Home Is the Sailor (19 page)

“He’s not king, thank God—and I doubt if he has a conscience.”

“But how do you suppose she would have seen him, and no one else be any the wiser?”

“I don’t know. The family always lived above the inn, but her mother’s been dead for years, there are no brothers or sisters still at home, and I believe the only other woman in the house is her grandmother, who’s deaf as a post. Kittie would be just the sort to play at intrigue without any notion of what she might be getting into. Whether she’s one of Ronald’s lightskirts is anyone’s guess...but she is ambitious. She could have married any number of local men, but she seems to think she can do better.”

“She could hardly imagine your brother would marry her!”

“No one with any sense would imagine it, but she hasn’t any sense at all. I could see him hinting that he might, to gain her assistance. And I can imagine her going along with it because she’d enjoy being privy to a secret, and she might think she could use that to pry an offer out of him.”

“Do you think she would be susceptible to bribery—from us, I mean?”

“There’s a notion. Even if she were not a credible witness, we might get some useful tidbits. Or we might get a bundle of lies. There’s no way of knowing.”

“Then we shall have to visit that charming spot again, and soon.”

“I’m afraid so. But not tomorrow, if you please. The ale was good, but for now I’ve had my fill of Kittie’s posturing.”

They rode slowly along the road, the starlight brighter now that it was full dark. Davy dropped back a pace or two, and Will knew he was watching his own uneasy balance in the saddle. “What’s amiss with your seat?” Davy finally asked.

“Does it show?” Will sighed. “The right stirrup seems a little longer than the other, but I daresay it’s really my leg that’s shorter.”

“Raise up and put your weight on both legs equally,” Davy suggested. “See if it doesn’t shift a bit. And next time, we’ll make certain everything’s adjusted properly before we start off.”

Will stood in the stirrups, then settled back down. “It’s no problem, really. It seemed fine when we rode out.”

“Straps can stretch, or the girth might not be quite as tight—or it might be a little tighter, if the hostler adjusted it. A horse is a lot like a ship, Will. Even if you do everything properly, they’ll still surprise you sometimes.”

“I am still waiting to feel as easy up here as I do on the quarterdeck,” Will said as they rounded a tree-lined bend. “Though it’s not—” He sensed rather than saw a wisp of something approaching his face, like a strand of cobweb, and reached to brush it away—and his hand touched cord.

He reacted before he quite knew what he was doing, yanking back on the reins with his left hand and wheeling about. “Stop!”

Davy had checked his mount already. “What is it?”

“Unless you have monstrous huge spiders here who don’t mind the cold—” He caught the line that stretched across the path, and gave it a sharp tug. It was strong cord and tied to something solid, but Will was strong, too, and angry. The cord snapped free from one tree in the line of them that ran along the right side of the road, between them and the open fields. He handed the loose end over to Davy.

“Just at the height of a rider,” Davy said. “If we’d been going at any pace, it could have caught us both.”

“No danger of that with me in the lead,” Will said.

“It’s no joke, Will. If he’d strung it lower to catch the horses…” Davy leaned back, looking along the road they’d covered, then squinted into the thicket at their left. It was so dark on this bit of the road that he followed the movements mostly by sound. “Do you hear anything?” he breathed.

It was a time of year when there were few night sounds—the hoot of an occasional owl, the skitter of small things that lived in last fall’s dead leaves. But at this moment there was no sound. Nothing at all. Will shook his head.

“Nor I.” Davy dropped down out of the saddle for an instant and was back up just as quickly, something in his hand. “No jokes, Will. Stay on that horse no matter what, and follow me.”

Chapter Ten

Without another word, Davy drew back his arm and let fly with whatever clod he’d picked up from the trail, sent it crashing into the roadway a dozen yards ahead. Will thought he heard a faint rustle in the underbrush on their left, but didn’t have time to be certain; Davy turned his horse at right angles to the path, tugging at the bridle of Will’s mount as he went by, leading him directly between the trees and out into the open fields.

Then they were away, their breaths visible in the frosty moonlight. Will had learned enough to stay on a cantering horse, and though he didn’t like it much, he managed for a quarter of an hour, until Davy brought them down to a brisk walk and dropped back so they could ride side by side.

“Where are we now?” Will asked.

“Heading directly home. The road wanders around past cottages and barns. This is faster, and if anyone comes after us, we’ll be able to see him.”

“Were you expecting an ambush?”

“No. And that was interesting, was it not? A line at the height of the chest—the upper chest. If we’d been trotting, it could have swept you out of the saddle, or torn your throat if we’d been going faster. If we had been riding abreast—”

He didn’t need to explain further. If either of them had been knocked to the ground, injured or not, they would have been vulnerable to attack. “I should have brought my pistol.”

“I did,” Davy said. “And out here, I could at least make out a proper target. But I don’t think we have reason to fear an open attack when we have the chance to defend ourselves. We’re out of range of even the finest rifle now. “

“That was a cavalry trick, wasn’t it?” Will asked.

“Used against cavalry, yes. Not as dangerous to the horses as a line stretched lower down. But an injury to a horse would show, and could not be credited to a stray branch across the path. If it had caught you across the chest—”

“I’d have been on the ground, no question. And you as well, if you weren’t able to get out of the way in time.”

“Or if I didn’t ride right over you. It’s a damned good thing you saw that line.”

Will shrugged. “I was riding so slowly I’d have seen a thread.”

“Nonetheless,” Davy was sounding more his usual cheery self, “since we were so disobliging as to keep the odds two to one, I expect we’re past the risk, at least for this evening.”

“Shall we go back tomorrow and look around?” Will suggested. “I wonder whether there might not have been more than one line across the road. That’s what I’d have done—set a second trap further on, to stop anyone who might ride ahead to get help.”

“If there was another, I’m sure it will be gone before we reach home.”

The heat rising from his horse kept Will’s legs warm, but a chill touched the back of his neck. “We were easy targets for a moment there,” he said. “Both of us.”

“Easy, but not dead-certain—he couldn’t know whether we might return fire.” Davy snorted. “Or who knows? That might have been meant as a warning. It’s just his sort of melodrama.”

“I wish we’d gone after him,” Will said. “Caught him red-handed.”

“So do I, but with only one pistol between the two of us? If that ambush was serious, he might have had two pistols, or even more. Or he might have claimed he was only playing a trick on you, the way a seaman would hoax a landlubber.”

“Not much of a joke.”

“No,” Davy said, “But very much his style. And if we were found shot on the road—or never found at all—you can be sure Ronald would have an alibi—one that might be provided by Kittie herself.”

A thought occurred to Will. “It has been a damp week, and I’m sure the ground is muddy. Davy—didn’t you said your brother Mark’s valet is seeing to Ronald’s clothing?”

“Muddy boots! Yes, I can ask James if he noticed anything amiss. He’ll tell me—and he would keep quiet about my asking, too.”

“That would still not prove anything, would it?”

“No—just circumstantial evidence. But that trap did prove one thing, Will.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone is afraid we’ll learn something in the village. That means there must be something to learn.”

They rode on awhile in silence, and before very long Will saw a lantern in the distance. Davy’s horse began to move faster, heading for its stable. Will felt his horse change gait, but somehow it was easier to stay aboard this time.

“Almost there,” Davy said. “By the way, congratulations. You’re posting.”

* * * * *

Nothing happened the next day, and David Archer was just as well pleased with the quiet. He was in favor of any day that passed without another outburst from Virginia. He did not know if it was Ronald’s absence or Dr. Fisk’s medicine that kept her quiescent, nor did he care.

He and Will rode for an hour or so in the morning with Amelia and Jane, back to the site of what could not quite be called an ambush. As David had predicted, there was no sign of the cord that had been stretched across the road, and a nearby patch of muddy, trampled brush could have been the tracks of one man or several—or a couple of deer bedding down for the night.

They called the matter hopeless and spent a peaceful afternoon indoors, searching the shelves of the library for a copy of
Tristam Shandy,
which Amelia had begun reading after Christmas. She could remember that she had found it amusing, but not where she had last set it down. The book turned up at last unaccountably sandwiched between some bound volumes of a ladies’ journal, and Jane suggested that they might take turns reading aloud to one another. The Archers, having had Shakespeare read to them from childhood by their mother, thought it a grand idea.

Will declined to read aloud, and after a few chapters of the rambling, idiosyncratic narrative he was frowning, obviously perplexed at the lack of a coherent storyline. David, familiar with the book and knowing that Will’s love of order would never be satisfied by this tale, finally took pity on him and asked if he would be willing to read a report from the
Naval Gazette
instead—a low trick, but it worked. Will was happy to oblige and the ladies were willing to listen. It might not have been the liveliest way David had ever passed a long, wet afternoon, but he found a quiet, sociable interlude a welcome change.

On the disappointing side, Ronald stayed with whomever he had been visiting until just before dark, and when he returned his boots showed a fresh polish, no doubt applied by a friend’s servant or someone at an inn a bit more distant than the village.

“Do you think it would be worth riding out to see if we might learn where he stayed?” Will asked, as they dressed for supper.

“Perhaps, if we had any notion of what direction he’d gone. It’s not really proper for him to go jaunting about the countryside, not with the family so recently in mourning—in fact, that’s why I would rather not do so myself.”

“Do you suppose he stayed at an inn somewhere?”

“That’s my guess, and I can understand how he might want to have a little time to himself, away from my father’s supervision. But Ronald does have friends in the area, and I expect those friends are the sort who would hardly think twice at his presence, proper or not. It’s a pity we don’t have a Bow Street Runner to do the investigation. If we began sniffing around on his trail ourselves, we’d be bound to raise suspicion.”

“It’s my guess we already have,” Will said. “At least, if your guess about that trap was correct. Or do you think that might have been simple malice?”

“It could be, easily.” He sat down before the fire, suddenly weary of the whole affair. “I begin to wonder if there are any answers to be found, Will. I look at Virginia and her absolute, irrational certainty, and I wonder if my own dislike of my brother is not leading me to create monsters lurking under the bed, as a child might do.”

Will stood close, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If you had said that yesterday, I would have agreed with you. But it was no imaginary monster on the path last night. And try as I might, I cannot imagine who else would have set that trap—or for what reason.”

“But that’s what makes me wonder, Will. What
reason
was there to that? Simple harassment? Was it merely to inconvenience us, or would we have been set upon and murdered if it had succeeded?”

Will sat across from him. “I had been wondering about that myself. Perhaps he—I suppose we may as well hypothesize that our villain is Ronald—believes that such persecution will send you packing.”

“If that’s the case, he does not know me at all.”

Will smiled. “But is that such a surprise? He does
not
know you—certainly not as the man you have become. And I doubt that he ever took the time to become acquainted with you, even as a child.”

David nodded slowly. “True. And as a child—oh, Will, what I’d have given to have a friend like you, back then!—all I did was avoid him, and spend as much time as I could with Amelia. It galls me to think that he might believe I could be frightened into running away, but as you say, that is quite possible.”

“I hope that’s his reasoning,” Will said. “Because the other possibility is worse, and it has nothing to do with what we might learn from that barmaid.”

“What’s that?”