by Lee Rowan
“You are beloved of your countrymen,” he said when they escaped into the cool evening. “I had not expected you to find such a warm reception, from the things you’ve told me about your home.”
“I’m surprised myself,” Davy admitted. “It may be that so many young men leave and never return, they rejoice in any familiar face.”
“No one came home?”
“Oh, a few have—some from the Army, a handful who went to the coast to join the Sea Fencibles. But not many.”
“Would the soldiers have been from your brother’s regiment?”
“Some may have been. I believe I could find out. And I see where this inquiry is heading.” He stopped at the door to the inn and said quietly, “We’d best mind our tongues inside. Then again—perhaps a careful word might bring us information.
Will nodded. “Lead on.”
A warm gust of air washed over them when Davy swung open the door, carrying on it a wave of odors—beer, pipe-smoke, and the sweat of hard-working men. Lacking only the scent of a ship’s timbers and salt air, it was not so different from the usual below-decks fug. Will counted only eight tables, half of them empty, and no more than eight or nine men present. In such a small village, Will guessed, most of the residents would be home with their families at this hour.
Again, he was struck by the warmth with which the men greeted Davy. Congratulations on his rank, condolences for his loss—all were given with the greatest respect, making it clear that Lieutenant Archer was held in high regard. And Davy immediately increased that regard by paying for a round for all present.
“A toast—to my brother’s memory,” Davy said, and the high spirit of the room suddenly sank. “To my brother Mark,” he repeated in the quiet. “May he rest in peace.”
“And long life and health to His Lordship,” someone added, drawing a murmur of approval. Will raised his own tankard to that, then followed Davy’s lead to a table against the far wall.
“It’s a shame neither Ronald nor I were able to be on hand for the funeral,” Davy said. “It does seem strange that he’d have been unable to get here from London. But since he arrived after we did—”
The arrival of two mugs of ale stopped his speech, and he raised his hand slightly in a small gesture to stop Will’s reply.
“Compliments of the house, gentlemen,” the serving girl said. At a closer look, Will realized she was not so young as she had first seemed; her brown hair was contained only by a kerchief, but her dark eyes had a hard look to them. “Was you speaking of your brother, sir?”
“You’ve sharp ears, Kittie,” Davy said. “But it’s nothing that concerns you.”
“That’s as may be,” she said, tossing her head. “And maybe not. And maybe”—she lowered her voice—“maybe I could tell you something as would make you think otherwise about when your brother came riding back. But as it doesn’t concern me, I’ll say no more, young sir.” With another flounce, she departed, her grand exit marred by a patron who called for her to refill his tankard.
“Saucy baggage,” Will observed.
“More trouble than she’s worth,” Davy said. Keeping an eye on her until she vanished into the kitchen, he added, very quietly, “The last thing we needed is gossip in the village, and this particular girl has a tongue that wags without discretion or sense. If she weren’t the landlord’s daughter, she’d have been turned off years ago.”
Matching his tone, Will said, “But what she suggested… do you suppose Ronald might really have returned earlier, and kept himself out of sight?”
“That would answer many of our questions,” Davy said. “But, much as I would like to believe it, it’s not likely he could stay out of sight. The village knows all of us too well. If he had been here, someone ought to have seen him.”
Will nodded toward the kitchen. “Perhaps someone did. Would she lie for him?”
Davy laughed humorlessly. “Would she? She has. I’ll tell you about it on the way home.”
They spent an hour or so sipping ale while Davy told sea stories and listened to news about the local farmers. When their mugs were empty and a couple of the other men had gone on their way, they took their leave and went to retrieve their horses. The night had gone chill, but the moon and stars were brighter in the cold, clear air, and the road ahead was easy to see.
“So tell me about this Jezebel,” Will said, once they were clear of the village.
“I believe she’s afflicted with ambition far above her abilities,” Davy said. “The summer before I went to sea, Ronald decided to gain a bit of glory at my expense, so he bribed her to tell some cock-and-bull story that I’d made unwelcome advances toward her dainty self.”
“What?”
“Truly! It’s not that I hadn’t observed and admired her attributes, but I certainly hadn’t done any more than that. She’s a couple of years older—quite a difference to a fifteen-year-old boy—and she’d hinted that she might be willing to make a man of me.”
“I trust your instincts held you back.”
“Yes, I developed a fair sense of self-preservation early on. And the lie backfired on them both because Mother had sent me off on an errand that afternoon and I was incontrovertibly elsewhere.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not a bit. And when it turned out that I’d spent half the day listening to the Vicar rehearse his next sermon—”
“Your mother made you do that? Whatever—”
“No, no, just happenstance. The Vicar’s wife was ill—the Vicar we had when I was a child, not Peter Newkirk. Mama sent me over with a jar of calf’s-foot jelly, and the old fellow trapped me into listening to his pearls of theological wisdom. I knew that if I skipped out he’d only inflict it on his wife, and she was already feeling poorly, which was why Mother sent the jelly in the first place, so I flung myself into the breach.” He shrugged. “He was a good old fellow, really. Why not humor him?”
“But the accusation…?” Will persisted.
“Oh, Kittie claimed she was only teasing because I was such a sobersides. In fact, she was getting her revenge because I hadn’t accepted her indelicate advances. If Ronald had not put it into her head, I expect she’d have thought of it sooner or later. She’s determined to get her hooks into some poor sod, and I think she honestly believed she could drag me to the altar. I should have let her try, really. It would have been a treat to see my father give her a broadside.”
“So as a witness, she would be unconvincing?”
“Worse than useless—positively damaging. I expect her to run off to Ronald and warn him we’re discussing his itinerary. That might prove interesting….” He thought back carefully. “Nothing we said since we entered should have led her to believe we were discussing incriminating circumstances. But if he’s worried about whether he’s left any traces of an earlier arrival, it might make him uneasy.”
“The play’s the thing,” Will said, pleased with his Shakespearean reference.
“He’s not king, thank God—and I doubt if he has a conscience.”
“But how do you suppose she would have seen him, and no one else be any the wiser?”
“I don’t know. She lives above the inn with the rest of the family, but her mother’s been dead for years, there are no brothers or sisters still at home, and I believe the only other woman in the house is her grandmother, who’s deaf as a post. Kittie would be just the sort to play at intrigue without any notion of what she might be getting into. Whether she’s one of Ronald’s lightskirts is anyone’s guess… but she is ambitious. She could have married any number of local men, but she seems to think she can do better.”
“She could hardly imagine your brother would marry her!”
“No one with any sense would imagine it, but she hasn’t any sense at all. I could see him hinting that he might, to gain her assistance. And I can imagine her going along with it because she’d enjoy being privy to a secret, and she might think she could use that to pry an offer out of him.”
&
nbsp; “Do you think she would be susceptible to bribery—from us, I mean?”
“There’s a notion. Even if she were not a credible witness, we might get some useful tidbits. Or we might get a bundle of lies. There’s no way of knowing.”
“Then we shall have to visit that charming spot again, and soon.”
“I’m afraid so. But not tomorrow, if you please. The ale was good, but for now, I’ve had my fill of Kittie’s posturing.”
They rode slowly along the road, the starlight brighter now that it was full dark. Davy rode a pace or two back, and Will knew he was watching his own uneasy balance in the saddle. “What’s amiss with your seat?” Davy finally asked.
“Does it show?” Will sighed. “The right stirrup seems a little longer than the other, but I daresay it’s really my leg that’s shorter.”
“Raise up and put your weight on both legs equally,” Davy suggested. “See if it doesn’t shift a bit. And next time, we’ll make certain everything’s adjusted properly before we start off.”
Will stood in the stirrups, then settled back down. “It’s no problem, really. It seemed fine when we rode out.”
“Straps can stretch, or the girth might not be quite as tight—or it might be a little tighter, if the hostler adjusted it. A horse is a lot like a ship, Will. Even if you do everything properly, they’ll still surprise you sometimes.”
“I am still waiting to feel as easy up here as I do on the quarterdeck,” Will said as they rounded a tree-lined bend. “Though it’s not—” He sensed rather than saw a wisp of something approaching his face, like a strand of cobweb, and reached to brush it away—and his hand touched cord.
He reacted before he quite knew what he was doing, yanking back on the reins with his left hand and wheeling about. “Stop!”
Davy had checked his mount already. “What is it?”
“Unless you have monstrous great spiders here who don’t mind the cold—” He caught the line that stretched across the path, and gave it a sharp tug. It was strong cord and tied to something solid, but Will was strong, too, and angry. The cord snapped free from one tree in the line of them that ran along the right side of the road, between them and the open fields. He handed the loose end over to Davy.
“Just at the height of a rider,” Davy said. “If we’d been going at any pace, it could have caught us both.”
“No danger of that with me in the lead,” Will said.
“It’s no joke, Will. If he’d strung it lower to catch the horses….” Davy leaned back, looking along the road they’d covered, then squinted into the thicket at their left. It was so dark on this bit of the road that he followed the movements mostly by sound. “Do you hear anything?” he breathed.
It was a time of year when there were few night sounds—the hoot of an occasional owl, the skitter of small things that lived in last fall’s dead leaves. But at this moment, there was no sound. Nothing at all. Will shook his head.
“Nor I.” Davy dropped down out of the saddle for an instant and was back up just as quickly, something in his hand. “No jokes, Will. Stay on that horse no matter what, and follow me.”
Chapter 10
WITHOUT ANOTHER word, he drew back his arm and let fly with whatever clod he’d picked up from the trail, sent it crashing into the roadway a dozen yards ahead. Will thought he heard a faint rustle in the underbrush on their left, but didn’t have time to be certain; Davy turned his horse in front of him, tugging at the bridle of Will’s mount as he went by, leading him directly between the trees and out into the open fields.
Then they were away, their breaths visible in the frosty moonlight. Will had learned enough to stay on a trotting horse, and though he didn’t like it much, he managed for a quarter of an hour, until Davy brought them down to a brisk walk and dropped back so they could ride side by side.
“Where are we now?” Will asked.
“Heading directly home. The road wanders around past cottages and barns. This is faster, and if anyone comes after us, we’ll be able to see him.”
“Were you expecting an ambush?”
“No. And that was interesting, was it not? A line at the height of the chest—the upper chest. If we’d been trotting, it could have swept you out of the saddle, or torn your throat if we’d been going faster. If we had been riding abreast—”
He didn’t need to explain further. If either of them had been knocked to the ground, injured or not, they would have been vulnerable to attack. “I should have brought my pistol.”
“I did,” Davy said. “And out here, I could at least make out a proper target. But I don’t think we have reason to fear an open attack when we have the chance to defend ourselves. We’re out of range of even the finest rifle now.”
“That was a cavalry trick, wasn’t it?” Will asked.
“Used against cavalry, yes. Not as dangerous to the horses as a line stretched lower down. But an injury to a horse would show, and that could not be blamed on a stray branch across the path. If it had caught you across the chest—”
“I’d have been on the ground, no question. And you as well, if you weren’t able to get out of the way in time.”
“Or if I didn’t ride right over you. It’s a damned good thing you saw that line.”
Will shrugged. “I was riding so slowly I’d have seen a thread.”
“Nonetheless—” Davy was sounding more his usual cheery self. “—since we were so disobliging as to keep the odds two to one, I expect we’re past the risk, at least for this evening.”
“Shall we go back tomorrow and look around?” Will suggested. “I wonder whether there might not have been more than one line across the road. That’s what I’d have done—set a second trap farther on, to stop anyone who might ride ahead to get help.”
“If there was another, I’m sure it will be gone before we reach home.”
The heat rising from his horse kept Will’s legs warm, but a chill touched the back of his neck. “We were easy targets for a moment there,” he said. “Both of us.”
“Easy, but not dead-certain—he couldn’t know whether we might return fire.” Davy snorted. “Or who knows? That might have been meant as a warning. It’s just his sort of melodrama.”
“I wish we’d gone after him,” Will said. “Caught him red-handed.”
“So do I, but with only one pistol between the two of us? If that ambush was serious, he might have had two pistols, or even more. Or he might have claimed he was only playing a trick on you, the way a seaman would hoax a landlubber.”
“Not much of a joke.”
“No,” Davy said. “But very much his style. And if we were found shot on the road—or never found at all—you can be sure Ronald would have an alibi—one that might be provided by Kittie herself.”
A thought occurred to him. “It has been a damp week, and I’m sure the ground is muddy. Davy—didn’t you say your brother Mark’s valet is seeing to Ronald’s clothing?”
“Muddy boots! Yes, I can ask James if he notices anything amiss. He’ll tell me—and he would keep quiet about my asking, too.”
“That would still not prove anything, would it?”
“No—just circumstantial evidence. But that trap did prove one thing, Will.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone is afraid we’ll learn something in the village. That means there must be something to learn.”
They rode on awhile in silence, and before very long, Will saw a lantern in the distance. Davy’s horse began to move faster, heading for its stable. Will felt his horse change gait, but somehow it was easier to stay aboard this time.
“Almost there,” Davy said. “By the way, congratulations. You’re posting.”
NOTHING HAPPENED the next day, and David was just as well pleased with the quiet. He was in favor of any day that passed without another outburst from Virginia. He did not know if it was Ronald’s absence or Dr. Fisk’s medicine that kept her quiescent, nor did he care.
He and Will rode for a
n hour or so in the morning with Amelia and Jane, back to the site of what could not quite be called an ambush. As David had expected, there was no sign of the cord that had been stretched across the road, and a nearby patch of muddy, trampled brush could have been the tracks of one man or several—or a couple of deer bedding down for the night.
They called the matter hopeless and spent a peaceful afternoon indoors, searching the shelves of the library for a copy of Tristam Shandy, which Amelia had begun reading after Christmas. She could remember that she had found it amusing, but not where she had last set it down. The book turned up at last, unaccountably sandwiched between some bound volumes of the Ladies Home Journal, and Jane suggested that they might take turns reading aloud to one another. The Archers, having had Shakespeare read to them from childhood by their mother, thought it a grand idea.
Will declined to read aloud, and after a few chapters of the rambling, idiosyncratic narrative, he was frowning, obviously perplexed at the lack of a coherent storyline. David, familiar with the book and knowing that Will’s orderly soul would never be satisfied by this tale, finally took pity on him and asked if he would be willing to read a report from the Naval Gazette instead—a low trick, but it worked. Will was happy to oblige and the ladies were willing to listen. It might not have been the liveliest way David had ever passed a long, wet afternoon, but he found a quiet, sociable interlude a welcome change.
On the disappointing side, Ronald stayed with whomever he had been visiting until just before dark, and when he returned, his boots showed a fresh polish, no doubt applied by a friend’s servant or someone at an inn a bit more distant than the village.
“Do you think it would be worth riding out to see if we might learn where he stayed?” Will asked, as they dressed for supper.
“Perhaps, if we had any notion of what direction he’d gone. It’s not really proper for him to go jauntering about the countryside, not with the family so recently in mourning—in fact, that’s why I would rather not do so myself.”
