Humbled, she took a deep breath. "Yesterday morning, my uncle, David St. James, was hiding in my henhouse." Tiny movement in the matron's lips told her Laughing Eyes read the depth of the field, and there would be no subterfuge. "He implied that the Lower Creek in East Florida rescued him and my parents from the redcoats. He was headed to Williamsburg to hide and said my parents had sought refuge with Cherokee in South Carolina, also to hide."
"He spoke the truth. Have you told anyone of this encounter besides Joshua?"
Betsy shook her head.
"Tell no one else."
"Yes, madam." Betsy's heart ached against her ribcage. Laughing Eyes must know how nervous she was. "Until my uncle's visit yesterday morning, I didn't know that Mathias Hale, Ayukapeta Hokolen Econa, was my father. I haven't spoken with my mother about him. I've been raised with grandfathers, stepfathers, and uncles, but I've always known they weren't my father. I've never had a father."
Kindness suffused the matron's brown eyes. "We believe the mother more important than the father, and the brother and sister of the mother also. You have been raised with all three."
"I want to meet my father."
"I have no doubt the future holds a meeting for you, but ill shall come if you force it before your father can arrange it."
Betsy lowered her voice. "I've waited so long. Please tell me where they went."
"You know enough to destroy them. Hear the timing of Creator, the all-wise one who urges us to guard our secrets."
Betsy pressed her open palm to her chest above her heart. "Never knowing my father gives me great emptiness and sadness. If he's half the man I hear him to be, he feels empty and sad from never knowing me. Tell me where they've gone, I beg of you, so I may follow them. I won't tell anyone. I swear it."
"How will you gain your husband's permission to travel?"
Anxiety leaked into Betsy's voice. "I shall find a way."
Laughing Eyes caught up Betsy's hands in her own rough, warm, wise-woman hands, and scrutinized her with an unsmiling face and a gaze that bored into her soul. "Daughter, I sense a great restlessness in you, a fear. Beyond acquainting yourself with your father, what is your reason for seeking him?"
An answer rose to Betsy's lips, although she suspected it wasn't quite what the matron had sought. "I carry the first grandchild. I would find a way to unite us before I bear this baby, even if I have to search the entire South Carolina colony. Please. You understand how important family is."
"A baby." Resolve in Laughing Eyes's face softened. Her gaze sought Joshua, who nodded in confirmation. Then she studied Betsy again. "I assumed you ripe for the lesson of patience, Daughter, and I thought I saw something else, something demanding that you answer to yourself." She sighed. "The pull of blood is strong. It can be a noble pull, but it can also be senseless. Even my judgment is affected by it.
"The life within you is the most precious gift of Creator. I do not wish you be blinded by the blood pull." Still holding Betsy's hand in one of hers, she extended her other hand to Joshua, who grasped it. Then she swept her gaze around to ensure that only Betsy, Joshua, and Standing Wolf were within hearing. "In the name of the all-powerful Mother of the earth, I charge both of you to use this forthcoming knowledge wisely, or you will invite suffering upon us all."
Joshua's face sobered. "Yes, Grandmother."
The inside of Betsy's mouth felt dry as charcoal. She managed to swallow. "Yes, Grandmother."
"Keowee," said Laughing Eyes, her eyes not at all laughing. "They have gone to a place near Keowee. It lies north-northwest of here by some seventy miles. Now may the wisdom of the old ones guide your lips and feet with this knowledge."
***
Leaves resonated with nocturnes of birds, and fireflies lilted in the twilight. Joshua dismounted before the print shop and helped Betsy off her horse. From inside, she heard her six cousins hollering and thumping about. Joshua, who'd kept quiet most of the trip back except for sharing a few anecdotes about Mathias, took her hand in his and said low, "Will you go to South Carolina in search of them?"
She considered her visit to the Creek village. Ambivalence wound through her soul again. The Cherokee village where her parents hid must be similar to the Creek village. How much more comfortable she felt back in Alton, at Clark's side. Her eagerness to seek her parents sputtered a bit. "Perhaps." Longing tugged at Joshua's expression. "Mathias is your only living brother. Will you go?"
"I have four children and a — uh — quarrelsome wife. But she understands about family." He released her hand. "If my niece, daughter to my missing brother, must undertake a journey to South Carolina, I consider it a matter of honor and duty to accompany her." He bowed. "Likely even with my wife's blessings."
"Ah, Joshua. Thank you."
"Huzzah! It's Cousin Betsy!" Children spewed from the house and pounded down the steps to encircle Betsy and Joshua. After they'd taken turns hugging her, they focused on him.
"Mr. Joshua, Mama says you and Betsy are cousins!"
"That makes us your cousins, too, doesn't it?"
"Hug me!"
"Hug me, too!"
Betsy watched, amused, while her youngest cousins attempted to leap on Joshua and the eldest boys stood off to the side grinning, having decided they were too grown up for such a display. Joshua laughed, at ease with children swinging off him like monkeys. "Ho, there, one at a time, will you?"
From the front porch came the deep voice of Susana's giant-of-a-husband, John. "Well, Joshua, welcome to our family." The boards on the porch squawked beneath his weight as he lumbered down the steps. "Looks like Will had a good basis for his long-term friendship with the le Coeuvres, ho ho ho." The children hanging on Joshua scattered. John pumped his hand and slapped his back as if Joshua were Betsy's father. "Stay for supper, hey? We've plenty of food."
"No, thank you. I must head home for supper."
"Join me at the Red Rock later, then. I'll buy a round."
Joshua tipped his hat. "Excellent. I shall see you there." With a wink for Betsy, he mounted his horse and rode off, several of the children waving after him.
"Say, woman, how about a hug for your uncle?" John reached for Betsy and hugged her, restraining his usual spine-popping pressure because of her pregnancy. "You sure you're expecting? Susana was out to here by four months." His meaty hand snagged the shoulder of his eldest son. "Take your cousin's mare back to the stable and rub her down."
"Yes, sir." The youth led Lady May around back.
Betsy spotted Clark trotting his horse toward them on the dusty street, and she waved. John seized the next older boy. "And you rub down Clark's horse when he gets here."
Clark alighted, pecked Betsy's cheek, shook John's hand, and submitted to a round of hugs from cousins. After providing a vague response to her query about his visit that afternoon with the tanner, Mr. Givens, Clark followed Betsy up the porch steps, preceded by John and four children while the second eldest boy trudged to the stable with his horse. At the threshold, Clark murmured to Betsy, "What's this about you being the daughter of an old French spy?"
Gossip in Alton flowed as free as sand from the river, and was just as common. Betsy wondered whose tongue had wagged the most. No sense in trying to straighten out the truth with her husband until they had some privacy. She fluttered eyelashes at him. "Mais oui!"
He sneaked a moist kiss to her neck. "Mmm. I cannot wait to hear the details." He released her and groaned. "Oh, gods."
Susana had emerged from the dining room and was bearing down on him with arms flung wide. "Dear, dear, Clark! What an absolute delight to see you again! Do come here. Give your auntie a hug! We have so much to talk about, don't we? Next time you visit, you will stay an entire week!"
***
Yawning, Betsy elbowed the stable door open wider, her lantern pushing back the night inside. "Evening, my lady." Lady May perked up her head with pleasure. Betsy hung the lantern, set down Captain Arriaga's box, and patted Clark's gelding before reaching for
the mare's saddle blanket. "I'll catch the devil from Mr. Fairfax on the morrow if I don't show the captain what's in this box." After a day on the road and an evening calculating business expenses for Susana, she was too tired to walk.
She'd wished for Clark's company, but he'd been keen to seek the tavern after supper, escape Susana's futile attempts at justifying a second page of the newspaper, and buy his promised drinks for Stoddard's patrol. Through her disappointment, she realized she'd have to explain first why she hadn't told him the entire truth about the veil and parasol. The business of half-truths had become convoluted, and she wanted to be done with it, even though the thought of facing Sheffield alone with the veil and parasol felt ominous. Lady May, at least, didn't seem to mind accompanying her on the short trip to the other end of town, so she stroked her horse. "That's my good lass."
Minutes later, she dismounted before Sheffield's house and secured the mare beside a gelding she recognized as the one Stoddard had ridden. The door opened when she stepped onto the front porch, and Finnegan lifted a lantern to illumine her and the box she carried. "Mrs. Sheridan." Avian screeches and human cheers from a cockfight behind the Red Rock Tavern reached their ears. Fastidious concern furrowed the servant's brow. "What are you doing out alone tonight?"
"Lieutenant Fairfax ordered me to show the contents of this box to Captain Sheffield before I left town."
The Irishman's concern descended into distaste. "Fairfax, hrumph. Come inside, then, while I fetch the captain."
Prompted by Finnegan's knock on the study door and murmured message, Sheffield opened the door, eyebrow cocked with piqued interest, and invited Betsy in. What if the captain found something in the package that made her suspect of colluding with the rebels? Throat burning with anxiety, she entered, her posture demure. Near the study's side window, Stoddard set aside a glass one quarter full of amber brandy and bowed. With both officers present, perhaps one was guaranteed to find something amiss in the box. Fairfax had seemed certain of it. Finnegan lit more candles, conferring a warm glow upon the room with its plain, sturdy furniture, but Betsy fidgeted.
Without preamble, she explained how she'd come by the veil and parasol. The officers examined everything and within two minutes decided that the box and its contents weren't hiding any secret messages. Holding to her story about leaving the letter in Augusta, Betsy recounted Arriaga's message. Her instincts, or perhaps Laughing Eyes's warning about the safety of her parents, told her not to repair the misunderstanding just yet that Jacques le Coeuvre, not Mathias Hale, was her father. Fortunately the letter was vague on the point of her paternity.
Sheffield handed her back the box with the veil and parasol. "The letter sounds innocuous enough, and we've no intelligence that Miguel de Arriaga is an agent for the rebels. However, the rebels have been known to intercept the missives of neutral parties and implant seditious messages within. Therefore, I think it prudent that, upon your return to Augusta, you surrender the letter to Colonel Thomas Brown for his expert examination."
Colonel Thomas Brown: Adam Neville's superior officer, His Majesty's Ranger. Could Lieutenant Fairfax be right about the letter containing a cipher from the rebels? Not liking the thought of it, Betsy moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Sir, if Colonel Brown finds a hidden message, whom do you suppose was the intended recipient?"
Sheffield and Stoddard regarded her, their expressions revealing nothing, and didn't answer. The clock in the study ticked. She swallowed, and sweat trickled between her breasts. "Oh, see here, you must know by now that I am not an agent of the rebels."
"Madam, if you've been forthright with us, you've nothing to fear."
If Sheffield meant his smile to reassure her, he failed. They did indeed suspect a rebel cipher in Arriaga's letter, but they weren't certain it had been intended for her.
Cordovan leather. Sooty Johns and two Spaniards in the middle of the night. Dear heavens. Clark.
"I shall direct Mr. Fairfax to confiscate the letter immediately upon your return to Augusta and present it to Colonel Brown. Mr. Stoddard, please escort Mrs. Sheridan back to the house for the night. Thank you for your diligence, madam."
Fairfax. Oh, gods. "Captain." Stoddard at her elbow, Betsy turned back to Sheffield in the doorway. "Sir, it would put me at great ease if Mr. Stoddard accompanied us back to Augusta on the morrow, rather than Mr. Fairfax."
"Ah." The diplomatic neutrality slid over Sheffield's face again. "I'm honored by the confidence you've gained in my officer. Alas, I need him here in Alton. Believe me when I say that if I didn't trust Mr. Fairfax to see you safely back to Augusta, I'd most certainly send Mr. Stoddard in his stead. Again, I thank you for your assistance and cooperation. Give my regards to your husband, and may you both rest well tonight."
Chapter Seven
BETSY WAITED IN the saddle for a laconic Stoddard to mount his horse before nudging her mare north behind him. Her thoughts reeled about, and her pulse quivered like a caged songbird stalked by a housecat. What a predicament she'd woven. The redcoats expected her to surrender Arriaga's letter the next day, but she couldn't risk their uncovering a cipher that might incriminate Clark. She saw no option but to forge a copy of the letter for them while everyone slept. Why, oh why, had she ignored David's warning to stay away from Alton?
Five lots north, they passed tanner Givens's shop and home, where Clark had visited that afternoon. A crash from within prompted Stoddard to halt their horses. "Did you hear that?"
A man on horseback galloped from behind the house out onto the street and flew north past them, his expression shadow-gouged and contorted with malice. Enough light existed for Betsy to recognize the sensual lips and dark eyes and hair of a Spaniard. Not one of the men who'd visited Clark in the middle of the night, but a Spaniard nonetheless.
"Bloody hell!" Stoddard groped for a pistol at his saddle.
No other soldiers were within hail. Alton's civilians were all snoring abed, imbibing at the Red Rock, or losing money over the cockfight. Betsy steadied her spooked mare. "Lieutenant, you mustn't give chase! The Givenses! I fear for the family!"
He stared from the gloom of night, where the Spaniard had vanished, to the house, to Betsy before he expelled a breath with decision, recognizing his priorities. "Wait here. I shall check on the family." He dismounted and handed her the reins and one pistol. "I presume you know how to fire this." He removed the other pistol and cocked it halfway. "If the Spaniard returns, shoot him."
Night at the rear of the Givens's house swallowed him. Anxiety slicked Betsy's palms. The distant hoot of an owl startled her. Edgy, she darted a glance about the deserted street, startled by leaves clattering on the humid breeze, and jumping at a raucous eruption of laughter from the nearby tavern. Her relief at seeing Stoddard emerge a minute later dwindled at his expression.
He released his pistol from half-cock. "Madam, your concern is well-placed. Mr. Givens and his wife lay murdered most foully in their shop."
***
Two soldiers combed the yard for clues by lantern light, footprints mingling with those of Stoddard, the Spaniard, and his horse. The lieutenant, who'd been conversing with a stout sergeant, noticed Betsy's yawn, paused, and faced her. "My apologies. I should have escorted you back after you completed your statement. You've been most cooperative."
She favored him with a weary smile. "My mother's house isn't but a couple minutes away. I can ride by myself."
"With that murderous Spaniard on the loose? I wouldn't dream of letting you do that. I shan't be but a moment longer completing my instructions to Sykes here."
The lieutenant turned back to Sykes, missing her subsequent yawn of resignation. Her gaze caught on a lone rider on horseback trotting toward them from the direction of the Red Rock. He absorbed night, shadow his ally, stealthy in the dark like a creature of primal myth born to prey in the folds of a foggy, ferny forest. Although the air was warm, she shuddered and moved closer to Lady May, hoping he'd ride on past, the ground would cave in
, or she'd become invisible. No such luck.
Metal clinked against leather as Fairfax dismounted. "Why wasn't I contacted earlier?" He drew up almost nose-to-nose with Stoddard. Sergeant Sykes's attempt at a salute went ignored. He slipped away to join the investigation in the yard, obviously used to such treatment by Fairfax.
Stoddard glanced at the time on a watch from his waistcoat pocket, replaced the watch, and swelled out his chest. "You weren't contacted because you're due to leave Alton in eight hours, fifty-two minutes. Sir." His smirk was audible.
"Indeed, but I still have eight hours, fifty-two minutes in Alton. Sir." The same height as Stoddard, Fairfax outweighed him by at least twenty-five pounds, all of it muscle, making Stoddard look spindly in comparison. Betsy shuddered again. Stoddard would be most fortunate if the two men never traded more than verbal blows.
Fairfax's attention snagged on the men in the yard, and dismay bit at the chill in his voice. "What the devil are they doing?"
"Searching for evidence."
"They're destroying evidence, fool. Footprints, hoof —"
"I remind you that you're speaking to a fellow officer."
Betsy squirmed. This rivalry went beyond epaulet crowding.
"Cause of death?"
"As you'll soon be gone, it's immaterial to you." Stoddard hummed a few seconds. "Oh, very well, blood loss."
"They were stabbed?"
"Their throats were slit from ear to ear."
"By a Spaniard." Fairfax sounded certain. "Any witnesses?"
"Beside myself? Yes. You now have eight hours, fifty-one minutes."
"All who visited the tanner recently are potentially accomplices to murder. You will question them."
Clark had visited the tanner that afternoon. He had friends who were Spaniards. The breath Betsy sucked in chilled her teeth. Had he really gone to the Red Rock Tavern that night?
"Perhaps you've misunderstood. His Majesty doesn't require your investigative skills here. He requires that you pursue your next assignment on the morrow: escorting Mrs. Sheridan and her husband to Augusta."
Just when Betsy had begun to hope she'd escape Fairfax's scrutiny, his frozen stare rotated to her. "You are a witness?" She fought the urge to shrink when he advanced on her, his expression mobile and victorious as he no doubt considered angles through which she might be involved in rebel schemes. He lowered his voice. "Stoddard, if by some chance your investigation reveals that Givens was a member of the Ambrose ring, this woman is an unsuitable witness."
The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution Page 5