Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6 Read online

  Linette coughed to get his attention and said,

  “I can go ahead and see if she is still at her family’s holiday home, I have been there before and know where it is.”

  Marty readily agreed; there was no point in shaking up a hornet’s nest if they could do this quietly, Ryan would go with her. He doesn’t need to pretend to be her paramour, he grinned inwardly.

  Linette and Ryan left immediately the meeting broke up and were rowed ashore. Marty gave Tarrant papers, created from a genuine set they had commandeered sometime in the past from an American ship. Their resident forger had carefully erased the names of the ship and the captain by scraping away the ink with a razor and had filled in new details, so they now looked to be an American ship out of Boston.

  Marty suggested they make it appear that they were looking for a cargo of olive oil. To give him his due Tarrant accepted his role without question and said he would wait until they returned, or Marty sent a message otherwise.

  Ryan and Linette stepped onto the dock and strolled along it to the beach. She wore a simple, but elegant dress and had her hair covered by a bonnet. He was dressed in the Spanish style in a well-cut jacket with a high collar, white silk shirt and cravat.

  “I will talk to the housekeeper alone,” Linette told him, speaking Spanish.

  “Why?” Ryan asked.

  “They don’t know you and they will not want to speak of the family in front of you,” she replied and, when he went to object, turned to him and placed her hand on his cheek. “Trust me, I know these people.”

  Ryan knew she wasn’t telling him something, but she was a spy after all, so he let it go and agreed.

  They approached the large, grand gate set in a high wall. There was a coat of arms on a plaque in the centre of each of the gates which were intricately made of wrought iron. He looked twice at the coat of arms; there was something familiar about them.

  Linette asked him to wait in the garden until she had spoken to the staff, so he wandered off to look around. The gardens were typical of the area, a mixture of brightly flowering shrubs with blooms that looked like trumpet horns in various shades of red and white and tropical trees like he had seen in the Caribbean. In between were strategically placed rocks, one caught his eye.

  He walked over and knelt to examine it. It was the coat of arms he had seen on the gate and he studied it carefully. There was a shield divided diagonally from top right to bottom left. On the right-hand side were three fleurs-de-lis in a triangle, on the left a horse rampant. Above the shield was a centaur. It was bounded either side by two lions rampant. He guessed the owner was a chevalier, the French equivalent of a knight.

  Something was nagging at him, a memory of something he had seen at some time that looked similar but try as he might he couldn’t pull it back.

  Linette returned,

  “They told me Marie came here two days ago; she was very upset about the way the Prince just dropped her for another woman and is determined to have her revenge. She left for Madrid yesterday at dawn in one of the family coaches. One of the grooms is driving her. They will make good time as there are many places to change their horses on the way.”

  Ryan knew that Marty needed this information as soon as possible so hurried them back to the dock and whistled up the ship’s boat.

  “So, she should arrive in Madrid in around three days,” Marty stated as he looked over a map. “Any idea who she will visit there?”

  “I think she will go to the French embassy to try and get permission to return to France,” Linette replied.

  “That could take a while if the embassy is typical of others I have seen,” Marty said as he thought out loud. “Where would she stay?”

  “There is one family in Madrid who were friends with the Fortins. She may stay with them or she could be at a hotel,” Linette added.

  “Well sitting here thinking about it won’t sort this out we need to get moving,” Marty stated decisively.

  “I could sail you up to Valencia if that helps,” Tarrant offered.

  “No, you are better off staying here. The Bethany would be too conspicuous in Valencia, it’s far too busy a port. We need horses.”

  Linette told them she knew where to get some and went ashore with Ryan. An hour later they returned with four saddled horses and four remounts.

  They rode hard, switching horses every two hours. It was getting dark as they entered a town called Huéneja and found a place to stay. They were all sore as none of them had ridden in anger for a while and their muscles just weren’t used to it.

  After a good night’s sleep, they were back on the road at dawn. They continued to rotate the horses every two hours and apart from a short break for lunch didn’t stop until dusk. They rode into Madrid after three hard days. Both the horses and riders were exhausted.

  Ryan knew Madrid and led them to a good hotel not far from the French embassy. They put the horses in the stables and got another good night’s sleep so they could start the search for Marie in the morning.

  Marty sent Matai and Ryan to watch the embassy while he and Linette went to find the home of the family who were friends of the Fortins. Linette said the patriarch was Don Louis de la Venta or something like that. They asked a couple of passing people who turned out to be visitors and couldn’t help at all, then an army officer who was strutting down the road like a cockerel showing off his plumage.

  “Ahh Don Louis! Yes, he lives in the Retiro, it is not far from here I can show you the way,” he told them while leering at Linette.

  He led off at a stroll walking in a way that made it obvious he was out to display his new uniform.

  “You have been a lieutenant in the Army for a long time?” Linette asked innocently causing Marty to have to cough to hide a laugh.

  “I have been in the army for two years and made lieutenant just one week ago,” he told her with a proud tilt to his head.

  “Oh my!” She cried in admiration. “You look so handsome in your uniform I was sure you must be an officer of some renown.”

  The young man grew an inch, as the praise of such a beautiful girl pumped his ego even bigger.

  Marty grunted as Linette’s elbow dig into his ribs as she had felt his body shaking as he silently laughed behind the handkerchief he had taken out of his pocket.

  They soon came to the gates of a large house that was set back off the road. The lieutenant, who had introduced himself as José Santiago, offered to walk them to the door but Linette politely declined.

  “You have been so gracious senior; we cannot use any more of your valuable time as I am sure the Army needs you.” She held her hand out for him to kiss in farewell, then made their way towards the ornate front door.

  Once they were sure he had moved on they quickly ducked behind a low hedge and started to make their way around the outside of the house peeking into each window as they passed them. Seeing nothing of interest they made their way to the back of the house to the stables.

  There was only one groom visible, currying a large black Arabian blood stallion, who was a beauty! Marty estimated he was a good sixteen and a half hands tall with a long flowing mane that hung down the side of his neck. He held his head high and proud and his tail swished back and forth keeping flies at bay.

  They waited until the groom finished his work and led the horse back into the stables. They moved quickly to the coach house and slipped inside the door. There were several carriages, but none had the Fortin family coat of arms on the doors. Their quarry’s coach wasn’t there.

  They quietly exited the coaching house and worked their way back to the front of the house and out of the gate.

  “It doesn’t look like she is here,” Marty sighed; he had been hoping she would be.

  “She may have sent the carriage back to Almeria,” Linette said thoughtfully, “although I am sure we would have seen it if she had.”

  “Well, we need to be sure,” Marty stated.

  Just after midnight, two figures made the
ir way through the gardens of the house of Don Louis de la Venta. They were dressed in black close-fitting outfits and wore black hoods that covered their heads and only showed their eyes. They crept up to one of the windows on the side of the house that was in the shadow cast by the moon and couldn’t be seen from the road. The taller of the two slipped a long strip of spring steel between the window and the frame. A little wiggle and the catch lifted allowing them to open it just enough to gain entry.

  Once inside they closed the window before crossing the room silently and trying the door. The latch clicked gently as the handle was pushed down and the door cracked open. A gentle push opened the door fully allowing them access to the hallway.

  They waited, listening for any sign that their entry had been heard. Hearing nothing, they crept across the tiled floor on their soft leather soled shoes making no noise. They were at the bottom of the grand staircase to the second floor where they guessed the family slept. They paused and listened again before slowly climbing the stairs, testing each step before putting weight on it.

  They reached the hallway and split up, going in opposite directions. Again, they tested every step they took before committing their weight, avoiding any loose floorboards that may squeak and give them away. When they reached a door, they listened carefully before trying the handle.

  The shorter one came to a door that was slightly more ornate than the rest and listened. The sound of snoring came from inside and, if she wasn’t mistaken, the louder was a woman.

  She opened the door and slipped inside, treading carefully in case clothes had been left on the floor. There were two people in the bed, a thin old man with a magnificent moustache who’s waxed ends were held against his face by a fine cheesecloth strip tied around his head and a very large woman lying on her back and snoring loud enough to give the devil a headache.

  The two met back at the top of the stairs before making their way back down and left the house the same way they had come in.

  In the hotel the four of them met in the suite Marty had rented as a base. Ryan and Matai shared one bedroom while Linette had another (her choice much to Ryan’s surprise) and Marty the third. It was just after dawn and they sat around the table eating churros for breakfast.

  “She definitely isn’t at the family house,” Marty told them, “we looked in every room and the only people there were the Don, his wife and what could be a spinster sister of hers as they were both of a size.”

  Ryan looked at Linette who puffed out her cheeks and imitated an extremely fat woman making them all laugh.

  “Any luck at the Embassy?” Marty asked.

  “They certainly have enough room for people to live there,” Ryan stated. “The place is imposing, and that is intentional I think as they also behave like they own the town when they walk around.”

  “Did you get around the back?” Marty asked

  “Yes, we found the back gate, but is guarded by at least two soldiers at all times so we couldn’t get in.”

  “I think it’s time we played this game differently,” Marty concluded with a frown.

  Chapter 4: A game of seek

  Around mid-morning, Marty staggered through the front door of the embassy, dressed in torn clothes and sporting a black eye and split lip. Matai had not enjoyed giving his captain and friend a beating, but Marty had insisted as his cover story depended on being absolutely convincing.

  He approached the receptionist’s desk and almost collapsed across it alarming the neatly dressed man sat behind it.

  “You must help me! They robbed me and stole all my money!” he wailed as his legs folded.

  On hearing a distinctly Toulon accent, the clerk jumped up and ran around the desk to help him into a chair.

  “Sir, please slow down and tell me exactly what happened.” He gently instructed, his face showing his real concern as he beckoned over a messenger.

  “Please ask Mr. Aubele to come,” he instructed the young man, “then bring a brandy for Mr.--?” He looked at Marty in question.

  “Mr. Bernaux, Pierre Bernaux. I am a merchant from Toulon,” Marty told him.

  A tall man in a black suit arrived and Marty immediately tagged him as a security officer. He pulled up a chair next to Marty and sat down.

  “I am Cedric Aubele head of security here at the embassy,” he introduced himself, “please tell me who you are, what you are doing in Madrid and what has happened.”

  Marty spun them a tale about how he was a merchant and had taken ship to Valencia to come to Madrid in search of luxury goods he could import into France.

  “I arrived here this morning and was set upon as I entered the city. They knocked me down and stole my horse, luggage and money. I am left with nothing,” he cried, putting his heart and soul into the performance.

  The messenger arrived with a glass of cognac. He took a big gulp of it and coughed as the fiery spirit hit his throat.

  “Can you describe your attackers?” Aubele asked.

  “Spaniards, peasants, ruffians,” Marty replied, “five of them armed with clubs and knives. Had those strange floppy hats they wear.”

  “Local rebel militia,” Aubele concluded with a frown.

  “Can you put me up in a hotel overnight and loan me some money so I can get home?” Marty pleaded.

  Aubele looked at the clerk and asked,

  “Do we have any of our guest rooms left?”

  “The minister is in the royal suite, we have the Contessa in the blue suite, the small guest suit is free,” he replied.

  “Put him in there and get someone to see to his wounds,” Aubele ordered as he stood to leave. “We will have a further talk when you have recovered sir.”

  The clerk detailed a messenger to escort Marty to his rooms and he was taken to a garret on the third floor.

  “Are all the guest rooms up here?” Marty asked.

  “Oh no sir, the Royal Suite is on the second floor and takes up most of the West end and then there is the smaller Blue Suite at the east end. The kitchens are in between. Doesn’t stop the Contessa from visiting the minister though,” he gossiped. “She is a beauty and rich to all accounts, word is she is looking to get back to France, I think she will sleep her way there, if you know what I mean.”

  I love servants, Marty thought as he listened to the wealth of information the man gave up without thinking, he just wants to have someone to talk to.

  After the man had left Marty checked the view from the windows and was pleased that one overlooked the street in front of the building. He looked through the cupboards which were all empty then. He quickly removed his hidden weapons and tools and hid them in one. He threw himself on the bed as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

  There was a knock on the door, and he bade whoever it was to enter in a weak voice. A scholarly-looking man came in carrying a black bag and introduced himself,

  “Good day, I am the embassy’s physician.”

  He proceeded to give Marty a cursory examination; it was obvious he wasn’t really interested in what he was doing. He quickly checked the bruising on Marty’s face and body, didn’t ask about any other wounds and pronounced that he would heal with nothing more than time.

  Marty thanked him and let him find his own way out, then settled down to wait. The messenger came up with a tray of soup and fresh bread for his lunch and Marty encouraged him to sit and chat while he ate it.

  “Do you wait on all the guests?” he asked.

  “Why yes, I am the only one with any experience of service on the staff, so I get to look after all the guests,” the little man whose name was Bernard, replied making ‘service’ sound like a rare skill.

  “I bet you could tell some tails,” Marty laughed.

  “Oh, you bet I could,” he boasted, “you wouldn’t believe the goings on. You take that Contessa and her visits to the minister late at night.”

  “Really? Do they …. you know?” Marty asked, pretending to be scandalized.

  “At it like rabbits j
udging by the noises that come out of his suite, and him in his sixties and married!” he confided.

  “Well, I never, and I thought members of the government were above that,” Marty gasped.

  Once the messenger had left and locked the door behind him, he started to think things through and look at his options. Ideally Marie should accompany him willingly, failing that he would just have to kidnap her. The question was how to finagle things, so she wanted, or had, to go with him.

  At midnight he let the rest of the team know all was going to plan. He took a candle and went to the window overlooking the street and placed it in the window then, using his hand, shielded it and exposed it in the pattern short, long, long, which was the pre-agreed signal for ‘stand by, all alright’.

  He fell asleep with the problem running around in his mind. He woke suddenly in the wee small hours with the answer clearly laid out in his head. He got up collected his tools and knives and slipped out of his room.

  The next morning, he woke to absolute pandemonium. There was shouting from the floor below and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs. His door was unlocked and slammed open. Aubele stepped through holding a pistol. Marty sat up in bed and the sheets fell back exposing the network of bruises on his torso.

  Aubele sent two men in and they searched every cupboard, every nook and cranny. They even tipped him out of bed and stripped the covers off. They found nothing and Marty sat in a chair with a sheet wrapped around him asking what was going on.

  “The Minister has been murdered in his sleep. It must have been done by someone in the Embassy and we are checking every room,” he told Marty who squawked his innocence and said he hadn’t moved from the room all night!

  A man came to the door, beckoned Aubele to him and whispered something in his ear. Aubele’s eyebrows shot up and he barked an order to his men who left abruptly.

  “You will stay here. You are not to leave this room,” he snarled at Marty with a look that said if he didn’t obey, he would be sorry.