Chapter 22 #2
"Captain Maddox," he said, and he said it quite pleasantly. "A moment of professional courtesy, if you will permit it."
Maddox did not answer.
"You are six. They are something above two hundred, and more coming down the lanes as we speak, because market day is loud and news travels.
" Benjamin's tone did not change at all.
"Your rifles are at the inn. I would put that at ninety yards, through a crowd that will not part for you.
Your revolvers hold six apiece and you will not reach the second cylinder. "
He tilted his head slightly.
"Everything you and I were trained to do assumes ground, distance, and a line of withdrawal.
You have none of the three. You are in the open, in the middle, surrounded, with no weight of arms and no authority to invoke.
" He shrugged. "There is no maneuver here.
There is only the walk to the top of the lane, and whether you take it while it is still yours to take. "
For a long moment Maddox stood there with cabbage on his coat and his hat lying against a crate of turnips, and did the arithmetic, and arrived at the only answer available to him.
He signaled his men with two fingers.
They went up the lane in a loose column, and the crowd closed behind them slowly, the way water closes.
At the top, Maddox stopped and looked back.
"This is not over."
"No," Benjamin agreed. "I count on it."
◆◆◆
Benjamin returned home from the market square and came through the kitchen door to find Mrs. Miller already at the stove, the smell of eggs and something savory filling the room.
"Good afternoon, Your Grace." She did not turn from the pan. "I did not see you at first light."
"I went to the market square."
She glanced back then, taking in his empty hands. "And came home with nothing to show for it?"
He sat down at the table. "I did a very foolish thing this morning.
A necessary one, but foolish all the same.
" He rubbed a hand across his jaw, weariness catching up with him now that the square was behind him.
"I went before dawn. Set a trap. Humiliated Maddox and his men in front of the better part of the town. "
Mrs. Miller's face broke into open pride. "That is my boy."
"But those men will come after me now. In earnest."
"Let them try." She set a plate down in front of him without missing a beat. "I have every confidence you will see them off."
"Mrs. Miller." He caught her hand before she could turn back to the stove. "Please do not take this lightly. You are in danger as much as I am, simply for being under this roof."
Something shifted in her face — the pride giving way, all at once, to real fear.
"I have already thought of how to protect you," he said, before she could speak.
"How?"
"You will see." He squeezed her hand once and rose. "I must go and prepare."
He went up the stairs and began packing what little he needed, methodical about it, the way he had once packed for a hundred other departures that had asked nothing gentler of him.
He picked up her anthology and put it in his bag.
He paused once at the window, looking across toward Whitfield's balcony.
It was empty.
He sat at the small writing desk and began a letter instead, the pen moving steadily, and did not stop until it was finished, sealed, and set aside.
"The food is ready," Mrs. Miller called up the stairs.
He came down with his bag already over one shoulder.
She stopped short at the sight of it. "You are leaving."
"I am. I baited them this morning so that they would come after me. I mean to draw them out of Ashcombe entirely."
"And if they catch you?"
"They can try."
Something in her expression eased, despite everything, into something almost like a smile.
"I want a favor from you." He drew the sealed letter from his coat. "Please see this delivered to Lady Amelia."
Mrs. Miller took it, turning it over once in her hands. "So. No more hiding, then."
He looked at her sharply. "You knew."
"I suspected." She corrected him gently, without apology. "Though I confess I wonder whether it is wise, sending her a personal letter now, after everything that has happened."
"Perhaps it is not." He held her eyes. "But when I return, I intend to stop hiding entirely. Whatever the outcome of it."
"Then I agree with you." Something fierce and proud settled into her face. "The Duke of Beaumont should never have to hide."
He almost smiled at that.
"There is one more thing." He drew a second letter from his coat.
" Contact the workers and tell them to continue with the rest of the house, only if the Maddox and his men follow me.
Also give this to Oliver, and explain everything to him yourself.
He will likely arrive within the next few days.
He is to stay here with you — to protect you, and I suspect, to give you someone to feed until Mr. Miller has finished the work I set him to. "
Something in her face softened at the name. "I do miss him."
"On my way back, I intend to bring him home myself. I give you my word on it."
"See that you do."
He nodded once, gathered his bag properly onto his shoulder, and turned for the door — and Mrs. Miller's voice stopped him before he had crossed halfway across the room.
"Do not you dare leave this house without eating first." She was already pulling out the chair he had abandoned. "I am quite certain this will be the last proper meal you have for some time yet."
Benjamin set the bag down, and sat, and ate.
◆◆◆