The sentry gave him a look from rheumy, bloodshot eyes.
“No, you won’t,” he said.
“May I inquire where he is, then?”
The sentry cleared his throat and spat, the gob of mucus not quite landing on the toe of William’s boot.
“He’s inside. But you won’t find him there because I’m not letting you in. You got a message, give me it.”
“It must be given into the doctor’s hands,” William said firmly, and reached for the doorknob.
The sentry took two steps sideways and stood in front of the door, musket held across his chest and his blue nose forbidding in its righteousness.
“You aren’t a-coming in, friend,” he said. “The doctor’s with Brigadier Bleeker, and he’s not to be disturbed.”
William made a low sound that wasn’t quite a growl. It didn’t affect Blue Nose, though, and he tried again.
“What about Mrs. Hunter? Is she in camp, perhaps?” God, he hoped not. He glanced over his shoulder at the sprawling mess below.
“Oh. Aye. She’s in there.” The sentry jerked a thumb backward, indicating the house. “With the doctor and the brigadier.”
“The brigadier … that would be …?”
“General Bleeker. General Ralph Bleeker.”
William sighed.
“Well, if I can’t go in, would you be so kind as to go inside and tell her that her cousin has come with a message for her husband? She can come out and get it, surely.”
It nearly worked. He could see doubt warring with duty on the man’s face—but duty won, and Blue Nose doggedly shook his head and waved a hand.
“Shoo.”
William turned on his heel and did so. He strode down the hill, not looking back—and turned aside as soon as the growth of shrubs and small trees hid him from the sentry’s view.
It took no little while to circle the hilltop and make his way carefully up through the grain mill, but he was able to blend in with the people waiting there to have their flour ground and could easily see the house. Yes, there was a back door. And no, glory be to God, there was no sentry—at least not right this moment.
He waited until the small crowd had stopped noticing him and stepped away in the half-furtive manner of a man going for a piss. Quick past the forge and up to the door, and … in.
He closed the back door behind him with a surge of pleasure.
“Sir?” He turned round, finding himself in the kitchen, and the cynosure of the gaze of a cook and several kitchen maids. The air was perfumed with the smell of roasting meat—there was a huge pig turning on the spit in the spacious hearth and his mouth was watering—but food could wait.
He bowed and lifted his hat briefly to the cook.
“Your pardon, ma’am. I’ve a message for the doctor.”
“Oh, he’s in the parlor,” said one of the younger maids. She looked admiringly up William’s body, and he smiled at her. “I’ll take you!”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, and bowed ingratiatingly again before following her out.
The house was comfortable, but seemed to have quite a few people in it; he could hear voices and the sound of footsteps overhead—there was a second story over the back part of the house. The maid led him to a closed door and bobbed a curtsy. He thanked her again, and as he reached for the porcelain knob of the door, he heard the unmistakable sound of his cousin Dottie’s gurgling laugh, and his own face broke into a grin.
He was still wearing the grin when he stepped into the room. Dottie was sitting in a chair by the fire, some sort of knitting on her lap, her face full of lively attention as the man in Continental uniform standing by the hearth said something to her.
Denzell was there, too, by the window, but William scarcely noticed, frozen to the spot by the sound of the man’s voice.
“William!” Dottie exclaimed, dropping her knitting. The man by the hearth turned sharply.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, staring in shock. “What the devil are you doing here?” The blue of his coat gave his winter-pale-blue eyes a piercing glint.
William felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach by a mule, but managed a breath.
“Hallo, Ben,” he said flatly.
104
General Fucking Bleeker
BEN LOOKED AT HIM with a cold formality and said, “That would be General Bleeker to you, sir.” That might have been taken as humor, but it bloody wasn’t, and wasn’t meant to be.
“Bleeker,” William said, making it almost a question. “All right, if you must. But Ralph?”
Ben’s face darkened, but he kept his temper.
“It isn’t Ralph,” he said shortly. “It’s Rafe.”
“One of Ben’s names is Raphael,” Dottie said pleasantly, as though making conversation over the tea table. “After our maternal grandfather. His name is Raphael Wattiswade.”
“Is?” William said, startled into looking at her. “I thought your mother’s father was dead.” He switched the look back to his cousin. “For that matter, I thought you were dead.”
Dottie and Denzell exchanged a brief marital look.
“I believe Friend Wattiswade has gone to some trouble to give that impression,” Denzell said, carefully not looking at Ben. “Will thee sit down, William? There is some wine.” Without waiting for an answer, he rose and gestured to his empty chair, going then to fetch a decanter from a small table near the door.
William ignored both the invitation and the chair. Ben was slightly taller than his father, but he was still six inches shorter than William, and William was not sacrificing the advantage of looking down on him. Ben stiffened, glaring up at him.
“I repeat, what the devil are you doing here?”
“I came to find your sister,” William replied, and gave Dottie a slight bow. “Your father wants you to come back to Savannah, Dottie.” Now that he had a chance to look at her, he thought Uncle Hal had been right to want that. She was very thin with dark circles under her eyes, her dress hung on her bones, and overall she looked like a fine piece of china with a crack running through it and a chip out of the edge.
“I told thee, thee shouldn’t have written to him,” she said reproachfully to Denzell, who handed her a glass of wine—and seeing that William was not about to accept the other one, sat down and took a sip from it himself.
“And I told thee that thee should go home,” Denzell replied, though without rancor. “This is no place for any woman, let alone one who—” He caught sight of Dottie and stopped abruptly. A hectic flush had risen in her cheeks and her lips were pressed tight. William thought she might either burst into tears or brain Denzell with the poker, which was near at hand.
Even odds, he concluded, and turned back to Ben, who had gone white round the nostrils.
“Step outside with me,” William said. “And you can tell me what the bloody hell you’re doing and why. And why I shouldn’t go straight back to Savannah and tell your father. If you feel like it.”
IT WAS COLD outside, and the sky lay low and heavy, the color of lead. William felt the itch of Ben’s eyes boring a hole between his shoulder blades.