The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (45 page)

His expression thoughtful, Tom
paced their room.
 
"I don't
know.
 
If Branwell and van Duser bilked
me of my fortune, I'd shoot them.
 
I'd shoot
the bodyguards, too.
 
But slitting
someone's throat or hacking him up — Jesus, you have to touch the person you're
killing."
 
His face screwed
up.
 
"Maybe even enjoy your
victim's agony.
 
That's twisted."

I shall grant you a thirty-second
lead before I hunt you down
.
 
Betsy gulped, drawing
Tom's attention.
 
"Josiah Carter
has a packhorse to sell us at a reduced rate."

"A packhorse?"
 
Tension on his face smoothing, Tom sat and
wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
 
"Wonderful news.
 
We'll
inspect it —"

"This weekend.
 
I already made an appointment."

He seemed surprised but
gratified.
 
"Well, then, we may be
able to get out of here in a couple of weeks."

Desperate to find sense in the
madness, her brain tacked together a story.
 
Fairfax's superior officers had granted him special dispensation to hunt
the Ambrose ring, unaware that he was spying for the Continentals.
 
Then the Ambrose ring had double-crossed
Fairfax.

No, that didn't feel right.
 
She couldn't believe that Fairfax was spying
for the Continentals, but she knew he was hunting the spies.
 
And even if van Duser had lost consciousness
before divulging details of her residence at the Leaping Stag, Fairfax would
uncover all that when he went to work on Abel.
 
She knew nothing to aid his hunt, but he might not be convinced until
he'd mutilated her.
 
Her shoulders
sagged.
 
"I want to be gone before
an attempt is made on Abel," she whispered.

"I do, too.
 
But if your mother's detained meeting you at
Mulberry Creek, you mustn't go without food.
 
You have that baby to think about."

"It's too dangerous for us to
stay here."

He grasped her shoulders.
 
"Sweet Betsy, I want to give us the
best odds possible."

Knots of fear lodged in her stomach
— not just fear for herself, but for Tom.
 
For the first time since coming to Camden, she couldn't see the two of
them as separate.
 
They were a unit,
exquisitely vulnerable for having become a much larger target than two
individuals.
 
Tom's emotions played into
her decisions, and her emotions played into his, and she was no longer certain
that two heads were thinking better than one.

The intimacy that evening had
skewed their ability to think.
 
In
retrospect, she realized the timing couldn't have been worse for initiating the
physical relationship.
 
But how could
she have known, never having experienced with her husband the tenderness and
connection she'd found with Tom?
 
For
his safety and hers, she must disentangle her emotions and return to a state
where she could reason again.

He frowned.
 
"Why do I get the feeling you know
more?"

She shook her head.
 
"I'm just as stunned as you are."

"But you're acting as though
van Duser's murderer is coming for you next, not Abel."
 
Shock slapped his expression.
 
He leaped up.
 
"It wasn't a blackmail victim who got van Duser.
 
It was Lieutenant Fairfax!
 
I don't know why I didn't see it
before."
 
He stared at her and
lowered his voice in horror.
 
"Betsy, tell me you didn't let him know about van Duser Tuesday
night.
 
Oh, no.
 
Oh, heavens, no."
 
Tom began pacing the room again.

Her lower lip quivered.
 
"The Ambrose ring ruined my life!"

"You've made an avenging angel
of a fiend.
 
Oh, gods, I don't know why
he didn't torture and kill you."

"He never saw me.
 
I slipped him a note that informed him of
the connection between van Duser and the stolen furniture."

"Lovely.
 
Now he has a sample of your
handwriting."

She stood and squared her
shoulders.
 
"No.
 
He's no idea who sent the note, for I
printed it on Mr. Harker's press."

Tom stomped back over to her,
gripped her wrist, and waved her fingers in her face.
 
"Ink on your hands!
 
You're a St. James, for god's sake.
 
Printing runs in your blood.
 
All
Fairfax has to do is ask Harker who helps him with the printing!"

"But do you think he'll care
who informed him if he can destroy the Ambrose spy ring?"

"He won't leave the sack
untied.
 
Sooner or later, he'll come for
you."

She bit her lip.
 
"We'll be gone by then."

"What's to stop him from
tracking us?
 
You've put your mother at
risk, too."
 
He released her.
 
"What luck the Fates have handed
Fairfax.
 
The blackmail scam will yield
easy motives and suspects for murder.
 
Two armies are squaring off north of Camden, so it might be months
before all suspects are cleared and the investigation probes elsewhere.
 
Fairfax will have moved on, transferred out
so he can seek new victims.
 
That's what
happened after he murdered the Spaniard in Alton back in June."

"The British will notice the
trail of bodies after him."
 
In
attempt to console herself, Betsy envisioned Stoddard's raptor eyes.
 
But the thought failed to comfort her.

"He's murdered enemies of the
king.
 
He's doing Britain a favor.
 
They may pretend it isn't happening.
 
But we don't know what threshold of
suspicion confirms us as enemies in his mind.
 
And we dare not let him know we suspect him of any murders."

She wrung her apron between her
hands, wondering why she hadn't considered all that before Tuesday night.
 
"I'm so sorry."

"Save your apologies for Clark
if you ever see him again.
 
If he's
fortunate, he'll die on his next assignment, and Fairfax won't be able to
torture out his confession of treason."

He flopped on the edge of the bed,
propped elbows on knees, and put his head in his hands.
 
She remained standing.
 
"If letting Fairfax know about van
Duser was a mistake, our making love this afternoon magnified the mistake
tenfold."

His voice emerged dull.
 
"How so?"

"We've forgotten how to reason
together."

He looked up at her, his expression
plaintive, then reached for her hand.
 
"I apologize for saying that about Clark just now.
 
It's just that I'm so concerned for you.
 
Good god, I've never been so concerned for
anyone before."

"Don't you see?
 
Lovemaking clouded our judgment.
 
We were thinking more clearly before."

His shoulders drooped.
 
"You're right.
 
We were."

Fresh in her memory, she tasted his
kiss, felt his tongue encircle her breasts, and saw the glisten of sweat on his
skin.
 
The corners of her mouth tugged
downward in mourning.
 
"We must put
it aside until we're safely away from here."

Irony speared his expression.
 
"An excellent way of coercing me to
leave sooner."
 
He managed a
lopsided grin.
 
"I might have known
I wouldn't be so lucky as to not sleep on the floor again."

***

Nothing else of van Duser was
found.
 
Investigators hunting for a
motive questioned anyone with a connection to him or the Branwells.
 
Abel remained closed in his room babbling.
 
His doctor convinced the redcoats that he'd
been driven mad and might never relate to humans again.

From her cousin's haggard
appearance, Betsy deduced she knew little of the Ambrose spy ring.
 
Four days of interrogation persuaded Emma to
spill the truth of her affair with Josiah Carter.
 
The plantation owner's alibi was solid, and he named other
victims.
 
As Tom predicted, the
investigation exploded with suspects and nary a whisper of Fairfax's name.
 
The blackmail scam provided Lieutenant
Fairfax with the perfect cover for his activities.

The redcoats pulled resources off
the murder investigation after reports filtered in on the seventh of August
that the Continental Army had entered South Carolina.
 
Cornwallis remained in Charles Town, so a resigned and courageous
Lord Rawdon headed out to intercept Gates's multitude with fewer than a
thousand men.
 
By Tuesday August eighth,
the exodus of residents down Broad Street was commonplace.
 
Even Frank Harker lost his ebullience.
 
Although he insisted they'd print the paper,
he wasn't eager to stand up to a mob invading the town.

That evening while eating supper,
Betsy realized five days had passed since the severed hand.
 
No move had been made on Abel.
 
Another week more, and she and Tom could
slip from Camden.

With no direct route to Ninety Six,
they'd parallel the Wateree River on a northwest road through territory of the
friendly Catawba Indians, thus giving pursuit the impression they were headed
for Charlotte Town, North Carolina.
 
The
route entailed backtracking, hence Tom's adamancy that they build up provisions.
 
Betsy appreciated his sense.
 
Joshua had been right weeks ago about Tom: a
good ally and friend, a man with a head for clear thinking.

For a moment, she recalled her
final night with Clark in the O'Neals' house.
 
Memory of it had haunted her weeks before, made her question if she'd
contributed to his decisions.
 
But the
meeting in Log Town brought her a reckoning with her own insecurity.
 
Deep inside, she'd never trusted him, never
believed he'd come through for her.
 
Insecurity had motivated her to follow him to Camden, as if by sheer
proximity she could force him to assume responsibility.

But she understood that she
couldn't change Clark and from the closed door in her heart knew she'd also
passed beyond holding a grudge against him.
 
Perhaps the Fates would extricate him from the mire they'd both created,
but she wasn't sure she'd be able to settle with him before she left Camden.

Daughter, I sense a great
restlessness in you, a fear.
 
Beyond
getting acquainted with your father, what is your reason for seeking him?
 
Laughing Eyes had comprehended Betsy's desire to find a blood
father.
 
For unless Betsy did so, a
crisis might prevent her from providing for her child through her skill with
the printing press.
 
With blood kin to
support her, she had a chance of raising her child to respectable
adulthood.
 
Will St. James had helped
Sophie in just such a way.
 
Was
half-Creek Mathias Hale such a father?

Boots scuffed in the doorway to the
common room.
 
"Where may a good
sholdier phiss?"

Betsy started at the doorway, where
a besotted soldier fumbled with the buttons on his breeches.
 
Hattie marched over waving her apron and
scowling.
 
"You goes out th' door
on the other side of th' tavern, sir, and the house o' easement is just
outside."
 
The soldier staggered
back into the common room, and Hattie crossed her arms in annoyance.
 
"Been like dat all night.
 
Had t' chase one officer off these here
stairs 'bout an hour ago.
 
Turn my back
for a second, an' in they wanders.
 
Hrumph."

Emma burst into the dining room,
her pampered and glamorous appearance spoiled by five days of investigators'
questions and tavern maintenance.
 
"Betsy, there's a wine spill across the bed in number two.
 
We must have clean sheets."

Betsy swallowed ale and
nodded.
 
"As soon as I —"

"Are you deaf?
 
Do it
now
!"