“And if they don’t?” Talbot asked him. “For all we know one of our own peers on the council could have had a hand in what transpired. We’d be foolish to deny that certain individuals were extremely jealous of the favor Thorpe enjoyed with His Excellency, you know that.”“And you already know the inherent difficulties that course of investigation would entail,” Peele reminded him.Talbot grunted in frustration. “Perhaps old Hargrove was right when he suggested that Anne wanted her own husband dead. For all we know, it’s as good a theory as any,” he said.“Let’s not allow our vexations to get the better of us, shall we, Gilbert?” Peele interjected.“Perhaps this talk of traitors and plots has us ‘hunting witches’ after all,” Fenwick commented.After a short pause, Talbot spoke up.“Your contacts in the Royal Navy, what of them?” he asked Peele.“I’ve had no communication since they left, though I imagine there’s no real reason for me to expect anything at the moment. Let’s not allow the
The last thing he heard was the foreboding click of a wheel-lock pistol being cocked before a loud shot rang out in the gloom accompanied by a momentary bright flash. The ball passed straight between Weston’s eyes and out the back of his skull, killing him instantly. He never felt his body slide off the saddle and flop heavily to the ground, face down, the back of his skull ruptured by a horrible, bloody wound.The spooked horse immediately turned and bolted. The two men who killed its rider made as if to give chase, but were immediately stopped by a third figure which ran up and grasped the others by their shoulders. With a hurriedly spoken admonishment, the other succeeded in herding his fellows off in the opposite direction, toward the strange ambient sounds.Moving with alacrity through the pall of night, the three dark-skinned men were soon in the company of others hurrying off in the same direction. They passed the completely darkened main house, where bodies of slain overseers
Allison knew the quality of his volunteer crew and that such lines of questioning for warrant officers like the master-at-arms were perhaps wholly unneeded. Still, it was a way of showing concern for his men that conveyed his good will while not betraying any undue sense of acquaintance or familiarity that could be seen as inappropriate for an officer in his position. Given his sympathetic leaning toward the plight of the common sailor, it was only logical and fitting. Yet, something in Allison ’s mind caused him to wonder if doing small things like that weren’t actually in fact selfish actions – token gestures meant only to ease his own conscience when it came to the harsh realities of the men’s lives. Perhaps something in his nature did find a form of reassurance in showing due regard for the hands entrusted to his command; but this was no different from his respectful treatment of the officers or his engagement in the education and seasoning of the midshipmen. Commanders of lesser
Absent-mindedly, Allison reached for and picked up the brass bell from LaTour’s float which had now been sitting upon the desk for several days. He turned the bell over in his hands, allowing the light coming over his shoulder from the candelabra to shine upon the pale golden surface. Though it was in exceptionally good condition and quite well made, Henry couldn’t have been more correct in his observation that it was a prodigious waste of brass where the French were concerned. They would have been better served in using the material out of which it was hewn to mold cannon, or even shot. As the flickering candlelight glinted off its surface, Allison reflected upon his decision to retrieve the object, wondering just what he expected to learn from it that could have been of real importance. Not even the trained scientific perusal of Deakins had been able to glean the slightest bit of helpful information from this finely wrought, but otherwise rather ordinary piece of metal.Then, unex
Having finally arrived, the two men weren’t in the least surprised to discover almost no passers-by in the streets at that early period of the small hours, but still they pressed on undeterred. Obviously searching for something in particular, they walked along, conversing quietly but intently with one another as if trying to determine which direction to walk or on which street corner to turn. Things went on like this for a short time until the pair happened upon a couple of drunkards stumbling around a corner from a cross street. They were almost comically striving with might and main to prop one another upright despite their mutual intoxication and lack of equilibrium, laughing ridiculously the entire time. These men were rough-looking and boorish, but appeared quite pleased and satisfied with the night’s bout of drinking and the lofty heights of insobriety to which it had taken them. Despite the threatening appearance of the pistols and knives they openly carried on their persons, t
The travelers looked up to see an aged man with a full grey-white beard standing next to their table leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane. His worn and weathered face featured a conspicuous red bulbous nose which stood out in contrast to his otherwise tanned skin. Short of stature with a crouched back, there was probably a great deal more hair on his chin than on his balding head. He wore baggy galligaskins and a long coat of canvas with the sleeves rolled up past the elbow. While much about the man’s appearance gave the suggestion of frailty, his swart complexion, sinewy forearms and rough knobby hands marked him as a man who had hauled on more than his fair share of hawsers and halyards during his lifetime. Even if his bent back didn’t allow him to perform these tasks any longer, it was a fair guess to expect this elderly man was a former sailor with a significant store of tales to tell.“Oh?” answered one of the two visitors – the one who wore a floppy wide-brimmed hat and plai
“That’s the truly great part. While I can’t personally vouch for the fate of those people, I heard some terrific stories about what happened after we rescued them. Some were said to have stayed here on Martinique; can’t say I’ve ever met up with any of them since that day, though. Others supposedly made their way back out into the world, many with designs on furthering the Jacobite cause however possible. I heard that some of them traveled all the way to France, where they could more easily negotiate for the release of friends and family still imprisoned. It’s said more than a few continue to scheme and plot against the Hanoverian monarchy with the backing of French nobles. I’ve even heard that a handful of these people might actually have been brave enough to return to Britain or any of her colonies under assumed names to carry on the rebellion in other ways.”“The ripening fruit?” Brossard asked with more than a hint of cynicism.“Yes, exactly!” Rougebec answered as if never cogniza
The old sailor paused again, looking back and forth from Brossard to Guiteau as though he expected one of them to ask the obvious question he’d left unanswered. When his audience didn’t offer this time, he continued.“Obviously something of importance is being stored up there. Wagons which are always covered, usually with armed men riding aboard, make their way up and down at times, winding along the wide path that switches back on the hillside. I’m told regular army troops are actually posted to keep the place under guard.”“Does it belong to LaTour himself?” Brossard asked.Rougebec shook his head. “People suggested that at first, but then another story started circulating. A friend of mine told me. He said whatever happens up there is overseen by some high-up government official, an aristocrat of some standing from the old country by all accounts.”“And no one knows who this man is?” Guiteau questioned.“Nope, but word is not even Baron de Beauville, the governor himself, interfere