The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (13 page)

Baffled, Betsy wiggled a finger in
her ear.
 
Caleb, like Ephraim, sounded
like an uneducated wretch.
 
Peculiar for
a man who was the chess champion of Augusta.

Caleb grinned.
 
"And why shouldn't we live in peace
with Clark?
 
He don't have a splinter up
his arse like some Britons we know.
 
By
the by, Lieutenant Fairfarts — did I get your name right? — I don't recollect
who pleaded for your help."

Betsy fought the urge to hit the
dirt.
 
Clark's gaze skittered between
Fairfax and Caleb.
 
She could tell he
was groping for a way to divert the subject.
 
On the street, five redcoats and three Rangers listened, alert to the
beginnings of an altercation.

But rather than seeing rage climb
in Fairfax's expression at Caleb's slurs, she saw amusement.
 
"Mr. Cochrane, Georgia is a Crown
colony.
 
As representative of the
legitimate government, it's my duty to administer justice.
 
I find no evidence that the fire destroying
Mr. Sheridan's house was accidental.
 
Therefore, someone must be apprehended and punished for committing
arson."

Anguish and astonishment at
Fairfax's announcement spewed Betsy's stomach like slivers of glass.
 
The same blend of emotions rippled Clark's
expression.
 
"Arson,
Lieutenant?
 
What evidence did you find
for arson in a charred wreck like that?"

"It's what I didn't find.
 
Furniture.
 
You had a bed, cupboards, chests, chairs, workbenches for your
shoemaking?"

"Yes, of course we had all
that."

"There's no trace of such in
the debris."

Lucas stirred.
 
"The fire got awful hot,
Lieutenant.
 
Everything probably burned
down to ashes."

"I've seen burned houses
before.
 
Invariably, there's a remnant
of the larger pieces of furniture: the frame of a bed, the leg of a dining
table.
 
None of that is here.
 
Furthermore, I found no metal.
 
No candlesticks, pots, or spoons."

Hair stood up on the back of
Betsy's neck again.
 
"I don't
understand."

Fairfax faced her with eyes
glittering like arctic stars.
 
"Your property was removed before your house was set
ablaze."
 
He gestured north.
 
"It was loaded on a wagon prior to a
rainstorm about four this morning and driven north on that road after the rain,
after your virtually empty house was set afire.
 
Where did the culprit go?
 
Will your possessions turn up?"
 
He eyed Clark.
 
"Did you
participate in the execution of this plan?"

Clark glared at him.
 
"What?
 
You believe I stole my own furniture and set fire to my house?"

"Did you?"

"No!
 
That's ridiculous.
 
Are
you crazy?"

"
Rebels
are crazy."

"Rebels?
 
Surely Adam told you my loyalties."

"Indeed."
 
Fairfax contemplated Clark and Betsy.
 
"A peculiar entity, fire.
 
Almost a god — creator, destroyer.
 
You can obscure evidence with it.
 
A letter from a sea captain, for
example."
 
He needled his gaze on
Betsy.
 
"I know a man who dug up
another man's corpse, dressed it like himself, and set fire to it to make
everyone think he'd been burned at the stake.
 
It allowed him at least two days lead time over his pursuit."

"I'll be damned," said
Lucas.
 
"You're one of the redcoats
who chased my wife's cousins and their father down to Havana."

Caleb scraped his teeth again and
spat something to the outside of Fairfax's other boot.
 
"Havana, eh?
 
Yeah, I figured he didn't get to be the color of a quadroon
chasing Will's broadsides around Georgia."

Ephraim grinned and poked Caleb's
shoulder with camaraderie.
 
"Will's
'Tarleton's Quarter' broadsides.
 
I
wager there's enough of them floating around that Tarleton can clean his
nockhole with them every day.
 
Oh,
pardon my language again, Betsy."

A faint smile curved Fairfax's
lips.
 
"I hear Colonel Tarleton is
flattered by them and collects them for mementos.
 
But let's return to the business at hand.
 
You've each been far more helpful than
you've imagined with this game you've played, pretending ignorance and
stupidity.
 
Cease with the peasant
pageantry and tell me who, beside your families, witnessed the fire."

Tom Alexander.
 
Betsy saw, as Fairfax could not help but
see, momentary widening in the eyes of Ephraim, Caleb, Lucas, and Clark.
 
"Other witnesses?"
 
Ephraim looked away.
 
"There weren't any others.
 
Somebody would have come forward by now if
they'd seen anything."

Fairfax allowed another
discomforting silence to elapse.
 
Then
he motioned them all closer and pitched his voice low.
 
"Obstruction of the king's justice is
an offense of the same magnitude as treason.
 
Each of you is lying to me about this crime.
 
I'm certain none of you wants to end his life on a gibbet.
 
Out with the name of this witness, or I
shall have all of you arrested and interrogated."

"Oh."
 
Ephraim grafted a pleasant smile to his
face.
 
"You'll be wanting to talk
with Tom Alexander, then."

Chapter Ten

EXHAUSTION UNDER ELLIE'S eyes sank
deeper than usual.
 
"Oh, Betsy, I'm
so sorry, dear.
 
Sit and have some hot
chocolate."

Anxious about what would transpire
between Fairfax and Tom, Betsy glanced at Clark, last in the procession
upstairs.
 
"Let me make sure Tom's
all right first."

Ephraim introduced Tom to Fairfax
as she slipped in the room upstairs.
 
Propped with pillows, Tom lay on the bed Jeb shared with his
brothers.
 
His cheeks colored at the
sight of Betsy.

"Relax, son."
 
Tom's widowed mother, Rose, shoved faded
sandy-colored hair back beneath her mobcap, dampened a cloth in a basin, and
dabbed his forehead with it.
 
"Doctor says he can come home tonight.
 
I never thought I'd be thankful for Tom's hard head.
 
He doesn't ever give up, bless his
heart."

Across the room, Fairfax inspected
the occupants: Rose, Ephraim, Adam, Clark.
 
When his gaze found Betsy, it swept back and forth between her and Tom,
flustering her, so she shifted close to Clark.
 
Fairfax nodded to Rose.
 
"Indeed, he's fortunate to have survived.
 
I'm curious about the incident and have a few questions about Mr.
Alexander's head injury."

"Oh, now, that can wait until
the morrow, after he's had a good night's sleep."
 
Rose fanned a fly off Tom's brow.

"No, I leave for South
Carolina on the morrow."

"You're probably going to ask
the same questions the soldiers asked him at noon today."

"Madam, if you would be so
kind as to step outside —"

"I will not."
 
Rose bristled.
 
"I won't have you tiring my boy."

"Mama."
 
Tom grasped her wrist.
 
"Let him speak."

After Tom released her, Rose
dropped the cloth in the basin and stood, glowering at Fairfax.
 
"Thank heaven
most
soldiers
aren't obnoxious."
 
She swept out
on a whiff of poultice.

Tom sighed, eyes closed.
 
"I'm not feeling well this moment,
Lieutenant, so I will appreciate your being quick about it."

Fairfax stationed himself beside
the basin.
 
Tom blinked his eyes
open.
 
Betsy watched Fairfax's icy gaze
reach out and clutch Tom by the throat.
 
Anxiety puckered the skin on her arms and neck.

"Mr. Alexander, what is your
relationship with Mr. Sheridan?"

"I'm his apprentice."

"For how long?"

"Four years."

"And how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"He says you're an early
riser.
 
What time do you usually arrive
for work at the shop?"

"Around seven."

An awkward, sickening silence fell
over the room, the silence that evolves when a yawning metal trap has been
baited and left to do its business.
 
Tom
stared at the foot of the bed, tense against the pillow.
 
Fairfax's gaze swept the length of him.
 
"What time did you arrive at the
Sheridans' house this past Tuesday morning?"

Tom wrinkled his brow,
remembering.
 
"That would have been
about the usual time.
 
Seven
o'clock."

"Was something amiss that
morning?"

"Why, yes, someone had
—"
 
Tom broke off and darted a look
at Clark before returning his stare to the foot of the bed.
 
"There was a slur painted red across
the front of their house."

"What slur?"

"It said 'Tory Scum.'"

"And you were the first person
to notice it, just as you were, supposedly, the first person to arrive on the
scene of arson this morning."

Clark stirred.
 
"Now see here, Lieutenant.
 
Tom had nothing to do with either
incident.
 
I'd stake my life on
it."

"What makes you so
certain?"

"I know him.
 
And besides, he's a political neutral."

Fairfax's gaze slithered over to
Betsy.
 
She diverted her attention
elsewhere, away from a frigid smile that toyed with her again.
 
The lieutenant said, "A neutral.
 
Another
neutral.
 
Peculiar.
 
Here in Augusta, but nowhere else in the colonies, we have happy Whigs
living alongside happy Loyals with happy neutrals wending through their midst.
 
I'd inform His Majesty that the Garden of
Eden exists in the Georgia colony but for some disgruntled serpent with a love
of red paint and, two days later, a love of arson."

He paced before the window, three
steps across and three steps back.
 
"Mr. Alexander, what time did you arrive at the Sheridans' house
this morning?"

"A little after four."

"How little after four?"

"I — uh — maybe
four-twenty.
 
Four-thirty."

"And the occasion for such an
early arrival?"

"I woke during a thunderstorm
and couldn't get back to sleep, so I went to collect eggs from the Sheridans'
hens."

"It was dark at four-thirty in
the morning.
 
You took a lantern?
 
Good.
 
What did you see when you arrived?"

Betsy, noting that Tom's lips
sealed, realized he'd seen
something
.
 
She also knew Fairfax had marked the tightening of Tom's lips.
 
She could almost hear hinges in the trap
groaning and quivering, eager to be sprung.

Tom fingered the upper back of his
head and winced, still studying the end of the bed.
 
"This is where my memory goes fuzzy.
 
I walked into the yard, and something heavy
fell on me.
 
A limb, I reckon.
 
The next thing I knew, Mrs. Sweeney and Mrs.
Cochrane were standing over me, and people were shouting and running about, and
the Sheridans' house was afire."

Another uncomfortable,
Fairfax-induced silence ensued while the lieutenant's gaze roamed Tom's
clothing and profile.
 
"Were you
injured anywhere beside your head, Mr. Alexander?"

"No."

"Any bruises or scratches on
your shoulders, neck, or arms?"

"No."

"And that's the clothing you
were wearing this morning when you were knocked out.
 
Allow me a look at that knot on your head.
 
Here is where you were hit?
 
Ah, yes."
 
Fairfax fingered the back of his own head.
 
"I know exactly how much that must pain
you."
 
He meandered to the other
side of the room, turned about, and faced Tom, triumphant.
 
"Let's go over this again.
 
What did you see when you arrived at the
Sheridans' house this morning at approximately four-thirty?"