In The Service Of The Queen (The Gunsmith Book 1)

by C. K. Crigger

  “Oh, yes. I don’t believe any of those men would live for long if they didn’t have the free market to help them. You see, Matthew hauls in shipments of their supplies and is paid by the Crown. There’s always a bit of room left on his carts for him to bring things in to the prisoners, though. They pay him with bone combs, and clever little carved ships, and fine painted playing cards and such. He takes those things in trade and resells them at the weekly market in Exeter or sometimes in Plymouth.”

  “He can do that?” It seemed odd to me that private enterprise was not only condoned, but encouraged.

  “Of course,” Mary said. “Anyone can. They don’t have cells in Dartmoor like I hear they do in the big London prisons—excepting for those gone into the hole.” She paused and her voice lowered. “The black hole, that is. All the other men can enter the market square as long as they have something to sell. I can’t bear to go in, so I have Matthew sell the yarn I spin during the winter months. The prisoners knit things, then bring their wares back for Matthew to sell for them.

  Lots of the men do that.”

  Mary’s Matthew sounded a resourceful businessman. I wasn’t surprised when she said he planned on setting up two or three or even more carting routes. “Soon,” she assured me, “my Matthew is going to be rich and we’ll be wed.”

  “I wish you happy,” I replied in all sincerity. “And a short engagement. Talking about rich, though, I suppose your Matthew has to give a share to the guards when he brings out a shipment. I expect there are dozens of them, all with their hands out wanting a share.”

  “Well, two or three,” Mary admitted. “Those what take pay from Matthew don’t look so close at what he’s taking in, or bringing out, so Matthew figures it’s worth every ha’penny.”

  “Indeed,” I said.

  “Well, how is a man to do his carving if he has no knife or tools?

  Matt is only looking out for all of them. What damage could a man with only a wee knife do against a guard with a musket? I ask you?”

  My heart jumped. Matthew appeared to be a very profit-oriented businessman. This sounded promising, if we could just enlist Matthew as an ally. I couldn’t wait to tell Caleb what I’d found out.

  “It probably gets rather expensive,” I said, with a show of sympathy, “if you have several guards at each gate.”

  Something of my excitement must have showed because I thought Mary looked at me with a degree of puzzlement. “There are only the two gates, ma’am,” she said. “The big main gate into the outer prison, and the market yard gate right in the square.”

  Just then we heard Mary’s mother calling for her in a high-pitched yoo-hoo kind of voice. The girl jumped to her feet and scurried out the door—end of session.

  Only two gates. Should I have known that?

  I was practically bouncing off the walls by the time Caleb got back.

  Only ten minutes before he arrived, I’d come in from a walk to the road where I’d been peering through the rain on the watch for him. I’d just asked Mary to bring more wood for the fire and ordered a pot of coffee.

  All during this trip I’d thought I couldn’t get coffee, so when I re-entered the inn and smelled the familiar aroma, I thought maybe things had started looking up.

  Caleb limped into our room, thrusting his gloves into the pocket of his wet, many-caped coat. He looked drawn, as though his long ride had tired him, and pain lines pulled down the corners of his mouth.

  Until he caught sight of me. Then he grinned, his green eyes bright. My anger with him died.

  “Hallo, sweetheart,” he said, sounding very English. “Had you about given up on me?”

  “I thought you’d never get back,” I said. I felt a degree of restraint, meeting him this afternoon for the first time after making love with him last night. I hadn’t been sure he would be the same, but he was and the awkwardness I’d felt faded away.

  Emboldened by his grin, I jumped to my feet and rushed into his arms. Oh, yes. The same Caleb as last night.

  “Your nose is cold,” I said.

  “Yours isn’t.” He rubbed his cold nose against my warm one until a tilt of our heads brought our lips together.

  After a while I gasped, “Your hands are warm, though.” The places he was putting them, I’d have known right off if they weren’t.

  Mary knocked before she brought in a coffee tray laden with enough food to quell Caleb’s hunger until suppertime. She pushed the table closer to the fire and laid out a knife and fork, while I helped Caleb off with his heavy coat. When Mary left, he sat down and began eating as though starved.

  Intent on making up for yesterday’s lack of appetite, he sat with his bad leg propped up on the hearth in front of him while he ate. I saw the fabric of his white trousers was stretched tight over his leg, from just below the knee until it disappeared into the top of his Hessian boot. The sight started warning bells clanging in my mind, chasing every other thought out of my head.

  I didn’t have a lot of experience with first aid, but even with my limited knowledge, I knew he must be in trouble.

  “Let me help you off with your boots,” I said, determined the next garment to go would be his pants. While I doubted he’d put up too much a fight over losing them, he might be a little ticked when he found I just wanted to see how bad his wound was . No, be honest, Boothenay, I told myself. That’s not the only reason.

  “Why, madam,” he said, with a faint smile. “Have you ulterior designs upon my body?”

  “You better believe it.”

  “Then ask the girl to bring hot water, please, and soap. Plenty of strong soap and at least two big pots of hot water.”

  “Heavens,” I said, a little surprised at the crispness of his answer.

  “Are you really as dirty as all that? I can guarantee the soap alone will melt the hide off a rhinoceros. Fortunately, I brought some handmade stuff along, which is a lot milder. You can use that, if you like.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks, Boothenay. My complexion doesn’t worry me at the moment. The soap they have here will be fine. Oh, and you might as well get a bottle of good red wine while you’re at it.”

  I had to go as far as the taproom to find Mary, and while she said she’d bring the desired items right away, meaning sometime later, she had a puzzled expression on her face, as if she couldn’t imagine what anyone wanted with all that water. I couldn’t help laughing a little as I went back to our room.

  “Good joke?” Caleb had pushed away from the table and sat relaxed, savoring his coffee.

  “You realize don’t you, that these people will never forget us? Oh, not because of our deeds. Oh, no. I suspect it’ll be because they think we’re crazy—all this washing we’ve been doing. And in the middle of winter, no less.”

  A quarter of an hour later the hot water arrived.

  I fear my friendship with Mary was somewhat strained by the time she finished toting several buckets of water to our room. Then there was the extra trip with towels and the soap. But when Caleb dug into his pocket, the coin he tendered brought the smile back to her face.

  My hopes of an overly active imagination died when I finally saw his leg. It had ballooned. The swelling continued all the way into his ankle, and I had a devil of a time getting his boot off over his foot. I know the tugging and wiggling hurt him badly. He couldn’t have managed without my help. Sweat glistened on his forehead before the boot came free; tooth marks made white dents in his lower lip.

  “That’s better,” he gasped, his color seeping back.

  He got his payback when I jerked too hard at his other boot. It slipped off so easily I landed on my rump at the first yank.

  “Ouch.” I felt foolish as I picked myself up.

  “Owie need kissed?”

  “Caleb!” I felt heat come up in my face—about fifty percent from embarrassment, the other fifty percent anticipation.

  His eyes glinted. “I’ll admit there are other places I’d rather kiss.

  Unless you
plan on beating me off with a big stick.” Reaching for me, Caleb pulled me down on his lap, and proceeded to demonstrate one of these preferred locations must be my mouth.

  “I don’t want to beat you off,” I whispered, my voice suddenly as breathy as a provocative Marilyn Monroe. “Are you sure you feel up to this?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  He was, too.

  “I thought you’d want to tell me what you learned today first.” I delayed the inevitable just a moment more.

  “Later,” he said, and proceeded to chase every thought except those of him out of my head.

  As things turned out, we were quite a while getting back to our discussion because getting Caleb’s leg doctored up was ten times more important than any damn plot to break Jonathan Harriman out of jail.

  Although, in this case, maybe I should say Ethan’s leg since he’s the one who had the lead ball through the meaty part of his calf.

  His fever had come back, too, and when I insisted on removing the rag tied around his wound, I felt sick at what I saw. I began to understand why, as Ethan, he could mention amputation and not be shocked.

  “Oh, m’God.” I tried to smother the exclamation, knowing Caleb could read my expressions as easily as he could the back of a cereal box.

  “Doesn’t look too good, does it?” He sounded professional, dispassionate, so I hoped he’d figured out a substitute for the antibiotic.

  If the red lines radiating from the puckered swelling meant what I thought they did, he needed something fast.

  Much as I’d have liked to disagree, I couldn’t. “You’ve got blood poisoning.” Even I knew people died from septicemia, and from the look of things, this was traveling at break-neck speed through his system.

  “How long ago were you—was Ethan—wounded?” I asked.

  His eyes narrowed as he thought back. “Almost a month ago. At dusk, while riding picket. The shot came from grove of trees across the field from our lines. A random shot.” He sighed. “It could have killed me—him—on the spot. I suppose I was lucky.”

  “Lucky you have such a strong constitution.” The half-healed wound was in the muscular part of his leg, below the back of his knee.

  A large purplish abscess filled the space between the entry and exit sites. I feared that for all his strength the millions of bacteria spreading infection throughout his bloodstream was gaining the upper hand.

  “God, Caleb, you need a doctor right away.”

  He drew in a shuddery breath. “’Fraid so. Be a pal and bring a pot of that water to a boil, will you?” He clenched his teeth as he manipulated the swelling.

  Being busy with other things we had ignored the water Mary had fetched, allowing it to cool. Rather than call Mary back and ask her to reheat it, I poked up the fire, added another chunk of wood and settled the pot of water over the flame.

  “Although what you’re going to do with all this boiling water, I can’t imagine,” I muttered. “Add soap made out of caustic lye and I’m sure you won’t want to get any on yourself.”

  “I’m not going to wash me in it, or maybe only peripherally,” Caleb said. “For starters, what I’m going to wash is a couple of strips of cloth.

  If you’ll tear the tails off my extra shirt, they’ll work just fine. Then drop this knife in and let the water boil for fifteen minutes or so. That ought to take care of any bugs.”

  Of course. Soap and hot water cleanliness is the next best thing to sterility. I should have picked up on that right away. I must be getting lost in this 1811 mind set, forgetting anything so elementary.

  His knife was a wicked looking thing, the approximate size of a small skinning knife. Not your average scalpel, I reflected, dropping it into the pot.

  “Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I see. You’re going to try and drain the abscess and get rid of the infection. I’ve got some clean bandages in my portmanteau, Caleb. Use them rather than tear your good shirt to pieces. I’ve got willow bark, too. Some tea might take your temperature down a bit. That’s the plan anyway. And there’s a powder, something called basilicum powder, wrapped up in a packet that says it is to be dusted over a wound.”

  “What’s it do?”

  “Darned if I know. Want to give it a try?” I fetched Belle’s little medicine box and dug around until I found the bandages. As soon as the pot of water came to a boil, I tossed them in.

  Caleb sniffed at the twist of paper containing the powder that I handed him, shook his head and put it back in the box. He did discover a piece of cotton or woolen cord, which went into the boiling water.

  “Fifteen minutes ought to do the trick, if anything will,” he said.

  “Long enough for me to fill you in on the logistics of Dartmoor prison.”

  “Yes,” I said, though not as eagerly as I would have a while ago. I sat down where I could watch the pot and make sure the water didn’t bubble over and put the fire out. “And I’ve discovered a thing or two which might help. You start, though. You’re bound to know more than I do.”

  Caleb snagged the last of the cold coffee from the pot Mary had brought and gulped the stale liquid like a man dying of thirst. “First of all, I have to admit that cockamamie plan you came up with back at the Black Bull just might work—with a refinement or two.”

  “Oh? Which cockamamie plan do you mean? A or B?” My brows rose in mock innocence.

  Caleb pinched my knee until I yelped.

  “Sassy wench! Mind you, back when I believed military sentries actually have brains in their heads, I scoffed at you, but not after today.

  Tough, brutal boys, these militia. Militia, for God’s sake,” he added in disgust. “They have the honor of guarding the remains of some of Napoleon’s finest regiments—and they’re not only dull-eyed, but also dull-witted and dull of heart.”

  “According to Mary, that’s because they’re Somerset militia.” I smiled at his start of surprise. “I told you I’d been checking my own sources while you were gone.”

  “Is Mary the maid?”

  I nodded. “Her opinion of the militia seems to jibe quite well with yours, by the way.”

  He grimaced. “Sounds as if I might as well have saved my energy riding all the way over to the prison and just stayed here and helped you pump the maid.”

  Never mind his spent energy, I didn’t want to think of the cost to him in pain. “Aside from the quality of soldiers, you must have discovered some usable information. Did you actually enter the prison?”

  “Oh, yes. And met my cousin Jonathan.”

  “You did? Why didn’t you say so? What’s he like?”

  “Just a man, angry at being kept in prison.”

  Well! That wasn’t very informative. I opened my mouth to speak.

  Caleb laid a finger across my lips. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  I nipped at his finger. Someone was a little testy, I surmised, where his cousin was concerned.

  “As I was saying,” he said, ignoring the bite, “the guards are there only to keep the prisoners inside. Anyone who wants can visit, no questions asked. I think you could smuggle in anything smaller than a cannon, if you could just conceal it close to your skin. Might be a trifle harder getting it back out, however.”

  “A trifle harder,” I repeated. “But doable?”

  “I think so. Sergeant O'Malley, from my troop, reported he’d been able to get in and contact Jon twice within the last week.”

  “Sergeant who?” I asked. Caleb dropped this name and information on me with an air of triumph, the magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat.

  “Sergeant O'Malley. He’s my sergeant—or Ethan’s sergeant, if you prefer—from the regiment,” he said. “A very important person in the running of the outfit. O'Malley is my own hand-picked man. He’s been serving me, and the queen, of late, by scouting the possibilities of getting Jon out of prison. The way is prepared. The last step is to execute the plan.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? But…but…”

  Caleb shru
gged and smiled at my confusion. And confused I was, confronted suddenly by a man used to the command of people who had no other function than to serve his will. A man with his own battle plan and the staff to carry it out. Is that what I was? A part of his staff? What part?

  A blaze of anger did not quite burn away my sense of mortification.

  I had forgotten Caleb was also Ethan, and this was his story. I had almost forgotten Belle, buried beneath layers of my own self. Most of all I felt a total fool. A fool whose sense of self-importance had just been shown to be a load of poop she was carrying around. I think that’s what really bugged me.

  “If you have all in hand,” I flashed feeling Belle’s anger, “then what do you need with me? Am I here only to warm your bed?”

  Caleb once more became familiar. “Hey,” he said. “Think about what you just said. That’s unfair and untrue—as you very well know.”

  I looked into his green eyes and knew he wouldn’t lie to me. In whatever way I served, our joining had been between us—man and woman, lovers—and had no part in this plot. The magic between us stood on its own.

  Belle’s words had spewed from my mouth, and although I sympathized with her thinking, I was ashamed I’d let them escape. For my own behalf, I knew better.

  “All right,” I finally said. “I’m sorry. If you only knew…I’ve been racking my brain for days now, thinking this escape depended on my plans, my ideas, and now I find you don’t need me at all. My only function has been to unite you, Caleb and Ethan, into one entity. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. I don’t even know what Belle is doing here!”

  “Don’t you?” Caleb’s voice was soft. “You must know neither of us would be here if it wasn’t for you. I couldn’t have gotten here on my own.”

  “I wish I hadn’t brought you,” I said. “Just look at your leg.”

  Caleb shook his head at me. “Not your fault, Boothenay. There’s no reason to blame yourself.”

  “Well, I do. I should’ve known we’d have problems. And when you remember that we haven’t even gotten to the dangerous part yet, things get downright scary. Anyway,” I said, innate truthfulness rising to the surface, “it’s pretty lowering to discover oneself to be no more than a sidekick to the head honcho.”