The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (12 page)

Clark and Betsy sent their horses
ahead.
 
Pain wreathed Adam's genial
face.
 
"Good god, Clark, we hate to
be the ones to tell you this.
 
Your
house burned to the ground this morning."

Betsy stared.
 
She hadn't heard right.
 
"Our house burned?"

Clark whispered, "Is this your
idea of a poor joke?"

Weariness rimmed Lucas's blue
eyes.
 
His head jerked side to side
once.
 
He lowered his gaze.

The shop and Clark's craft and
livelihood, gone.
 
Betsy's grandmother
Elizabeth's china and cabinet, gone.
 
Their clothing, their heirlooms, their — no, this wasn't real.

Caleb sputtered, "We ran for
the buckets, but it was too late.
 
Thank
heaven you weren't inside.
 
It went up
so fast."

Ephraim pressed his hat to his
chest.
 
"We're sorry, folks."

A snarl whipped Clark's face.
 
He kicked his gelding in the sides, sending
it northward.

"Clark, wait!"
 
Adam extended a hand, but Clark was beyond
hearing.

Lucas reached out to Betsy.
 
"Dear, there's nothing left."

Anguished, she sent Lady May
galloping up the street after Clark.
 
In
their yard, the henhouse and gardens were intact and undamaged.
 
But nothing remained of the house except a
foundation, charred timbers, and stone fireplace and chimney.

"My god," Clark
whispered, supplicating the wreck of their lives to resurrection.
 
"Please, not
this
!"
 
Betsy found her way to him, and he took her
face in his hands, tears in his eyes.
 
"How can I provide for you and our child now?"
 
They fell into each other's arms, too
devastated to do anything but stare at the charred, stinking wreckage that had
been their home not two days earlier.

Chapter Nine

"HUSH NOW," BETSY
whispered.
 
They released each other and
assembled composure while their friends dismounted and walked over to join
them.
 
The soldiers arrived and began
dismounting.

Caleb removed his hat.
 
"Jane found some extra material and can
make quilts for when winter comes.
 
Folks
in the neighborhood donated clothes.
 
Vicar Glenn started a collection."

Ephraim beamed.
 
"Ellie's organizing a house
raising."

"Thank you.
 
You're all kind."
 
Clark's voice sounded hollow.

Lucas patted his shoulder.
 
"Stay with us while you rebuild.
 
You can have the room Betsy shared with my
daughter."

Betsy saw Clark's shoulders
relax.
 
The thought that they might get
through the disaster and have a home by the time the baby arrived didn't
penetrate far into her numbness.

"You're a good neighbor.
 
Catastrophe happens, folks head to another
town where kinfolk help them."
 
Ephraim snapped his fingers, felt inside his waistcoat, and withdrew a
sealed letter.
 
"Before I forget,
this came for you in yesterday's post."
 
Clark, his actions still wooden, transferred it to his waistcoat
pocket.
 
"We'd all hate to see you
leave.
 
None of us has much money, but
we'll help the best we can."

Fairfax strode into their midst,
curiosity slicing his stony composure.
 
"An unfortunate occurrence, Mr. Sheridan.
 
The men wish me to give you this."

Betsy met Clark's gaze after he
took the purse of the bandits' coin from Fairfax.
 
Well, money was money.
 
Clark gave the lieutenant a brusque nod and caught the attention of the
soldiers, whose expressions projected their dismay and commiseration at his
loss.
 
Gratitude struggled to his
face.
 
"Thank you, fellows."

Fairfax clasped his hands behind
him.
 
"Do you mind if I have a look
about your property?"

Hair stood up on the back of
Betsy's neck.
 
They needed him poking
around the ruins of their home like they needed more fire.
 
Clark licked his lips.
 
"Uh, why?
 
There's nothing left to see."

"I may be able to discern how
the fire started.
 
If it was accidental,
such information might help in designing your replacement home."

The emphasis Fairfax placed on the
word "if" announced his suspicions as to the nature of the
blaze.
 
Betsy remembered something else
Captain Sheffield had said about him.
 
I
know he'll get to the bottom of it, if anyone can
.
 
Brilliant, blighted Fairfax had a knack for
investigation.
 
Oh, joy.

Adam cleared his throat.
 
"Pardon me, Lieutenant — er —"

Fairfax scraped his scrutiny over
Adam's attire and regarded him without expression.
 
"Fairfax.
 
Lieutenant
Dunstan Fairfax."

"Pleased to make your
acquaintance, sir.
 
Lieutenant Adam
Neville, Brown's Rangers.
 
We
investigated the fire this morning and believe a lightning strike caused
it.
 
You're welcome to read the report I
made for Colonel Brown."
 
He
smiled.
 
"I suggest we withdraw and
allow these folks time to deal with their loss."

"Colonel Brown won't object to
having another set of eyes on the incident."
 
Fairfax turned back to Clark, and Betsy saw Adam pinch his lips
together in annoyance: a royal provincial dismissed by a British regular.
 
"As I was saying, Mr. Sheridan —"

"Pardon me, again,
Lieutenant."
 
Adam's posture
stiffened.
 
"You must clear further
investigation with your superior officer in Augusta."

Fairfax glared at Adam, and Betsy
felt wretched for the Ranger, who was only trying to help them.
 
"Regarding protocol, on this site, I,
being the regular, am
your
superior officer.
 
As I commented earlier, another set of eyes never
hurts."
 
His stare heaved a
wagonload of accusation onto Clark.
 
"Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Sheridan?"

Adam's gaze met Clark's, the
Ranger's expression imparting apology.
 
Misgiving swam through Clark's face.
 
Under the circumstances, Fairfax's request couldn't be declined.
 
Clark waved vague acquiescence at the ruins
of the house.
 
"Be my guest,
Lieutenant."

"Thank you."
 
Fairfax bowed.
 
"Lieutenant, accompany me.
 
I have questions."
 
He
ambled toward the remains of the house.
 
Adam trailed after Fairfax.

Lucas lowered his voice.
 
"Who the hell's the lobsterback?"

"Someone we're well rid of
today."

Betsy suddenly recalled that Tom
Alexander had promised to help watch the house.
 
"Has anyone seen Tom?"

Ephraim slapped his thigh.
 
"Ellie will yell at me good for
forgetting.
 
The lad's at our house
recovering from the bump on his head he got while trying to stop your house
from burning."

Betsy's eyes bulged.
 
She and Clark said in unison,
"What?"
 
But the story about
Tom had to wait, for townsfolk quickly thronged the yard, and the onslaught of
Augustans — the nosy, the curious, the sympathetic — began.

In between hearing accounts of the
fire and accepting gifts and commiserations, Betsy noticed Adam had returned to
speak with fellow Rangers while Fairfax picked his way through the blackened
ruins that had been Clark's shop and studied footprints.
 
At least she needn't worry about producing
Arriaga's letter.
 
Later, she spotted
Fairfax squatting out near the road, examining wagon ruts and more
footprints.
 
What evidence could he hope
to find?

Lucas, Ephraim, and Caleb, seeing
how spent the Sheridans were, shooed away townsfolk after half an hour.
 
"Come over to the house and get out of
the sun," said Ephraim.
 
"Ellie will fetch us some ale.
 
You can talk with that apprentice of yours."

"Drink one for me,
Clark," said Caleb.
 
"I'm
headed back to work."

"Me, too."
 
Lucas hugged Betsy.
 
"See you at the house for
supper."
 
He shook Clark's hand.

Fairfax, in mid-stride to join them
again, called out, "Before you depart, gentlemen, may I have a word with
all of you?"

"Doesn't that one ever
smile?" muttered Caleb.

Ephraim snorted.
 
"From the looks of it, he for sure
doesn't shit.
 
Oh, pardon my language,
Betsy."

His posture formal and
uncompromising, Fairfax drew up before them.
 
"Mr. Sheridan, be so good as to introduce me to your companions
here."

Clark sighed.
 
"As you fellows heard earlier, this is
Lieutenant Fairfax out of Alton —"

"The Seventeenth Light out of
South Carolina, Mr. Sheridan."

Betsy cocked her eyebrow.
 
So Fairfax had been transferred to the
Seventeenth Light Dragoons in South Carolina, cavalry.
 
Perhaps poking about that colony for Mathias
Hale wasn't such a good idea just yet.

"These are my neighbors
Ephraim Sweeney and Caleb Cochrane, and my wife's cousin by marriage, Lucas
O'Neal."

Fairfax nodded.
 
"Mr. Sweeney, I understand you were
first on the scene this morning."

Ephraim sniffed.
 
"My son Jeb woke me saying their house
was afire.
 
I roused the family and sent
him running to the Cochranes so they could help with the water buckets."

"Yah, it was too late by the
time we got here."
 
Caleb shook his
head.
 
"Flames were shooting fifty
feet high."

Fairfax craned back his neck and
regarded the ancient oak that had cooled the house with its summer
foliage.
 
"Fifty feet high,
eh?
 
I suppose so.
 
The bottom branches of that tree look a bit
singed.
 
Did either of you see anyone
leave the premises when you arrived to put out the fire?"

"Leave?
 
Nope."

"Me, either."

"And both of you are
Whigs."

No one spoke.
 
Betsy saw Caleb's jaw and Ephraim's fist
tighten.
 
Clark said, "They're my
good neighbors."

"I certainly hope so.
 
Your Ranger friends told me about an
incident the day before yesterday.
 
Someone painted 'Tory Scum' across the front of your house.
 
Had your property been vandalized
before?"

"No."

"Mr. Neville is unaware of
similar incidents since his arrival here.
 
Why might you be singled out for such persecution?"

Clark opened his mouth, then
studied the burned house.
 
"You
believe the vandalism and burning are related?"

"Answer my question."

He swallowed at Fairfax's
dagger-sharp tone.
 
Empathy welled
through Betsy.
 
Clark took a deep
breath.
 
"I've no idea."

Ephraim slapped Clark on the
back.
 
"He's a good Loyalist.
 
He don't bother nobody, and he keeps his
mouth shut."

Ugh.
 
Where did Ephraim come by that gutter grammar all of a
sudden?
 
Betsy watched Fairfax wilt
Ephraim's jollity with the frigidity of the North Sea.
 
After more silence, he said, "Curious
that a Loyalist lives between two Whigs in harmony."

Caleb picked his teeth and spat
something to the left of Fairfax's boot by a couple of inches.
 
"Oh, you think we Georgians go killing
each other over politics like them South Carolinians.
 
Nobody in Augusta argues politics with his neighbor no
more."
 
He laughed.
 
"It don't get you nowhere.
 
In two years, we've had so many peacocks
claiming to be the local government that we got a joke about it.
 
You don't like who's in charge, just wait a
week, and it'll change."