Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair Page A
Authors: Suzanne Adair
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padded to the window, and pushed back the
drapes, allowing cool night air in.
Relax, she told
herself, relax, and it will return.
***
His
expression a prune of piety, Vicar Hopkins paced before village children in the
parlor at Redthorne Manor and tapped the palm of his hand with his cane. He seemed jumpy that morning, more eager
than usual to apply the cane and remind a distracted student how fortunate he
or she was to belong to the special group that received the educational
largesse of Lord Ratchingham's second wife.
She finished
the final algebra problem on her arithmetic slate, as usual well ahead of the
others, stood, and approached Hopkins, gaze lowered. "Master, I have completed the assignment and beg your leave
to visit the vault."
The vicar
snatched the slate from her and inspected it. "How can a girl be more intelligent in mathematics than boys in
this class?"
She didn't
answer. No answer was expected of her.
"Go on,
then, and no dawdling. I expect you to
read Proverbs 31 from the tenth verse to the end. 'Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.' In one quarter hour, you will tell me the proper applications of
mathematics for a virtuous woman."
"Yes,
Master." She curtsied. "Thank you."
Outside the
parlor, she noticed two chambermaids and the butler snooping through study
doors left ajar. "Lud,"
whispered the butler, "this is going t' be rich." Curious, she joined them without a second
thought for the vicar's cane. They
allowed her to crouch at their feet.
Inside,
Ratchingham paced the furniture-crowded study. Bewilderment and worry trampled his amiable expression. Too many adults were edgy that morning. Dick Clancy posed behind the desk, a smile
to sour milk upon his lips. A boy stood
beside the desk, as motionless as death, head bowed, fine wool breeches,
waistcoat and coat impeccable, silk stockings without wrinkle.
She stared
at the boy and summoned recognition. Stepson. Yes, that was it. Twice, at a distance, she'd seen Lady
Ratchingham's only child by her first marriage. He wasn't very old, not more than seven.
Ratchingham
halted, almost blocking the boy from view, and faced his stepson. "Tell me the truth. Did you mutilate those frogs?"
Sunlight
warmed russet highlights through the boy's brownish hair when he raised his
head, but his eyes stared past the man and through the wall like chips of
ice. "No, sir."
"Did
you place the carcasses where Vicar Hopkins could step on them this
morning?"
"No,
sir. I was in my chamber studying
mathematics this morning."
"Lying
scoundrel," whispered the butler. "I saw him do it."
Exasperation
flooded Ratchingham's voice. "For
god's sake, we've a witness. Jedediah
says he saw you drop them in the vicar's path just before eight."
An
emotionless void occupied the boy's face. "The blacksmith's son and the dairyman's son resemble me in stature
from a distance. And the butler has
cataracts."
"You
little shit," muttered Jedediah the butler. "I'll get you for this."
"Lad, I
want you to be happy. Is there anything
you lack?"
Something
moved in the arctic wasteland of the boy's eyes: hatred. "No, sir."
Ratchingham
gestured in futility. "We've not
yet discussed this man-to-man, but what would you like to do when you grow
up? I've the means to help you on your
way. What is it you dream of doing when
you're older? Law? Medicine? Banking, perhaps?"
The boy's
response was prompt. "I should
like to be an officer in His Majesty's army. Sir."
Clancy's
smirk vanished. His face screwed up in
disbelief, and he jiggled a finger in his ear.
"A
military officer!" Ratchingham
clapped his hands once. "Excellent
career choice, lad. I shall be
delighted to fund your commission. Let's talk about this again soon." He patted the boy on the shoulder. "Back to your science lesson. Remind Master Gerald that I'll have
drapes, allowing cool night air in.
Relax, she told
herself, relax, and it will return.
***
His
expression a prune of piety, Vicar Hopkins paced before village children in the
parlor at Redthorne Manor and tapped the palm of his hand with his cane. He seemed jumpy that morning, more eager
than usual to apply the cane and remind a distracted student how fortunate he
or she was to belong to the special group that received the educational
largesse of Lord Ratchingham's second wife.
She finished
the final algebra problem on her arithmetic slate, as usual well ahead of the
others, stood, and approached Hopkins, gaze lowered. "Master, I have completed the assignment and beg your leave
to visit the vault."
The vicar
snatched the slate from her and inspected it. "How can a girl be more intelligent in mathematics than boys in
this class?"
She didn't
answer. No answer was expected of her.
"Go on,
then, and no dawdling. I expect you to
read Proverbs 31 from the tenth verse to the end. 'Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.' In one quarter hour, you will tell me the proper applications of
mathematics for a virtuous woman."
"Yes,
Master." She curtsied. "Thank you."
Outside the
parlor, she noticed two chambermaids and the butler snooping through study
doors left ajar. "Lud,"
whispered the butler, "this is going t' be rich." Curious, she joined them without a second
thought for the vicar's cane. They
allowed her to crouch at their feet.
Inside,
Ratchingham paced the furniture-crowded study. Bewilderment and worry trampled his amiable expression. Too many adults were edgy that morning. Dick Clancy posed behind the desk, a smile
to sour milk upon his lips. A boy stood
beside the desk, as motionless as death, head bowed, fine wool breeches,
waistcoat and coat impeccable, silk stockings without wrinkle.
She stared
at the boy and summoned recognition. Stepson. Yes, that was it. Twice, at a distance, she'd seen Lady
Ratchingham's only child by her first marriage. He wasn't very old, not more than seven.
Ratchingham
halted, almost blocking the boy from view, and faced his stepson. "Tell me the truth. Did you mutilate those frogs?"
Sunlight
warmed russet highlights through the boy's brownish hair when he raised his
head, but his eyes stared past the man and through the wall like chips of
ice. "No, sir."
"Did
you place the carcasses where Vicar Hopkins could step on them this
morning?"
"No,
sir. I was in my chamber studying
mathematics this morning."
"Lying
scoundrel," whispered the butler. "I saw him do it."
Exasperation
flooded Ratchingham's voice. "For
god's sake, we've a witness. Jedediah
says he saw you drop them in the vicar's path just before eight."
An
emotionless void occupied the boy's face. "The blacksmith's son and the dairyman's son resemble me in stature
from a distance. And the butler has
cataracts."
"You
little shit," muttered Jedediah the butler. "I'll get you for this."
"Lad, I
want you to be happy. Is there anything
you lack?"
Something
moved in the arctic wasteland of the boy's eyes: hatred. "No, sir."
Ratchingham
gestured in futility. "We've not
yet discussed this man-to-man, but what would you like to do when you grow
up? I've the means to help you on your
way. What is it you dream of doing when
you're older? Law? Medicine? Banking, perhaps?"
The boy's
response was prompt. "I should
like to be an officer in His Majesty's army. Sir."
Clancy's
smirk vanished. His face screwed up in
disbelief, and he jiggled a finger in his ear.
"A
military officer!" Ratchingham
clapped his hands once. "Excellent
career choice, lad. I shall be
delighted to fund your commission. Let's talk about this again soon." He patted the boy on the shoulder. "Back to your science lesson. Remind Master Gerald that I'll have
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