Page 32 of A Season Beyond A Kiss (Birmingham #2)

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C OOPER F RYE brACED A SHOULDER AGAINST THE heavy wooden plank and shoved through the main door of Gustav Fridrich’s warehouse. He saw the German immediately on the far side of his office, sitting behind his massive desk where he could usually be found nowadays. His lame arm apparently had made him reluctant to endure the tawdry surroundings and noisy bedlam of the cat houses where on a frequent basis he had once been inclined to spend hours wallowing in prurient activities and women, in his case half a dozen at a time. The German’s wealth had bought the harlots cheaply enough, but it certainly hadn’t helped lately to ease his dark moods. Nevertheless, Frye had come for the specific purpose of relieving the man of a small measure of his riches.

The ice blue eyes lifted slowly from the ledgers and settled upon the Englishman. During his short association with the Englishman, Gustav Fridrich had at times found it amusing to hear what Cooper Frye had up his sleeve, for the man was immensely clever when his brain wasn’t pickled by hard liquor. He was also a crook through and through. Of that, there was no doubt. Gustav hadn’t forgotten that it had been Frye’s sly tricks that had cost him Raelynn and, in a roundabout way, the loss of his arm. One day he would make the Englishman rue his deception.

Leaning back in his massive chair, Gustav tapped the feathered end of his quill against the finely tooled leather surface of his desk as he smirked in wry amusement. “So, Cooper Frye, to vhat do I owe zhis occasion? I rarely zee yu zober, so it must be zomezhing important. Vhat iz it zhis time? Zomezhing different altogether? Or iz it money as usual? Zince zhat is nearly alvays zhe case, I can only vonder vhat yu’re villin’ to do for zome coins zhis time?”

Cooper settled himself without invitation into a chair across the desk from the German. “I’ve been keepin’ me ears open an’ stayin’ abreast o’ the happenin’s an’ goin’s on in an’ around Charleston. This very afternoon I heard Jeffrey Birmin’am had been arrested for Nell’s murder. Since he has, I thought ye’d feel obliged ta give me what ye promised the last time we talked.”

“For vhat?” Gustav demanded in wide skepticism. “Vhat haf yu done zhat iz vorth zhis interruption? Can yu not zee I am vorkin’ on my accounts? An’ yu should know from past experiences zhat I dislike being disturbed vhen I’m involved in my vork.”

Cooper gave the German a facial shrug. The man’s dislikes didn’t bother him overmuch. “If I hadn’t killed Nell, Jeffrey Birmin’am wouldn’t be in jail now, an’ as I remember it, ye promised me a thousand Yankee dollars if’n I’d cause a split betwixt me niece an’ that there fancy bloke she married.”

The German shot to his feet in rapidly rising fury and slammed his palm down flat upon his desk. “Yu are lyin’! I spoke vith Olney earlier. He told me zhat he saw Birmingham kill zhe girl, so vhat are yu trying to do? Claim my money for zomezhing yu did not do?”

Frye sneered in rank distaste at the mention of his rival’s name. That young scamp was always trying to undermine his efforts to get a few coins. “Olney is mistaken, as usual. Birmin’am didn’t kill Nell.”

Gustav’s eyes blazed as they met the man’s bland stare. “Vhy don’t yu tell me just vhat in zhe hell happened out zhere zhat night. I hear vone zhing from Olney. Now yu tell me another. I vant to know vhich vone of yu iz really lying and trying his best to cheat me.”

“I suppose I can appease yer curiosity,” Frye allowed. He had never liked Gustav, and if not for the man’s wealth, he’d have found a way to be free of the tyrant. “Ye sees, I gots wind that Olney was gonna take Nell out ta make a ruckus at Oakley durin’ the Birmin’am’s ball if’n my nephew by marriage didn’t cooperate, as it were. So’s I decided ta go have a looksee ’round ‘ere meself, ‘ceptin’ I hads me a foul time findin’ meself a horse, what wit’ all the liveries hired out ta escort guests ta the affair. Humph, by the time I arrived, the shindig was o’er. Still, I looked ’bout the place real careful wit’ a lantern burnin’ real low like, jes’ ta see what might o’ happened, an’ that’s when I come across Nell lyin’ wit’ a gut wound in a horse stall. There she was, just her an’ her babe. She was in pain, all right, but it ‘peared ta me like she

was gonna make it through just fine once she got herself a li’l help from a doc.

“At first, I thought Olney mighta’ve stabbed her wit’ the knife I saw lyin’ nearby, but Nell told me some stranger had done it ta her. She said she’d gone lookin’ for Birmin’am ta warn him one last time ’bout the shame he’d suffer if’n he didn’t meet her demands. When she slipped inta his bedroom, she said it weren’t Birmin’am ‘ere atall, but a stranger who’d been pryin’ on a box on Birmin’am’s desk. Nell said she tried ta leave real quick like, but the bloke caught her, put a knife ta her throat an’ threatened ta slice it open if’n she screamed. After the rain, it was real muddy outside, an’ he didn’t want ta get his fancy shoes dirty, so’s he hauled her ta the bed an’ sat on her whilst he put on a pair o’ Birmin’am’s boots.”

“Vhy didn’t just he kill her in Herr Birmingham’s bedroom? He could haf saved himself a lot of bother.”

“What wit’ him bein’ a guest, I suppose he didn’t want a hew an’ cry made o’er her body whilst he was still in the house.”

Gustav thrust his chin out musefully as he considered the man’s conjecture. Then he waved his hand officiously. “Continue.”

“The fella took her out ta the barn an’ stabbed her. He was gonna knife her again, but accordin’ ta Nell, he heard a noise, an’ that’s when Olney ran out o’ the next stall. The gent raced after him, but Nell figgered Olney took off ’cause she then heard a clatter o’ hooves rattlin’ off inta the distance. The stranger came back ta see ’bout Nell, but she played real dead like. Guess he fell for her game, ‘ceptin’ she weren’t dead. That’s when I started thinkin’ ta meself. Here ye’d gone an’ promised me a thousand dollars ta split the newlyweds, an’ ‘ere a stranger were ta blame for it all. That’s when I decided ta finish Nell off meself.” He laughed shortly. “She screamed when she saw me intent, but it did her little good. Still, me timin’ was off a bit. I seen a lantern comin’ from the house an’ quickly snuffed out me own. I hide meself in another stall, an’

that’s when Birmin’am himself come out ta have a looksee ’round the barn, ‘ceptin’ he didn’t get no farther than poor Nell. She was still alive when he reached her, an’ she mewled on ’bout her lovin’ him an’ how sorry she was for e’er lyin’ ’bout him sirin’ her babe. A short time later, me niece come out searchin’ for him, an’ from the way things looked, she got it inta her head real fast like that Birmin’am had killed the girl, ’cause me niece went flyin’ back inta the house like someone had torched her petticoats.”

“So, Frye! Yu are satisfied zhat yu vere zhe vone vhat put a vedge between Birmingham and yur niece, except she vas in zhe same house vith him vhen I vent to Frau Dalton’s.”

“No matter that.” Frye waved his hand, dismissing the importance of that bit of information. “What matters is the fact that Nell would still be alive if’n ‘tweren’t for me, an’ Jeffrey Birmin’am wouldn’t be in prison now ’cause Nell would’ve told everybody he were innocent o’ stabbin’ her an’ gettin’ her wit’ child. She were kinda lovesick o’er that ‘ere rich gent, an’ ye can bet she wouldna’ve let him suffer more’n a day’s time in jail afore she’da’ve spilled out the truth, maybe e’en as ta how I’d put her up ta claimin’ Birmin’am as her kid’s pa.”

Gustav made no effort to hide the sneer in his tone as he voiced a conjecture. “I take it, zhen, zhat yu vant payment for vhat yu did.”

“A thousand Yankee dollars, just like ye promised, Mr. Fridrich. Otherwise, I’ll have ta send word ta the sheriff that me niece’s husband ain’t the bloke he wants, that he should be lookin’ for a fancy stranger who attended Birmin’am’s shindig.”

Gustav’s mouth twisted downward as he considered the Englishman’s threat. He had already given Olney ten thousand for Birmingham’s arrest, and that deed had been accomplished. Considering the unfavorable sentiment that event had already been evoked against his rival, Gustav had every hope that before too much time elapsed Jeffrey Birmingham would be hanged for Nell’s murder, which would leave Raelynn a bereaved widow. Once that happened, then he’d be able to collect everything he wanted from her. However, Frye could muddle up everything before the hanging, but Gustav wasn’t about to stand for that.

“I vill pay yu zhe zhousand dollars to keep yur mouth closed, Frye,” Gustav agreed at last, bringing a cocky grin to the Englishman’s face. The German drew out a small strongbox from his desk, unlocked it, and counted out the necessary gold coins. “If I don’t give yu zhis, I know yu vell enough to be assured zhat yu vill keep yer threat and haf Birmingham set free.”

“His wife is me niece, after all, an’ as they say, blood is thicker’n water.” Frye collected the coins in a leather bag and then jauntily returned to the front portal, where, with a casual salute and a succinct smile, he took his leave.

“Damnation!” Gustav roared, slamming his fist down upon his desk. Pivoting about face, he stalked through the dark halls of his warehouse. “Vhere iz everybody? Morgan? Cheney? Muffat? Vhere are yu?”

No answer came, and he strode deeper into the structure until he could hear men grunting as they stacked wooden rifle boxes.

“Morgan, vhere are yu?”

“Here, sir, loadin’ the rifles like ye told us ta do for shipment upriver.”

“Forget zhat for zhe moment,” Gustav commanded sharply. “I haf more important vork for yu to do now. Cooper Frye left here moments ago. He has become a hazard to our business ventures. I vant yu to ... ah ... How shall I say it? Put him out of his misery? Frye has a bag of coins on his person. If yu three lads do avay with him, then zhat vill be revard. Yu may share in it evenly or zeparately. It does not matter to me vhich vone of yu do it as long as Cooper Frye iz zilenced permanently. Yu understand?”

C OOPER F RYE STROLLED AWAY FROM THE WAREHOUSE , feeling very cocky with a thousand Yankee coins in his possession. It had been a while since he had had his mind clear of the dulling intoxicants he was wont to liberally quaff, and at the moment he was convinced that he could do no wrong. In fact, he had already planned his next venture to enlarge his wealth, possibly by as much as a few more thousand. It entailed arranging a meeting with an old acquaintance whom he had diligently been avoiding. This fellow was exceedingly more dangerous than the German, but if he kept his wits keen and clear, he had no doubt that he’d come out the victor. After all, this was his lucky day.

It was a rare occasion indeed when Cooper Frye sauntered down Meeting Street to the best hostelry in town and crossed its threshold. It wasn’t that he disliked being in such a place. His reluctance to enter the establishment was simply due to the fact that he normally couldn’t afford anything that was worth having on the premises and that, when he came in, the manager, along with almost everyone on his staff, looked at him as if he were something tainted that had just been washed up from the sea. Previously he had always left the place feeling the throes of deep depression, which had only driven him to imbibe all the more. At least now, he had money in his purse, but sorrowfully not enough to abide overlong where the taste of luxury was so pronounced and far too tempting for him to ignore.

A small bribe of a coin paid to a fetching maid, just slightly past her prime, left him reasonably assured that his note would be given to the occupant of the suite his acquaintance was letting. Even so, he followed covertly until well assured that the delivery had been made to the specified room. The maid had given the missive to the man’s steward and then bustled back toward the area in which she had been working, humming happily to herself until her breath was snatched inward in shocked surprise as a large hand clapped rudely between her buttocks. She whirled with eyes blazing and, before Cooper Frye could stumble back to a safe distance, clamped a hand to his crotch, catching his manly possessions in a fierce grip that made him soar to the tips of his toes.

“Don’t e’er do that again, ye blackguard!” she hissed through gnashing teeth. “If’n ye do, I’ll tear ’em out, so help me I will. Do ye ken?” To make her point, she increased the pressure until Frye began to mumble all sorts of pleas and promises. “ Do ye ken?”

He nodded speedily, affirming the fact that he’d do anything if she’d just let him go. Finally she condescended to turn him loose and did so with a satisfied chuckle. Cooper’s breath left him in a relieved “whoosh” as she stepped back and dusted her hands, as if intimidating him had been all in a day’s work.

“Bitch!” Cooper mumbled none too loudly and glowered after her as she pranced off with skirts swaying from stem to stern. His face contorted in a grimace as he twitched and tugged at his breeches, trying to right everything. What he feared most now was that he had been permanently shriveled.

Frye gradually collected his aplomb and straightened his clothes, shoddy as they were. Assuming an air of one who had immense wealth, he returned to the lower foyer and strolled out into the crisp, late afternoon air. He had no doubt that his associate would keep the appointment; it was certainly in the man’s best interest to comply. Of course, Cooper Frye had been careful to arrange a meeting where the two of them would be well in sight of people. It was much safer that way.

“D AMMIT , R HYS, YOU’VE GOT TO LET ME GO ,” J EFF demanded hotly as he whirled to face the lawman, who, at the moment, was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on his desk. “By now, most everyone in Charleston knows I’ve been arrested, and that knowledge will surely mean danger for my wife. Whether it’s Gustav or the miscreant who attacked us, they’ll likely see her as a bird in hand while I’m conveniently locked up and out of the way.”

“You’re not locked up, Jeffrey,” the sheriff pointed out, not unreasonably. He swept a hand toward the only occupied cell in the jail. Now that the doors were on both cells, he could even feel confident about keeping his young prisoner. “Olney is locked up. You’re free.” He indicated the wide area in which his guest was striding irately about, as if that one needed a reminder that he was roaming about the office unhindered and of his own accord. “In fact, if you don’t stop pacing about, you’re going to wear a damned hole through my floor.”

“I’d like to wear a hole through that thick pate of yours, my friend. Maybe then you’d be able to understand what I’m talking about,” Jeff retorted, pivoting about. “Can’t you understand that my wife is virtually alone in Elizabeth’s house, with only her maid and a four-year-old boy to come to her aid if something happens? Gustav has already been there, pressing his case to have her for himself. And no telling what that hooded demon who attacked us might be tempted to do in my absence. I tell you, Rhys, you’ve got to let me go!”

“Now, now, Jeffrey, I’ve got everything under control,” the sheriff assured him. “I’ve spoken to Elijah, and he’ll continue to watch over your wife. If anything happens, he’ll let me know.”

“That’s not nearly enough to satisfy me!” Jeff argued. “Not now! Not while I’m in here!”

Rhys heaved a sigh, growing a bit frustrated with the unyielding persistence of the man. “Look, Jeffrey, why don’t you just go lie down in your cell for a while and take a nap or something,” he suggested. “Maybe then you’ll calm down and see my point. If I were to let you go, then you’d likely be strung up, and what good would you be to your wife then?”

Pausing, Jeff set his jaw thoughtfully aslant and considered his situation, giving Rhys justification to think that he intended to be more reasonable now. That supposition was served quick death when Jeff stated his deductions. “I could just as well walk out of here. You haven’t arrested me, and you know damn well that I’m innocent. So, I guess basically that leaves me a free man.” Seriously testing that theory, he grabbed up his frockcoat and strode toward the front door. “I’ll see you later, Rhys.”

“Charlie!” Rhys barked, overturning his chair in his haste to get to the portal first. He did so, but only barely.

“I’m here, Sheriff,” the deputy replied, shuffling in from the back room.

Rhys met the glaring emerald eyes that were level with his own, and though he never wavered before them, just the same he felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. He faced a man equal to his own height and, though lighter by a couple of stone or more, was still very much in prime physical strength. Jeffrey Birmingham could be damned pleasant, as Rhys well knew, even easygoing, but there was no doubt about it, steel formed the core of his backbone. It didn’t take but a moment for Rhys to realize just why the Birminghams were considered dangerous men to rile. If those deep green shards couldn’t stab a person to the heart, then it would be the men who possessed them who’d continue the fight until the last foe and culprit was hung. “Handcuff Mr. Birmingham to his cot.”

“What?!” Jeff cried in spiraling rage. “Dammit, Rhys, you’re not going to do that to me, not when my wife may be in danger!”

The sheriff pushed a hand against the hard, muscular shoulder, trying to shove his friend back away from the door. “Get in your cell.”

“No, dammit!” Jeff snapped, coming around with a clenched fist.

It wasn’t much more than a tap on the head, but after his recent concussion, it was definitely enough to send Jeffrey buckling to the floor and into the realm of oblivion. Rhys beckoned for Charlie to come help him, and between the two of them, they managed to get the unconscious man into the cell where they stretched him out upon the cot.

“That should keep Mr. Birmin’am quiet for a while, eh, Sheriff?” the deputy remarked with a rueful grin. “Ye still want me ta handcuff him?”

“No, just leave him be. He’s going to be mad enough when he wakes up without adding mayhem to folly. We’ll just lock the door to make sure he stays in here once he comes around.” Rhys shook his head ruefully. “If we come through this thing with our hides still intact, Charlie, it cer tainly won’t be because Mr. Birmingham won’t be trying to skin us.”

“Hey, Sheriff?”

Rhys turned toward the occupant of the other cell. Presently the curly-headed rascal was lounging upon his cot, looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself. The young rogue took great delight in harassing him. Indeed, he just wouldn’t give up. “What do you want, Olney?”

Scratching his chin, the scamp turned his head on his pillow and grinned back at the lawman. “Ye afraid o’ Birmin’am? If’n ye ain’t, ye sure act like it.”

Rhys sighed heavily. “Be quiet, Olney.”

C OOPER F RYE WAITED AT THE P ROVOST D UNGEON, AN old custom house which the British had used to lock up prisoners during the war, until half an hour past the time he had specified in his note. Considering everything, he had thought it a befitting place to meet, but he now decided that it would do him little good to stay around any longer. Obviously the man wasn’t going to come.

Leaving Exchange Street, he turned north toward Market Street and, after entering that area, bought himself an apple to munch. He had just braced a shoulder against the trunk of a tree when an elongated shadow fell upon him and stretched out across the ground beyond him. In the next moment he felt a knife prodding in the area of his ribs.

“Aftahnoon, Coop,” a husky voice greeted near his ear.

“Morgan?” Cooper Frye tried to turn, but the point of the blade gave him another goading, reminding him to keep still. “What are ye doin’?”

“Ye made Mr. Fridrich real mad this time. Me an’ the boys were sent out aftah ye, but I founds ye first, so’s I’m supposin’ that means I can keep the reward all ta meself.”

“What reward?” Cooper’s eyes cut to the left as he strained to catch a glimpse of the man.

“The reward ye’re carryin’ on ye. I’ll take it if’n ye don’t mind.”

“I gots it in me shirt, but if’n I tries ta give it ta ye now, people’ll think ye’re robbin’ me an’ call the law.”

Morgan thought about that not more than a moment. Fridrich wouldn’t like Sheriff Townsend involved in this matter, and neither would he. “Let’s go closer to the bay where there ain’t as many folks what’ll be around ta watch us.” As Frye hesitated, the blade nudged the flabby roll around his waist. “Get goin’ afore I lose patience wit’ ye.”

Cooper Frye reluctantly complied. When they were well out of sight of witnesses, he began dragging off his coat. It was still attached to one hand when he brought it around with a vengeance, striking Morgan hard across the face and sending the knife flying and its bearer stumbling backward with eyes smarting. In the next instant Cooper scooped up the weapon and plunged into the soft paunch of his would-be assailant. When it was drawn out again, Morgan gave a gurgling sound and collapsed to his knees. Frye smirked in satisfaction for barely a moment as the man crumpled in a knot at his feet, and then he glanced about, finding the way entirely unencumbered with people. Lucky day, it was indeed, he thought as he made good his escape.

B ARELY HAD C OOPER F RYE DOSED OFF THAN HE WAS snatched abruptly awake by a weird, low, caterwauling wail that sent shivers spiraling up his spine. His eyes popped open and warily he rolled them about their sockets until his gaze lit on something huge and monstrous looming above him. It had no face, only a loose blank mask of deep blackness from which sunken cavities served as eyes. At first, he was convinced that he was dreaming. His second conclusion was exceedingly more terrifying. He was a man with little conscience, that being a poorly stunted nubbin which had never troubled him overmuch. He did, however, have a vivid imagination and a deep dread of spirits, which he was still convinced had haunted his grandfather’s house where he had grown up, upon the property of which a later discovery had found a boarded up well filled with the skeletal remains of nigh to a dozen men. The shape that hovered above him now had all the same appearances of a specter from hell.

“... G-ghost!” Frye screamed in a whisper, the best his constricted throat could issue forth. He thought of Morgan right away. After all, it had happened only two or three hours ago. Or was it some dreadful spirit from a past encounter during which he had deemed the taking of a life in his best interest? A whole host of names had long been forgotten from such incidents.

Then, if the visitation wasn’t frightening enough, Frye’s fumbling brain fell upon a prospect that was far worse. Had the darkly cloaked form come to herald his death?

Frantically clawing his way up against the headboard, he croaked, “Are ye’ a banshee? I thought I heard ye’ howl.”

“Wake up, man. You heard nothing more than a tomcat yowling outside your window,” a cold voice jeered. A soft, merciless chuckle deepened Frye’s descent into a terror of the unknown. “Of course, there are some who’ve been led to think that I’m a messenger from Satan, and to be fair, I must allow that they have had just cause to think that way.”

Even as Frye tried to sort this out in his sleep-dulled brain, a new panic surged upward within him, chilling his heart as a shaft of moonlight glinted on the length of a gleaming blade. A strangled sound emitted from his tightening throat as he felt its deadly edge press against his windpipe.

“I suggest that you try not to shake overly much,” the apparition cautioned in a tone of exaggerated concern. “I have a remarkably steady hand, but even so, accidental slips have a way of occurring.”

Frye croaked a response which amounted to little more than a hastily babbled agreement.

The intruder chuckled again. “Tell me,” he urged, “have you any idea who I am?”

Frye nodded frantically. Much to his sorrow, he knew exactly who was here with him, the very one who had first stabbed Nell.

“And do you know why I’ve come?”

“I ... I left ye a note askin’ ye ta meet me, mate, but ye ne’er showed up.”

“I’m not one of your sniveling mates, so don’t call me that again,” the abrasive voice snarled as the edge of the knife encroached menacingly.

“Wh-What w-would ye like for m-me to call ye, milord?”

“That’s better.” The knife was withdrawn ever so slightly. “How did you know I was here in the colonies and where I was to be found?”

Frye could hardly think when his every thought was focused on the sharpness of the weapon grating against his whiskers. Though the constraint had eased to some degree, it still remained precariously close to a vital vein. “Please, I’ll tell ye if’n ye give me room ta breathe.”

An evil, jeering hiss was emitted from the dark mask as the pressure lessened some slight degree. “Think before you speak, Frye. I will tolerate no lies.”

“I know, milord. Well, for one thing, Nell was still livin’ when I found her in the stables. I helped ye out, I did, by finishin’ what ye’d started, but afore I did, Nell told me she’d come ‘pon a stranger whittlin’ on me niece’s coffer in Birmin’am’s bedchamber. I figgered it could only be one o’ three blokes interested in that ‘ere box. An’ since ye’re a man o’ taste, I decided ye’d be at the best inn in town. Then, too, I thought yer friends would be o’ a mind ta send ye ta take care o’ business, seein’s as how ye were the most ... ah ... efficient.”

“Barrett’s daughter is not your niece, you uncouth bastard, so don’t put on airs with me. You’ll never be part of the nobility. You’re just a common tar who has a fair memory when he’s sober and once had the good fortune to become mates with the real Cooper Frye before he was swept overboard and drowned.”

The aging seaman chortled. “Aye, young Coop always liked ta talk ’bout his family, he did. Worked ta me advantage right nicely, too. I knew his stories ’bout his home an’ folks well enough ta fool his own sister, I did.”

His lordship laughed caustically. “Yes, and much to our regret, you talked her into sailing here to the colonies.”

“I al’ays had a hankerin’ ta settle down in this here part o’ the world, but e’ery ship I signed onto took me anywheres but where I wanted ta go. Convincin’ Lady Barrett o’ the merits o’ livin’ here wasn’t too hard, considerin’ the ridicule she an’ her daughter ‘ad fallen prey ta after Lord Barrett keeled o’er. ‘Twas certainly the best way I could think o’ ta get meself o’er here, so’s I pleaded poverty till she agreed ta loan me money for me passage.”

“In so doing, you left me and my companions wondering if we could trust you. I decided forthwith that we couldn’t, so I followed. After all, I was the one responsible for letting the missive fall into Barrett’s hands. It was my fool luck that my servant mistook Barrett for the one he was supposed to meet, and it was Barrett’s greater folly to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but, of course, it didn’t help that the courier to France had been delayed. But that is neither here nor there. Barrett is dead, thanks to you, and right now, all my companions and I have to worry about is the whereabouts of the information he sequestered in his resolve to present it at his trial. Considering all the transfers up the scale of individuals responsible for passing it on to the king, I suppose he had a right to feel wary of it falling into the wrong hands. After what we had done to the man, one could hardly blame him for being cautious, even about those who tried to help him. He refused to

see anybody until you came along. Indeed, if not for your chicanery in claiming to be his wife’s brother, Barrett would have presented his evidence, and my companions and I would have been arrested. For that I must be grateful, but I can only wonder what you’re up to now. If you’ve found the message and intend to use it against us, be assured, I have ways of dealing with men like you. So I’ll ask you outright, what do you want from me?”

“I did find the message, gov’na, just as ye thought, an’ after takin’ a looksee at it, I can understand why ye were so afraid o’ what ye’d loose if’n it fell inta the wrong hands, yer life at the very least. No doubt, it would’ve served England’s enemies well, what wit’ it reportin’, amonst other things, the weaknesses in his majesty’s military defenses. Too bad it bore the signatures o’ ye an’ yer two companions. If not for that, ye needn’t have gone ta so much bother tryin’ ta get it back.”

“Such knowledge could bring about your death, Frye,” the gravelly voice warned.

“Oh, aye! I knows that for sure, gov’na. That’s why I haven’t talked ta another soul about it until now, milord.”

“You certainly took your own sweet time getting the news to me. Nell has been dead for over a month.”

“I had ta work up me courage, gov’na, seein’s as how I left London wit’out tellin’ ye, an’ all. I was afraid ye’d cut me up wit’ that knife o’ yers, but I finally decided ta take me chances an’ tell it ta ye outright, like the honest man that I am.”

Lord Marsden laughed disparagingly. “Somehow I just can’t believe you, Frye. You know as well as I do that you’re not very honest at all.”

“Now would I seek ye out if’n I didn’t mean ta give ye the parchment?”

Though his lordship was suspicious of an ulterior motive, he was nevertheless curious. “Where did you find the missive? In Barrett’s personal coffer as I had once thought it might be?”

“Aye, gov’na, but it took more’n just openin’ the lid ta find it. I scratched me noggin many an hour puzzlin’ o’er that box, but then, I had time on me hands sailin’ all the way from England. If’n ye hadn’t suggested ‘ere might be a hidden compartment in the box, I’da’ve given up long afore I found it. Nearly took me two an’ half months ta finally figger out how ta get inta the damned thing, but ‘ere it were, just like ye’d said, right in the bottom o’ the box, the very same ye tried ta get inta afore ye stabbed poor Nell.”

The cloaked form turned aside to gaze upon the moonlit scene stretching out beyond the window. “I thought it would be there,” he murmured thoughtfully, “but after framing Barrett on treasonous charges and having my claims deemed ludicrous by many of his peers and those in much higher places, I was afraid to even go near his estate for fear his friends would be watching. You were my last resort, and of course, when you managed to get into Barrett’s cell with claims of being his brother-in-law, I had high hopes that you’d be able to find what we were searching for.” Once again the menacing figure faced the shaggy-haired fellow, but now his hissing voice was imbued with a caustic sneer. “I never expected you to bungle your visit and kill him before you had the missive well within your grasp.”

Frye protested. “How was I ta know the poison would work on him as fast as it did? I thought I’d have plenty o’ time ta question him. I gave it ta him in a little wine just like ye said, an’ then, followed yer directions ta the letter by informin’ him o’ what I’d done an’ promisin’ him an antidote if’n he’d give me the paper or, at the very least, tell me where it were ta be found, but the poison barely hit his belly an’ then he was gone.” Frye snapped his finger to lend emphasis to his declaration. “ ‘At fast, damn him!”

“No, ‘tis you who’ll likely be damned, Frye, for being the conniving scoundrel you are,” the hooded one countered. “You not only turn on your foes, but your friends as well. My companions and I didn’t realize you weren’t to be trusted when you overheard us talking and offered us a solution to our dilemma. You took our money and then you turned right around and encouraged Lady Barrett to leave England. Now I’ve heard enough of your feeble excuses ...”

“She was gonna flee the country anyway,” Frye declared in an anxious rush. “She couldn’t bear the jeers o’ e’en the common folk livin’ ’round where she’d taken a cottage. I knows that for a fact. One o’ ’em threw a cabbage at me whilst I was visitin’ the Barretts an’ nearly knocked me cross-eyed. I did everythin’ a bloke could’ve done in a situation like that. Didn’t I convince Evalina Barrett that I were her own brother? Do ye think that were easy?” Frye got himself so worked up in exaggerating his excuses, tears of misery sprang into his eyes. His knobby chin even quivered. “I’ve been livin’ as Cooper Frye so long now sometimes I don’t e’en remember me own name!”

“By the way, what is your real name? We never got around to that.”

“Fenton ... Oliver Fenton.”

It mattered not a whit to the man who heard it. “Well, Fenton, where is the missive now?”

Oliver Fenton still had a card he hadn’t played yet. “Seein’s as how ye an’ yer friends were so anxious ta get it into yer thankful li’l grasp months ago, I thought we could come ta some kind o’ new agreement ’bout what ye’d be willin’ ta pay ta get it back.”

“Be warned, Fenton,” the visitor rumbled. “I’ll not tolerate being skimmed by the likes of you again.”

“When have I e’er ... ?”

“You took payment from me and my friends, Prescott and Havelock, and we trusted you to find the letter that had fallen into Barrett’s hands. We paid you a goodly sum and promised you more.” His voice hardened. “The first portion you guzzled down in England in spite of the fact that you produced absolutely nothing to appease our fears. Now I can only wonder what more you may be wanting.”

“Only what ye promised me, milord, an’ a li’l bit more ta allow me ta buy a proper pub ...”

“What?” The darkly cloaked one scoffed in rampant disbelief. “For you to drink up all the profits? Where is the message you found?”

“In safekeepin’, milord.”

The knife pressed against Frye’s throat again, this time drawing blood. “Tell me where it is, damn you.”

“If’n ye kill me, milord, ye’ll ne’er find it. It’s in someone else’s safekeepin’ an’ should they hear o’ me death, they’ll be takin’ it ta the Barrett girl ... or, as she’s known now, Mrs. Birmin’am.”

“The devil, you say!” Marsden barked. “Why would you have it sent to her? From what I hear, she and that Yankee husband of hers forbade you to even set foot on their plantation, much less allow you to approach them here in Charleston.”

“Ye could say I owes the girl one for poisonin’ her pa an’ lettin’ her ma starve. Besides, after I’m dead, it won’t matter ta me anymore that I don’t have any money. That’ll be the only good I’ll be leavin’ behind me.” The seaman chortled. “ ‘Sides, she an’ her mister ain’t likely gonna be the ones what’ll kill me. Fine, upstandin’ people, they are.”

Lord Marsden saw the logic in the man’s reasoning and sensed that this time Fenton wouldn’t be moved from his stand. And why should he? In this case, he had the upper hand. If the girl received the missive, she would definitely see that it was carried swiftly back to England by reputable barristers, and they, in turn, would set about clearing her father’s name and condemning those guilty of not only framing him but of treasonous acts against the crown.

Abruptly Marsden removed the knife. “So, Fenton! How much more do you want, and how do you intend to carry out this trade so each of us can be assured that we won’t suffer the consequences of trusting the other?”

“I want at least five thousand more.”

A long silence answered him as his lordship limped slowly away. His rasping voice spoke from across the room. “Go on.”

“Now I knows if’n I don’t keep me end o’ the bargain, ye’ll be comin’ after me, lookin’ for blood. That, so to speak, will warrant me good behavior. As for meself, I want ye ta send yer servant wit’ the five thousand Yankee dollars ta the name o’ the cat house what I’ll be directin’ ye ta. Once there, yer man will be given further instructions as ta where ta go. After I have the money in hand, he’ll receive the message in a wooden box that’ll be sealed ta keep yer secrets secure. Then I’ll send yer steward home ta ye in a carriage.”

“That really doesn’t guarantee that I’ll be getting the missive after you get your money. There must be a better way to handle this matter.”

“I knows what ye can do wit’ that ‘ere knife o’ yers, gov’na, an’ I also knows other things ye can do, like runnin’ for the sheer pleasure o’ it. Now, ta tell ye the truth, I ain’t ne’er seen that afore. But then, I guess that’s what keeps ye fit an’ happy, likin’ peculiar things like that.” Fenton laughed briefly. “Ye can bet I ain’t gonna be around long after I receives me money. An’ just ta keep ye satisfied it’s been a fair trade, I’m gonna keep me word for a change. Maybe then ye won’t be o’ a mind ta comes after me wit’ that big knife o’ yers.”

The grating voice finally responded. “You may live beyond this night after all, Fenton. Just be careful to do exactly as you have said. Otherwise, I won’t rest until I’ve seen your carcass buried in a slime pit.”

The door closed behind the darkly cloaked visitor, and Oliver Fenton finally slumped away from the headboard and let his breath out in a long sigh of relief. Throwing himself from the bed, he poured himself a stout drink and tossed it down with a flip of his wrist. He lit a lamp and, for a moment, considered his shaking hands. One thing was for sure, he was getting too damned old to be scared out of his wits.

Stumbling footfalls in the hallway made him stiffen in sudden apprehension. He could only think that his lordship had had a change of heart and would be concluding the matter with a murderous deed, but the voice of the fellow passing the room was slurred from heavy imbibing.

Fenton released his breath for a second time in so many minutes, deciding it was only a drunk searching for a vacant bed in the boardinghouse. He had no wish to endure the presence of another in his rented room, and, to forestall such a possibility, stepped to the door, opened it and peered out. He had closed it again and was about to lock it when the plank was shoved suddenly inward by a brawny shoulder. Stumbling back with a gasp of surprise, Fenton gaped at the two men who approached him with knives drawn. He let out a blood-curdling scream as he was seized, but the sound was effectively silenced by a deep slit across his throat. His eyes widened as he realized it hadn’t been his lucky day after all. He gulped, gurgling up blood, and then toppled forward to the floor.

In the yard outside, a cloaked form came around with a start as a shriek of terror filled the night. His eyes searched out and found the room in which he had just visited, and as he watched in gathering dread, two men immediately began crawling out through the windows. They scrambled across the roof and as one paused to throw down an object that looked very much like a knife, the other one dropped to the ground below. Both left as quickly as they had appeared.

A woman’s scream pierced the stillness of the night. “Fetch the sheriff! Cooper Frye’s been killed!”

The dark shade turned and hurriedly limped into the trees. He knew where he must go now.