A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [162]
“I’ll take rum,” Peg said eagerly.
“Not if I’m paying, you won’t,” Lizzie contradicted her. “Beer for her, too, please, Baz.”
He poured beer from a cask into wooden mugs. Mack came in with his map in his hand and said: “What river is this?”
“We call it South River.”
“Once you cross over, where does the road lead to?”
“A town called Staunton, about twenty miles away. After that there’s not much: a few trails, some frontier forts, then real mountains, that nobody’s ever crossed. Where are you people headed, anyway?”
Mack hesitated so Lizzie answered. “I’m on my way to visit a cousin.”
“In Staunton?”
Lizzie was flustered by the question. “Uh … near there.”
“Is that so? What name?”
She said the first name that came into her head. “Angus … Angus James.”
Baz frowned. “That’s funny. I thought I knew everyone in Staunton, but I don’t recognize that name.”
Lizzie improvised. “It may be that his farm is some way from town—I’ve never been there.”
The sound of hoofbeats came from outside. Lizzie thought of Jay. Could he have caught up with them so soon? The sound made Mack uneasy too, and he said: “If we want to make Staunton by nightfall …”
“We don’t have time to linger,” Lizzie finished. She emptied her tankard.
“You’ve hardly wet your throats,” Baz said. “Drink another cup.”
“No,” Lizzie said decisively. She took out her pocketbook. “Let me pay you.”
Two men walked in, blinking in the dim light. They appeared to be local people: both were dressed in buckskin trousers and homemade boots. Out of the corner of her eye Lizzie saw Peg give a start, then turn her back on the newcomers, as if she did not want them to see her face.
One of them spoke cheerily. “Hello, strangers!” He was an ugly man with a broken nose and one closed eye. “I’m Chris Dobbs, known as Deadeye Dobbo. A pleasure to meet you. What news from the East? Them burgesses still spending our taxes on new palaces and fancy dinners? Let me buy you a drink. Rum all round, please, Baz.”
“We’re leaving,” Lizzie said. “Thanks all the same.”
Dobbo looked more closely at her and said: “A woman in buckskin pants!”
She ignored him and said: “Good-bye, Baz—and thanks for the information.”
Mack went out and Lizzie and Peg moved to the door. Dobbs looked at Peg and registered surprise. “I know you,” he said. “I’ve seen you with Burgo Marler, God rest his soul.”
“Never heard of him,” Peg said boldly, and walked past.
In the next second the man drew the logical conclusion. “Jesus Christ, you must be the little bitch that killed him!”
“Wait a minute,” Lizzie said. She wished Mack had not gone out so quickly. “I don’t know what crazy idea you’ve got into your head, Mr. Dobbs, but Jenny has been a maid in my family since she was ten years old and she’s never met anyone called Burgo Marler, let alone killed him.”
He was not to be put off so easily. “Her name isn’t Jenny, though it’s something like that: Betty, or Milly, or Peggy. That’s it—she’s Peggy Knapp.”
Lizzie felt sick with fear.
Dobbs turned to his companion for support. “Ain’t it her, now?”
The other man shrugged. “I never saw Burgo’s convict more than a time or two, and one little girl looks much the same as another,” he said dubiously.
Baz said: “She fits the description in the Virginia Gazette, though.” He reached under the counter and came up with a musket.
Lizzie’s fear went away and she felt angry. “I hope you aren’t thinking of threatening me, Barney Tobold,” she said, and her voice surprised her by its strength.
He replied: “Maybe you should all stay around while we get a message to the sheriff in Staunton. He feels bad about not catching Burgo’s murderer. I know he’ll want to check your story.”
“I’m not going to wait around while you find out you’re mistaken.”
He leveled the gun at her. “I think you’re going to have to.”
“Let me explain something to