A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (21 page)

Alec felt Valerie grow heavier against him as she finally fell asleep.  They still had a while to go until they reached Williamsburg, and she needed to rest after her ordeal.  His ribs burned every time the horse moved beneath him, making it almost impossible to draw a deep breath, especially with Valerie slumped against him.  He tried to examine his conscience and pray for the souls of the men he’d killed, but he just couldn’t.  He simply didn’t feel any remorse. 

Alec had told Valerie the truth when he said he’d found her by sheer luck.  After finding the broadsheets scattered in the street, he had no idea what to do.  The street was dark and deserted, the windows shuttered against the cold, rainy night.  He stood the
re for a little while, trying to imagine who might have wanted to harm her or where they could have taken her, but his mind was blank.  No one except the proprietors of Shield’s Tavern knew them, so he couldn’t imagine what could have happened.  Alec felt helpless just standing there, so he decided to walk back to the inn and get his gun.  He’d walk around all night if he had to searching for Valerie, then come morning, start asking if anyone had seen her. 

He was just passing Whetherburn’s Tavern when two men came stumbling out, drunk and unsteady on their feet.  One of them nearly fell in front of Alec, as the other caught him and pushed him up against the trunk of a tree.  They were laughing and cussing as they trod behind Alec, obviously bound for home. 

“I’d love to see the prick’s face when ‘e found out ‘is wife was gone,” one of them blurted out, laughing hoarsely.  “I ‘ear she’s comely.  Percival and Bobby will use her well before they’re through with ‘er.  I ‘ear Percy likes to rough ‘em up a bit –- ‘elps him get it up, if ye know what I mean.”  The man was still chuckling as he shuffled behind Alec. 

“Gale is a coward,” the other man answered.  “If
‘e wants revenge for getting stabbed, than ‘e should take it out on ‘er husband, not on the poor woman.  She’d nothing to do with it.  Percival’s just afraid to be outsmarted again.  That British sod might not be as strong as Percy, but ‘e’s definitely smarter.”

“I’d say Percy is the smart one,
Joe,” the first man argued, slurring his words.  “The man will never know what ‘appened to his wife, and blame ‘imself all the while.  ‘Tis much better revenge than just sticking a knife between ‘is shoulder blades when ‘e’s not looking.  It lasts longer.”

“A little humiliation and blood doesn’t warrant killing an innocent woman,
‘specially since we both know Gale attacked the man and not the other way around,” Joe said, suddenly sounding sober.  “No one deserves that.  What if it ‘ad been yer wife?”

“I’d thank the man who did it,”
hiccupped his friend.  “‘E’d be doing me a great favor, ridding me of that dumb cow.” 

Alec couldn’t bear to hear any more.  He quickened his stride, nearly running back to the inn.  He had to find out where Percival Gale
might have taken Valerie without arousing suspicion, and get there as soon as possible.  He prayed that he would find Valerie alive when he got there.  He didn’t want to ask Mr. Clements since the man was sober and would remember come morning, so Alec asked a man taking a piss behind the inn.  He never even bothered to glance at Alec as he answered.

“Oh, aye.  Percy’s place is about eight miles north of Williamsburg.  Right past the fork in the road
, and to the left.  Can’t miss it.  Why are ye looking for him?”  The man laced his flies, ready to go back inside.

“I owe him some money,” Alec answered evasively. 

“Oh, he’ll be glad to see ye then,” the man was already halfway back inside.  Alec went around back and entered through the back door.  He didn’t want Mr. Clements to see him walking in and walking out with his gun.  Alec grabbed his gun and a pouch of powder and stuck a dagger in his boot.  He considered taking his sword, but changed his mind.  It was too cumbersome. 

Alec slipped out the back door without being seen by anyone.  Mr. Clements had several hors
es in the barn behind the inn that he used as a livery.  Alec would just “borrow” one.  It would take him too long to walk eight miles, and Valerie might not be in any condition to walk by the time he found her. 

             
Alec could barely remember the ride to Gale’s farm.  He’d whipped the poor horse into a lather, galloping down the dark road at breakneck speed.  If his ribs had been cracked, they were surely broken by now, the pain a constant agony.  Alec had come upon a farm after the fork in the road, but it turned out to be the wrong place.  It took him nearly an hour to figure that out and then another hour to find the next farm.  He hobbled the horse at a safe distance and crept to the house, peeking inside.  The fire had nearly died down, but he could see the silhouette of Percival Gale in the feeble light from the dying flames.  He was slumped in his chair, his head resting on folded arms as he slept at the table.  Bobby Mann was sprawled on the floor in front of the hearth, snoring loudly.  There was no sign of Valerie.  Alec checked the back of the house and then the barn before finally noticing the shed some distance away.  All was quiet as he approached the shed, but he heard someone inside and prayed it was Valerie.

             
The outline of Williamsburg finally came into view.  It was fully light now, but few people were about since it was Sunday.  They’d have their breakfast and then get ready for church, grateful not to have to work for one day.  Alec gently woke Valerie as they neared the inn.  He returned the horse to the stable and gave it some water and hay.  The poor girl deserved it.  He tried the back door.  Thankfully it was unlocked, so he helped Valerie up the stairs and to their room. 

The Mallory family was just finishing breakfast on Sunday morning, when they were startled by a knock on the door.  Mr. Mallory reached for the gun mounted above the mantel, loading it quickly before instructing Jonah to open the door.  An early morning call on a Sunday didn’t warrant good news.  Most people were getting ready for church, not traipsing around the countryside, bothering their neighbors.  The gun was instantly lowered as Mr. Fletcher came in, hat in hand, apologizing for the early house call.  He was the exact opposite of his plump, smiling wife.  He was tall and thin, with a dour expression that could sour milk.

“Bill, won’t you have some porridge?” Mrs. Mallory asked, already reaching for a clean bowl. 

“Thank you kindly, Hannah, but I’ve breakfasted already.  Actually, I’d like a word with John, if you don’t mind.  I think it might be wise to send the children out of the room,” he mumbled apologetically.

“Of course.  Girls, fetch your cloaks and come with me.  We’ll take a walk to the chicken coup and collect some eggs. 
Martha, you can start on the washing.  The men need to speak privately.”  Mrs. Mallory replaced the bowl on the shelf, threw her own cloak over her shoulders and slung a basket over her arm.   

Finn was surprised that Jonah and him weren’t asked to leave as well, but was glad to be allowed to stay.  This sounded interesting.  Sarah and Annie ran from the room, eager to go collecting eggs, but Martha and Abbie threw resentful looks at their mother before finally filing out of
the house.  They were certainly old enough to hear whatever Mr. Fletcher had to say, so Finn thought this might be something serious.  He would have liked to take his customary seat in the corner to be able to listen and observe without being in the center, but the men remained seated at the table, and he had no good reason to change seats. 

Mr. Fletcher accepted a cup of beer while waiting for the women to leave the room,
draining it in one gulp.  He was noticeably upset and eager to tell his story.

“What’s happened, Bill?” John Mallory asked once the door finally closed behind Mrs. Mallory and the girls.

“There’s been a murder, John.  Two British soldiers have been discovered three miles from my farm.  There were remains of a fire and the horses were hobbled nearby, so they think the soldiers might have camped there overnight.  There’s no sign of a struggle, and nothing’s been taken.  One of the men was found in a state of undress.  He must have gone to relieve himself when he’d been set upon.  The truly disturbing thing is that the second soldier had been scalped, but the scalp was still there, next to his body.  The British are up in arms.  There might be reprisals against civilians if they think the soldiers were killed in cold blood by the Militia.”

Bill Fletcher looked around the table,
eager to gauge the reaction to his story.  Finn tried to look impassive while Mr. Mallory just looked thoughtful.

“They got what was coming to them.  Doesn’t matter who did it.  Maybe they’ll take a hint and go back home,” Jonah declared, a smile on his face.
  He was too young and naïve to understand the repercussions of such an attack.

“There’s a difference between being killed in battle and being murdered in cold blood while taking a piss, son,” Mr. Mallory said, his gray eyes thoughtful.

“Nothing’s been taken, you say?” he asked Bill Fletcher. 

“No.  According to the officers who found them, they still had coin in their purses, and the weapons were left by the bodies.  One of the men
had a miniature framed in gold that was still in his pocket.  Definitely not a robbery, John.” 

“A curious business.  How did you come to learn of this?”  Mr. Mallory leaned forward, pouring himself another cup of beer.  His reaction was
surprising, Finn thought.

“The British came to my house last night to question us. We are the closest homestead to the scene of the crime, and they thought we might have heard or seen something.  They were very hostile indeed.  I fear for what they might do, especially since my boys are in the
Continental Army.”

“I
have to admit that I’m puzzled by these events, Bill.  Must have been the Indians.  Maybe the soldiers came across them in the woods and threatened them.”  Mr. Mallory was watching his neighbor intently.  “Have you seen any Indians around these parts recently?”

“Not in a long while.  They don’t normally come so close.  They keep to their own territories
these days.”  Mr. Fletcher scratched his jaw in puzzlement, the stubble making a raspy sound against his nails. 

“Yes, that has been the case for the most part.  Well, please keep me informed, Bill.  I’ll be seeing you at church tomorrow, I trust?” 
Mr. Mallory rose from the table, reaching for his hat.  He had chores to see to, and Bill Fletcher would no doubt go to the surrounding farms to spread his story. 

“Yes.  Stay safe, John.”  With that, Bill Fletcher left, as anxious as he was when he came. 

Jonah was saying something about how the Indians were preferable to the British, but Mr. Mallory didn’t seem to be paying any attention.  He was lost in thought, looking past the boys’ heads, his hat still in his hands. 

“Finn, walk with me a moment.” 
Mr. Mallory took his pipe off the mantel and lit it before heading for the door.  Jonah threw Finn a curious look as Finn followed the older man out the door.  What did Mr. Mallory want to talk to him about that he didn’t want Jonah to overhear?  Finn tried to look as bland as possible, walking next to Mr. Mallory without speaking. 

John Mallory leaned against the stile, sucking deeply
on his pipe as sweet smoke wafted away in the fragrant autumn air. 

“Curious business, that,” Mr. Mallory said, watching Finn.  “Mrs. Mallory mentioned that you escorted Abbie to the Fletchers
not two days ago when she went to fetch a cut of lace.  Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.  I did.  What of it?”  Finn leaned against the stile, curious as to where the man was going with this.

“Did you think Abbie might be in danger?” asked Mr. Mallory, his eyes never leaving Finn’s face.

“No, sir.  I simply wanted to take a walk with her, it being such a glorious afternoon and all,” Finn said innocently, averting his eyes in mock
embarrassment.  He hoped Mr. Mallory wouldn’t take offense to him walking Abbie. 

“Hmm, I see.  You like her, don’t you, son?”
asked Mr. Mallory gently.

“She is a fine young lady, sir,” Finn answered, hoping he sounded sufficiently proper. 

“That she is.”  John Mallory remained silent for a few moments, sucking on his pipe and gazing off into the distance.

“What I find puzzling
, is that nothing was taken during the attack.  You see, neither the Indians nor local men would have walked away without spoils.  To leave weapons and horses after going to the trouble of killing the soldiers simply doesn’t make sense.  What do you think, Finn?”  Mr. Mallory was studying him, head cocked to the side, as Finn considered the question.

“You are right, Mr. Mallory.  It seems wasteful not to at least take the muskets and horses.  Both the Indians and the
revolutionaries could certainly use both, I’m sure.”  That was a noncommittal enough answer, thought Finn as he looked up innocently at Mr. Mallory.

“Yes, I’m sure they could.  That’s why I don’t think it was an attack by either Indians or
Militiamen.  There hasn’t been an Indian attack in these parts in some time, and the Militia would have nothing to gain by killing two soldiers in the woods.  I have a different theory.” 

John Mallory suddenly reached out, pulling Finn’s Indian amulet from under his shirt. “Start talking, boy.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Mallory.  What possible connection could I have to the murder of two British soldiers?”  Finn’s stomach clench with fear.  What would Mr. Mallory do if he connected him to the murder?  At best, he would ask him to leave and never come back.  He would have no place to go and no means of supporting himself until he found some kind of employment.  He would also never see Abbie again, which worried him more.  At worst, he would report him to the British, and he would face a death sentence for the murder.  Finn faced John Mallory squarely, refusing to look guilty. 

“Finn, have I ever told you about my father?” Mr. Mallory asked suddenly.  Finn shook his head,
surprised by the abrupt change of topic. 

“My father was in the British Army for many years before marrying my mother and settling down in Virginia.  He was a very clever man, who was much more than a mere foot soldier.  My father was a spy.  He gathered intelligence and analyzed it for his superiors, which often led to an otherwise uncertain victory for the British.  My father died when I was a boy, but he taught me many things, and I listened.
”  Mr. Mallory looked off into the distance, probably remembering the father he lost so long ago. 

“
You see, Finlay, one event is just an occurrence.  Two related events might be a coincidence, but three events are as telling as a smoking gun.  There are no farms between us and the Fletchers, so the path is not exactly teeming with travelers.  Two days after you and Abbie walked to the Fletchers, two soldiers were found dead in the woods, just barely off the path.  That’s an occurrence.”  Mr. Mallory folded down one finger to mark the event. 

“
It seems that someone wanted this to look like an Indian attack, but I don’t believe it for a minute.  Even if it were the handiwork of the Indians, they would never have left horses or weapons behind.  Those are prized possessions, too useful to waste, especially after going to the trouble of killing their owners.  Indians like souvenirs, so I can’t imagine that they would leave behind a gold watch or coin either.  Coincidence?  I think not.”  Mr. Mallory folded down another finger, his eyes never leaving Finn’s. 

“
Lastly, you wear an Indian amulet beneath your shirt, and I saw the tomahawk at your belt the day Jonah found you in the barn.  Is it under your bed, Finn?  Clearly, you know something of Indian ways.”  Mr. Mallory triumphantly folded down the third finger, holding up his hand in front of Finn’s face. 

“
Now, I’ve known you for several weeks now and I believe that you are a decent lad.  I think I’m a fairly good judge of character, so, if you killed those soldiers, you must have had a damned good reason.  You can trust me, Finn.  I won’t turn you over to the authorities, but I need to know what happened.  Would you care to enlighten me?”

Finn looked away for a moment considering his options.  Mr. Mallory was certainly more
observant than he gave him credit for.  Most men would never have made the connection, but Mr. Mallory must have listened to his father very carefully when he taught him about espionage.  Finn’s best bet was to throw himself on Mr. Mallory’s mercy and hope for the best.  He faced the older man and started talking.  Mr. Mallory listened carefully to Finn’s account, interrupting him only once to clarify a point. 

“Finn, was it your intention to make it look like an Indian attack?” he asked thoughtfully.

“No.  I didn’t have time to think it through or come up with a plan.  I was outnumbered, so I had only one chance to take them by surprise.”  Mr. Mallory put his hand on Finn’s shoulder.

“Finn, I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my daughter.  You did what any honorable man would do.  I know you must feel some remorse
for taking human life, but seems to me as if you didn’t have much choice unless you chose to sacrifice Abbie.  She is a lucky girl to have your friendship.”  Mr. Mallory momentarily looked away, overcome by emotion and the thought of what his daughter would have endured had Finn not chosen to come to her aid. 

“
Now, there’s more than one reason why I brought you out here.  You are brave, cunning, and you know how to keep a secret.  We need men like you working for us.  Have you heard of the Committee of Secret Correspondence?”

Finn nodded, unsure of how to respond.  He’d heard something about the Committee’s activities, but wasn’t sure exactly what they did or how.  He had a feeling that John Mallory was about to
tell him.