Smitty scanned the paper and let out a low whistle. “You’re good, Cap’n. This cost even less than the last load you bought in Gaia. This will fetch a nice profit back home.”
Nick patted him on the shoulder. “I live to bargain.” He glanced at Harriet and scanned the quay. “We can leave as soon as Jonesy gets back with the … Ah, there he is.”
Jonesy approached the dock, riding one horse and leading two others, one of which was the giant grey gelding Harriet rode yesterday.
“You ready?” Nick repeated.
“Been waiting on you,” she said, feeling cheeky after witnessing his performance.
Flynn appeared at the railing holding two packed saddlebags, one for Jonesy and one for Nick. Close up, Harriet finally noticed Nick had changed while she slept. Gone were his casual at-sea clothes. Instead of a London gentleman, though, he looked like a moderately prosperous sea captain, with a simply tied neckcloth, checked wool waistcoat and navy coat beneath his caped greatcoat. The gold braid trim on his cocked hat of black felt highlighted his gold hoop earring. He didn’t have a cutlass strapped to his side, though she did see the butt of a dagger handle at the top of his right boot.
Nick helped her tie on her saddlebag and coat behind the saddle, tossed her up, and within minutes they were riding toward the church in Bonfim, just to the east of Porto.
Two hours later, Harriet was struggling to keep her spirits up. The housekeeper’s sister at the parsonage in Bonfim had indeed helped to welcome many refugees from Spain a few years ago … and they had all long since moved on. There were at least a dozen different parsonages, monasteries, and other places the housekeeper could think of that Father Miguel might have gone to, seeking refuge for his horse and a congregation for the priest to serve.
Nick called for a rest at a coaching inn, to water the horses and plan their search.
They sat at a table in the back near the kitchen door, Nick with his back to the wall and a clear view of the entrance. While they waited for their food and drink, Jonesy smoothed out the paper with the list of possible addresses, and Nick unfolded a map he’d had tucked in an inner coat pocket. They marked the map with locations the housekeeper had suggested as likely.
Harriet stared at the number and range of possibilities. Her heart sank. They couldn’t spend endless days and weeks searching the Portuguese countryside for the treasure. Nick would likely cover his share of expenses for this trip with the profit he’d earn from selling Portuguese wine in England, but she was further in debt. Not only did she owe Nick for her share of the costs for the trip—good heavens, what if he charged her for half the cost of replacing the cannon?—but the mortgage was due soon. Mama and Gabriel would have nowhere to go. Winter was coming. Aunt Elizabeth might be able to take them in, at least briefly, but would they even have the means to travel from Brixham all the way to Elizabeth’s home in Manchester?
“Like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Jonesy gloomily pronounced, slumping in his chair.
“A needle at least looks different from the hay,” Nick groused. “We’re looking for a Catholic priest in a nation of Catholics.”
Further conversation halted when the serving woman brought their food—Cozido à Portuguesa, a beef and sausage stew with root vegetables; a basket of maize bread; and mugs of ale.
After several bites of delicious food and downing most of her ale, Harriet began to feel more optimistic. “In our favor, though, is that unlike a needle, Father Miguel wanted our fathers to find him.”
Both men stared at her.
“You’re assuming he didn’t decide to keep the treasure for himself,” Jonesy said after a moment. “A man can only stand so much temptation.”
Nick gave him a sidelong glance, which Jonesy returned. Something was silently communicated between them, but Harriet couldn’t interpret it.
“Let me see that list again,” Nick said after taking a long drink of ale.
Jonesy slid the paper across the table.
Nick studied it again, and Harriet leaned against his shoulder to look at it too, eating the last of her cornbread.
“Harry, you’re brilliant,” he said.
Harriet straightened, already missing the warm strength of Nick’s shoulder. “Yes, of course I am. Why?”
With his finger, he stabbed a name on the sheet. “That’s it. Casa de Perseguição. It’s a winery run by priests.”
Jonesy chuckled. Harriet still didn’t understand.
“Perseguição means chase,” Nick added.
“Guess there wasn’t a House of Langston for him to bolt to,” Jonesy said, “so he went to the House of Chase.”
Harriet shared Jonesy’s grin. Dare she hope? The weight on her shoulders felt a tiny bit lighter.
Nick located the winery on the map, then looked out the window at the sky and checked his pocket watch. “It’s near the Rio Ferreira, east of here. Even if we ride hard we won’t be able to reach it before dark today, but we should be able to get there before noon tomorrow.”
They finished their meal, collected their horses, and were back on the road within the hour.
