P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death

by Red Death(Lit)

  I was thinking of making a jest at Beldon's expense, but the somber look on Elizabeth's face stopped me. Should the commissaries, should anyone either on the rebels' side or simply up to mischief find out what was being planned, everything we had could be confiscated. With no notice whatsoever Father and I, Beldon too, could be arrested for treason and even hanged. And by our own countrymen. The only worse punishment could have come from the rebels. Had they been in charge of the Island, I doubt that things would be much different except they would not have left us out of their battles. Their rabble's maxim that anyone not for them was against them had caused much grief and suffering. More than one man had been tarred and feathered by mindless mobs and died from it.

  "I shall be very careful," I promised her. "Anyway, this won't last long. Just for the season, I'm sure. Beldon thinks that once Washington's great Continental Army gets a taste of real winter, they'll scurry back to their hearths like rabbits to a burrow. Then Howe can round up the so-called Congress and put an end to the matter."

  "I hope so. Do you think they'll be hanged?"

  "Only if they're caught. They were foolish enough to sign that treasonous declaration. What presumptuous gall they had to pretend they represented everyone...." I'd read a copy of the thing along with Father and like him had raged against the inflammatory language of the charges against the king. (Though under our present circumstances I thought that the point about the military being independent of and superior to the civil power was well made. Now, issues that should have been decided in courts were being contested in battle.) We both concluded the absurd document should be consigned to the flames and its perpetrators to the gallows.

  But... that was General Howe's problem, not mine, I reminded myself. I had other matters to worry about.

  Well before dawn Jericho woke me out of a lethargic dream state as he came in with my morning tray. A vivid picture of Nora Jones was before me, but faded rapidly as I tried to hold

  on to it. Then it was completely gone and I gave up in mild frustration to the inevitable. Everyone's mind is full of doors that open only during sleep, and mine were the sort to slam solidly shut at the slightest hint of waking.

  The dreams troubled me, for their content-whenever I had the rare instance of recalling one-was disturbing. Now and then my drowsy mind would throw out a bit of memory that made no sense, yet during the dream itself I had no difficulty in understanding. The most familiar one concerned Nora. We were at the Bolyns' party again; I danced with her in the maze, kissed her, made love with her. Pleasant enough, and true enough, in the way of a dream, but both of us were splashed from head to toe with blood. It was warm and just turning sticky and the heavy smell of it clogged the air. I could almost taste it. Neither of us and no one else ever seemed to notice, though.

  The other dream memory was more mundane, but for an unknown reason much more frightening. It was really nothing: only Tony Warburton smiling down at me from some high place. The first time I remembered having it I'd awakened in a cold, slimy sweat, lighted every candle in the room, and shivered under the coverlet like a child. This reaction eventually passed, but I was never quite comfortable with that one.

  "It will be very hot today," said Jericho as he went to the wardrobe to choose clothes for me.

  I sipped tea, holding the cup in both hands. "It was hot yesterday."

  "More so today. Eat what you can now. You won't want

  10 later."

  He was always right about such things. I worked my way through the food he'd brought, slowly adjusting my thinking away from senseless dreams to the tasks awaiting me this day. Even with Beldon's company, I planned to enjoy myself.

  "Do you wish a shave?" Jericho asked.

  1 brushed a finger along one stubbled cheek. He'd shaved

  me yesterday and had we been following our usual routine, I

  wouldn't need another until tomorrow. Should I have a clean

  chin while calling on our neighbors, or not? Not, I decided,

  and said as much to Jericho. Most of the farmers and other

  men shaved but once a week for their churchgoing and thought

  od enough. I didn't want to put them off by playing the

  That was Beldon's specialty.

  "Is Beldon awake yet?" I mumbled around some biscuit

  "Oh, yes. Sheba just got his tray for him."

  No need to comment how inappropriate it was for a young girl to be taking up Beldon's breakfast rather than one of the house lads. Not that Beldon made himself offensive in any way with anyone. The girl was safe enough with him, as was any lad in the house, for he was really a decent sort.

  Except for the toad-eating, I refiexively reminded myself.

  Upon consideration, 1 found it odd that Mother was capable of throwing herself into a foaming rage at an erroneous assumption of impropriety between myself and Elizabeth and yet could entirely ignore the doctor. I'd once mentioned it to Father, who opined that Mother simply did not know or, if she did, contemptuously disbelieved the possibility. Whether her ignorance was willful or not, Beldon was aware of it, and like many other facets of life, it seemed to amuse him.

  Jericho laid out my old claret-colored coat. I had put on some muscle since I'd last worn it and the seams had been let out, the work carefully covered by fancy braid. While nowhere near being threadbare, it was less than new, and thus the correct item to wear while making informal calls upon our neighbors during their working day. Next to it he unfolded a fresh linen shin, breeches, and my second-best riding boots. When I expressed a preference for a straw hat to wear against the sun, he pursed his lips, shook his head, and brought forth the correct head covering for the coat.

  "No wig?" I queried lightly.

  He started to reach for a box, but I hastily called him off.

  Since Beldon had no valet to help him he came down to the library ten minutes ahead of me. Father, still in his dressing gown and silk nightcap, was with him and once more going over the names of the people we were to see. Beldon thought it was too short a list, but Father pointed out that it was better to see a few at a time rather than rushing about in noticeable haste. "You're a doctor making your usual calls on your patients and Jonathan is along to visit with their families."

  And to act as guide. Beldon knew most of our neighbors by now, if only from seeing them every Sunday at church, but he was less sure of where they lived unless they were regular patients. Rapelji, for example, was not in that number. His housekeepers, Rachel and Sarah, were adept at keeping him in

  excellent health with their herb lore. Many of the local farms were content to see them for their illnesses as well, sparing themselves from paying a doctor's fee.

  I noted that Father's mistress, Mrs. Montagu, was not among those named, though her home was along the route we would take. Perhaps he would see to informing her himself later. I hoped so. With all our late troubles, I felt that he was in need of some pleasant, relaxing company for a change.

  He let us out the side door facing the stables and wished us good luck. Our mounts were ready, the doctor on a hack he'd purchased some time ago, and a similar working horse for myself. Roily would have been a better ride, but could draw unwelcome attention. I had no desire to lose him on the high road to some avaricious officer with a sheaf of blank receipts in his pocket.

  Beldon spent a moment fussing with his box of medicines, making sure it was secure, then swung up. The horses may have sensed a long day was ahead and made no effort to use up their strength with unnecessary prancing or high spirits. We paced sedately down toward the gate.

  "It's good to finally be off," said Beldon. "I hardly slept last night, thinking of this."

  I made a noncommittal noise I'd learned from Father. It was useful for expressing almost any sentiment, the interpretation of it being left to the listener.

  "You do realize that I shall be making real calls, don't you?"

  I said that I did.

  "One of the Coldrup daughters has her migr
aines, and the youngest at the McCuins broke his arm...."

  He chattered on, a man interested in his work. He reminded me of Oliver in that regard and because of it I was better able to tolerate his company. He was, as Elizabeth said, "not such a bad fellow."

  We turned east into the waxing force of the rising sun. As Jericho had prophesied, it was going to be very hot. I squinted against the searing light and tilted my hat down. I couldn't see where I was going too well, but the horse knew his business and kept to the road.

  We passed Mrs. Montagu's gate on the right and a mile farther down I indicated for Beldon to leave the road. The Captain's Kettle was in this area. Our property line crossed

  over at this point. The boundary had been a bone of contention between Mrs. Montagu and Father soon after her husband had died fourteen years ago. Two sets of surveyors had come up with very different interpretations of where the correct line lay and the matter had ended up in court. Father had argued his case and would have won it had Matilda Montagu remained at home during the proceedings. Upon meeting her, he became sympathetic to her claim and dropped the litigation. With his sympathy and her gratitude as a beginning, they proceeded to form a lasting, satisfying, and highly discreet friendship.

  I led the way now, weaving my horse between the trees. I hadn't been up here since that April ride so long ago, but the landmarks were unchanged. Within, I had the unnerving feeling that I would once more see Father and Mrs. Montagu walking hand in hand in the distance. That was foolish, of course, but the feeling lingered and strengthened as we drew closer to the kettle.

  Birds squawked and squabbled overhead. Insects hummed and dodged them. The air was thick with their noise, yet seemed muted, flattened by the growing heat. Or distance. There didn't seem to be much activity where we were.

  "I don't think we're alone," said Beldon, barely moving his lips and speaking just loud enough for me to hear him over the movement of the horses.

  One can usually sense when someone is watching; I just hadn't recognized it. "Where?"

  "Ahead of us. On either side. I think we should go back." I wholly agreed with him and the two of us turned in unison without another word. It could be children at play or a pair of lovers on a tryst, but it could also be any number of less innocent threats. Better to return after the prickling on the backs of our necks went away.

  We did not get that chance, though. Before we'd gone fifty yards a hard-looking man in uniform stepped out from a dense thicket of bushes, aimed his musket at us, and in a rough and accented voice ordered us to halt.

  I knew the uniform. Everyone on the Island did. He was a Hessian.

  A second man joined him and barked out another order at us.

  "Down!" the first one translated.

  Beldon and I exchanged looks. Heroism was the last thing on our minds. Not that we had anything to be heroic about. Once we'd identified ourselves we'd be able to leave.

  I hoped.

  We cautiously dismounted and kept hold of the reins. We studied the soldiers and were studied in turn. They saw by our clothes that we were gentlemen, but there were plenty of so-called gentlemen opposing the king these days. The men were flushed and their sweat-stained uniforms showed evidence that they'd been hiking through the woods for some time. It was certain to me that they had some purpose to the exercise, perhaps an ominous one for myself and Beldon. Beldon's horse, supremely unconcerned with the situation, dropped his head and began tearing at the grass.

  The second man barked a question, but before the first could translate it, I hesitantly answered in their own language.

  "This is Dr. Theophilous Beldon and I am Jonathan Barrett. This is my land. Why are you here?"

  Though I'd only previously used it in my academics, my German was apparently intelligible. It surprised them, and to my tremendous relief the grip on their rifles slackened. The second man came to attention and identified himself as Detricht Schmidt and gave his rank, but I did not know that particular word. He could have been anything from a simple soldier to a colonel,

  though his manner and the lack of trimmings on his uniform made the latter very unlikely. I repeated my last question and finally got an answer.

  "They're looking for a band of rebels," I explained to Beldon. "At least that's what I think he said. Something about stolen horses."

  Beldon nodded, also impressed by my linguistic gifts. "Where is his commander?"

  "Close by" said Schmidt, after I'd asked.

  "Here," repeated the other man agreeably, waving an arm at the surrounding woods. His accent was heavy, but probably no worse than mine must have sounded to his ears.

  "We want to go," I said to him in slow English.

  Both of them shrugged. I tried to say the same thing in German, but garbled it up. However, Schmidt understood enough of my meaning.

  "You must stay," I was told.

  "Here halt," his friend emphasized, making a sitting gesture with his palm toward the ground. Both were nodding and smiling, though, so perhaps they'd decided we were not with the rebels.

  "They must want their commander to look us over first," I said.

  Beldon was amiable. "Then let's all be pleasant about it, since it can't be helped." He smiled in return and pulled a snuffbox from his pocket, offering a pinch of its contents to our captors. They accepted with many friendly thanks and another piece of our initial tension broke away.

  Schmidt excused himself after a moment and disappeared into the trees. The other man gave his name as Hausmann and complimented my German. "Schmidt soon back," he promised.

  "Is your commander English?"

  "Jawohl, Herr Barrett."

  "Where are the rebels?"

  He shrugged, but it caused him to recall that they might be nearby and he checked the surrounding open area uneasily. "Trees go," he suggested, wanting to get into their cover.

  Beldon and I led our horses in, grateful for the shade, though it cut us off from the wind. Hausmann kept his distance so as to have room to bring his gun to bear if we made it necessary. He'd relaxed somewhat, but it was clear that he was ready to deal with

  any threat until ordered to stand down by his commander.

  "How many men are here?" I asked.

  He puzzled out my meaning right away, but would only smile and shake his head.

  "Not a good idea to give away the strength of your troop," Beldon, the former soldier, explained.

  And I thought I'd only been trying to make conversation. I had better luck asking Hausmann where he was from and if he had any family. For that I got the name of his village and a number of relatives and their history in that district. Much of it was too rapid for me to follow, but I made encouraging noises whenever he slowed down.

  "Your family?" he asked politely. "Your land all?" He indicated the area.

  "Our land," I said.

  He looked both envious and admiring. "Land is good. Here land I want."

  "Here?"

  He waved to show he meant some other land than what we stood upon. "Farm. Woman. Das Kleinkind."

  "What?" asked Beldon.

  "He wants to have a family."

  "What about the one he left in Europe?"

  "I think they're all dead. He said the wars killed them."

  Before he could express any sympathy, the three of us turned at the sound of several men approaching. Schmidt had returned. With him were two more Hessians and two men wearing the uniform of the king's army.

  "Lieutenant James Nash," said the one with the most braid, making a succinct introduction.

  I recognized the name. He was behind the theft of Finch's wagon and horses. He seemed a bit old to be a lieutenant, in his late forties, I guessed. Perhaps he'd been unable to advance further for lack of funding, patronage, talent, or opportunity. This new war was probably his last chance to change his luck and acquire some security for his old age. Too bad for Finch.

  I introduced myself and Beldon to him and informed him as politely as possible that he was tre
spassing. I did not employ thai particular word, but he knew what I meant.

  "My apologies, sir, but we're on the king's business and cannot make distinctions between public and private lands. Those

  damned rebels don't and we have to follow where they run."

  "I believe your men mentioned they were horse thieves."

  "Aye, they are," he added with some warmth. "Tried to take a wagon too, but we foiled that."

  I refrained from looking at Beldon and kept a very straight face. "What a shame. That they took your horses, I mean."

  "We'll find 'em," he assured me. "If you know the area, you can help us."