Free Deceit by Deborah White

the sea in a small boat, and like as not under cover of darkness, when I thought we might travel in some comfort at last. How stupid I was to imagine that! And how will we find someone willing to take us?

    An inn is as good a place as any to start such a search and there are several in the town. Christophe says we cannot boldly ask if there are any smugglers travelling to France. We must be subtle and watch and listen in to every conversation. So we drink at each inn in turn, but have not yet heard a whisper of anything useful. Then, when we enter the very last inn – The Ship – we decide we will spend the night here if we can, even though it is dark and unwelcoming, with few candles lit and a fire that draws badly. I find it difficult to catch my breath for all the smoke billowing out from the chimney.
    I pull urgently at Christophe’s arm, “Let us get a room and sleep now and worry about it in the morning. I am as tired as a turnspit dog.” All I can think of is a bed… any bed where I can lay down and ease my aching body. I think the baby must feel the same, for it turns inside me and kicks furiously. And I am up and on the point of asking the innkeeper if he has a room to spare for us when I spy the brown-eyed man from the coach; the one who has travelled to Calais.
    He is huddled in a corner, deep in conversation with a rough-looking fellow whose hair is tied back in the sort of pig’s tail I have seen sailors wear. His forearms are bulging with muscle and roped with blue veins.
    I inch closer and see money exchange hands. The ‘sailor’ nods and seems pleased. When he leaves, I decide I will take a chance… and without saying a word to Christophe, though I feel his eyes on me every step of the way, I cross the room and sit down next to my brown-eyed friend.
    I ask him straight, “We are looking for a way to cross to France, but have no papers.” I speak low and quick, reaching up for the ring and turning it round and round on its braid. “Do you know howwe might do that? For you said that you made the journey yourself and often… seeing you with that sailor, I thought perhaps…?”
    He looks at me, his face in shadow, but his eyes reflecting back the firelight. His hand rubs slowly across his mouth as if he is deep in thought, but his eyes do not leave mine.
    “There is a way, but it is not without danger for you and for…” His hand reaches out as if he would touch me and I shrink back from the familiarity of it. “I lost my wife and my unborn child in just such a crossing.” He speaks wistfully, taking his eyes from mine and staring into the distance as he continues. “She was on her way to France, on her father’s boat; they had wool to sell. It was a crossing she had made many times, and it was to be her last before the baby was born. Alas, a storm blew up and she was swept overboard.”
    Steeling myself against the intimacy, I take his hand. “I am sorry for your loss… but will you help us, sir, and save
this
child’s life?” I hold his hand against my belly and he feels the baby kick. He nods.
    “I will…”

Chapter 4
C LAIRE
    T he police had never found out that Claire had been up on the crane with Zac and Jacalyn that night two years ago. The press had called Zac’s death a ‘freak accident’, but only those who were there knew the full story. That the Emerald Casket had finally opened, and swept Zac from the platform in a tornado of blue dust. That Robert had been there too and he’d fallen from the crane in a struggle for the casket. That Robert had failed to take possession of the 21st spell the casket contained.
    As far as the police knew, Robert was still on the run, having escaped custody. He’d been arrested after attacking Claire at Darke House and at first the police had attempted to trace his movements… to find bank accounts, credit cards, a national insurance number in his name.To follow the myriad trails that ordinary people leave as they go about their everyday