Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution (11 page)

He folded up
and replaced the kerchief.
 
"You
mentioned that the intruder tracked mud on the floor.
 
Any idea where he was headed?"

"The
shelves where I store the household legal documents."

"Were any
records stolen?"
 
She shook her
head.
 
"If he'd carried a lantern,
perusing certain crucial records, rather than stealing them, may have been his
intent."

More disquiet
built within her.
 
Charles's final words
haunted her memory.
 
They'll kill
Madam if
they find it
.

"I presume
Mrs. Jones cleaned the floor yesterday?
 
A pity.
 
Obliteration of
evidence.
 
Since my five minutes have
expired, and you aren't predisposed to a search of your study for additional
evidence, I've no more to say on the matter."

"If it
sheds light on the intrusion, for heaven's sake, please do search the
study.
 
Right this way."

Enid withdrew
into gloom near the stairs as Helen and Fairfax crossed the foyer.
 
That moment, eavesdropping was the least of
the Welshwoman's faults.
 
The look on
her face earlier — Helen pursed her lips.
 
Time for an earnest reprimand of her servant.
 
A sweep of her hand encompassed the study interior.
 
"You may conduct your investigation,
Mr. Fairfax.
 
I shan't be long."

"Five
minutes, I take it?"

She contained a
smile and walked from the study back into the foyer.
 
Enid tried to scurry away.
 
Helen caught up with her in the dining room and shut both of them
within.
 
"Enid, what did we discuss
early yesterday morning?"

"Mistress,
something's wrong inside that
Saesneg's
head."

As if Helen
didn't already suspect it.
 
She wagged a
finger at her servant.
 
"Answer my
question.
 
What did we discuss?"

The older woman
pouted.
 
"My opinions."

"You let
your opinions show.
 
You gave me your
word that you wouldn't do so again."

"But he's
—"

"Your
word
."
 
Helen clenched her fists.
 
"You've broken it."

Enid's face
blotched while she grappled with what Helen was sure was the need to protect
her mistress and the desire to prove her intentions honorable.
 
Helen's heart ached.
 
If only she hadn't had to accept that assignment
with the Legion.
 
Enid bobbed her head,
and Helen heard tears in her voice.
 
"I've disappointed you, mistress.
 
What would you have me do?"

Helen made her
tone gruff.
 
"Walk in the back yard
for five minutes.
 
Cool your head."

The Welshwoman
curtsied and departed.
 
Alone in the
dining room, Helen leaned against the table and released a sigh.

With delight,
Enid would have poked Fairfax full of holes with the pitchfork had Helen not
stopped her.
 
Time to face the
truth.
 
If Helen didn't leave her in
Wilmington during the assignment, Enid and Fairfax would throttle each
other.
 
Besides, Badley had twice
indicated that he expected Enid to go along — perhaps he even counted on it — a
sure sign that she needed the vigilant Enid at home as her eyes and ears.
 
Perhaps if she presented it that way, the
housekeeper might comprehend her crucial role in Helen's absence and not feel
cast aside.

But if Enid
didn't travel with her, who would serve as Helen's maid during the trip?

For the moment,
she shoved aside the complications of the assignment, of a mood to see what
evidence Fairfax had dug up in her study.
 
Upon her return, he showed her more dark blue wool fibers and strands of
mouse-brown hair that had escaped Enid's feather duster on an inside slat of
the window frame.
 
The intruder didn't
realize the ways his identity had been marked.

Stimulated at
the possibility of catching the brute from the evidence he'd left behind, she
said, "What will you do with this?"

Mockery cocked
his eyebrow.
 
"Nothing was stolen,
and only the window was vandalized.
 
Do
you intend to file a complaint with the rebels about the incident?"

She opened her
mouth to respond but stopped herself.
 
The intrusion had occurred almost atop Gaynes's intrusion.
 
If she reported the incident to him, he'd
consider her daft, at best.

"I shall
keep the evidence for now.
 
Mr. Gaynes
doesn't appear to have been blessed with surplus intelligence."
 
He retrieved his hat from atop the letter on
her desk.
 
"Without a more
compelling case, your complaint will likely serve only to aggravate him."

Frustration
soared through her, not unlike the way she felt whenever the weather delivered
a springtime tease just before a winter blast.
 
Instinct whispered that the man who'd broken her window had committed
crimes against her in addition to vandalism and entry.
 
How was she to discover more?
 
"If this intruder wasn't one of your
men or Gaynes's, aren't you curious why he broke into my house?"

"I don't
have jurisdiction."
 
Sarcasm
stamped his face.
 
"I'm curious about
something else, though.
 
Did you enjoy
the vintage?"

She stared at
him, lost.
 
"Vintage?"

"The
Italian red.
 
Any woman of quality would
appreciate it."
 
He sneered full
out at the shock in her face.
 
"As
I see you did.
 
True, it was
ungentlemanly and covert of me to sign the card with just my initial, but who
locally might you have mistaken me for, also bearing a first name beginning
with the letter 'D?' Hmm.
 
Daniel?
 
Donald?"
 
He paused for effect.
 
"
David
."
 
The
sneer exploded into wicked laughter, and he headed for the door.
 
"Good day, dear sister."

The door closed
on his exit.
 
She grimaced and massaged
her pounding temple, gaze drawn to the desk.
 
Sunday.
 
No post.
 
She must find a special courier for
Jonathan's letter — wait, she'd covered it!
 
She rushed over.
 
Fairfax had
placed it in the open, advertisement that he'd inspected it while she
disciplined Enid.

And David
hadn't sent her the wine.
 
She'd been
bolstered by false hope that he'd escaped and she could expect to hear from him
again.
 
In reality, she'd accepted a
luxury from Fairfax — taken it to bed with her, in fact.
 
She winced at the metaphor.
 
Hardly a gift.
 
He'd expect payment.

Chapter Nine

"PAPA WAS
SO happy for us."
 
Her blue eyes
teary, Hannah Landon Pearson gazed without seeing the autumn flowers in her
back yard.
 
At vigil beside her on the
bench, Enid covered her hand with her own.
 
Hannah focused her imploring on Enid.
 
"What shall I do without him?
 
What shall
we
do?"
 
They embraced.

Their lament
lumped in Helen's throat.
 
Atop her pain
and loss, fatigue fueled the pounding in her head.
 
She'd started her menses that morning, an event that seldom
coincided with gaiety.

Who would
murder a good man like Charles?
 
They'll
kill Madam if they find it
.
 
Charles
died because he knew something, or at least someone thought he knew something,
about her.

Roger, a
yellow-haired, big-boned Saxon like his bride, escorted Helen to a nearby
bench.
 
"Have a seat, madam.
 
Grief won't be rushed."
 
He flopped down beside her, a pucker of
sadness on his young brow.

"Thank you
for sending your apprentice as courier."

"Let's
hope the Professor is home to receive your letter."
 
He sighed.
 
"Charles was such a kind fellow.
 
I feel as if I've lost my own pa."
 
Roger glanced at his wife.
 
"And I'd do anything to see her joyful."

"She will
be again someday."
 
Helen forced
her lips to approximate a smile because Roger needed support.
 
"She'll have you to thank.
 
Charles told me what a wonderful husband you
are."

He licked his
lips.
 
"I wonder, after the funeral,
Hannah might enjoy leaving Wilmington for awhile.
 
She mentioned traveling so she didn't have to look at the same
people and be reminded of her pa."

"A break
from routine might help her.
 
But
wouldn't your locksmithing business suffer in your absence?"

"My
journeyman and apprentice can hold it for a time."

Helen rotated
her neck to ponder the women on the other bench.
 
"How was Charles's mood this past week?"

"Amiable,
as always."

"When did
you last see him?"

Roger
chuckled.
 
"Three days ago.
 
You sound like an investigator."
 
His humor faded.
 
"I should warn you, you'll get a visit from them.
 
They asked us a number of questions.
 
About you.
 
About Mr. Chiswell.
 
They pressed
us for a motive you might have to kill Charles."

"I?
 
Kill Charles?
 
Why do they think I did it?"

Roger lowered
his voice.
 
"The Committee of
Safety is nervous at the helm of Wilmington, what with Cornwallis close at hand
and most of the town loyal or neutral."
 
His larynx bobbed in a swallow.
 
"Rebels want to put a head on a post so they can feel
powerful."

Her
head.

"That
Committee's full of suckling calves.
 
Accusing a widow of murder makes them feel like bulls.
 
Every committeeman would soil his breeches
if Tarleton's men came to town.
 
Now,
there
are some professionals for you.
 
Finest
unit under the Earl's command."
 
Roger's blue eyes radiated pride.
 
"Ah, what I'd give to meet Tarleton, shake his hand.
 
I fancied riding with them, doing my part to
protect the land from insurgents."
 
Resolution on his face transformed to complacency.
 
"I gave up the dream when Hannah said
she'd marry me."

Helen looked
from Roger to Enid.
 
In contrast to the
housekeeper, Roger just might put up with Fairfax.
 
If she convinced Roger to accompany her on the trip, if he
convinced Hannah to come along and serve as her maid, if she found a man
willing to help Roger —"Lady" Chiswell's retinue would be
complete.
 
The thought calmed some chaos
in her immediate future.

"Roger,"
she said.
 
"I've a business
proposition for you and Hannah."

***

The sparkle of
interest in Roger's eye when she described the assignment heartened her.
 
She sent the housekeeper home ahead of her
and proceeded to the clothing shops, where she was flattered among bolts of
fine silk, wool, and linen.
 
In addition
to six beautiful gowns, the wardrobe included a heavyweight cloak plus two
petticoats and simple, short jackets for travel over more rugged terrain, where
wearing gowns of a gentlewoman was impractical.
 
Noontime, she left the shops entranced and floated home.

It took turning
the corner onto Second Street at noon and the sight of Fairfax's men outside
her home to dent her mood.
 
She couldn't
imagine him the harbinger of good news.
 
Her gait faltered.
 
Then the
mental image of Enid and Fairfax alone somewhere together on the property
inspired her to resume a hasty pace, if only to avert disaster.

Fairfax emerged
from the side yard and overtook her at the front door.
 
"Greetings, madam.
 
I only just arrived."

She opened the
door.
 
"State the nature of your
business."

"With whom
do you prefer to discuss Charles Landon's murder, me or investigators from the
Committee?"

"I prefer
to discuss it with no one."

"Since the
Committee will shortly pay you a visit, you'd best select your poison in
haste."

In the doorway,
she met his gaze.
 
"They won't
visit on Sunday.
 
Good day."
 
She shut the door in his face, untied the
ribbons of her straw hat, and removed it.