unfortunate wife the following morning and tell her that the money must immediately be paid over to his new creditors, and that they were ruined."
His brows plunged to shadow those deep-set eyes, and his voice subtly shifted, the voice of a preacher determined to convince his audience.
"Surely not!" January injected just enough doubt into his voice to bring Dunk up like a ruffling owl. "I was there myself and heard them, my friend. And if Mrs. Redfern recriminated against him, who could blame her? Redfern was preparing to sell even her dowery land, a parcel too small to be of use to anyone, whose deeds the wretched woman asked me to remove from the house lest they become entangled in the ensuing settlement. Now, what kind of a man would rob his wife to that extent?" "You shock me, sir!" January looked shocked. "Gambling is a fearful curse, sir. It deteriorates the character. Until the man spoke to his wife in such a way that I promise you, neither Mr. Granville, who was breakfasting with me, nor I knew where to look." Hubert Granville? thought January, enlightened. Granville was at Spanish Bayou that Wednesday morning? To render over the money from the previous day's sale of the six slaves, almost certainly. Arriving for breakfast, before Otis Redfern's return from town. And that being the case-"And you took the deeds for this dower land away with you that day?"
"I considered it my obligation," replied Dunk. "The land was not the husband's to sell, but under the law he would have been able to do so."
Not if it was tied up in a trust, it wasn't, thought January wryly. But Emily seemed to have convinced her hellfire cicisbeo otherwise. And almost certainly, the deed to Black Oak had not been the only thing in that envelope. "I was terribly shocked," Dunk went on slowly, "to hear of the unhappy man's death, but I cannot admit to much sorrow at it." He shook his massive head. "Still, to part from a man at the wharf after breakfast and to hear he has succumbed by midnight... It gives one thought for one's own mortality."
He let the pearls trail from one hand to the other, gazing down reflectively at the satiny spheres. "Did this unfortunate girl express contrition for what she did? Or speak about the money she had stolen? That was a sad business."
January shook his head. His mind raced, time and events fitting together like the cogs of a gear. "I had the impression this was not the girl who took them, sir. She spoke of having received them 'from a friend,' though of course that might have been only a story to cover her own guilt. The girl who took them: what did she look like?"
"I never saw her-only heard Mrs. Redfern's description. A mulatress, she said, with a thin little face and a snub nose. Did the girl who gave you these look so?"
"No, sir. She was bright, quadroon or octoroon, with freckles on her nose."
"Hmn," rumbled Dunk, deep in thought. "Hmn. And this girl made no mention of the money her friend had taken?"
"None, sir."
The Reverend sighed, gave himself a little shake, and made a sketch of a bow. "Thank you very much for bringing me these," he said. "Mrs. Redfern will be most grateful to have them back. As for the girl, we seem to be obliged, as the Bard says, to `leave her to Heaven,' perhaps the best course in any case." He produced a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and wrapped the pearls carefully. "Thank you, Mr... ?"
"Dordogne," said January, bowing in his turn. He'd memorized the name on Hannibal's card before sending it in. "Marcus Dordogne. Thank you for your time, sir. And you've given me much to think about." More than you know, in fact. "I understand you'll be setting up a regular Church here in Milneburgh?"
"If God is good to me, yes." Dunk's voice had returned to normal tones; he extended a meaty hand to shake. "May I hope to see you there, when the dream of it becomes reality?"
"You may well, sir." January resumed his hat, straightened his black coat, and with a final bow, made his way down the steps of the galley; past windows where the white ladies of the congregation-and Dunk's two assistants-were regaling themselves on beef sandwiches and punch.
It was all he could do to keep from jumping up and clicking his heels.