Rapscallion (33 page)

She took a
breath, gathered herself and said, "Forgive me, Captain Lasseur. I
neglected to thank you for your intervention; you, too, Captain Hooper."

"You're
most welcome, madame," Lasseur gave a small bow.

"I did not
want you to think I was ungrateful."

The redness she
had sustained from the slap to her cheek was fading.

"Nothing
was further from our minds," Lasseur said. "You are safe. That is all
that matters."

She nodded.
"Nevertheless, it was remiss of me. You put yourselves at risk."

"You called
him by his name," Lasseur said. "You knew him?"

There was a
pause. "He is my sister's husband."

Lasseur
hesitated, taken aback by the response. "This has happened before?"

She pulled
Lasseur's coat about her and shook her head. "No."

There was an awkward
silence.

"We should
leave you to recover," Lasseur said gently. "Unless there is anything
we can do . . . ?"

She drew herself
up with an effort. "Thank you, no. You have been very kind."

"It was
nothing, madame. Anyone would have done the same."

She looked at
him. "It was not
nothing
, Captain. And no, they would
not."

Turning, she
stepped inside the house, called the dog, and closed the door behind her.

Finding
themselves left on the step, there seemed little else to do except leave.

Heading back to
the barn, Lasseur said, "I think I might have killed him if you hadn't
taken the axe from me."

"I think
you would have, too," Hawkwood said.

Lasseur shook
his head. "But you were right. It would have been madness."

"Yes it
would."

"Even
though he might yet tell someone he saw us here?"

"You think
so? He tried to rape a woman. I'd say he has as much to hide as we do."

"He might
see it as a way of getting his own back on her for refusing his advances and on
us for intervening."

"It's
possible," Hawkwood said. "Though with those scratches on his face, I
suspect he may want to lie low for a while, by which time we'll likely be on
our way."

"It won't
hurt to keep an eye out though," Lasseur said.

"No,"
Hawkwood agreed. "It won't."

They entered the
barn.

"Ah," Lasseur
said. "It's good to be home."

It was dusk when
the dog came to them. It went to Lasseur first, wagging its tail. Then it moved
to Hawkwood. It was the first time the animal had shown itself to be
comfortable in his company. Hawkwood felt curiously honoured.

The dog had not
come alone. A shadow fell across the straw. Hawkwood and Lasseur stood.

She had changed
clothes and was looking more composed than when they had left her at the house,
though she had still not found a way of keeping the wayward lock of hair in
place. She carried a basket in one hand and a cloth bundle in the other. She
set the basket down.

"Your coat,
Captain," she said, holding out the neatly folded bundle. A nerve moved in
her cheek. "I noticed there was a tear in the sleeve. I've darned it for
you. I would not call myself a seamstress, but it is an improvement, I
think."

Lasseur took the
proffered garment. "That was most thoughtful, madame. Thank you."

She nodded.
"Yes, well, it was the least I could do." She brushed the errant hair
behind her ear.

"You are
recovered?" Lasseur asked gently.

"Yes, thank
you." Self-consciously, she smoothed down the front of her skirt and
indicated the basket. "I've brought your supper. There's bread and some
sausage, and a gooseberry pie. I hope it is to your taste."

She turned as if
to leave,
then
hesitated. "I brought you this. I
thought that you and Captain Hooper might make use of it . . . that is, if you
do not think it impertinent of me." She reached into the pocket of her dress
and took out a small item wrapped in a square of towel. She passed it to
Lasseur and stepped back. Lasseur unfolded the towel and a smile lit up his
face. He held up the razor and ran a palm over his dark stubble. "Thank
you, madame. We shall put it to excellent use." He showed it to Hawkwood
and, unseen by the woman, lifted one eyebrow in a laconic slant.

"It
belonged to my late husband. I had quite forgotten I had it. You have the soap
still?"

"Forgive
me," Lasseur said. "I meant to return it to you."

"That will
not be necessary. Please keep it."

"Thank
you."

She nodded,
hesitated, and then, as if coming to a decision, said, "Seth Tyler . . .
the man who was here earlier ..." She took a deep breath. "Since my
husband passed away, he has made known his . . . feelings . . . towards me. At
no time, despite
what he said, have I ever given him cause to think that I
might be receptive to his advances ..."

A faint flush
had crept across her neck.

She brushed an
imaginary hair from her cheek. "And so you should know, I am called Jess.
My husband's name was Jack - Jack Flynn. I have been widowed for three years. I
have worked this farm on my own since my husband died and, as may have become
apparent, I am unused to company. There, it is said."

Her hands formed
themselves into fists.

"We are
pleased to meet you, Jess Flynn," Lasseur said.

Her jaw
tightened. "Thank you, Captain. I hope the supper is to your satisfaction.
You'll find wine in the jug. It is French, I believe." She unclenched her
fists and spun abruptly. "Come, Rab!"

With the dog by
her side, she headed for the door.

"Madame
Flynn?" Lasseur called.

She paused, and
turned back to face him.
"Captain?"

"If this
man, Seth, were to return; what then?"

Hawkwood knew
what Lasseur was getting at. He knew the woman did too. Next time, there might
not be anyone around to help. A nerve pulsed in her throat.

"He will
not return."

"He heard
Captain Lasseur speak," Hawkwood said. "He'll guess what we are. He
may tell someone."

"He won't
do that either."

"How can you
be so sure?"

"When he's
sober, he'll remember that I have protection. He'll know what will happen to
him next time."

Hawkwood
remembered her threat to use the gun.

"You mean
you'd arm yourself?"

"That,
too."

She turned away,
leaving the words hanging in the air.

Lasseur stared
after her. He recovered his wits as she reached the door.

"There is
one other thing, madame. Before, I could not help noticing that parts of the
farm are in need of repair. Captain Hooper and I would like to offer our
services in exchange for your hospitality. If you have the tools to hand, we
could make ourselves useful and it will help us pass the time. That is, if you
find the idea . . . acceptable."

She halted and
looked back, surprise crossing her face. "Thank you, Captain. That is a
most generous offer. However, as I told you, I have a man who comes ..."

"Yes . . .
well, as we have not seen him, we thought perhaps
.. ."
Lasseur's voice trailed off.

Her head lifted.
"You thought that he was an invention . . . to deter you from trespass?"
There was an edge to her voice.

"We thought
that a possibility, yes."

"I see.
Well, I assure you Thomas
does
exist. Though his visits can be
. . ." the corners of her mouth lifted "... infrequent."

"Ah
..." Lasseur said, nodding.

"However .
. ." She held his gaze.

Lasseur waited.

"I expect
him here tomorrow. He can show you where things are kept. He will, I think,
welcome your help." With a final nod, she turned away. "He keeps
telling me he's not getting any younger."

The two men
watched her go. Registering the expression on the privateer's face, Hawkwood
hoped Lasseur wasn't about to make a fool of himself.

"This is
Thomas . . . Tom," Jess Flynn said. "As you can see, he is flesh and
blood."

Thomas Gadd was
sixty if he was a day; a short, wiry man with powdery grey hair secured in a
plait at the nape of his neck. His leathery brown complexion and labourer's
hands spoke of a life spent outdoors. His limp was noticeable but not severe
and despite the injury he appeared sprightly for his age. The scar, on the
other hand, was a lot more livid than Hawkwood had envisaged from Jess's
description. It looked as if it had been made by a blade. It was a miracle the
man had not lost his eye.

Gadd had seaman
written all over him. His grizzled countenance and braided queue were a dead
giveaway, as was the tattoo of an anchor emblazoned on his right forearm.

"Tom, this
is Captain Hooper, and Captain Lasseur."

Gadd's face
betrayed no surprise, as if being confronted by prisoners of war on the run was
an everyday occurrence.

"These
gentlemen would like to earn their keep, Tom," Jess Flynn said.

Hawkwood and
Lasseur felt themselves perused in turn.

"Been
tellin' you I could do with some help," Gadd said. He stared hard at
Hawkwood. "Jessie tells me you're a Yankee, Captain."

"That's
right."

Gadd nodded.
"Won't hold that against you.
Met a
fair few in my time.
Liked most of 'em."
In the same breath, Gadd said, "You'll be a soldier, too, Captain Hooper,
and your friend's a seafaring man, I'm thinking."

Lasseur blinked
in surprise.

Gadd sniffed. He
regarded Hawkwood levelly. "You walk straighten I saw you and I said to
myself, now there's a man who's done some marching and carried a pack or two in
his time." He turned to Lasseur. "You, though, Captain, you've the
mark of a man who's used to the wind and spray on his face. You only get that
look on the deck of a ship. Am I right?"

"You are
right, my friend," Lasseur replied, impressed and not a little bemused.

"Then you
and
me
have got something in common. Reckon I've
sailed on just about every kind of rig there is, and then some.
Did time with John Company
and
the Dutch navy
before I joined the King's service.
Got the wounds at the Nile, in case
you were wondering, but don't worry, I ain't a man who holds a grudge;
leastways, not for that long."

"I'm very
glad," Lasseur said.

"Speak your
lingo, an' all." He favoured Hawkwood with a grin.
"Enough
to get by, anyways.
Picked up a bit of Spanish, too; an' I can curse in
Portuguese if I've a mind."

"Tom was in
the navy with my husband," Jess Flynn said.

"Served
together on
Orion,"
Gadd said. "Jack was an able seaman. I was a
quartergunner.
Got paid off in '02."

When the peace
had been signed at Amiens, Hawkwood recalled.
Though it had
not lasted long.
Hostilities had broken out again just over a year
later. He wondered why Gadd and his friend Jack Flynn had not returned to sea.
Gadd's wounds wouldn't have prevented him from joining a ship. Maybe he'd just
had enough of the life. As for Flynn, perhaps it had been because he'd acquired
a wife. He wondered when the Flynns had taken their vows.

"Crew mates
look after each other," Gadd said. "That's how it works. They see
their mates' families are all right, too. Isn't that so,
Captain
?"
He looked to Lasseur.

Lasseur nodded
soberly. Hawkwood wondered if he was thinking of his dead wife and son.

"Right
then," Gadd said briskly.
"Can't stand here chin-
wagging all day.
Why don't you leave these
gentlemen
to me, Jessie? I'll find something for them to do. Reckon we'll have this place
lookin' shipshape in no time!"

They rested at
midday when the woman took them a basket of food and a jug of cider, which they
placed in the stream to keep cool. By that time the gate to the sheep pasture
had been mended, the meadow grass had been cut back and the slats on the barn
nailed into place. The woman had left the food and returned to the house,
leaving the three men to fend for
themselves
.

Hawkwood took a
sip of cider and passed Gadd the jug. The seaman was puffing contentedly at a
short-stemmed clay pipe. He put the pipe down and raised the jug to his lips.
When he had drunk he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, put the jug to one side,
leant back on his elbow and took up his pipe once more. With his eyes half closed
against the sun he looked like a man satisfied with his lot.