Caribbee(85)

‘I’m going in to find out what happened to her,’ Renzi said quietly. ‘If you’ll set me ashore tomorrow night, I’m determined to find her.’

‘And look for your lunatic base!’

Renzi’s eyes glowed dangerously. ‘I said I’ll go after Louise.’

Kydd paused. ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right. I’ll not allow it.’

‘I’m going.’

‘No!’

‘Then this minute I’ll go overside and swim ashore, I swear it.’

‘You’ve no chance, Nicholas. You’ll be taken as an Englishman the first person who sees you.’

‘That’s my affair. I’d be obliged if you’d linger here for another day, then put me ashore.’

‘You’re quite determined on it, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’

Kydd drew a quick breath. ‘Very well, I won’t stand in your way.’

‘Have a care, sir!’ Doud hissed anxiously from the boat.

The top of the fish quay was deserted, a patchwork of shadows; beyond, lights of the village. Renzi cautiously edged to one side, tiptoed to a stack of lobster pots and peered over.

The road wound out of sight past a group of houses and in the other direction there were deserted pig-pens and a farmhouse with lights ablaze.

Cautiously he stepped out. He was dressed plainly, in dark clothing with a makeshift knapsack on his back. There was no point in disguise: he was a stranger and his accent marked him out as an Englishman so his only hope was a rapid entry and exit.

His plan was simple: to reach Pointe-à-Pitre in an hour or so and find Louise’s well-remembered house near the waterfront. If there were any of the family Vernou left, that was where they would be. If not, he’d have to think again.

After he had passed the last house, he breathed a little easier. Lofty palm trees and thick bush lined the road; if he saw or heard anything he could be out of sight in a second. He moved quickly, wryly recalling that this was the self-same road that, years before, Kydd had taken with his party escaping from the capital when it was captured by the revolutionaries.

The night was cool and the thinning sky overhead allowed him a glimpse of the stars and the comfort of knowing his direction. He caught the glimmer of water to his right: the head of the bay, and it was therefore only about ten minutes to the bridge and the same to the other side to the capital.

Houses began again, some with lights. He hurried past them, his heart thumping when a dog began a sudden howling and someone came to the door. He froze and after a moment the door banged shut, the dog now barking maniacally.

It fell silent after he reached the road to the bridge. In French Europe, bridges were often guarded as a matter of course, and it was too dark to see if there was a factionnaire at this one. As quietly as he could he followed the road on to the bridge but his footsteps became a wooden thumping. He pressed on, trying to think of what he would say if stopped.

He was two-thirds over when he heard some way behind him the creak and grind of a cart. He hurried along, then saw the unmistakable outline of a sentry-box. He stopped in panic and glanced back: the cart had reached the bridge and was beginning to cross it.

A figure stepped into the road out of the sentry-box and his heart quailed. The man gestured irritably to him but, in a flood of relief, he saw he was motioning him out of the way. No doubt merely the bridge-keeper, making sure farmers paid their dues if they tried to cross at night.

Renzi mumbled something and pressed on to the streets beyond.

It had been many years and the darkness made it difficult to recognise where he was.

A couple passed on the opposite side, talking animatedly.

Were the Vernous on the north or the south side of the square? A man turned the corner and walked directly towards him. Renzi swayed a little, as though intoxicated, and the man passed wide in distaste.

Suddenly he recognised an odd wrought-iron pattern of a gate and recalled it was at the corner just up from the house.

He hurried on and there it was, with a light in the upper-floor bedroom where, long ago, he and Kydd had been quartered. His heart beat fast but he had to play it with the utmost care. He passed by without curious looks, trying to remember what was in the street behind, then recalled it was the grassy path that led to the waterfront, close to where he and Louise had got away in the brig, leaving Kydd alone.

He doubled back along the path – no one was following. As he drew abreast of the rear of the Vernou residence, he jumped over the low picket fence into the hibiscus bushes and was underneath the little balcony of the bedroom.

He’d brought to mind the noisy creaking of the rickety steps that led down from it that had made it impossible for himself and Kydd to slip out by themselves. With a last look around he leaped for the underside of the balcony. This was much quieter, but if he was seen, the game would be over.