studded with jewels.
‘Monsieur, that coat is inappropriate,’ Pearce barked, then forced to produce an excuse that had nothing to do with facing armed and dangerous smugglers he added, ‘we are travelling on horseback over dusty tracks, indeed there may still be mud.’
‘Nevertheless, Captain, who knows what we willencounter on the way?’ There was a terrible temptation then to tell him. ‘I would not have your countryman think me anything other than that which I am.’
Pearce had to bite his tongue a second time then, to stop himself from saying, ‘A pompous old dolt.’
Like the count Amélie Labordière had dressed as if she was going to a levee, in a gown of silk set with patterns of sequins, albeit she had covered her garments with a cloak. She had also taken much trouble with both powder and rouge, which went a long way to restoring her to an image of the beauty he remembered. That she knew it to be so was in the cast of her eye and the slight smile as she nodded to John Pearce, which had him turn away to meet the amused gaze of Michael O’Hagan.
He was carrying short pieces of rope, at the ends of which he had expertly fashioned a sort of cradle, this to carry the remainder of the Dundas gold, that not being something he could leave behind. The strongbox was too big and would have required a carthorse of its own so Michael had suggested a repeat of what they had done to transport it in the Vendée, only this time it would be carried in individual sacks which could be slung over the carthorse’s flanks and not their shoulders, he having sworn he still bore the marks of the weight.
Pearce fished for the key to the great padlock, which had never left his coat pocket, and made his way into the cabin, there to extract from the strongbox the four weighty bags, these secured in Michael’s contraption once his friend had extracted from one what he thought he would require to facilitate the journey, a sum in fact inexcess of the suspected requirements, given there was no knowing how the day would turn out.
‘Don’t go back in the water with that in your purse,’ Michael joked, seeing how much he had taken, ‘or you’ll sink to the bottom.’
‘Might be a blessing for all concerned.’
‘I have not packed your pistols and they are loaded and primed.’
There was a moment then when the two locked eyes, for in planning his scheme, Pearce had been insistent that no risks be taken that might see anyone killed. But Michael held his gaze and Pearce knew he would not budge, so he shrugged and threw the padlock and key into the open box, wondering what the man he had temporarily replaced would make of its presence when he came aboard.
‘Keep them out of sight.’
‘Place smells a mite better than normal,’ Michael said, a twinkle in his eye, as he sought to kill off the crabbed mood. ‘A lady’s perfume is better than vinegar any day.’
Pearce was not in the mood to be ribbed. ‘If you are going to keep this joshing up I can see where those pistols you loaded might come in handy.’
He grabbed his logs and returned to the deck. The boat was over the side waiting for them and Pearce was touched to see that the oarsmen had taken as much care in preparation for his departure as their French passengers had for their own; whether it was play-acting or genuine he did not know, but they were wearing their best shore-going rig, the long pigtails were greased and ribbon-festooned, each oarsman sitting stony-faced andlooking forward as if they were crewing an admiral’s barge.
Nor did they deviate from that as Pearce made a short speech of thanks to those lined up on deck, shaking hands with the warrants before going over the side, boat cloak over his arm, to the high-pitched whistle of the bosun’s pipe. With chests occupying space and the sheer bulk of O’Hagan there was scant room to sit and misfortune had him pressed against Amélie on the same narrow thwart; with the sun now well up on a warm
‘Monsieur, that coat is inappropriate,’ Pearce barked, then forced to produce an excuse that had nothing to do with facing armed and dangerous smugglers he added, ‘we are travelling on horseback over dusty tracks, indeed there may still be mud.’
‘Nevertheless, Captain, who knows what we willencounter on the way?’ There was a terrible temptation then to tell him. ‘I would not have your countryman think me anything other than that which I am.’
Pearce had to bite his tongue a second time then, to stop himself from saying, ‘A pompous old dolt.’
Like the count Amélie Labordière had dressed as if she was going to a levee, in a gown of silk set with patterns of sequins, albeit she had covered her garments with a cloak. She had also taken much trouble with both powder and rouge, which went a long way to restoring her to an image of the beauty he remembered. That she knew it to be so was in the cast of her eye and the slight smile as she nodded to John Pearce, which had him turn away to meet the amused gaze of Michael O’Hagan.
He was carrying short pieces of rope, at the ends of which he had expertly fashioned a sort of cradle, this to carry the remainder of the Dundas gold, that not being something he could leave behind. The strongbox was too big and would have required a carthorse of its own so Michael had suggested a repeat of what they had done to transport it in the Vendée, only this time it would be carried in individual sacks which could be slung over the carthorse’s flanks and not their shoulders, he having sworn he still bore the marks of the weight.
Pearce fished for the key to the great padlock, which had never left his coat pocket, and made his way into the cabin, there to extract from the strongbox the four weighty bags, these secured in Michael’s contraption once his friend had extracted from one what he thought he would require to facilitate the journey, a sum in fact inexcess of the suspected requirements, given there was no knowing how the day would turn out.
‘Don’t go back in the water with that in your purse,’ Michael joked, seeing how much he had taken, ‘or you’ll sink to the bottom.’
‘Might be a blessing for all concerned.’
‘I have not packed your pistols and they are loaded and primed.’
There was a moment then when the two locked eyes, for in planning his scheme, Pearce had been insistent that no risks be taken that might see anyone killed. But Michael held his gaze and Pearce knew he would not budge, so he shrugged and threw the padlock and key into the open box, wondering what the man he had temporarily replaced would make of its presence when he came aboard.
‘Keep them out of sight.’
‘Place smells a mite better than normal,’ Michael said, a twinkle in his eye, as he sought to kill off the crabbed mood. ‘A lady’s perfume is better than vinegar any day.’
Pearce was not in the mood to be ribbed. ‘If you are going to keep this joshing up I can see where those pistols you loaded might come in handy.’
He grabbed his logs and returned to the deck. The boat was over the side waiting for them and Pearce was touched to see that the oarsmen had taken as much care in preparation for his departure as their French passengers had for their own; whether it was play-acting or genuine he did not know, but they were wearing their best shore-going rig, the long pigtails were greased and ribbon-festooned, each oarsman sitting stony-faced andlooking forward as if they were crewing an admiral’s barge.
Nor did they deviate from that as Pearce made a short speech of thanks to those lined up on deck, shaking hands with the warrants before going over the side, boat cloak over his arm, to the high-pitched whistle of the bosun’s pipe. With chests occupying space and the sheer bulk of O’Hagan there was scant room to sit and misfortune had him pressed against Amélie on the same narrow thwart; with the sun now well up on a warm
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