“Yes?” William’s calves tightened. His left hand was under the table, still holding the spoon from his chowder, the handle jutting out between the clenched fingers of his fist. It wasn’t the weapon he’d have chosen, but if necessary, he was prepared to jam it up Denys’s nose. A conversation like this could have only one end: to invite William to join Denys in his intrigue.
He was halfway amused at the situation. Also somewhat annoyed, but cautious with it. If Denys did issue such an invitation and if William refused point-blank—Denys might consider it dangerous to leave William at large to repeat all this.
“Well …” Denys eyed his uniform. “You did tell me you’d resigned your commission.”
“I did. This”—he waved his free hand down the front of his red coat—“is just to give me countenance—and safe passage—while I look for my cousin’s wife.”
Denys’s eyes widened.
“This is the girl you’re after? Is she lost?”
I notice that you don’t ask which cousin. “No, she’s not lost; she had a falling-out with her husband”—to say the least—“and decided to go to her father’s house. But my uncle became concerned about her safety on the road and sent me to see that she reached her destination safely. I thought that if she passed through Charles Town—which she likely would—she might call upon Ban Tarleton for any assistance; she and her husband are acquainted with him.”
“Unfortunately, Major Tarleton isn’t in Charles Town.” The voice spoke behind him, an English voice that his body recognized before his mind did, and he turned round fast, spoon clenched hard.
“Good day, Captain Lord Ellesmere,” said Ezekiel Richardson. He glanced indifferently at the spoon and bowed slightly. “I trust you’ll pardon the interruption, gentlemen. I happened to overhear Major Tarleton’s name. He and Major Ferguson are, in fact, in hot pursuit of several groups of retreating American militia, running south.”
William hesitated for a moment, torn between curiosity—leavened by indignation—and expedience. But it was an instant too long; Richardson pulled up a stool and sat down at the small, round table, between William and Denys. Well within grabbing—or shooting or stabbing, for that matter—distance.
“Has Herr Weber left us in good order?” Richardson asked, presumably of Denys, but his eyes were fixed on William.
“Rather jumpy,” Denys said, “but quite intact. Our friend William was most helpful in keeping him from jumping off the dock and swimming home whilst I went and made the final arrangements.”
“We’re most obliged to you, Lord Ellesmere.”
“My name is Ransom, sir.”
The sparse eyebrows rose.
“Indeed.” Richardson, who was not in uniform, but wearing a decent gray suit, darted a quick glance at Denys, who shrugged slightly.
“I think so,” he said obliquely.
“If what you think is that I will choose to join you in your treasonous games, gentlemen,” William said, pushing back from the table, “I must disabuse you of the notion. Good day.”
“Not so fast,” Richardson said, clamping a hand on William’s forearm. “If you please—my lord.” There was a slight mocking inflection to that “my lord”—or at least that’s how it sounded to William, who was in no mood for trifling.
“No commission, no rank, and not ‘my lord.’ Be so kind as to remove your hand, sir, or I shall remove it for you.” William made a slight gesture with his spoon, which was flimsy but made of tin and whose handle came to a triangular point. Richardson paused, and William’s muscles tightened. The hand lifted, though, just in time.
“I suggest you consider Denys’s suggestion,” Richardson said, his tone light. “Resigning your commission has doubtless caused some gossip in army circles—and if you are declining to be addressed by your title, it will cause more. I do think, though, that you might hesitate to cause the sort of gossip that will be unleashed if the reason behind your actions were to be made public.”
“You know nothing of my reasons, sir.” William stood up, and so did Richardson.
“We know that you are the bastard son of one James Fraser, a Jacobite traitor and present rebel,” he said pleasantly. “And one look at the two of you—drawn side by side in the newspapers?—would be enough to convince anyone of the truth.”
William uttered a short laugh, though it came out as a hoarse bark.