Page 70 of A Castaway in Cornwall
When he neared, Alex lowered his voice. “What is your business with Tom Parsons?”
François began replying in French, but Alex forestalled him with a raised palm. “English. To be safe.”
“Very well. Just arranging transport to Jersey.” He glared at Alex. “I paid extra to guarantee Parsons would not carry you as well.”
Little chance of that, Alexander thought. In any case, he wondered where François had gotten the money. Or had he not lost his purse along with his papers?
Alex lifted his chin. “I will have my ring back now.”
“Too late.” The man stepped forward, toe-to-toe with Alex. “You should have claimed it the other night.”
“You know why I did not. I didn’t want to ruin the party and embarrass our hosts.”
“Très galant.But we both know the real reason. Too many witnesses, not to mention authorities who would love to capture an escaped Frenchman.”
“TwoFrenchmen.”
LaRoche shrugged. “I would not be imprisoned for long. Thanks to you, I lost my papers. But it would only take one letter sent to Jersey and I would be freed. You, however, would be sent back, or worse.”
“If the paper you lost held so much power, why did you remain in Norman Cross so long?”
“The superintendent found me useful, and in turn my time there was quite profitable, not to mention diverting—that is, until you and Marchal left.”
Alex extended his hand. “My ring.”
LaRoche’s eyes glinted. “Better tuck that into your pocket, unless you want to draw back a bloody stump.”
François’s hand moved to his waist, where he kept a knife. Alex sprang and jumped him before he could pull it, knocking him to the ground. He sat on his chest, pinning his arms to the stone quay.
Some of the fishermen and workers who had been unloading a sloop gathered around, John Dyer among them. The men exclaimed among themselves, surprised to find two strangers fighting. Two survivors. Alex imagined it made it dashed difficult to know which man to cheer for.
“Alex?” Jago’s voice. The young man appeared among the others, eyes wide.
“No helping him now, big ’un,” someone said. “Let ’em fight fair.”
“This man stole my ring,” Alex said. “I just want it back.”
“That is not all I stole. Took his wife too.”
Fury pounded in Alex’s veins. Momentarily distracted, heslackened his grip, and François managed to free one arm and strike him in the eye. Alex punched François on his bony nose. He returned the favor with a blow to the mouth followed by a hard shove. The two men tumbled across the quay and rolled to their feet, a flash of metal in LaRoche’s hand.
“He’s got a knife!” Jago warned.
François slashed. Alex dove. Again he rolled to his feet, just as François advanced, knife at the ready.
“Mr. Lucas, catch.” John Dyer tossed him his own knife. “Let’s keep it fair, lads.”
Alex wished for a sword instead. Then he would have easily bested François. But he was less experienced with a short blade.
They circled one another, François slashing, Alex blocking and evading.
“Just give me the ring. It’s not worth dying over.”
“I have no intention of dying. Certainly not by your hand.”
Someone shoved a crate behind Alex, tripping him. He caught a glimpse of the interloper—Tom Parsons. Alex fell back, and François lunged. John Dyer stuck out his boot, tripping him in turn.
François dropped to his knees with a curse.
