The door opened behind him.
'Ezekiel.'
It was Pepper again. There was something in his voice. Morgan turned.
Pepper wasn't alone. He stepped aside to allow the figure behind him to enter.
Morgan stared at his visitor's face.
The brindle lifted its muzzle and growled threateningly.
Pepper closed the door. 'I think you should hear this.'
'Hello, Mr Morgan,' Seth Tyler said. His eyes widened when he saw the dead dog and the blood around the brindle's massive jaws. The scratch marks from the besom showed livid across Tyler's face. Some of them still looked raw. He swallowed nervously. 'Heard you were looking for information. Reckon I've got something that might interest you ...'
'At last you see sense,' Lasseur sighed. 'I was beginning to think I was talking to myself.'
Hawkwood pulled on his jacket. A thought struck him. 'Do Jess and Tom Gadd know I'm a police officer?'
Lasseur hesitated. 'They did not hear it from me, but Thomas knew.'
'Morgan put the word out.'
'Undoubtedly.'
'And they still took me in?'
'It seems, my friend, that they trust us more than they trust Morgan.'
'God Almighty,' Hawkwood said.
Lasseur smiled. 'It must be my Gallic charm.'
They made their way downstairs; Hawkwood less energetically than Lasseur, though it felt good to be back on his feet, no matter how precariously. Jess Flynn was at the kitchen table cutting up vegetables and placing them in a cooking pot. A familiar shape was sprawled half in and half out of the back door. The dog looked round, its eyes hidden by its fringe, and wagged its tail at the new arrivals before turning back to protect the herb garden.
Jess Flynn regarded Hawkwood with a critical eye. 'You should in bed.'
'It's thanks to you I'm not,' Hawkwood said.
A small smile touched her face, though it might have been a little forced. She still had problems with that errant strand of hair, Hawkwood saw. 'You've nothing to fear from me,' he said.
There was a pause. The tension seemed to leave her and she nodded. 'I know.' She glanced at Lasseur. Her face softened and then she turned back and frowned. 'Should I still call you Captain? Please, sit down before you fall down. You need some food inside you. There's some broth on the hob and a fresh loaf and butter on that platter beside you. Help yourself.' She gestured to a chair, brushing the hair off her face, and busied herself at the fire.
'I
'You really were in the army?' Lasseur asked. He looked genuinely surprised as he sat down opposite Hawkwood.
'The Rifle Brigade. The British regiment, not the American one.'
Hawkwood leant back as Jess Flynn returned to the table and placed a bowl of broth and a spoon before him.
'Eat,' she ordered.
The smell rising from the bowl was wonderful. Hawkwood broke off a piece of bread.
'And you fought in Spain?' Lasseur asked.
'Yes.'
'At Ciudad Rodrigo?'
Hawkwood dipped the spoon into the bowl and raised it to his lips. Chicken, potatoes, carrots and herbs; flavours exploded across his tongue.
'No, that was after my time.'
He ate some bread and took another spoonful, savouring the taste. He could feel the torpor slipping away with each mouthful.
'And now you're a police officer. What was it Morgan called you? A Runner - I do not know what that means.'
At the mention of the word, Jess Flynn's eyes widened. Presumably Gadd hadn't revealed that little snippet of information.
Hawkwood broke off some more bread and dipped it in the bowl. 'It means I'm a special kind of police officer.'
'You hunt smugglers?'
'Not just smugglers.'
'Ah,' Lasseur nodded. 'You mean you hunt people like me: escaped prisoners. That's why you were on the ship.'
'Not entirely. I was investigating the disappearance of two naval officers.'
Lasseur's brow furrowed. 'The men Morgan mentioned? I forget their names.'
'Sark and Masterson.'
'Morgan had them killed?'
'Sark's body was never found, so we didn't know for sure. But after what Morgan told us in the stables, I'm prepared to take his word for it.'
'And you plan to bring him to justice.'
'If it's the last thing I do,' Hawkwood said. He took another piece of bread and used it to soak up the broth. It tasted as good as the first mouthful. He rested his spoon, looked down and was surprised to find he'd emptied the bowl. He felt remarkably fortified. Perhaps he could make it to the telegraph station after all.
Suddenly, the dog stood up. A low grumble began at the back of its throat.
'Into the pantry,' Jess Flynn said quickly, wiping her hands on her apron. 'The trap's open.'
The dog's tail began to wag.
'Wait,' Jess Flynn said, relief filling her voice. 'It's only Tom.'
A minute later, Gadd limped in through the door, followed by the dog. Its nose was twitching. When the seaman saw Hawkwood and Lasseur he paused. The scar running through his cheek and eye socket looked like a slug trail crossing a paving stone. He had a muslin sack over his shoulder and a fowling piece in his hand.
'Tom,' Hawkwood said.
Gadd nodded in solemn and cautious recognition. He regarded Hawkwood's unshaven features for what seemed like an inordinately long time. There was no malice in the seaman's gaze. Nor did there appear to be disapproval. It was almost as if he couldn't make his mind up what to think. Eventually, he nodded and said neutrally, 'You're on your feet, Cap'n. That's good. Not sure the beard suits you.'
'Captain Lasseur tells me I've you to thank for helping me up the stairs.' Self-consciously, Hawkwood drew a hand across his jaw. He thought about the razor the woman had given Lasseur. It was back in the cell at the Haunt. Lasseur's facial hair also needed a trim, but because he already had a goatee, it seemed to suit his face.
Gadd shrugged. 'Aye, well, you were there to help Jessie when she was in trouble. Reckoned I owed you. Besides, digging a grave's too much like hard work. And Morgan's still after your blood, by the way.'
'Tell us something we don't know,' Hawkwood said.
'He's upped the bounty. That good enough for you?' Gadd reached inside the bag and brought out two rabbits. He went to the open pantry door and suspended the game from a hook in one of the beams. He propped the gun against the wall by the door. Behind his back, the dog's nose continued to twitch.
'I'm flattered,' Lasseur said.
'You should be,' Gadd responded. 'It's a tidy sum. McTurk and Croker were two of his best men. Plus there was young Del. Morgan don't take kindly to someone removing three of his crew. Word's spreading that he's willing to pay over the odds for information, which means people'll be on the lookout. You're safe here for a while, but there's no telling for how long.' Gadd nodded towards Hawkwood. 'And you, Captain, or Constable or whatever it is they call you, are a long way from home.'
'Funny,' Hawkwood said. 'That's what people told me when they thought I was an American.'
'Aye, well,' Gadd said morosely. 'Just so's you know.'
