The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [277]
A Warehouse which he supposed to be a particular Building indicated in the Conversation—though he freely admits that he is uncertain of this—happened to be at no great Distance from the Shipyard, and when he told me of his Intelligence, I took it upon myself to pass by this Building and make Enquiries concerning its Ownership. The Building is owned jointly by two Partners: one Ronald Priestly and one Phillip Wylie. I have no Information concerning either Man at Present, but will continue my Enquiries as my Time permits.
Having learned the Above, I have made an Effort to solicit Conversation concerning Bonnet in the local Taprooms, but to little Effect. I should say that the Name is known, but few wish to speak of him.
Your most obedient servant,
Archibald Hayes, Lieutenant
67th Highland Regiment
All the normal noises of the house were still around us, but Bree and I seemed suddenly to be together in a small, clear bubble of silence, where time had abruptly stopped.
I felt reluctant to put down the letter, for that would mean that time would go on, and something must at that point be done. At the same time, I wanted not merely to put it down but to throw it into the fire, and pretend neither of us had seen it.
Then Jemmy began to cry upstairs, Brianna jerked in response and turned toward the door, and things began to move normally again.
I set the letter down in a space by itself, and returned to the rest of the mail, setting things tidily aside for Jamie’s later attention, putting the newspapers and periodicals into a neat stack, untying the string round the parcel; as I had supposed, it was a book—Tobias Smollett’s The Expedition of Humphrey Clinker. I wound up the string and tucked it into my pocket, while all the time a small “Now-what, now-what” beat in the back of my mind like a metronome.
Brianna came back, carrying Jemmy, who was red and creased from his nap, and obviously in that state of mind where one rouses from sleep to a dazed irritation at the intrusive demands of consciousness. I sympathized.
She sat down, pulled down the neck of her shift, and put the baby to her breast. His cries ceased like magic, and I had a moment of intense wishfulness that I could do something that immediately effective for her. As it was, she looked pale, but composed.
I had to say something.
“I am sorry, sweetheart,” I said. “I tried to stop him—Jamie, I mean. I know he didn’t mean you to know about it. To worry about it.”
“That’s okay. I already knew.” Reaching across one-handed, she slid one of the ledgers out of the stack Jamie kept on his desk, and holding it by the spine, shook out a folded letter. She nodded over Jemmy’s head at it.
“Look at that. I found it while you were gone with the militia.”
I read Lord John’s account of the duel between Bonnet and Captain Marsden, feeling a coldness gather beneath my breastbone. I hadn’t been under any illusions regarding Bonnet’s character, but I hadn’t known that he had that much skill. I greatly preferred dangerous criminals to be incompetent.
“I thought maybe Lord John was just answering a casual question for Da—but I guess not. What do you think?” Bree asked. Her tone was cool, almost detached, as though she were inquiring my opinion of a hair-ribbon or a shoe-buckle. I looked up at her sharply.
“What do you think?” It was Brianna who was important in this—or that was my opinion.
“About what?” Her eyes slid away from mine, glancing off the letter, then fastening themselves on the curve of Jemmy’s head.
“Oh, the price of tea in China, for starters,” I said, with some irritation. “Going on promptly to the topic of Stephen Bonnet, if you like.” It felt oddly shocking to say the name out loud; we had all avoided it for months, by unspoken consent.
Her teeth were fastened in her lower lip. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor for a moment, then shook her head, very slightly.
“I don’t want to hear about him, or think about him,” she said, very evenly. “And if I ever see him again, I might just . . . just . . .” She shuddered violently,