Read Online The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Suzanne Adair
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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
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
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