“Here.” Uncle Hal pushed two folded documents with wax seals across the table to him. “The red one’s your commission and the other’s your orders—such as they are. I’ve given you the rank of captain, and your orders say you’re to be given free passage essentially anywhere you want to go, without let or hindrance, and you may call upon the assistance of His Majesty’s officers and troops as needed and available.”
“You think I might need a column of infantry to help drag Amaranthus back?” William asked, biting into a warm slice of fresh buttered corn bread, thick with peach jam.
“You think you won’t?” his father said, arching an eyebrow. Lord John got up and, coming behind William, undid his hasty plait and rebraided it, tight and neat, before doubling it into a queue and binding it with his own black ribbon. The touch of his father’s hands on his neck, warm and light, moved him.
Everything this morning had a freshness about it and a sense of moment that made him feel he would recall every object seen or touched, every word spoken, for as long as he lived.
He’d barely slept, his mind pulsing with energy, the stultification and petrifaction of the last month gone as though it had never existed. His statement that he was going after the girl had met with no opposition; Papa and Uncle Hal had exchanged a long glance and then set to making plans.
“She said she’d made arrangements,” Papa was saying, frowning over a forkful of sea trout. “What sort of arrangements, do you suppose?”
“So far as any of the servants can tell,” Hal replied, “she made a raid on the pantry and absconded with enough food for three or four days, took her plainest clothes—and most of her jewelry. She—”
“Did she take her wedding ring?” William interrupted.
“Yes,” Lord John said, and William shrugged.
“Then she’s heading for Ben. She’d have left it if she was done with him.”
Uncle Hal gave him the sort of look he would have given a performing flea who’d just turned a somersault, but Papa hid a smile behind his napkin.
“We wouldn’t let her go alone, even if we were positive that she is headed for her father’s house,” he said. “A young woman alone on the road—and we do think she’s alone,” he added, more slowly. “Though I suppose it’s possible that …”
“More than possible,” Uncle Hal said grimly. “That young woman—”
“Is your daughter-in-law,” Lord John interrupted. “And the mother of your heir. As such, we have every obligation to ensure her safety.”
“Mmphm.” William heard the grunt of agreement he’d made and stopped dead for an instant, a forkful of egg suspended, dripping yolk over his plate. “You probably don’t want to hear this … but Da makes that sort of noise all the time.” He glanced swiftly from his father to his uncle, but neither of them seemed to have noticed anything odd in his response, and the party relapsed into a silent, steady engulfment of breakfast.
William’s new mare, Birdie, was happy to see him and nosed him in search of apples—which he’d brought—and crunched them with evident pleasure, slobbering juice down his sleeve as he pulled the bridle over her ears. She sensed his own excitement and pricked her ears and snorted a little, bobbing her head as he tightened the girth. He wondered just how Amaranthus had managed her vanishing act; none of the horses belonging to the household were missing, not even the elderly mare Amaranthus was accustomed to ride.
Either she’d taken a public coach—unlikely; he thought Uncle Hal had probably sent directly to the coaching inn to have inquiries made, and she would have known he’d do that—or she’d hired a private carriage or a livery horse. Or she’d had help in absquatulating and her bloody assistant had provided her transportation. He was running moodily through a list of local gallants that she might have seduced to her purposes but was interrupted by the appearance of Lord John, with a purse in one hand and a small portmanteau in the other.
“A plain suit, stockings, and a fresh shirt,” he said briefly, handing over the latter. “And money. There’s a letter of credit in there as well—you might put that away in your pocket, just in case.”
“In case I’m obliged to ransom her from a band of highwaymen?” William asked, taking the purse. It was pleasantly heavy. He tucked it into his greatcoat, and, taking one of the pistols from his saddlebag, tucked that into his belt.
“Haha,” said his father, politely. “William—if she is going to Ben, and she gets to him … don’t—I repeat, don’t make any effort to take her away from him. Next time—if there is a next time—he probably will kill you.” There was enough blunt finality in that opinion that decided William not to argue with it, though his pride thought strongly otherwise.
“I won’t,” he said briefly, and patted his father’s shoulder, smiling. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
130
Herr Weber
A MONTH PAST THE fall of Charles Town, and the place still looked like an anthill that someone had kicked over. All the citizens of the place appeared to be outside, carrying stones and lumber and baskets of dirt and buckets of paint, and those not occupied with cleaning and repair were shouting and selling: meat and fruit, vegetables and poultry and hams, cockles and mussels, shrimps and oysters, and every other damned thing you could pull out of the sea and eat. The thought of eating, coinciding with the drifting smell of broiled fish, made William’s mouth water.
The seller of the savory fish was unfortunately surrounded by a company of soldiers, all pushing for attention as the woman and her daughter shuffled small, sizzling fish off hot bricks and into scraps of old newspaper as though they were dealing cards, while a small boy squatted beside them over a dented pot, taking coins from the soldiers and firing each one into the pot to make it ring.
Not willing to draw attention to himself by using his captain’s uniform to push his way into the mob, he turned toward the docks, where he’d certainly find food, and doubtless drink as well, at one of the numerous taverns.
What he found, though, was Denys Randall, walking idly up and down a narrow quay, apparently waiting for someone.
“Ellesmere!” Randall exclaimed, spotting him.
“Ransom,” William corrected. Denys waved a hand, indicating that it was all one.
“Where have you sprung from?” he asked, taking in William’s uniform at a glance. “And why?”
“I’m looking for Ban Tarleton. Seen him recently?”
Denys shook his head, frowning. “No. I suppose I could ask around, though. Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere, at the moment. Are there any decent places?” He glanced round at a line of shirtless men, gleaming with sweat as they moved baskets and barrows and wooden pallets of rubbish down to the shore. “What do they mean to do with all that? Build a seawall? Or repair it, rather.” There was an untidy ramble of fortifications outside the remains of the extant seawall, which had suffered much from the siege bombardments.
“They should do, but I daresay they’ll just shove that lot into the water and be done with it. As to a sleeping place, try Mrs. Warren’s, on Broad Street.” Denys picked up his hat and gave William a quick wave of the hand. “I’ll ask about Tarleton.”