Norton, Andre - Novel 08 (23 page)

 
          
 
"It is the matter of winning a guinea for
the man who guesses right," Robinson had said. He watched the pile of
slips eagerly and Fitz knew, with a prick of pity, that to Robinson the wager
might be very important indeed.

 
          
 
The dish which Master Seedly served up to
them, plate by steaming plate, was flavorsome. Fitz spooned it up hungrily. His
breakfast had been the usual tea, butter, and bread, and he was honestly empty
now. It appeared that his neighbors were as bad off—for there was little or no
conversation to interrupt more serious work. But having swallowed the last bite
of a really superlative apple tart, he leaned back in his chair to listen to
those who had finished the race before him.

 
          
 
And they had news worth hearing, considering
his late occupation, for the two gentlemen to his left were much concerned
about the depredations of those

 
          
 
American privateers which had had the criminal
audacity to strike down their prey even within the home waters of the greatest
navy on earth. Honest indignation mingled with a real distaste for the war.
Fitz had heard rumors that all was not well within the bosom of
London
when it came to raising funds for the
King's suppression of rebellion overseas. But now he listened to talk which was
only a thin shade removed from downright treason. King George might desire this
dragging, impoverishing war—but the powerful "City" did not.

 
          
 
Crofts, then, had been right. Strike the
merchants in their pockets, and the end of the war would be in sight.
Especially a war which many Englishmen did not altogether believe
in.
He glanced at Robinson, wondering how an exile who had fought for a
forgetful King would relish such notions. But the Tory showed no signs of
dissent to the conversation about him.

 
          
 
"The war seems to find small favor
here," Fitz ventured.

 
          
 
"Their trade suffers. But then the City
has never favored it. They are for peace and full pockets. In the end they'll
bring pressure to bear and the King's ministers will be forced into the path
they choose."

 
          
 
"You mean—the colonists will win?"
This from a Tory rocked Fitz.

 
          
 
"Like as not. They have managed to hold
out against the worst the King has sent against them. I held to the Crown
because I believed—and still believe—that the mob has no right to rule over men
of intelligence and birth. Can I truthfully say that Justice Bragg is merely
the equal of the howling scum who tried to hunt him down? I held true to my
breeding and joined Thompson's regiment. We fought—fought when the British with
us wouldn't go in! It was life or death for us. Why, all of us had kin on the
other side. My own
brother "

 
          
 
He stopped and then continued, "Yes, we
knew that it was life or death. Well—it's death, that's beginning to be plain
now. When their privateers can sail at will in the Channel, and the French
march along with the regiments of the American Line—our cause is
finished!" He snapped a bread pill across the table.

 
          
 
Just then Master Seedly called for order and
opened the cheese wagers. To his open delight Robinson was the winner. But
before the Tory arose to receive their applause and the guinea, he patted
Fitz's coat-sleeve.

 
          
 
"You are a piece of luck, famous luck! I
have come here these good three months and this is the first time I have won.
The blessings of an out-at-the-heels, broken-down dragoon are all yours,
sir—for what they may be worth."

 
          
 
And so set was Robinson in the belief that
Fitz had brought him luck that he would hardly let the sailor out of his
company. Perforce Fitz found himself borne about London the next few days,
taken to see the sights as if he were any country cousin up to gawk at the
great city.

 
          
 
Necessary additions to his wardrobe and other
expenses cut his small store of round pieces to a dangerously low level. But
the hope that any day might bring
Norwood
back to the coffee house held him to the
life he shared with Robinson.

 
          
 
The wound which had deprived Robinson of both
martial future and the hope of an active life had made the Tory bitter. But now
he discovered in his younger countryman a companion who lifted him out of the
depths of his brooding. And Fitz found that he could not be deliberately blind
to the other's need.

 
          
 
Alan Robinson was a man of parts and good
education. During the past year he had spent in
London
pressing his claim for a pension, he had
been able to eke out his slender means by writing articles on the American
scene for some of the journals. And he admitted to Fitz that he had at times
drawn lurid pictures of Indian warfare which were issued as chap-books for the
edification of such of the ballad-reading public who were delighted to think
shiveringly of being murdered in bed by Redskins. But crime and warfare—in
writing—did not pay overmuch, and an aspiring author without a patron to bring
him to the booksellers' attention had little hope of filling his purse.

 
          
 
Although Robinson was a well-informed guide
and the sights of
London
were many, Fitz began to be uneasy at
Norwood
's nonappearance. And one day he had a shock
which added to his feeling of insecurity.

 
          
 
He had accompanied the Tory to a printer where

 
          
 
A name leaped out at him.

 
          
 
Captain Robinson hoped to collect the few
shillings owed him for a ballad lately written. And, as his companion argued
over the true amount of this sum with the proprietor, Fitz wandered about the
small outer shop, looking at the woodcuts of "wanted" men on the wall
posters. From one such smudged strip a name leaped out at him.

 
          
 
"The Notorious Pirate Daniel
Crofts,
lately fled from His Majesty's Prison at
Plymouth
. One hundred guineas Reward shall be paid
" he read the words aloud just under his breath. So Crofts had not been
taken! On impulse he turned to the printer's clerk.

 
          
 
"This placard," he pointed to the
woodcut which pictured a ferocious, blackbearded monster, not unlike his
childish imagining of the Giant Fee-Fo-Fum, and having nothing in common with
the slight, gentlemanly Crofts, "this placard may be given out to
travelers, perhaps? To be posted in other parts of the country?"

 
          
 
"Just so, sir.
Do you desire to take one? A hundred guineas is a neat sum to earn by merely
sighting the man
" The
clerk rummaged through a
pile of papers. "And you being a naval gentleman, sir, might come nigher
to it than the rest of us." He laughed, and Fitz echoed him coldly.

 
          
 
The American hurriedly inspected the rest of
the wall display. If Crofts was so posted, surely he must be there somewhere
too. But the name Fitzhugh Lyon did not appear in the gallery of desperate
rogues. With some relief he accepted the folded poster from the clerk and went
out of the shop with Robinson.

 
          
 
That afternoon he cornered Isaac at the coffee
house and tried to learn the probable whereabouts of
Norwood
. But neither Isaac nor the manager of the
establishment could give him any information. And when he continued to press
the point, he thought that Barnes, the manager, began to eye him strangely.

 
          
 
It shook him further that same evening when
Robinson gave him a note which had been left at the lodging house. It was only
an invitation to dine with Sir Hew. But the very fact that the baronet had been
able to locate him in some fashion made him unhappy.

 
          
 
The day after his arrival in town, he had gone
to the other's chambers for a courtesy visit and had been pleased to discover
the squire out. Common politeness had dictated the regrets he had written and
left with Sir Hew's man. But Fitz was sure that he had not mentioned his own
dwelling or the Sign of the Lighted Candle.

 
          
 
He sat in his room, the invitation in his
hand, puzzled as to what to do about it. Bred in the tradition of the
plantation country he simply could not force himself to be prudent and ignore
it. Sir Hew had carried him to town. He owed the squire something for that. A
quiet dinner in the baronet's own rooms was not too great a sacrifice of
safety.

 
          
 
Fitz grinned. There was another point to be
considered—he would dine very well at Sir Hew's and be nothing out of pocket
for it. And so forcefully did the gnawing of a healthy appetite goad him that
he wrote an acceptance and sent it off by one of the coffee-house servants.

 
          
 
Having smartened up his dress to the best of
his ability he went to Sir Hew's rooms promptly at the stroke of four, and was
shown up to the sitting room from which the booming voice of his host revealed
that he was not the sole guest. Fitz hesitated at that, but the squire's man
had he door open and he had to go in.

 
          
 
Sir Hew's other guest was a tall man, well
featured and pleasant of voice. He was plainly dressed, but his linen, Fitz
noted with envy, was very fine, and the cloth and cut of his coat were both
above the ordinary. Sir Hew introduced him as Mr. Hastings Burnette, a follower
of the law from the
Middle
Temple
. And Mr. Burnette speedily proved himself
the best of dinner companions. He had a ready wit, which the squire rated
highly, and all the most amusing tittle-tattle of the town at his tongue tip.

 
          
 
But Fitz came to realize early in the hour
that he was being skillfully pumped and, aroused to danger, he was as wary as
an Indian on the war trail. After he had parried one or two carefully worded
questions, Burnette relinquished the contest. But, warned, Fitz only sipped
very sparingly of his wine, realizing that he must keep his head steady during
the evening. A plea of his head injury from the tumble on the moor gave him an
excellent excuse to refuse both port and burgundy. And he sat listening almost
without answer to Burnette's smooth flow of talk until, with politeness, he
could leave.

 
          
 
The man of law offered to share in the
protection of a linkboy, and since their paths lay together for a space, Fitz
could not refuse without giving offense. It was just before they parted that
Burnette asked bluntly the one question Fitz dreaded most.