A King's Cutter Read Online Free PDF Page A

Tregembo’s voice. Anxious. Was he a victim of presentiment too?
    It occurred to Drinkwater that there was something irrational, ludicrous even, in his standing here on a strip of French beach in the middle of the night not knowing why. He thought of Elizabeth to still his pounding heart. She would be asleep now, little dreaming of where he was, cold and exposed and not a little frightened. He looked at the men. They were huddled in a group round the boat.
    â€˜Spread out and relax, it’s too exposed for an ambush.’ His logic fell on ears that learned only that he too was apprehensive. The men moved sullenly. As he watched he saw them stiffen, felt his own breath catch in his throat and his palms moisten.
    The thudding of hooves and jingle of harness grew louder andresolved itself into vague movement to the south. Then suddenly, running in the wavelets that covered its tracks a small barouche was upon them. The discovery was mutual. The shrill neighing of the horses as they reared in surprise was matched by the cries of the seamen who flung themselves out of the way.
    Drinkwater whirled to see the splintering of the boat’s gunwale as a hoof crashed down upon it. The terrified horse stamped and pawed, desperately trying to extricate itself. With the flat of his hanger Drinkwater beat at it, at the same time grabbing a rein and tugging the horse’s head round clear of the gig.
    A man jumped down from the barouche.
‘Êtes-vous anglais
?’
    â€˜Yes,
m’sieur
, where the hell have you been?’
    â€˜
Pardon
?’
    â€˜How many?
Combien hommes
?’
    â€˜
Trois hommes et une femme
, but I speak English.’
    â€˜Get into the boat, are you being followed?’
    â€˜
Oui
, yes . . . the other man, he is, er,
blessé
 . . . he struggled with the English.’
    â€˜Wounded?’
    â€˜That is right, by Jacobins in Carteret.’
    Drinkwater cut him short, recognising reaction. The man was young, near collapse.
    â€˜Get in the boat,’ he pointed towards the waiting seamen and gave orders. Two figures emerged from the barouche, a man and a woman. They stood uncertainly.
    â€˜The boat! Get in the boat . . .’ They began to speak, the man turning back to the open door. Angry exasperation began to replace his fear and Drinkwater called to two seamen to drag the wounded man out of the carriage and pushed the dithering fugitive towards the gig. ‘
Le bateau, vite! Vite!
’
    He scooped the woman up roughly, surprised at her lightness, ignoring the indrawn breath of outrage, the stiffening of her body at the enforced intimacy. He dumped her roughly into the boat. A waft of lavender brought with it a hint of resentment at his cavalier treatment. He turned to the men struggling with the wounded Frenchman. ‘Hurry there!’ and to the remainder, ‘the rest of you keep this damned thing afloat.’ They heaved as a larger breaker came ashore, tugging round their legs with a seething urgency.
    â€˜Damned swell coming in with the flood,’ someone said.
    â€˜What about the baggage,
m’sieur
?’ It was the man from the carriage who seemed to have recovered some of his wits.
    â€˜To hell with the baggage, sit down!’
    â€˜But the gold . . . and my papers,
mon Dieu
! my papers!’ He began to clamber out of the boat. ‘You have not got my papers!’ But it was not the documents that had caught Drinkwater’s imagination.
    â€˜Gold? What gold?’
    â€˜In the barouche,
m’sieur
,’ said the man shoving past him.
    Drinkwater swore. So that was behind this crazy mission, specie! A personal fortune? Royalist funds? Government money? What did it matter? Gold was gold and now this damned fool was running back to the carriage. Drinkwater followed. He pushed to the door and looked in. Two iron bound boxes lay on the floor, just visible in the gloom.
    â€˜Tregembo!