SO EARLY IN THE YEAR, the kitchen in the cellar of the house was still in use, with the summer cookhouse reserved for messier or malodorous preparations. Roused by the commotion, all the slaves were up and working, though a few looked as though they would collapse into the nearest corner and go back to sleep at the first opportunity. The chief cook, though, was wide-awake, and it was clear that no one was sleeping on her watch.
The kitchen was warm and welcoming, the windows still dark, walls red with hearth-glow, and the air suffused with the comforting scents of broth, hot bread, and coffee. I thought this would be an excellent place to sit down and recuperate for a bit before toddling off to bed, but evidently Jamie had other ideas.
He paused in conversation with the cook, just long enough for politeness, acquiring in the process not only an entire fresh crumb cake, dusted with cinnamon and soaked with melted butter, but a large jug of freshly brewed coffee. Then he made his farewells, scooped me up off the stool onto which I had thankfully subsided, and we were off again, into the cool wind of the dying night.
I had a very odd sense of déjà vu as he turned down the brick path toward the stables. The light was just the same as it had been twenty-four hours earlier, with the same pinprick stars just fading from the same blue-gray sky. The same faint breath of spring passed by, and my skin shivered in memory.
But we were walking sedately side by side, not flyingand overlaid on my memories of the day before were the unsettling odors of blood and burning. With each step I felt as though I were about to reach out to push through the swinging doors of a hospital; that the hum of fluorescent light and the subdued reek of medicines and floor polish were about to engulf me.
Lack of sleep, I murmured to myself.
Time enough for sleep later, Sassenach, Jamie replied. He shook himself briefly, throwing off tiredness as a dog shakes off water. Theres a thing or two to be done, first. He shifted the paper-wrapped cake, though, and took hold of my elbow with his free hand, in case I was about to fall facefirst into the cabbage bed from fatigue.
I wasnt. I had meant only that it was the lack of sleep that was giving me the mildly hallucinatory feeling of being back in a hospital. For years, as an intern, resident, and mother, I had worked through long sleepless shifts, learning to functionand function welldespite complete exhaustion.
It was that same feeling that was stealing over me now, as I passed through simple sleepiness and out again, into a state of artificially heightened alertness.
I felt cold and shrunken, as though I inhabited only the innermost core of my body, insulated from the world around me by a thick layer of inert flesh. At the same time, every tiny detail of my surroundings seemed unnaturally vivid, from the delicious fragrance of the food Jamie carried and the rustle of his coat skirts, to the sound of someone singing in the distant slave quarters and the spikes of sprouting corn in the vegetable beds beside the path.
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The sense of lucid detachment stayed with me, even as we followed the turn of the path toward the stables. A thing to be done, hed said. I supposed that he did not mean he intended to repeat yesterdays performance. If he proposed a more sedate form of orgy, though, involving cake and coffee, it seemed peculiar to hold it in the stable, rather than the parlor.
The side door was unbarred; he pushed it open, and the warm scents of hay and sleeping animals rushed out.
Who is it? said a soft, deep voice from the shadows inside. Roger. Of course; he hadnt been among the mob in Jocastas room.
Fraser, Jamie replied, equally softly, and drew me inside, closing the door behind us.
Roger stood silhouetted against the dim glow of a lantern, near the end of the row of loose-boxes. He was wrapped in a cloak, and the light shone in a reddish nimbus round his dark hair as he turned toward us.
How is it, a Smeòraich? Jamie handed him the jug of coffee. Rogers cloak fell back as he reached for it, and I saw him thrust a pistol into the waist of his breeches with his other hand. Without comment, he pulled the cork and lifted the jug to his mouth, lowering it several moments later with an expression of sheer bliss. He sighed, breath steaming.
Oh, God, he said fervently. Thats the best thing Ive tasted in months.
Not quite. Sounding faintly amused, Jamie took the jug back and handed him the wrapped crumb cake. How is he, then?
Noisy at first, but hes been quiet for a bit. I think he may be asleep.
Already tearing at the butter-soaked wrappings, Roger nodded toward the loose-box. Jamie took down the lantern from its hook and held it high over the barred gate. Peering under his arm, I could see a huddled shape, half-buried in the straw at the back of the box.
Mr. Wylie? Jamie called, still softly. Are ye asleep, sir?
The shape stirred, with a rustling of hay.
I am not, sir, came the reply, in tones of cold bitterness. The shape began slowly to unfold itself, and Phillip Wylie rose to his feet, shaking straw from his clothes.
I had certainly seen him appear to better advantage. Several buttons were missing from his coat, one shoulder seam was split, and both knees of his breeches hung loose, the buckles burst and his stockings drooping in unseemly fashion about his shins. Someone had evidently hit him in the nose; a trickle of blood had dried on his upper lip, and there was a splotch of crusty brown on the embroidered silk of his waistcoat.
Despite the deficiencies of his wardrobe, his manner was unimpaired, being one of icy outrage.
You will answer for this, Fraser, by God you will!
Aye, I will, Jamie said, unperturbed. At your pleasure, sir. But not before Ive had answers from yourself, Mr. Wylie. He unlatched the gate of the loose-box and swung it open. Come out.
Wylie hesitated, unwilling either to remain in the box, or to come out of it at Jamies command. I saw his nostrils twitch, though; evidently he had caught scent of the coffee. That seemed to decide him, and he came out of the box, head held high. He brushed within a foot of me, but kept his eyes straight ahead, affecting not to see me.
Roger had collected two stools and an upturned bucket. I took the latter and shoved it modestly into the shadows, leaving Jamie and Wylie to seat themselves within easy strangling distance of each other. Roger himself retired discreetly into the shadows beside me with the crumb cake, looking interested.
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Wylie accepted the jug of coffee stiffly, but a few deep swallows seemed to restore his composure to a noticeable degree. He lowered it at last and breathed audibly, his features a little more relaxed.
I thank you, sir. He handed the jug back to Jamie with a small bow and sat bolt upright on his stool, tenderly adjusting his wig, which had survived the evenings adventures, but was much the worse for its experiences. Now, then. May I inquire the reason for this... this... unspeakable behavior?
Ye may, sir, Jamie replied, drawing himself up straight in turn. I wish to discover the nature of your associations with a certain Stephen Bonnet, and your knowledge of his present whereabouts.
Wylies face went almost comically blank.
Who?
Stephen Bonnet.
Wylie began to turn toward me, to ask for clarification, then recalled that he was not acknowledging my presence. He glowered at Jamie, dark brows drawn down.
I have no acquaintance with any gentleman of that name, Mr. Fraser, and thus no knowledge of his movementsthough if I did, I greatly doubt that I should feel myself obliged to inform you of them.
No? Jamie took a thoughtful sip of coffee, then handed the jug to me. What of the obligations of a guest toward his host, Mr. Wylie?
The dark brows rose in astonishment.
What do you mean, sir?
I take it that you are not aware, sir, that Mrs. Innes and her husband were assaulted last evening, and an attempt at robbery made upon them?
Wylies mouth fell open. Either he was a very good actor, or his surprise was genuine. Given my acquaintance with the young man to date, I thought he was no kind of actor.
I was not. Who A thought struck him, and bewilderment vanished in renewed outrage. His eyes bulged slightly. You think that I was concerned in thisthis
Dastardly enterprise? Roger suggested. He seemed to be enjoying himself, relieved of the boredom of guard duty. Aye, I expect we do. A bit of crumb cake with your coffee, sir? He held out a chunk of cake; Wylie stared at it for a moment, then leaped to his feet, striking the cake out of Rogers hand.
You blackguard! He rounded on Jamie, fists clenched. You dare to imply that I am a thief?
Jamie rocked back a little on his stool, chin lifted.
Aye, I do, he said coolly. Ye tried to steal my wife from under my nosewhy should ye scruple at my aunts goods?
Wylies face flushed a deep and ugly crimson. Had it not been a wig, his hair would have stood on end.
You... absolute... cunt! he breathed. Then he launched himself at Jamie. Both of them went over with a crash, in a flurry of arms and legs.
I leaped back, clasping the coffee jug to my bosom. Roger lunged toward the fray, but I snatched at him, catching his cloak to hold him back.
Jamie had the advantage of size and skill, but Wylie was by no means a novice in the art of fisticuffs, and was in addition propelled by a berserk rage. Given a few moments more, Jamie would have him hammered into submission, but I was not inclined to wait.
Monstrously irritated with the pair of them, I stepped forward and upended the coffee jug. It wasnt boiling, but hot enough. There were simultaneous yelps of surprise, and the two men rolled apart, scrambling and shaking themselves. I thought I heard Roger laugh behind me, but when I whirled on him, he had assumed a look of straight-faced interest. He raised his eyebrows at me, and crammed another chunk of cake into his mouth.
I turned back to find Jamie already on his feet, and Wylie rising from his knees, both soaked with coffee, and both with expressions implying that they intended to resume proceedings at the point where I had interrupted them. I pushed my way between them and stamped my foot.
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I have bloody well had enough of this!
I havent! Wylie said hotly. He has impugned my honor, and I demand
Oh, to hell with your beastly honorand yours, too! I snarled, glaring from him to Jamie. Jamie, who had evidently been going to say something equally inflammatory, contented himself instead with a resounding snort.
I kicked one of the fallen stools, and pointed at it, still glaring at Jamie.
Sit!
Plucking the soaked fabric of his shirt away from his chest, he righted the stool and sat on it, with immense dignity.
Wylie was less inclined to pay attention to me, and was carrying on with further remarks about his honor. I kicked him in the shin. This time, I was wearing stout boots. He yelped and hopped on one foot, holding his affronted leg. The horses, thoroughly roused by the commotion, were stamping and snorting in their boxes, and the air was full of floating chaff.
Ye dinna want to trifle with her when shes in a temper, Jamie told Wylie, with a wary glance at me. Shes dangerous, aye?
Wylie glowered at me, but his scowl altered to a look of uncertaintywhether because of the empty coffee jug, which I was now holding by the neck like a club, or because of his memories of the night before, when he had discovered me in the midst of Bettys autopsy. With an effort, he swallowed whatever he had been going to say, and sat slowly down upon the other stool. He pulled a kerchief from his stained waistcoat pocket, and blotted a trickle of blood that was running down the side of his face from a cut above the brow.
I would like, he said, with exquisite politeness, to know what is going on here, please.
He had lost his wig; it was lying on the floor in a puddle of coffee. Jamie bent and picked it up, holding it gingerly, like a dead animal. He wiped a smear of mud off the side of his jaw with his free hand, and held the wig out, dripping, to Wylie.
We are in agreement, then, sir.
Wylie took the wig with a stiff nod of acknowledgment and laid it on his knee, disregarding the coffee soaking into his breeches. Both men looked at me, with identical expressions of skeptical impatience. Evidently, I had been appointed mistress of ceremonies.
Robbery, murder, and heaven knows what else, I said firmly. And we mean to get to the bottom of it.
Murder? Roger and Wylie spoke together, both sounding startled.
Who has been murdered? Wylie asked, looking wildly back and forth between me and Jamie.
A slave woman, Jamie said, with a nod toward me. My wife suspected ill doing in her death, and so we meant to discover the truth of the matter. Thus our presence in the shed when you came upon us last night.
Presence, Wylie echoed. His face was already pale, but he looked slightly ill at the recollection of what he had seen me doing in the shed. Yes. I... see. He darted a look at me from the corner of his eye.
So she was killed? Roger came into the circle of lantern light and set the bucket back in place, sitting down at my feet. He set the remains of the cake on the floor. What killed her?
Someone fed her ground glass, I said. I found quite a lot of it still in her stomach.
I paid particular attention to Phillip Wylie as I said this, but his face bore the same expression of blank astonishment as did Jamies and Rogers.
Glass. Jamie was the first to recover. He sat up on his stool, shoving a disordered hank of hair behind his ear. How long might that take to kill a body, Sassenach?
I rubbed two fingers between my brows; the numbness of the early hour was giving way to a throbbing headache, made worse by the rich smell of coffee and the fact that I hadnt gotten to drink any of it.
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I dont know, I said. It would go into the stomach within minutes, but it might take quite a long time to do enough damage to cause major hemorrhage. Most of the damage would likely be to the small intestine; the glass particles would perforate the lining. And if the digestive system were somewhat impairedby drink, sayand not moving well, then it might take even longer. Or if shed taken a lot of food with it.
Is this the woman that you and Bree found in the garden? Roger turned to Jamie, inquiring.
Aye. Jamie nodded, his eyes still fixed on me. She was insensible wi the drink then. And when ye saw her later, Sassenachwere there signs of it, then?
I shook my head.
The glass might have been working thenbut she was out cold. One thingFentiman did say she woke in the middle of the night, complaining of griping in her guts. So she was certainly affected by that time. But I cant say for sure whether shed been given the ground glass before you and Bree found her, or whether perhaps she roused from her stupor in the early evening, and someone gave it to her then.
Griping in the guts, Roger murmured. He shook his head, mouth grim at the thought. Christ, what a way to go.
Aye, its black wickedness, Jamie agreed, nodding. But why? Who should wish the womans death?
A good question, Wylie said shortly. However, I can assure you that it wasnt I.
Jamie gave him a long stare of assessment.
Aye, maybe, he said. If not, thoughhow came ye to the shed last night? What business might ye have there, save perhaps to look upon the face of your victim?
My victim! Wylie jerked bolt upright, stiff with renewed outrage. It was not I in that shed, red to the elbow with the womans gore and snatching bits of bone and offal! He snapped his head to the side, glaring up at me.
My victim, indeed! It is a capital crime to defile a body, Mrs. Fraser. And I have heard thingsoh, yes, I have heard things about you! I put it to you that it is you who did the woman to death, for the purpose of obtaining
His words ended in a gurgle, as Jamies hand jerked his shirtfront tight and twisted it hard about his neck. He punched Wylie in the stomach, hard, and the young man doubled up, coughed, and spewed coffee, bile, and a few more disagreeable substances all over the floor, his knees, and Jamie.
I sighed wearily. The briefly warming effects of the discussion had faded, and I was feeling cold and mildly disoriented again. The stench didnt help.
Thats not really helpful, you know, I said reprovingly to Jamie, who had released Wylie and was now hastily removing his own outer garments. Not that I dont appreciate the vote of confidence.
Oh, aye, he said, voice muffled in the shirt as he pulled it over his head. He popped out, glaring at me, and dropped the shirt on the floor with a splat. Dye think Im going to sit idle and let this popinjay insult ye?
I dont suppose hell do it again, Roger said. He stood and bent over Wylie, who was still doubled up on his stool, rather green in the face. Roger glanced back over his shoulder at Jamie.
Is he right, though? About it being a capital crime to tamper with a body?
I dinna ken, Jamie said, rather shortly. Stripped to the waist, stained with blood and vomit, and with his red hair wild in the lantern light, he looked a far cry from the polished gentleman who had gone off to play whist.
It scarcely matters, he added, as he isna going to tell anyone about it. Because if he does, I shall cut him like a stirk and feed both his ballocks and his lying tongue to the pigs. He touched the hilt of his dirk, as though assuring himself that it was handy if wanted.
But I am sure ye dinna mean to make any such unfounded accusations regarding my wife, do ye... sir? he said to Wylie, with excessive politeness.
I was not surprised to see Phillip Wylie shake his head, evidently still incapable of speech. Jamie made a noise of grim satisfaction and stooped to pick up the cloak he had dropped earlier.
Feeling rather weak-kneed after this latest exhibition of the male sense of honor, I sat down on the bucket.
All right, I said, and pushed back a strand of hair. Fine. If weve got all that settled, then... where were we?
Bettys murder, Roger prompted. We dont know who, we dont know when, and we dont know whythough for the sake of argument, might I suggest we assume that no one amongst the present company had anything to do with it?
Verra well. Jamie dismissed murder with a brusque gesture and sat down. What about Stephen Bonnet?
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Rogers expression, hitherto one of interest, darkened at that.
Aye, what about him? Is he involved in this business?
Not in the murder, perhapsbut my aunt and her husband were assaulted in their chamber last evening by two villains. One of whom was an Irishman. Jamie wrapped his cloak about his bare shoulders, bending a sinister glance on Phillip Wylie, who had recovered sufficiently to sit up.
I repeat, he said coldly, hands still pressed against his stomach, that I have no acquaintance with a gentleman of that name, whether Irishman or Hottentot.
Stephen Bonnet is not a gentleman, Roger said. The words were mild enough, but carried an undertone that made Wylie glance up at him.
I do not know the fellow, he said firmly. He took a shallow breath by way of experiment, and finding it bearable, breathed deeper. Why do you suppose that the Irishman who committed the outrage upon Mr. and Mrs. Innes should be this Bonnet? Did he leave his card, perchance?
I laughed, surprising myself. In spite of everything, I had to admit to a certain amount of respect for Phillip Wylie. Held captive, battered, threatened, doused with coffee, and deprived of his wig, he retained a good deal more dignity than would most men in his situation.
Jamie glanced at me, then back at Wylie. I thought the corner of his mouth twitched, but it was impossible to tell in the dim light.
No, he said. I do claim some acquaintance with Stephen Bonnet, who is a felon, a degenerate, and a thief. And I saw the man with ye, sir, when ye happened upon my wife and myself at the shed.
Yes, I said. I saw him, toostanding right behind you. And what were you doing there, anyway? I asked, this question suddenly occurring to me.
Wylies eyes had widened at Jamies accusation. At my statement, he blinked. He took another deep breath and looked down, rubbing his knuckles beneath his nose. Then he looked up at Jamie, the bluster gone.
I do not know him, he said quietly. I had some thought that I was followed, but, glancing behind me, I saw no one, and so paid it no great mind. When I... saw what lay within the shedhis eyes flicked toward me, but would not quite meet my ownI was too much shocked to give heed to aught but what lay before my eyes.
That, I could believe.
Wylie lifted his shoulders, and let them fall.
If this Bonnet was indeed behind me, then I must take your word for it, sir. And yet I assure you that he was not there by my doing, nor with my recognition.
Jamie and Roger exchanged glances, but they could hear the ring of truth in Wylies words, just as I could. There was a brief silence, in which I could hear the horses moving in their stalls. They were no longer agitated, but were getting restive, anticipating food. Dawn light was filtering through the cracks beneath the eaves, a soft, smoky radiance that leached the air inside the stable of all color, and yet revealed the dim outlines of harness hanging on the wall, pitchforks and shovels standing in the corner.
The grooms will be coming soon. Jamie stirred and drew breath, drawing up his shoulders in a half-shrug. He glanced back at Wylie.
Verra well, sir. I accept your word as a gentleman.
Do you? I am flattered.
Still, Jamie went on, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm, I should like to know what it was that brought ye to the shed last night.
Wylie had half-risen from his seat. At this, he hesitated, then slowly sat again. He blinked once or twice, as though thinking, then sighed, giving up.
Lucas, he said simply. He didnt look up, but kept his eyes fixed on his hands, hanging limp between his thighs. I was there, the night he was foaled. I raised him, broke him to the saddle, trained him. He swallowed once; I saw the tremor move beneath the frill at his neck. I came to the stable to have a few moments alone with him... to bid him farewell.
For the first time, Jamies face lost the shadow of dislike that it bore whenever he looked at Wylie. He breathed deep, and nodded slightly.
Aye, I see, he said quietly. And then?
Wylie straightened a little.
When I left the stable, I thought I heard voices near the wall of the kitchen garden. And when I came nearer to see what might be afoot, I saw light shining through the cracks of the shed. He shrugged. I opened the door. And you know better than I what happened then, Mr. Fraser.
Jamie rubbed a hand hard over his face, then shook his head hard.
Aye, he said. I do. I went for Bonnet, and ye got in my way.
You attacked me, Wylie said coldly. He hitched the ruined coat higher up on his shoulders. I defended myself, as I had every right to do. And then you and your son-in-law seized me between you, frog-marched me in therehe jerked his chin at the box stall behind himand held me captive half the night!
Roger cleared his throat. So did Jamie, though with more dour intent.
Aye, well, he said. We willna argue about it. He sighed and stood back, gesturing to Wylie that he might go. I suppose ye didna see in which direction Bonnet fled?
Oh, yes. Though I did not know his name, of course. I expect he is well beyond reach by now, Wylie said. There was an odd note in his voice; something like satisfaction. Jamie turned sharply.
What dye mean?
Lucas. Wylie nodded down the dim aisle of the stable, toward the shadows at the farther end. His stall is at the far end. I know his voice well, the sound of his movement. And I have not heard him this morning. Bonnetif that was who it wasfled toward the stable.
Before Wylie had finished talking, Jamie had seized the lantern and was striding down the stable. Horses thrust inquiring noses over their stall doors as he passed, snorting and whuffling in curiositybut no black nose appeared at the end of the row, no black mane floated out in joyous greeting. The rest of us hastened after him, leaning to see past him as he held the lantern high.
The yellow light shone on empty straw.
We stood silent for a long moment, looking. Then Phillip Wylie sighed and drew himself up.
If I no longer have him, Mr. Fraserneither do you. His eyes rested on me, then, darkly ironic. But I wish you joy of your wife.
He turned and walked away, stockings sagging, the red heels of his shoes winking in the growing light.
OUTSIDE, dawn was breaking, still and lovely. Only the river seemed to move, the spreading light flashing silver on its current beyond the trees.
Roger had gone off to the house, yawning, but Jamie and I lingered by the paddock. People would be stirring within minutes; there would be more questions, speculations, talk. Neither one of us wanted any more talk; not now.
At last, Jamie put his arm about my shoulders, and with an air of decision, turned away from the house. I didnt know where he was going, and didnt much care, though I did hope I could lie down when we got there.
We passed the smithy, where a small, sleepy-looking boy was blowing up the forge with a pair of bellows, making red sparks float and flash like fireflies in the shadows. Past the outbuildings, around a corner, and then we were in front of a nondescript shed with a large double door. Jamie lifted the latch and swung one door open a bit, beckoning me inside.
I canna think why I never thought of this place, he said, when I was looking for a spot to be private.
We were in the carriage shed. A wagon and a small buggy stood in the shadows, as did Jocastas phaeton. An open carriage like a large sleigh on two wheels, it had a bench seat with blue velvet squabs, and a scroll-like singletree like the prow of a ship. Jamie picked me up by the waist and swung me in, then clambered up after me. There was a buffalo robe lying across the squabs; he pulled this off and spread it on the floor of the phaeton. There was just room for two people to curl up there, if they didnt mind lying close together.
Come on, Sassenach, he said, sinking to his knees. Whatever comes next... it can wait.
I quite agreed. Though on the verge of unconsciousness, I couldnt help drowsily asking, Your aunt... do you trust her? What she said, about the gold and all?
Oh, aye, of course I do, he mumbled in my ear. His arm was heavy where it lay over my waist. At least as far as I could throw her.
DEDUCTIONS
AT LAST FORCED FROM OUR REFUGE by thirst and hunger, we made our way out of the carriage shed and past the tactfully averted eyes of the yard slaves, still busy clearing up the debris from the wedding feast. At the edge of the lawn, I saw Phaedre, coming up from the mausoleum with her arms full of plates and cups that had been left in the shrubbery. Her face was swollen and blotched with grief, and her eyes were red, but she was not crying.
She saw us, and stopped.
Oh, she said. Miss Jo be lookin for you, Master Jamie.
She spoke dully, as though the words had little meaning for her, and appeared to find nothing odd in our sudden appearance or disheveled dress.
Oh? Aye. Jamie rubbed a hand over his face, nodding. Aye, Ill go up to her.
She nodded, and was turning to go when Jamie reached out and touched her shoulder.
Im sorry for your trouble, lass, he said quietly.
Sudden tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, but she didnt speak. She dropped a brief curtsy, turned, and hurried away, moving so fast that a knife fell from the stack of crockery, bouncing on the grass behind her.
I stooped and picked it up, the feel of the knifes handle reminding me suddenly and vividly of the blade I had used to open her mothers body. For a disorienting moment, I was no longer on the lawn before the house, but in the dark confines of the shed, the scent of death heavy in the air and the proof of murder gritty in my hand.
Then reality readjusted itself, and the green lawn was covered with flocks of doves and sparrows, foraging peacefully for crumbs at the feet of a marble goddess, bright with sun.
Jamie was saying something.
.... go and wash and rest a bit, Sassenach?
What? Oh... no, Ill come with you. I was suddenly anxious to have this business done with, and go home. I had had enough society for the moment.
WE FOUND JOCASTA, Duncan, Roger, and Brianna all together in Jocastas sitting room, digging into what looked like a substantial, if very late, breakfast. Brianna cast a sharp look at Jamies ruined clothes, but said nothing, and went back to sipping tea, her eyebrows still raised. She and Jocasta both wore dressing gowns, and while Roger and Duncan were dressed, they looked pale and scruffy after the adventures of the night. Neither had shaved, and Duncan sported a large blue bruise on the side of his face where he had hit the hearthstone in falling, but he seemed otherwise all right.
I assumed that Roger had told everyone about our tête-à-tête with Phillip Wylie, and the disappearance of Lucas. At least no one asked questions. Duncan silently shoved a platter of bacon in Jamies direction, and there was no sound for a bit save the musical tinkling of cutlery on plates and the sloshing noises of tea being drunk.
At last, replete and feeling somewhat restored, we sat back and began hesitantly to discuss the events of the dayand nightbefore. So much had happened that I thought perhaps it might be best to try to reconstruct events in a logical sort of way. I said as much, and while Jamies mouth twitched in an annoying manner that suggested he found the notion of logic incompatible with me personally, I ignored this and firmly called the meeting to order.
It begins with Betty, dont you think?
Whether it does or not, I suppose thats as good a starting point as any, Sassenach, Jamie agreed.
Brianna finished buttering a final slice of toast, looking amused.
Carry on, Miss Marple, she said, waving it at me before taking a bite. Roger made a brief choking noise, but I ignored that, too, with dignity.
Fine. Now, I thought Betty was likely drugged when I saw her, but since Dr. Fentiman stopped me examining her, I couldnt be positive. But we are reasonably sure that Betty did drink drugged punch, is that right? I looked round the circle of faces, and both Bree and Jamie nodded, adopting solemn expressions.
Aye, I tasted something in the cup that wasna liquor, Jamie said.
And I talked to the house slaves after I left Da, Brianna added, leaning forward. Two of the women admitted that Betty tipplestippledfrom the dregs of drinks at parties, but both of them insisted she was no more than what they called cheerful when she helped serve rum punch in the drawing room.
And I was in the drawing room then, with Seamus Hanlon and his musicians, Roger confirmed. He glanced at Bree and squeezed her knee gently. I saw Ulysses make the punch himselfthat was the first time during the day that you made it, Ulysses?
All heads swiveled toward the butler, who stood closed-faced behind Jocastas chair, his neat wig and pressed livery a silent reproach to the general air of exhausted dishevelment.
No, the second, he said softly. The first was all drunk at breakfast. His eyes were alert, if bloodshot, but the rest of his face might have been chiseled from gray granite. The household and its servants were his charge, and it was clear that he felt recent events to be a mortifying personal reproach to his stewardship.
Right. Roger turned back toward me, rubbing a hand over his stubbled face. He might have snatched a nap since the confrontation with Wylie in the stable, but he didnt look it.
I didnt take any notice of Betty myself, but the point is, I think I would surely have noticed, if she were drunk and reeling at that point. So would Ulysses, I expect. He glanced over his shoulder for confirmation, and the butler nodded, reluctantly.
Lieutentant Wolff was drunk and reeling, Roger added. Everyone noticed thatthey all remarked how early it was for anyone to be in that condition.
Jocasta made a rude noise, and Duncan bent his head, hiding a smile.
The point being, Jamie summed up neatly, that the second lot of rum punch was served out just past midday, and I found the woman flat on her back in the dung heap, steamin with drink and a punch cup beside her, nay more than an hour later. Ill no say it couldna be done, but it would be quick work to get mortal in that span of time, especially if it was all done wi dregs.
So we assume that she was indeed drugged, I said. The most likely substance being laudanum. Was there some available in the stillroom here?
Jocasta caught the lift of my voice and knew the question was addressed to her; she straightened up in her chair, tucking a wisp of white hair back under her ribboned cap. She seemed to have recovered nicely from the night before.
Oh, aye. But thats naught to go by, she objected. Anyone might ha brought it; its no sae hard to come by, and ye have the price. I ken at least two women among the guests who take the stuff regular. I daresay theyd have brought a bit with them.
I would have loved to know which of Jocastas acquaintances were opium addicts, and how she knew, but dismissed that point, moving on to the next.
Well, wherever the laudanumfor the sake of argumentcame from, it apparently ended up inside Betty. I turned to Jamie. Now, you said that it occurred to you when you found her that she might have drunk somethingdrugged or poisonousintended for someone else.
He nodded, following me closely.
Aye, for why would someone seek to harm or kill a slave?
I dont know why, but someone did kill her, Brianna interrupted, a definite edge in her voice. I cant see how she could have eaten ground glass meant for someone else, can you?
Dont rush me! Im trying to be logical. I frowned at Bree, who made a rude noise akin to Jocastas, but not as loud.
No, I went on, I dont think she can have taken the ground glass by accident, but I dont know when she did take it. Almost certainly, it was sometime after you and Jamie took her up to the attic, though, and after Dr. Fentiman saw her the first time.
Fentimans emetics and purgatives would have caused extensive bleeding, had Betty already ingested the glassas indeed they did, when he returned to treat her renewed complaints of internal distress toward dawn.
I think youre right, I told Brianna, but just to be tidywhen you went to look round, Roger, you didnt find any of the guests who looked as though they might be drugged?
He shook his head, dark brows drawn together, as though the sunlight bothered him. I wasnt surprised if he had a headache; the cotton-wool feeling had turned into a throbbing inside my own skull.
No, he said, and dug a knuckle hard between his brows. There were at least twenty who were beginning to stagger a bit, but they all seemed just legitimately drunk.
What about Lieutenant Wolff? Duncan asked at this point, to everyones surprise. He blushed slightly, seeing everyones eyes on him, but doggedly pursued his point.
A Smeòraich said the man was drunk and reeling in the drawing room. Might he have taken the laudanum, or whatever it was, drunk the half, and given the rest to the slave there?
I dont know, I said dubiously. If ever I saw anyone who could have achieved intoxication within an hour, purely on the basis of straight alcohol...
When I went to check the guests, the Lieutenant was propped up against the wall of the mausoleum with a bottle in his fist, Roger said. Mostly incoherent, but still conscious.
Aye, he fell down in the shrubbery later, Jamie put in, looking dubious. I saw him, in the afternoon. He didna look like yon slave woman, though, only drunk.
The timing is about right, though, I said thoughtfully. So its possible, at least. Did anyone see the Lieutenant later in the day?
Yes, Ulysses said, causing everyone to swivel round to look at him again. He came into the house during the supper, asked me to find him a boat at once, and left by water. Still very drunk, he added precisely, but lucid.
Jocasta made a small puffing sound with her lips, and muttered, Lucid, forbye, under her breath. She massaged her temples with both forefingers; evidently she had a headache, too.
I suppose that puts the Lieutenant out as a suspect? Or is the fact that he left so suddenly suspicious by itself? Brianna, the only person present who seemed not to have a headache, dropped several lumps of sugar into her tea and stirred it vigorously. Jamie shut his eyes, wincing at the noise.
Are ye no overlooking something? Jocasta had been following all the arguments intently, a slight frown of concentration on her face. Now she leaned forward, stretching out her hand toward the low table with its breakfast things. She tapped her fingers lightly here and there to locate what she wanted, then picked up a small silver cup.
Ye showed me the cup from which Betty drank, Nephew, she said to Jamie, holding out the one in her hand. It was like this, aye?
The cup was sterling silver, and brand-new, the incised design barely showing. Later, when the metal began to acquire a patina, black tarnish would settle into the lines of the etching and cause it to stand out, but for the moment, the capital letter I and the small fish that swam around it were almost lost in the gleam of light off the metal.
Aye, it was one like that, Aunt, Jamie replied, touching the hand that held the cup. Brianna says it was one of a set?
It was. I gave them to Duncan in the morning of our wedding day, as a bride-gift. She set down the cup, but laid her long fingers across the top of it. We drank from two of the cups, Duncan and I, with our breakfast, but the other four stayed up here. She waved a hand behind her, indicating the small sideboard against the wall, where the platters of bacon and fried eggs had been placed. Decorated plates were propped upright along the back of the sideboard, interspersed with a set of crystal sherry glasses. I counted; all six of the silver fish cups were on the table now, filled with port, which Jocasta appeared to like with breakfast. There was no indication which of them had held the drugged liquor, though.
Ye didna take any of these cups down to the drawing room on the wedding day, Ulysses? she asked.
No, Madam. He looked shocked at the thought. Of course not.
She nodded, and turned her blind eyes toward Jamie, then toward me.
So ye see, she said simply. It was Duncans cup.
Duncan looked startled, then uneasy, as the implications of what she had said sank in.
No, he said, shaking his head. Ach, no. Couldna be. But tiny droplets of sweat had begun to form a dew across the weathered skin of his jaw.
Did anyone offer ye a drink day before yesterday, a charaid? Jamie asked, leaning forward intently.
Duncan shrugged helplessly.
Aye, everyone did!
And of course they had. He was, after all, the bridegroom. He had accepted none of the proffered refreshment, though, owing to the digestive upset occasioned by his nerves. Nor had he noticed particularly whether any of the drinks on offer had been served in a silver cup.
I was that distracted, Mac Dubh, I shouldna have noticed if anyone had been offering me a live snake in his hand. Ulysses plucked a linen napkin from the tray and offered it unobtrusively. Blindly, Duncan took it and wiped his face.
So... you think that someone was trying to harm Duncan? The astonishment in Rogers voice might not have been strictly flattering, but Duncan appeared not to take it amiss.
But why? he said, bewildered. Who could hate me?
Jamie chuckled under his breath, and the tension round the table relaxed slightly. It was true; while Duncan was intelligent and competent, he was of so modest a disposition that it was impossible to conceive of his having offended anyone, let alone driven them into a murderous frenzy.
Well, a charaid, Jamie said tactfully, it might not just be personal, ken? He caught my eye, and made a wry grimace. More than one attempt had been made on his own life, for reasons having to do only with who he was, rather than anything he had done. Not that people hadnt tried to kill him occasionally for things hed done, as well.
Jocasta appeared to have been thinking along the same lines.
Indeed, she said. I have been thinking, myself. Do ye not recall, nephew, what happened at the Gathering?
Jamie lifted one eyebrow, and picked up a cup of tea.
A good many things happened there, Aunt, he said. But I take it ye mean what happened with Father Kenneth?
I do. She reached up a hand automatically, as Ulysses set a fresh cup into it. Did ye not tell me that yon Lillywhite said something about the priest being prevented from performing ceremonials?
Jamie nodded, closing his eyes briefly as he took a mouthful of tea.
Aye, he did. So, ye think it was maybe your marriage with Duncan he meant? That was the ceremonial to be prevented?
My headache was growing worse. I pressed my fingers between my brows; they were warm from the teacup, and the heat felt good on my skin.
Wait just one minute, I said. Are you saying that someone wanted to prevent your aunts marriage to Duncan, and succeeded in doing so at the Gathering, but then couldnt think of any way of preventing it now, and so tried to murder Duncan, in order to stop it? My own voice echoed the astonishment on Duncans features.
Im no saying so, myself, Jamie said, eyeing Jocasta with interest, but I gather that my aunt is suggesting as much.
I am, she said calmly. She drank off her tea, and set down the cup with a sigh. I dinna wish to rate myself too high, nephew, but the fact is that I have been courted by this one and that one, ever since Hector died. River Run is a rich property, and I am an auld woman.
There was a moments silence, as everyone absorbed that. Duncans face reflected an uneasy horror.
But he said, stuttering slightly, butbutif it was that, Mac Dubh, why wait?
Wait?
Aye. He looked around the table, seeking understanding. See you, if someone meant to stop the marriage at the Gathering, well and good. But its been four months since then, and no ones lifted a hand against me. I mostly ride alone; twould have been a simple matter, surely, to lay for me on the road as I went about my business, and put a bullet through my head. He spoke matter-of-factly, but I saw a small shiver pass through Jocasta at the notion.
So why wait until almost the hour of the wedding itself, and in the presence of hundreds of people? Aye, well, its a point, Duncan, Jamie admitted.
Roger had been following all this, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting in his hands. He straightened up at this.
One reason I can think of, he said. The priest.
Everyone stared at him, eyebrows raised.
The priest was here, he explained. See, if its River Run thats behind all this, then it isnt only a matter of getting Duncan out of the way. Kill him, and our murderer is right back where he startedJocastas not married to Duncan, but she isnt married to him, either, and no way to force the issue.
But, Roger raised a finger, if the priest is here, and all set to perform a private ceremony... then its simple. Kill Duncanin a manner that might suggest suicide or accidentand then swoop up to Jocastas suite, and force the priest to perform the marriage at gunpoint. The servants and guests are all occupied with Duncan, no one to make objections or interfere. Theres the bed to hand He nodded at the big tester, visible through the doorway into the bedroom. Take Jocasta straight there and consummate the marriage by force... and Bobs your uncle.
At this point, Roger caught sight of Jocastas dropped jaw and Duncans stunned look, and it occurred to him that this was not merely an interesting academic proposition. He blushed crimson, and cleared his throat.
Ah... I mean... its been done.
Jamie coughed, and cleared his own throat. It had been done. His own bloody-minded grandfather had begun his social rise by forcibly weddingand promptly beddingthe elderly and wealthy dowager Lady Lovat.
What? Brianna swiveled round to stare at Roger, obviously appalled. Thats the most... but they couldnt get away with something like that!
I expect they could, really, Roger said, almost apologetically. See, hen, possession is a lot more than nine-tenths of the law when it comes to women. Marry a woman and take her to bed, and she and all her property are yours, whether she likes it or not. Without another male relative to protest, its not likely a court would do a thing.
But she does have a male relative! Brianna flipped a hand toward Jamiewho did have a protest to make, but probably not along the lines Brianna had expected.
Aye, well, but. Witnesses, he objected. Ye canna do something like that, without ye have a witness to say it was a valid marriage. He cleared his throat again, and Ulysses reached for the teapot.
Old Simon had had witnesses; two of his friends, plus the two attendants of the dowager. One of whom had later become Jamies grandmother, though I did trust less force had been involved in that transaction.
I cant see that thats a difficulty, I said, brushing crumbs off my bosom. Obviously, this wasnt a one-man show. Whoever the intending bridegroom isand mind, we dont even know there is one, but for the sake of argumentanyway, whoever he is, if he exists, plainly he has accomplices. Randall Lillywhite, for one.
Who wasna here, Jamie reminded me.
Hm. Thats true, I admitted. But still, the principle holds.
Yes, Roger said stubbornly, and if he does exist, then the chief suspect is Lieutenant Wolff, isnt he? Everyone knows hes made more than one try to marry Jocasta. And he was here.
But pie-eyed, Jamie added, dubiously.
Or not. As I said, Seamus and his boys were surprised that anyone could be that drunk so early on, but what if it was a sham? Roger glanced round the table, one eyebrow lifted.
If he were only pretending to be reeling drunk, no one would pay attention to him or treat him later as a suspect, and yet he could manage to be in position to poison a cup of punch, give it to Betty with instructions to give it to Duncan, then slip away and hang about, ready to nip upstairs the moment word came that Duncan had collapsed. And if Betty then offered it to Duncan, who refused itwell, there she was, with a full cup of fresh rum punch in her hand.
He shrugged.
Who could blame her for stealing away into the kitchen garden to enjoy it?
Jocasta and Ulysses snorted simultaneously, making it reasonably clear what they thought of the blameworthiness of Bettys action. Roger coughed and hurried on with his analysis.
Right. Well. But the dose didnt kill Betty. Either the murderer miscalculated or... Another bright thought occurred to Roger. Perhaps he didnt intend the drug to kill Duncan. Maybe he only meant to render him unconscious, and then tip him quietly into the river. That would have been even better. Ye cant swim, can you? he asked, turning to Duncan, who shook his head in a dazed sort of way. His one hand rose, mechanically massaging the stump of his missing arm.
Aye. So a nice drowning would have passed for accident, no worry. Roger rubbed his hands together, looking pleased. But then it all went wrong, because the maid drank the drugged punch, not Duncan. And thats why she was killed!
Why? Jocasta was looking quite as dazed as Duncan.
Because she could identify the man whod given her the cup, Jamie put in. He nodded, lounging thoughtfully back in his chair. And she would have, the minute folk started in on her about it. Aye, thats sense. But of course he couldna make away with her by violent means; the risk of being seen coming or going to the attic was too great.
Roger nodded approval at this quick appreciation.
Aye. But it would have been no great trick to get your hands on ground glasshow many goblets and tumblers were floating through this place during the day? Drop one on the bricks and grind the shards under your heel, and there ye are.
Even that might not have been necessary; there had been shattered glass all over the paths and the terrace, after the post-wedding celebrations. I had dropped one glass myself, when surprised by Phillip Wylie.
I turned to address Ulysses.
Theres still the problem of how the ground glass was administered. Do you know what Betty was given to eat or drink, Ulysses?
A frown rippled over the butlers face, like a stone thrown into dark water.
Dr. Fentiman ordered her a syllabub, he said slowly. And a bit of porridge, if she were awake enough to swallow. I made up the syllabub myself, and gave it to Mariah to take up to her. I gave the order for porridge to the cook, but I do not know whether Betty ate it, or who might have carried it.
Hmm. Jocasta pursed her lips, frowning. The cookhouse would be madness. And with so many folk about... well, we can ask Mariah and the others, but I shouldna be surprised if they dinna recall even carrying the dishes, let alone someone tampering with them. It would take nay more than a moment, ken; distract the girl, whisk in the glass... She waved a hand, indicating the scandalous ease with which murder could be committed.
Or someone could have gone up to the attic under the pretext of seeing how she was, and given her something to drink, with the glass in it then, I suggested. A syllabub would be perfect. People were coming and going, but Betty was alone up there for long stretches, between Dr. Fentimans visit, and the time the other slaves came to bed. It would be quite possible for someone to go up there unseen.
Very nice, Inspector Lestrade, Brianna said to Roger, sotto voce. But theres no proof, is there?
Jocasta and Duncan were sitting side by side, rigid as a pair of Toby jugs, carefully not facing each other. At this, Jocasta took a deep and audible breath, obviously forcing herself to relax.
True, she said. Theres not. Ye dinna recall Betty offering you a cup of punch, a dhuine?
Duncan gnawed fiercely on his moustache for a moment, concentrating, but then shook his head.
She might have... a bhean. But she might not, too.
Well, then.
Everyone fell silent for a moment, during which Ulysses moved silently round the table, clearing things away. At last Jamie gave a deep sigh and straightened up.
Well, so. Then theres what happened last night. We are agreed that the Irishman who entered your chamber, Aunt, was Stephen Bonnet?
Briannas hand jerked, and the cup of tea crashed to the table.
Who? she said hoarsely. Stephen Bonnethere?
Jamie glanced at me, frowning.
I thought yed told her, Sassenach.
When? I said, with some irritation. I thought youd told her, I said, turning to Roger, who merely shrugged, stone-faced. Ulysses had swooped down with a cloth and was blotting up the tea. Bree was white-faced, but had regained her self-possession.
Never mind, she said. He was here? Last night?
Aye, he was, Jamie said reluctantly. I saw him.
So he was the thief who came after the goldor one of them? Brianna reached for one of the silver cups of port and drank it off as though it were water. Ulysses blinked, but hastened to refill the cup from the decanter.
It would seem so. Roger reached for a fresh scone, carefully avoiding Briannas eyes.
How did he find out about the gold, Aunt? Jamie leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed in concentration.
Jocasta gave a small snort, and held out her hand. Ulysses, accustomed to her needs, put a piece of buttered toast into it.
Hector Cameron told someone; my brother Dougal told someone; or the third man told someone. And knowing them as I did, I should lay odds it wasna either Hector nor Dougal. She shrugged and took a bite of toast.
But Ill tell ye one thing, she added, swallowing. The second man in my room, the one who reeked of drink. I said he didna speak, aye? Well, thats plain enough, no? He was someone I ken, whose voice I should have known, if he spoke.
Lieutenant Wolff? Roger suggested.
Jamie nodded, a crease forming between his brows.
Who better than the navy, to find a pirate when ones wanted, aye?
Would one want a pirate? Brianna murmured. The port had restored her composure, but she was still pale.
Aye, Jamie said, paying little attention to her. No small undertaking, ten thousand pound in gold. It would take more than one man to deal with such a sumLouis of France and Charles Stuart kent that much; they sent six to deal with thirty thousand. Little wonder, then, if whoever learned of the gold had enlisted the help of Stephen Bonneta well-known smuggler and pirate, and one with not only the means of transport but the connections to dispose of the gold.
A boat, I said slowly. The Lieutenant left by boat, during the supper. Suppose that he went downriver, and met Stephen Bonnet. They came back together, and waited for the opportunity to sneak into the house and try to terrorize Jocasta into telling them where the gold was.
Jamie nodded.
Aye, that could be. The Lieutenant has had dealings here for years. Is it possible, Aunt, that he saw something that made him suspect ye had the gold here? Ye said Hector had three bars; is any of it left?
Jocastas lips pressed tight, but after a moments hesitation, she gave a grudging nod.
He would keep a lump of it on his desk, to weight his papers. Aye, Wolff might have seenbut how would he have kent what it was?
Perhaps he didnt at the time, Brianna suggested, but then later heard about the French gold, and put two and two together.
There was a nodding and murmuring at this. As a theory, it fitted well enough. I didnt see quite how one would go about proving it, though, and said so.
Jamie shrugged, and licked a smear of jam off his knuckle.
I shouldna think proving whats happened is so important, Sassenach. Its maybe what comes next. He looked at Duncan, straight on.
Theyll come back, a charaid, he said quietly. Ye ken that, aye?
Duncan nodded. He looked unhappy, but determined.
Aye, I ken. He reached out a hand and took Jocastasthe first gesture of the sort I had ever seen him make toward her. We shall be ready, Mac Dubh.
Jamie nodded, slowly.
I must go, Duncan. The planting willna wait. But I shall send word to those I ken, to have a watch of some sort kept upon Lieutenant Wolff.
Jocasta had sat silent, her hand unmoving in Duncans. She sat up taller in her chair at this.
And the Irishman? she said. Her other hand rubbed slowly across her knee, pressing lightly with the heel of her hand, where the knife blade had cut.
Jamie exchanged a glance with Duncan, then with me.
Hell come back, he said, grim certainty in his voice.
I was looking at Brianna as he said it. Her face was calm, but I was her mother, and I saw the fear move in her eyes, like a snake through water. Stephen Bonnet, I thought, with a sinking heart, was already back.
WE LEFT NEXT DAY for the mountains. We were no more than five miles on our journey, when I caught the sound of hoofbeats on the road behind us, and saw a flash of scarlet, through the spring-green of the chestnut trees.
It was Major MacDonald, and the look of delight upon his face as he spurred toward us told me all I needed to know.
Oh, bloody hell! I said.
The note bore Tryons scarlet seal, bloodred as the Majors coat.
It came this morning to Greenoaks, the Major said, reining up to watch as Jamie broke the seal. I offered to bring it, as I was bound this way, in any case. He knew already what the note contained; Farquard Campbell would already have opened his.
I watched Jamies face as he read. His expression didnt change. He finished reading, and handed me the note.
19th March, 1771
To the Commanding Officers of the Militia:
Sirs:
I Yesterday determined by Consent of His Majestys Council to march with a Body of Forces taken from several Militia Regiments, into the Settlements of the Insurgents to reduce them to Obedience, who by their Rebellious Acts and Declarations have set the Government at defiance and interrupted the Course of Justice by obstructing, overturning and shutting up the Courts of Law. That some of your Regiment therefore may have a Share in the Honor of serving their Country in this important Service, I am to require you to make a choice of thirty men, who shall join the Body of my Force in this Endeavor.
It is not intended to move the Troops before the twentieth of next Month before which time you shall be informed of the day you are to assemble your Men, the time of march and the Road you are to take.
It is recommended as a Christian Duty incumbent on every Planter that remains at Home, to take care of, and assist to the utmost of his Abilities the Families of those Men who go on this Service that neither their Families nor plantations may suffer while they are employed on a Service where the Interest of the whole is concerned.
For the Expenditures ordered on this Expedition I shall give printed Warrants payable to the Bearers, These Warrants will become negotiable, until the Treasury can pay them out of the contingent Fund in case there is not a sufficiency of Money in the Treasury to answer the necessary Services of this Expedition.
I am &c. &c.,
William Tryon
Had Hermon Husband and James Hunter known, when they left River Run? I thought they must. And the Major, of course, was bound for New Bern now, to offer his services to the Governor. His boots were filmed with the dust of his ride, but the hilt of his sword gleamed in the sun.
Bloody, bloody, fucking hell, I said softly, again, with emphasis. Major MacDonald blinked. Jamie glanced at me, and the corner of his mouth twitched up.
Aye, well, he said. Nearly a month. Just time to get the barley in.
PART SIX
The War of the Regulation
... AND FIGHT THEM, SAYING THEY HAD MEN ENOUGH TO KILL THEM,
WE CAN KILL THEM
Deposition of Waightstill Avery, Witness
North Carolina
Mecklenburg County
Waightstill Avery Testifieth and saith that on the sixth Day of March Instant about nine or Ten OClock in the Morning He this Deponent was at the now dwelling house of one Hudgins who lives at the lower end of the long Island.
And He this Deponent there saw Thirty or Forty of those People who style themselves Regulators, and was then and there arrested and forceably detained a prisoner by one of them (who said his Name was James McQuiston) in the Name of them all, and that soon after one James Graham (or Grimes) spoke to this Deponent these Words You are now a Prisoner and You must not go any where without a Guard. immediately after adding that You must keep with Your Guard and You shant be hurt.
This Deponent was then conducted under Guard of two Men to the regulating Camp (as they termed it) about a Mile distant, where were many more persons of the same Denomination and others came there some Hours after, in the whole as this Deponent supposes and imagines about two hundred and Thirty.
That from themselves He this Deponent learned the Names of five of their Captains or leading Men then present (Viz., Thomas Hamilton and one other Hamilton, James Hunter, Joshua Teague one Gillespie and the aforesaid James Grimes (or Graham). He this Deponent heard many of them whose Names are to Him unknown say approbrious Things against the Governor, the Judges of the Superior Court, against the House of Assembly and other persons in Office. While a surrounding Crowd were uttering Things still more approbrious the said Thomas Hamilton stood in the Midst and spoke Words of the following Tenor and purport (the Crowd still assenting to and affirming the Truth of what was said):
What Business has Maurice Moore to be judge, He is no Judge, he was not appointed by the King He nor Henderson neither, Theyll neither of them hold Court. The Assembly have gone and made a Riotous Act, and the people are more inraged than ever, it was the best thing that could be for the Country for now We shall be forced to kill all the Clerks and Lawyers, and We will kill them and Ill be damned if they are not put to Death. If they had not made that Act We might have suffered some of them to live. A Riotous Act! there never was any such Act in the Laws of England or any other Country but France, they brought it from France, and theyll bring the Inquisition.
Many of them said the Governor was a Friend to the Lawyers and the Assembly had worsted the Regulators in making Laws for Fees. They shut Husband up in Gaol that He might not see their roguish proceedings and then the Governor and the Assembly made just such Laws as the Lawyers wanted. The Governor is a Friend to the Lawyers, the Lawyers carry on every Thing, they appoint weak ignorant Justices of Peace for their own pu
