Honour's Debt

by Joan Vincent

  “Do either of you know Quentin Broyal?”

  “I have never heard the name,” Maddie answered. “Aunt Prissy?”

  “No, Captain. Who is he?”

  “He may have been among the free traders last night.” Their mystified looks reassured Medworth that whatever their secrets, they did not know the man. “Miss Vincouer, it is imperative that I speak with your father soon. He could help me locate areas where these men store their goods.”

  Maddie fought back alarm. She nodded. “We are grateful you came to warn us—and for the guards. Take care.”

  He bowed. “Good day.”

  After Maddie assured her sisters and aunt that there was no need to be frightened she won her point by permitting a peek at the soldiers guarding them. Once they’d put away their bonnets and pelisses she conducted a Bible lesson in place of the church service they had to miss.

  Their luncheon conversation was subdued. Maddie’s thoughts went oft to what to do about the free traders and Captain Medworth. She told her sisters to do as they wished as long as it was indoors and went to her room to try to put that worry aside for a time.

  Maddie picked up Jane Porter’s Thaddeus of Warsaw, a huge success in 1804 after Napoleon had banned it. But she found the battle scene too realistic. It reminded her of Jamey and his capture and perhaps death at the hands of the French. The book called to mind the enemy stalking her.

  Make that enemies, Maddie thought and ticked them off. Sanford. Medworth. The smugglers. Like dominoes—if the wrong one goes down, the rest shall follow. Father’s death will be exposed and— Maddie put the book down. She put one palm to her breast over her heart and slowly circled it trying to ease the pincer-tight fear that fisted it.

  Coming full circle with no resolution, she sought distraction and hurried to the sitting room. For some time she attacked her embroidery while she considered her options.

  “Miss,” the butler approached with a folded paper in hand. “Captain Medworth sends his compliments.”

  Maddie laid her work aside and read the brief message. “The guards are leaving,” Maddie told Maves. “But we are to stay close and lock our doors and windows at night. As if we would be so careless as not to do so.”

  “’Tis not likely the free traders will come here,” Maves told her.

  Tapping the note against her hand, Maddie cocked her head. A nebulous thought came into focus. “Do you know where the tunnels are?”

  “Now, miss—”

  “You said earlier one was near Limes Point,” Maddie said pointedly. When he refused to meet her gaze, she pressed harder. “Henry Lundin must know where the tunnels are located.”

  “What are you thinking of doing?” Maves quavered.

  “I want to check any tunnel on our property to make certain there is no contraband in it.”

  “What if there is contraband?” Maves objected.

  “Remove it, of course. Do you not realize the captain will be able to demand to see father if illegal goods are found?”

  The butler shook his head. “The free traders might still be in the tunnels.”

  “Then I shall know with whom I deal,” Maddie claimed. “Send word for Henry to bring around that wagon we used when ...” She faltered at the memory of her father’s furtive burial. “You know the one.”

  Maves coughed and cleared his throat. “You can’t do this. It’ll be dark soon. Besides, Master Malcolm will be home from school any day. He should be the one to check the tunnels.”

  A dangerous sparkle appeared in Maddie’s eyes.

  “What if something should happen to you? Everything—everyone depends on you,” Maves reminded her.

  “I know,” she snapped. “I must do what I think best safeguards us. Captain Medworth will be back—”

  “You think to distract him from your father with the information about the tunnels?” the panicked butler asked.

  Maddie nodded.

  “The captain is too sharp for that,” he protested.

  She laid a hand on Maves’ arm trying to reassure him. “It will give us some time. Any amount is better than none. Send word to Henry, now, before it gets any darker.”

  After changing into an old worn gown, Maddie informed her aunt of her plans. Her resolve stiffened when she had to repeat the same arguments as well as defend breaking the Sabbath.

  When the steward began a similar sermon what little remained of her patience snapped. “Henry, I have heard this from Maves and Aunt Prissy.” Maddie glared at him as if he were not seven years older and bluffed. “Do you go with me or do I go on my own?”

  Seeing a promise to search until she found the tunnels flash in Maddie’s dark brown eyes, Henry Lundin conceded defeat. He handed her up to the wagon’s seat.

  Maddie regretted her tactics. Henry had been saved from an untimely death at the age of five by the dedicated nursing of her mother. The man had been further indebted when her father trained him and then made him steward over his holdings. Maddie knew both affection and devotion to the Vincouer family bound Henry to protect her. She hoped one day to repay him in better coin than her recent tactics.

  Lundin reined the team away from the main track towards Hayward, through a pasture filled with grazing cattle, alongside a wheat field, and then into a brush-covered, rockier area. Henry chuckled when Maddie gasped at the jouncing dished out on a rough stretch. “Sure you don’t want to turn back?” he asked.

  “How much farther is it?”

  “We’re close,” he admitted. “But say the word and we turn our backs on this foolishness.”

  Maddie shook her head. “No.”

  “What if the men are still there?”

  “I do not know.”

  “What if we find contraband?”

  “We will move it,” Maddie told him.

  “Move it,” Henry hooted. “How?! To where?”

  “Henry, you are much too forward,” Maddie snapped. She sat silent for a time considering the issue, and then said, “We would have to hide it.”

  “Where?” he asked dryly.

  “In the—the mausoleum.”

  “God help us.” Henry rolled his eyes. “Do you also believe horses can fly?”

  She flinched. “Let’s pray we find an empty tunnel.”

  “Amen to that,” he said.

  A short time later Henry drew the team to a halt. He looped the reins around the bar near his feet and jumped down. “You do realize we’ve left a track Captain Medworth will be able to follow.”

  Refusing his hand, Maddie hopped down. “Why did you not mention this earlier?” she demanded.

  “I was not asked what was best,” he commented wryly. “Perhaps,” Henry added as he took his musket from the wagon, “the captain will think the free traders’ wagon made the tracks.”

  Sucking in her breath at sight of the weapon, Maddie steadied herself before she followed him through the brush. She dodged the branches he released, she was certain, with harmful intent, and was about to complain when Henry halted. A steep, rock wall loomed before them. In the last light of the day she could see brush had been piled against it.

  “You hold this while I clear the brush away,” Henry ordered. “Stay back and keep your tongue behind your lips.”

  Maddie swallowed and took the musket. She aimed it in Henry’s general direction.

  Throwing aside a huge branch, he grinned back at her. “I’d feel safer if you lowered that. With my luck you’ll hit me.”

  Maddie did as he asked. Her heart was pounding by the time enough brush had been removed to permit entry into the tunnel.

  Taking the weapon from her, Henry urged her to go back to the wagon before he slipped inside. When well past the entrance he heard Maddie approach and glanced back. “Lucky for you it appears safe enough. Go back to the wagon and fetch the lantern.”

  The clink of stone against stone caused both to halt where they stood.

  “Fetch the lantern from the wagon,” Henry hissed.

  “It may
only be a wounded animal,” she whispered back.

  “Or the wounded free trader,” Henry warned.

  Maddie stubbornly refused to move. As the silence continued she put her hand on his arm. When her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she edged around the steward and walked toward a turn in the tunnel. “See, it was nothing.”

  “Best not go too far, miss,” Henry said. He reached to catch her but his fingers only brushed her sleeve.

  Maddie sensed movement but before she could react she was jerked forward. She screamed and grabbed the hard arm that yanked her back and held her against a solid chest. Her heart’s thunderous beat nearly doubled when cold metal pressed against her neck.

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Broyal warned as he gritted his teeth against the pain holding the young woman caused. “Put the musket down,” he ordered.

  Henry saw a dark outline. Only two faces stood out in the poor light. The one behind Maddie glistened with perspiration.

  “Put it down. I only want to get away from—” Quentin’s thought slipped away, warned him of his steadily increasing weakness.

  “Could use a few dragoons from the 15th about now,” he half-whispered.

  Catching this, Maddie’s heart lurched at mention of Jamey’s regiment. She put a hand upon the wrist at her waist. “We can help you,” she offered urgently. “Henry, put the musket down.”

  Lundin hesitated but finally yielded to the sight of the pistol at her neck.

  “Henry,” Quentin repeated the name with deliberation, “you go first,” he instructed. “Stay a—short distance—ahead.” He pulled the pistol back and aimed it at Henry. When he released Maddie’s waist, Quentin gripped her shoulder with his left hand. “Sorry, miss.” With a jerk of the pistol, he said, “Let’s get out of here.” He maintained steady pressure on Maddie’s shoulder as they moved forward.

  “Hands in sight,” Quentin cautioned when they neared the wagon. He closed his eyes, sucked in air to try and clear his head. Aware the woman halted, he looked around and was relieved to see they were at the open rear of the wagon. He leaned against one side. “Climb in,” he told Maddie. Once she began to do so, he turned his attention to Henry.

  “You,” Quentin twitched his gun at the steward. “Step back. Further. All right. Scoot to the front of the wagon,” he told Maddie as he edged his hip onto the edge of the wagon’s bed.

  Maddie glanced at Henry. She shook her head when the man slumped against the wagon.

  “Just get me to Mol’s Place,” Quentin gritted. “Won’t let you—get—into—trouble. Now—to the box. Drive.”

  Several minutes later from her corner behind the seat Maddie tugged on Henry’s coattail. “We cannot take him to Mol’s Place. He said something about the 15th. He may know what happened to Jamey,” she whispered.

  Henry kept his eyes forward. “What’s a free trader going to know of Master James?”

  “We have to take him to Hart Cottage. I can bandage his wound, ask my questions, and then send him on his way with no one the wiser.”

  “Quiet there,” Quentin slurred roughly.

  Maddie sat back and folded her hands in her lap. In the darkness she could hear the man’s unsteady breathing. Am I being foolish?

  Without a doubt, she answered silently. If he doesn’t know anything about what happened to Jamey— Maddie refused to finish the thought. It was too late. What did they say? From the skillet into the fire?

  * * *

  Hart Cottage Sunday Evening

  “Madeline Angeline Vincouer,” Aunt Prissy spluttered. She gaped at the man sagging in Maves’ and Henry’s arms. “This is beyond—beyond— Have you become as mad as those in Bedlam?” She threw up her hands and turned away, then rounded back.

  “I have aided and abetted your mad scheme to protect the family, but this I will not do. It is far too dangerous. Think how it will further endanger everything.”

  Maddie was taken aback by the angry snap in her aunt’s hazel eyes. She drew a deep breath. “Aunt Prissy, please. We could not leave him in the cave in the condition we found him. Why, he is so weak he collapsed just inside the kitchen. We will put him in father’s chamber where no one will find him.” She took her aunt’s hands. “Just for a day or two.

  “Please,” she begged. “He mumbled something about the 15th. I believe he may know what happened to Jamey. I must have a chance to ask him.”

  Freeing her hands, Aunt Prissy reached up and took hold of her niece’s shoulders, then clasped her in a tight hug. “Child, child. Have you thought how this will complicate an already wildly unfeasible situation?”

  Maddie returned the hug.

  “It would be better to confide everything to Captain Medworth,” Pricilla continued. “He is already halfway to being infatuated with you. Your handing this wretch over will put him in your debt.”

  Maddie met her gaze with certainty. “You must see we cannot. I have already sent for Mr. Balfor.” At the alarm in her aunt’s eyes, she added, “I wrote that father had become dangerously ill.”

  “That solves nothing,” her aunt protested. “You can only put the good captain off for a short time. If he suspects in the least that we are helping a free trader—”

  “But I mean to tell him about the tunnel.”

  Henry shifted beneath his burden. “You’ll never get to ask a single question if this sod bleeds to death here in the hall.”

  “Aunt Prissy, you need not help if you do not approve.” Maddie picked up her skirts and hurried toward the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time she led the way to the top and opened her father’s door for Henry and Maves. After they half carried half dragged their burden inside she followed them.

  A very short time later Aunt Prissy came to the door with a large bowl of water, towels, and sheeting. “You should not be here,” she began when Henry tugged open the man’s jacket and began to push up his shirt. “’Tis not the thing.”

  “A little blood is not going to make me missish,” Maddie clipped in a tone that brooked no arguing but she stood back out of the way while Henry and Pricilla tended to the man.

  “How is he?” Maddie asked when Henry straightened up from tying the strip holding the bandages across his torso in place.

  “The bleeding has almost stopped but the fever is worse. Don’t think a day in that cold wet tunnel did him much good. He needs to be out of the rest of his damp clothes.”

  “Then let’s get him out of them now.”

  “Us?!” Henry swallowed a yelp. “Now look here, miss—”

  “I helped with the birthing of the youngest Dashwood and saw to all my father’s needs,” Maddie, anticipated his protest. “His—his anatomy cannot be much different.”

  Henry stared at her until she grew beet red. A smile curved his lips. He took in the athletic body of the unconscious man on the bed. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but I think ye might find yerself mistaken about that,” he drawled, returning to the accent of his youth in his amusement. But the stubborn glint in her eyes remained. He sighed.

  “You can help get his jacket and shirt off. Maves will help me with his small clothes. No argument.”

  She nodded.

  “We best take the shirt and jacket off as if one garment. You climb on the bed and brace him up.” Henry bent, placed a strong arm beneath the free trader’s broad shoulders, and raised him.

  Going around to the other side, Maddie pulled back the bed curtain and scrambled up and across the bed on her hands and knees. She eased behind the injured man and wedged his right shoulder between her body and arm as Henry worked the left arm out of its sleeve. The stranger’s head lolled against her cheek. A mixture of sweat, leather, and bay rum invaded her senses.

  Responding to Lundin’s prodding, Maddie put her hands on the man’s shoulders and tensed at the sensation the contact with the hot skin beneath the damp jacket raised. She pushed him forward until there was enough space between their bodies to permit Henry to wedge the left front and sleeve of
the jacket and shirt between them.

  Then the steward took hold of the stranger so Maddie could drag both garments off his right shoulder. As she did so, they both noticed the angry puckered red line on his right side. It began an inch below his armpit and ran down the right side of his torso until it disappeared beneath the strip of sheeting holding the bandage on his left side in place.

  Henry glanced at her. “That scar’s only a few months old. Wonder what he thought he was doin’ joinin’ last night’s fracas?”

  “What caused it?” Maddie asked as she drew the sleeves off the free trader’s right arm.

  “Some type of sword or sabre,” Henry hazarded. He assessed older healed wounds. “He’s led a rough life from the looks of the scars he’s collected.”

  Maddie tossed the jacket and shirt across the man’s body to the floor before she edged back and helped lay him down. She heard her aunt at the bedchamber door.

  A few moments later Miss Benton set a clean bowl of water on the night table beside the bed. Wringing out a cloth, Aunt Prissy stared at the unconscious man. She watched Maddie brush dark brown curls from the broad forehead and saw the pity in her niece’s face as Maddie’s fingers lingered on the jagged red scar that marred it. Reaching across the torso, Prissy slapped a warm wet cloth into Maddie’s right hand.

  “Wipe his right side while I help Mr. Lundin remove his boots.” Miss Benton ignored the steward’s disapproving glare. “Please push the bed curtain back.”

  Maddie marvelled at new sensations as she worked. She had often given her father sponge baths after he became bedfast, but it had never raised such curious feelings. She drew the cloth between each digit of his hand, pushed it up his arm aware of the soft yet wiry texture of the hair that covered it. The solidness of the well-honed muscles beneath her hands made her temperature rise to meet his heat. Maddie hesitated when she was finished, reluctant to release him.

  He is stronger than father ever was, Maddie thought. And so much larger. Encountering her aunt’s gaze, she laid his hand down and hurried off the bed. Back by the nightstand she rinsed the cloth and repeated the motions on his left side. Then she began to wash his face. She paused when his eyes fluttered open.