Chapter Twenty-SixWe gathered in the tap-room of the Horse Head, me, Charles, Mr Howard, Molly, Hugo Bertram and Mother, all cosy beside the roaring fire and with brandy punch and rabbit stew in front of us as we mulled over the events of the past few weeks.
'So Charles is from Guernsey,' I said. 'That would explain why he speaks French so fluently.'
'He has grown up with both languages,' Mr Howard said, 'as have most of the population of that island.' His smile was more relaxed than I had ever seen.
I nudged Charles. 'If we had known that, we could have saved us all a great deal of trouble.'
'That is true,' Charles said, 'yet think of the stories we can relate.'
I coloured a little, 'yes, and the stories we will never repeat.' Realising that Mr Howard and my mother were both looking
