Eliot Pattison - Bone Rattler

“I regret we were unable to get acquainted on board the ship,” he ventured.

“I met so few of my fellow passengers,” Sarah said. She seemed to struggle again to find words. “I was so fatigued, always fatigued. The professor would read to me, God bless him.” She gazed at the ruby cross on her mother’s bodice. “You were the one, they say. I never thanked you for taking me back from the sea,” she said in a whisper. “A terrible accident. I was fortunate you were there.”

But there had been no mistaking Sarah’s action in the storm. She had deliberately, and with uncanny adroitness, climbed out on the spar, deliberately leapt into the sea. Was her illness killing her, was that why she had cast herself into the storm? With a shudder Duncan recalled how his fellow prisoners had been driven to suicide.

“A terrible accident,” Duncan repeated with a slow nod. “The gale affected many people that day,” he added. “My grandmother would lock the shutters tight in a storm, then bar the door and sit by it with an ax to keep guard. She said the earth spirits were fighting, and she would not let them enter in such anger.” He offered the words with a small grin, but when Sarah turned back to him her eyes were sober and round, full of wonder.

“Did the professor read to you the night before?” he asked, hoping the softness of his tone might steady her. But her eyes grew still rounder and she pressed the vase close to her breast. She leaned toward the door, glanced at Duncan with sudden alarm, and then with a bound, the young doe bolted.

He watched the doorway for a long moment after she disappeared; then, remembering his experiment, he returned to the classroom. The bowl of water with the shards had acquired a faintly brown hue, and as he stirred it a dim odor wafted upward. He touched his finger to his tongue and grew cold. Though dilute, the acrid taste was unmistakable. The dosing vial had contained laudanum. Tincture of opium. Sufficient doses could put one into a coma-like state, and one who had become habituated to it could, when taken off the treatment, exhibit many disturbing symptoms, not the least of which would be trembling hands and sunken eyes. He remembered the bitter taste in the mysterious pot of tea given him in his cell. A strong dose of laudanum in a pot of tea could leave a man Duncan’s size unconscious for hours, though he still could not imagine why anyone would have wanted him comatose in his cell. He gazed forlornly into the bowl, trying again to connect the cryptic evidence left by Adam and Evering. Somehow he had to wring enough truth out of it to save Lister.

Duncan found Crispin outside in the kitchen garden, pulling weeds from a bed of bean plants. “How did her mother die?” he asked as he knelt and began to help. “Their mother.”

The walnut-skinned man took a long time to answer. “She was the one who hired me, when the other houses in town closed their doors to a freed black. Lady Ramsey was the only one who could soothe Mr. Ramsey’s anger, the only one other than Sarah who could reach his heart. Two years ago Lady Ramsey was on a ship home, the navy mail packet, to visit her family and show them her new baby, a second son. A French frigate attacked as they entered the English Channel. No one survived.”

They worked in silence for another few minutes before Crispin spoke again. “Mr. Ramsey, he disliked the French before, but since they killed his wife and son, his hatred has burned like a fire. He lives to ruin the French, to destroy their soldiers and those who help them.” The late morning sun beat down on their backs and they fell into a languid rhythm as they worked. A scullery maid settled onto a back step and began peeling potatoes.

“Did she know him well?” Duncan asked suddenly. “Adam Munroe.”

“He was here just the one time,” Crispin said, then looked up in alarm.

“Jonathan revealed that he had visited,” Duncan assured him. Not only had Adam visited Sarah, Crispin’s expression told him it had been in secret. “I counted him as a particular friend. When was it, his visit?”

“Seven months ago,” Crispin replied in a whisper, glancing at the maid.

“You mean just before Sarah fled.” Sarah had gone to Scotland with the mysterious Greek, Socrates Moon. But shortly before that, Adam must have gone to Scotland, to his birthplace in Argyll. It must mean Sarah had followed him, after he had stopped at the Ramsey house to give her secret directions.

Crispin sighed and leaned toward Duncan. “You’ll have to help me, McCallum. It’s more than one man will be able to do, protecting the girl.”

Duncan remembered little Jonathan, holding the letter opener at his sister’s side. “Protect Sarah? From what?” Duncan’s query was drowned out suddenly by the beat of a drum.

A child cried out in excitement, and Jonathan appeared at the side of the house, calling for Crispin, motioning them toward the street. As they reached the front of the house, Virginia emerged from the front door, pulling Sarah by the hand.

“Soldiers!” Jonathan exclaimed. “Our brave redcoats!”

“A patrol,” Crispin explained. “Sometimes the general sends patrols out to make the people feel safe. There are terrible reports from the frontier.”

“The Forty-second Regiment?” Duncan asked, suddenly very interested in the tight ranks of redcoats that appeared around the corner, five ranks of four men each, muskets on their shoulders, followed by a drummer and an officer on horseback. Across the street, men stopped and raised their hats in salute to the stern infantrymen.

“Hurry!” Jonathan cried, pulling Sarah toward the street. She seemed reluctant to approach the soldiers. “We’ll miss them!”

But the patrol halted in front of Ramsey House. A sergeant in the front rank glanced back at the mounted officer, who nodded. To his surprise, Duncan recognized the man on horseback. But Lieutenant Woolford, stiff in a red brocaded jacket, gave no acknowledgment.

The glee of the children abruptly changed to fear as the drum stopped and four soldiers wheeled, then sternly marched through the gate, directly up the brick walk, halting beside Crispin and Duncan. The children retreated, trying to pull Sarah with them again, though now Sarah seemed to want to stay, even seemed about to say something to the soldiers. The sergeant looked at Woolford again, then nodded at the four men, two of whom lifted manacles from their belts. As Duncan saw anger enter Sarah’s eyes, he stepped toward her, worried about what she might do. But as he did so, strong hands clamped around his upper arms on each side. Before he could utter a word, the manacles were on his feet and hands. He struggled a moment, about to lash out with his elbows, then saw the fear in the children’s eyes and relented.

“Crispin!” Sarah cried. “Stop them! They have no right!” She grabbed Duncan’s arm and pulled as the soldiers began to lead him down the brick path, holding him so tightly she was dragged several feet, her shoes scraping on the bricks as the soldiers led him by the chains.

“Patrick! Do not do this thing!” she shouted. It took a moment for Duncan to realize her plea was addressed to Woolford, who only stared straight ahead.

Crispin was suddenly at her side, prying Sarah’s fingers from Duncan’s arm, wrapping his thick arms around her from the back to restrain her. Tears welled in her eyes.

As the soldiers pulled him through the gate, Duncan turned for a last glimpse of Sarah. Jonathan stood in front of her now, his arms locked around his sister’s legs, pushing as if to keep her from the soldiers. Amid his confusion he remembered his vow to Lister. He had given the New World a chance, and he had lasted four hours.