When the Splendor Falls (89 page)

“Well, we really must be moseyin’ on over to Alfonso’s. We were already up at the big house. Had some refreshments,” he said, confirming Neil’s opinion that he’d been drinking. “But can’t stay any longer. Don’t want to be caught out on the trail after dark, not with a helpless lil’ lady ridin’ with us, eh, Luis?” Courtney drawled, knowing full well Diosa was very capable of defending herself, for he’d seen her whip out that wicked hat pin and jab it threateningly at some peasant who’d irritated her.

“Certainly not,” Luis Angel answered, managing to smile, but only out of relief at being able to leave, because the atmosphere in the barn had become definitely uncomfortable. “We waited at the house for a while, enjoying our refreshments, talking with Camilla and her aunts, then Lys Helene came in, and then Guy, who, I must say, is in very good spirits and looking quite well. We hoped to see you, Neil, and Leigh, and your sister, Althea, but everyone seemed to have vanished into thin air, including Nathaniel. We could not leave without welcoming you home, Neil, and when we saw Gil, he told us where you were,” Luis explained, much to Gil’s continued discomfort. “So, until we meet again,
adiós
,” he said, bowing slightly as he started to turn away.

“But we will be back soon,
querido
,” Diosa promised, moving closer to Neil, her perfume floating between them and masking the scent of jessamine. “At the
barbacoa
, on Saturday, we will meet again,” she said. “Of course, I do not think
Tío
Alfonso will attend. You know he has never forgiven you for Serena’s tragic death. I fear he still believes Neil had something to do with it,” she commented, meeting Leigh’s wide blue eyes for a brief instant as she turned away, allowing Courtney to take her arm. “
Adiós
.”

“Good-bye, Diosa,” Neil said softly.

“Pleasure meeting you,” Courtney said, nodding to Neil, his hand tight around Diosa’s elbow.

“Yes, a real pleasure,” Neil said.

Luis Angel stood indecisively for a second, an apologetic look in his eye as he caught Leigh’s glance.

“Luis, come,” Diosa called back to her brother.

“Please forgive her, Neil. Diosa sometimes speaks without thinking,” he requested of him worriedly.

“No offense taken, Luis. I think we both understand Diosa,” Neil told him unsmilingly.

“So, until then,
adiós
,” Luis said, again, his handsome face looking troubled as he quickly followed them toward the doors, where just beyond they’d left their horses.

Gil shuffled his feet nervously. “Well, guess I better get back to work,” he muttered, wishing he’d taken that tumble into the sheep dip; if he had, he’d feel about as welcome as he did now, he thought glumly. “Never did like that woman,” he said beneath his breath as he stomped off.

Leigh started to take a step to retrieve her jacket from the ground, but Neil’s hand reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Leigh, I—” Neil began, suspecting what she must be thinking because of Diosa’s cruelly intentioned remark.

“No, please, you don’t have to say anything,” Leigh told him, holding his concerned gaze with an understanding one of her own. “I know the kind of man you are, Neil Braedon. And I know you’d never have harmed Serena.”

Neil took a step toward her, his eyes locked with hers.

Leigh found herself stepping forward, almost reaching out to him, then she stopped. “Oh, my goodness. Steward!” Leigh said in a shocked voice, glancing down as she almost stepped on the little brown velvet cap and suddenly remembered her nephew. “Where is he? If anything has happened to him! Oh, how could I have forgotten him?” she cried, glancing around in disbelief, unable to find him anywhere. “The dipping trough! He’s probably fallen in,” she said, a horrified expression on her face.

“I know where he is,” Noelle said calmly, gazing up at Neil as if he were a god, for he was one of the only ones who had survived the war—her father, grandfather, both grandmothers, an aunt, and three uncles, she counted, having all gone to heaven—and she had never seen anyone deal with Steward so strictly before. Somewhere in a haze of memory she remembered his also having dealt quite nicely with her Aunt Julia, whose name was no longer spoken in their family or polite society, so she must have done something far worse than pinch someone this time, Noelle thought wisely, pointing toward the burgundy coach.

But Neil had already started to walk toward it, Leigh hurrying to catch up with his long strides, and wondering where he was going. Neil stopped beside the door of the coach and looked inside, drawing Leigh close beside him so she could peer in.

His chubby rear end still pressed firmly to the seat, Steward Russell Braedon was sound asleep, his small mouth curved upward in sweet dreams.

* * *

“I’m not dreaming. I tell you it was him. Major Montgomery Stanfield’s brother. He was a captain in the cavalry. Hell, I know what I saw with my own eyes! He was standing there beside that trough of stinkin’ sheep dip. I met the man in Richmond on several occasions, when he’d come by Headquarters to see his brother. I didn’t see him much after his brother died, no reason for him to come callin’. Although I remember he was asking a lot of questions right after his brother died, then a couple of months later the Army of the Potomac crossed the Rapidan into the Wilderness in a new offensive, and his troop was sent into battle with Stuart’s cavalry and Longstreet’s corps. And I didn’t see him again, because by then I’d dropped out of sight during the pandemonium when it looked like Sheridan was going to take Richmond. And now, I swear I have seen the same man at Royal Rivers.

“What was his name? Michael. That’s it! Michael
Sebastian
Stanfield. Such a grand-sounding name. How could I ever forget one of
the
aristocratic Stanfields? Like the Washingtons, the Jeffersons, the Lees; all fine old distinguished families of Virginia. The Stanfields are a very wealthy, or should I say
were
a very wealthy Tidewater planter family. Stanfield Hall was burned to the ground during the war. The major said they lost everything. Montgomery Stanfield even lost his wife during the war. She was a frail thing, don’t know what he saw in her, not much spirit. Guess she had the right last name though. That kind marries the same kind: blue bloods. Well, hers wasn’t rich enough, because early in the war she fell ill and died. There weren’t any children. And Michael Stanfield wasn’t married. So it looks as if the Stanfields of Virginia are no longer with us—except for one.”

“And we’ll deal with him.”

“You don’t seem very concerned. Of course, it is
my
neck he wants in a noose, not yours,” Courtney Boyce said, taking a hefty swig of whiskey.

“If you keep drinking like that he won’t have to bother. You’ll do it for him, probably by falling off your own horse and breaking your fool neck. Save the cost of a trial, twelve jurors’ time, and a good rope.”

“Easy enough for you to say, you don’t have him breathing down your neck, Alfonso,” Courtney replied, laughing harshly as he eyed the man sitting enthroned in the high-backed red leather chair near the fireplace.

Alfonso Jacobs did indeed look regal sitting there, his mane of white hair almost like an aureole encircling his head. He was a big man, with massive shoulders and bull chest, his features strong, but crudely formed, as if his face had been hewn from rock. But despite his rough appearance, he was a man who enjoyed the finer things in life, as was evident in the objets d’art, gilt-framed paintings, elegant English furnishings, and Oriental carpet that graced his study. He was dressed in a red silk smoking jacket with a red velvet collar, the gold of a watch and chain gleaming against the rich material at his waist, while the ashes on the end of a fine cigar glowed every so often as he drew on it, before taking a sip of the warm French brandy he swirled in a crystal snifter held negligently in his big hand, a gold and ruby ring winking from his little finger.

“Michael Stanfield is smart. The kind who relies on brains, not brawn. Know what he was before the war? One of these highfalutin architects. Designs fancy buildings. Even designed some in the capital, the federal capital, that is. What he designed in the reb capital got burned to ashes. Used to hear him and the major talking about New York, Philadelphia, Boston, the places he’d traveled to build those buildings of his. And they were always talking about the fancy friends he’d stay with in every town. Apparently his name gave him access to all the right people. Even went to Europe. Studied art, or something wishy-washy like that, in London and Paris. Wondered at first that he should be struttin’ around in breeches, quite the fancy gent he is, but he’s the ladies’ man right enough. Saw him in Richmond with one or two of the most expensive harlots in town. Wish I could have afforded their kind. And I’ll tell you this, even though he’s one of these architects, he was raised as all gentlemen of Virginia are. From the time he was breeched, he could ride like the devil and shoot his granddaddy’s fowling piece like a backwoodsman. And Michael Stanfield is out for revenge,” Courtney said, emptying his glass and walking over to the sideboard and pouring another from the cut-glass decanter.

Alfonso Jacobs shook his head, hoping Courtney didn’t get the brandy by mistake, and regretting he’d ever had to rely on the fool to help him. But Courtney had been in the right place at the right time. He’d had access to government and army forms, and most importantly, to dispatches; listing shipping dates, schedules, destinations, and how many troops would be needed to guard each shipment of gold. “Think, Courtney. Just try thinking for once. Why is this Michael Stanfield you seem to fear so much here?”

“He’s after Captain Dagger. You know that,” Courtney said, tossing off half the drink, and grimacing slightly, for he must have gotten the brandy by mistake.

“Yes, but you seem to have forgotten who Captain Dagger is.”

“Of course I haven’t. Neil Braedon is Captain Dagger,” he answered, smiling grimly. “Lord, I couldn’t believe I actually came face-to-face with the man today. And he’s still wearing that braid and those buckskins. Have to admit, now that I’ve met him, I can believe half the stories I’ve heard about him—only half,” he added, laughing wickedly.

“Yes, I’ve learned never to underestimate Neil Braedon, or his father. Now, why is Michael Stanfield after Captain Dagger?”

“Because Captain Dagger robbed that train of gold bullion near Gordonsville that Stanfield’s brother was guarding. He murdered him.”

“Exactly. And why does he think Captain Dagger is responsible for his brother’s death?” Alfonso’s voice came softly, patiently, as if taking a slow student step-by-step through a difficult lesson.

“Because, as one of Major Stanfield’s men, and the only survivor of the massacre,
I
identified him,” Courtney said with remembered pleasure. “You should know, you told me to put the blame on Captain Dagger.”

Alfonso Jacobs smiled, causing Courtney to shiver, for it was a very unpleasant smile.

“Exactly, because I knew the true identity of this notorious Yankee raider, Captain Dagger. I was with the search party that rescued a young Neil Braedon, and I’ll never forget his father’s face when we saw the boy. I always wondered, when Nathaniel held out his arms, if he intended to embrace the boy or squeeze the life out of him. That’s why I was surprised he saved Neil’s life six years ago when I tried to hang him. Figured later he would have done as much for a stranger. You never know what Nathaniel’s thinking. That makes him a tough adversary. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more determined man. And he tracked those Comanche until they left his son in the desert just to get us off their trail so they could live in peace. We found him wandering in the
Jornada del Muerto
. We found ourselves a young Comanche brave that day. One who wore his hair in a braid and would have knifed one of us as easily as spat upon us—and he did both. Later, we learned he could ride and shoot like nothing we’d ever seen, except when having the misfortune to witness a Comanche raid. This young buck’s name was Sun Dagger. I always remembered that.

“Now, when I hear that there is a Yankee raider called Captain Dagger, who wears his golden hair in a heathenish braid, raids through Virginia like a Comanche on the warpath in Texas, and disappears into thin air as if riding a wild pony across the Staked Plain, naturally I thought of Neil Braedon, my former son-in-law. I knew Neil had chosen to fight for the Union. So I did a little checking, I have my informants, even in the Union army, and sutlers are just as money-grabbing on both sides in a war. I discovered that Neil was assigned to army intelligence and was stationed at Headquarters, Washington. For once the brass made use of a man’s particular abilities when putting him in uniform, for their Captain Dagger was none other than Neil Braedon, and
he
is the man this Michael Stanfield of yours is looking for. That is why I planned it this way. If anyone became suspicious of me, of us, then what better than to have Captain Dagger, the notorious raider, who was raised by the Comanche, and who massacred those unarmed men in cold blood, living right here. And he is making it even easier for us. You say Neil is still wearing that braid, so your Michael Stanfield will have no problem putting a bullet in the right man.”

Courtney had to admit Alfonso Jacobs’s plan had been brilliant. But something still bothered him. “What if Michael Stanfield saw me today? What if he remembers me?”

“Maybe he won’t remember you. You had a different name then, and no mustache. Men change.”

“He’ll remember,” Courtney fretted, turning his glass bottom up.

“If Michael Stanfield can track down Captain Dagger, then why couldn’t you have too? Why can’t you be here to seek your revenge the same as he is? Who better, in fact, since you were nearly murdered by Captain Dagger and his bloodthirsty raiders? Always think of every angle, Courtney. Always have a ‘wherefore’ for what you do. You will never get boxed in that way. You will always have an exit for yourself,” Alfonso advised.

Courtney laughed, raising his glass in toast to the man sitting in the big leather chair, frowning when he noticed it was empty. “My sincere congratulations, sir. You are one of the most devious men I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet, but remind me never to gamble with you.”