Read Online Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzanne Adair
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Embarrassment became wariness. Her head throbbed.
"Since the Chronicle doesn't employ Samuel Kerr, Mr. Badley lied to you and is up
to something. Since Silas Chiswell died
nine years ago — suicide, wasn't it, tragic, my stepfather was also a suicide —
that gentleman's hat couldn't have been Mr. Chiswell's, and you lied to
me. I've serious doubts about exposing
Colonel Tarleton to such a formidable pack of liars."
Of course he
hadn't ceased hunting David St. James. She glared at him. "By all
means, poke your snout into Badley's affairs and dig up filth about him. It appears that's the only way you'll be
satisfied as to my innocence."
Mockery hovered
on Fairfax's mouth. "No love lost
between you and Badley. How long have
you danced this minuet — nine years?"
She sighed and
faced him. He stopped walking,
expectation supplanting the sarcasm on his face. The men halted the horses. She lowered her voice. "Cease snooping into my life."
"I cannot
help myself. As I said, you intrigue
me." He flashed his teeth.
She felt a
sneer curl her lips. "Oh,
poppycock."
"And
there's something tantalizingly familiar about you."
Oh, no, he
recognized her from Wiltshire. Dread
pressed her chest. "Why not be
helpful instead of boorish and repair the damage your man did to my study
window?"
"Damage?" Fairfax sounded puzzled.
Ire added to
the weight on her chest. "Your man
forced the window open from the outside during the search this morning. He broke the latch and tracked mud on the
floor." Exasperated, she flung up
her hands. "Don't you see? I cannot secure my own home until a
carpenter repairs the damage. You and
your ruffians are responsible."
A furrow
appeared between Fairfax's eyebrows. At
that moment, she realized she'd told him unexpected information; his man hadn't
admitted an act of vandalism. Fairfax
didn't know everything . Some of
the tightness in her chest eased.
After a
sideways glance at his men, he returned a thoughtful expression to her and
fished around in his purse. "Madam, my sincere apologies. I was unaware. Allow me to
compensate you." He held out a
sovereign. "Please inform me if
you require more."
"Thank
you. Good day." Snatching the coin, she strode down Market
Street, relieved that he didn't follow.
Concerned over
David, baffled how to break the news to Enid that she'd be spending weeks in
the company of Fairfax, Helen arrived home to a quiet house. Presuming Enid had stepped out to market,
she mounted the stairs to her bedroom and hid her new cache, including
Fairfax's sovereign, in several wall panels that Silas designed. When she glanced out the window, she spotted
Enid kneeling in the garden, her shoulders slumped. Was she weeping?
She hurried
downstairs and out the back door. The
servant lifted a grief-blotched face, and the realization that she was sitting
before her shrine to her most beloved goddess, Rhiannon, shot dread through
Helen. Ah, no. "Enid, whatever is wrong?"
Enid wrung her hands. "Charles has been murdered." Welsh accent wrapped her tongue.
"Murdered?" Helen's knees gave way, and she sank beside
Enid. Peculiar noises issued from the
back of her throat, as if her larynx had been paralyzed, and the garden tinted
gray. It couldn't be true.
Enid
snuffled. "Someone shot him in the
head. The Morrises' washerwoman, Molly,
came by a quarter hour ago to say they'd found his body at the wharf."
Charles had
been the closest person to a caring parent Helen had known. Through her mind flashed images of him as
she'd last seen him, pale and worried. And the butler's final words, conveyed by David. They'll kill Madam if they find it .
Loss and horror
compressed her lungs. She gripped
Enid's quivering shoulder. "I'm so
sorry! I know how much you loved him,
and — and — who would do such a thing to a good, kind man like
Charles?" But
"Since the Chronicle doesn't employ Samuel Kerr, Mr. Badley lied to you and is up
to something. Since Silas Chiswell died
nine years ago — suicide, wasn't it, tragic, my stepfather was also a suicide —
that gentleman's hat couldn't have been Mr. Chiswell's, and you lied to
me. I've serious doubts about exposing
Colonel Tarleton to such a formidable pack of liars."
Of course he
hadn't ceased hunting David St. James. She glared at him. "By all
means, poke your snout into Badley's affairs and dig up filth about him. It appears that's the only way you'll be
satisfied as to my innocence."
Mockery hovered
on Fairfax's mouth. "No love lost
between you and Badley. How long have
you danced this minuet — nine years?"
She sighed and
faced him. He stopped walking,
expectation supplanting the sarcasm on his face. The men halted the horses. She lowered her voice. "Cease snooping into my life."
"I cannot
help myself. As I said, you intrigue
me." He flashed his teeth.
She felt a
sneer curl her lips. "Oh,
poppycock."
"And
there's something tantalizingly familiar about you."
Oh, no, he
recognized her from Wiltshire. Dread
pressed her chest. "Why not be
helpful instead of boorish and repair the damage your man did to my study
window?"
"Damage?" Fairfax sounded puzzled.
Ire added to
the weight on her chest. "Your man
forced the window open from the outside during the search this morning. He broke the latch and tracked mud on the
floor." Exasperated, she flung up
her hands. "Don't you see? I cannot secure my own home until a
carpenter repairs the damage. You and
your ruffians are responsible."
A furrow
appeared between Fairfax's eyebrows. At
that moment, she realized she'd told him unexpected information; his man hadn't
admitted an act of vandalism. Fairfax
didn't know everything . Some of
the tightness in her chest eased.
After a
sideways glance at his men, he returned a thoughtful expression to her and
fished around in his purse. "Madam, my sincere apologies. I was unaware. Allow me to
compensate you." He held out a
sovereign. "Please inform me if
you require more."
"Thank
you. Good day." Snatching the coin, she strode down Market
Street, relieved that he didn't follow.
Concerned over
David, baffled how to break the news to Enid that she'd be spending weeks in
the company of Fairfax, Helen arrived home to a quiet house. Presuming Enid had stepped out to market,
she mounted the stairs to her bedroom and hid her new cache, including
Fairfax's sovereign, in several wall panels that Silas designed. When she glanced out the window, she spotted
Enid kneeling in the garden, her shoulders slumped. Was she weeping?
She hurried
downstairs and out the back door. The
servant lifted a grief-blotched face, and the realization that she was sitting
before her shrine to her most beloved goddess, Rhiannon, shot dread through
Helen. Ah, no. "Enid, whatever is wrong?"
Enid wrung her hands. "Charles has been murdered." Welsh accent wrapped her tongue.
"Murdered?" Helen's knees gave way, and she sank beside
Enid. Peculiar noises issued from the
back of her throat, as if her larynx had been paralyzed, and the garden tinted
gray. It couldn't be true.
Enid
snuffled. "Someone shot him in the
head. The Morrises' washerwoman, Molly,
came by a quarter hour ago to say they'd found his body at the wharf."
Charles had
been the closest person to a caring parent Helen had known. Through her mind flashed images of him as
she'd last seen him, pale and worried. And the butler's final words, conveyed by David. They'll kill Madam if they find it .
Loss and horror
compressed her lungs. She gripped
Enid's quivering shoulder. "I'm so
sorry! I know how much you loved him,
and — and — who would do such a thing to a good, kind man like
Charles?" But
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