‘Anyone inquisitive, or who cannot stay their mouth.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why do you think I have never told Kit?’
‘He is not one to hold his tongue when he has an opinion, that is certain.’
‘No. But do not judge him too harshly for his quick speeches, for he is a good friend, and has suffered deeply in his young life.’
She nodded. ‘I think perhaps he wears that suffering from the cord around his neck.’ She looked at Percy askance. ‘I have often seen him reach for it, as though it is a comfort, or a memory.’
‘Perhaps.’ Percy glanced down. ‘You will have to ask him about it, although he will not tell you. He is a secretive man, spending much time alone in his sawmill, but he joins in the militia, helps out in the fields, and is accepted here now.’
‘Only now?’
Percy smiled. ‘It takes years to gain acceptance, even by men who came here as immigrants themselves, like my father, or Old Humility.’ He became serious as he looked out onto the town, the fields beyond. ‘The people here own this land, Mercia. They think – we think – it is ours. And it is. No fool Duke is going to take it away from us, I can assure you of that.’
The breeze picked up again, drifting through the ensuing silence. ‘I saw Sil just now,’ she said at last. ‘He seemed keen to avoid me.’
‘Hmm?’ Percy looked round, teased from his thoughts. ‘Sil has been distant since Hopewell’s death. I do not know why. Perhaps, like the rest, he has become reluctant to involve himself. Standfast, certainly, is saying little beyond prayers for the dead, and he has much influence over his brother. He saved his life once, you know. When they were boys, he fetched him from the river.’
‘It is a shame, though.’ She winced as a sharp tingling sensation throbbed through the leg she had been pressing on. Stumbling to her feet, she rubbed furiously at her calf.
‘Are you well?’ said Percy, jumping up beside her.
‘’Tis merely that tingling sensation. It will pass.’
‘I hate that.’ He screwed up his face, watching as she shook out her leg. ‘Well, I suppose I should be getting back. I will be gone for a couple of days, but when I return I could take you to visit Goffe and Whalley, if you like.’
‘You would do that?’ The prickly feeling was subsiding. ‘Thank you.’
‘As long as they agree. But they seemed eager before.’ He scooped up his cloak. ‘Now, if you are better, shall I accompany you down the hill?’
‘That is kind, but no.’ Her leg recovered, she looked into the distance, all the way to England, to Halescott. The talk of her father had rekindled painful memories, and she still wanted her time alone. ‘I will stay here a while longer and enjoy the view. It is so very calming.’
‘Yes.’ Percy smiled, his dark eyes fixed on her windswept face. ‘It is a beautiful view.’
Chapter Twenty
Done indulging her memories, she walked back into town, a little more enthused than the hour before. She looked for Nathan in the cottage, anxious to tell him of Whalley and Goffe, but she could not find him. Then more gunfire sounded out. Nearer now, the din of it made her jump before she realised it came from the same practice she had witnessed from the hill.
‘Still?’ she said to herself. ‘But I wonder?’
She returned to the street, exiting the palisade through the eastern gate. About twenty men were lined up at the side of a square grassy space marked out with fraying rope, watching Fearing Davison taking a shot at a target not ten-feet distant. The target was a scarecrow of sorts, dressed in furs and topped with an Indian headdress. Fearing fired and missed; most of the onlookers jeered, but Godsgift Brown silenced them with a shout.
‘Back in line, Fearing.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s in your company, Vic. If he fires like that when the Indians attack, you’re going to lose men.’
Mercia scanned the line. As she had speculated, Nathan was at the far end, clutching a musket and watching the proceedings with interest. Nicholas was absent, as was Amery, but most of the other townsmen who were not at work were there, even Humility Thomas, despite his age and his corpulence. As they caught sight of her, the men began to mutter to each other, while Nathan raised a tentative arm in greeting. Godsgift turned to the source of their distraction; uttering an expletive, he stormed towards her, brandishing his drawn rapier.
‘This is no place for you.’ He dragged the tip of his sword through the grass. ‘If you could leave, we will continue our practice.’
‘You have been practising a long time,’ she taunted. ‘Do you think your men will miss if a woman is here to watch?’
The men within earshot laughed, causing the constable to redden with annoyance. ‘This is not a frivolous enterprise, Mrs Blakewood. This is not Boston, much less London, and we have to be prepared to defend ourselves. It is no dainty woman’s task.’
She held her tongue. ‘Still, the challenge to your … ragbag … is there.’
He puffed up his chest, whether deliberate or unknowing she could not say. ‘Then let us see what your companion can do. So far he has watched but proved nothing, for all his boasts.’ He turned to the line. ‘Keyte! Show my ragbag how a soldier shoots.’
‘Finally.’ Nathan came forward, lazily holding a musket in his right hand. Mercia knew his swagger was to impress the watching men, but the display was justified: he had served in the Cromwellian army and was more than proficient with a gun. He fed the musket with ball and shot, took aim, cocked, and fired. The ball powered through the very centre of the pillow that was serving as the target’s chest.
‘You see.’ Godsgift scorned his men. ‘A stranger shoots better than you! Lord help you when the Indians come.’
Sighs and grumblings rose from the men, along with one or two distempered frowns at Nathan. He sauntered across to Mercia, setting the empty musket on the ground.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello.’ She nodded at the gun. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
He shrugged. ‘’Tis something to do. This lot need work. Since that mark was brought out, I have watched most of them shoot at it, and six of them clean missed. Four of the others barely grazed the pillow.’
‘And the others?’
‘Vic Smith and Richard Thorpe. But then as blacksmith and surgeon, you would expect them to have a keen eye. They are also the two captains.’
‘Captains?’
‘’Tis quite the organisation Brown has here. Two companies of men, each headed by a captain, each company divided into three bands of five. All headed by himself, of course. He is very adept, you know.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘The quintessential old soldier.’
He laughed. ‘They met at the meeting house and marched out in three lines, their muskets across their fronts. They are well drilled, at least. And to be honest, I think some of them are missing on purpose. Or being deliberately slow.’
Mercia shot him a wry smile. ‘Shall I try?’
‘Mercia—’
Unheeding his caution, she picked up the musket, holding out her other hand for the pouch at Nathan’s belt. He rolled his eyes but handed it over. While the men were still focused on Godsgift’s tirade, she dropped a ball into the barrel, shook in some powder, and took aim at the target. The resulting shot made half the men jump.
‘Nearly as good as me,’ grinned Nathan. ‘But not quite.’
She pulled a face, but she was pleased with her attempt. In truth she knew how to wield a gun, if normally a smaller weapon such as a doglock pistol: she had fired one recently during her troubles in New York, and not to her disadvantage.
Godsgift, however, was not so impressed. ‘What are you doing, Keyte?’ he barked. ‘Do not let a woman near a musket! You will have someone killed, most likely herself!’
‘She is quite proficient,’ said Nathan. ‘See for yourself.’ He gestured towards the pillow, where a pair of duck feathers were waggling in the wind in a hole in the scarecrow’s chest.
‘Hmm.’ The constable looked at the target. ‘Tak
e her out of here. My men have to practise.’
‘You are not wrong about that.’ Nathan placed his arm around her back as he walked her towards the eastern gate: an action, she assumed, designed to provoke the constable’s wrath.
‘Not the friendliest welcome,’ she said, as they paused inside the palisade.
‘He is not so bad. He has a temper—’
‘And a murderous streak.’
‘That too. But he cares for the town, I think.’
‘Enough to kill for it?’
Nathan looked at her. ‘You see suspicion everywhere. It is not likely to help your humours.’
Her prior mood vanished. ‘I see only what I must, especially when no one else will. Save Nicholas. And maybe now Percy.’
She knew the barb was immature, but it had the desired effect.
‘Bloody Nicholas.’ Nathan looked skywards. ‘So you trust him again, do you?’
‘I think so.’
‘And Percy?’
She played with the cuff of her bodice. ‘We have been talking. He had some news, if you are interested.’
Nathan closed his eyes, tempering his breathing. ‘Very well. Let us not argue over nothing. What news does he have?’
‘Not here. Come back outside the gate.’
She led him a little way down towards the Hartford road, near the wood. A fallen tree not far from the path provided a suitable spot to rest, a little sodden with the recent rain, but not uncomfortable. When they had finished fidgeting to avoid the roughest bits of bark, she told him about Goffe and Whalley.
‘I cannot believe it,’ he said, the excited look on his face endearing. ‘I never knew Goffe, but I saw Whalley once or twice.’ Then he frowned. ‘’Tis good that he is, but why is Percy trusting you like this? Didn’t you say he acted as crazed when he discovered we had helped Dixwell?’
‘I think he has a respect for my father. You know how people are. Sometimes they take time to trust.’ She paused. ‘Can you trust that Remembrance?’
‘Mercia.’ Nathan laughed, asking the same playful question Clemency had asked in her night-time thoughts. ‘Are you jealous?’
The question was not so welcome in real life. ‘What has that to do with it?’
He held up his hands. ‘Sorry.’ His brown eyes sparkled, matching the colour of their makeshift bench. ‘But … I thought maybe you were jealous.’
‘Nathan.’
‘She is pretty.’
She stood and folded her arms. ‘If you are going to talk like a child, then—’
‘Hey.’ He stood beside her, lightly grasping her shoulders, a bemused expression on his face. ‘What is this? You know how I feel about you. Do not be ridiculous.’ He sighed, removing his hands. ‘But Mercia, all … this.’ He extended his arm in the direction of the town. ‘It is eating away at you. Away at us. I am … concerned.’
She did not know why she said it. Maybe she was tired, or sad, or – yes – ridiculous, but a hard feeling came upon her, an invisible barrier between herself and the world that had been growing ever since Clemency died, and she realised that Nathan, too, was outside that barrier for now.
‘There is no us,’ she said. ‘Not here. There is too much to be done.’
Nathan’s face, so calm and eager moments before, seemed to tremble. Her heart ached as he turned away, and again, here, she could have told him what she really felt, but the barrier was still there, sundering her emotions.
‘Come,’ she said instead. ‘We best return inside the town.’
That evening an awkward atmosphere hung low over the cottage as she and Nathan played a silent game of draughts. She looked at him when she thought he was not looking at her, and she wondered: why was she being so defensive? More to the point, why put a dead woman she had barely known before a living man she had known for years? But her father had taught her too well about justice, her sense of it too acute.
She did worry, as she watched him taking a half-hearted move, that the gradual acceptance she could move on from her husband – an acceptance she had thought, in New York, complete – had reversed. The prospect of losing anyone else as she had lost Will, as she had lost Clemency, was unbearable. Right now, she felt she must put her own wants aside, and yet she worried, in that cold room, that she might have put them aside too well.
‘Why?’ said Clemency, her presence beside her. ‘Why do this?’
Mercia studied the board. ‘Because I must.’
‘Not for me, Mercia.’ Clemency shook her head. ‘You must think of yourself.’
She jumped three of Nathan’s pieces. ‘How can I? You invited me here out of kindness. And you remain here still, wandering the streets when you should be safe in heaven. How can I rest until your journey is complete?’
And then a man’s voice: ‘Well done.’
‘What?’ She looked up, surprised to see Nathan.
‘Well done. Those were my last pieces.’
‘Oh.’ She stared at the board, two white pieces of shell the only markers left. Dispelling the fog from her mind, she tried a smile, hoping it would help them both. But Nathan’s mood remained depressed.
‘Perhaps I will take some air,’ she said, reaching for her cloak. ‘’Tis still light. And then early to bed.’
His dulled eyes glanced downwards. ‘As you wish.’
‘I think I will visit Daniel in the next day or two. Consult with Winthrop about events.’
‘He would like that – Daniel, I mean.’ He took a sip of beer from a beaker at his side. ‘Well, enjoy your walk.’
She threw her cloak around herself, feeling sad he had not offered to join her, or warned her to be safe as he usually would. But then as she was leaving he called out:
‘Be safe.’
She wandered a while in the town; as ever the circuit was short, but she kept on circling, moving out towards the woods where the leaves, orange and brown, were now falling more steadily from the trees. As dusk descended she loitered outside the tavern, wanting someone to talk to, suspecting – hoping – Nicholas would be inside. Sure enough, when she made herself enter he was at a high table with two other men, one Lavington’s manservant, the other she could not place. As she approached, Nicholas looked up, while his companions frowned, eventually electing to stand.
She stayed the rising men with an outstretched palm. ‘I do not want to intrude.’
‘You’re not,’ said Nicholas. ‘Do you … want to join us?’
The two men looked appalled.
‘No,’ she declined. ‘But perhaps I could speak with you later?’
‘We can speak now.’ He leapt from his stool, pocketing the few beads of wampum lying on the table. ‘Another time, boys.’
‘Scared you’ll lose it all back?’ taunted the unknown man, perhaps travelled from another town, she thought.
‘Not if you keep up that twitch of yours.’
The man sat back, looking quizzically at Lavington’s servant. His expression deadpan, Nicholas followed Mercia outside.
‘I bet there is no twitch,’ she said.
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ He smiled. ‘But it doesn’t hurt to make them nervous. They’re the only two I’ve been able to find that will play at all.’ He looked at her. ‘Don’t worry, it’s very small stakes.’
‘Why should I mind?’ They walked a short distance, then Nicholas laughed. ‘What?’
‘I was remembering when we first met.’
The memory brought a smile to her own lips. ‘The Anchor.’
‘You came looking for me in a tavern then, and you’re still looking for me in a tavern now.’ He whistled. ‘I never thought on that day that I’d sail with you across the ocean.’
A sudden sensation of dislocation and awe came upon her; in that instant, she felt all the trials of the past months, the immensity of all she had witnessed. She staggered a little in the face of such emotion.
Nicholas grabbed her shoulder. ‘Are you well?’
She shook her head to clear her though
ts. ‘Yes. But what you said, about sailing across the ocean – suddenly it struck me. Everything that has happened.’
‘Do you want to sit down?’
‘That would be welcome.’
‘Come.’ He looked at her askance. ‘I sense you want to talk.’
They walked in silence through the northern gate, Nicholas grabbing a lit torch from a sconce set into the palisade. Not far from the gate, a sawn-down log served as a bench for workers breaking from their toils in the fields, a smattering of chicken bones and kernels scattered about its base. Nicholas rested the torch in a convenient hole; it seemed man-made, perhaps designed for that very purpose.
They sat for a while in silence. She knew he was waiting for her to speak, but the freshness of the evening air was intoxicating in its fullness, and it was pleasant to be in company without having to say a word. But at length she sighed.
‘Do you think I am a fool?’
The question took Nicholas aback. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Nathan seems to.’
‘Ah.’ He leant forward, entwining his hands. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t.’
‘He thinks we should go back to New York.’
‘Has he said so?’
‘Not for a day or two, but ’tis quite clear.’
‘I think he wants whatever you want. As well as wanting you to be safe.’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘I know. But you can’t blame him for worrying.’
‘I wish he wouldn’t.’
He looked up at her, sucking in his top lip. ‘Can I say something?’
‘Of course.’
He hesitated. ‘You can be a little … difficult … at times.’
‘So now I’m taking advice from my manservant.’ She held up her hands. ‘Yes, I know. I did say speak.’
‘I’m sorry. All I’m saying is, you can be quite …’
‘Obsessed?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I don’t think it’s obsessive to want to bring a murderer to justice.’
‘No.’ He studied the ground. ‘And I agree with you. If nobody else is willing to stop this madman then we should.’
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