The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair

Fairfax nodded to Rose.   "Indeed, he's fortunate to have survived.   I'm curious about the incident and have a few questions about Mr.
Alexander's head injury."
    "Oh, now, that can wait until
the morrow, after he's had a good night's sleep."   Rose fanned a fly off Tom's brow.
    "No, I leave for South
Carolina on the morrow."
    "You're probably going to ask
the same questions the soldiers asked him at noon today."
    "Madam, if you would be so
kind as to step outside —"
    "I will not."   Rose bristled.   "I won't have you tiring my boy."
    "Mama."   Tom grasped her wrist.   "Let him speak."
    After Tom released her, Rose
dropped the cloth in the basin and stood, glowering at Fairfax.   "Thank heaven most soldiers
aren't obnoxious."   She swept out
on a whiff of poultice.
    Tom sighed, eyes closed.   "I'm not feeling well this moment,
Lieutenant, so I will appreciate your being quick about it."
    Fairfax stationed himself beside
the basin.   Tom blinked his eyes
open.   Betsy watched Fairfax's icy gaze
reach out and clutch Tom by the throat.   Anxiety puckered the skin on her arms and neck.
    "Mr. Alexander, what is your
relationship with Mr. Sheridan?"
    "I'm his apprentice."
    "For how long?"
    "Four years."
    "And how old are you?"
    "Seventeen."
    "He says you're an early
riser.   What time do you usually arrive
for work at the shop?"
    "Around seven."
    An awkward, sickening silence fell
over the room, the silence that evolves when a yawning metal trap has been
baited and left to do its business.   Tom
stared at the foot of the bed, tense against the pillow.   Fairfax's gaze swept the length of him.   "What time did you arrive at the
Sheridans' house this past Tuesday morning?"
    Tom wrinkled his brow,
remembering.   "That would have been
about the usual time.   Seven
o'clock."
    "Was something amiss that
morning?"
    "Why, yes, someone had
—"   Tom broke off and darted a look
at Clark before returning his stare to the foot of the bed.   "There was a slur painted red across
the front of their house."
    "What slur?"
    "It said 'Tory Scum.'"
    "And you were the first person
to notice it, just as you were, supposedly, the first person to arrive on the
scene of arson this morning."
    Clark stirred.   "Now see here, Lieutenant.   Tom had nothing to do with either
incident.   I'd stake my life on
it."
    "What makes you so
certain?"
    "I know him.   And besides, he's a political neutral."
    Fairfax's gaze slithered over to
Betsy.   She diverted her attention
elsewhere, away from a frigid smile that toyed with her again.   The lieutenant said, "A neutral.   Another neutral.   Peculiar.   Here in Augusta, but nowhere else in the colonies, we have happy Whigs
living alongside happy Loyals with happy neutrals wending through their midst.   I'd inform His Majesty that the Garden of
Eden exists in the Georgia colony but for some disgruntled serpent with a love
of red paint and, two days later, a love of arson."
    He paced before the window, three
steps across and three steps back.   "Mr. Alexander, what time did you arrive at the Sheridans' house
this morning?"
    "A little after four."
    "How little after four?"
    "I — uh — maybe
four-twenty.   Four-thirty."
    "And the occasion for such an
early arrival?"
    "I woke during a thunderstorm
and couldn't get back to sleep, so I went to collect eggs from the Sheridans'
hens."
    "It was dark at four-thirty in
the morning.   You took a lantern?   Good.   What did you see when you arrived?"
    Betsy, noting that Tom's lips
sealed, realized he'd seen something .   She also knew Fairfax had marked the tightening of Tom's lips.   She could almost hear hinges in the trap
groaning and quivering, eager to be sprung.
    Tom fingered the upper back of his
head and winced, still studying the end of the bed.   "This is where my memory goes fuzzy.   I walked into the yard, and something heavy
fell on me.   A limb, I reckon.   The next thing I knew, Mrs. Sweeney and Mrs.
Cochrane were standing