“A good English girl was brutally slain and she with child, and now her assailant is to go free?” Ralston had grasped only what he thought pertinent to his case.
“Mister Ralston!” Trahern bellowed.
Major Carter casually rested a hand upon his sword. “Do you challenge an order of the Court of Peers, sir?”
The disapproval of these two men of authority was enough to quiet the agitated Ralston. However, it was the flare of anger in Shanna’s eyes as she came toward him, that made him retreat.
He stammered, “I only— Nay! Of course not!” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively, and stared down at the woman who in untamed rage almost trod upon his long, narrow toes.
“Part your lips with my husband’s name again, and I will tear them from your face.” Though Shanna’s voice was a bare whisper, Ralston understood her as well as if she had shouted. He nodded eagerly.
“Aye! Aye! I mean— Never! Anything!”
Ralston stood very still until she withdrew. He carefully eased his foot from the hearth and brushed the hot ashes from the sole of his boot. He followed Shanna with his gaze until she was safe on her husband’s arm again. The agent had just begun to recover his poise but lost it when Pitney touched his arm.
“Mister Ralston, I found this. I believe it yours.” The huge man held out the quirt he had shown Ruark earlier and watched the other closely.
“Oh! Why, thank you.” Ralston was most relieved and accepted the whip. “Aye, ‘tis mine. Most difficult you know to ride with only a willow switch.” He paused and, giving a disgusted grimace, turned the thing over in his hand. “What is this all over it?”
“Blood,” Pitney grunted. “And hair. Attila’s. It was used to beat the horse until he whinnied and brought Ruark to the stables. But, of course, you would know nothing about that. You were gone the whole night. What did you say your friend’s name was?”
“Blakely. Jules Blakely,” Ralston answered absently.
“Blakely. I know the man.” George added the comment from across the room. “He has a cottage just outside Mill Place. I have heard him speak of a relative in England, but ‘twas, let me think,”—he rubbed his chin thoughtfully then eyed Ralston—“ ’twas his wife’s brother.”
Ralston would meet no one’s gaze and stared at the floor. His voice was hoarse, and almost a whisper when he finally spoke.
“My sister—when I was but a lad, was falsely accused of thievery and sold into bondage. She—married the man, a colonial.” The shame of this last admission seemed almost more than he could bear.
Major Carter had been standing by Trahern, taking in all that transpired. He pursed his lips from time to time and finally reached down into the large pocket of his coat to withdraw a rather, thick manual with a plain cover. Leafing quickly through it, he paused to read intently upon a page and began to pace, his head down, deep in concentration. After several circuits of Trahern’s chair, he stopped and launched an amusing oratory.
“I have been a line officer most of my career, except for that tour in London.” Smiling slightly, he nodded to Ruark. “And hence I am well schooled in the art of battle. Thus, being an officer of the crown in times of peace is another matter. However, the best wigs of the court have put together a manual which is supposed to take the place of experience and is also suggestive and not directive in nature.” He held up the book and waved it a bit for their notice. “It leaves one with a choice of following it to the letter, or of ignoring it and chancing a court-martial. It does say, right here, that when an officer finds in the civil field a matter which seems uncommonly confused and/or suspicious, he must take it upon his own authority to investigate and obtain the facts.” He tapped the page with his finger. “As presumptuous as it may sound, I could not have found better words to describe this situation.”
He met all the stares he had attracted, turned, and faced Pitney.
“This matter of the stable. Did you mean to say the fire was deliberate?”
“No doubt of it,” Nathanial interjected emphatically. “The entrance was secured with a log against it, and my brother had been struck on the head.”
Under the major’s urging, the tale was told, and at its end the officer flung up his hands in complete bemusement.
“Gentlemen, please. I am trying to understand this, and ‘tis most confusing. Perhaps ’twould be best if we started from the beginning.” He turned slowly and surveyed them all, halting as he faced Ruark again. “Mister Beauchamp.” He smiled quickly and his eyes went back to the other two Beauchamp men. “Mister Ruark Beauchamp,” he corrected. “It has much upset me that your name appeared on the hanging orders, yet you stand here apparently little the worse for the event. How can that be?”