Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [58]
“When will I see you again?” Clay said.
“It may be difficult for me to get away for the next day or two,” she said. “If anything happens that I think you should know about, I’ll send a message. There’s a young stable boy called Joseph. I can trust him.” She smiled once and then the door closed softly behind her.
He listened to the sound of the horses moving across the yard through the heavy rain and thought about what she had said. That Burke would suspect was a foregone conclusion, but that he would dare to bring his suspicions into the open was another matter entirely.
Clay chuckled, and realized with something of a surprise that he did not fear the prospect of crossing swords again with either Burke or his master. Riding roughshod over half-starved peasants was one thing, but making public accusations against an American citizen with the kind of connections and bank balance Clay had, was quite another.
He suddenly realized just how much he had come to dislike Sir George Hamilton and his agent, and as he drifted into sleep, he sighed ruefully. Kevin Rogan had been right in his prophecy. No man could sit on the fence forever.
It was shortly after nine when he awakened to pale autumn sunlight filtering in through the window. Joshua was in the act of putting a log on the fire, and the blankets draped across a chair by the bed showed where he had spent the night. He turned and came forward with a smile, “How do you feel, Colonel?”
Clay struggled to sit up. There was a steady, dull ache in his left arm and he felt a little light-headed, but otherwise fine. “I could do with something to eat.”
“I’ll see to that right away, Colonel.”
Clay nodded. “First, you can fix me a tub of hot water in front of the fire downstairs. I’m getting up.”
Joshua’s smile disappeared. “But that’s crazy, Colonel. You need a few days in bed.”
“I rode for three days with a minie ball in my left foot after Chancellorsville,” Clay said. “As I remember, there wasn’t a bed to be had for miles.” He shrugged. “In any case I must look as normal as possible in case we have any unexpected visitors. Can’t have them finding me in bed with a gunshot wound.”
Joshua sighed and his face was troubled. “You got a point there, Colonel.” He shook his head despondently as he opened the door. “I knew things would get complicated. I knew it in my bones from the beginning.”
Clay lay there for another hour, before Joshua came back into the room and helped him out of bed and down to the kitchen, where the tub was steaming before a roaring fire.
He soaked in it for half an hour, his wounded arm propped on one side out of the water and drank two cups of coffee laced with brandy. Then he dried off and Joshua helped him to dress in fresh linen. He gently eased his wounded arm through the sleeve of a tweed riding jacket and sat down at the table to eat.
As he was finishing his meal, there was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles outside and Joshua moved quickly to the window. He turned, relief on his face. “It’s a boy on a pony, Colonel. I’ve never seen him before.”
Clay frowned. “I think he’ll prove to be a messenger from Miss Hamilton. Let him in.”
Joshua opened the door and the boy moved hesitantly inside. He was perhaps thirteen, tall and lanky for his age, his freckled, alert face topped by a shock of sandy hair. “You’ll be Joseph,” Clay said. “Have you a message for me?”
The boy nodded. “If you are Colonel Fitzgerald, sir.” From the inside pocket of his shabby tweed coat, he produced an envelope sealed with red wax. “Miss Hamilton asked me to bring this to you and tell no one.”
Clay slit open the letter with a table knife, and as he read, his face turned grave. When he had finished, he slipped the letter into his pocket and got to his feet. “Saddle Pegeen for me,” he said to Joshua. “I’m going out.” For a moment, Joshua looked as if he intended to argue, but he appeared to think better of it and left the room.
Clay produced half a sovereign, which he held between finger and thumb. “Do you know what this is?” The boy’s