He had been hoping to avoid having to speak to any of the locals. While his French was near perfect, hiding his English accent was not so easy. But if he was going to have any chance of finding Evangeline, he was going to have to ask for directions. “Bonjour, compagnon de voyage,” he hailed the man.
A quizzical look appeared on the man’s face. He shook his head. “It is late in the day, so you should say bonsoir. If you are going to speak French, at least try to learn it.”
“Pardonnez mon ignorance,” replied Gus.
The man waved his apology away. “I used to live in Guernsey, so I speak English quite well. Why are you all the way out here?”
That was a question to which Gus had no sensible answer. “I am horribly lost. I was trying to make my way to the town of Lamballe, but don’t appear to be making much headway.”
His words got a frown in response. “You are miles away from Lamballe. If you keep on this road, you will end up in Morieux, near the lake.” He pointed to the southeast. “Lamballe is five miles as the crow flies in that direction. But, my friend, you will not make it by nightfall. And if you have got lost in the daylight, I would hate to think what will become of you in the dark.”
Gus rubbed his worried temple. “So, you are saying that I am best to retrace my steps and go back to Saint-Brieuc and ride out in the morning? I don’t know if I can do that. You see I am looking for someone.”
“Ah. And the search for this someone cannot wait?”
Gus shook his head. There was a good chance he would be too late to do anything when he did finally catch up with Evangeline, but he had to try. Had to know that before he left France, he had done all he could to help her. “My friend, a local lady, suffered a terrible loss today. She rode off while in a state of great distress. It is imperative that I find her as soon as possible,” he replied.
An odd look crossed the other gentleman’s face. “Would this friend of yours happen to be involved in trading goods between here and England?”
Gus shifted the reins into his left hand. His right he moved toward the pocket where he kept his loaded pistol. He tracked the eyes of his fellow traveler as they followed his every movement. “Who are you?”
“My first name is Jodoc. The rest of who I am you don’t need to know.”
Gus’s fingers touched the cold of his weapon and curled around the handle. He was ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.
“But I know who you are, Mister Jones. I am a business acquaintance of Armand La Roche. Or I was if the terrible rumors I heard before I left town are true.”
There was no point in denying the truth. “Armand is dead. Killed in a scuffle with Vincent Marec and his men.”
Jodoc, whoever he was, didn’t need to know the details of what had happened at the château. Armand was gone, and that was all that mattered.
Jodoc slowly nodded. “And Evangeline is the lady whom you seek?”
Gus let his silence be his answer. Jodoc let out a long string of foul expletives.
“If Evangeline went after Marec and his men, which knowing her, she would have done, then there is every chance that she is already dead.”
The lump in Gus’s throat got stuck partway down. He hadn’t wanted to consider what might have happened while he was roaming the back roads of Brittany. Or the insanity that Evangeline might well have unleashed.
He couldn’t give up until he knew the truth. If she had indeed met her end with a bullet, he had to know. It was his responsibility to bring her home no matter what.
With a flick of his reins, Jodoc urged his horse closer. Gus kept his fingers on the pistol. The smuggling game was full of two-faced men who would kill you if it meant getting a competitive edge.
“Come back to my house. It is close. I will give you food and shelter. In the morning, I will show you the road which leads to Sainte-Anne. That is where Marec and his men have their base. You don’t need to go all the way over to Lamballe to find them.”
Gus still didn’t trust his would-be good Samaritan. Who was to say Jodoc wasn’t in league with Marec and the minute he turned his back, he would betray him?
Jodoc smiled. “You still don’t trust me. Good. I am glad to see that you are living up to your reputation.”
“Pardon?”
Slowly, the other man moved his hand toward his coat pocket. After dipping his fingers inside, he pulled out a creased and grubby calling card. The instant he held it up, Gus began to laugh.
Discretion assured. Results guaranteed.
In the middle of nowhere, in his hour of need, his fellow rogue of the road had once more reached out and saved him.
“Sir Stephen Moore. Why am I not surprised?” he chuckled.
