Less Than a Gentleman

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  He paused in mid-stride. Did he even need to know the truth, as long as he found someone to blame? Anyone would do, as long as it saved his neck.

  Jane Thomas probably knew what had happened. Hell, her son might be behind it. If only this Matthias Murray Thomas could be found, he could take the blame.

  Yes, this Thomas fellow was the answer to all his problems. Ezra strode to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, relieved to be once more in control. “Pugsley!”

  “Yes, sir.” The guard scurried into the room. “Tarleton is gone, sir. They didn’t stay very long.”

  “I know. Gather the women in the front parlor at once. I wish to speak to them.”

  “Yes, sir!” Pugsley raced off.

  Ezra sat at his desk, enjoying his brandy. He’d let the women wait ’til they were as flustered as a pack of hens with a fox invading the henhouse. They’d be so nervous, one of them would be sure to squawk.

  He had finished his brandy by the time Pugsley returned. “They’re all there, sir, waiting in the parlor.”

  “Good.” Ezra straightened his cravat, then strode into the parlor with Pugsley close behind.

  The pregnant woman sat on the rose-colored settee, flanked by her children. The servant, Betsy, stood behind them. Mrs. Thomas sat in a Windsor chair, her face drawn and ashen. Next to her, Miss Munro occupied another chair. She narrowed her green eyes and glared at him.

  Ezra returned her hard look. No doubt she was a Colonial sympathizer. It would be a shame to hang her by that pretty neck. He skimmed his eyes over her, assessing her worth. No, she was worth keeping alive. His groin tightened at the thought of Miss Munro with her fiery red hair and patriotic passion struggling with him in bed.

  A trill of high notes brought his attention to the harpsichord. Agatha Ludlow, seated at the instrument, gave him an encouraging smile. He bowed his head. At least he could be sure of Agatha. She wanted dearly to please, and please him she did every night.

  He pivoted suddenly and paced toward Mrs. Thomas. “This is your last chance. Tell me the location of your son, Matthias Murray Thomas.”

  She raised her chin. “I can honestly tell you, I do not know.”

  “Don’t expect help from your husband. The traitorous bastard is dead.”

  Mrs. Thomas flinched. “I . . . I know nothing.”

  With a sudden move, Ezra leaned over Miss Munro. “You know, don’t you? You know where the partisans are, and you’re going to tell me.”

  Her eyes widened, surprised by his abrupt change of strategy. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you did to the supplies?” His voice rose in anger. “You think it was clever to sabotage my career? You’re messing with the wrong man, bitch.”

  Her face paled.

  Ezra straightened, still glowering at Miss Munro. “You will tell me the location of the partisans.” He withdrew his flintlock and pointed it at Mrs. Thomas’s head. “Or I shoot.”

  A series of gasps circled the room. The little girl squealed and dove into her mother’s lap. The young boy jumped in his seat. Agatha’s hands slipped on the harpsichord keys, producing a jarring noise. Miss Munro’s eyes filled with tears. She gave Mrs. Thomas a beseeching look, begging for guidance.

  Ezra watched the drama unfold. Hell, this was better than the theater in Charles Town, and the fact that he was the director of this scene gave him a satisfying sense of power. Live puppets, that was all they were, and he alone could pull the strings.

  Miss Munro opened her mouth to speak, then closed it with a pained grimace. Indecision. Ezra’s pulse accelerated. The wench might actually know something.

  “No!” The boy, Edward, leapt to his feet. “Leave them alone! They don’t know anything. ’Tis the ghost you want.”

  “Edward, please.” His mother tugged at the boy’s coat.

  “A ghost, you say?” Ezra couldn’t help but be amused. His little play even had comedic overtones.

  “Yes.” Edward sat. “He can go through walls.”

  Ezra smiled and turned his attention back to Miss Munro. He paused, his smile fading. The fear in her eyes had not diminished with the boy’s outburst, but increased.

  “Miss Munro,” he whispered. “Do you have something to tell me?”

  She glanced at Mrs. Thomas as if asking permission to talk.

  The older woman shook her head and whispered, “No.”

  “So you are willing to die for your son, Mrs. Thomas?” Ezra stepped toward her, gratified to see a tear roll down her cheek. He paused with the flintlock aimed between her eyes. Just a few more seconds of terror was all he wanted.

  “Since you desire death, you shall have it.” He returned his flintlock to his belt. “You’re under arrest for harboring a traitor to the crown.”

  “Pugsley.” He swiveled to the foot soldier. “You will escort Mrs. Thomas to her bedchamber and lock her in. You will nail boards across her balcony door so she cannot escape. She will receive only a crust of bread each day and enough water to keep her alive.”

  Ezra turned back to Mrs. Thomas. Good. The tears were streaming now, her chin trembling. “I will have handbills printed and distributed that spread the news. If Matthias Murray Thomas wishes to save his mother from a slow death by starvation, he will turn himself in.”

  Mrs. Thomas whispered, “I would rather die.”

  Anger surged through Ezra once again. These damned women would not get the better of him. “Then you are fortunate, madam, for you may have your wish!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Matthias inserted an arrow into the crossbow and pulled back the lever. The gear shifted with a metallic click. A little too loud, but it was still quicker than loading a musket. He aimed and pulled the trigger. The arrow sped through the air with a whoosh, then quivered from its impact in an oak tree.

  “Not bad.” Jacob approached from the slaves’ quarters.

  Shielding his eyes from the afternoon glare, Matthias spotted the slaves in the distance, covering their roofs with a layer of hot tar. “That stuff must stink for miles.”

  “Aye, but it will keep the rain out.”

  Matthias wandered toward the oak tree. “And the barrels of gunpowder?” His barrel of stolen gunpowder had been divided into four smaller barrels. He’d wanted each barrel coated in tar to make them waterproof, but since the smell might be noticed by the redcoats, Jacob had disguised their activity by having the slaves treat their homes.

  “Ready to go.” Jacob motioned to the arrow as Matthias yanked it free. “At least you’re hitting the tree now.”

  With a snort, Matthias pointed to the side. “I was aiming at the bottle.”

  Jacob winced.

  Matthias paced back. “This new plan is more dangerous than the last one. We may have to kill some redcoats. If you’d rather not participate, I’ll understand.”

  Jacob stiffened with his jaw firmly set. “I am taking part. They killed our father.”

  Not knowing what to say, Matthias simply nodded. He had told Jacob the bad news two nights ago. The night he had foolishly confessed to loving Caroline. He inserted another arrow in the crossbow and pulled back the lever. “I’m a good shot with a musket. Why do I keep missing the damned bottle?”

  “Let me see it.” Jacob reached for the crossbow. “Oh, no wonder. This is the first one I made. The alignment is off. Try one of the other two. They’re much better.”

  They headed for Jacob’s house when Caroline burst out the back door.

  “There you are! I came as soon as I could.” She breathed heavily as if she had run all the way from the Great House. “I had to wait for Hickman to leave for town. The other soldiers are busy guarding Jane, so I knew it was finally safe for me to come here.”

  “Guarding Jane?” Matthias repeated her words, dumbfounded. “Why?”

 
“It was horrible!” Caroline cried, then took a deep breath, visibly attempting to calm herself. “Hickman called us into the parlor, then demanded that Jane tell him the whereabouts of her son. When she refused, he asked me where the patriots were hiding. When I didn’t answer, he . . . he . . .”

  Matthias pulled her into his arms and felt her body trembling. He’d never seen his brave Caroline so afraid.

  Her voice came out in muffled spurts, pressed against his linen shirt. “He pointed a . . . a pistol at her. At Jane. I was afraid he would shoot her if I didn’t talk.”

  Cold fury coursed through Matthias, turning his blood to ice. “He threatened to shoot my—”

  “She’s all right.” Caroline pulled back to look at him. “But Hickman arrested her. He plans to starve her to death unless her son turns himself in.”

  Matthias stiffened. His mind froze for a moment, too stunned to think.

  “Bastard.” Jacob spat on the ground.

  “Can you send word to Matthias?” Caroline asked.

  Matthias swallowed hard. “He could give himself up.”

  “No!” Jacob shook his head. “He’d be executed, and there’s no guarantee that Hickman will spare Mrs. Thomas or any of the ladies. With him gone, who will protect them?”

  “We have to do something!” Caroline cried. “Can we rescue her?”

  Matthias mentally shook himself out of his daze. “Where is she being held?”

  “In her bedchamber. There will be one guard at her door at all times. The other guard is boarding shut her window and balcony door.” Caroline’s face lit up with a sudden thought. “The secret passageway! Is there one to her room?”

  “No. There are none on that side of the house.” Matthias glanced at Jacob. “But we could make one.”

  Jacob raised his eyebrows. “And not be heard?”

  “We’ll do it immediately after the other plan has succeeded. That one will serve as a distraction.”

  Jacob nodded slowly. “It could work.”

  “What other plan?” Caroline asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Matthias assured her. “We’re taking care of everything.”

  Her emerald-green eyes shimmered with frustration. “You made plans without me?”

  She was beautiful when angry. Matthias chastised himself for even noticing at a time like this. “What we’re planning is far too dangerous for a woman.”

  Caroline clenched her fists. “I am not a weakling. I’m just as brave and clever as you.”

  Matthias nodded. “I know you are.”

  “And I can be trusted,” she added.

  “I know that, too.”

  “Then let me help you!”

  Matthias groaned inwardly. He was as frustrated as she was.

  Jacob cleared his throat. “I thought I saw Tarleton and his troop come by.”

  Matthias dragged his gaze from Caroline to Jacob. “When?”

  “This morning,” Jacob answered.

  “Did you hear their conversation?” Matthias asked Caroline.

  “No. He came and went very quickly. And then Captain Hickman ordered us to the parlor. He accused me of messing with his supply shipment and sabotaging his career.”

  “Then he knows about the switch we made. Tarleton must have told him, and Hickman suspects you may be behind it.” Matthias gave her a pointed look. “All the more reason for you to stay out of this. He’s watching you.”

  Caroline folded her arms across her chest with a stubborn lift to her chin.

  “The British will hold Hickman accountable,” Matthias continued.

  “That would explain his actions,” Jacob added. “He hopes to save his skin by passing the blame to someone else.”

  Caroline sighed. “I hope Matthias will learn how much his mother is suffering for him.”

  Matthias winced inwardly. “If all goes well, she will be free in two days.”

  “And I’ll be ready to help, whether you like it or not.” Caroline headed back into Jacob’s house, slamming the door behind her.

  Matthias winced.

  Jacob shook his head. “Why don’t you two admit that you love each other?”

  “I did. She didn’t. End of story.”

  Jacob snorted. “ ’Tis obvious that she loves you. She’s willing to die by your side.”

  A flame of hope flared in his chest. “You don’t think that is merely a passion for the cause?”

  “I must have inherited all the intelligence in the family.”

  Matthias scoffed. “Strange words from a man who designs a crossbow that cannot shoot straight.”

  “Perhaps it is your poor eyesight. After all, you appear to be blind.”

  Matthias yanked at his neck cloth, loosening the knot. Once again, his actions had backfired. His initial escape had caused many to lose their homes when the British had retaliated. His burning of bridges and ferries had caused the British to take over Loblolly. And his last plan, the disguised theft of the supply barge, had ricocheted back to place his mother in further jeopardy. It seemed no matter what he did, he made matters worse. “I can see what I’ve done, Jacob. I’m not blind. I’m cursed.”

  Caroline was better off without him.

  Tuesday, October 3, 1780

  Hidden in the branches of a cottonwood tree on the north bank of the Black River, Matthias watched for the arrival of the supply barge. When it came into view, he scrambled to the ground, grabbed his crossbow and quiver of arrows, then sprinted upriver to the ferryman’s cabin. The tar-covered barrels of gunpowder lay on the bank of the river, tied together with a rope at two-foot intervals.

  Across the river, on the south bank, Jacob waved to signal his readiness. Matthias tied the end of the rope to an arrow and inserted the arrow into his crossbow. He aimed for an oak tree across the river.

  He missed. Damn. He examined his crossbow. He must have picked up the one that was misaligned. But how? There had been only two crossbows in the house. He had assumed they were the good ones and that Jacob had put away the bad one.

  There was no help for it now. He would have to aim to the left of his target and pray for the best. Across the river, Jacob retrieved the end of the rope and pulled.

  The rope unwound, dragging the small barrels into the river. Matthias tied his end around the base of a sturdy tree. Jacob did the same and soon, the four black barrels of gunpowder bobbed in the center of the river.

  The two men dashed upriver to where they each had a small fire ready to ignite. With a spin of a tinder wheel, Matthias sent a shower of sparks onto the pile of dead leaves. Soon, the fire blazed nicely. Across the river, he noticed a small black plume of smoke. Jacob’s fire.

  Matthias inserted an arrow into his crossbow—an arrow with a flammable tip of Jacob’s design. He peered around a tree and waited for the barge.

  It came slowly up the river. A redcoat stood at each corner, a total of four, each one stabbing his long pole into the riverbed to move the barge along. In the middle of the barge, an officer sat on a chair, sipping from a canteen. As he lowered his arm, sunlight glimmered off his rings and the silver gorget around his neck. A large plume on his tricorne rippled in the breeze.

  As they neared the floating barrels, one of the soldiers pointed. The officer rose from his cushioned chair and sauntered to the fore of the barge. Meanwhile they drifted closer and closer to the four barrels.

  The officer raised a quizzing glass to examine the barrels. Suddenly, he straightened with a shout.

  Matthias lit his arrow. Patience, he cautioned himself. Timing is everything. The barge collided with the barrels.

  Whoosh! A ball of fire erupted from the south bank as Jacob shot his first arrow. Matthias pulled the trigger, then immediately loaded the next arrow and lit it.

  A loud explosion deafened his ears, followed by a secon
d one. Good. They had both found their marks. He glanced up to take aim and paused, momentarily stunned by what they had done. Flames engulfed the front of the barge. And he could hear the soldiers. Some were shouting in anger; others screamed in agony.

  Bloody hell. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t rescue his mother with live redcoats about. This is war. Man’s imitation of hell, complete with the fiery furnace.

  Just as he pulled the trigger, he saw Jacob’s second arrow fly through the air. Two more explosions rocked the barge. The officer was flung into the air and landed with a splash in the river. The plumed tricorne flew to the side. Smoke billowed up to the sky, thick and black.

  Through the smoke, Matthias spotted a redcoat jump into the river, holding his musket over his head as he swam for the north bank. The other redcoats, he assumed, were dead.

  He kicked dirt onto his small fire, then ran upriver ’til he came to a huge oak tree with thick lower branches. It was an easy climb and soon he was positioned high above the river. He had left a thick rope coiled in the tree, one end tied around the trunk.

  He removed an arrow from his quiver. This one Jacob had designed with a large hole in the metal shaft. He threaded the end of the rope through the eye and knotted it tight. Then he shot the arrow across the river. It found its mark in another oak tree just opposite him. He pulled the rope taut and tied it off, noting with satisfaction that the rope sloped downward to the other tree.

  He spotted the redcoat, running up the path, his musket in hand.

  Matthias rested his crossbow on top of the taut rope, grasped each end with his hands, and pushed off from the tree. With his legs dangling free, he slid down the rope, crossing the river in mid-air. A quick glance downriver and he spotted the barge, a floating fire with clouds of black smoke.

  A shot rang out, the musket ball whizzing past his back as he flew across the river. The redcoat had spotted him. When he reached the other bank, he dropped to the ground and glanced back. The redcoat was climbing the oak on the other side.

  Boom! A huge explosion shook the ground, knocking Matthias off his feet. The fire must have found a stash of gunpowder on the barge. He glanced downriver as he regained his feet. The barge had become a huge bonfire. The air surrounding it wavered with heat.