Riverbreeze: Part 2 (54 page)

Six more; six more
, Rob thought.

The rest were a blur. They came fast together, one right after the other without any rest in between. Giles could barely keep up with his count, although Robert was too shocked and incredulous to notice.

They came harder, snapping against his back and shoulders, like a knife cutting or fire burning. He could barely catch his breath. He felt woozy and faint.

Mercifully it was over fairly quickly. “Fifteen!” Giles shouted. There was a scattering of cheers and whistles from the crowd, and a lot of murmuring.

Robert didn’t pay attention to any of it, especially the cheers and whistling. He imagined Sparshott was quite pleased right about now. Harris too.

He couldn’t stop trembling; he was breathing as if he had run for hours. His back was on fire; his fists clenched tight.

“This concludes this day’s session!” Giles announced loudly, shouting over the crowd. Then he spoke to someone else in a lower voice, but Rob was too dazed to notice who Giles had spoken to or what had been said.

The crowd dispersed, the boys running wildly, whooping and hollering, the men heading quickly to their boats at the dock so they could leave and get home in time for supper. However, several lingered: Thomas Paulette, Nick the blacksmith, Crockett and Turner, the Bolton brothers…and Sparshott and his cronies.

Someone came up to Robert and started to unbind his wrists. It was the sheriff. He didn’t look at Robert and he didn’t say a word. His face was like stone. He briskly unfastened the straps, then turned on his heels and strode back towards the church as if he were being chased by demons.

Robert’s arms fell heavily to his side and he staggered backwards a few steps. Someone quickly came to his aid and took his arm to steady him. It was Roger. “Are you alright?” He asked softly.

“I think I am.” His voice was raspy and he had to clear his throat. He hung his head for a moment, regaining his equilibrium.

“Do you need to sit down?”

“No.” Robert said, looking back up at Roger. “I’m alright.”

“Drink some of this.” In his other hand he had a silver flask and he brought it up to Robert’s lips.

“What is it?”

“Water with a little whiskey in it.”

Rob laughed, but the laugh turned into a cough. “Whose whiskey?” He asked, his voice rough.

“Who else? Sparshott.”

Robert made a noise of contempt low in his throat. Roger raised the flask to Rob’s lips again and Robert placed his trembling hand under Roger’s. Together they held it while he drank.

Jamie suddenly appeared beside Roger and a little in front of Robert. He was mad as hell. His eyes burned with anger; his whole body vibrated with indignation. “He didn’t have to be that brutal! He cut up your back! What he did was disgraceful!” He declared.

Surprised and amused at his brother’s outburst, Rob started to chuckle and was going to say something, but the chuckle turned into a cough which jarred his back, which aggravated the pain. He stiffened abruptly. “Oh God.” He moaned.

Jamie glowered at him. “I’m sorry, but I hardly think what I said was funny.”

“I’m alright.” Robert said, after catching his breath. He smiled faintly at Jamie.

Roger sighed. “Jamie’s right though. What Ned did was disgraceful, and he knows it. He’s angry with himself; and embarrassed at being caught. He’s a master with the whip, and he should have kept himself under control.”

Robert snorted. “I told him I understood that he had to do his job.” He took another drink, his hand still trembling.

“I thought he was being nice when he spoke of his concern for you.” Jamie sneered. “Well, that was a lot of bloody humbug!”

“He was being sincere at the time, Jamie.” Robert said, sounding tired. Suddenly he felt a weariness come over him, like he wanted to pass out. “Can we go somewhere where I can lie down?” He asked.

“We can go to my place.” Thomas Paulette said. He had been standing quietly off to Robert’s left, along with the other men, waiting for the right time to extend his invitation. “Every month, after court, I offer my home to a few of my friends to relax and to have supper. And since it appears that you will need some medical care before you face Sparshott, I am formally inviting you to my home, Master Basset, to receive that care and to join me for supper.” He bowed with a flourish.

Robert raised his eyebrows at Paulette. “Why, thank you, Master Paulette.” He answered just as formally. “I accept.”

“You are quite welcome.” Paulette said. “Jamie, you’re invited as well.”

“I would be honored, sir.” Jamie said.

“Roger, you know you have a standing invitation.”

“Thank you again, Thom, but as always, I’m afraid I must decline. Paperwork, you know.” Roger said.

Paulette just nodded.

At that point Nick, George Turner, Charles Crockett and the Bolton brothers came forward to voice their concerns. Robert assured them he would be all right and urged them to resist badmouthing the sheriff. He didn’t resent what the sheriff had done; they shouldn’t either. They reluctantly agreed, then each one gave him private words of encouragement for the duel, out of Sparshott’s hearing, who was still lingering close by. Crockett and Turner then left, saying they were sorry they couldn’t stay to watch the duel. Nick and the Bolton brothers remained beside Paulette as they would also be going to Paulette’s home for supper.

“Shall we go also?” Paulette said. “Supper awaits us.” He added proudly. “My Negress has prepared the fine, fat turkey I shot yesterday, along with a smothered mallard dish and hare pie. We’re also having eggs and apples in pastry, onion tarts and the last of my sallet greens.”

“Sallet greens?” Rob asked, his interest instantly piqued. “I would love to see your garden, if I may.”

Paulette laughed and said, “Of course you may.” At the same time Jamie said, “Rob, you’re hurt. Seeing his garden can wait…”

“Wait for what? I’m not hurt that bad. Give me my shirt and doublet before I freeze to death. I’m eager to see his garden.”

Jamie rolled his eyes at his brother, but helped him into his shirt and doublet. He also returned his hat and gloves, sword, pistol and dagger.

As Robert dressed, he exchanged a melancholy look with Jamie over the shirt. Jamie knew the significance of the shirt and now it would be ruined. Rob’s back was bleeding in several places, even if the wounds were only seeping a little blood. But the shirt would get all blood-stained. He knew he shouldn’t have worn it. It hadn’t helped him anyway; it hadn’t impressed anybody. The lace at the sleeves could probably be salvaged, Evelyn could incorporate it into some other garment, but the rest of the shirt would probably be cut up into rags. A shame really, but what else could he do?

Just as the seven men were about to leave the area, Sparshott finally forced himself upon them, a smug look on his face. He was flanked by two of his cronies, their faces flushed with liquor, their eyes mocking.

“How is your back, Bassett?” Sparshott asked jeeringly. He was dressed like a dandy in his best finery, brown velvet doublet and breeches, frilly white lace at his neck and wrists, a short wool cape draped over one shoulder, and the white ostrich feather on his hat bounced jauntily in the faint breeze. He kept one gloved hand on the hilt of his dagger in a haughty pose. “Did you enjoy those last few strokes?”

Sparshott’s cronies guffawed. Jamie nearly went wild. He stepped forward, came nose to nose with Sparshott and hissed into his face. “You are a bastard…sir, a bloody drunkard, a damned sot!”

“Jamie…” Robert tried to call him back in a low voice. He was afraid of what might happen. Even though he had wanted to stick his dagger through Sparshott’s throat a mere three hours ago, he didn’t want Jamie challenging this man. He understood Jamie’s anger, but he didn’t want his brother going through what he had just gone through. Well, Jamie wouldn’t have to go through what he had just gone through actually; Jamie was exempt from capitol punishment, but he didn’t want Jamie’s reputation ruined. He didn’t want Jamie being charged with slander or defamation of character and he also didn’t want Jamie fighting with this man.

But Jamie kept going, leaning into Sparshott and poking him in the chest. “You’re the one who yelled out. You’re the one who called for Huett to increase his force.”

“Jamie…” Robert hissed again, but he was ignored.

“I did not!” Sparshott said, drawing himself up straight. Even doing that he couldn’t loom over Jamie the way he wanted to. To compensate for this deficiency he looked over to his friends (strength in numbers) and started to laugh again. “But what of it? What if I did? Huett was going easy on him because your brother is a pansy…” He drew the word out, taunting Jamie. “…a milk…sop…” He turned back to his cronies. “See what I mean, lads? See how they…”

Sparshott never finished because Jamie rushed him, grabbed his arm, and drew his fist back to punch him. But Roger grabbed Jamie before Jamie could follow through.

“Stop!” Roger yelled. “Sparshott, be gone with you and your…” He hesitated, changing his mind on what he was going to say. “…your companions. Go. Go for now until the duel, or I will fight you myself.”

“Oh, you scare me, pretty boy.” Sparshott sneered. “But we will go.” He said, his eyes flicking to Jamie, then to Paulette, then to Roger and finally to Robert. “Until we meet again.” He bowed mockingly to Robert, then turned on his heel and walked away with his two companions.

“I hope you beat his arse.” Jamie said, glaring after Sparshott.

“I hope so too.” Rob said, and he wasn’t joking. They were in complete agreement.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Honor! Honor, be damned!

That last meeting with Sparshott gave Robert the fuel he needed to prepare himself mentally and physically for the upcoming duel. And the first thing he needed to do was calm himself because if he remained too angry he would become reckless, and that would not do him any good. He needed to prepare a strategy of calm alertness. Sparshott had already succeeded in taunting him into almost committing murder. He would not let that happen again. Instead, he would strive to remain focused and coolheaded throughout the match.

The second thing he needed to do was get some good food in him and have his back tended to. He had hardly eaten any breakfast, and now it was several hours past noon, and between the whiskey he had drunk and the whipping he had just received, he was feeling rather faint. He truly appreciated the invitation from Paulette—he really didn’t want to eat the dried venison, the leftover corncakes and the apples he and Jamie had brought with them. Also, the selection of food sounded delicious; he couldn’t wait to try those sallet greens and to see Paulette’s garden. And even though Jamie disapproved of his desire to inspect the garden, Robert was still thankful that Paulette had included Jamie in the invitation.

It took the eight men mere minutes to ride to Paulette’s home which was less than a mile from the church. Osbourne Wells and William Barber were the other two, along with Paulette, Nick, the Bolton brothers, and Robert and Jamie. The guest list changed every court day. Ever since Paulette had established himself at Westover with his brother, Chiffock, and had built his house, he had established a tradition of opening his home to friends and officials for supper and relaxation.

Robert and Jamie had never been invited to Paulette’s home before, but Rob already had a gut feeling that Thomas Paulette would be the perfect host. At the respectable age of sixty-five, he was a refined gentleman, well-established, quite wealthy and surprisingly healthy and spry. Robert admired and respected him and hoped to follow his example. Another reason to reign in his temper.

Paulette’s home was indeed warm and welcoming. Whilst not built of brick, it was a sturdily constructed frame house, its wide clapboards weathered to a soft gray. It consisted of six large rooms: the hall, a parlor, a dining room and three bedchambers on the second floor. The kitchen was in a separate building twenty feet behind the main house.

A series of tragic events over the past three years had brought Paulette’s brother, Chiffock, Chiffock’s daughter and her two sons to live at the house with Thomas. First, Thomas’ wife had died, leaving him a widower and alone in the house. His three sons and two daughters were all married and living in their own homes across the river. Then Chiffock, already a widower and afflicted with a crippling disease, had become unable to live in his home alone. His daughter’s family had come to live with him, but a house fire earlier this year had destroyed their home and killed his son-in-law. Thomas had welcomed them into his empty home, dividing the large parlor into two separate rooms, one of which was made into a bedchamber for Chiffock so he wouldn’t have to climb the stairs. Chiffock’s daughter, Alison, had one bedchamber upstairs, her two teenage sons, the other and Thomas had the third.