Rogue's Home (8 page)

“Ah, but that was when you outranked him, Max,” Worthington said comfortably. “I may not be an educated man, but I've traded from Landsend to D'vorin, and I've seen his sort before. Besides, you were a better judicar than he'll ever be, and he knows it.”

His voice grew gentle on the last words, but even so an uncomfortable silence fell. Someone should have found a tactful way to break it, but I wasn't feeling tactful—at least, not toward Max.

“Is Thrope the one who got your job?”

“The town had to appoint someone.” Maxwell sounded resigned. “And Thrope was best qualified. I hold no grudges. Frankly, I'm lucky I didn't end up before my fellow judicars.”

Anna's hand shot out to cover his. “No one believed you were guilty, my dear. It was just that the scandal was so great, the town couldn't keep employing you.”

“That's not precisely true,” said Maxwell dryly. “They didn't think it was just to convict me on the evidence of
a woman who couldn't be questioned. And I had friends. Have friends,” he amended, smiling at Worthington. “A few of them haven't deserted me.”

He turned to me so suddenly, I was startled. “I don't know if you've been told, Fisk, for Anna didn't know this when she wrote to you, but Councilman Sawyer came to see me the other day. He's councilman for the Ropers' Guild,” he added to Michael. “I worked for the ropers as a clerk before my appointment to judicar. Sawyer said that they couldn't disregard the scandal, but if any doubt could be cast on the evidence against me, he'd hire me back in my old capacity.”

“As a clerk?” Worthington's mouth was tight. “That's a cursed insult, Max.”

“On the contrary, it's a generous gesture of trust and a good position. I started my legal career as the notary in charge of the ropers' charities.”

“You were about to be appointed to the governing
board
of the ropers' charities,” said Anna. “Ben is right. It's an insult, even if Sawyer means well.”

“I am on that board,” said Worthington glumly. “Believe me, you're not missing anything.”

But no one believed him, and the silence that fell this time was even more awkward. It was Trimmer who broke it. “Mistress? Mrs. Trimmer is ready to put the children to bed, if you'd like to see them now.”

Children? Nobody'd said a word about children.

Mrs. Trimmer led them in, and what followed seemed to be an evening ritual, for the boy went straight to Anna and scrambled onto her lap while the girl went her father. They both wore nightgowns, with bed robes over them and thick woolen stockings, but there the similarity ended. The boy, perhaps two, was the younger, with his father's serious gray eyes and thin face. He cuddled against Anna and looked at the rest of us curiously, but he was hardly noticeable with his sister present. Where had she come by that hair?

It was redder than a copper pot, and it roared around her freckled cheeks like a nimbus of flame. Hair darkens as a person grows older—my mother's chestnut hair might have been that color once. But frankly, my first thought was to wonder if Annie had played Maxwell false, and I
knew
she wasn't the type. Still, I hoped old Max had a trusting nature.

It seemed he did, for the girl climbed into his lap as if she owned it. “Mrs. Trimmer made me play with dolls
all
afternoon, Papa, and I don't want to tomorrow, so you tell her to stop. I want to go all the way to the marish for holly, and
not
buy it in the market, 'cause that's boring. And I want maple cakes for breakfast and
not
porridge.”

I choked on a laugh and began to cough, and her determined gaze turned to me. “Who's that?”

“This is your Uncle Fisk.” Max was clearly relieved to put off dealing with the rebellion for a moment. “He's going to stay with us for a while, along with his friend, Master Sevenson. Say how do you do, Becca.”

“Howdoyoudo.” Uncles obviously weren't very interesting. “Papa, you have to tell Mrs. Trimmer—” Something connected in the young brain, and her gaze shot back to me. “
You
have
horses.
”

“I do?”

“The ones in the stable. Thomas and I want to ride them, but Trimmer said we couldn't 'cause we didn't have the owner's permission, but you own them so you have to tell Trimmer we can ride them 'cause we want to
really
bad.”

The owner was clearly in for either a fight or a horseback ride, so I took the sensible way out. “They aren't my horses. They belong to Michael, ah, Master Sevenson here.”

The intense gaze switched to Michael, and the boy, who'd been talking to Anna, added a garbled plea. Michael didn't appear in the least flustered. “'Twould be an honor to take you riding, Mistress Becca, and Master Thomas, too, if your parents say you may.”

“Papa, you have to tell him—”

“We'll see, Firebug. Not tomorrow, anyway, since you have to go to the market for juniper boughs.”

Becca recognized a bribe when she heard one and considered it. In the silence I heard Thomas murmur that the gray horse was big and the little one had spots all over, just like Cory Seaton's dog.

“Can we go get holly in the marish?” Becca had decided to bargain.

“No, it's too dangerous for children. We're not going to have holly this year.”

My mother had told me the marish was dangerous, too—every parent did. To go down to the end of the road and creep among the weedy hillocks was a dare every child in Ruesport accepted, sooner or later. But none went in too far, for the silence was eerie. I'd been certain the rustling in the cattails was caused by poisonous frogs, even though my father said quite firmly that there were no such things.

“But
everyone
has holly. And if we go to the marish and cut it ourselves, it won't cost
anything
.”

Max winced, and I realized he'd tried to keep the children from learning of his financial troubles. Not a chance. Children always know everything.

“No. If we went to cut it ourselves, we might end up taking some magica holly. And you'll eat whatever your mama fixes for breakfast.”

“But—”

“No, Rebecca.”

A crafty look stole into her eyes. “All right. Thank you, Papa.” She smacked a kiss on his cheek and got a hug and a kiss in return before sliding from his lap and heading for Anna. I wasn't in the least surprised that her first words were “Mama, you have to fix maple cakes for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Master Maxwell.” It was Trimmer's lugubrious voice. “Master Tristram Fowler has called to ask Mistress Elissa if she would care for a stroll in the orchard. I said I'd inquire—”

“Oh!” Lissy jumped to her feet. “I'll get my cloak.”

“With dinner not finished and the night as dark as the inside of an egg?” Mrs. Trimmer demanded. “No decent young man would dream of calling at this hour.”

The young man who'd followed Trimmer into the room was meant to hear it, and color appeared on his prominent cheekbones. He was tall and gangly, no older than Lissy, with a beaky nose and a determined chin. His eyes met Maxwell's steadily, but it was Lissy who replied, “He has to work during the day—when else can he call? We'll keep to the orchard, so it's perfectly safe. Uncle Max?”

Max looked helplessly at this wife.

“You'll freeze, Lissy,” Anna began. “And—”

“I'll wear my warmest cloak. Thank you, dearest!”

Rebecca should have taken lessons from her aunt—it would be almost impossible to say no in the face of that warm gratitude. But young Fowler's eyes remained on Max's face.

“Oh, very well.” Max sounded harried.

“Thank you, Sir.” Even Fowler's smile was steady and determined, but the light in his eyes as he turned to my sister roused brotherly instincts I hadn't felt for years. Just how private was this orchard? I had no right to ask—Lissy's well-being was Max's responsibility. The knowledge revived an old ache, and I sat silent as Lissy whisked the young man out.

“Well,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “You know your own business best, Master Max, but if you ask me, that's trouble with a capital T.”

It might have been an indication of concern, but Mrs. Trimmer's dress was newer than my sisters'.

“But no one asked you, did they?” said Judith, beating me to it by half a breath.

Mrs. Trimmer opened her mouth, but Anna cut in briskly, “Bedtime. And if you go with Mrs. Trimmer quietly, I'll make you maple cakes in the morning.”

The children were led off by their grumbling
nursemaid; Thomas looked sleepy and Rebecca looked satisfied.

“You know, Max, as things are, she could do worse than young Fowler.” It was Worthington, plain and sensible. “He may not be rich, but he's sound and honest. There are worse things than starting from scratch.”

“I know.” Max sighed. “I suppose I should be grateful she has any suitors left. It's just that, pretty as she is, she could have married anyone before…” His voice trailed off.

“So what?” said Judith, with more than her usual tartness. “Things are what they are. Frankly, she's lucky he's willing to lower himself to wed her. Besides, Max, you're in no position to lecture anyone about marrying beneath himself for love.”

 

I still hadn't forgiven her half an hour later when Anna dragged Michael and me out for our own private conversation in the orchard.

“Max did marry beneath him,” Anna said placidly. “And you know it, Nonny, so stop fussing. Judith was about to become engaged to Henry Darrow. He's a craftsman already, in the Woodworkers' Guild, with a good chance of becoming councilman someday, and
when the scandal broke he backed out. Judith was…not heartbroken, but disappointed. It soured her a bit on marriage.”

“Rubbish,” I said shortly. “She's always been like that.”

There were two gates leading out of the kitchen garden; one led to the alley behind the house, and the other opened into acres of winter-bare, tangled apple trees. Our breath made silver puffs before our faces.

“Annie, do you own all this land?”

“No, it belongs to the Seatons, but they let us walk here.”

This orchard was big enough to be
very
private, and I wondered where young Fowler and Lissy were. I'd have wondered more, but fortunately, it was a cold night.

“It's a wonderful place for the children to play,” Anna continued. “It's walled all around, so they can wander off for a moment or two and I don't have to worry. Even if they climb the trees, they can't get too high.”

When did you have children, Anna?
I wondered.
And why didn't I know?
But I knew the answers to both those questions, so instead I asked, “Do you want us to take them riding? They're going to plague you until you say yes.”

Anna's eyes flicked to Michael, then away. “I'll think about it.”

Was the presence of his young children one of the reasons Max had tried to keep Michael out? Not necessarily. Max cared a lot about respectability. He'd probably have acted the same if he'd been a bachelor.

But Michael didn't know that—he moved away from Anna even as she said, “This isn't about the children. We sent for you because of what happened to Max.”

“I know, I know—you want me to prove his innocence. And I'll try, but it may not be that easy. It may not even be possible. Though if all you need for Max to get a job is some doubt cast on the evidence, I can probably arrange it.”

Michael winced, and I knew I'd have an argument on my hands if it came to that. But for all her soft heart, Anna was a realist. She'd had to be.

“I don't care about the job,” she answered. “We can go to another town if we have to, Max could get some sort of work, and I could too. And Judith could come with us, and Lissy can marry Tris Fowler if that's what she wants. But before we can do anything, you have to prove it to Max.”

“Oh, come on. He has to know he's innocent.” Unless he wasn't, but I wasn't about to say that to Anna.

“He knows he didn't bribe anyone. But Nonny, the woman who saw the killing, Ginny Weaver, she was a
good
woman. She really might have felt guilty enough to kill herself if she'd been bribed. And there was no sign of a struggle—she wrote the note, then drank too much of her pain medicine, so it does look like suicide. After the hearing, he was so sure he did right. It was a horrible case, of course, and it troubled Max. He hardly ever orders hanging. And when she died…”

“Now he's wondering if he hanged two innocent men.”

Anna nodded miserably. “It's eating at him. He goes over the notes on the hearing, again and again. He has nightmares. If you can't prove that those men were guilty, I don't think he'll ever get over it. That's why we haven't left yet. I don't think Max could start over with this on his heart. And I don't think some trumped-up proof will do. Max would see through it. He questions everything these days.”

I sighed. “It was a thought. I'll hunt up some of my old acquaintances and see what they say. Come to think of it, Anna, do you know of anyone who hates Max enough to do this?”

“No one I know of.” She shook her head. “He talked about his cases sometimes, but I didn't pay much attention. He must have angered many criminals.
People who might have done this.”

She was probably right, though Max used to have a good reputation in the criminal community. Smart enough, but lenient when he could be—Merciful Max was the judicar you hoped would hear your case, if you ever got that unlucky. I wondered how Loves-the-Rope Thrope had earned his nickname, and shivered. “I'll try to track down Jo—someone I knew, tomorrow night.” Anna might not know who hated Max, but Jonas knew everything. Everything criminal, that is.