The Scent of Betrayal by David Donachie

Author:David Donachie [David Donachie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749019273
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2015-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

IT WAS AMAZING how quickly the Hôtel de la Porte d’Orléans was back to normal. Inside two minutes it was as though no fight had taken place. Kavanagh had been carried out still dripping blood, the tables had been replaced, the band had struck up a tune, and the dancers returned to the floor. Hyacinthe led them back to her reconstituted table. Wine appeared in a flash, with their hostess proposing a toast to Thankful Tucker. Harry only hesitated for a moment, putting aside any idea of questioning the victory. He reminded himself of why he’d come in the first place, which had nothing to doing with bareknuckle fighting or beautiful Creoles.

‘I was told that you entertain the men from Barataria Bay as well as those from the riverboats.’

The dark eyes flashed, showing just a hint of the temperament that lurked beneath Hyacinthe’s civilized veneer. ‘The one thing I never ask a man who comes in here is how he makes his way in the world, Captain.’

‘What would you say if I told you that one of your customers might hold a clue to the whereabouts of two hundred thousand Spanish dollars?’

The eyebrows flicked slightly, and she smiled, before putting her hand on his. ‘Then I would want you to identify him, Captain. There is a card room upstairs in which he would be most welcome.’

Harry felt the squeeze that was meant to convey that she knew, as well as he did, where de Carondelet’s ingots had gone.

‘Unfortunately, the money doesn’t belong to him.’

‘Money is treated in the same way as my clients. Where it comes from is of no account.’

Harry was about to ask how someone who worked for a senior member of the Spanish administration could say that, but he did not get the chance.

‘What money?’

Harry spun round to find Thankful Tucker, now fully dressed, standing right behind him. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, that made him stand up abruptly. Close too, Harry could see the scars on his face that marked him out as a fighter. His hands, always a good indicator of a bruiser, were big and knobbled, showing red at the knuckles where he used them to pound Kavanagh. But his clothes were well cut and his linen clean, in sharp contrast to most of his fellow boatmen, who wore buckskins. In fact, despite the red-spotted bandanna at his neck there was just a touch of the dandy about the man. Hyacinthe Feraud made a swift introduction and, much to Harry’s chagrin, invited Tucker to join them.

‘Are you the poor souls that are sitting under Spanish guns?’ asked Tucker.

‘We are,’ Harry replied.

‘Well, you’re better off than poor Charpentier. He’s probably stretched out on the rack by now. If they do the same to you the Governor will make you give back his gold, eh!’

James, seeing Harry frown, cut in. ‘That was quite a neat display, sir. But I’m curious. Could you have beaten Kavanagh without subterfuge?’

Tucker grinned, declined to take wine, and asked Bernard to fetch some whiskey.

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