Fields of Fire (8 page)

She didn’t like the implication in his voice, nor the suggestive sparkle in his eyes, but she needed him on her side. “Aye,” she answered without so much as a blink. That is, if it doesn’t interfere with my plans to exonerate James.

“If you’re up to it, I’d like you to show me around the distillery. I particularly want to see where the accident happened.”

She hadn’t been to any part of the distillery since she returned home. Somehow, the whole operation had now become something evil that had stolen her brother away from her. Sooner or later, she would have to face it; otherwise, the tragedy would continue to haunt her. An odd sensation passed over her as if James was encouraging her to act on her instincts.

“If it’s too painful for you, you don’t have to come with me. I can find my way.”

“Nay, I’ll be fine.” She needed to be there, to see his reactions to everything—and to discourage his doubts and suspicions, and hopefully, stay one step ahead of him until she could answer some of her own questions.

“Let me tell Margaret, and we’ll be off.” She scurried from the parlor towards the double doors beyond the staircase.

He followed her back as far as the entryway. “I’ll wait for you outdoors.”

* * * *

Jalene started at the beginning. First, they visited the malt house where controlled germination and drying took place. She introduced Taylor to Tom, who continued working despite the shut-down, saying it made no sense to let good barley go to waste. They watched Tom on the malting floor as he turned over the barley with wooden implements, to prevent the bottom layers of grain from being smothered. Next, she took Taylor to the mash house where he could see how the ground malt was mixed with warm water in a large cylindrical container. She explained that the liquid, or wort, that was drained off here would be used in fermentation.

Since both fermentation and distillation took place in the mash house as well, she simply led him along from one process to the next. She explained how, in the large circular fermentation tanks, the added yeast would convert the malt sugar to alcohol. The resulting wash would be heated in the stills to separate the alcohol from the water. The final clear liquid would be stored in oak casks for maturation.

She studied Taylor, who was busy taking in his surroundings. She knew he must have understood all about the process of making whiskey, considering he worked for the Revenue Service investigating distilleries. Yet, he asked questions and politely listened to her at each stage of the tour. Unable to tell though, what his impressions were of the distillery so far, she finally asked him point blankly, “What do you think?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” he replied, serious and businesslike. “Also, it’s one of the cleanest operations I’ve ever seen. But it’s odd to view a distillery that has been shut down. The quiet gives one an eerie feeling.”

She flashed him a smile, beaming with pride at his comments. “I’m glad you find it so, and I understand what you mean about it being quiet. Usually the distillery is operating.” She sighed in despair. “Come, I’ll take you to the storehouse.”

They crossed the yard to a white oblong building with a lean-to roof. Baskets of flowers lined the short walk up to the threshold, commemorating the place of James’s death. She turned from the sight and covered her mouth with one hand to smother a sob. She was touched that the workers had done this because they cared so much for James.

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Sorry. Had I known they ... Why don’t you go back to the house? I’ll go inside alone.”

“It’s all right. Truly.” She smeared the tears on her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I have to accept it. I can’t hide from this forever.”

Poised and ready now, she walked to the door and unlatched it. It creaked as it swung wide, allowing the daylight to illuminate the casks stacked along the opposite wall. The familiar smell of damp earth and whiskey assailed her. She stepped inside and reached for a lantern that sat on a wooden table located by the door. After she lit the lamp and adjusted the wick, she moved further inside and raised the lantern so Taylor could see more of the storehouse. She watched him study the neat rows of oak barrels stacked almost to the ceiling and down the length of the room. When she turned to lead the way, he stopped her.

“Wait,” he said, taking command. “Before we continue, let me check that the remaining casks are secure.” He took the lantern from her and raised it above and below the end brace that supported the stack of barrels in the first row nearest the ceiling. Satisfied, he motioned to her to move further along until they reached the end of the row.

She stared for a moment at the straw-covered ground. There was no evidence of the tragedy. She stared up at the empty space on the end where an oak cask obviously had rested, and said, “Of course, I didn’t actually see what happened—no one did—but from what I understand, this is where one of the casks slipped and landed on James. It broke his neck.” She folded her arms across her chest, her mouth now set in a grim line.

“Here, hold this.” He handed her the lantern, and carefully climbed his way to the top row of barrels, testing his footing on each cask before he allowed his full weight to come down.

At the top, where the cask had broken loose, he ran his hands along what remained of the wood bracket support, and then felt in and around the barrels. Apparently dissatisfied, he made his way back down to a point where he could jump the rest of the way. He kneeled down near the bottom cask and raked the straw with his fingers.

“What are you looking for?” she finally asked. He stood up and extended the palm of his hand. “This.”

“What is that?” From his palm she picked up what looked like a three-inch stick, and inspected it.

“It’s a wooden peg used to hold in place the cross support bracket which keeps the end barrels from rolling should they move during unloading.”

She twirled the peg between her thumb and fingers. “And ...?”

He tugged at the brackets along the front of the lower casks. “This explains how the cask moved.”

“You’re saying—this plug accidentally popped out causing the support to become loose. When the cask moved, it easily broke through the wood.”

“Aye, but it wasn’t an accident,” he stated, taking the peg from her.

“You think someone intentionally removed the peg?” She shook her head sideways refusing to believe the suggestion. The men liked and respected James.

“Exactly. These pegs don’t work themselves loose. Someone had to pop it out far enough so when the barrel was pushed ...”

“Pushed?” she interrupted. “You think someone pushed the cask on him as well? Nay. I can’t believe that.”

She massaged her temples in an attempt to alleviate the sudden pounding.

“There’s no way this cask moved by itself, Jalene. One hard shove and it could easily break through the support.” He undid the first few buttons of his uniform and tucked the peg into a pocket. “Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to work the peg loose. The cask must have been pushed.”

Her stomach turned and her heartbeat quickened at his implication. “Who? Why?”

“I might ask you the same. Who would want James dead and why? Someone must have been afraid of something he might say or do—someone who had something to hide, or smuggle perhaps.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

Dumbfounded, she digested the idea. It made more sense. Hadn’t she herself questioned how such an accident could have happened?

“Then this proves James is innocent,” she said hopefully.

He lightly placed his hand on her back to guide her towards the door. “I know you’d like to believe that, but it’s not necessarily the case.”

“Damn you.” She stopped and stamped her foot, unsure which burned her more, his touch or his words. “Why are you always so quick to think the worst?”

“I’ve seen this all before. Half the time the woman is behind the man, encouraging the crime.”

“So after all this, you still think the worst of my brother, and consider me suspect.” Remembering Wil’s accusations concerning James’s smuggling, she prayed her own doubts didn’t show on her face.

“Your latest actions haven’t led me to believe otherwise.” He touched her elbow in an attempt to guide her again, but she moved away. “I win you your freedom from that hell hole of a prison cell only to have you shoot at me and flee at the first opportunity, and you stand there pointing the accusing finger at me.” He pointed his finger at her, to display his anger. “Don’t play me the fool, Jalene. I knew that dueling pistol wasn’t loaded, because the pair was my father’s gift to me. I never keep a loaded pistol on hand, but you didn’t know that when you fired it at me.”

“Regardless, it was an accident. I had no intention of using it on you or anyone else.” Her words did not alter the skeptical look on his face. She threw her hands up in frustration. “Think what you will. But what are we going to do now?”

“Aye, that I’ll do for sure and it’s not we, but me. I want to question the person who found James.”

“That would be Tom, our maltsman, whom you’ve already met.” Thankful to change the subject, she eagerly volunteered the information and let pass his reference to handling the situation alone. She had no intention of letting him do so. “Although Tom is in charge of the malting, he also makes a final inspection of the entire operation before he retires each day.”

“I’ll go talk with him. Meanwhile, prepare to leave for my estates.”

Open-mouthed, she watched him strut off. He ordered her as one accustomed to having his instructions followed. Nevertheless, she ventured to oppose him, and not because she didn’t want to cooperate. She knew Margaret needed her.

“I can’t leave Margaret alone at a time like this,” she yelled after him.

He continued walking, leaving her to stare at his back and the arrogant posture of his broad shoulders. She glanced lower. A vision of his fuzzy, yet firm posterior came to her, and she wondered what it would feel like to ... Even as her stomach fluttered, she questioned the sanity of such thoughts, and yelled louder. “I won’t go with you.”

He abruptly turned about and came striding across the dry yard towards her, raising dust with every angry footfall.

She stepped backwards as he neared her with his fists clenched at his sides, and fury in his eyes like she’d never seen.

“You may have the body of a woman ...” He eyed her up and down in both an appreciative and insulting manner, “but you’re as naive as a wee lass. Don’t you understand, your sister-in-law must leave as well? The person who killed James has no idea what he may or may not have told both of you. And you seem to be forgetting our friend Donnegan. Your very presence here puts Margaret and the twins in danger on that account alone. Use your head, woman!” He gestured to his own head and stomped back towards the malt house, with the dust cloud following him.

She glared at his departing form until her mouth decided to work. She shouted across the yard. “That was unfair! I bet you drown kittens and kick babies, too!”

He never glanced back, or broke his stride. In a huff, she trudged back to the house. Maybe the mighty Captain Traynor could keep his wits about him under any circumstances, but he was not going to make her feel like an imbecile for being totally engrossed in her grief. Yet, he was right about the danger, and if it weren’t for this infuriating fact, she knew his insensitive remarks concerning her mental powers would have offended her.

The last thing she wanted was for harm to come to anyone because of her. She would talk to Margaret and see to her and the twins’ safety before leaving for Knights’ Head with Taylor. Once settled on his estates, she would use him as a means to find her brother’s murderer and achieve her goal of exonerating James and Blackwater Distillery. She smiled in satisfaction. She’d use her head all right, and more, if necessary.

Chapter 6

From outside the carriage window, Jalene watched Margaret withdraw a handkerchief from the embroidered satchel on the seat at her side and dab at the tears that formed in her eyes. Jalene moved away from the vehicle, and felt a lump forming in her own throat.

“Are ye ready?” the driver asked.

“Aye.” Jalene gave one last wave to the carriage as it began to ramble off. She sighed heavily, thankful that Margaret had agreed to take the twins to visit relatives in Scotland. Although Taylor had told Jalene—for safety reasons—not to disclose the whereabouts of his estates to anyone, she assured Margaret that she would stay in touch. This, and Jalene’s promise that she would find James’s murderer, perked up Margaret’s spirits. Jalene stared after the carriage until it turned out of sight.

“Everything is prepared for our departure.”

She spun around at the sound of Taylor’s voice. He no longer wore the military uniform he’d first arrived in. Rather, he looked urbane, dressed in a black semi-circular riding cloak and boots that covered the knees of his breeches. Her pulse reacted to his commanding presence. She placed the palm of her hand against her stomach knowing the gesture would not cease the fluttering there.

“How much longer until you’re ready? It’s nearly one o’clock. As it is, we’ll be riding until dusk.” Taylor impatiently flapped his riding gloves against his hand.

Since the morning when he’d decreed they leave Sorrel House immediately, they’d barely spoke to each other, in their rush to depart. Although she was still annoyed with him, she was not about to let him think his words still affected her. Instead, she’d use them as the impetus to achieve her goal. She politely answered, “Let me give Tom some final instructions before we leave.”

He nodded and marched towards his mount, near the carriage he had brought with him to Sorrel House. A cool, July breeze blew a strand of hair in her face. She brushed it away and took a deep breath, all too aware of how the fluttering in her stomach faded as he stepped away from her.

* * * *

Jalene relaxed and swayed with the rocking of the carriage as it made its way along the road. Had she not been so uncertain about the future and her stay at Knights’ Head, she would have been delighted to travel along the peaceful countryside. She was watching the smoke rise from a cottage chimney, when Taylor, who had been riding behind the carriage, passed by the window on his way to the horse and driver in front. As she peered outside, she was struck by the similarities between the man and his mount.