long horse-whip from its socket by the driver’s seat and turned and cantered back to Kileen.
Marley was still twenty or thirty yards from the first cottage when he caught up with him. The whip rose and fell, the long lash settling across the man’s fleshy shoulders, shredding the white cambric shirt.
Marley screamed and stumbled onto his face. Again the lash curled around his body and he staggered to his feet and lurched forward, arms raised protectingly. Clay thought of Eithne Fallon and others like her and of the things he had heard about this man, and all pity died in him. The lash rose and fell mercilessly, driving Marley toward the center of the village.
Already lights were appearing in cottage windows and dogs barked and scratched at doors. He delivered one last vicious blow with all his strength, and as the whip curled around Marley’s shoulders, the end of it sliced across his face, laying it open to the bone. He gave a dreadful cry and fell forward onto his face, unconscious.
Clay flung the whip down to the ground. As he did so, a cottage door opened and a man came forward uncertainly. Keeping a cautious eye on Clay, he dropped to one knee beside Marley’s insensible body and turned him over. His breath hissed between his teeth. “God save us all, but it’s the squire.”
“When he comes round, tell him to leave young girls alone in future,” Clay said in a loud, clear voice for all to hear. “Compliments of Captain Swing!”
In the same instant, he wheeled Pegeen sharply and urged her into a gallop. They passed Kelly, who was sitting up, head in hands, and splashed across the ford. Behind him, he could hear shouting in the village and dogs barking, but he paid no heed. Ten minutes later, he turned off the road, letting Pegeen choose her own pace as they climbed up out of the valley onto the moors.
When he reached Claremont, he rode straight into the stables and dismounted. As he unsaddled the mare, Joshua crossed the yard and Clay said, “I’ll see to the mare. You fix me a meal. I’ve come back with something of an appetite.”
When he entered the house a few minutes later, Joshua was busy at the stove and Clay went up to his room and unbuckled the Colt. He tossed his hat into a corner and removed the greatcoat, then he stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself.
A pulse throbbed steadily in his right temple. He ran his fingers through his hair and laughed shakily. “That should teach the swine a lesson he’ll not forget in a hurry,” he said softly.
When he went below, Joshua was laying the table. He regarded him gravely and went to the cupboard and took down the brandy bottle. “You look as if you need a drink, Colonel.”
“And perhaps another,” Clay told him.
He emptied the glass in one long swallow and coughed as its warmth flooded through him. Afterward, he refilled it and sat by the fire and related the night’s happenings as Joshua worked at the stove.
Joshua listened in silence, his face betraying no emotion. When Clay had finished, he shook his head. “Seems to me you’ve done the very thing you said you wanted to avoid, Colonel. You’ve taken sides.”
Clay frowned. “I can’t see that—Marley was a special case.”
“But calling yourself Captain Swing was a fool thing to do. If as you say, more than one person has received threatening letters signed in that name, then the whole country will be in an uproar. Now they’ll think the man really exists.”
“But he does,” Clay said. “Or rather, he did.” He sighed. “It was quite like old times, Josh. Riding through Indiana and Ohio with Morgan’s Raiders.”
“What about that Georgian accent of yours?” Joshua persisted. “Marley, or anyone else who heard it, won’t have any difficulty in recognizing it again.”
Clay grinned. “I was a natural mimic as a boy, you know that better than anyone. I managed a pretty fair imitation of an Irish accent back there in Kileen.”
Joshua shook his
Marley was still twenty or thirty yards from the first cottage when he caught up with him. The whip rose and fell, the long lash settling across the man’s fleshy shoulders, shredding the white cambric shirt.
Marley screamed and stumbled onto his face. Again the lash curled around his body and he staggered to his feet and lurched forward, arms raised protectingly. Clay thought of Eithne Fallon and others like her and of the things he had heard about this man, and all pity died in him. The lash rose and fell mercilessly, driving Marley toward the center of the village.
Already lights were appearing in cottage windows and dogs barked and scratched at doors. He delivered one last vicious blow with all his strength, and as the whip curled around Marley’s shoulders, the end of it sliced across his face, laying it open to the bone. He gave a dreadful cry and fell forward onto his face, unconscious.
Clay flung the whip down to the ground. As he did so, a cottage door opened and a man came forward uncertainly. Keeping a cautious eye on Clay, he dropped to one knee beside Marley’s insensible body and turned him over. His breath hissed between his teeth. “God save us all, but it’s the squire.”
“When he comes round, tell him to leave young girls alone in future,” Clay said in a loud, clear voice for all to hear. “Compliments of Captain Swing!”
In the same instant, he wheeled Pegeen sharply and urged her into a gallop. They passed Kelly, who was sitting up, head in hands, and splashed across the ford. Behind him, he could hear shouting in the village and dogs barking, but he paid no heed. Ten minutes later, he turned off the road, letting Pegeen choose her own pace as they climbed up out of the valley onto the moors.
When he reached Claremont, he rode straight into the stables and dismounted. As he unsaddled the mare, Joshua crossed the yard and Clay said, “I’ll see to the mare. You fix me a meal. I’ve come back with something of an appetite.”
When he entered the house a few minutes later, Joshua was busy at the stove and Clay went up to his room and unbuckled the Colt. He tossed his hat into a corner and removed the greatcoat, then he stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself.
A pulse throbbed steadily in his right temple. He ran his fingers through his hair and laughed shakily. “That should teach the swine a lesson he’ll not forget in a hurry,” he said softly.
When he went below, Joshua was laying the table. He regarded him gravely and went to the cupboard and took down the brandy bottle. “You look as if you need a drink, Colonel.”
“And perhaps another,” Clay told him.
He emptied the glass in one long swallow and coughed as its warmth flooded through him. Afterward, he refilled it and sat by the fire and related the night’s happenings as Joshua worked at the stove.
Joshua listened in silence, his face betraying no emotion. When Clay had finished, he shook his head. “Seems to me you’ve done the very thing you said you wanted to avoid, Colonel. You’ve taken sides.”
Clay frowned. “I can’t see that—Marley was a special case.”
“But calling yourself Captain Swing was a fool thing to do. If as you say, more than one person has received threatening letters signed in that name, then the whole country will be in an uproar. Now they’ll think the man really exists.”
“But he does,” Clay said. “Or rather, he did.” He sighed. “It was quite like old times, Josh. Riding through Indiana and Ohio with Morgan’s Raiders.”
“What about that Georgian accent of yours?” Joshua persisted. “Marley, or anyone else who heard it, won’t have any difficulty in recognizing it again.”
Clay grinned. “I was a natural mimic as a boy, you know that better than anyone. I managed a pretty fair imitation of an Irish accent back there in Kileen.”
Joshua shook his
Similar Books
