folded it swiftly. “Did any of the Manon's crew observe how your captain died, Monsieur LaForge?”
“You are very interested in a fellow who was no better than a fool, and who is now feeding sharks off Corunna, Miss Austen.”
His voice—formerly so weak and gentle in its expression—fell like a lash upon my ears. I looked up, and dripped hot tallow across my fingertips.
“I listen to the talk of the Marines outside, from time to time,” he said slowly, his half-lidded eyes never leaving my face. “They say that the captain of the Stella Marts has been charged with murder. I thought I imagined their words—in the rages of fever, you understand, much may be distorted—but now I am no longer certain. Is that man accused of the death of Porthiault?”
I nodded. “Captain Seagrave is charged with having killed Captain Porthiault after the Manon struck. He is to go before a court-martial on Thursday. The outcome is … uncertain.”
LaForge pursed his lips. “A pity. Seagrave is a gallant fellow—a Heart of Oak, as you English say. Clever in his tactics and fearless in their execution—he fought like a tiger, as though all the hounds of hell were at his back. Are you in love with him?”
I gasped incredulously. “You mistake me, sir! Captain Seagrave has long been a married man!”
LaForge lifted his shoulders dismissively. “There must be some reason you concern yourself.”
“The Captain is my brother's fellow officer. I am acquainted with his wife.”
“Ah.” The surgeon's voice was now faintly mocking. “The bosom friend of the wife. I understand. But you do not believe this Seagrave killed le capitaine. And neither do I, Miss Austen.”
I studied the amusement at his mouth, the strong chin, and knew that the man was sporting with me. He was, after all, the French ship's surgeon; if any had examined Porthiault's body before it was sent over the side, it should be LaForge.
“How do they say that Porthiault died?” he asked.
“That is a point under dispute. Captain Seagrave would have it the man was already dead when the colours were struck. Others insist that Porthiault died by Seagrave's hand, after the Marion's surrender. Seagrave's dirk was buried in Porthiault's heart, but Seagrave will have it that he never touched the man! It is a difficult tale to credit—”
With effort, LaForge leaned towards me. He spoke very low. “Porthiault did not die from the knife to his heart. He died from the wound to his head.”
“His head?” I repeated. “But the dirk—”
“A small hole at the base of the skull,” the surgeon continued, “oozing blood as the chest wound could not The chest wound was given after death. I tell you, I examined the body before it was delivered into the sea.”
“A musket shot, then? Fired during the batde?”
There was a glint of something in LaForge's narrowed gaze. Then his shoulders lifted again in that most Gallic of gestures. “There is nothing very wonderful in this. Your own Nelson—the Hero of Trafalgar-died in much the same way.”
It was true. A French marksman had aimed for the jewelled star pinned at the Admiral's breast, and wounded him mortally.
“Seagrave said the Frenchman lay as though dead when discovered on the quarterdeck. He thought the man had been stunned by a falling spar. Why, then, thrust a dirk into his heart?” I mused.
“For vengeance? Or … the desire to make it appear as such? This Seagrave was not alone, ????”
“He was not. His first lieutenant stood with him.”
The man held my gaze. Despite the fever, despite his weakness and the lazy arrangement of his limbs, Etienne LaForge was taut as a bowstring. He knew the end to which I must be brought; but he preferred that I reach it under my own power.
“You saw him!” I declared. “You saw Eustace Chessyre near Seagrave on the quarterdeck. You were not below throughout the battle, as you claim.”
“I do not know the man's name.” He glanced over my shoulder warily and lowered his voice to the faintest of murmurs. “There was a great deal of sea in the cockpit deck, you understand. The pumps could not keep up with it. Those British guns—how they love to kiss the waterline! I was forced to pile my patients at the foot of the gangway, and to plead for help in shifting them; otherwise, I feared they should drown. And I am not in the habit of saving a life, to lose it to the sea.”