gone with them his attention would have been divided. She also knew that it was sensible for her to stay out of the way. She had no talent for fighting as Isabelle did. She hated being useless.

She shifted her position so that she could see past the pile of drying copra. David and Jack were about halfway to the inn, making their way slowing along the side of the trading post.

She caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her head to look at the seaside door of the inn. Seraut and Isabelle were standing there. At first Claire thought they were walking very closely together then she realized that Seraut had his arm wrapped around Isabelle’s chest. The flash she’d noticed was a knife, held at Isabelle’s throat.

“No closer, Grief! Isabelle and I are leaving now! Come no closer!” shouted Seraut in his heavily accented English.

David and Jack stopped in the meager midday shade of the trading post. Claire glanced rapidly at the inn, but saw no sign of Mauriri. Seraut was backing Isabelle towards the beach. There was a small rowboat there. There was no one else around. It was siesta and the waterfront was completely deserted.

Silently she ran through the copra shed toward the beach.

In the deep shade of the overhanging tin roof Claire stopped. She was behind Seraut and Isabelle who were still backing slowly towards her. The rowboat was twenty feet away from her. She could see David and Jack. They hadn’t seen her. Mauriri burst through the door of the inn and stopped on the top step.

Claire realized that Seraut had been expecting Marco to come out of the inn. Now he was left with no one to row out to the Malahini. He couldn’t control Isabelle and do it himself. With horror, Claire saw that his best chance would be to slit Isabelle’s throat when they got to the waiting rowboat, and then try to make it to the Malahini before any of the men could catch him.

“Very good gentlemen, all you have to do is stay still.”

Claire knew there was nothing any of the men could do for Isabelle. They were too far away. But Seraut had to be stopped before he got Isabelle to the rowboat. Claire looked desperately around her. She needed a weapon. There would be an oar in the boat but how would she get it out without making any noise. She mustn’t make any noise. She was fingering the silk scarf at her neck. It was a habitual gesture. It gave her an idea.

Slowly Claire pulled the scarf off. She sank to her knees. Carefully she filled the center of the square of silk with damp sand and twisted the ends together. She rose cautiously to her feet. She knew without looking, that Jack was watching her. She hoped he was praying.

“Don’t move, Jack,” said David, barely making a sound as he watched Claire ease out from the shade of the copra shed and take a silent step towards Seraut.

“Move,” whispered Jack hoarsely, “I can’t breathe. For God’s sakes, don’t look at her.”

Isabelle had never felt so helpless in her life. She knew there was nothing David could do, even if he feared Seraut would kill her when they got to the rowboat. There was some hope he would just push her away, or maybe make her row if they let him get to the rowboat. If they rushed him he would kill her out of spite simply because he could.

She could feel the pressure of the tip of the knife against the pulse point in her neck. Her breath was short and she didn’t dare resist him, even by making it hard for him to pull her backwards. She looked at David.

There was something stupidly romantic about looking into her lover’s eyes at the moment she feared her death. Hell of a time to become romantic she thought bitterly.

“The future, it was so bright for you. I had such plans and you would have been so successful, Isabelle. All of your dreams of riches would have come true. You should have chosen more wisely, my dear,” said Seraut softly in French. “You I will mourn.”

And then Isabelle felt damp sand sting her cheek and the pressure of the knife eased. Instantly she rammed her elbow into Seraut’s midsection as hard as she could. He grunted with surprise and pain. Isabelle dropped to the ground and rolled away.

Mauriri had started to move the moment Claire raised her makeshift cosh. When he reached them he picked Seraut up like a rag doll and threw him to the ground. He pressed his heavy foot into the center of his back.

Isabelle looked around. She saw Claire huddled on the ground a few feet away. The tattered remnants of her scarf still in her hand. Isabelle scrambled to Claire.

“Are you all right?” they said together; each running anxious hands over the other.

“Claire!” Jack’s voice was loud and frightened.

Isabelle brushed the tears from Claire’s cheek and said, “Go, go to him.”

Claire ran straight into Jack’s arms. He held her face between his hands and kissed her mouth, her forehead, her eyes and her mouth again. “My God, girl, you scared the life out of me,” he said as he held her close against him.

“I – I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I swear I was going to stay put but Isabelle was in so much danger and you and David couldn’t help her and I had an idea.”

“You were brilliant. You were bloody brilliant,” he said, holding her just far enough away to see her face. He kissed her again and then picked her up so that Claire wrapped her legs around his waist.

Mauriri had only felt such a murderous rage a few times in his life. It had been building since the moment he’d heard of Gilles’s death. He didn’t care that Seraut was half his size, he wanted to put all his weight into his foot. He wanted to break the man’s spine in half. He wanted Seraut to feel pain and helplessness.

He looked up then and saw Jack and Claire wrapped tightly together. “As if he can’t get her close enough,” Mauriri said softly aloud. At least they had not become victims of Seraut’s evil as well. Mauriri took a shuddering breath and felt slightly more in control.

David had sprinted across the open ground, passing Claire as she ran towards Jack. He was looking at Isabelle and breathing hard when he stopped beside Mauriri and Seraut. Every instinct was demanding that he reach Isabelle quickly but he knew that he should be sure the danger was past.

“Where is his man?” he demanded of Mauriri.

“In the dining room, he was unconscious when I came out,” answered Mauriri, nodding towards the building. “Chin, the bartender, is holding a gun on him.”

“Good,” said David, already moving towards Isabelle.

She was walking away from him. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest. When David reached for her, she jerked away.

“What did he do to you?” he demanded, his voice shaking. He was turning back towards Seraut as he said, “That son of a bitch, I’ll kill – ”

“No!” she cried. “No, don’t touch him. He knows too much!”

David stopped and looked at her. She was extremely still. Her eyes were closed. There was blood trickling from a cut on her neck.

“Knows what?”

She swallowed hard and opened her eyes. “The Devil, Jenny.”

“What? He can’t be –”

“He works for him. He knew Jenny. You were right all along; the Devil wasn’t finished with us.”

David glanced at Seraut. He was helpless, silent, under Mauriri’s heavy foot. Seraut could have the answers to the questions that had plagued him for months. David took a step towards him. Then he looked back at Isabelle.

She was pale. Her fingers were touching the cut gingerly. It had stopped bleeding; it was no more than a scratch. But it showed how close she had come to dying.

David took a step towards her. He reached out and lifted her thick hair from her neck. Carefully he pulled her against his chest and held her there.

Behind him he heard Morlais demanding explanations from Mauriri.

***

David wrapped his fingers around the wheel of the Malahini and smiled. It was good to be back at sea even if it was only for the short sail from St. Giron to Matavai. Mauriri and Morlais had taken Seraut back to Matavai on the Rattler. They left immediately after Seraut and his man had been apprehended. The idea was that they would let Tom Bradford, and anyone else interested in Gilles Bradford’s murder, know that the crime had been solved, and that Jack’s only involvement was bad timing. In Matavai, that meant the entire white community.

The new crew of the Malahini had protested their innocence, but David, Mauriri, and Jack had found it just plain strange that they knew none of them when they knew so many sailors in the South Seas. Morlais had shrugged saying he had no reason to hold those sailors. David, sure of the connection to the Devil had protested but the men simply left the Malahini without a word and seemed to melt into the jungle above the village. .

The Malahini was a larger, heavier ship than the Rattler. She would have been a challenge for David, Jack and Isabelle to handle on their own, especially as worn out as they all felt. Chief Marhoya, chagrined at the part he and his grandson had unwittingly played in Gilles Bradford’s death and Jack’s mistaken arrest, sent two of his sons along with them to help with the sails.

David glanced up at the billowing sails, pleased by the bright blue sky beyond. On the roof of the cabin, Isabelle and Claire were sitting together. Claire had fallen asleep the minute they left port and, except to help with the sails, Isabelle hadn’t left her side. The sight of the two of them together, too, made David happy; they were safe, everyone was safe. For the moment, they had beaten the Devil.

Jack spent the first hour they were at the sea going over every inch of the Malahini. Now with David at the helm, he was leaning against rail. He, too, was looking at the women but he wasn’t smiling.

David narrowed his green eyes. “You know, for a man who is going to keep his head, you don’t look very happy. Don’t you trust Morlais?”

“I do,” said Jack with a shrug of his broad shoulders. He spoke slowly, almost absently as if it was only of marginal interest to him. “He’ll convince Bradford and the rest that Seraut is the murderer. I might be more worried if Seraut were a likeable fellow.”

“I see what you mean. No one is likely to step forward and defend him are they, given the evidence we have against him?”

“No, not likely.”

David checked the sails and adjusted the wheel slightly. When he glanced back at Jack he noticed he was still looking at Claire. It bothered David that, instead of smiling, Jack looked sad.

“You aren’t about to do something really stupid, are you?” asked David. He wasn’t sure why he asked, except that he was vaguely aware of having seen the same look on Jack’s face the day he’d originally broken off his relationship with Claire.

Jack laughed without mirth. “You will probably think so, but what I’m doing is what I should have done in the first place.”

“Which is?”

“Which is to be honest with her; talk to Claire about,” he paused to consider the next word, “about the reality of our situation.”

”Which is?” repeated David apprehensively.

Jack took a deep breath. “That I will always be her friend but nothing more; the truth. All the things I should have said to her in the first place; things I knew even without Mrs. Russell’s prompting.”

“Isabelle is right,” growled David, glaring at Jack. “You are an idiot. I don’t know why we bothered proving your innocence if you’re going to throw it all away. Don’t you want to be happy, Jack?”

Jack turned his head to look at David. The corner of his wide mouth lifted in a sad smile, “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. David, when all this started I couldn’t see a way out. Even when we were on the mountain I thought it was just a respite, you know. I thought when we met Morlais in St. Girons he would take me back to Matavai for trial. I think, that’s why I was so easy with Claire. I was making the most of the short time I had. I could kiss her. We could talk about books the way we did in our letters. We could pretend up there on the mountain that we had nothing to fear from the future. It may not seem like it to you, but I’m grateful to have a future. That so many good, decent people would take a risk for me; I’d have never thought it possible. I don’t know how to thank you, Mauriri, Isabelle, Colin, Lavinia, Morlais –”

“And Mrs. Russell.”

David saw Jack grimace. He was sorry that he had reminded him about Mrs. Russell’s part in his escape.

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Russell.”

David looked at the sails again as he said, “I know you don’t like advice where Claire is concerned, but don’t do this now. The girl just followed you up and down a track that doesn’t deserve to be called a path, swatting bugs the whole way. She spent two nights sleeping on the ground not to mention putting her life at risk. Don’t you think she’s earned the right to decide what happiness is for herself?”

“She didn’t have to earn it,” said Jack softly. His gaze had returned to Claire. “It was always her right.”

“Then can’t you at least give things a try?”

Jack sighed with weariness. “You don’t just give things a try with a girl like Claire. You marry a girl like Claire, for better or worse. If it was for the worse it is still a bargain she would keep. Look, David, I want to be with Claire. I want to marry and have kids and believe in a future together. I think I could if I thought all it would take is hard work. I have no fears that working together we can put a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.”

“So what are you saying – that you think Claire has to be rich to be happy?”

“God, no,” groaned Jack. “Oh, I’d like to see her rich; I wouldn’t mind being rich myself. Wouldn’t you?”

David cocked his head to acknowledge that there was a certain appeal to not having to worry about where the next Rattler payment was coming from.

Jack rubbed his rough chin and struggled to put his thoughts in order. “What I’m trying to say is that, the life I want to have with Claire was lost to me years ago. The life I have to offer her, I can’t ask her to share. Claire has no way of knowing what losing her connection to her family, to Mrs. Russell would mean to her over the years. . She doesn’t know what it would be like to be shunned by the people in Matavai who think I’m a monster. They will keep thinking, I’m a monster. Proving that I didn’t kill Gilles Bradford doesn’t change the past. I don’t doubt that she would marry me and make the best of it, whatever the future brought, but I can’t ask her to do that if it means closing the door on the life she knows, on her family.”

“Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe they wouldn’t react the way you think they would.”

Jack shook his head. He could hear Mrs. Russell’s voice in his head – “I put it to you plainly, sir. Even if your intentions towards Claire are honorable, even if you intend marriage, you will ruin her life. You will doom her. Even if the two of you were to be prosperous,” said Mrs. Russell in a tone that showed how unlikely she thought this to be; “she would never be able to leave these islands. She is too loyal to leave you behind but I tell you with absolute certainly you would not be received in the homes of herfamily. You may think that you can leave your past behind but such a thing will always follow you.”

“I can’t ask her to take that chance,” said Jack bluntly. Looking at David he could see that he didn’t understand.

Jack was so tired he doubted he could explain himself any better. For him the ordeal had started the moment he was discovered standing over Gilles Bradford’s body. He’d been beaten, half starved and scared out of his wits before they had begun the difficult hike over the mountain. It had been nearly a week since he had had any real rest. The ghosts of his past were restless, teasing him with what he might have had if there had never been the shipwreck. He could not quiet them.

David’s expression was something between anger and pity. Jack thought he might deserve the anger but he didn’t want the pity. What he wanted was for David to understand and so he tried again, “Do you remember when you first met William Reed?”

David had been checking the sails. Jack’s question took him by surprise. “Sure.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to discover whether or not he was Isabelle’s brother. Why?”

“Well, she’d spent years thinking she was alone in the world. William,” David paused and twisted his lips at Jack in annoyance. “William gave her a connection to her past. Okay, I see your point but I still say it is Claire’s decision to make.”

“And my responsibility that she thinks it all through before she does something that she can’t take back.”

Isabelle and Claire climbed off the roof of the cabin. Isabelle started walking towards the stern where the men were. Claire waited by the cabin. She was looking at Jack, smiling, waiting.

Jack pushed himself off the rail with a sigh. “You know something strange, David?”

“What’s that?”

“The other day, when we were tramping up and down that track, swatting bugs and sleeping on the ground was the best day of my life.”

Jack and Isabelle passed each other at mid ship. Isabelle turned back to watch him limp slowly towards Claire. Frowning she approached David at the helm saying, “He looks dreadful.”

“That’s how a man looks when he is about to cut his own throat.”

For a second Isabelle looked puzzled, then her light eyes went wide and she started towards Jack saying, “That bloody idiot!”

David, one hand on the helm, reached out his long arm and caught Isabelle around the waist. He pulled her between his body and the wheel.

“Let me go!” demanded Isabelle, squirming to get away.

“No.”

“I have to stop him.”

“You can’t,” said David sharply, more sharply than he intended. He didn’t want to see Jack’s point, but he did. He had no trouble remembering the joy on Isabelle’s face when she realized her brother was alive. “Jack believes that what he is doing is the right thing for Claire. He isn’t going to listen to you, anymore than he listened to me.”

“But Claire can finally see some possibility of happiness glimmering at the end of all of this. You want me to stand here and let Jack destroy that glimmer without a fight?”

“I want you to let Claire fight her own battle. If they are going to have a future they have to find their own way to it.”

“Does he have to do it now?” demanded Isabelle. She watched as Jack neared Claire. They were standing on the starboard side; Claire uncertain of her footing had her fingers tangled in the rigging. She was smiling.

“He thinks he does. He is afraid he’ll lose his nerve if he waits,” said David sadly.

They were less than an hour out of Matavai Bay. Uneasy and reluctant to look at her, Jack mumbled, “Claire, you have to think about the future. Look, it might be that people will think you were with Morlais and Mauriri on the Rattler the whole time. If you wrote up Seraut’s capture and, well, why he did what he did for the paper you could say you were just along as a reporter. A lot of people will think you very brave and clever. No one would have to know you were with David and me.”

“Yes, I suppose that I will write it up for the paper. After all as crass as it sounds Gilles’s murder was news and so the story behind it certainly is news.” Claire took a deep breath and blew it out with a shudder. “I suppose in a way I have a responsibility to write about it. But why should I pretend that I was on the Rattler?”

Jack looked up at the sails, bellied with the wind. He shrugged his powerful shoulders. “It is just that it sounds more respectable. Morlais is an official; Mauriri is a married man, well thought of.”

“Whereas you and David are a pair of –” said Claire with a lifted eyebrow. She was challenging him to supply a word, she meant it in fun but Jack still wasn’t looking at her. Her smile faded.

“Jack, it is sweet of you to think of my reputation but it really doesn’t matter anymore. Anyone who is going to judge us already has. The whole town, probably the whole island, has heard about my kissing you on the wharf.”

“There has to be some way to explain that away,” he said, finally looking at her. “We’re old friends; you were just glad to see me alive. After all you didn’t know about Gilles then. You’ve worked so hard I don’t want you to lose –”

Claire understood then what he was really talking about. “Jamison Jackson McGonnigal, do you have some idiotic notion in your thick head that we are not going to be together in the future. Is that what all this concern about my reputation is about?”

Her brown eyes were bright with indignation. She had her hands on her hips and her chin thrust up at him.

“There you go again, using my name as if it is some sort of spell you can cast over me and I’ll do what you want.”

“Is it working?” Her question was only half in jest. Claire had noticed in the past that she could get Jack’s attention, make him think about something he wanted to avoid, if she used the long impressive name his mother had given him. The name only she had called him by since his mother’s death.

Jack laughed lowly and shook his head. “It might if this weren’t so important. I know I was a coward that day when I didn’t tell you why I wanted to stop seeing you. But I knew you would give me that very look and I’d forget how important it is for you to get on with your life. The life you are building for yourself. I suppose I knew even then that there was a chance Gilles Bradford would court you but it would be your choice to accept him or not. Please try to understand that I just wanted you to have the opportunities you’ve earned. You said that I made you doubt your own heart. My God, Claire, that was the last thing I wanted to do. It never occurred to me that what I said or did could have that deep an effect on you. Honestly, Claire, I thought you would just get angry and forget me.”

“So you are saying that you would have forgotten me.”

“In a couple of thousand years, maybe. Look, I’m trying to do right by you. I’m being as honest as I can be. I love you. Don’t fight me so when all I want to do is what is best for you,” Jack pleaded in frustration.

“What’s best for me?” she shrieked. She threw out her arm in a wild gesture. The deck was slippery with spray and she lost her balance.

Jack caught her around the waist and set her back on her feet.

Claire, her dignity somewhat bruised, continued in a slightly more constrained manner, “You think what’s best for me is pretending we don’t know each other? Jack, people who love each other don’t just walk away from each other because some narrow minded busybodies might refuse to buy a newspaper.”

“I think,” he paused, biting his lower lip. “What’s best for you is for you to get on with your life without having a millstone hung round your neck.”

“A millstone!” shouted Claire. “Honestly, Jack, if you don’t start talking sense we will have a donnybrook. I may just have to push you into the sea.”

The idea that she would or could push him over side broke the tension between them. Jack glanced over his shoulder at the deep blue water the Malahini was sailing through. He feigned terror which made her laugh in spite of herself. He slid his arm around her and settled her comfortably with her back against his chest. Resting his cheek against her hair they stood for several minutes looking forward with the wind in their faces.

Claire pulled his arms around her more tightly and wrapped her fingers around his hands. All she wanted to do was stand there with him and enjoy the freedom of being on the ship. God only knew what they would face in Matavai

“Was she wrong then?” Jack asked without preamble. He hated to spoil the moment; he could feel how happy she was, how content. He would like to wait until they had both had a good night’s sleep and a proper meal before they talked about the future. But they had to settle this before they got back to Matavai. No good would come out of Claire looking forward to a future that could not work out. She had to accept that there could be nothing between them but friendship and she had to understand why. He wouldn’t take a chance on her thinking it was because he didn’t want her.

“What?” asked Claire, twisting to look at him. She thought they were finished talking.

“Mrs. Russell. Did she lie to me then?”

Claire frowned and looked away. She stepped out of his embrace and caught hold of the rigging to keep her balance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” said Jack solemnly. He waited until she was looking at him before he started speaking again. “Would I be welcome in your aunt’s home? Or how about that uncle you are so fond of? What would he think of you marrying a man called Cannibal Jack? Would our children be invited to play with his grandchildren?”

Claire felt her cheeks grow warm. She wished she could blame the wind but she knew it was embarrassment. He was right. Her mother’s side of the family would shun her if she married a man of Jack’s reputation. Her uncle and his sons might be more accepting. They were all newspaper men and had seen something of the world. Still she couldn’t say they would be pleased for her and their wives would not even try to understand.

“But, Jack, none of that matters,” she said with certainty. When their relationship had taken a serious turn before Mrs. Russell’s arrival on Tahiti, Claire had accepted she would have to choose between her family and Jack. She had been ready to choose Jack then; she was even more committed now. “We live here where people are more sensible.”

“So you would never want to go home?” he asked, his searching gaze never leaving her face .He knew a lot about her family. She had written about them quite freely. Her aunt was a formidable woman who ruled her family with an iron fist. Claire could never please the woman. She was furious with Claire for coming to Tahiti. Claire had said her aunt would have liked nothing better than having her fail in her life in Tahiti.

Jack had a bad feeling marrying Cannibal Jack would be just that –a failure, no matter what sort of life they had. He also knew Claire was very fond of all her cousins. She looked forward to their letters and sent little presents to their children on their birthdays. She might not miss her aunt but it would hurt her if the woman insisted her daughters spurn Claire. “Not even for a visit?”

“Not if they couldn’t accept us as the people we are,” declared Claire stoutly. “I don’t need family like that.”

“Don’t say that,” said Jack softly. “Please.”

Claire had warmed to her subject. She launched into the argument she had long since prepared for anyone who objected to the two of them being together. “I’m serious. If Aunt Harriet wants to turn my picture to the wall then so be it. And if Anne and Elizabeth haven’t managed to learn to think for themselves by now –then – well I’m sorry for them. I’m not going to let their narrow minded, puritanical judgments get in our way. I don’t care if I ever hear from them –”

“Stop it!” he snapped. He was angry, his eyes were blazing, and his hands were clenched. “You don’t know what you are talking about!”

Stunned by the vehemence of his reaction, Claire took a step back and stared at him. He had stepped away from her. He’d crossed his arms tightly across his broad chest. His head was down and his shoulders were hunched. Claire tilted her head to look more closely at his face. His eyes were closed and he held his mouth in a tight line. The emotion she had seen a moment before had all been pulled within him.

We don’t know how to do this , she realized suddenly. We don’t know how to have an argument.

There had been no arguments in her home as a child. Her mother’s poor health had ruled everything. Claire’s father never raised his voice, never did anything that might upset his wife. After his death Claire had continued to try to avoid any disagreements with her mother. On the rare occasions that Claire asserted her own interests her mother would suddenly take a turn for the worse. She would with a great show of suffering bewail the fact that her child was so heartless, so selfish, when she only wanted the best for her. Guilt had kept Claire in line.

Now looking back she realized that her mother had manipulated her. Over the years Claire had learned to put herself first with more ease. She had developed a sense of self-reliance. Still harsh words literally frightened Claire. To argue with someone she cared about put her right back in her mother’s sick room. She was afraid to learn that others might also find her heartless and selfish. She knew that was why she had run away the day Jack had broken off their relationship. Claire knew no one’s words could hurt her as Jack’s could.

She thought of David and Isabelle, who constantly bickered, sometimes stopping just short of physical violence. They would stand toe-to-toe, shouting at each other, both of them fearless. How they actually ever resolved anything, Claire wasn’t entirely positive.

Colin and Lavinia also argued frequently. They were known long before their marriage for what Colin called their theological disputes though often topics had nothing to do with religion. There was nothing violent about their discussions. They would simply keep talking until they had reached some sort of resolution. It could go on for days, the argument suddenly taken up again in the middle of restocking the bar or a walk on the beach. In their way they too were fearless.

Claire looked at Jack more closely. He had turned away from her and was leaning against the side. The wind was ruffling his short brown hair. His hands were gripping the gunwale.

Claire felt a shiver run down her back in spite of the warmth of the tropical air. He had shut her out completely just as he had that awful day. She hadn’t understood then that he was protecting himself, as well as her, by shutting her out. Now she realized that Jack was hiding; he was counting on her walking away as she had before so that he wouldn’t have to face her or himself.

If they were to claim the future, she wanted so desperately to believe in, they had to learn to work through moments like this. They had to learn to trust each other and themselves. Claire took a deep breath and a step forward.

“Love?” she asked as softly as the wind would let her. She laid her hand on his arm and found his muscles taunt with tension. “What is it?”

“I’m – I’m sorry,” he said haltingly. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper. We should stop talking now.”

“No,” she said, coming closer. She pressed her back against the rail and cocked her head so that she could see his face.

He twisted away, refusing to look at her. There were so many voices in his head, some laughed at him, some pitied him. All were the voices of the dead. He had to quiet them before he could talk to her, before he could think clearly. “Please, Claire, not now.”

“Look at me, Jack. Don’t shut me out. I love you, please try to trust me. Tell me why you are so angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you,” he answered, stepping away from her. “It isn’t your fault you don’t understand.”

“Talk to me, Jack. Help me understand. I want to understand,” she pleaded, tightening her grip on his arm. “Please look at me.”

He stood very still. Then Jack turned to her slowly.

In his face Claire saw so much pain it took her breath away. She had known from his letters, from the life she observed him leading, that he was lonely. She knew that he lived with horrible memories; that he was angry he had to work so hard for the respect that others were given automatically. This was the first time that she had seen the lost boy in his eyes. She ached to pull him to her breast and somehow take the pain away.

“Everyone loses their temper now and again. There is nothing to be sorry about,” she said slowly. She placed her hand over his on the gunwale. She looked steadily into his eyes. “Just tell me what I said that upset you so much. Tell me so we can talk about it.”

Jack rubbed his hand across his mouth. He was afraid that he appeared pathetic to her. What he thought of as his nightmare life, the agony he sometimes felt when he thought of his life and its possibilities that he lost in the shipwreck, was something he kept hidden. He was so tired; he had little control of his emotions. He knew Claire was exhausted as well but she was buoyed by hope in the future. Jack could not trust that hope.

He looked at her and saw not pity in her brown eyes but confusion and love. Against all odds Claire had come to love him.

He bit his bottom lip and looked out at the water. He had to make her understand, now before she got anymore invested in their future. He spoke with great care, “You see, it is just that I’ve lost so many people in my life; my family and others that I thought of as family. I know your family isn’t perfect, maybe they aren’t even good people, but I can’t listen to you say you would cut yourself off from them for me. You have no way of knowing what it would feel like. You don’t know what it would be like to have no one to write to. You are halfway around the world but you know how many children your cousins have. I had two sisters and a brother who went to America years ago and disappeared. Maybe they all died; maybe they all had huge families. I don’t know, I’ll never know. You know about births and deaths. It isn’t something to be thrown away lightly, Claire, that connection to someone else; to someone like Mrs. Russell, who knew your father. I’ve seen a light come into your face when Mrs. Russell says something about your hands being like your father’s or how proud he would be of your work.”

Claire reached out and touched his face. Lightly she traced the line of his high cheekbone. “Oh, my darling.”

“Don’t you see,” he pleaded, turning back to look down into her eyes, “I can’t condemn you to that sort of loneliness.”

“If you and I are together, Jack, I could never be lonely.”

Jack looked up at the bright blue sky above them. When he looked at her, her voice became stronger than those of the dead. He was tempted to believe she might even be able to shut them out. “You don’t –”

“You’re right,” interrupted Claire. She wrapped her hands around his clenched fist and waited until his gaze was her face before she went on. “I don’t know what it feels like, not the way that you do. Perfect they are not, but when I was alone my family took me in. And as for Mrs. Russell, well, although I’m furious that she interfered I do know that she thought she was doing what is best for me. I do admit that losing her approval, her love will hurt. But it will not empty my heart as believing that I had lost your love did. ”

“Don’t you understand you would never be able to go into a church, even the church in Matavai on my arm without people buzzing behind your back? You’d never be respectable, Claire. God knows, how people would treat you.”

“I have some understanding of that,” said Claire steadily. She reached out and cupped her hand over his cheek. She turned his face towards her, forcing him to look down at her. “You’re right, of course; that Mrs. Russell didn’t lie to you. There is a chance, a good chance that parts of my family will not bother to know you before they judge you. And some of them I will really miss. As for other people, the people here, well, I shall just have to learn to be like Isabelle and not care what other people think. You see what Mrs. Russell didn’t understand is that life with you is so much better than life without you. I know that it is your love that I can’t be truly happy without.”

He looked down at her earnest young face. The anger had passed. He hadn’t been angry with her but at the circumstances of his life. He felt a conflict of desires; the desire to protect her and the desire to take her at her word and accept her love with all that came with it. “You will always have my love. It is just that there will come a time when it will take more than this to make you happy,” he said, leaning forward and brushing his lips over hers.

The gesture surprised them both. Jack had simply been unable to resist the urge to touch her, to lay claim to the love he saw in her face.

Briefly a silly smile replaced her serious expression. “I don’t think so,” she said as she kissed him back. Some instinct inside of Claire told her that although it was important to keep talking, to keep trying to reach an understanding; what would really reach Jack was physical closeness.

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?” she asked, frowning at him. “You love me; it is just your fate to be stuck with me forever.”

Claire thought she was reaching him. She’d spoken lightly and was disappointed to see his face go blank again.

“I know more about fate than you do,” he said flatly. “You deserve a better one than to be stuck with me. You deserve more than I will ever have to give you.”

She frowned. “It is very curious.”

“What?” he asked warily.

“That of all the men I know, the one called Cannibal Jack would be the most conventional. You sound like someone in an old novel. Queen Victoria must still have one or two grandsons available; surely, I can have my pick. I am a woman of the 20 th century, Mr. McGonnigal. I’m not going to sit around hoping that I will make an advantageous match.”

Jack flinched at her sarcasm. “I don’t expect you to sit around. I expect you to go on with the paper. You are the one being stubborn about this. You have to face facts, Claire. You need the good will of people in that town to make a success of the paper. You’ve gotten used to having dinner with the governor, haven’t you? Used to being invited to the houses of all the important people in French Polynesia; being able to write your stories with first hand information.”

She looked down at her feet. “You know that was –”

“That was because you were on Gilles’s arm. Yeah, I know. I also know they will welcome you back for your own sake but not on my arm,” he said. He fought to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Claire closed her eyes. For a second she was back at the funeral with Tom Bradford calling her a whore in front of the whole community. It was impossible to say what standing she had left in Matavai. Tahiti was far from Europe and the old ways but one thing stayed very much the same. Women were held to a higher standard. There was a chance that in spite of being the only regular newspaper on the island those she depended on for advertising revenue would refuse to do business with a woman who had become notorious. Although she desperately didn’t want to accept it, it was true Jack’s presence in her life would only make the situation more difficult.

Claire took a deep breath and resolutely put every thought about the paper out of her mind. There was nothing she could do about it now and Jack must not sense any hesitation in her.

“What kind of life would we have, Claire?” asked Jack, softly but firmly. He knew she was thinking about the paper. “I can only make a living as a sailor. I would be at sea for months at a time. I could die at sea.”

Claire had kept her eyes steadily on him but the thought of his death brought a spasm of grief. She closed her eyes. If Gilles, who had lived such a charmed life, had been killed so easily; Jack, as a sailor, led a life far more perilous.

“If you had the paper, your work, well, you could go on with it whether I was with you or not.. Without it you’d be stuck in that shack, trying to make some kind of life out of the jungle.”

“Lavinia would take me back at the bar.”

“Yeah, that’s the life I want for you,” he said harshly. “All day long on your feet, drunks pulling at your blouse.”

“The paper is hard work too, physically I mean.”

“It is work you love. It is a bad deal, Claire, to trade your family, the work you love, Mrs. Russell, for a chancy life with me.”

“Mrs. Russell was wrong. She filled your head with –”

“She filled my head with the truth. And she did it because she loves you like a daughter.”

Claire looked up at the sails. She hated that he sounded so reasonable. She knew it was an act. She thought again of the lost child look in his eyes a few minutes before. Letting her go again would tear his heart out, she was sure of that. But how was she going to convince him that his heart was as important as hers.

“Look, love,” said Claire gently as she entangled her fingers with his. “I understand that you and Mrs. Russell were trying to save me from my own romantic nature. I thought that awful day that you had broken my heart. It got better after a while. It isn’t that I was so horribly miserable when we were apart. I was looking forward to the future. I could survive without you, you know.”

“I never doubted it,” said Jack; he almost smiled. He hadn’t doubted her ability to go on with her life. He had watched her with a secret pride. He knew too that she could still survive without him.

“It is just that even with Gilles who accepted everyone as they were I never felt like I could be completely myself. I could never explain myself well enough to feel I was being understood,” she said earnestly. “You see that’s what I lost when my father died and what I found in your letters.”

“You have friends.”

“Oh, yes, I have wonderful friends. But, well, that isn’t the same. I suppose it sounds very selfish but I want, ache for, someone who, well, simply put, loves me best.”

Jack sighed deeply. . Every time he felt she was starting to understand the reality of their situation she brought it back to the same thing—all that totally unexpected love between them. He didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t think straight, he was too tired. He looked out over the blue water. A single glance at the shore told him exactly where they were along Tahiti’s coast. They were nearly back to port. If everything had gone according to the plan he could walk off the boat a free man. If something had gone wrong, well, someone might shoot him on sight.

He looked down at Claire. She was watching him with anxious brown eyes. Eyes full of love for him.

“Come here,” he said, sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him. He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Don’t you understand, Claire, you saved my very soul. After Vivi died I was drowning in loneliness. Maybe it was my own fault. Maybe if I had made a bit of an effort I would have realized I could have friends like David and Mauriri and Colin. But I didn’t know that. I thought the only way I could have a friend was to be someone else, to be the man I pretended to be in my letters to you. Your letters were my lifeline. Your friendship made my life possible again. I owe you everything good in my life. You are the best thing that ever happened to me: don’t let me be the worst that ever happened to you.”

“Jack, it is you who doesn’t understand. I could never regret loving you. Even when I thought every word between us had been a lie there was still a part of me that was so thankful that I answered that advertisement. Through you I became a part of the magical world you told me about in your letters. Don’t ask me to give it up.”

Claire molded herself to him. She snaked her arms around his waist. She felt his body respond to hers and she smiled. She didn’t care if it meant she was wanton and wicked. She would do anything to bind him to her. Anything at all she thought as she lifted her face to his kiss.

Well, thought Jack as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth, we aren’t in Matavai yet.

***

Dark had fallen by the time the ship had entered Matavai harbor. David and Mauriri had arranged a signal between them to let David know if he should bring the ship into port or sail on someplace where Jack would be safe until Seraut’s guilt had been proven to everyone satisfaction. He smiled with relief when he saw a lit lantern hung in the Rattler’s rigging. It meant Seraut was in jail and word had spread through the town that he had killed Gilles Bradford.

They made the ship fast at her mooring and lowered the long boat into the water. Jack insisted on taking the second set of oars even though David told him there was no need. He could easily row them the short distance to shore by himself. But Jack wouldn’t listen and David didn’t argue. There was a desperate quality to Jack’s behavior, a sense that he was pushing himself beyond his endurance to finish a race. In the stern of the small boat Isabelle and Claire huddled together, anxiously to be home.

Mrs. Russell stood at the railing of the tavern’s seaside porch. In the gathering darkness she saw a ship come into the bay. She didn’t know if it was the ship she was watching for, it annoyed her not to know.

Her restless fingers tapped against the railing. Lt. Morlais and Mauriri had both insisted that Claire was perfectly all right but Mrs. Russell knew she would not believe it until she saw her goddaughter for herself.

The news that Henri Seraut had killed his cousin had not taken her as much by surprise as it had others in the town. There was talk of nothing else in the tavern behind her; Cannibal Jack had been forgotten. Earlier in the day she’d started out for the plantation to offer her cousin Rachel what support she could.

She had been forestalled by a note from Rachel Bradford telling her to stay away. Tom Bradford was still reeling from the death of his son. Learning the magnitude of his nephew’s betrayal, that he who had been treated as a son, as a brother, had killed Gilles sent Bradford into despair and rage alternately. Rachel said apologetically that in his altered state Bradford placed blame on everyone including Mrs. Russell. She asked for forbearance and prayers that he would soon grow calmer and more reasonable.

Frustrated that she could be of no help to those she cared about, Mrs. Russell spent a second day in the tavern kitchen amazing the young native women with the high, light cakes and creamy frostings her frantic beating produced.

Mauriri, carrying a beer mug, walked out on to the porch. His dark eyes scanned the bay. “There they are,” he said, gesturing with the mug. “I’ll let Colin and Lavinia know if you want to go down to the beach. I imagine David will land the long boat about a hundred yards that way.”

“At last!” said the woman as she ran down the short flight of stairs to the beach.

***

Jack shipped the oars and let his chin drop to his chest for a moment. Behind him he could hear David climbing out of the long boat. There were voices calling out greetings. One of them was Mrs. Russell’s shouting for Claire.

Jack closed his eyes. He’d done his best to get Claire to listen to reason. He knew he hadn’t managed it. He couldn’t hold on to all of his reasoned arguments when she was pressing her lips to his. He would have to try again when he was rested. Maybe once she’d spent some time with her godmother she would realize the difficulties they faced. He would not let Claire become the object of a tug of war between himself and all that that woman represented.

Claire touched his hand and he looked up at her. The moon was rising and it was bright enough to see that her eyes were full of concern.

“I’m just tired,” he said, closing his fingers over hers. “Go on; let her see that you are all right. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he said, squeezing her fingers and then letting go.

As he struggled to get out of the long boat he heard Isabelle and David peppering Mauriri with questions about Seraut, Bradford and all the rest of it. Jack supposed he should be interested but all he wanted to do was go home to his simple hut. He was so weary and his ankle throbbed. It buckled beneath him as he stepped onto the sand.

A hand grabbed his elbow to steady him. “You look knackered, Jack,” said Colin softly.

“I am,” admitted Jack, straightening up. He looked around and saw Claire being fussed over by Mrs. Russell and Lavinia. He heard her say something about a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

“Can I get you something?” asked Colin. “There is plenty to choose from in the kitchen.”

“No, thank you,” answered Jack, shaking his head. “I’m just glad it’s over. It is over, isn’t it?”

“Yes, you’re in the clear, thank God. Don’t let me keep you from your rest but if you wake up hungry come to us anytime.”

“Thank you,” said Jack sincerely. With a last look at Claire he turned to limp home.

“Mr. McGonnigal, might I have a word?”

Her voice went through him like a spear; pinning him in place.

I can’t , he thought. I can’t listen to her now. I’ve brought Claire back to her, isn’t that enough? What more does she want?

Then he remembered David telling him that Mrs. Russell had been instrumental in his escape .No doubt she expected his thanks. If he weren’t so tired he knew he would take a perverse pleasure in the irony that this woman who might as well be taking his life by taking Claire away from him would have saved his life.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Slowly he turned back to look at her. “Certainly, Mrs. Russell.”

“I hope you suffered no irreparable harm from this ordeal,” she said formally.

“No, ma’am. I’m quite fit,” he answered, wondering as he said the word if he had ever told a more obvious lie.

“I’m sure that you must need rest,” she said solicitously. “Claire says she is very tired. You must be as well.”

Jack simply looked at her. He was trying to form a sentence of thanks for her part in his escape.

“Mrs. Trent and I thought perhaps tomorrow evening,” she said with a brief, almost nervous smile, “once you had had time to rest we might all gather for a meal, a sort of thanksgiving meal now that this horrible situation has been resolved. Colin thought you might enjoy some traditional food, that is traditional in the part of the world we’re from.”

Jack blinked his tired eyes. What is the woman nattering on about? If she is going to tell me to go to hell why doesn’t she just get on with it?

“We’ve managed to get hold of a lovely roast of beef and I thought perhaps a Yorkshire pudding, if you care for such things.”

Claire, realizing her Godmother had stopped Jack and was talking with him, took a step towards them. She had hoped to have a few moments of calm with Mrs. Russell before matters of the future would need to be discussed. If Mrs. Russell was going to force the issue Claire was prepared to go home with Jack that very minute.

“Wait,” said Lavinia softly, putting her arm around Claire’s shoulders and drawing her back

Mrs. Russell looked at the man standing in front of her. Even in the moonlight she could see that he was exhausted. He was staring back at her with confusion as if she was speaking a language he didn’t understand. She should have waited to speak with him; nerves had clouded her judgment.

Behind her the others had grown quiet. She couldn’t blame his friends for wanting to hear what she would say to him. There was no graceful way to walk away now. She would have to carry on.

“Of course I understand completely if you would prefer that I was not present. Sharing a meal such as this one is for family and friends. But I do hope that you will allow me to apologize to you now in front of your friends.”

For Claire’s sake he gathered what strength he had left and tried to concentrate on what Mrs. Russell was saying. His eyes narrowed as he said wearily, “You don’t owe me any apology, ma’am, in fact I understand I owe you a vote of thanks.”

A faint smile softened her expression, “I’m getting entirely too much credit for taking a ride in the moonlight. My reasons for warning the lieutenant had little to do with you at the time I’m afraid. But I am happy that it all worked out as it did. Perhaps you think that I am trying to apologize for believing that you killed poor Gilles.”

“You were in good company believing that.”

“No,” she shook her head; she was twisting her thin hands together. “I wasn’t. But I have been in good company the last few days.”

Mrs. Russell looked at Claire for a moment. Then she turned back to Jack and said quite firmly, “Mr. McGonnigal I was wrong the day I asked to you stop seeing Claire. I treated Claire like a school room miss and you like a savage. I love Claire as though she were my own child; I hope that you understand that. When I came here and found her living a life so different from anything I knew I panicked. I should have trusted Claire but instead I listened to others I suppose because what they said was comfortable for me. Claire assured me I would like you if I got to know you. But I didn’t get to know you. I judged how you had behaved under the most desperate circumstance based on my own lack of experience. I judged you for what others told me you were. It was a horrible lapse of good judgment on my part. These last few days I’ve spent with Claire’s friends, with your friends, I’ve learned who you are. I am profoundly sorry that my interference caused Claire and you such pain. I certainly understand if my company is distasteful to you for I have been most unfair to you and to Claire.”

She could not read Jack’s expression. If he rejected her apology as he, as Claire, had every right to do she knew she would lose Claire. To lose Claire’s love, her place in her life, would be like losing one of her sons. And it all rested on this tired, haunted man’s ability to forgive.

The silence went on for a long time. None of the others said anything. Jack was looking her directly in the eyes. Mrs. Russell felt awkward and exposed; it was a penance she knew she deserved.

Finally Jack spoke in his low musical voice; his words took them all by surprise. All but Claire who understood completely what he was saying, what he giving.

“Yorkshire Pudding you say. I haven’t had Yorkshire Pudding since I was boy. Well, then, I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow evening. Thank you.” And then he smiled.

It was the first time Mrs. Russell had had an unguarded smile from Jack, a flash of surprisingly even white teeth, deep dimples etched into his cheeks and a warm light in his eyes.

My soul, thought Mrs. Russell, experiencing a flutter in her chest she hadn’t felt in years, no wonder she can’t resist him.

From the beach they walked back to the bar. Claire looked over her shoulder several times to watch Jack walking in the opposite direction towards his shack. Although none of them said anything to Jack but good night they all realized that something rather profound had happened when they saw him smile at Mrs. Russell

Claire considered going with him, she found it difficult to let him out of her sight after all that had happened. She decided she should spend a little time with Mrs. Russell who looked as haggard as Claire felt. Claire was so tired. She stumbled once and Isabelle suggested not in fun, that Mauriri carry her for the rest of the way.

The taproom was busy. David was greeted with calls to tell the whole story. He responded by shaking his head. Read it in the newspaper he said as he winked at Claire.

Claire gave him a hesitant smile. She needed to write a story about the whole investigation and its outcome. But how was she going to be objective having been so much a part of the story?

Colin had a table set for them in the quietest corner of the busy room. The others sat down, David and Isabelle wanted to know exactly what had happened in Matavai when Mauriri and Morlais brought Seraut back in shackles. Claire stood with her hands wrapped around the back of a chair. She knew if she sat down she would fall asleep.

Mrs. Russell offered to make her anything she wanted to eat and Claire said all she wanted was a bath. Her friends laughed and Lavinia said that that was easily done. So Claire went off with Mrs. Russell and Lavnia

One of the barmaids brought their food from the kitchen and put it on the table.

Between bites of shrimp curry David asked, “Did Seraut says anything on the Rattler?”

Mauriri shook his dark head. “Not a word. He didn’t even claim he was innocent.”

”What about Marco?” asked Isabelle as she spread a thick layer of butter onto a hunk of bread. “Did you get anything out of him?”

“No. He clamed up like he didn’t understand either French or English.”

“I thought maybe Seraut would claim that Marco had killed Gilles. After all, the only eyewitness we have is the child and it was Marco who told him to lie to Gilles not Seraut.”

David sounded worried. On the Malahini they hadn’t talked much about what they had discovered concerning Seraut’s connection to the Devil. It was clear to Isabelle that David was thinking about it constantly.

“But don’t you think what Seraut said to me was as good as a confession?” asked Isabelle quickly.

“Maybe. I just don’t want to see him get away with this,” growled David. “If he does I will kill him myself.”

“I’m sure that the French will convict him as soon as they recover from their shock,” said Colin rather sternly. “You must understand that when the Rattler sailed into the bay and Sparrow was sent to Morlais’s office for a squad of soldiers that everyone here in town except for Lianni, Lavinia, Mrs. Russell and myself believed that it was Jack who would be brought off the boat in chains.”

“You wouldn’t have believed it, David,” Mauriri continuing the story. “Half the town was gathered on the beach with blood in their eyes, buzzing like a hive of angry bees by the time the soldiers had rowed out to us. Morlais put his prisoners in the middle of the long boat surrounded by the soldiers. By the time they made it to the shore the crowd was silent with their mouths hanging open.”

“What happened then?” asked Isabelle, she could easily imagine the scene Mauriri was describing. “How did Seraut seem?”

Colin looked at Mauriri and then answered. “To me he appeared just as he always has. He walked with his head up looking straight ahead. He didn’t seem frightened or even angry. It is rather impressive really to appear that unfazed to be walking in chains.”

David grimaced. He sat back in his chair and took a sip of beer. “Surely he doesn’t think he can get away with this. We have him. We have him dead to rights,” he mumbled more to himself than the others.

“By the time I got to the beach everyone was asking what the hell was going on.”

Isabelle turned away from David and looked at Mauriri before she asked, “What did you tell them?”

Mauriri gave a shrug of his heavy shoulders as if to say it was obvious what he’d said. “That Henri Seraut killed his cousin in cold blood. When they asked why I said I couldn’t tell them; that my best guess was greed. Morlais thought his job might be easier if nothing was said about what happened in St. Girons for the moment so of course everyone in town has a guess at what happened. I did tell everyone I spoke to that I was positive Cannibal Jack was absolutely innocent.”

David sat forward and put his beer mug on the table with a slight thud. “Do you think people accepted that?” he asked as he glanced around the crowded room.

“Oh yes, Jack wasn’t of interest to anyone any more. Murder within a family is far more shocking, far more interesting than an employee killing his employer even if his name is Cannibal Jack. The town has forgotten all about Jack. Now they have scandal as well of tragedy,” said Colin with a touch of disgust.

“How is Bradford taking it?” asked David. He reached for one of the bananas in the bowl in the center of the table.

“Badly, from what I’ve heard,” answered Mauriri. “Look, David, I don’t think you should worry about Seraut getting away anything. Morlais wrote his report on the way from St. Girons. He let me read it.”

“Really?” asked Isabelle her eyes wide with disbelief.

Mauriri half-smiled and said, “He wanted to be sure that he had covered every possible question that could be raised. He actually got a statement from the little boy that identifies Marco as the one who told him to tell Gilles that Jack had fallen off the roof and says that Seraut was with Gilles when he delivered the message. There is no way for Seraut to explain why he didn’t know where Gilles was after siesta except that he was lying.”

“Isabelle, can I get you another plate of curry?”

Isabelle glanced at her plate and was surprised to find it empty. She had not noticed that she was eating it. She shook her head at Colin and realized that he was trying not to stare at her neck. Without thinking about it she traced the slightly rough line of the small wound.

Colin dropped his gaze. He was sorry he had brought her attention to the wound. Mauriri had told him and Lavinia the details of what had happened in St. Girons. He wished he knew what to say to Isabelle to express their relief that she had not been badly injured.

Lavinia approached the table with a tray full of drinks.

“How is Claire?” asked Isabelle immediately, her voice a little higher and sharper than usual.

“All tucked in. She was so tired I thought she was going to fall asleep in the bath. Mrs. Russell is sitting with her. By the way, Isabelle, would Paiku be willing to take a letter out to the Bradford place? Mrs. Russell is writing to Mrs. Bradford. She wants to be sure that she is being told what is really happening.”

“I’m sure he’ll take it. You and Mrs. Russell seem quite chummy.”

Lavinia merely gave her a mysterious smile and half shrugged her shoulders. Then she walked back to the bar which was crowded with men looking towards David and Mauriri.

Isabelle turned a questioning gaze on Colin who answered her unasked question. “Lavinia admires courage and honesty, both of which Mrs. Russell has shown.”

“How does she like being a heroine?” asked David with a chuckle. “People must be pretty impressed with her taking that sort of risk for the sake of justice.”

“It depends on which people you’re talking about,” said Colin rather sadly thinking of the confrontation between Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Titchmarsh. “She has been nearly out of her mind worrying about Claire. This place is filling up. I should get back to work. Can I bring you anything? There are four kinds of cake in the kitchen.”

His friends looked at him in surprise. Occasionally some sort of traditionally European dessert was on offer in the bar but never had there been four cakes to choose from.

***

Isabelle stared at the rectangle of sky framed by her bedroom window. It gradually lightened from black to a soft pearly gray. Beside her David lay on his back. She heard his deep, even breathing. Isabelle rolled on her side and glared at him.

“Well, I guess you’re tired,” she muttered.

She wasn’t thinking of the long hike David had taken across the island but the night they’d had. It had started peaceably enough. It had been good to sit down to a delicious meal knowing her friends were all safe and that Seraut was behind bars.

After they finished eating David was anxious to get out of the bar and avoid awkward questions about what happened in St. Girons. They’d walked back to the stables. Isabelle found Paiku and sent to him to Lavinia as she had asked her to do. She’d spent a few minutes checking on her horses. She went out to the paddock behind the stables and whistled for her colt. He gamboled towards her and pressed his velvet nose into her chest. She stood for a minute with her head pressed against his forehead then she fed him a stalk of sugar cane. Afterwards she fed Dante and cleaned his stall even though the straw was clean.

David leaned against a post and watched her. She worked quickly – too quickly, David noticed to be really efficient

Finally they started up the narrow steep stairs to her rooms. They were only halfway up when David pulled her into his arms and kissed her warmly.

Strangely Isabelle’s first instinct was to draw away. She didn’t know why. She wanted to be with David but the memory of the knife at her throat held by a man she had really believed to be her friend closed in on her. How could she have been so stupid? She was already suspicious of Seraut so how could she have let her guard down enough for him to have the advantage? She knew the answer to that question. She’d had believed that because he liked her and wanted her that he would be careless around her. But how could she have been fooled all that time? How could she have worked with him and not know he was in the pay of the man who had nearly killed David?

Her resistance surprised David. He pulled her back gently. “What?” he whispered hoarsely. “What is it?”

“Nothing!” she said sharply. She threw herself at him; kissing him hard, her hands tearing at his clothes.

They were naked by the time they made it to the bedroom door. Their bodies already slick with sweat. They licked and sucked; rolled and arched across the bed until finally they broke apart, breathless, empty, exhausted.

It hadn’t been brutal. It had been obviously to her that David had intended to make gentle, tender love to her. She had been the one to push them towards, not violence, but a sort of fury.

Why? Because it had been the only way she knew to banish the memory of how helpless, how afraid, she had been with that knife pressed to her throat. The only way to proclaim she was alive, very much alive.

Propped on her elbow Isabelle stared at David’s handsome profile. He was so delicious, especially when he was asleep. All she had to do was touch him, trace the tip of her finger around his full, soft lips and he would wake. He would wake, pull her into his arms and this time it would be gentle.

But she wasn’t ready for that yet.

She slid from the bed silently. She would do what she always did when she needed to clear her head. She would ride Dante bareback down on the beach. The wind, the salt air would scour her –her skin and her mind. She’d be alright. She was strong. And they’d all made it through in the end. Claire was safe and it looked like things might work out between her and Jack.

Yeah, all she needed was a good hard ride and she would be right as rain.

David was disappointed when he woke and found Isabelle’s place in the bed empty. He dressed quickly and walked purposefully towards the government building. Waiting at the bottom of the steps was a large black carriage he recognized as the governor’s. Thomas Ivy, the French official he often played cards with, was coming down the stairs towards him.

“It is a bad time, David,” he said without preamble. He spoke softly and clearly with only a slight accent in English.

“I want to talk to Seraut,” said David, one foot on the first step. “I want answers.”

“I know,” said Ivy, nodding his head. He was a tall, slender man with rather longish brown hair and large hazel eyes. He wore the typical tropical uniform of white cotton shirt and linen trousers. “Everyone wants answers. Morlais has been expecting you. But this is not the time. Lt. Morlais is having a difficult time explaining to his superiors exactly what happened both when Cannibal Jack escaped and when Seraut was arrested. I am afraid your presence would only exasperate the situation. It would lead to even more uncomfortable questions about the unorthodox way this investigation has been conducted. Tom Bradford is there as well as Titchmarsh and several other gentlemen. It is crowded and loud. The governor’s temper is very badly frayed. No man likes to discover he has entertained a murderer at his table.”

David started to object. After all he didn’t want to join the meeting. He simply wanted to be let into the cell block to see Seraut. But he noticed the harshness of Ivy’s tone and the tightness around his normally friendly eyes. Ivy was speaking for himself as well as the governor.

Seraut had been easily accepted into the colonial community. In part it had been his connection to the Bradfords. But David knew from his own experience that any halfway presentable man would be welcomed eagerly at the tables of Tahiti’s colonial ladies; Seraut so recently from Europe and well spoken would have been far more than halfway presentable. There would be a lot of people questioning their judgment this morning.

And none more than Tom Bradford who had welcomed Seraut into the very heart of his family, thought David. Although David preferred the familiar camaraderie of the waterfront, Matavai was too small for him to have gone unnoticed by the established white community. Before Jenny had turned his life upside down he had frequently accepted invitations to dinner on the verandas of the colonial homes. He knew the Bradfords, not well, but well enough to have a genuine liking for Mrs. Bradford and a grudging respect for Tom Bradford, who had started life with nothing and now rule a small empire of cotton plantations and mining interest.

“How is Bradford?” he asked gruffly.

Ivy looked away towards the waterfront. He spoke softly, sadly, “He is very changed. He is hung-over or possibly drunk in spite of the early hour. The loss of a son, even to a man with so many sons, is a very grave thing.”

Instead of Tom Bradford David suddenly had a vision of his own father; Alexander Grief had also lost a son, not to death but to anger. David forced the thought from his mind.

“Go on, David,” said Ivy firmly, “Give Morlais a chance to save himself.”

“He only did what was right,” declared David hotly.

Ivy nodded. “With a little luck and calm voices we may yet convince them of that. Please, David,” he said as he retraced his steps back to the main door. “Come back later.”

David kicked the bottom step. He turned on his heel and marched to the waterfront angry and frustrated. He walked through the market, stopping at his favorite coffee seller for a cup of thick black coffee. At another stall he bought a long, narrow loaf of crusty bread. He bit off the end and chewed it while he did some thinking.

He owed Morlais; as much as he hated to he had to admit it. Without Morlais’s help Jack might have been hung by the mob. At best he would still be sitting in a cell waiting for a trial that would have most certainly gone against him and Seraut would be free to do God knew what.

***

The smells of bacon frying and freshly baked bread teased Claire from sleep. She lay with her eyes closed, sniffing appreciatively. Then she heard voices, Mrs. Russell and Lavinia speaking softly together. It made Claire smile. It was a nice dream, what she had hoped for – these two who she loved as family gaining respect for each other.

But it wasn’t a dream.

Claire rolled on her side and keeping her eyes shut she went through the necessary thoughts to bring order to her waking world. So many emotions crowded into her mind; happiness, satisfaction and the faint trace of genuine grief.

The grief was for Gilles of course. Though she had never been in love with him she had cared for him deeply. The satisfaction was that they had found the answers they were looking for and that there would be justice for Gilles. And within the satisfaction was pride. She didn’t know if her actions had saved Isabelle’s life but they had certainly helped to do so.

Happiness was the strongest feeling. It was clear and warm like the tropical sun she could feel on her face. She opened her eyes to look at the bright blue sky framed by the window, made slightly hazy by the film of mosquito netting she was looking through.

Jack was safe. Jack loved her and accepted her love.

Claire sat up, pushed the netting aside and swung her feet to the floor. She ran a hand through her long hair. It was still damp. Her thoughts turned to the night before when they were standing on the beach.

Her instinct to protect Jack from Mrs. Russell had been so strong she would have physically pulled her godmother away from him had Lavinia not stopped her. She had watched the two of them with great trepidation and it took her some time to realize that Mrs. Russell was nervous. Her apology to Jack had been so heartfelt. This was the woman Claire had known as a child, who she had loved without reserve. Isabelle was right. Mrs. Russell had always been fearfully proper but she had always been generous, thoughtful and most of all kind. Claire had never known her to rush to judgment as she had about Jack. And now she was humble.

In a matter of seconds the power to hurt had changed hands. Now it was Mrs. Russell who was vulnerable. The silence grew around them, deep and solemn. Everyone waited. It was all up to Jack now. Claire had felt an aching need to protect her godmother; to beg Jack to show the humanity he had been denied. She didn’t act on the thought. Jack had the right, hard-earned, to treat Mrs. Russell anyway he wanted no matter how coldly. Claire would support him whatever he did. Her choices had all been made.

His words accepted the invitation to dinner. His smile meant he accepted so much more; more than just Mrs. Russell’s apology. When she saw his smile Claire had felt an odd sense that her world had suddenly come back into proper alignment. That open, honest smile, so rare and so genuine, told Claire that the future she longed for would now be possible.

Jack shifted his gaze to her, his face softening with love. Claire smiled back. They didn’t speak to each other, they didn’t need to. Jack had simply said good-night and thank you to everyone and turned on his heel to make his way slowly down the beach towards his shack. He was still limping but Claire was sure there was more life to his step, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Thinking about it now Claire wished that she had stayed to hear what Mauriri and Colin had to say about what happened when Seraut was brought back to Matavai. At the time given the choice between listening as she ate and bathing she chose bathing without hesitation. She gave in to her exhaustion and let Mrs. Russell and Lavinia fuss over her as if she were a child. They filled Lavinia’s bathtub with warm water, poured in coconut oil and flower petals. Claire sat with her knees drawn up to her chest while Mrs. Russell vigorously washed her hair. Lavinia poured pitchers of water over her head to rinse it and then Claire sat back to relax until the water cooled.

When she was finished they wrapped her in cool, clean cotton and she went to bed to sleep dreamlessly. Now she felt rested and ready for whatever was coming next. For a moment she considered sneaking out of the house and going to see Jack. But she realized she didn’t need to. Jack would come to her. That’s what his smile meant and she had to trust him.

So instead she dressed quickly and joined Lavinia and Mrs. Russell in the main room of the house. The two of them were kneeling in front of a large chest. They made an interesting picture; Mrs. Russell wore a black skirt and a cotton blouse with long sleeves and a modest neckline, Lavinia was wrapped in a yellow and green sarong, her brown shoulders bare. Beside them was a stack of linens. They both looked up at the sound of Claire’s voice.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

“Good morning, dear,” said Mrs. Russell. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you. Very well.”

Lavinia stood in one fluid motion and walked towards Claire, her bare dark legs appearing and disappearing through the drape of the sarong. “And now you’re hungry,” she said.

“Starving actually.”

Lavinia laughed and touched her shoulder gently. “Have a seat. I’ll be back with your breakfast in a few minutes. There is tea on the table.” She walked out of the house towards the kitchen of the tavern a few steps away.

Mrs. Russell rose somewhat stiffly. Claire came over to her and put her arm around her shoulder. She kissed her on the cheek.

“I was so tired,” began Claire seriously, “I neglected to thank you for what you said to Jack last night.”

“There is no thanks needed, my dear,” answered her godmother, returning Claire’s hug. “I – a – well, I suppose I have finally started seeing Tahiti and its people with more clarity.”

It was an interesting choice of a word, clarity. Claire wondered what had happened between Lavinia and Mrs. Russell in the few days she had been gone. Perhaps it had been no more than having a common cause that had allowed them to see each other as people.

“Including Jack,” said Claire with some anxiousness. She appreciated what Mrs. Russell had said to Jack but she wanted more than just acceptance; she wanted Mrs. Russell to like Jack, to value him.

“Yes.”

Claire crossed the room and sat down at the table. She spoke slowly, “I know he doesn’t seem exactly the sort of man you would expect me to marry. There is so much about him that you can only know once you do get to know him.”

“Yes, I think I understand that now,” responded Mrs. Russell as she thought of his sudden, totally unexpected, blinding smile that transformed his face. “He and Colin seem an oddly matched pair and yet Colin is very fond of Mr. McGonnigal. And both he and Mrs. Trent have a great deal of respect for him. But what I suppose is really important is that it doesn’t matter what I would expect or even want for you. Oh, I reserve the right to have an opinion but in the end the only opinion that matters is yours.”

Claire understood how honest Mrs. Russell was trying to be. “You will like him,” she said earnestly.

“Yes, I think I may,” said Mrs. Russell, reaching for the tea pot. She poured tea into a pretty china cup and sat it in front of Claire.

Claire said thank you and took a healthy gulp of tea. “Try not to worry too much about our future. Jack and I will work it out together. I’m sure of it.”

Mrs. Russell smiled faintly. Could Claire possibly know what lay ahead of them? No, of course not. No one could know the future and someone young and in love could not imagine how challenging even a good marriage could be. (it would never cross Mrs. Russell’s mind that Claire was considering anything but marriage and she was right in this)

Mrs. Russell’s own marriage had been a good one; indeed for someone of relatively humble origins such as herself it might have been considered a brilliant match. Her husband had been of a similar background; blessed with an excellent mind, a lot of ambition and the knack for making friends with the right people. He had advanced through the ranks of the clergy until he was dean of a cathedral; a far cry from the curate he had been when he asked her to marry him. And she had no illusions about why he had asked her; she was practical, well trained in the management of a household and dedicated to church work.

Theirs had not been a great love affair. There had been times, many times, when Anne Russell had known she came second to her husband’s work. Their life had been comfortable for the most part; they had known sorrows and joys. Great passions, after all, often burned themselves out. Her husband had valued her and she had had great respect for him. They had liked each other, which was far more than many couples could say. She had been fortunate.

She could only hope that Claire would be as fortunate. It was difficult for Mrs. Russell to set Jack’s past aside but she was determined to do so. Even if she discounted the past there were so many problems that could so easily beset Claire; a sailor’s life was so dangerous and uncertain.

Mrs. Russell glanced at Claire. How young she looked with her sunburned cheeks and long, light brown hair spread out over her shoulders. Her head was bent slightly over a piece of paper. She was writing quickly, an outline for the story she would finish later for the paper. Her slender fingers grasped the pencil.

Mrs. Russell felt sudden tears flood her eyes. Claire was so like her father. If only John had – she stopped the thought as she had in the past. Hers had been a good life and her sons were men of whom to be proud. It lacked gratitude to think of how life might have been different

This once, looking at Claire, she let the thought finish. If only John had returned her love would she then know what it felt like to be so sure of the other person that any dream was possible; to feel so precious, so loved there was no risk too great to take for a future together?

“You know,” she said softly and Claire looked at her. “You will always have my prayers; both of you.”

Claire’s face relaxed into a beautiful wide smile. A smile, thought Mrs. Russell with a surprisingly strong ache, so like her father’s. “Ah, here comes your breakfast.”

Lavinia came into the house bearing a tray containing bowls of porridge, fruit and a fresh pot of tea. She sat it on the table in front of Claire.

Claire put down her pencil and picked up the spoon. “So,” she began, looking at Lavinia. “What happened when they brought Seraut back on the Rattler?”

Lavinia sat down and gave much the same report as Mauriri and Colin had given Isabelle and David the night before.

With a faraway look in her eyes, Mrs. Russell held a cup of tea in her hand but she did not drink from it. She spoke softly, almost to herself, “Why would Henri Seraut do such a horrid thing? What possible reason could he have for killing dear Gilles?”

Lavinia and Claire exchanged glances. David had asked his friends not to share what they knew about Seraut’s connection to the shadowy figure they all had taken to thinking of as the Devil. He felt that the information being kept just among the few of them might give them some advantage if, God forbid, they were to have further encounters with him or his agents.

“There is evidence that Seraut has been engaged in some illegal activities perhaps from the beginning of his time here,” said Lavinia carefully. “We think Gilles stumbled over something that made him question what Seraut was involved in besides their trading business. So Seraut killed Gilles before he could expose him.”

“God have mercy on him,” said Mrs. Russell, shaking her head sadly. “I don’t believe he shall find any mercy here for he has certainly shown none.”

Claire leaned across the table and asked seriously, “How are the Bradfords?”

Mrs. Russell took a deep breath. “Not well. I had a note, a letter really, from Rachel this morning. Of course they are stunned by such treachery. She said that she had sent for the other boys. She hopes their presence will temper their father’s grief. She is very strong, Rachel is. She will come through this but Tom, Tom is greatly changed. Rachel fears for him. I wish I could see her. Talk face to face, pray together but Tom has forbid me the house and well, it is his house. I’m afraid, my dear, we shall have to move out of our little cottage. I do so hate to be of so little use to Rachel at a time like this.”

“So he knows that you warned us about the mob?”

Mrs. Russell nodded at Claire. “Oh, yes, everyone knows. One might think I would be forgiven for what at the time seemed to some an act of treason. After all events have proved that had the mob succeeded not only would they have seriously perverted the course of justice but they would have murdered an innocent man. But curiously it is that I stepped outside of my, oh, what would one say, designated role that it seems some people can not forgive.”

“I don’t know what to say,” began Claire slowly. I appreciate so much what you did and yet I hate that you – ”

“Do not fret so, my dear,” said Mrs. Russell gently. “This has been a valuable experience. One that has taught me some very important lessons. Lessons I mean not to forget. But sadly none of that helps Rachel alone in the house with poor Michael who grieves so for his brother he can barely speak and Tom, poor Tom.”

Lavinia reach forth her delicate hand and laid it briefly on Mrs. Russell’s arm. “I’ll speak to Lianni. She will work something out so that you can see Mrs. Bradford.”

“I would so appreciate it.”

“And we will find you a house. In the meantime you are welcome to stay here or I do have a room available over the bar.”

“Oh, that is so generous of you. I’m sure I have overstayed my welcome on Tahiti but I can’t leave now with Rachel’s life in such horrible turmoil.”

“Of course you can’t,” said Claire firmly. “Lavinia, we will take the room. We won’t mind sharing.”

“We will pay you,” said Mrs. Russell. Her father had been a small town tradesman. She knew how a business like Lavinia’s could not afford to give away anything.

Lavinia thought how just a few days before she would have heartily agreed that Mrs. Russell had long over stayed her welcome. Now she said, “Would you be willing to work it off?”

“Why yes, of course,” said Mrs. Russell, startled by the suggestion. “But how?”

“Well,” answered Lavinia with a twinkle in her dark eyes, “we are making quite a profit off of authentic British baked goods if you would care to continue baking.”

Claire looked puzzled. Mrs. Russell laughed with genuine amusement. And a quick explanation was given to Claire of her activities in the tavern kitchen over the past few days. Then Claire thanked Lavinia for her breakfast and excused herself to go to work in the newspaper office.

“Shall I come with you? Do you want my help with the proofing?” asked Mrs. Russell, coming to her feet.

“I do but you have a job,” said Claire with a smile, “and quite a special dinner to prepare for this evening.”

Lavinia stood up with Claire. “Perhaps Colin could do your proofing. I could send him over to you later. He’s gone to take Jack a basket of bread and cheese.”

“How very kind of him. Perhaps I should – ”

“You should go to work,” said Laivnia, giving Claire a little push towards the door. “You’ll see Jack tonight. And remember not to work all day. You want to look beautiful tonight not like an escapee from the – ” she glanced at Mrs. Russell with a questioning look.

“The chorus line of the Pirates of Penzance,” finished Mrs. Russell almost dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Claire looked back and forth between the two of them and said, shaking her head. “Private jokes. Gracious me.” She was very pleased.

***

The raucous cry of a seabird woke Jack. He opened his eyes and could tell by the sunlight shining through the cracks in the shack’s walls that it was mid-morning. He rolled out of the hammock with practiced ease. Stood, stretched and thought about what a blessing a good night’s sleep could be. Still stretching he walked outside and discovered a basket covered with a white tea towel sitting beside the door. He grinned. It was a good thing to have friends.

Jack slipped on a pair of roped sandals and picked up the basket. He made his way down to the beach and out along a rocky point. He sat down at the end of the point where the waves breaking against the rocks sent up a cooling spray. There he sat chewing the bread and thinking.

Everything had changed. Of course that didn’t make any sense because he was still Cannibal Jack and Claire was still a lovely girl from England whose family would never approve of him and would probably not be willing to have him in the house should they ever make it as far as England. He could still only make a living as a sailor and God only knew what their future might be like. Every argument he had made against their going forward together still held and yet suddenly none of it seemed so daunting.

All because one little proper English woman offered him an apology and an invitation to dinner. It was madness to think it changed anything and yet, and yet it changed everything.

Jack looked up into the heights of the bright blue sky. Why? he asked himself. Why did Mrs. Russell’s acceptance make such a difference? He didn’t know why he should suddenly feel so hopeful. Perhaps he was fooling himself. Perhaps nothing had changed at all.

But no, that wasn’t true. Mrs. Russell’s acceptance meant that everything in Claire’s past life wasn’t against them. What had seemed to Jack as an impenetrable wall of rejection had one small but important break in it.

Well, he thought as he plopped the last small chunk of rich, sharp cheddar into his mouth, at least for today everything sure feels different.

Jack scrambled to his feet. He had a lot to do. He had to write a letter to Captain Lodge about all that had happened and find out what he was to do with the Malahini. Then he had to find a boat going to Honolulu to take the letter to Lodge. And he needed to have a bath, a shave and maybe even a haircut before dinner tonight.

Dinner tonight with his friends, with Claire and with her godmother. Jack shook his head in wonderment as he started to walk towards the docks.

***

David and Mauriri spent the morning on the Rattler doing all the ordinary things that needed to be done to keep the boat in sailing condition. As he sat calmly mending a sail Mauriri watched David polish the brass with unusual force. He knew from experience that such concentrated effort meant his partner was thinking about something important. It didn’t take Mauriri much thought to guess that David was frustrated that he hadn’t been allowed to see Seraut and question him about the Devil.

Isabelle rowed out to them mid-morning. She was focused again on the business. They had shipping contracts they had to honor.

David sat on the gunwale and watched her as she spoke. She made a pretty picture standing against the brilliant sky. She wore a pair of drawstring pants and a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her thick hair was covered with a wide straw hat to protect her from the harsh tropical sun. It cast a soft shadow over her beautiful face. David noticed that she said nothing about Seraut or the past few days. He wondered if she could really put it all behind her so easily. He doubted it somehow.

But then he also doubted that the Devil was behind them. He had talk to Seraut. And he had to do something to honor the debt he felt to Morlais.

Given all that had happened since the last time Claire had printed the Messenger she was surprised to realize that she could make her by-weekly deadline if she worked hard all day. She could even be ready for dinner on time since the young men who worked for her were now experts in running the small press. The only problem was she didn’t know how to write her lead story. She had never been part of a story before and somehow it didn’t feel like a news story to write it from a first person point of view even though she knew that it would make it more exciting.

Colin was surprised that Claire had not yet written the story of Seraut’s arrest when he arrived to help her with the proofreading. There was plenty for him to read. Claire had used her time well. She had set the type for the reprints of stories from the European papers. She had arranged the classified pages to include the new personal messages.

Now the noonday sun was shining through the wavy glass of the office windows. Claire and Colin were sitting on either side of her desk. He was correcting copy and she was staring at a blank sheet of paper.

“Hello, Jack,” said Colin, glancing up to see Jack standing in the doorway.

Claire’s head jerked up. She stood and took several steps towards Jack who took several steps into the room. Colin stood and quietly walked into the small pressroom at the back of the office.

“Good morning,” said Claire, rubbing her ink stained fingers together.

“Good morning,” repeated Jack.

“How did you sleep?’ asked Claire.

“Well. You?” asked Jack. He felt shy and awkward; that seemed ridiculous to him since he had been dreaming for months of a moment like this.

“Very well,” answered Claire, thinking that surely they should be talking about something more meaningful than how they slept.

“I, um,” Jack rubbed his hand across his mouth. “I don’t mean to interrupt your work but I, a, I need to write Lodge.”

“Of course,” Claire nodded. “You’ll need paper, and pen and ink. I have plenty.”

She made no move to get the items mentioned. They continued to stand a foot apart looking at each other. They were pleased with what they saw.

Claire’s brown eyes were bright; her thick hair was pulled back loosely from her face and held in a knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a muslin dress of yellow with a scattering of flowers printed across it. Thanks to a good night’s sleep she looked fresh, young and very pretty.

Having made good use of his hour in the local bathhouse Jack was shorn of the bristly beard he’d grown during his incarceration.

“For God’s sakes, Jack, kiss her and let us get on with our lives.”

Isabelle’s amused voice startled them. She was standing in the doorway, shaking her head, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders. David and Mauriri stood behind her. They were both grinning.

Claire giggled. Jack reached out and pulled her to him. He brushed his lips across hers. Claire put her arms around his neck and whispered, “That’s better.”

“Finally,” said Isabelle, entering the small office.

Colin came out of the pressroom to discover a roomful of people. David and Isabelle sat side by side on Claire’s desk. Mauriri stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Claire and Jack stood together in the middle of the room.

“Are we having a meeting?” asked Colin, meaning it as a joke.

“Well, yes,” said David hesitantly.

“Is something wrong?” asked Claire anxiously. She held tightly to Jack’s hand. “Did Seraut – ”

“No,” said Isabelle, forcefully. “Nothing is wrong. Seraut did not escape.”

Silence grew in the small room as Claire looked from one to the other of her friends for an explanation of the “meeting” they were having. Finally Mauriri cleared his throat and said, “We were wondering, Claire, if you have written the story yet.”

Claire looked down at her sandaled feet, the toes of which were just visible from beneath her skirt. “Well, I’ve got an outline but no, the story isn’t written. Why?”

Isabelle and Mauriri looked at David so the rest of them did as well. He grimaced.

“How would you feel about making Morlais the hero in all of this?”

“I don’t think I understand,” said Claire slowly; frowning. “Of course I will give the lieutenant the credit he deserves.”

“David wants you to give him more than the credit he deserves. He wants you to give him the credit you deserve.”

“Isabelle,” growled David.

Jack glanced at Claire who looked as confused as he felt. “You better explain what you’re after, David,” he said.

“Morlais is having a lot of trouble with his superiors. I guess to them it looks like he abdicated his responsibility by letting Jack out of the jail. In my opinion they are all embarrassed that they didn’t realize that Seraut was a criminal. So they are taking it out on Morlais. I thought if you wrote the story with, well, a slant towards what Morlais did and downplaying what we did it might help him.”

“Why should Claire help Morlais?” demanded Isabelle. She and the lieutenant had never gotten along. Isabelle considered herself a model citizen. Morlais continued to be suspicious of her. He couldn’t seem to forget that she had once been convicted of murder. Wrongly convicted she would quickly point out.

“Because if Morlais hadn’t let Jack escape he’d probably be dead,” said Mauriri bluntly.

Claire shivered and stepped closer to Jack who slid his arm around her waist.

“Morlais treated me well,” said Jack slowly. “I mean he listened when I told my side of the story. He didn’t have to. None of his bosses expected him to actually conduct an inquiry.”

“And he kept to his part of the bargain we made,” Mauriri pointed out. “It was quite a leap of faith for Morlais to trust David to deliver Jack back to him in St. Girons.”

“I hardly believe I’m saying this but that’s why I hate to see him be punished for doing the right thing. Look, Claire, I’m not asking you to lie. If you – ”

“It’s all right, David, just give me a minute to think about it,” interrupted Claire as she started to pace around the small office. “Truthfully I would like to hide my part in Seraut’s capture.”

“Why?” exclaimed Isabelle. “You were heroic.”

“Thank you, Isabelle,” Claire said, blushing. “It means a lot to me that you think so. But I would really rather not have everyone in town talking about me. I’m sorry I’m not explaining myself very well. It is just that I want everything to settle down.”

Mauriri nodded and said, “In other words you want to publish the news not be the news.”

“Exactly,” reacted Claire. She was relieved that he put her feelings so succinctly. “What do you think, Colin? Would it be right to slant the story for our own purposes? Not giving the details isn’t exactly lying but it isn’t doing a thorough job of reporting either.”

Colin realized that Claire was appealing to him as a sort of moral arbiter, a role he hadn’t played in months. There was something both gratifying and humbling about it.

“Well, it is done all the time of course. I’ve heard it said that that American publisher actually created their war with Spain over Cuba. And I’ve no doubt that Fleet Street has played its part in shaping Britain’s national debate on any number of issues. However I understand your reservations. And I’m sure we all admire your journalistic integrity.”

There were words of agreement from around the room.

“So you think?” prompted Claire.

“I think that the people who would be most affected by your not fleshing out the details of the story are in this room. You are the ones who investigated and solved the murder. You all showed great courage and were very clever. You in particular, Jack. I suspect you never thought of it but you could have gone on the run and that would have left Morlais holding the bag so to speak and very likely let Seraut get away with murder. That you trusted David and even Morlais is no small thing in my estimation.”

Jack twisted his shoulders uncomfortably. “Truthfully I would just as soon everyone in town forgot about me.”

Colin nodded and continued. “If all of you are willing to forgo your well deserved praise in order support Morlais, well, that seems of a very acceptable choice.”

Claire looked at each of her friends as she said quietly, “So we are all agreed? I will write a straightforward, factual, account that will give the impression it was Morlais who was conducting a vigorous investigation into Gilles’s death from the beginning. And that he had not allowed Jack to escape but had him in custody the whole time.”

They all agreed.

***

It was late in the day, after he had cleaned up to go to dinner with his friends that David returned to the government building. Morlais greeted him tersely. David decided it might be wise not to ask the result of his morning meeting with the governor. He’d done what he could for Morlais. When the newspaper arrived on the governor’s desk in the morning it would make Morlais look not only like a very competent officer but extremely clever as well.

David smiled as he remembered what Colin had said to him as he left the newspaper office.

“It was very decent of you to think about Morlais’s position in all of this.”

“Well,” David said with a shrug, “I wouldn’t want to see him replaced when he was just doing his job.”

“Yes, always better to stay with the devil you know,” responding Colin.

It made David laugh. Colin with his usual perception had seen the advantage to David in keeping Morlais in Matavai. The last thing David wanted was some new French officer with a thick book of regulations in charge.

Now taking a deep steadying breath David made his way into the cell block.

Seraut was in the same squalid cell that just a few days before Jack had occupied. Jack had been dirty, disheveled, confused and frightened for his life. It seemed to David that Seraut should look even worse since he was guilty.

But he didn’t.

Seraut sat on the low cot with a straight back and his booted feet together. He wore a clean shirt and his thick black hair was neatly brushed. In fact he looked exactly as he always looked except that his cheeks were covered with stubble. Morlais would not allow him a razor for fear he would cut his own throat to avoid prosecution.

When he realized that David was standing outside of his cell Seraut put down the book he was reading, carefully marking his place with a narrow strip of leather as he did so.

“Have you come to gloat, Captain?” he asked, looking at David.

“I’ve come for answers.”

“Really?” said Seraut, coming to his feet. He took several steps towards David. “Why should I give you these answers? Can you save me from the guillotine?”

David made a low, menacing sound deep in his throat then said, “I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“No,” responded Seraut with what might have been a sigh, “I suppose you wouldn’t. Well, ask your questions. I might answer them. I am very bored here. Perhaps Isabelle will come and see me. She can be so entertaining.”

David gritted his teeth. He knew he would get nothing from Seraut if he rose to the bait and started arguing about Isabelle. He took a breath and blew it out slowly. It was clear Seraut wanted to talk but David had to let him do it in his own way. Whether or not he would answer his questions about the Devil was something David couldn’t control. Seraut had nothing to lose and David had nothing to offer him.

David decided to start with what he thought was a simple question; one that there would be no reason for Seraut not to answer. “Did you really know Jenny or were you just taunting Isabelle with her name?”

“Oh, I knew her,” answered Seraut with a slight shrug, “biblically. I think it was her father who brought her to Marseilles; he ran a café on the waterfront. She was very young but I was hardly the first. Jenny was a creature of appetite. She was very popular; dozens of young men showered their hard eared wages on her. It was easy, wasn’t it, Captain, to believe you loved her, to believe she loved you. She was really amazing, so beautiful, so deadly but more than a little mad. Many men have made the same foolish mistake. Gunter must have believed that she loved him, perhaps she did for a while.”

David’s eyes widened when he heard the name of his old enemy. With an effort he stayed quiet.

“I didn’t know him – this Gunter. I’ve heard stories. I’ve heard that he was devious, even violent.”

“Did you hear that he beat Jenny?”

Seraut laughed; a real unforced laugh. His amusement made David’s mouth go dry.

“Is that what she told you? I suppose he might have tried. If he did then it is no wonder that she killed him. But it is more likely that she killed him because she was bored with him. You see,” said Seraut, leaning a little towards David as if he was going to confide in him. “Jenny never really knew the difference between what was true and what she wanted to be true. That’s what made her such a good liar. If she thought it would help her seduce you to say that Gunter beat her, then no doubt she believed that Gunter did beat her.”

“You know who she worked for. You work for him yourself,” said David, looking steadily into Seraut’s dark eyes. He understood that Seraut was trying to play with his emotions about Jenny. He couldn’t let himself be drawn into defending how he felt about Jenny; if he did he would learn nothing. “Who is he? Who is the Devil?”

“A myth, a phantom, a monster to scare children with,” said Seraut with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. “Or in this case a man with a very long reach. Isabelle told me that you call him the Devil. I regret I will not be able to tell him that. It would please him so.”

“Who is he?” repeated David, leaning against the bars of the cell. “What’s his name?”

“You won’t believe me but the truth is I don’t know. I can tell you what he is. He is brilliant, ruthless, ambitious, imaginative and powerful. A man for the 20 th century. But then there have always been such men; men who shape the world. There have been whispers about him or perhaps it was his father in the underworld of France for as long as anyone can remember. Most people I knew in Marseilles thought he was a myth—a powerful crime lord with loyal henchmen spread over the world sounded like something out of a book to them. But he is not a myth. He is a conqueror and no matter what you do he will win in the end. I’ve heard him called the Spider. That is a good name for him. He has woven a web, an intricate web that reaches into some surprising places.”

“What does he want?” prompted David. He was pleased that Seraut was talking. It was possible he would learn something useful.

Seraut shrugged. “Power. There is a new world order coming, Grief. Soon class will mean nothing; it will be ability that counts. Intellect, ambition, ruthlessness and most of all money – those will be the characteristics of the new ruling class. And they will rule with iron fists.”

David had the unpleasant feeling that Seraut was enjoying himself. He pressed on, “What does he want with the land you bought? All of those tracts had fresh water and good harbors.”

“Yes, like Red Pearl Cove.”

“The land Gunter tried to buy.”

“And you prevented him from buying. You’ve caused a lot of trouble, Grief. I don’t understand why Jenny didn’t kill you when she had the chance.”

“You want me to believe that Jenny came here to kill me.”

“No,” Seraut shook his head. “You aren’t that important. And don’t bother to ask me what Jenny’s mission was. I don’t know. All I know is when you killed her a valuable tool was lost. But I suppose I should thank you because if you hadn’t killed Jenny I might never have gotten my opportunity.”

“What does that mean?” asked David with narrowed eyes.

“That one day I was sitting in a café in Marseilles cursing fate. I had spent weeks hosting Gilles. I say hosting but in truth he had hosted me, he had money and I had the salary of a clever accountant in a grain dealer’s office. Fate had made one of my grandfather’s grandsons rich and the other an accountant. A man sat down uninvited. He wore a linen suit, a straw hat and dark spectacles. Ah, I see you recognize him. Interesting that he should be so instantly recognizable in this story when chances are neither of us are likely to recognize him should he walk into Lavinia’s Bar as I believe he has done in the past. He spoke perfect, unaccented French; I understand that he speaks the same in English and German. He offered me an opportunity to reclaim my heritage. I knew immediately who he was. Again I admit it is strange that a man who is so physically ordinary he blends into the background need only to say a few words, the right words and I knew who he was and what he had to offer. But you see my father was the sort of man who knew everyone, above and below the law. I think he may even have done favors for the Spider at one time. So I suppose in a way I had always hoped this man would sit down at my table. I seized the opportunity he gave me.”

“And was buying land all you did for him?”

“Buying land, passing along information, easing certain transactions; there were many ways I could be useful while going about my business.”

David realized that Seraut was speaking with pride. “You think he’ll save you. You think that you are so important to him that he will swoop in here and save you.”

“No, I don’t,” said Seraut with deadly seriousness. “Do you know the game of chess, Captain?”

David shook his head. “No.”

“Pity. It might help you understand. Gilles’s death was very sad for me. But he was a pawn that was necessary to be sacrificed. I am,” he paused thoughtfully. “A knight. A stronger player. A more valuable player but still a piece that can be lost in the winning of the game. I take some satisfaction in that. I have played a part in a world changing game and I have played it well.”

“You’re still going to die.”

Seraut continued to look David in the eye as he said, “Everyone dies, Captain. Not everyone plays. I came very close to winning. I should have won. Bradford is an emotional man. He will not recover from Gilles’s death. I had it all in the palm of my hand. It would be my reward, everything Bradford has. Cannibal Jack the perfect scapegoat.”

“Except that he had friends who cared enough about him to search for the truth.”

“Yes, except for that. But still I have given good service. Oh, I see it in your face that you think I am deluding myself, you think I have failed my employer, no, that is the wrong word, my leader.”

“I think,” said David carefully pronouncing each word, “you failed as a man. Only a coward would kill a man like Gilles. Only a coward would sneak around buying land and doing whatever it is you’ve done just because some criminal told him to.”

“Yes, Captain, that is what I would expect you to think but then you have a very small world. You do not understand the greater world, the world of real power.”

“What does he want with all that land? Is he building his own navy and wants a place to harbor them?” asked David, thinking the question was ridiculous. A private fleet would have been a more logical way of putting it; there were many companies with large fleets. But David thought he might get more out of Seraut if he pretended to accept his grandiose vision of the man he worked for.

“I believe there are many uses for all that lands,” said Seraut calmly. “But as you well know, a good harbor is priceless.”

David was quiet for a moment, hoping that Seraut would fill the silence with more information but Seraut merely looked back at him with an even gaze. David decided to try a different tack. “Why did Gilles have to be sacrificed?”

“Because I couldn’t manage to kill that damn girl,” said Seraut with sudden anger. It was the first strong emotion he had shown.

David was surprised. “Claire?”

“Ah, yes, Claire,” he nearly spit out the name. “Such an ordinary girl to be so much trouble. One expects a woman as beautiful, audacious and clever as Isabelle or Jenny to be trouble. One doesn’t expect an ordinary girl like Claire Devon to disrupt one’s plans for the future; to have a guardian angel that saves her from falling cotton bales or keeps her from drowning when nature is so cooperative as to send a hurricane the girl was too stupid to take refuge from.”

David couldn’t help but show his surprise. “Claire was the target that day on the docks? Not Gilles?”

“You don’t seem to understand, Captain. I was very fond of Gilles. His death would have been a great loss to me even if nothing else had gone wrong. Gilles was the perfect partner. Well liked, well connected, willing to leave all the details in my hands. With Gilles as my partner no one would ever suspect me of anything except perhaps greed. Killing him was the last thing I wanted to do. His brothers, they would have had to have been disposed of sooner or later. Unlike Gilles they are curious and ambitious; I could never have had them close to my business. And none of them should have the benefit of my grandparents’ legacy. Gilles at least shared a blood relation with me. Truly I was quite fond of him.”

“How did Claire disrupt your plans?” asked David, making an effort to keep his voice even, as if they were just having a conversation.

“How do you think, by doing the only thing she does well, asking constant questions. Gilles would have gone on for years never asking why we went to certain islands or met with certain people. But once he convinced himself he was in love with her he wanted to please her and so he took an interest in our business.”

“And what did he discover? It has to be more than just that you were buying up land, you let Isabelle discover that easily enough.”

“Ah, Captain,” said Seraut softly, his voice once more calm and controlled. “You don’t expect me to make it that easy for you. Let us say that he discovered enough that if repeated to the wrong person would seriously disrupt important operations. I don’t know if he could have worked the connections out for himself, he might have if he’d put enough thought into it. It was not a chance I could take, that he would work it out, or something one he talked to would, or that that damn girl would take it into her head to follow a story. Gilles’s death while regrettable assured that important work would go forward.”

“What work?”

Seraut smiled. “You can not trick me and you can not bargain with me. You have nothing to offer. The authorities will not believe your tales of the Devil; they will see no connection between me and anyone else. They believe I killed Gilles because he discovered something about our business. They believe I am greedy and that I would kill over money like some common pirate. They are happy with their conclusions. I have spoken to you so freely because I know you have no credibility. Your few friends may believe you but no one else will. They will laugh at your tales of the Devil. You cannot offer me my freedom in exchange for my betraying those I serve. Like a soldier I have accepted my fate.”

Seraut returned to the cot and sat down. Then he looked up at David and said, “Aren’t you going to ask me the question you really want to know the answer to?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Isabelle,” said Seraut softly. “Isn’t Isabelle really why you came here today?”

“Isabelle has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, Captain, Isabelle has everything to do with this.”

David said nothing in response. He continued to glare at Seraut but in his mind he was hearing the Devil say, Isabelle was made for me. It sent a chill down his spine.

“You’ll never hold her, Grief,” said Seraut with certainty. “She is so beautiful, so clever and so very ambitious.”

David knew that Seraut was deliberating echoing what he’d said about Jenny earlier. “Isabelle is nothing like Jenny.”

“Now, Captain, you know that she is very like Jenny. Although I will grant you one very important difference; Isabelle is not mad. Isabelle will get no pleasure from killing; she will not lose her focus even if she falls in love. She will be a far superior player than Jenny ever was. Indeed she could even be the queen, a very powerful player.”

“Shut up about your stupid game,” barked David. “Isabelle is not and will never be one of your players.”

Seraut looked at him with a raised eyebrow and said calmly, “So you think she will be happy with you on that ship? Do you realize how far she’s come? Her father was a petty criminal. She was an orphan, a ward of a most uncaring state by the time she was nine. Do you realize how few female children survive such beginnings? Most of those who do, end up as whores. But Isabelle got out; she survived on her own terms. Here she is, half a world from France building a business. Do you really think that a woman with that sort of ambition will reject an opportunity to be rich? Do you have any idea what she and I talked about? Do you know how interested she is in beautiful things, fine wines? You know her body and I admit that I envy you that knowledge. Among my regrets is that I will not be available to Isabelle when she becomes bored with you. And she will become bored with you, Grief.”

David glared at Seraut. “You came very close to slitting her throat. You can’t expect me to believe you care about her.”

“Yes, I would have killed her in order to get away. Isn’t that how Jenny was killed; you killed her before she killed you? You understand what a man or a woman will do to survive. But it does not mean that I don’t care about her. The Spider or if you prefer the Devil has a great deal to offer Isabelle and she will be just as happy as I was to accept his offer. I am disappointed that I will not see her reach her potential. It is ironic and yet satisfying to know that Isabelle will be my legacy.”

***

By evening the air around the small kitchen belonging to Colin and Lavinia’s house was redolent with the fragrances of baking chocolate cake and roasting beef. Between the house and the kitchen there was a small garden. In the garden Colin had constructed a table from wide planks and sawhorses. Over it Lavinia spread a bright white damask cloth. She set it with china, silver and sparkling glassware. Lianni and her children arrived with branches of orchids to wind among the candles down the center of the table. As she placed a basket of freshly baked rolls on to the table Mrs. Russell commented on how beautiful it was. Lavinia graced her with a wide smile and said few things gave her more momentary pleasure than setting a beautiful table. And Mrs. Russell realized that Claire had been right all along. She and Lavinia did have much in common.

It was fully dark when David walked slowly from the government building towards the house. He passed the bar, which was noisy and crowded. For the night Lavinia had left the barmaids in charge. David walked on past the house and stopped just outside the light cast by the torches lit around the edge of the garden.

What a fine picture it made. His friends all gathered there around the beautiful table. Colin, Mauriri and Jack dressed in white shirts, holding glasses of beer, laughing over some shared joke. Tevaki hung on his father’s arm. Mrs. Russell sat at one end of the table, her head bent over a pad of paper while Tahnee earnestly told her about the drawing on the pad. Claire stood behind them, looking over her godmother’s shoulder. She wore a dress of rose silk. Lavinia and Lianni wrapped in colorful sarongs were pouring wine and water into the stemware on the table.

And Isabelle.

So often when he saw her Isabelle was dressed as a stable boy or a common sailor. Always beautiful but it still startled him when he saw she dressed for a party. She wore her favorite dress, a red silk that showed her shoulders and accented her small waist. Her thick hair was piled on her head and threaded with a red ribbon; black pearl earrings glowed dully on her ears and around her neck on a delicate gold chain was a swimming seal carved of the palest Chinese jade, a gift from him.

Seraut’s words echoed in his mind, You will never hold her.

“Uncle David!” shouted Tevaki as he detached himself from his father and ran to David. “Hurry up! Mama said I couldn’t have a thing to eat until you got here. I’m starving!”

Everyone dissolved into laughter. They arranged themselves around the table. Colin offered a solemn prayer of thanksgiving. At the end Lavinia raised her glass and said, “To absent friends.”

It was a delicious meal. Mrs. Russell’s plain face grew pink in response to the many compliments. They spoke of a wide variety of topics as a group of friends does when sharing a meal. Colin skillfully drew Jack out about books he’d read. Lavinia asked Tahnee about school. Mauriri told stories about voyages he’d taken as a youth that had the whole table laughing. They did not talk about the murder or the capture of Seraut and what would happen next. When Isabelle commented to David that he was being very quiet he told her he was concentrating on his food.

When at the end of the meal Mrs. Russell presented a tall cake covered with fluffy white icing they all clapped. The conversation turned to various celebrations in the past.

“Do you know what one of my favorite childhood memories is?” asked Claire, leaning towards her godmother.

“What is that, dear?”

“You and Harry singing Billy Boy; I think it was at a Christmas party.”

“Oh, my, my, that was such a long time ago. You couldn’t have been more than three because by the time Harry was 12 he refused to sing with me. He said it was beneath his dignity.”

The adults all laughed.

“What is it? Billy Boy?” asked Tahnee eagerly. “Is it a song?

“Yes, it is a very silly song,” answered Claire.

“Sing it for us,” demanded Tevaki.

“Oh, well,” said Mrs. Russell, “you see, it is a song for two people. Claire or maybe you, Colin, could you – ”

“I know it, ma’am,” said Jack so softly no one heard him but Claire.

She whirled about and took him by the hands. “Of course you do. Jack knows an astonishing number of songs,” she told her godmother.

While they were talking David had stood and picked up his plateful of cake. He carried it to the edge of the garden. From there he could get a glimpse of the bay and of the Rattler rocking at her mooring. He ate a forkful of cake.

Try as he might he could not stop thinking of Seraut. He wanted to believe that Seraut was a mad man. Surely only a mad man would accept his fate so calmly, almost as if he believed he was dying for a cause. It was that calmness that had disconcerted David. He had gone into the cell block expecting to find Seraut vulnerable, eager to answer questions in hope of some sort of mercy. But he’d known before the man had opened his mouth, just by the way that Seraut had closed the book; Seraut neither expected nor wanted mercy.

In a way he had learned something. Seraut had confirmed David’s suspicions that the man he called the Devil was still playing an active part in the South Seas, was still a threat to all David held dear.

“Oh where have you been,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy
Oh, where have you been
Charming Billy?”

David turned around at the sound of Mrs. Russell’s voice. She and Jack were standing together at one end of the table. The others were watching them with interest. Jack’s rich baritone rang out,

“I have been to seek a wife
She’s the idol of my life.
She’s young thing
And cannot leave her mother”

Mauriri and Lianni sat together with their children on their laps. Lavinia stood with her back pressed against Colin, his arms around her. Close to the singers Claire and Isabelle were still sitting at the table, their head together, the faint sound of their giggling reaching David’s ears.

Did she set for you a chair,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Did she set for you a chair,
Charming Billy?
Yes, she set for me a chair
But the bottom wasn’t there
She’s a young thing,
And cannot leave her mother.

Tevaki and Tahnee laughed with delight. David felt a rush a protective affection. It was a good life they share; the laughter of children, good food when a man was hungry, friends he could trust. There was nothing David wouldn’t do to protect this life if only he could detect the threat to it. But how could he protect them from some international criminal he wouldn’t recognize if he passed him on the street. And truthfully it was the Devil’s agents that presented the real threat. He might never have discovered Seraut’s connection to the Devil. How would he detect the next one? How did he know that person wasn’t already here? Seraut must have been working with someone but he would say nothing about his connections.

David closed his eyes and thought, What can I do? It feels hopeless.

“And is she very tall
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
And is she very tall,
Charming Billy?” sang Mrs. Russell and Jack answered,
“She’s as tall as any pine,
And as straight as a pumpkin vine
She’s a young thing,
And cannot leave her mother.”

David opened his eyes and looked at them. Jack had dropped his hand on Claire’s shoulder. She was smiling up at him, her dark eyes dancing with laughter.

No, thought David. It wasn’t hopeless. After everything they had been through his friends were in this minute really happy. And there in front of him was a sight he had never expected to see. If Mrs. Russell, widow of the cathedral dean, and Cannibal Jack could stand up and sing a silly song together for the entertainment of children then nothing good was hopeless.

Isabelle turned in her chair and looked for him. Seeing him at the edge of the yard she got up and started walking towards him. The silk of her skirts whispered on the night air.

“Isabelle was made for me,” said the voice of his nightmares.

“No,” said David, taking a step towards her. “She wasn’t.”

Isabelle opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong but David kissed her before she got the words out. He slid his arm around her waist and held her tight to his side. With a contented sigh Isabelle molded herself to his body.

As Jack came to the end of the verse they all joined in, “She’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother.” And then together they all dissolved into laughter.

“Come ahead,” said David to the threat he knew was out there. “We’re ready for you.”