The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [386]
“Well, then.”
Everyone fell silent for a moment, during which Ulysses moved silently round the table, clearing things away. At last Jamie gave a deep sigh and straightened up.
“Well, so. Then there’s what happened last night. We are agreed that the Irishman who entered your chamber, Aunt, was Stephen Bonnet?”
Brianna’s hand jerked, and the cup of tea crashed to the table.
“Who?” she said hoarsely. “Stephen Bonnet—here?”
Jamie glanced at me, frowning.
“I thought ye’d told her, Sassenach.”
“When?” I said, with some irritation. “I thought you’d told her,” I said, turning to Roger, who merely shrugged, stone-faced. Ulysses had swooped down with a cloth and was blotting up the tea. Bree was white-faced, but had regained her self-possession.
“Never mind,” she said. “He was here? Last night?”
“Aye, he was,” Jamie said reluctantly. “I saw him.”
“So he was the thief who came after the gold—or one of them?” Brianna reached for one of the silver cups of port and drank it off as though it were water. Ulysses blinked, but hastened to refill the cup from the decanter.
“It would seem so.” Roger reached for a fresh scone, carefully avoiding Brianna’s eyes.
“How did he find out about the gold, Aunt?” Jamie leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed in concentration.
Jocasta gave a small snort, and held out her hand. Ulysses, accustomed to her needs, put a piece of buttered toast into it.
“Hector Cameron told someone; my brother Dougal told someone; or the third man told someone. And knowing them as I did, I should lay odds it wasna either Hector nor Dougal.” She shrugged and took a bite of toast.
“But I’ll tell ye one thing,” she added, swallowing. “The second man in my room, the one who reeked of drink. I said he didna speak, aye? Well, that’s plain enough, no? He was someone I ken, whose voice I should have known, if he spoke.”
“Lieutenant Wolff?” Roger suggested.
Jamie nodded, a crease forming between his brows.
“Who better than the navy, to find a pirate when one’s wanted, aye?”
“Would one want a pirate?” Brianna murmured. The port had restored her composure, but she was still pale.
“Aye,” Jamie said, paying little attention to her. “No small undertaking, ten thousand pound in gold. It would take more than one man to deal with such a sum—Louis of France and Charles Stuart kent that much; they sent six to deal with thirty thousand.” Little wonder, then, if whoever learned of the gold had enlisted the help of Stephen Bonnet—a well-known smuggler and pirate, and one with not only the means of transport but the connections to dispose of the gold.
“A boat,” I said slowly. “The Lieutenant left by boat, during the supper. Suppose that he went downriver, and met Stephen Bonnet. They came back together, and waited for the opportunity to sneak into the house and try to terrorize Jocasta into telling them where the gold was.”
Jamie nodded.
“Aye, that could be. The Lieutenant has had dealings here for years. Is it possible, Aunt, that he saw something that made him suspect ye had the gold here? Ye said Hector had three bars; is any of it left?”
Jocasta’s lips pressed tight, but after a moment’s hesitation, she gave a grudging nod.
“He would keep a lump of it on his desk, to weight his papers. Aye, Wolff might have seen—but how would he have kent what it was?”
“Perhaps he didn’t at the time,” Brianna suggested, “but then later heard about the French gold, and put two and two together.”
There was a nodding and murmuring at this. As a theory, it fitted well enough. I didn’t see quite how one would go about proving it, though, and said so.
Jamie shrugged, and licked a smear of jam off his knuckle.
“I shouldna think proving what’s happened is so important, Sassenach. It’s maybe what comes next.” He looked at Duncan, straight on.
“They’ll come back, a charaid,” he said quietly. “Ye ken that, aye?”
Duncan nodded. He looked unhappy, but determined.
“Aye, I ken.” He reached out a hand and took Jocasta’s—the first gesture of the sort I had ever seen him make toward her. “We shall be ready, Mac Dubh.”