Pierre appeared, roaring like a man possessed, followed by Gideon, followed by everyone else.
Rian sat in the wagon, holding a sodden kerchief over his bleeding nose. Beside him, Pierre squinted through an eye that had swollen almost shut, and Daniel dabbed repeatedly with the tail of his shirt at a split lip. Only Gideon had remained unscathed.
Behind them trotted six mounted police, battered and bloodstained but nonetheless looking smugly pleased with themselves at having captured what they clearly believed to be a ruthless, cold-blooded killer and his band of brigands.
The Camp, laid out on a grassy mound in front of the town proper and overlooking the Yarrowee, was surrounded by a wooden fence that encircled neat lines of military tents, stables, and a tall flagpole flying the Union Jack. The troopers guarding the gate saluted as the wagon entered and came to a halt outside a collection of wooden buildings.
The sergeant climbed down and ordered Rian and the crew off.
Looking around interestedly, Mick remarked, ‘I’ve never been in here before.’
‘Shut up!’ the sergeant snapped. ‘You, you and you,’ he said, pointing at three of his men, ‘keep an eye and I’ll alert Mr d’Ewes.’
A short period of standing around, then they were ‘escorted’ inside to face Police Magistrate John d’Ewes.
He sat behind a large desk, giving off fumes of what smelt suspiciously to Rian like very good Burgundy, and didn’t look pleased to have been disturbed in the middle of his evening meal.
He stared at Rian for some time, then turned to the sergeant.
‘This isn’t Thomas Farrell.’
Rian smirked.
‘I believe it is, sir.’
‘It is not, Sergeant Coombes. I should know. I’ve already had him in front of me once.’
Sergeant Coombes fumbled for a piece of paper in his uniform pocket. ‘But this is the address I was given for him, sir. Lilac Cottage, near the Red Hill Lead.’
‘Well, you’ve been misinformed.’ John d’Ewes turned back to Rian. ‘You won’t be tried for murder, but I am fining you five pounds. Each.’
‘What for?’
‘Disturbing the peace.’
‘ I didn’t disturb the peace. Your trained monkeys did that.’
The magistrate looked pained. ‘Would you rather pay ten pounds each, Mr Farrell?’
‘It’s Captain Farrell. No, we wouldn’t.’
‘Then pay five, and go away. I have a dinner to get back to. Sergeant Coombes? Have Mr Buckley make the arrangements.’
When he’d gone, Simon, whose ear had swollen to the size of a Brussels sprout and was causing him a lot of pain, said loudly, ‘What a supercilious turd.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ Sergeant Coombes growled. Then he smiled unpleasantly and said to Rian, ‘You can’t pay it, can you?’
‘Yes, I can.’ Rian opened his purse and counted out £40 and waved it in Coombes’s face. It was an enormous show of bravado—it was money he couldn’t really spare—but it was worth it for the satisfaction of annoying the prick. ‘Now run along and find this Buckley fellow.’
Coombes glared at him, then spun on his heel and marched off, slamming the door behind him.
After a moment, Hawk remarked, ‘I am not sure that was a good idea, Rian.’
A week after Bentley’s fire, it appeared that Pierre’s Bayou Bakery was being boycotted, at least by some. Leena was distraught, apologising to Kitty repeatedly. As though it were her fault, Kitty thought angrily.
Not everyone stayed away, but the shop was no longer crowded every day and profits were down. Flora came in one day to talk to Kitty about it.
In a complete reversal of his reaction to Lily Pearce, Pierre whipped out from behind the counter, grasped her hand and bowed low over it.
‘Mademoiselle McRae, to see you again is a delight!’ he exclaimed effusively.
Kitty wondered if he fancied her.
Flora smiled graciously at Pierre, and shook her parasol free of a sprinkle of rain from a recent shower. To Kitty, she said matter-off-actly, ‘I hear we are
Rian sat in the wagon, holding a sodden kerchief over his bleeding nose. Beside him, Pierre squinted through an eye that had swollen almost shut, and Daniel dabbed repeatedly with the tail of his shirt at a split lip. Only Gideon had remained unscathed.
Behind them trotted six mounted police, battered and bloodstained but nonetheless looking smugly pleased with themselves at having captured what they clearly believed to be a ruthless, cold-blooded killer and his band of brigands.
The Camp, laid out on a grassy mound in front of the town proper and overlooking the Yarrowee, was surrounded by a wooden fence that encircled neat lines of military tents, stables, and a tall flagpole flying the Union Jack. The troopers guarding the gate saluted as the wagon entered and came to a halt outside a collection of wooden buildings.
The sergeant climbed down and ordered Rian and the crew off.
Looking around interestedly, Mick remarked, ‘I’ve never been in here before.’
‘Shut up!’ the sergeant snapped. ‘You, you and you,’ he said, pointing at three of his men, ‘keep an eye and I’ll alert Mr d’Ewes.’
A short period of standing around, then they were ‘escorted’ inside to face Police Magistrate John d’Ewes.
He sat behind a large desk, giving off fumes of what smelt suspiciously to Rian like very good Burgundy, and didn’t look pleased to have been disturbed in the middle of his evening meal.
He stared at Rian for some time, then turned to the sergeant.
‘This isn’t Thomas Farrell.’
Rian smirked.
‘I believe it is, sir.’
‘It is not, Sergeant Coombes. I should know. I’ve already had him in front of me once.’
Sergeant Coombes fumbled for a piece of paper in his uniform pocket. ‘But this is the address I was given for him, sir. Lilac Cottage, near the Red Hill Lead.’
‘Well, you’ve been misinformed.’ John d’Ewes turned back to Rian. ‘You won’t be tried for murder, but I am fining you five pounds. Each.’
‘What for?’
‘Disturbing the peace.’
‘ I didn’t disturb the peace. Your trained monkeys did that.’
The magistrate looked pained. ‘Would you rather pay ten pounds each, Mr Farrell?’
‘It’s Captain Farrell. No, we wouldn’t.’
‘Then pay five, and go away. I have a dinner to get back to. Sergeant Coombes? Have Mr Buckley make the arrangements.’
When he’d gone, Simon, whose ear had swollen to the size of a Brussels sprout and was causing him a lot of pain, said loudly, ‘What a supercilious turd.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ Sergeant Coombes growled. Then he smiled unpleasantly and said to Rian, ‘You can’t pay it, can you?’
‘Yes, I can.’ Rian opened his purse and counted out £40 and waved it in Coombes’s face. It was an enormous show of bravado—it was money he couldn’t really spare—but it was worth it for the satisfaction of annoying the prick. ‘Now run along and find this Buckley fellow.’
Coombes glared at him, then spun on his heel and marched off, slamming the door behind him.
After a moment, Hawk remarked, ‘I am not sure that was a good idea, Rian.’
A week after Bentley’s fire, it appeared that Pierre’s Bayou Bakery was being boycotted, at least by some. Leena was distraught, apologising to Kitty repeatedly. As though it were her fault, Kitty thought angrily.
Not everyone stayed away, but the shop was no longer crowded every day and profits were down. Flora came in one day to talk to Kitty about it.
In a complete reversal of his reaction to Lily Pearce, Pierre whipped out from behind the counter, grasped her hand and bowed low over it.
‘Mademoiselle McRae, to see you again is a delight!’ he exclaimed effusively.
Kitty wondered if he fancied her.
Flora smiled graciously at Pierre, and shook her parasol free of a sprinkle of rain from a recent shower. To Kitty, she said matter-off-actly, ‘I hear we are
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