Maxwell’s gaze fixed on the fallen rocks at the far end of the beach. With a quick nod to the man holding Hannah and her mother, he strode in that direction. He stopped a few yards short. Even from here the entrance to the cave was not visible but the imprint of a man’s shoe could be seen in the damp sand. The two dogs sent up cries of delight at having found their quarry.
‘I have the women,’ Maxwell shouted in English. ‘Surrender yourself and they’ll not be harmed.’
Hannah cried out and struggled against the man who held her, but he twisted her arm behind her back, provoking a yelp of pain.
Maxwell raised his pistol and shot into the air. The sound splintered the quiet cove, sending a flock of seagulls rising in protest.
‘The next one will be for Mrs.Linton, execution for harbouring the enemy,’ Maxwell said.
He nodded at her captor who thrust her forward. She fell on to her knees in the sand.
‘Release the women.’ Fabien came out from behind the rocks, his hands above his head. ‘My name is Lieutenant Fabien Brassard. Please accept my surrender as an officer of the French Navy. Alas I have no sword to offer you.’
Sir Simon stared, his jaw working as Fabien came towards him, and for an awful moment Hannah thought Maxwell would order him to be shot out of hand.
Fabien bowed. ‘Your servant. Sir Simon Maxwell is it not?’
Maxwell looked from the Frenchman to the two women. ‘You bloody traitors,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for this.’
Fabien raised a placating hand. ‘Please, Sir Simon. It is not the fault of Mrs.Linton or her daughter. I forced my way into their house and threatened harm should they betray me.’
Sir Simon looked him up and down. ‘Harm? With what? You said yourself you have no weapon, Lieutenant.’
‘I had a belaying pin that had washed up on the beach.’
‘But you don’t have it now?’
‘Sir Simon. The lieutenant was wounded. It was my Christian duty to tend to his wounds. We intended to advise you of his presence, but with the weather and time of year…’ Mrs.Linton was struggling for words and it was clear from the high colour in his face that Sir Simon believed none of their concocted story.
Sir Simon turned to his sergeant. ‘Take him away,’ he said.
The man advanced toward the Frenchman. Fabien straightened, tugged at the collar of his battered uniform jacket, and bowed to the two Linton women.
‘Au revoir. I apologise for my intrusion and the risk at which I have placed you.’ He looked at Sir Simon. ‘For the last time, you have my word as a gentleman these women are innocent.’
Sir Simon made a noise somewhere between a snarl and a grunt.
‘Take the women back to the house. I’ll deal with them shortly.’
It seemed like an eternity before Maxwell entered the cottage and ordered his man from the room. Mrs.Linton drew Hannah into her, closing her arms around her daughter as Sir Simon drew himself up and turned his thunderous gaze on them.
‘Does the word traitor mean nothing to you?’ he raged at them.
Mrs.Linton straightened.
‘I only did what my Christian conscience dictated,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see an enemy; I saw only a sick boy who needed help.’
‘How many more English lives will he take? Eh, madam?’ Sir Simon thrust his choleric face into Mrs.Linton’s. ‘I should have you both hanged for treason!’
Mrs.Linton thrust her daughter behind her.
‘Then take me, Sir Simon,’ she said. ‘This is none of my daughter’s doing!’
Sir Simon turned away to gaze out of the window, his hands behind his back, the fingers working almost as if he were playing a musical instrument. When he turned back, the anger in his face had been replaced by something else… a slyness that made Hannah’s skin crawl.
He crossed to them and pulled Hannah out from behind her mother’s back. ‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen,’ Hannah responded.
