Andrew Drummond was ill at ease as he glared at Flynt.
‘I’d heard you’d gone back to London, lad,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped it to be true.’
‘My business here is not yet complete,’ Flynt said.
‘That friend of yours staying in the Millhouse is dead and you killed him, they say. If that be true then I’d say you have completed your business.’
‘Consider the source of that news. I didn’t kill him. It was Fitzgerald. And I think you know that.’
Drummond’s jaw tightened as he switched his attention from Flynt to Gabriel, who was scratching at the rough cloth of his borrowed shirt. It had once belonged to William Chilcott and its fit was unflattering, for the man was broader of shoulder and chest than Gabriel so the fabric hung upon him as if it were he who had suffered from consumption. At nightfall, Flynt had despatched him to fetch the innkeeper, reasoning that his features had not been revealed during his encounter with Cooper and his men, so he wouldn’t be recognised as long as he used his own accent. His clothes might be familiar, especially his soft linen shirt, so Masilda had provided the shirt, a pair of baggy work breeches and some worn, very old, calf-length boots. Even so, he told him to avoid any interaction with locals and gave him directions as to how best he could approach the inn from the rear.
Drummond jutted his chin in Gabriel’s direction. ‘If you are so innocent why did you send this one to abduct me at point of pistol?’
Flynt gave Gabriel an inquiring, slightly exasperated, look and when his friend caught it, he stopped clawing at himself. ‘He was unwilling to accompany me and you said it was important that you speak with him.’ His expression bordered on the innocent. ‘I wouldn’t have discharged it.’
Drummond’s growl suggested he was far from convinced and Flynt shook his head slightly in Gabriel’s direction before addressing the innkeeper again. ‘I remain in the vicinity, does that not suggest innocence? Had I been guilty of murder I would have put as much distance between me and this place as I could.’
‘Why do you remain?’
‘My mission was to return Templeton to London, as I said, and Fitzgerald has prevented that. I feel responsible for the man’s death.’
‘An eye for an eye, is that the way of it, lad?’
‘Aye.’
Drummond looked to Gabriel once more. ‘And he is friend to you?’
‘Aye.’ It felt good to say that and experience no suspicious qualms.
‘And you two friends intend to confront Lord Gallowmire?’
‘We do,’ Flynt said, ignoring Gabriel’s soft clearing of his throat. ‘But we can’t do it alone.’
Drummond turned towards Masilda, who stood by the barn door, a lantern in her hand. Will was presumably in bed with Samson guarding him. Flynt wagered that dog would give his life for the boy and his mother.
‘Are you in accord with this, Masilda?’ Drummond asked.
‘I neither support nor oppose, Andrew,’ she said.
‘And yet you give them shelter?’
‘Your countryman was hurt and needed tending,’ she said, ‘the other one was simply there.’
Gabriel grinned at being called the other one. Flynt had noted a thawing of her attitude towards them as the day progressed and she had even brought them a meal of roast mutton and what she called a dripping pudding made of batter she said had been cooked under the meat. That hot meal and whatever secret ingredient the painful salve contained seemed to work its magic, for his aches were considerably lessened and his strength had returned. It could merely have been her sense of hospitality overcoming her resistance to their presence but he thought otherwise. Masilda Chilcott may have been thrawn, as Drummond had put it, but she was wise enough to understand that she needed assistance and at this juncture Gabriel and he were all she had. Flynt intended to do what he could to change that, however.
Drummond turned back to Flynt. ‘And what is it you wish me to do?’
‘You must rally those villagers who you believe might be willing to stand up for themselves.’
The innkeeper’s small laugh was bitter. ‘They are but simple country folk.’
‘It is simple country folk who win battles.’
‘Aye, but they receive training, so have some facility with weapons. These are farmers, labourers, weavers, sheep herders. The closest they have come to wielding a blade is swinging a scythe.’
‘From what I saw of Fitzgerald’s men, they are not much more experienced.’
Gabriel chimed in. ‘One of them took such fright last night that he took off like the devil was on his tail. I do believe he may have reached London by now.’
‘They are still more dextrous at the taking of lives than the people here,’ Drummond insisted.
‘But there are those who wish to see this reign of Fitzgerald’s brought to an end, correct?’ Flynt insisted. ‘You told me complaints had been made in the past.’
‘Aye, and if you recall I said they did no good at all. I also told you there was fear here. Some who complained have left the village forever, and not necessarily of their own free will. Remember, most of them were born here and their ancestors lie in the earth of the kirkyard. I told you there have been deaths. One man the week after he raised the issue, when a cart horse bolted and ran over him.’
‘A common enough occurrence,’ Flynt said, thinking of Old Tom.
‘Aye, I ken that’s true, but nobody saw it happen save Cooper. They did see his broken body, though, and there was little left of his face. The minister of the kirk I’ve already told you about. It was his death that took all the fight out of them, for if Philip Fitzgerald would murder a man of God, he would murder anyone.’
‘Will they allow me to speak with them?’
‘You’ll do nought but waste your time.’
‘Will you let me try? Can you gather them in secret? Masilda tells me there’s a place up on the moors, a shelter provided by rocks used by fleeing rebels centuries ago. Do you know of it?’
‘William showed me it, years ago,’ Masilda explained. ‘His family knew of this place, but few others. I can show you, Andrew.’
Drummond sighed as he addressed her. ‘You’re happy with this?’
She shrugged. ‘Fitzgerald will come for me sooner rather than later, you know this. I have nothing to lose.’
‘You trust these men?’
She looked at Flynt. ‘He appears to be the enemy of my enemy, our enemy, and that makes him friend,’ she said, referring to Gabriel’s words to her earlier that day, then jerked her lantern in his direction. ‘Even the other one.’
Gabriel gave her a slight bow.
Flynt asked, ‘Can you bring men to me, Andrew?’
Masilda’s judgement went some way to satisfy Drummond, for he pursed his lips and faced Flynt again. ‘All I can promise is that I’ll try, but these are a frightened and beaten people, Mr Flynt, it’ll take more than words to rally them.’
Flynt had already taken that into consideration. ‘How many men does Fitzgerald have at his command?’
Drummond stared into the darkness above Flynt’s head as he performed a swift calculation. ‘Perhaps around a dozen who would be stalwart in their service, a few others he could call upon if he had to.’
Gabriel’s eyebrow raised slightly at the numbers but Flynt ignored him as he led Drummond back to the door. ‘You should return now before your absence is noted.’
‘You’re no safe here, friend,’ Drummond said, his concern genuine. ‘It’s only a matter of time before they return.’
‘I know. We’ll depart for this refuge on the moors immediately.’
Drummond stopped in the barn’s threshold and looked into the night, as if searching for Fitzgerald’s men, then turned back. ‘I don’t doubt your sincerity in this, but you are only two men and a lass – meaning no insult, Masilda, for I know you’re most formidable, but I refer more to the lack of numbers than any reflection on your sex.’
‘I take no insult from it, Andrew,’ she said. ‘That is why you must help these men, if you can.’
‘Andrew,’ said Flynt, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder, ‘speak to your friends and neighbours, but I need to urge caution. Communicate only with those you trust fully. In the meantime, Gabriel and I shall see what we can do to further signify that the tide can turn in their favour.’
Drummond nodded once, pulled a woollen cap on his head and moved to where he had tethered his horse, his path lit by Masilda and her lamp.
Flynt watched them go then turned back to find Gabriel pulling off the shirt. ‘I do believe something other than me lives in this garment. Fleas I am used to but I fear whatever feasts upon me is excessively voracious.’
He inspected his body but found no bite marks although there was a slight flushing of the flesh where he had been scratching.
‘Your soft southern skin is unused to such rough material is all,’ said Flynt. ‘Silken shirts have made you weak, Gabriel.’
‘I swear I could feel something moving over me all the while I had that damned thing on.’ He threw the dead man’s shirt aside and another thought struck him. ‘D’you think that it might carry the vestiges of his affliction?’
Flynt smiled. ‘I never knew you to be such weakling, Gabriel.’ He picked the shirt up from the ground before Masilda could see it had been so casually disposed of. ‘This has been freshly boiled, and I doubt that whatever virulence made the poor man consumptive would survive both the passage of time and cleansing by hot water.’
Gabriel reached for his own shirt hanging from a nail in the upright oak beam behind him. ‘That fellow is right, you know that, do you not? Those men sent to find us will soon realise that we’re not on our way south and will return. We are but two, three if you include the woman, and they’re at least four times our number.’
‘You’re under no obligation to stay.’
‘Only the obligation of friendship. Even if I am merely “the other one”.’
Flynt smiled. ‘Having an attack of honour, Gabriel? That could be dangerous. Soon you might begin believing in love and then what will happen?’
Gabriel grunted. ‘Let’s not run away with ourselves. I’ll stay for now, but the second I determine with certainty that this crusade is a lost cause, then I will render you insensate and drag you from this place. I’ve no desire to see you on the end of a rope and even less inclination to the sharing of such a position with you.’
‘Understood.’
His own shirt now donned, Gabriel pulled off the baggy breeches and reached for his own. ‘But let me make this clear, if I have not done so already, just so that I can say I told you so in the event that we do both face our maker. Involving ourselves in the problems facing these people is at best folly, at worst suicidal. I know you are a gambler and have enjoyed considerable luck, but have you considered that this could be a dice throw too far?’
Flynt thrust his pistols into his belt and led Horse from her stall. ‘Perhaps, but let’s see if we can reduce the odds against us, just a little, eh? And in doing so, bring a little of the fear to his lordship.’
Gabriel was seated and hauling his boots up his leg. ‘How do you propose to do that?’
‘When last I saw him I promised to bring hell’s fury.’ He smiled. ‘Fire and brimstone, Gabriel, fire and brimstone…’
The dinner had been extremely fine, Moncrieff thought. Fitzgerald kept a fine table and served venison cooked in bacon grease, seasoned with onion, nutmeg and cloves, then marinaded in white wine before roasted on a spit. There were other additions to the recipe, all outlined by Fitzgerald as if he had performed the work himself, but Moncrieff barely listened. He cleared his plate, however, for it had been many days since he had dined so well. Fitzgerald peppered his cooking narrative with boasts of how he had saved the family estate from near-ruin. He didn’t go into great detail but from what hints he dropped Moncrieff was left in no doubt that the means by which he achieved it would be far from appetising to some people. For his part, Moncrieff cared little, for the end often justified those means.
Lester maintained his customary silence throughout. He ate his fill but refused any form of wine or ale. Moncrieff had noted that temperance on the journey.
Fitzgerald was in full flow about the laziness of what he called the peasant when he was interrupted by the sound of raised voices and running feet. He frowned and rose, saying, ‘Excuse me.’
He strode to the door and jerked it open, where a burly man with a bruised face was in the process of crossing the wide hallway. ‘Cooper, what in all damnation is this hullabaloo?’
A chink in the drapes caught Moncrieff’s eye, for beyond it he saw a glow.
‘I was coming to fetch thee, my lord. There’s been an occurrence down at big barn.’
‘What sort of occurrence?’
Moncrieff recalled seeing a large timber stable as he and Lester had approached the hall, so he crossed the room and peeled the curtain open slightly with the back of his fingers to stare at the orange flare of something ablaze.
‘Someone has put flame to it, my lord. They let beasts free and left two of our men unconscious, then set the whole thing afire. We can’t save it, my lord.’
Fitzgerald’s good humour vanished. ‘Damn it! Who would do such a thing?’
Moncrieff let the curtain drop back into place and turned. ‘I think you know who, Lord Fitzgerald.’
‘Flynt? He is headed back to London with his tail between his legs.’
‘No. He’s still here. And this is his way of letting you know.’
‘Damn the man! I’ll have his head on a pike for this.’
Moncrieff allowed himself a tight little smile. ‘Or he will have yours…’
Despite the smile, something uncoiled in his gut, as if everything was unravelling and there was nothing he could do to stop it.