Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution (14 page)

"You're
up!
 
Ah, that's good to see."
 
Candle in hand, Enid pushed the door open
further and entered.
 
"How do you
feel?"

Blast.
 
Enid's timing couldn't have been worse.
 
Helen thrust back her tears.
 
Under no circumstances must she let Enid
know that David wouldn't return.
 
Enid
adored him every bit as much as she adored Jonathan.
 
"I'm much better."
 
A smile trembled on her lips.
 
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
 
"I hope the Committee apprehended that rogue, Arthur
Sims."

"Not yet,
mistress."
 
Lips tightened over a
reprove, Enid set the candle down on the nightstand.
 
"Those deputies have a bit to learn about catching
criminals.
 
By the bye, Mr. Badley has
the revised contract available and requests that you sign it.
 
And the mantua-makers and shoemaker request
a visit."

Even by
candlelight, Helen read judiciousness flitting about Enid's eyes.
 
Where had her mistress come by the money to
purchase a wardrobe?
 
She
must
explain the assignment to her that night, but not on an empty stomach.
 
"I've worked up quite an
appetite."

"Supper
awaits you downstairs as soon as you've dressed."

"Dressed?"
 
She eyed Enid.
 
"I don't plan to leave home tonight, and I don't expect
visitors."

The servant
gnawed her lower lip.
 
"He said the
two of you had a conversation to finish and that he'd arrive at
eight-thirty.
 
Forty-five minutes from
now, that is."

Fairfax.
 
He expected her to reveal David's
destination in exchange for rescuing her from the Committee.
 
Helen expelled a deep breath.
 
Sleep had helped her recover clarity.
 
Time to put the handsome, macabre Lieutenant
Fairfax in his place, or he'd dance her like a poppet before she completed her
obligation with the Legion.

"We'd
finished that conversation.
 
Obviously I
need to remind him.
 
Fetch water for the
washbasin, and help me dress."

Chapter Twelve

THE SILVER AND
china had been sold years before, but Enid rounded up serving dishes to
accommodate the feast that awaited Helen in the dining room.
 
Speechless, she studied the label of another
bottle of exquisite Italian wine by candlelight.
 
Her initial reaction, to donate the meal to the destitute, was
tempered by Enid's famished but patient expression.
 
She anticipated a full belly.
 
Helen would have to absorb the expense, cover it with more money from
Badley's advance.

At
eight-thirty, Fairfax and his men returned.
 
Enid admitted the lieutenant to the foyer, where Helen waited.
 
Then she retreated to the dining room to
clear the table.

Helen curtsied,
and Fairfax bowed, his gaze slithering the length of her.
 
"Madam, repose has done you well."

"Thank
you.
 
The meal was a considerate
gesture.
 
Enid has been too busy to go
to market."
 
She extended a small
purse to him, and he closed his hand over it in perplexity.
 
"This more than covers tonight's meal
as well as the wine you had delivered yesterday.
 
Since it was the odious Mr. Sims and not one of your men who
broke my window, I'm also returning the sovereign you gave me for that."

"Nonsense.
 
Take it.
 
It's yours."
 
He tried to
hand her the purse.

"Good
night, Mr. Fairfax."
 
She curtsied
again and opened the door.

Again, his gaze
glided over her.
 
"
Mr. Fairfax
."
 
He lowered the purse and pushed the door
closed.
 
"We must discuss this
formality between siblings."

As in the
morning, she felt the force of his will grope for her, seeking to choke her,
and she clenched her jaw against it.
 
"We shall cross the formality bridge when the time arrives."

"Speaking
of uncrossed bridges, our conversation this morning was interrupted by
rebels."

"I'd
naught left to contribute.
 
Let me press
straight to the point.
 
David St. James
didn't tell me his destination."

"I find
that difficult to believe."

"For my
safety, he insisted on not revealing his destination.
 
Almost his first words when he arrived were that you were hunting
him."

"You've
been his paramour for a decade.
 
Of
course he told you where —"
 
Fairfax fingered the pendant of one of her earrings, caressing her neck
in transit.
 
"Extraordinary
garnets.
 
Are they American?"

Slivers of
unease worked up her spine.
 
She pushed
his hand away and slathered her voice with acid.
 
"He called you a 'fiend.'"

"Trite,
but affectionate."
 
He grinned.

"If he
considered me in danger from a 'fiend,' why would he imperil me further with
knowledge of his own itinerary?"

In the
half-light of the foyer, his grin vanished, replaced by a stare as harsh as
January ice on the sandstone sentinels of Stonehenge.
 
"He sought his sister and niece, yes?
 
They're hiding with the Cherokee."

She felt as if
the breath froze in her lungs.
 
"A
wretched break for you, if so.
 
Indians
don't betray their allies."

"True.
 
I wonder what would entice him to emerge
from safety?"

She tossed her
head to disguise the shaft of cold through her heart.
 
"Don't waste your time baiting a trap with me.
 
I'm one of many women in David's life."
 
But David hadn't proposed marriage to any of
them.
 
Across a decade, the suspicion
had grown in her soul that David was waiting.
 
Waiting for
her
.

That angelic
luminance consumed his face.
 
"You've the distinction of being the only woman for whom he's
murdered
."

Her throat
parched.
 
Her pulse jumped.
 
Never mind that David had demanded the duel
after Silas had beaten her and she'd miscarried.
 
Dueling was criminal.

"You're
withholding valuable information.
 
In
the name of His Majesty, I invite you to reconsider."

Indeed, she was
reconsidering, estimating how much she'd have to pay Badley to withdraw from
the assignment.
 
Close to a year in
wages.
 
Although she hadn't yet signed
the contract, Badley could file suit through Prescott for breach of verbal
contract.
 
He'd take her house.
 
She'd be ruined.

And less than
an hour ago, she'd presumed to put Fairfax in his place.

Seconds passed
while he waited.
 
She slouched to
project defeat and stared at the floor.
 
"He didn't want anyone to track him to his sister, so he was to
visit a widow near Charlotte Town."

She gasped in
shock when he gripped her upper arm, wheeled her into the parlor, and pushed
her into her chair.
 
He leaned over and
braced both hands on the arms of the chair, so close she tasted the musky heat
of his body.
 
"St. James women
cannot lie with conviction."

"Damn you,
David didn't say where he was going!
 
Arrest and execute me, yes!
 
We
must maintain order in our colonies.
 
What finer evidence of order may we present the rebels than the dangling
corpse of a widow whom we deem uncooperative in an investigation?"

Fairfax
straightened, tucked the purse beneath his arm, and applauded.
 
The face of Adonis, the physique of
Odysseus, and not a drop of humanity inhabiting those eyes.
 
Ye gods, he
was
a fiend.
 
Helen shuddered.

His bearing
aloof, he dropped the purse into her lap and seated himself on the couch.
 
"Keep the money.
 
A reversal of fortune is wretched for a
gentlewoman.
 
I can think of few more
barbaric places for it to happen than these colonies."

Her tone
curdled.
 
"And now you expect me to
sell my soul to you for food and wine, or because you did what a decent human
would have done by explaining the burglary to that mob."

"I don't
expect you to
sell
your soul to me at all."

Unmistakable,
his emphasis on the word "sell."
 
The seven-year-old boy with eyes of malice flashed teeth at her.
 
Through the morass of fear and fatigue,
outrage over his arrogance clambered up inside her.
 
David had arrived on her doorstep haunted and hunted.
 
How many people — women, in particular — had
Fairfax browbeat into betraying David?
 
Was anyone capable of getting the upper hand on the lieutenant?

But had anyone
who'd crossed paths with Fairfax known a little of his history?

She tilted her
head and hoped it looked imperious.
 
"Are you quite certain you don't need this money more than I?"

A gust of
amusement left him.
 
"Your means
are clearly strained.
 
You need the
money."
 
He stood.

She rose
without losing eye contact.
 
"Ah.
 
Then you
were
successful at wresting a piece of fortune from Lord Ratchingham.
 
I congratulate you."
 
Jingling coins in the purse, she sashayed
for the foyer.

At the front
door, hairs on the back of her neck polarized.
 
He'd navigated around the couch toward her: wary, a predator surprised
by a foreigner in his domain, trying to ascertain the other's strengths and
weaknesses.
 
She squashed down horror
and pressed her lips together to give him the impression of disdain.
 
The man before her seldom met his match in
cunning.
 
If she didn't tread with
prudence, he'd make financial ruin by Badley seem a tender mercy.

In the foyer,
he regarded her, self-assurance subdued.
 
"You know the Clancys."

Had she knocked
the dark prince onto his bum?
 
If so, it
was too soon to celebrate, and perilous to relax her guard.
 
She rolled her eyes.
 
"Everyone in Wiltshire knows them."

"I
recognize you, but I cannot recall having you presented to me."

Any respect he
had for her derived in part from his belief that she'd been born into the
aristocracy.
 
She'd lose that advantage
if he discovered her birth circumstances.
 
"Why should I have been presented to
you
when wealthy, old
Silas Chiswell was waiting for me?"
 
She dosed her laughter with mockery and yanked open the front door.
 
"Good night, sir."

***

After he
exited, she lowered the bar across the door.
 
The scuff and shuffle of the men's departure did little to ease her
frayed nerves.

Enid
approached, jaw and shoulders set with determination, face calm.
 
"Mistress, I've cleared the table and
put away the food."
 
Mindful of the
servant-employer relationship, she made no demands, but Helen heard her
unspoken question:
And isn't there something you need to tell me?

Helen nodded
for the parlor.
 
When both women were
seated, she let out a heavy breath and explained to Enid that the mortgage
transfer had necessitated her accepting the assignment with the Legion.
 
Rugged approval seeped into Enid's
face.
 
Helen had never felt less worthy
of her servant's devotion and stood to stoke the fire in the fireplace.
 
"I've concerns about the safety of our
home in my absence.
 
That rascal, Arthur
Sims, is still loose.
 
If those deputies
don't apprehend him, he might burgle us again.
 
And Mr. Badley, through slips of the tongue, has indicated that he
expects you to join me on the road, leave the house unguarded.

"Therefore
I think it unwise to take you with me."
 
She set down the poker, faced Enid, and registered the dismay and
bewilderment swelling her expression.
 
"I need someone here to keep an eye on my property, someone whom I
can trust implicitly.
 
I prefer that
you, with your sharp eyes and ears, remain behind in Wilmington."

The housekeeper
sprang up from the couch.
 
"You
cannot manage by yourself among soldiers.
 
It's improper, unsafe, impractical!"