Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution (47 page)

"We don't
correspond."
 
He stopped walking
and placed her at arms' length, his expression open enough to reveal curiosity.

"Mr.
Neville, brace yourself.
 
Badley and
Prescott are now fugitives from the law."

"What?"
 
His curiosity transformed to
incomprehension.

"Years
ago, they altered the will of my wealthy husband and stole almost all my
money.
 
The crime was exposed last month
in Wilmington, shortly after I left on this assignment, but not before they'd
murdered three men to hide the secret.
 
Badley fled to the Caribbean.
 
Prescott remains at-large —"

"Where —
from whom did you hear this?"
 
The
ranger's confusion appeared genuine and tainted with indignation.

"I cannot
reveal my sources to you yet.
 
But
perhaps you see that my assignment with Tarleton and the Legion was, on Badley's
end, an utter sham, a ploy to drag me out here in the hinterlands in hopes that
I'd be killed, preventing exposure of the crime."

"What
madness!
 
If this is true, we must get
you to safety right away.
 
Camden,
perhaps."

"I still
do have an assignment, for I'm certain that whatever feature I write about
Tarleton and the Legion will sell."

"But you
aren't safe out here, and you'll run out of funds."

"I have
some financial resources."
 
For the
first time since she'd met him, Neville looked distraught, his guard
punctured.
 
A little thrill shot through
her.
 
She'd managed to accomplish what
Fairfax, with his bullying, hadn't yet been able to do.
 
She decided to push Neville harder.
 
"If I were you, I'd watch my back.
 
Your association with Badley and Prescott
makes you a suspect for investigators who are searching for anyone who might
have been their accomplice."
 
The
implication of her statement sunk in, and his eyes widened.
 
She edged closer, levity gone from her
voice.
 
"What did they do with my
money?"

For half a
second, she saw the connection take place in his eyes, stunned acknowledgement
that he'd finally realized the mysterious source of Badley and Prescott's
wealth.
 
Then his guard resumed.
 
He stepped back from her.
 
"I'm certain I don't know, madam."

"I'm
certain you do know."

His eyes
glittered, chips of wintry obsidian.
 
"I do appreciate your information, so I shall offer you
counsel.
 
Cease prying into the matter.
 
It's too dangerous.
 
If you do indeed possess the financial
means, you would be wise to leave today and return to Wilmington."

She produced a
smile to match his expression.
 
"What?
 
So Lieutenant
Fairfax can hunt me down on the morrow, as soon as he finds me missing from
camp?"

"If you go
to Camden, I promise you I shall steer him for Ninety Six and give you at least
another two days' lead on him."

How generous of
him — and the weird thing about it was that she believed the ranger would do
it.
 
Two days was just enough time to
lose Fairfax from her trail.
 
Did
Neville want to get rid of her, or protect her, or both?
 
He was the second person in two days to warn
her off the Legion.
 
"Why don't we
make a deal, Mr. Neville?
 
You reveal
where my money has gone, and I shall inform you of my source of the news about
Badley and Prescott."

"That's
unfair, madam.
 
As I've already
explained, I don't know what happened to your money."

"Anytime
you're ready, I'm available to listen."

"Do take
my counsel seriously."
 
His head
jerked in a bow.
 
"I've a patrol of
scouts to command.
 
Good day."

He quit her
company and returned to the corral, the morning colder in his passage.

Chapter Forty-Seven

THE
CONVERSATION WITH Neville haunted her the rest of the day.
 
She'd
so
longed to discover what
Badley and Prescott had done with the money that belonged to her and Hannah
that she'd shoved the ranger, much as Fairfax did.
 
As a reward, he'd shut up.
 
He wasn't her friend and didn't owe her any favors.
 
In frustration, she realized she was no
closer to learning what had happened to the money.

A horn moon
shimmery with frost hovered in the west while Helen and her party ate supper by
lantern light.
 
At the conclusion of the
meal, she told the Pearsons and Jonathan what Badley and Prescott had done,
without revealing David's role.

Roger sprang
from his bench.
 
"The devil, you
say!"

Hannah wailed,
"Oh, my poor Papa!" and burst into tears.

Jonathan rose
and began a slow pace.
 
The locksmith,
grim-faced, plunked back down beside his wife and tucked her against his
shoulder.
 
"Madam, it's dangerous
following the Legion this way.
 
Let us
return to Wilmington now, before those two rebel armies up yonder attack."

"I agree
with Roger."
 
His tone stiff,
Jonathan continued to pace.

"My
friends, there's another story here that's important to me personally.
 
I'd like to chronicle how courageous some of
the civilians have been.
 
You've mingled
among them and heard their stories.
 
Do
you not think they fight for king and country also?"

Hannah dried
her tears on a handkerchief.
 
"So
that's why you washed our clothes that morning —"
 
Too late, she slapped a hand over her mouth,
eyes wide with guilt.

"You did
what
?"
 
Jonathan peered at Helen with curiosity.

"Oh, no,
I'm sorry, Mrs. Chiswell!
 
I promised
not to tell, but it slipped out."

"It's all
right, Hannah.
 
Yes, I dressed as a camp
woman and mingled with laundresses to hear what they had to say.
 
How else does a journalist find the
truth?
 
And I'd been down at the kitchen
listening to civilians the other morning when all of you panicked for not being
able to find me."

"Oh,
hell," said Roger after a guilty silence.
 
"Mr. Fairfax took away the disguise that lets you mingle with
them.
 
I apologize, madam.
 
But what did Badley and Prescott do with the
money?
 
They aren't living as though
they're stinking rich with Mr. Chiswell's fortune."

"Good
question, Roger.
 
I wish I knew.
 
Perhaps the Committee will coax an answer
from them as soon as it can lay hands on one of them.
 
As of right now, all the Committee has in custody is the property
of Badley and Prescott."

Roger
scowled.
 
"
Committee
.
 
People that inept should never be given the
reins of a government.
 
You'd think
those Whig dogs would pounce on a couple of Loyalists who'd committed perjury
and murder, forget about a fair trial, and string them up.
 
Bah.
 
It's like they made a show of seizing the properties so they could let
them get away."

Helen's scalp
prickled.
 
"What if the Committee
did let them get away, Roger?"

"You mean
Badley and Prescott bribed those suckling calves?"

She gazed into
the night while the obvious solution crowded her head and heart.
 
Epsilon.
 
Low on resources.
 
Make do.
 
How had she been so blind?
 
"No.
 
Badley and Prescott are
part
of the Committee.
 
They're rebels."

Hannah squealed
in disgust and indignation, as if a grass snake had crawled inside her
petticoat.
 
"My god!
 
Our money has been donated to the rebel
cause!"

"You must
be joking," said Jonathan.

"Not at
all.
 
The explanation makes perfect
sense."
 
Badley, Prescott, Neville,
Treadaway, Newman, and little Rebecca — not diverting supplies from the Legion,
but spying for the rebels in a long chain of communication that led to where
the gods only knew.

What, then, was
the role of Lieutenant Stoddard, soldier of the king?

The horn moon
had set by the time they finished discussing the new circumstances.
 
Roger and Hannah cleared supper dishes.
 
Jonathan strolled off east toward the line
of trees where Helen had hidden to observe Rebecca and her hoop.

She realized
that way back in Wilmington, while Badley was positioning her to be killed in
the backcountry, Fairfax was setting her up to expose the rebel spy ring.
 
Everyone was using her.
 
Where Fairfax was concerned, it was probably
too late to absolve herself of complicity with the rebels.

When the ring
of spies was revealed, Rebecca and possibly her mother and legionnaire father
would be executed as traitors.
 
If it
were possible to spare them, Helen must disrupt Rebecca's activity in the chain
before Fairfax returned.
 
But spy rings didn't
often release their links.
 
Anything she
did to interfere might consign Rebecca to being murdered by Neville or
Newman.
 
She wrapped a shiver within her
shawl.
 
Perhaps by interfering, she'd
position
herself
to be murdered, if she hadn't already done so.

The Pearsons
carried dishes back to the kitchen to wash.
 
Helen exchanged her shawl for her cloak, picked her way out to Jonathan,
and found him facing east, the week-old holly and ivy wreath at his feet.
 
In silence, they gazed a moment at the sky,
where the arm of the Milky Way spun a luminous, dazzling path, seminal radiance
of the gods.
 
She stirred.
 
"Might I impose upon you to donate a
small sack of flour or cornmeal to a needy family in the lower camp every now
and then?"

"Of
course, my dear."
 
Melancholy
infused his voice.
 
"But charity
can only go so far."

"Just for
a week or so.
 
The girl's name is
Rebecca.
 
I suppose you find my idea of
the civilian followers' story absurd.
 
You wouldn't be the first to think so."
 
She laughed to smother the bite of anguish.
 
"For my next lifetime, I shall request
to be born several centuries ahead.
 
Perhaps by then, people will be kind to the poor and treat them with
respect, rather than fear and loathing."

"I doubt
it."
 
His tone softened.
 
"But for what it's worth, I think your
idea about showing the courage of followers is innovative enough to stir up
controversy after it's in print."
 
There was just enough light from the stars to reveal his smile.
 
"No middle ground on that topic, Helen.
 
You'll be execrated and extolled at the same
time.
 
Is that where you want to be,
inside a cyclone?"

She grinned,
grateful to have found support at last.
 
"Journalists are always inside cyclones, Jonathan.
 
Is that where
you
want to be?"

"I'm here,
aren't I?"

"Out of
duty."

"No, not
out of duty.
 
Are you going to tell me
who informed you of Phineas's demise?"

She felt the
steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
 
"Two days ago in market, a trio of peddlers appeared with their
wares.
 
David St. James was disguised as
their assistant."

Jonathan's
intake of breath made his shock audible.

"I ordered
him to leave camp immediately.
 
He
didn't listen.
 
He visited me in my tent
that night and told me how he returned to my house after I left town in time to
save Enid's life and witness the rest of the story unfold.
 
Yes, Badley and Prescott altered Silas's
will.
 
Perjury, Jonathan.
 
They killed Charles, Widow Hanley's
messenger, and their own hired man to hide the truth.
 
And if you recall, they tried to kill you.

"I
believe they're rebel spies, and my money and Hannah's has been donated to the
rebel cause.
 
If we're fortunate, we may
recover a tenth of it, but I shan't hold my breath."

Chapter Forty-Eight

THE TENSION
AROUND Jonathan eased.
 
"Helen, I
failed you.
 
You possessed sound
instinct about the matter all along, while I led you astray with poor counsel.
 
I am sorry."

"Don't
apologize.
 
Badley and Prescott's
operation was so smooth, it even fooled my attorney."