“Is it all right wi’ you if I shoot them on my own behalf?” Jenny asked, arching one black brow. “Because I’m no standing for anyone molesting my grandson.”
“Dinna be fratchetty, Mam,” Ian said tolerantly, before Rachel could reply to this. “Ye ken if we meet any villains, Rachel will talk them into a stupor afore ye have to shoot one.” He gave Rachel a private smile, and she breathed a little easier.
Jenny made a guttural sound that might have been agreement or mere politeness, but didn’t say more about shooting anyone.
They had two good mules and a horse, a stout wagon filled with provisions, a box of clothes and clouts, and a dozen bottles of Jamie’s whisky hidden in a cache under the floorboards. This would be the center of her world for the next several weeks, and then … the North Country—and Emily. Wishing with all her heart that she and Ian and Oggy were in their snug cabin on the Ridge, Rachel put on a brave face when Jamie bent and kissed her forehead in farewell.
“Fare thee well, daughter,” he said softly. “I will see thee safe again.” A smile creased his eyes, and brief as it was, it gave her soul enough peace that she could smile back.
Jamie took Oggy, helped Rachel up onto the seat, kissed the baby, and handed him up as well. Jenny hopped up at the back and took her place in a cozy nest of blankets amid the provisions, and threw a kiss to her brother, who grinned at her. Ian clapped his uncle on the shoulder, climbed aboard, and with a slap of the reins, they were off.
People said you oughtn’t to look back when you left a place, that it was ill luck, but Rachel turned round without hesitation, watching. Jamie was watching, too, standing like a sentinel in the middle of the road. He raised a hand, and so did she, waving.
You never knew, when you took farewell of someone, whether it might be the last time. The least you could do was say you loved them—and she wished she had. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and, as they swung out to go around the first curve, threw a kiss to the distant figure, still standing in the road.
OGGY HAD FUSSED all night, and Jenny had stayed up to walk him round the floor. Consequently, as soon as Salisbury and the pang of parting from Jamie had passed, Jenny crawled into the back of the wagon, curled up among the bags and boxes, and fell sound asleep, Oggy cuddled beside her, dead to the world in his blanket.
This was the first opportunity Ian and Rachel had had for private conversation since the day before, and she asked him at once about the dead man that Constable Jones had found.
“Does thee know who he is?”
“Nay, no one does. Seems he was a stranger to the town.”
She nodded and squeezed his arm gently.
“Thee took a great time to learn that.”
“Aye, well. Uncle Jamie thought at first he might ken the man, so we went back to have another keek at him.”
He was always truthful with Rachel, and she with him—but he did take pains not to tell her things he knew she would find distressing, unless he thought it really necessary. What Jamie had told him about Frank Randall’s book could wait for a bit, he thought, but plainly the stranger bothered her, and he told her why the sight of the dead man had disquieted Jamie.
“Mrs. Fraser? Abducted and raped?” Ian could see she was appalled. “And your uncle thinks this stranger might have to do with the—the man who did it?”
“I dinna think it likely, nor does Uncle Jamie,” Ian said, as nonchalantly as he could. It wasn’t a lie, after all … “It’s only that the stranger bears a wee resemblance. If it should be he was the man’s kin, for instance …”
“If this man was his kin, then what?” Tiredness had shadowed Rachel’s eyes, but they were still clear as a trout stream.
Well, that was a good question. While he was searching for some reasonable answer, she asked another.
“Do you know where the man—the criminal—is? So that you might send him word of a dead kinsman?”
Ian concealed a smile. Rachel naturally would think that even a vicious rapist deserved to hear of a kinsman’s death—and would undoubtedly go herself to tell him, if necessary.
Fortunately, it wouldn’t be necessary.
“I dinna ken exactly what happened to him, but we’ve had certain word that he’s dead.” He made a quick note to get his mother alone and make sure she kent what was going on, lest she inadvertently tell Rachel just why they were sure the rapist was dead.
Rachel’s sigh lifted her breasts briefly, so the swell of them showed above her shift; Ian had the fleeting thought that when he talked to his mother when they stopped at an inn tonight, she might be induced to take Oggy out for air at some point.
“May God have mercy on his soul,” Rachel said, but her face had relaxed. “Does Mrs. Fraser know?”
“Aye, she does. I didna speak to her about it, but I think she’s … better in her mind for knowing it.”
Rachel nodded soberly.
“It would be terrible for her, to know he was alive. That he might … come back.” A small shudder passed through her, and she hugged her wrapper around her shoulders. “And terrible for Jamie, too. He must be relieved that God has taken the burden from them.”
“God works in mysterious ways, to be sure,” Ian said. She looked sharply at him, but he kept his face calm and after a moment, she nodded, and they left the subject of dead fat men behind them in the dust.
JAMIE HAD LITTLE business left to conduct in Salisbury; he’d got what he came for, in terms of making a connection with Francis Locke, and learned what he needed to. Still, Salisbury was a large town, with merchants and shops, and Claire had given him a list. He felt his side pocket and was reassured to hear the crinkle of paper; he hadn’t lost it. With a brief sigh, he pulled the list out, unfolded it, and read:
Two pounds alum (it’s cheap)
Jesuit bark, if anyone has it (take all of it, or as much as we can afford)
½ lb. plaster of Gilead (ask at apothecary, otherwise surgeon)
2 qts. Sweet oil—make sure they seal with wax!
25 g. each of belladonna, camphor, myrrh, powdered opium, ginger, ganja, if available, and Cassia alata (it’s for ringworm and toe gunge)
Bolt of fine linen (underclothes for me and Fanny, shirt for you)
Two bolts sturdy broadcloth (one blue, one black)
Three oz. steel pins (yes, we need that many)
Thread (for sewing clothes, not sails or flesh)—four balls white, four blue, six black
A dozen needles, mostly small, but two very large ones, please, one curved, one straight
As for food—
Ten loaves sugar
Fifty pounds flour (or we can get it from Woolam’s Mill, if too expensive in Salisbury)
Twenty pounds dry beans
Twenty pounds rice
Spice! (If any and you can afford it. Pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg …?)
Jamie shook his head as he strolled down the street, mentally adding:
3 casks gunpowder
½ pig of lead
Decent skinning knife …
Someone had taken his and snapped the tip off it, and he strongly suspected Amanda, she being the only one of the children who could lie convincingly.
Aye, well, he had Clarence and the new mule, a sweet-paced light bay called Abednego, to carry it all home. And enough in miscellaneous forms of money and trade to pay for it all, he hoped. He wouldn’t dream of showing gold in a place like this; ne’er-do-wells and chancers would be following him back to the Ridge like Claire’s bees after sunflowers. Warehouse certificates and whisky would cause much less comment.