Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-29 03:46 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-29 03:46 pm
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The Price of Peace - Chapter Twenty-One
The Price of Peace
Book Three
Chapter Twenty-One
“You’ll need to leave tonight,” Joseph said almost at once upon entering the room where Edward and Martineau had spent the evening. He had no doubt, from the looks on their faces, that they had heard enough of the conversation on the floor below only thirty minutes before. “You can’t go the way we planned.”
The appearance of Miles changed everything. He had not expected the man to come here. His greatest fear had been Plymouth or at least somewhere nearer to there. Danger on the outset was not how he had planned this. Thank God, though, for servants who listened at doors. The pattern of behaviour could not be encouraged, no, but it had been a blessing just this once. He would speak to Nathaniel later about the girl. At present, there were far more pressing concerns to handle.
“I want you to be ready to leave in two hours.” Even Miles could not watch the whole estate in the middle of the night. This was their best chance. He went on, “A carriage is impossible now. Any one of them— every single one of them— would find trouble.” For the next several days, he knew, the roads between towns would see a surge of highwaymen. Criminals made such good agents. Or, at least, criminal activity made an excellent cover for gathering important information. “A horse each and go directly to Plymouth. Stop only when you absolutely must.”
He looked at Burr. Under other circumstances, this would be perfect. Martineau’s fate would rest solely in his own hands if he rode alone, as would be most practical. However, he had expected Edward to go to Plymouth. Nearly all his plans revolved around that crucial idea. If Edward did not go, he would have to reorder every piece, and that would take time he was not sure he had.
Martineau said, “I will be ready.” He knew he would make the journey alone. Joseph could appreciate his simple acceptance of the fact.
“I’ll go with you.” Edward was a romantic. Joseph had a new, keen understanding of this fact. He seemed acutely aware of the looks fixed on him by both of his companions. Joseph almost felt like laughing at his indignant expression. “I’ll learn to ride better as I go,” he said. Then, he turned to Martineau and offered a smile. It tried very hard to be strong and determined, but it was far more inclined to a quiet sorrow. “I’m not letting you go alone.”
Martineau seemed ready to argue, so Joseph offered an analogy he felt would answer the right points. “A man only really learns to sail in a storm.” Edward fitted the life perfectly. Like any good navy man, he worked his best in a crisis. Joseph wondered briefly if this tension would make Edward sing as he rode. It might help. “Nathaniel has his servants packing some food for you both. Take another small pack if you must, but no more than that. Which horses shall I have ready?”
“Mister Long’s horse I came on will suit me,” Martineau replied. He considered Edward for a moment before he said, “Goliath will do for Edward.” Were time less important, Joseph would have sent for another house. Goliath was a great bay, the son of a powerful warhorse given to the late George Farley after the war with the colonists. In name, he belonged to Henry Farley, but the will wisely granted legal property rights to Nathaniel. Goliath was the only horse Edward had not yet attempted to ride and been thrown from.
‡ ‡ ‡
“Good girl. You see now what it means to serve the Farley family.” Augustus Drake smiled faintly at the young woman rolling two loaves of bread in a cloth each. Cheese and meat each were packed as well. It would almost certainly be a necessity to stop for rest, but Martha Carter seemed set on making sure they had no need to purchase food. She was a smart girl. Perhaps, he feared, a little too smart to be a permanent fixture in this household.
Every member of the staff was aware of a few simple facts: George Farley had been a spy, Nathaniel Farley was in love with Joseph Clay, Henry Farley was a drunk and a gambler, Rebecca Farley was not nearly as ill as she thought, and Joseph Clay was a spy. They made excuses for the second son, indulged the daughter, and fiercely guarded the secrets. Martha had proven she could do the latter. Perhaps too well, he considered. What she knew might alarm Mister Clay. The first she may never find cause to need. However, she had violated her role with Miss Farley. She tolerated little short of pure fawning from servants.
Still, the pretty thing had done Mister Clay a great favour and put herself in the middle of a crucial confidence. Drake hoped she would be intelligent enough to use it to see herself secure in a new position without being greedy. Mister Clay would not relish harming her, but the butler knew that he would do what he must if she seemed ready to abuse what she knew. So long as she knew when to be satisfied, she would do well for herself with ease.
She smiled at him as she said, “I’m just happy I could help.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Remy had mounted Fiddler— Fiddler’s Green, named properly, having been christened by the Irish groom of fifteen years employment at Crawford Manor— with great fluidity. Edward could not help but be annoyed with the horse and man. It came easily to Remy, just as it did for Farley and Joseph. They had been raised with money and horses both, and there were times he felt the bite of envy. When it was this important, it seemed a particularly sharp kind of distaste. He reminded himself it was not Remy’s fault and tried to put it wholly from his mind. It didn’t work, but it helped.
Goliath looked like a challenge. He was a larger horse than even Farley rode. His great frame swayed as he shifted his weigh. Like the rest of these damn beasts, he could probably sense the uncertainty and planned to enjoy it. Edward mounted quickly. That, at least, he had learned. Each horse was prepared with a small pack of food and two pistols in case their rider was threatened with violence. Goliath moved a little, but he did not immediately test Edward. Perhaps his warrior blood understood his vital role. Edward tested him, then, and clicked his tongue twice. The horse began a slow walk forward. He tugged the reins, and Goliath stopped. At least one would obey him.
He looked at Remy, who flashed him a smile then nodded. Together, they gave the sharp, loud verbal command that spurred the animals—Fiddler doubly encouraged by a heel in his side—to a quick trot. They didn’t follow the south-west path out of the estate, heading directly to the south instead. The movement made Edward uncomfortable, but he kept a tight hold on the reins and stayed firmly in the saddle.
Goliath seemed quite capable of, without instruction, keep pace with Fiddler. Edward was grateful for it. It meant he had less to worry about. He barely knew the countryside. While he could navigate anywhere at sea, this was entirely unknown. Still, they had their heading, and if they had to ask someone the way, then they would do it.
“It seems,” Remy said with a soft, forced laugh, “you were right about the dangers of this venture.” Edward tried to smile him, but the expression would not come. He half expected for Miles and twenty men in black to surround them at every instant. It was, perhaps, a fantastic notion, but it worried him all the same. Remy increased Fiddler’s pace, and Edward did his best to urge Goliath to match.
They would ride until just after dawn. Remy, with far more knowledge about horses than Edward possessed, had decided that. The first hamlet they came across, they would seek out water and food for their horses and a place to sleep a few hours. It would take them four days to reach Plymouth without doing lasting harm to the horses. Hopefully, they could evade Miles and get Remy safely onto Carolina.
“Hopefully it will remain merely a fear,” Edward muttered. He was fairly sure Remy didn’t hear him, but he was hardly worried about that. As long as he was able to see Remy and the way was apparently clear, Edward wasn’t worried about conversation. He clicked his tongue again to spur Goliath into a faster pace. Remy matched him on Fiddler after just a moment. Edward could only be grateful that this horse wasn’t looking to throw him off.
‡ ‡ ‡
After settling in with her mother’s eldest sister and her husband, Faith availed herself of her cousin Frederick’s company. On his arm, she turned the streets of Plymouth and persuaded him to show her around even the docks. He humoured her, identifying all of the ships at anchor. One caught her attention. It was an American merchant frigate, armed with six guns to either side. Her cousin passed it over lightly, but he was not of a naval mind. She had learned enough to ask herself a question: What did they need with that many guns during a time of peace?
She said nothing about it, allowing herself to be led to shops full of fine clothes and jewellery and various small items.
Why, she wondered, was Mister Clay adamant about her presence here? She did not care about helping or hindering him; she had come to satisfy her own curiosity. It must have something to do with Edward, of course. But what? And why was she being promised a happy ending? What could he possibly mean? She and Edward were finished completely. There was no need, then, for any sort of happy end between them. Besides, what could a naval surgeon provide?
She was very curious. There was, of course, only one way to answer her questions. She would have to play this game to its conclusion. There was no other option to find out what she was determined to know. There were a great many men in uniform, more evidence of the coming war, but none of them were Edward or anyone she could easily associate with him. Still, there were days yet to wait; she would be patient.
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward looked so tired. For two days, they had ridden to the exhaustion of their horses. They were used to long days and nights at sea; riding a horse was a very different thing. They were both sore, Edward especially. He had no experience. Even Remy was unused to this pace and length of time. Still, they were only a day away from Plymouth.
“We can rest here,” Remy said after a few moments. He froze when he heard a horse approaching. Too fast to be anyone of good purpose. Both he and Edward brought their pistols to full cock and waited. It was a single rider. That much was a comfort. He came into view as much as would be possible in the night air. His face was obscured.
“Your money or your lives,” he said. Remy thought he heard a waver in the man’s voice, some uncertainty at facing two men in their prime, both armed. Still, he seemed committed to his course.
Edward stepped forward. His voice was soft but very solid. “Go home, friend. We’ve nothing for you, and I do not wish to end your life tonight.” He extended his arm, and his finger rested on the trigger. It was not an idle threat, and the man must have known that.
He tried to sound certain as he replied, “There need be no loss of life. Hand over your valuables, and we will part peacefully. If you shoot me, sir, my three brothers will be upon you in an instant.” He laughed, and Remy glanced around. Was he an idiot bluffing? Or a pretend-fool, an intelligence agent only daring them to further crimes? Remy knew he could not allow Edward to be in the wrong if it were the latter.
Remy pulled the trigger. The man on the horse faltered, dropped his pistol, and fell. His shirt began to darken, and the air was still as the shot faded. No attackers came upon them. Remy looked to Edward, saw his silent nod, and they both mounted their horses. For as tired as they were, they could press on another hour or two to reach somewhere else, away from the dead man and rider-less horse.
A few hours more to ride, then some sleep, then Plymouth was in sight. God above, he would be glad to be on Carolina. Perhaps he would manage to have a few moments alone with Edward, time enough for a proper goodbye between lovers. It would be goodbye. There would never be a reunion, could never be a reunion. They would part at Plymouth, and that would be that. Hopefully, Edward would recover. Perhaps it was too vain, but Remy felt he had left a mark on Edward’s life. With any luck, it would be a note, not a black etching to damn him later. For his part, Remy knew there would be no difficulty for him. He would miss Edward dreadfully, of course. He was very attached to him. However, he had parted from lovers before and dear friends, too.
Still, between Clay, whatever he was to Edward, and Long, who would have no hesitations about taking another lover, and the women who would ever fawn over good looks and worthy accomplishments, Edward would fill his bed. The thought was bitter to his mind, though he tried to deny the reason for several moments as he spurred Fiddler’s Green on and on. He had enjoyed a great many lovers, yes, but he had to confess that Edward, a loyal Englishman, who had once been prize captain of his Nymphe was the first man, at least in a very long time, he had loved.
Book Three
Chapter Twenty-One
“You’ll need to leave tonight,” Joseph said almost at once upon entering the room where Edward and Martineau had spent the evening. He had no doubt, from the looks on their faces, that they had heard enough of the conversation on the floor below only thirty minutes before. “You can’t go the way we planned.”
The appearance of Miles changed everything. He had not expected the man to come here. His greatest fear had been Plymouth or at least somewhere nearer to there. Danger on the outset was not how he had planned this. Thank God, though, for servants who listened at doors. The pattern of behaviour could not be encouraged, no, but it had been a blessing just this once. He would speak to Nathaniel later about the girl. At present, there were far more pressing concerns to handle.
“I want you to be ready to leave in two hours.” Even Miles could not watch the whole estate in the middle of the night. This was their best chance. He went on, “A carriage is impossible now. Any one of them— every single one of them— would find trouble.” For the next several days, he knew, the roads between towns would see a surge of highwaymen. Criminals made such good agents. Or, at least, criminal activity made an excellent cover for gathering important information. “A horse each and go directly to Plymouth. Stop only when you absolutely must.”
He looked at Burr. Under other circumstances, this would be perfect. Martineau’s fate would rest solely in his own hands if he rode alone, as would be most practical. However, he had expected Edward to go to Plymouth. Nearly all his plans revolved around that crucial idea. If Edward did not go, he would have to reorder every piece, and that would take time he was not sure he had.
Martineau said, “I will be ready.” He knew he would make the journey alone. Joseph could appreciate his simple acceptance of the fact.
“I’ll go with you.” Edward was a romantic. Joseph had a new, keen understanding of this fact. He seemed acutely aware of the looks fixed on him by both of his companions. Joseph almost felt like laughing at his indignant expression. “I’ll learn to ride better as I go,” he said. Then, he turned to Martineau and offered a smile. It tried very hard to be strong and determined, but it was far more inclined to a quiet sorrow. “I’m not letting you go alone.”
Martineau seemed ready to argue, so Joseph offered an analogy he felt would answer the right points. “A man only really learns to sail in a storm.” Edward fitted the life perfectly. Like any good navy man, he worked his best in a crisis. Joseph wondered briefly if this tension would make Edward sing as he rode. It might help. “Nathaniel has his servants packing some food for you both. Take another small pack if you must, but no more than that. Which horses shall I have ready?”
“Mister Long’s horse I came on will suit me,” Martineau replied. He considered Edward for a moment before he said, “Goliath will do for Edward.” Were time less important, Joseph would have sent for another house. Goliath was a great bay, the son of a powerful warhorse given to the late George Farley after the war with the colonists. In name, he belonged to Henry Farley, but the will wisely granted legal property rights to Nathaniel. Goliath was the only horse Edward had not yet attempted to ride and been thrown from.
‡ ‡ ‡
“Good girl. You see now what it means to serve the Farley family.” Augustus Drake smiled faintly at the young woman rolling two loaves of bread in a cloth each. Cheese and meat each were packed as well. It would almost certainly be a necessity to stop for rest, but Martha Carter seemed set on making sure they had no need to purchase food. She was a smart girl. Perhaps, he feared, a little too smart to be a permanent fixture in this household.
Every member of the staff was aware of a few simple facts: George Farley had been a spy, Nathaniel Farley was in love with Joseph Clay, Henry Farley was a drunk and a gambler, Rebecca Farley was not nearly as ill as she thought, and Joseph Clay was a spy. They made excuses for the second son, indulged the daughter, and fiercely guarded the secrets. Martha had proven she could do the latter. Perhaps too well, he considered. What she knew might alarm Mister Clay. The first she may never find cause to need. However, she had violated her role with Miss Farley. She tolerated little short of pure fawning from servants.
Still, the pretty thing had done Mister Clay a great favour and put herself in the middle of a crucial confidence. Drake hoped she would be intelligent enough to use it to see herself secure in a new position without being greedy. Mister Clay would not relish harming her, but the butler knew that he would do what he must if she seemed ready to abuse what she knew. So long as she knew when to be satisfied, she would do well for herself with ease.
She smiled at him as she said, “I’m just happy I could help.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Remy had mounted Fiddler— Fiddler’s Green, named properly, having been christened by the Irish groom of fifteen years employment at Crawford Manor— with great fluidity. Edward could not help but be annoyed with the horse and man. It came easily to Remy, just as it did for Farley and Joseph. They had been raised with money and horses both, and there were times he felt the bite of envy. When it was this important, it seemed a particularly sharp kind of distaste. He reminded himself it was not Remy’s fault and tried to put it wholly from his mind. It didn’t work, but it helped.
Goliath looked like a challenge. He was a larger horse than even Farley rode. His great frame swayed as he shifted his weigh. Like the rest of these damn beasts, he could probably sense the uncertainty and planned to enjoy it. Edward mounted quickly. That, at least, he had learned. Each horse was prepared with a small pack of food and two pistols in case their rider was threatened with violence. Goliath moved a little, but he did not immediately test Edward. Perhaps his warrior blood understood his vital role. Edward tested him, then, and clicked his tongue twice. The horse began a slow walk forward. He tugged the reins, and Goliath stopped. At least one would obey him.
He looked at Remy, who flashed him a smile then nodded. Together, they gave the sharp, loud verbal command that spurred the animals—Fiddler doubly encouraged by a heel in his side—to a quick trot. They didn’t follow the south-west path out of the estate, heading directly to the south instead. The movement made Edward uncomfortable, but he kept a tight hold on the reins and stayed firmly in the saddle.
Goliath seemed quite capable of, without instruction, keep pace with Fiddler. Edward was grateful for it. It meant he had less to worry about. He barely knew the countryside. While he could navigate anywhere at sea, this was entirely unknown. Still, they had their heading, and if they had to ask someone the way, then they would do it.
“It seems,” Remy said with a soft, forced laugh, “you were right about the dangers of this venture.” Edward tried to smile him, but the expression would not come. He half expected for Miles and twenty men in black to surround them at every instant. It was, perhaps, a fantastic notion, but it worried him all the same. Remy increased Fiddler’s pace, and Edward did his best to urge Goliath to match.
They would ride until just after dawn. Remy, with far more knowledge about horses than Edward possessed, had decided that. The first hamlet they came across, they would seek out water and food for their horses and a place to sleep a few hours. It would take them four days to reach Plymouth without doing lasting harm to the horses. Hopefully, they could evade Miles and get Remy safely onto Carolina.
“Hopefully it will remain merely a fear,” Edward muttered. He was fairly sure Remy didn’t hear him, but he was hardly worried about that. As long as he was able to see Remy and the way was apparently clear, Edward wasn’t worried about conversation. He clicked his tongue again to spur Goliath into a faster pace. Remy matched him on Fiddler after just a moment. Edward could only be grateful that this horse wasn’t looking to throw him off.
‡ ‡ ‡
After settling in with her mother’s eldest sister and her husband, Faith availed herself of her cousin Frederick’s company. On his arm, she turned the streets of Plymouth and persuaded him to show her around even the docks. He humoured her, identifying all of the ships at anchor. One caught her attention. It was an American merchant frigate, armed with six guns to either side. Her cousin passed it over lightly, but he was not of a naval mind. She had learned enough to ask herself a question: What did they need with that many guns during a time of peace?
She said nothing about it, allowing herself to be led to shops full of fine clothes and jewellery and various small items.
Why, she wondered, was Mister Clay adamant about her presence here? She did not care about helping or hindering him; she had come to satisfy her own curiosity. It must have something to do with Edward, of course. But what? And why was she being promised a happy ending? What could he possibly mean? She and Edward were finished completely. There was no need, then, for any sort of happy end between them. Besides, what could a naval surgeon provide?
She was very curious. There was, of course, only one way to answer her questions. She would have to play this game to its conclusion. There was no other option to find out what she was determined to know. There were a great many men in uniform, more evidence of the coming war, but none of them were Edward or anyone she could easily associate with him. Still, there were days yet to wait; she would be patient.
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward looked so tired. For two days, they had ridden to the exhaustion of their horses. They were used to long days and nights at sea; riding a horse was a very different thing. They were both sore, Edward especially. He had no experience. Even Remy was unused to this pace and length of time. Still, they were only a day away from Plymouth.
“We can rest here,” Remy said after a few moments. He froze when he heard a horse approaching. Too fast to be anyone of good purpose. Both he and Edward brought their pistols to full cock and waited. It was a single rider. That much was a comfort. He came into view as much as would be possible in the night air. His face was obscured.
“Your money or your lives,” he said. Remy thought he heard a waver in the man’s voice, some uncertainty at facing two men in their prime, both armed. Still, he seemed committed to his course.
Edward stepped forward. His voice was soft but very solid. “Go home, friend. We’ve nothing for you, and I do not wish to end your life tonight.” He extended his arm, and his finger rested on the trigger. It was not an idle threat, and the man must have known that.
He tried to sound certain as he replied, “There need be no loss of life. Hand over your valuables, and we will part peacefully. If you shoot me, sir, my three brothers will be upon you in an instant.” He laughed, and Remy glanced around. Was he an idiot bluffing? Or a pretend-fool, an intelligence agent only daring them to further crimes? Remy knew he could not allow Edward to be in the wrong if it were the latter.
Remy pulled the trigger. The man on the horse faltered, dropped his pistol, and fell. His shirt began to darken, and the air was still as the shot faded. No attackers came upon them. Remy looked to Edward, saw his silent nod, and they both mounted their horses. For as tired as they were, they could press on another hour or two to reach somewhere else, away from the dead man and rider-less horse.
A few hours more to ride, then some sleep, then Plymouth was in sight. God above, he would be glad to be on Carolina. Perhaps he would manage to have a few moments alone with Edward, time enough for a proper goodbye between lovers. It would be goodbye. There would never be a reunion, could never be a reunion. They would part at Plymouth, and that would be that. Hopefully, Edward would recover. Perhaps it was too vain, but Remy felt he had left a mark on Edward’s life. With any luck, it would be a note, not a black etching to damn him later. For his part, Remy knew there would be no difficulty for him. He would miss Edward dreadfully, of course. He was very attached to him. However, he had parted from lovers before and dear friends, too.
Still, between Clay, whatever he was to Edward, and Long, who would have no hesitations about taking another lover, and the women who would ever fawn over good looks and worthy accomplishments, Edward would fill his bed. The thought was bitter to his mind, though he tried to deny the reason for several moments as he spurred Fiddler’s Green on and on. He had enjoyed a great many lovers, yes, but he had to confess that Edward, a loyal Englishman, who had once been prize captain of his Nymphe was the first man, at least in a very long time, he had loved.