The Split Tree

Plot

When a note warning of a plot to poison Louis XIV is found in a Paris church, the authorities are flung into a high state of alert. Suspects from every level of society are hauled in for questioning. Hermoine Lefèvre decides this is the moment to take flight and claim a mysterious inheritance in the Charente Maritime. But, other dangers await her there. As well as an extraordinary discovery.

Fresh back in France from his travels as a spy for the Marine, Jacques Maurellet is fired with ambition to build a frigate for Louis XIV. It is not long before his unconventional approach to ship design arouses jealousies. Whilst a beautiful Parisienne further endangers his plans.

Excerpts

"‘Then her fingers, making another sweep, had the catch. The click and whirr of mechanism began; the shelves began to move inward.  Hermione turned towards the cold draught of air and prepared to slip through sideways. Suddenly, a hand grabbed for her shoulder and strong fingers seizing hold of her cloak began to pull her backwards.

 ‘Let me go!’ 

 ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ yelled Michel Troude.   Hermione tried to force her way inward to the passage but the man held on tight, though he was unable to get nearer as the smashed timbers of the door were between them. Desperately Hermione reached at her throat and dragged on the cords which were choking her.  Somehow she managed to untie them.

‘You bitch!’ shouted Michel Troude, finding himself now holding but a cloak. From the other side of the wooden barricade he heard a loud click, and then the flow of cold air was cut off.   A muffled peal of laughter rang out from somewhere beyond.

It was so joyful Michael Troude’s anger completely dissolved.  He fingered the woollen cloak and sighed with regret as he caught the faint, intriguing scent of its wearer.  Suddenly put in mind of what suffering would have come to this vital woman in prison, he was glad his fish had slipped its hook! 

*****

‘Hermione almost crawled out of the coach, so battered and stiff were her limbs. In the gathering dusk the whole of her attention was seized by the dark outline of the château of Du Chesne.

It was beyond anything she could have expected: towers, whose tops looked like witches’ hats rose black against the violet sky. It was a fortress. ‘Oh, let us go back!’ whimpered Lucette.’