Page 46 of Echo in the Wind

Her head jerked from Émile to Jean. “Why?” Suspicion dripped from the word.

Jean nodded to Émile. With his face shadowed by his tricorne in the dim light of the fading sky, he was confident she did not recognize him.

“The capitaine is feeling generous.”

“Most generous, Monsieur,” she said, rising from where she had knelt next to the chest. “Very well. We accept your gift of the silk as a seal on our partnership and accept the lace, brandy and tea as agreed.”

Her companion, the scarred man, was about to lift the chest of lace, but Émile ordered some of the crew to take the chest down to the rowing boat. Once the lace was loaded, the giant climbed over the rail and lowered himself down the manrope to the small boat.

Jean’s crew had returned from the shore and were winching the longboats onboard.

Lady Joanna handed Émile a pouch of coins. At Émile’s direction, a crewmember hefted the chest of silk and waited for her. She turned to Jean, standing a mere stone’s throw away. “I will not forget your generosity, Monsieur. I can assure you, the proceeds from the silk will be used to feed families in dire need.”

He touched his tricorne, but said nothing. So, she was not a bored aristocrat out for a bit of nonsense, as he had once thought, but a well meaning, although perhaps misguided, lady wanting to help others. Nevertheless, if he had anything to say about it, she would not persist in this dangerous business better left to men like him.

“Sail, ho!” shouted his lookout.

“Where away?” yelled Lucien from the helm.

“Off the larboard quarter, coming on hard!”

Jean reached for his spyglass and peered through the lens to see a revenue cutter under full sail bearing down upon them from the west.

Lady Joanna cried, “I must go!”

Jean shouted out the orders. “Run out the starboard battery! And get underway!”

He turned to see Lady Joanna staring at him open mouthed, as if seeing him for the first time. “Monsieur Donet?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle, it is I.”

The guns rumbled as they were moved into place. His crew let go of the lines they’d been holding and the ship veered away from shore, heading into the Channel with the gun ports thrown open and the guns run out.

Off the starboard bow, Jean saw the English cutter coming closer.

Lady Joanna lurched for the rail. “My brother!”

“Too late for that!” he roared, pulling her back. He pointed to the aft hatch. “Get below decks where you will be safe.”

She backed away, again going for the rail. “Freddie!” she yelled.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered. Striding to the rail, he looked over the side. A short distance from the ship, the rowing boat bobbed in the water, its occupants staring at him with a look of shock. “Get to shore!” Jean shouted. “I will take care of her!”

“’Tis the comte!” Frederick cried to his large companion. With that, the scarred man bent to the oars and rowed hard for shore.

Jean faced Lady Joanna. “Your brother will be safe. The two ships will soon pass. Do as I say and get below!”

He turned from her to see the revenue cutter hoisting her signals, the red ensign flying from the gaff visible even in the fading twilight.

The English ship fired a single musket shot, an order for la Reine Noire to heave to.

Jean took no notice. He had no intention of doing as the English captain wished. He would not deliver his ship or his aristocratic passenger into the hands of English Customs.

Émile stepped up to him. “Yer orders, Capitaine?”

“As soon as the cutter is in range, fire a warning over her bow.”

Émile saluted and stepped to one of the starboard guns. “Hé, le gars! Let us give this English dog a warning bark to show him we, too, can bite.”