The outline of Williamsburg finally came into view. It was fully light now, but few people were about since it was Sunday. They’d have their breakfast and then get ready for church, grateful not to have to work for one day. Alec gently woke Valerie as they neared the inn. He returned the horse to the stable and gave it some water and hay. The poor girl deserved it. He tried the back door. Thankfully it was unlocked, so he helped Valerie up the stairs and to their room.
Chapter 44
The Mallory family was just finishing breakfast on Sunday morning, when they were startled by a knock on the door. Mr. Mallory reached for the gun mounted above the mantel, loading it quickly before instructing Jonah to open the door. An early morning call on a Sunday didn’t warrant good news. Most people were getting ready for church, not traipsing around the countryside, bothering their neighbors. The gun was instantly lowered as Mr. Fletcher came in, hat in hand, apologizing for the early house call. He was the exact opposite of his plump, smiling wife. He was tall and thin, with a dour expression that could sour milk.
“Bill, won’t you have some porridge?” Mrs. Mallory asked, already reaching for a clean bowl.
“Thank you kindly, Hannah, but I’ve breakfasted already. Actually, I’d like a word with John, if you don’t mind. I think it might be wise to send the children out of the room,” he mumbled apologetically.
“Of course. Girls, fetch your cloaks and come with me. We’ll take a walk to the chicken coup and collect some eggs. Martha, you can start on the washing. The men need to speak privately.” Mrs. Mallory replaced the bowl on the shelf, threw her own cloak over her shoulders and slung a basket over her arm.
Finn was surprised that Jonah and him weren’t asked to leave as well, but was glad to be allowed to stay. This sounded interesting. Sarah and Annie ran from the room, eager to go collecting eggs, but Martha and Abbie threw resentful looks at their mother before finally filing out of the house. They were certainly old enough to hear whatever Mr. Fletcher had to say, so Finn thought this might be something serious. He would have liked to take his customary seat in the corner to be able to listen and observe without being in the center, but the men remained seated at the table, and he had no good reason to change seats.
Mr. Fletcher accepted a cup of beer while waiting for the women to leave the room, draining it in one gulp. He was noticeably upset and eager to tell his story.
“What’s happened, Bill?” John Mallory asked once the door finally closed behind Mrs. Mallory and the girls.
“There’s been a murder, John. Two British soldiers have been discovered three miles from my farm. There were remains of a fire and the horses were hobbled nearby, so they think the soldiers might have camped there overnight. There’s no sign of a struggle, and nothing’s been taken. One of the men was found in a state of undress. He must have gone to relieve himself when he’d been set upon. The truly disturbing thing is that the second soldier had been scalped, but the scalp was still there, next to his body. The British are up in arms. There might be reprisals against civilians if they think the soldiers were killed in cold blood by the Militia.”
Bill Fletcher looked around the table, eager to gauge the reaction to his story. Finn tried to look impassive while Mr. Mallory just looked thoughtful.
“They got what was coming to them. Doesn’t matter who did it. Maybe they’ll take a hint and go back home,” Jonah declared, a smile on his face. He was too young and naïve to understand the repercussions of such an attack.
“There’s a difference between being killed in battle and being murdered in cold blood while taking a piss, son,” Mr. Mallory said, his gray eyes thoughtful.
“Nothing’s been taken, you say?” he asked Bill Fletcher.
“No. According to the officers who found them, they still had coin in their purses, and the weapons were left by the bodies. One of the men had a miniature framed in gold that was still in his pocket. Definitely not a robbery, John.”
“A curious business. How did you come to learn of this?” Mr. Mallory leaned forward, pouring himself another cup of beer. His reaction was surprising, Finn thought.
“The British came to my house last night to question us. We are the closest homestead to the scene of the crime, and they thought we might have heard or seen something. They were very hostile indeed. I fear for what they might do, especially since my boys are in the Continental Army.”
“I have to admit that I’m puzzled by these events, Bill. Must have been the Indians. Maybe the soldiers came across them in the woods and threatened them.” Mr. Mallory was watching his neighbor intently. “Have you seen any Indians around these parts recently?”
“Not in a long while. They don’t normally come so close. They keep to their own territories these days.” Mr. Fletcher scratched his jaw in puzzlement, the stubble making a raspy sound against his nails.
“Yes, that has been the case for the most part. Well, please keep me informed, Bill. I’ll be seeing you at church tomorrow, I trust?” Mr. Mallory rose from the table, reaching for his hat. He had chores to see to, and Bill Fletcher would no doubt go to the surrounding farms to spread his story.
“Yes. Stay safe, John.” With that, Bill Fletcher left, as anxious as he was when he came.
Jonah was saying something about how the Indians were preferable to the British, but Mr. Mallory didn’t seem to be paying any attention. He was lost in thought, looking past the boys’ heads, his hat still in his hands.
“Finn, walk with me a moment.” Mr. Mallory took his pipe off the mantel and lit it before heading for the door. Jonah threw Finn a curious look as Finn followed the older man out the door. What did Mr. Mallory want to talk to him about that he didn’t want Jonah to overhear? Finn tried to look as bland as possible, walking next to Mr. Mallory without speaking.
John Mallory leaned against the stile, sucking deeply on his pipe as sweet smoke wafted away in the fragrant autumn air.
“Curious business, that,” Mr. Mallory said, watching Finn. “Mrs. Mallory mentioned that you escorted Abbie to the Fletchers not two days ago when she went to fetch a cut of lace. Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. I did. What of it?” Finn leaned against the stile, curious as to where the man was going with this.
“Did you think Abbie might be in danger?” asked Mr. Mallory, his eyes never leaving Finn’s face.
“No, sir. I simply wanted to take a walk with her, it being such a glorious afternoon and all,” Finn said innocently, averting his eyes in mock embarrassment. He hoped Mr. Mallory wouldn’t take offense to him walking Abbie.
“Hmm, I see. You like her, don’t you, son?” asked Mr. Mallory gently.
“She is a fine young lady, sir,” Finn answered, hoping he sounded sufficiently proper.
“That she is.” John Mallory remained silent for a few moments, sucking on his pipe and gazing off into the distance.
“What I find puzzling, is that nothing was taken during the attack. You see, neither the Indians nor local men would have walked away without spoils. To leave weapons and horses after going to the trouble of killing the soldiers simply doesn’t make sense. What do you think, Finn?” Mr. Mallory was studying him, head cocked to the side, as Finn considered the question.
“You are right, Mr. Mallory. It seems wasteful not to at least take the muskets and horses. Both the Indians and the revolutionaries could certainly use both, I’m sure.” That was a noncommittal enough answer, thought Finn as he looked up innocently at Mr. Mallory.
“Yes, I’m sure they could. That’s why I don’t think it was an attack by either Indians or Militiamen. There hasn’t been an Indian attack in these parts in some time, and the Militia would have nothing to gain by killing two soldiers in the woods. I have a different theory.”
John Mallory suddenly reached out, pulling Finn’s Indian amulet from under his shirt. “Start talking, boy.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Mallory. What possible connection could I have to the murder of two British so
ldiers?” Finn’s stomach clench with fear. What would Mr. Mallory do if he connected him to the murder? At best, he would ask him to leave and never come back. He would have no place to go and no means of supporting himself until he found some kind of employment. He would also never see Abbie again, which worried him more. At worst, he would report him to the British, and he would face a death sentence for the murder. Finn faced John Mallory squarely, refusing to look guilty.
“Finn, have I ever told you about my father?” Mr. Mallory asked suddenly. Finn shook his head, surprised by the abrupt change of topic.
“My father was in the British Army for many years before marrying my mother and settling down in Virginia. He was a very clever man, who was much more than a mere foot soldier. My father was a spy. He gathered intelligence and analyzed it for his superiors, which often led to an otherwise uncertain victory for the British. My father died when I was a boy, but he taught me many things, and I listened.” Mr. Mallory looked off into the distance, probably remembering the father he lost so long ago.
“You see, Finlay, one event is just an occurrence. Two related events might be a coincidence, but three events are as telling as a smoking gun. There are no farms between us and the Fletchers, so the path is not exactly teeming with travelers. Two days after you and Abbie walked to the Fletchers, two soldiers were found dead in the woods, just barely off the path. That’s an occurrence.” Mr. Mallory folded down one finger to mark the event.
“It seems that someone wanted this to look like an Indian attack, but I don’t believe it for a minute. Even if it were the handiwork of the Indians, they would never have left horses or weapons behind. Those are prized possessions, too useful to waste, especially after going to the trouble of killing their owners. Indians like souvenirs, so I can’t imagine that they would leave behind a gold watch or coin either. Coincidence? I think not.” Mr. Mallory folded down another finger, his eyes never leaving Finn’s.
“Lastly, you wear an Indian amulet beneath your shirt, and I saw the tomahawk at your belt the day Jonah found you in the barn. Is it under your bed, Finn? Clearly, you know something of Indian ways.” Mr. Mallory triumphantly folded down the third finger, holding up his hand in front of Finn’s face.
“Now, I’ve known you for several weeks now and I believe that you are a decent lad. I think I’m a fairly good judge of character, so, if you killed those soldiers, you must have had a damned good reason. You can trust me, Finn. I won’t turn you over to the authorities, but I need to know what happened. Would you care to enlighten me?”
Finn looked away for a moment considering his options. Mr. Mallory was certainly more observant than he gave him credit for. Most men would never have made the connection, but Mr. Mallory must have listened to his father very carefully when he taught him about espionage. Finn’s best bet was to throw himself on Mr. Mallory’s mercy and hope for the best. He faced the older man and started talking. Mr. Mallory listened carefully to Finn’s account, interrupting him only once to clarify a point.
“Finn, was it your intention to make it look like an Indian attack?” he asked thoughtfully.
“No. I didn’t have time to think it through or come up with a plan. I was outnumbered, so I had only one chance to take them by surprise.” Mr. Mallory put his hand on Finn’s shoulder.
“Finn, I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my daughter. You did what any honorable man would do. I know you must feel some remorse for taking human life, but seems to me as if you didn’t have much choice unless you chose to sacrifice Abbie. She is a lucky girl to have your friendship.” Mr. Mallory momentarily looked away, overcome by emotion and the thought of what his daughter would have endured had Finn not chosen to come to her aid.
“Now, there’s more than one reason why I brought you out here. You are brave, cunning, and you know how to keep a secret. We need men like you working for us. Have you heard of the Committee of Secret Correspondence?”
Finn nodded, unsure of how to respond. He’d heard something about the Committee’s activities, but wasn’t sure exactly what they did or how. He had a feeling that John Mallory was about to tell him.
Chapter 45
“How long will you be gone?” Abbie asked, sitting on the stile next to Finn. She snuggled closer to him as much for affection as for warmth. “I’ll miss you.”
Ever since the incident in the woods, Abbie had become more open in her affection for Finn, not caring if her parents noticed. Nothing had been said, but there was an understanding between them, that their lives were now bound together, and they were both happy with that. Mr. Mallory hadn’t said anything to anyone about his conversation with Finn, but the look of approval in his eyes was unmistakable. Finn had proven himself to be a worthy candidate for his daughter’s hand, despite his lack of family and means.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Abbie, and I’ll be thinking of you the whole time I’m gone. Your father has entrusted me with an important task, and I can’t let him down. I thought he would send me packing for sure, and instead I’ve been recruited to help the Revolution.” Finn pulled Abbie closer to him, warming her against the cold night air.
“I thought you didn’t believe in the Revolution,” she said quietly, but Finn could hear the hope in her voice. “Have you changed your mind?”
“I’m beginning to. What will the Fletchers do now that their farm has been torched by the British? They didn’t even have anything to do with the murders. It’s so unjust.” He still burned with guilt every time he thought of it. He was the one they were looking for, yet an innocent family paid the price simply for being closest to the scene of the slaughter.
News of the burning came on Sunday evening, shortly after the Mallorys had finished their Sunday dinner. The British had set fire to the farm while the family was at church, therefore effectively preventing them from salvaging anything of value. The Fletchers returned to find their home burned to the ground, black smoke rising into the sky as flames still licked the charred beams sticking out of the ground. The only thing that remained of their home was the stone hearth, which was now a soot-covered monument to the life they’d known. Even the apple orchard was put to the torch. It was a forest of black stumps, smoking in the wind.
Thankfully, the animals hadn’t burned with the barn. Mr. Fletcher had left them grazing in the field, unwittingly saving something of their possessions.
“Pa said they’re going to go live with Mrs. Fletcher’s brother in North Carolina. The British couldn’t accuse Mr. Fletcher of the murder outright since there was no evidence, but they needed to make an example of someone, and the Fletchers happened to be the only people in the area. Thank God Pa is on good terms with the British. He walks a fine line. He doesn’t tell us his business, but we all know what he does. He must remain above suspicion to carry on with his activities.” Abbie leaned against Finn, taking his hand in hers. He chose not to remind her that the two British soldiers had made a remark about her father’s patriotism. Maybe they just assumed that all the locals were rebels.
“It seems to be a family business. I’ve met your uncle Alfred in Williamsburg.”
“Yes, Uncle Alfred is the one who brought my father into it. There’s a whole network in place, but no one knows who the members are. It’s safer that way.”
“Did Sam not want to be a part of it?” Finn asked. He was curious about Sam, especially since he would be meeting him soon.
“Sam is young and idealistic. He thinks fighting muzzle to muzzle in an open field is the honorable way to win a war. My Pa knows better than that. He believes that wars are won by cunning and strategy. He learned that from his father.”
“I’m surprised you know all this, Abbie. Your father doesn’t seem like the type to give away information easily.” Finn had never actually heard Mr. Mallory talking politics in front of his children. The odd remark was made here and there, especially by Jonah, but for the most part, the talk in the house was very neutral.
“He doesn’t. My bed i
s just on the other side of their wall, so I hear him talking to Ma when he thinks we’re all asleep. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I like to know what goes on. I haven’t told anyone, not even Martha. She might tell Gil, and who knows whom he might share the information with. People’s lives depend on secrecy. Speaking of lives, Finn, you will be careful, won’t you?” She was looking up at him in the darkness with those beautiful dark eyes, her face full of concern for him. He would be careful, if only to come back to her.
“I promise to be very careful, Abbie. Will you give me a parting gift?” He lifted her chin with his finger, kissing her tenderly. She returned his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, her heart beating fast.
“Let’s go into the barn, Finn,” she whispered, taking him by the hand. Finn just nodded, unsure of what her intentions were. Abbie climbed the ladder to the loft, beckoning for him to follow. Finn’s heart was beating so wildly he could barely breathe. What did she have in mind?
Abbie was already lying on the straw, waiting for him. Silvery beams of moonlight shone between the slats of the loft, illuminating parts of Abbie’s face. She looked nervous and shy, but her intentions were clear.
“Abbie, are you sure this is what you want? I will wait for you as long as it takes. We don’t need to rush.” Finn had dreamed of being with Abbie, but was suddenly nervous and unsure. Waiting for their wedding night would be the honorable thing, and he wanted to do right by her more than anything.
A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) Page 20