Standing Alone

By: Heidi

Part Three

"Larabee!"

The sound of his name broke through the haze of darkness.

"Larabee!" Bang, bang, bang.

His mind recoiled from the clattering, attempting a strategic retreat
from reality. Distantly, he heard the sound of the door opening and
boot heels crossing the room to him.

"Larabee!"

He didn't move.

"Wake him up."

A vice-like grip shook him hard.

Fresh pain drew him out; he tried to roll away out of self-
preservation.

"Get up, Larabee. At least try to be the man I once respected." He
recognized that voice's owner – Paul Darton – from a distance since
he sounded nearer the door than leaning over him like the other
soldiers.

Chris bit his lip, refocusing his mind to force the pain back by
sheer will. Even in this battered state, he refused to be less than
a man. Memory returned, causing him to groan. Opening his eyes only
showed semi-darkness inside his cell, and he was deep within the
shadows away from the meager light. That groan deepened when he made
his body sit up against its protests. "What?" he half-growled.

The soldiers left his cell.

"Your people abandoned you. All your horses, your grooms, and your
trainer are gone. Along with any money you had; your belongings are
missing too," the captain informed him.

"What?" Fighting the room's vicious spins and struggling to keep his
meager stomach contents down, Chris only heard pieces of Darton's
information.

"You stand alone, Larabee. Even those in your employ realized the
hopelessness of your continued life and abandoned you."

He grunted.

"My men reported you attempted to flee. I thought better of you; now
I must revise my opinion," Darton sneered.

It didn't escape his beleaguered brain's notice that Captain Paul
Darton no longer called him Chris or Mister, both signs of his
changed fortunes. He could not, however, let the remark about
attempting to flee pass by unchallenged. "Your men beat me because
they wanted to, Paul, and waited until I was secured in the cell
before doing so."

"Do not add telling falsehoods to your crimes, and do not use my
given name again. Both my men reported you tried to escape. I will
believe their word over the accused murderer imprisoned before me."

Chris closed his eyes. "Things are not what they seem."

"No. You have three weeks' time to improve your fabrication. The
Magistrate has set your trial then." Darton closed the door,
plunging him back into the gloom.

In three weeks, anything could happen. He would survive until then.
Knowing Vin left with his people and property eased his thoughts.
Tanner would not abandon him; the trainer was making sure the
valuable stallions found their way to their proper home. Chris held
no doubt that Brattenwrighter would claim them as recompense, along
with any monies Chris had with him. It truly would not surprise him
that if his stallions had stayed here, one or two of them would
temporarily end up with Davis, with everyone agreeing that Chris gave
them to his friend prior to the murder. Vin undoubtedly believed
that was a possibility, so he grabbed everything he could of his
friend's before he left the area.

By now, they were long gone, and the trainer's trail experience would
throw off any pursuers. His livelihood was safe; he need only worry
about his life. That was where he held uncertainty. If the rough
treatment he received so far indicated the pattern of the next few
weeks, he might not last.

His cell's condition was one reason that he doubted his continued
existence. Made of a dirt floor with stone-and-mud walls, his only
view of the outside was a tiny square of a window high above his
head. The manacle only allowed him a few scant feet of uncomfortable
movement, and surely wasn't helping his health. Nor was the lack of
even a bucket for personal relief; the nearest corner smelled foul
from previous use.

His head throbbed something fierce; his broken arm ached; his chest
protested every movement; his stomach threatened an upheaval; his eye
hurt where it swelled from its encounter with a fist; and his legs
announced pain in several places where he had been kicked, or from
his involuntary toss down the stairs. Adding insult to injury was
their leaving him dressed only in his formerly white shirt. No
breeches, hose, or shoes were provided; no warm overshirt or jacket,
and obviously no blanket to cover with. The cellar was thick with
dampness with a cool breeze finding its way in from the one small
window high up in the cell, giving him periodic chills from the
drafts.

If the local Magistrate already set a trial date, the local law
investigated enough to hear Darton and Brattenwrighter's accounts.
Those must have been compelling enough to stop the local lawman from
even questioning the supposed suspect. No help would come from that
quarter. Someone set him up beautifully, where a conviction and a
hanging was a near-certainty.

He tried to remember more of what happened, but heavy thought was
impossible through the growing, intensifying pain. His eyes closed
briefly, and did not reopen.

Something struck him in the face. His eyes flew open, one painful as
it stretched the swollen skin, and he felt liquid trailing down his
cheeks and chin. His tongue slipped out to capture a few drops, but
it was not enough.

"There's your water for the day," his jailer called, then slammed the
door.

Chris gritted his teeth. He'd seen abuse like this before; just not
on the receiving end. It would be a challenge to survive if the
soldiers intended to pervert the regulations about providing bread
and water to prisoners. Where was his bread? He looked around.

The door opened again. "Here's your bread, murderer." It sailed in
a clean arc over his head to land in the slop corner, a place Chris
was forced to use earlier. Laughter echoed in the small
room. "Seems I missed." The door closed again.

He wasn't eating that bread. Using his manacled arm, he captured a
few droplets of moisture left on his skin and licked them off his
fingers. Now all he could do was sit and wait. Lacking the strength
and materials to try and set his broken arm properly, he let it be.
Moving only aggravated his injuries; sitting still kept the worst of
the pain at bay. Figuring he had received today's allotment of
rations and hoping he would not be bothered again, he closed his eyes
to rest.
 

They woke him in the deep of night for another round of beatings.
The small window only allowed the tiniest sliver of moonlight, and
the men stayed out of the thin strip so he couldn't see them coming.
Each hit aimed for an already injured part of his body, just hard
enough to irritate it.

He tried moving away, protecting his body, but they anticipated his
actions. His eyes adjusted enough to see two shapes, but his
weakened, manacled state was no defense against their health and
mobility. It lasted what seemed to be for hours, but he had no true
sense of time. When they'd had their fill of fun they left him,
patting each other on the back and laughing. The only measure of
satisfaction he held was that he never cried out because of the pain;
it was his pride that refused to bend. When they realized that, he
would pay dearly, but until then, it was something he would hold onto.
 

He watched the sun rise to stream through the tiny window, but dozed
during the late morning and early afternoon hours. Never really
allowing himself to fall asleep completely, nor would the pain let
him, he stayed in one place. When the moonlight appeared in the
window, a part of him started to wake up. A second loaf of bread
rotted beside the first in the slop corner, and the three drops he
caught today did nothing to alleviate the terrible thirst he felt, or
the dryness in his throat.

His door opened. Prepared for another round of slap the prisoner,
the identity of his guest surprised him.

"They buried her today."

The words hung there between the two of them, a barrier neither could
cross.

Chris grunted. His eyes locked on Paul Darton's in the pale lantern
light, showing interest without speaking. The idea of talking seemed
too painful.

"Tell me why," Darton asked.

He formed a three-word response. "Didn't...kill...her."

"You were found indecently atop her body in your guest room, both of
you in states of undress. Her clothes were ripped. Your knife with
your initials engraved upon it was in her heart. Her blood still
bathes your body. You were alone with her. Yet you falsely claim
your innocence?"

"Truth," he rasped. "Not...me."

"Come, Larabee, you spoke so well before. Why the difficulty now?"
Darton stepped forward and held up the lantern to see better.

Chris winced from the brightness.

"Dear Lord. Why did you say nothing of the extent of your injuries?"

"Would...you...listen?"

That stopped Darton from approaching any closer. "They said you
attempted to flee, and they were forced to subdue you."

"Beat...me...then...and...again...since." He watched Darton's
expression closely. It was obvious the Captain's professional
conscience warred against the man's desire for justice for the man he
perceived to be already guilty.

"You are a prisoner under my care, and you will be treated humanly."

Chris tried to scoff, coughed, then winced.

"Have you been fed?"

"Help...yourself." He weakly pointed to the slop corner with his
manacled hand.

Darton stepped carefully over to the corner, his light revealing the
weevil-filled soaked bread. "Your water?"

"What...can…catch...with...mouth."

"I will return directly." Darton left, plunging the room back into
darkness.

Chris dared not to hope; he counted on Darton's sense of honor for
fair treatment, but was cautious about how much help would be
received, and at what price. When he heard the cell door open again
some time later, Darton stepped in first. Two big strong slaves came
next, followed by two slave women, one considerably older than the
other, and both holding several items.

"Your wounds will be tended and you will be fed properly. I will not
allow my prisoner to die of his wounds or mistreatment before his
trial. Do we understand each other?"

Chris nodded. Darton was only offering the treatment he should have
received in the beginning, and tending of his wounds to keep him
alive. This was not being done out of any friendship, but out of
duty. Darton would give no more than what was expected as his
professional responsibility.

He was unchained and helped to a bench brought in by one of the slave
men. They stood defensively on either side of him, ready for him to
make a false move and stop him. He had no intention of doing that.
His own awareness of his weakened condition would make losing this
chance foolish. He was not a fool.

The women gently bathed him with soft cloths and warm basin water.
His shirt was taken from him, leaving him naked for them to see the
true extent of his injuries. Darton's face tightened with anger at
the obvious signs of abuse, then darkened at the sight of healing
scratches on his forearms.

Chris could not stop a groan from escaping when they set his broken
arm and splinted it. He winced at the potent cleansers used to
remove the ground in dirt. His nose wrinkled at the smell of the
salves. Wrapped in fresh bandages, they dressed him carefully in
borrowed clothes. Made of wool and obviously a servant's or slave's,
even though coarse and less than he was use to, they felt wonderful
to Chris. Sitting in here wearing only his thin shirt left him cold
too often; he was just beginning to feel warm. They even provided
shoes and hose.

"Thank...you." He managed. "Very...grateful." He looked all the
slaves in the eyes, hoping to convey his gratitude. All four nodded
in response. He glanced at Darton, and no words were necessary; they
understood each other.

"Feed him," Darton said. "Have someone clean that corner; we will
not invite rats in here."

"Yes, suh." One of the men immediately left, returning with a tray.

The older slave woman fed him a warm broth, water, and bread that was
barely a day old. It struck him as ironic that he complained
inwardly about eating too much his first two days here, yet this
basic meal filled him better than anything from that kitchen. Tasted
better, too. When everything was done, they even brought in a clean
pallet with a worn but warm blanket. Now with the clean cell, full
stomach, clothes, and his wounds tended, Chris felt marginally
better, though he still felt the chills and energy drain from the
hint of a fever. The slaves left, taking their supplies with them.

"My thanks again, Captain," Chris said, sufficiently recovered to
speak.

"I was unaware of your plight, Larabee. Some through my own
stubbornness, and the rest through ignorance. Now that I am, you
will be treated decently. I confess to be conflicted. Usually I am
a good judge of character, yet your actions prove me false."

"Your judgment is not impaired, for I am not responsible for
Katherine's death."

"So you say." Darton looked disappointed for some reason.

"Someone struck me from behind, and that person has arranged for me
to hang for murder. I wished no ill on Katherine."

"Do not use her name!" Darton snapped. "She was a friend of many
years to me, and you, a man I thought to call friend, stand accused
of her heinous death."

Chris fell silent. He understood Darton's conflict, and knew any
further protests of innocence would only worsen things between them.
There was still time to raise doubt in the captain's mind.

"I must go. Clarissa needs me." Darton left.

The prisoner stretched out on his pallet, still manacled, but with
slightly more freedom than before. He didn't expect a beating
tonight; Darton's personal interest into his wellbeing should serve
as a deterrent.
 

"Chris."

His name was a whisper, diving through the level of unconsciousness
and dragging him reluctantly awake. He was warm, and did not want to
lose that.

"Get up, ya arse."

Only one person could get away with calling him an arse. He sat up
gingerly, peering into the darkness. No one was there. Great, he
thought, now I'm dreaming.

"'Bout time ya moved."

His head lifted to the window, the source of the voice.

"I ain't got long, but I'm tellin' ya I'm here. Help's on the way."

Chris smiled at the sound of Vin's voice. He asked two questions
that had been bothering him. "You? Horses?"

"Fine, and the stallions should be gettin' home in a couple days.
Had t'take the long way t'not be stopped. Ya doin' okay?"

"Better now. What have you heard?"

"Once word spread ya were arrested fer murder, we lit outta here."

"Glad you did."

"Got things situated with the horses, sent a groom ahead t'get Travis
up here. Local law accepts the lobsterback's version so they're
content t'let them keep ya prisoner. Got orders ya were a British
prisoner. Talked t'a few folks, then let it drop. That's the
rumors; only been back a few hours. Hidin' from everyone; don't
wanna let them know I'm here."

"Don't let anyone find you."

"Hell, I'm too good fer that. Someone set ya up good."

A sense of relief filled him; he didn't know until Vin said it how
important it was to him that this man believed him innocent.

"Larabee?"

"Yeah?" He managed over a lump in his throat.

"Gotta go. Be careful, and we'll get ya out."

"Thanks. Watch your back."

"Always."

The silence wrapped around him again, but this time it wasn't so deep
or lonely. He was no longer alone.
 

Vin hated the fact he couldn't help Chris any more than watching out
for him. His friend had been beaten and battered; that much was
obvious, but had been treated well since then. He wanted to break
him out of the cell, yet that would be foolishness. Chris was too
well known in their part of North Carolina to run. It also wasn't in
Larabee's nature; he faced threats head on. He would want his name
cleared.

The only thing Vin could do was watch, listen, and learn. He made
himself a camp in the woods, using the trees, leaves, and bushes to
disguise his presence. He would bide his time until the others he
sent for arrived. If he happened to be in the area of a conversation
about this Scandal, well, he would listen. It would not be his fault
if someone gave him information that would help clear his friend.

He settled into his bedroll and dozed. Just seeing Chris was okay
for now was enough for him.
 

Magistrate Orin Travis could not believe his ears. Larabee's groom,
Michael Miller, nervously shifted from foot to foot, having delivered
the bad news and now fielded questions.

"You did nothing to release him?" he asked again.

"Mr. Tanner ordered us to go with the horses. Said they'd be taken
otherwise, and that weren't right."

"Our messenger would be correct," Ezra Standish remarked quietly. He
shifted forward in his seat. "Recompense."

"I know," Travis agreed. "Whether or not Mr. Larabee was guilty,
just the accusation would justify the temporary taking of them until
guilt was proven. What did you hear?"

"Nothing fact, sir," Miller said.

"The rumors, then." The Magistrate motioned Miller the groom turned
messenger to continue.

"That Mr. Larabee was found atop the dead girl, both weren't dressed,
and his knife – the one you gave him – was in her heart."

"Anything else?"

"Heard tell he tried to run and the soldiers beat him. That's all,
sir. We left right fast."

"Thank you, Mr. Miller. Rest yourself from your ride. Angela will
serve you food and drink."

The groom left Magistrate Travis's study gratefully, relief evident
on his features for completing his task.

"Ezra, are you familiar with the Brattenwrighter family at all?"

"In passing. If I am not mistaken, Mr. Brattenwrighter supports the
Crown beyond his obligations."

"He does. When I learned Matthew Davis was going, I guessed he was
either rallying for or reaffirming support."

"Either way, Mr. Larabee has very slim chances of exonerating himself
alone."

"Precisely why we are going."

"Let me fetch a bag."

"You will need this." Travis reached over to hand Ezra a thick
book. "Learn what you can as quickly as you can."

"Legal procedures?"

"It would be inappropriate for me to represent Chris. I can,
however, attend as a spectator and fellow Magistrate."

"I do believe you want me to convince the locals I am a barrister,
correct?" Ezra lifted a brow in question.

"I said nothing of the sort." The look Travis wore gave lie to his
words.

"Excuse me, then. I have much to prepare."

"One hour, then. Bring your reading glasses for the carriage ride."

"I have no need of glasses," Ezra huffed.
 

Something or someone was in the cell with him. He could feel it, but
his eyes discerned nothing in the darkness. Not even the moon gave
him the briefest flicker of light. The sensation of being watched
intensified.

"Hello?" he called out, wiping the sweat from his brow.

No one answered.

He stared into the blackness, and it wavered on him. The more he
tried to focus, the worse his head hurt. Giving up, he let his eyes
close and slipped back into a restless sleep.
 

"Chris," Vin hissed for the third time. Crouched outside the small
cell, he was desperately trying to rouse his friend. Deciding to
take a chance, Vin threw a pebble through the iron bars, his sharp
eyes seeing it strike on the side of his friend's neck.

Larabee's hand slowly wiped at the spot.

"Chris."

"What?" Eyes opened and blinked several times.

"Wake up."

"Awake."

"Sure ya are. Shake the cobwebs from yer brain."

"Vin?"

Even from this distance, Vin could see the bandages had been
changed. That eased one worry, but the slow reaction time concerned
him. "It's me. How are ya?"

"Better."

"Reckon so. Everyone's talkin', makin' up stories. Haven't heard
anythin' close ta t'truth yet."

"Hanging me either way."

"I'll prove ya didn't do it. Just gotta stay tough."

"That's me. Tough."

The words sounded a little slurred and off from Chris's usual speech
pattern. "Ya sure ya feel all right?"

"Just dandy."

That said, Vin watched Chris fall back asleep. Fever; he was sure of
it. Those damn lobsterbacks left him hurt and untended for too
long. One or more of his wounds were sure to be infected, causing
the fever. From the looks of it, and what he saw from the woods,
they were taking care of him now, but that care might be too little
too late. It wouldn't do for their prime suspect to die before his
farce of a trial, he thought wryly. The only reason Chris was still
alive was they wanted the trial.

Hearing the soldiers preparing for their scheduled rounds around the
building, he slipped away quietly back into the woods. Now was not
the time to reveal his presence. He returned to his camp to keep
watch on his friend.
 

Morning brought light. Light hurt. Chris tried to shy away from
it. He felt hot and cold at the same time.

"Larabee?"

He listened.

"You killed my daughter. I will see you hang."

He didn't answer; that would take too much energy. Brattenwrighter
could say whatever he wanted, and did; but it did not affect him
now. He let himself drift into the haze.
 

Darton stared at his prisoner. He was summoned when Katherine's
father received no reaction to his tirade. It was obvious fever had
taken a harsher hold on the prisoner during the night, so he ordered
the healer back to tend the patient. Her expression told him it was
worse than he thought; too many of the wounds were infected and
needed draining.

The fever slowly rose through the day and night, forcing Darton to
leave the healer in the cell with him, along with her man to protect
her and a soldier just outside the door. Darton stayed throughout
the entire ordeal just inside the cell, but against the back wall.

Larabee started ranting when day turned into night.

"My . . . fault," he moaned once.

"What's your fault?" Darton asked.

"Dead . . . I . . . did . . . my fault . . . dead."

"Who?" He leaned forward, curious about this man's apparent
confession.

"Sarah. Adam. Gone . . . my fault . . . dead."

"Sarah and Adam who?"

"Wife . . . son," he cried out. "Dead . . . my fault . . . boat
sank. Should . . . should be me." He curled into a ball after the
last painful declaration and wept.

Darton felt ashamed to have jumped to a conclusion about the other
two people; this man deeply loved his family. At one point during
the long night, he felt the sensation of being watched. He looked
all around, but saw no one. His men searched the area and found
nothing.

The fever worsened, and it seemed with the break of dawn that Larabee
was weakened to the point of death. Whether or not the man survived
was up to his will, and up to a higher power.
 

Vin saw Chris being treated, and he desperately wanted to go to his
friend. Again, it wasn't the time. He could only hope that Chris
made it through the night, and then the next day, and the day after
that. For a lobsterback, he'd learned Darton was honorable. His
professional and personal pride was at stake to make sure that he
kept his prisoner alive for trial, and this man was taking that
responsibility seriously.

He sighed. There was nothing for him to do, and the waiting only
made him restless. They were trapped in their places - Chris in his
struggle to live in his cell, and Vin on the outside looking in.
Desperately wishing he could be there to help his friend.
 

"What a lovely locale," Ezra sniffed. He stared around his attic
room in the rundown tavern with distaste. Since Brattenwrighter
owned the majority of lands around here, and was the preeminent power
in the area, a simple barrister for the accused was not precisely
welcome. Standing up straight was impossible; the room held a bed,
chest, and chipped water basin. His bag took up the majority of the
floor space, and he shuddered when contemplating the sagging mattress.

He sighed. During the long carriage ride here, he occupied himself
with reading the book, and Travis gave him pointers about how to
defend Chris at trial, along with showing him certain pages that
pertained to what to do in certain situations. His brain still
reeled from the amount of information poured into it. Then to be
treated so badly when they arrived, it was all abominable.

Magistrate Travis was given a warm welcome. It was only when he
explained that Ezra was Mr. Larabee's barrister that the frost
developed in the room. The innkeeper had his wife show Travis to the
Master Room, while Ezra was grudgingly led to this wretched spot.
Fortunately, Travis was accompanying him to the Brattenwrighter house
and making introductions, preventing them from snubbing him
outright. He brushed the travel dust from his clothes before meeting
the Magistrate outside.

Their journey to the house was uneventful. Things only grew lively
when they arrived, and were shown to the front parlor. Travis had
already indicated he would not be too friendly with Ezra, other than
to introduce him as the person retained by the Larabee estate and
familiar to the Magistrate.

When Brattenwrighter entered to greet them, his expression was
guarded. Dressed in the black of traditional mourning, Travis's
status as Magistrate was the only reason they were accepted into the
home. "Gentlemen."

They stood out of respect.

"Mr. Brattenwrighter, forgive our intrusion during your time of
mourning. I am Magistrate Travis, and this is Mr. Standish. Our
condolences on your loss."

"Mr. Standish, Magistrate, thank you for your kind words. How may I
assist you?"

"I intend to be here for the trial of Mr. Larabee, an acquaintance of
mine from New Berne, and wanted to inform you of my presence. Also,
I wished to ease your mind that I am not here to interfere."

"That does ease my mind, Magistrate. I take it you have a personal
interest in the outcome?"

"Yes. I find it hard to accept what has happened, yet I plan to keep
an open mind and watch justice be done."

"I find it hard to accept, myself. It seems we were all fooled by
Mr. Larabee's behavior. Mr. Standish, are you the Magistrate's
secretary?"

"No, sir. I have been retained by Mr. Larabee's estate to represent
him. Magistrate Travis kindly shared his carriage with me. I felt
it important to make contact with you and inform you of my purpose
instead of allowing the gossipmongers to tell you."

Brattenwrighter paused. "I respect your coming here and presenting
yourself, Mr. Standish. I do prefer to be informed of the
developments in my daughter's...case." He swallowed hard, turning
away from them briefly. Taking a shaky breath, the father
continued, "I cannot, however, offer you my hospitality."

"I would not expect you to, Mr. Brattenwrighter. I have taken a room
at the local inn."

"What do you want from me?" Brattenwrighter's face hardened.

"Access to Mr. Larabee currently detained on your property, therefore
needing your permission to enter the grounds of a family in
mourning. I would prefer your authorization to ask questions of
those present. If you would like to sit in on any or all of the
questioning, you are more than welcome."

"The access I will provide, so there will be no doubt of the fairness
in this trial. The questions, however, I will need to think on. May
I speak plainly?"

"Please," Ezra indicated with a motion of his hand.

"He was found over my daughter, Mr. Standish. I do not feel I could,
in good conscience, help you exonerate him."

"Again, perfectly understandable. My reasons are to make sure that I
understand precisely what happened." Ezra kept his face with a
sympathetic expression, fully aware that this man could easily deny
permission for Ezra to come on the property to see Chris, and
seriously prevent him from doing any type of investigation. "I have
not spoken with the local constabulary yet, or with those in charge
of Mr. Larabee's detention. We came directly here after obtaining
lodging."

Brattenwrighter nodded. "Captain Darton has been charged with Mr.
Larabee's confinement. I will have someone take you down for
introductions. Sheriff Snyder investigated, concurred with Captain
Darton, and agreed to hold Mr. Larabee here since he does not have
the appropriate facilities. Magistrate, will you remain here, or
accompany Mr. Standish?"

"Accompany Mr. Standish, if you have no objection. We would like to
make our arrival as discreet as possible."

"I am appreciative of that, gentlemen." Brattenwrighter rang for a
footman. "My footman will take you to Captain Darton. Your access
to my property will be within reason, Mr. Standish."

"I will be judicious in my hours, Mr. Brattenwrighter."

They took their leave of the grieving father, following the footman
to the slave quarters without speaking. Captain Darton apparently
had been summoned, arriving just after them.

"Gentlemen," the officer greeted. He swung down off his horse,
passing the reins to a private. "I am Captain Darton."

"Magistrate Travis and Mr. Standish."

"Mr. Brattenwrighter's man informed me you wished to have access to
the prisoner. May I ask you to state your business?"

"An acquaintance, Captain," Travis replied. "Mr. Standish has been
retained to represent Mr. Larabee."

"I see. Magistrate, will you be involved in the trial itself?"

"As a spectator only."

Darton inclined his head. "Mr. Standish, I would appreciate it if
you were to notify me of visits in advance, so that I can alleviate
any discomfort on the Brattenwrighter family."

"Of course. When I know the times of my arrival, I will gladly
inform you." Ezra smiled at the Captain; he needed this man's
cooperation. "Will I be allowed privacy with Mr. Larabee?"

"Within reason. I am to make sure that he does not escape."

"I would not attempt that endeavor; Mr. Larabee will want to clear
his name. He values his reputation greatly."

"Then I will not delay you any longer. If I may ask you to hand over
any weapons?"

"My knife," Ezra said. He passed the blade he used to open crates to
the Captain. His gun was left behind per Magistrate Travis's strong
suggestion. "I prefer to have it back, thank you."

"It will be returned when you leave. Magistrate, you have no weapons
of note?"

"No, Captain. I prefer my wit to act as my weapon."

"If only more felt that way," Darton lamented. "Please follow me."

He led them through the door, then down the dank stairwell to a room
at the end of a long hallway. They passed several open doors, the
purpose of the rooms obvious by the manacles dangling from the
ceiling, or the pallets lining the floor. The smell worsened the
further down they traveled, yet neither man covered his nose and
mouth.

A soldier was stationed at the bottom of the stairs, and another
outside the door. He snapped to attention in the presence of the
captain, stepping aside at the nonverbal command. Darton opened the
small window near the top of the door.

"Larabee, you have guests. Stay where you are." The captain paused,
then unlocked the door with a key on a ring taken from the soldier
now five feet down the hallway.

Ezra's first look at Chris when Darton gave them access caused him
serious consternation. His friend was pale, stretched out on a
pallet, and obviously weak. He made no effort to rise, only staring
at them with glazed eyes. "What has happened to him?"

"Fever. Only the efforts of the slave healer kept him alive. It
finally broke this morning, leaving him very weak. I should have
warned you."

"How was he injured?" Travis asked.

Darton stared at the floor. "During the confusion, my men were
overzealous in following my orders. They believed he was attempting
to flee, yet he was disoriented from the wound on his head. My
orders were for him to be subdued if he tried to leave, and they took
things too far. After that, the grisly circumstances caused them to
take out their horror on him. They have been disciplined, and are no
longer on this detail."

The Magistrate scowled.

"I must also admit fault in his initial care. Miss Brattenwrighter
was a personal friend, and I was attending to her family. Those
soldiers felt that they had license, out of loyalty to me, to
mistreat him. I rectified the situation once I was aware of it, but
he suffered because of it. Magistrate, if you care to file a
complaint with my superior, I will not protest it."

"I will not," Travis said. "So long as Mr. Larabee's treatment
continues to be humane."

"I shall see to it," Darton promised. "I will leave you to your
conversation. Just knock loudly on the door to exit." He left.

"Chris?" Ezra immediately knelt down beside his friend, bringing
himself closer so the man did not have to look up to see him.

"Ezra."

"At least he recognizes me," Standish said to Travis.

"You are quite hard to forget," the Magistrate replied, a trace of
humor in his voice.

Ezra rolled his eyes.

"Didn't . . .do. . .it," Chris gasped out. His one hand shook as
weakly reached up to grasp Standish's shirt front. "Not . . . me."

Standish grasped the hand tightly. "I know. When you are better, we
will talk about it. Rest now." He could see his friend was entirely
too weak to go into the details of what happened. Much as he hated
to leave Chris in this place, locked up, he must. "We will be back
shortly. Do you understand? We will be back once you are recovered."

Larabee nodded, squeezed the clasped hand, then let go.

After they left the cell, Ezra and Travis requested a private
audience with Captain Darton. He took them to a room in the upstairs
quarters, closing the door behind them with orders left with his
people not to disturb them.

"Captain, could you give me an accounting? Mr. Larabee is not in a
position to speak right now, and I would like to hear what happened,"
Ezra requested.

"The maid went into his room to replace the water in his basin. She
found him atop Miss Brattenwrighter, and blood staining the sheets
beneath. She screamed, rousing me from a nearby room. I entered to
find him still in that position and he did not respond immediately to
his name. He was dressed only in his shirt, and it was quite obvious
to me she was no longer alive. His hands pinned hers down above her
head. When he finally woke enough to move, he lifted up and I saw
the knife in her heart. Larabee was rolled off onto the floor."

"You said he was unresponsive. Was he injured at that time?" Ezra
asked.

"Yes. He claimed he had been struck in the back of the head. We
found a pewter tankard dented on the floor, along with scratches
along his forearms."

"I see. Please continue." Ezra noticed Travis stayed silent,
perhaps to learn the entirety of it before asking his own questions.

"I checked Miss Brattenwrighter's body myself, and there was no
life." Darton swallowed hard. "Her father arrived right around
then, and he was extremely upset. Larabee repeatedly protested his
innocence, but he had fallen deeply into his cups the night before.
There are witnesses to his consumption. I question whether he would
remember."

Ezra nodded, noticing the lack of respect given to Chris by Darton
not using the title mister.

"I then ordered my men to take him to the slave cells that Mr.
Brattenwrighter stated we could use, and that was the last I saw of
him for some time. Not too long after the incident began, his
trainer took all of Larabee's belongings, horses, and grooms away
from here. May I assume he was able to get word to his employer's
estate?"

"One of the grooms came to see me, and Mr. Standish was retained
directly after. We came once we heard, but we have not seen Mr.
Tanner," Travis informed him.

"Could I impose on you to name the family members, so that I will not
appear uninformed or unintentionally offend someone in my ignorance?"
Ezra asked.

"You have met Mr. Brattenwrighter. His other daughter, Mrs. Clarissa
Kingston, was Larabee's meal partner throughout most of the weekend.
Mr. Gerald Pierce was Miss Brattenwrighter's intended; their nuptials
should have been this coming weekend. Mrs. Brethsby was the
governess; she has stayed on until the trial."

"Thank you, Captain Darton, for your time. Magistrate, did you have
any questions?"

"Not right now, Mr. Standish. If you will excuse us, Captain, we
will be heading back to the inn."

"Of course. Mr. Standish, will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, around ten a.m., if that is acceptable?"

Darton nodded, then showed them out.

Ezra was not surprised when Travis spoke in the carriage.

"Find the servants; they know what really happened. Chris could not
have done this."

"I agree, Magistrate."

"Good. We start tomorrow."

Their arrival at the tavern and subsequent meal together raised some
eyebrows, but Ezra went up to his room long before the Magistrate
after loudly thanking him for the use of the carriage and the ride
down. He opened his door, prepared to read more in the book Travis
provided.

A hand grabbed onto him and pulled him into the room, while a palm
covered over his mouth. "Ez, it's me. Keep quiet."

Relief coursed through him. Vin held him, and probably wanted no one
to know that they knew each other well yet, or that he was even
here. He nodded.

"Reckon it's good t'see yer ugly face."

"And such a pleasure to see you," he retorted. "What exactly
happened here?"

"Someone wants Chris t'hang fer murder. Been hearin' plenty, but
later. How's Chris?"

"Weak. The fever took much out of him."

"Hell. I couldn't get t'him, and breakin' him out only would've made
things worse."

"You did the right thing, my friend." Ezra patted Vin' shoulder
trying to ease the guilt he knew the man was feeling. "I heard an
accounting from the British captain of what he saw, and it does not
bode well for Mr. Larabee."

"I figured that. Things there are too twisted fer words."

"Tell me what you know." He settled on one end of the bed, winced
when it creaked alarmingly, and then indicated for Vin to use the
other end.

"Nice room ya got here."

"Representing the murderer has its benefits," he cracked.

"Easy fer me t'get in; just climb the trees t'the roof, then back
down again. No one sees me either way."

"You're stalling, my friend."

Vin blew out a breath. "I ain't heard nothin' that could help
Chris."

Ezra stared steadily into the blue eyes.

"Rumors. Gerald Pierce was havin' an affair with the older sister
Clarissa."

"Mrs. Kingston?"

"Aye, though they say she has ice in her veins and her bed."

Ezra nodded.

"The governess dragon-lady, Mrs. Brethsby, hated Miss Brattenwrighter
because she did not listen to her."

"Charming."

"Miss Brattenwrighter was supposedly a light-skirt, which didn't sit
well with Mrs. Brethsby. Heard one of Darton's men boastin' he
enjoyed a night with her the first night he was here."

"What else?"

"One o'the servants spoke about Miss Brattenwrighter playin' games
with Chris under the table at the welcomin' dinner."

"I thought Chris was Mrs. Kingston's dinner partner."

"He was."

Ezra sighed.

"Ya sure he was okay? I can only look in on him late at night when
the lobsterbacks ain't watchin' the outside too close."

"He was weak, but he recognized me. A good sign that he shall
recover."

Vin allowed a small smile at Ezra's humor, "Good."

Ezra paused. "It wasn't your fault, Vin."

"What?"

"I can see you are blaming yourself. There was nothing you could
have done to prevent this."

"How can ya say that now? Ya ain't been here but half a day."

"Because if there was something you could have done, you would have
done it. If you sensed he was in danger, you would have stayed with
him all the time. This was not planned, nor expected."

"Reckon I'll have t'think on that. Time fer me t'go. Chris should
be wakin' soon, and I wanna see that."

"Be safe, my friend."

Part Four

Vin left Ezra's room and rode back to Brattenwrighter's estate
through the woods. His horse was left at the hidden pond, while he
made his way to his camp. Once there, he snuck forward to his watch
post, using his spyglass to keep an eye on the soldiers. Ezra's
words continue to run through his head. No matter how much he wished
he could have stayed by Chris's side, it would have been
uncomfortable for both of them. It wouldn't have seemed proper and
Chris would have been angry at the snubs and have said something to
ruin this trip.

He didn't care about how Society saw him; he cared to surround
himself with good friends, excellent horses and acceptance when he
wasn't on the sea at the wheel of Vengeance. For all his concern,
Society could stuff itself. Right now, he was worried about Chris,
and he wanted to be there with him.

Hours passed until he finally found the chance to sneak to Chris's
window. Larabee was sleeping, so he let him rest. Nearly losing him
to the fever while outside looking in took a toll on Vin, one that he
could bear for now. His friend needed his strength back, and no
matter his personal feelings, he would not interrupt the healing
process just to talk to him.
 

He woke with a sense of clarity he did not have before. Chris
stretched as much as his injuries allowed, used the bucket provided,
and then made himself comfortable on the pallet. He chose not to sit
up; to do so would only aggravate his injuries. Worried about his
fever, he wondered if seeing Ezra yesterday was a dream.

That was answered when he heard the soldier say, "Mr. Standish, I
will be right down the hall. If you encounter any problems, please
call out. When you wish to leave, just yell."

A moment of joy entered Larabee's heart, warming him from the inside
out. He was not alone.

"Thank you, Private." Ezra stepped into the cell, staring down at
Chris. "Don't get up."

Chris smirked. "Don't intend to."

Standish dragged the stool left there for changing bandages over to
the edge of the pallet. "I have been retained as your barrister.
Magistrate Travis was gracious enough to bring me here, then we
parted company." Shrewd green eyes communicated silently.

He got the message - Travis was not going to interfere directly, but
what he learned indirectly would be funneled through Ezra. They were
only going to play the part of acquaintances, not true friends and
whatever else they were because of Travis helping bankroll the
building and continued existence of the Vengeance. Chris
remarked, "That was kind of him."

"Very. He visited for a short time yesterday, but you needed your
rest." Ezra cocked his head to one side, indicating with a subtle
thumb pointed to the door that the guard had not walked away and
listened.

"Thank you for coming." Chris said.

"Do not mention it. We must discuss what happened. Are you feeling
well enough?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "I will feel better out of here."

"Understandable. What do you remember?" Ezra gave him a small smile,
then leaned close so the words would not carry to the hallway.

"I was getting some air. Had to answer the call of nature, and
someone struck me from behind. I woke up to screaming."

"The scene was explained to me. How much did you drink?"

"More than I should have," Chris grumbled.

"Meaning you were overpowered quickly?"

"Yes. Humiliating."

"More than one person?"

"I think so. I hope so. Pride couldn't take it if there was only
one."

"There would have to be," Ezra mused aloud. "If you were
unconscious, a woman could not lift you. A man would struggle with
your dead weight, and someone would have seen that."

"Yes," Chris mused.

"So who did you anger while you were here?" The teasing note in
Ezra's voice took the sting out of the words.

"I found out things I should not have known, and was discovered once."

"Tell me all of it."

"Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston were having a liaison."

"Even though he and Miss Brattenwrighter were to be married.
Interesting. The liaison was a rumor passed on to me."

"Fact."

"You know this how, my friend?"

"Walking from the stables to the house, heard them in the woods. Not
a good time." He winked once.

"Ah." Ezra cleared his throat to hide his smile.

"Almost got away without them hearing me, but Captain Darton called
out my name. The couple covered their tryst, but I think they knew I
knew."

"Did you inform anyone?"

"No. Seems Katherine already knew; told me during our dance.
Earlier I overheard her and her governess talking about how she
shouldn't be having relations with Mr. Pierce prior to the wedding,
or with a soldier."

"With Mr. Pierce? That I did not know. The soldier I knew."

"And she tried to get me."

"Foot games under the table?"

Chris flushed. "You heard about that?"

"One of the servants saw. That will come out."

"Along with me hearing Mr. Pierce say that Katherine needed to be out
of the way, or Mrs. Brethsby telling her that her actions would get
her killed?"

"I will be sure to bring that up."

"Then there's her father."

Ezra's jaw dropped. "What about her father?"

"He was berating her about her behavior before my dance with her,
telling her that her harlot behavior would stop."

"Dear Lord, the intrigue. It just makes my stomach churn."

"It only gets more complicated."

"Pray tell." Ezra's voice held considerable parts disbelief,
curiosity, and sarcasm.

"Darton's interested in Clarissa, the older sister, but he was
unaware, and still is, of her trysts with Pierce."

"Lovely."

"I thought so." Chris made a face.

"Yet you stayed through all this farcical melodrama?"

"I couldn't wait to leave Sunday morning. And there's one more
person involved."

"Let me guess - Governor Martin? It seems he was the only one not
involved."

"Close. Matthew Davis."

"What?" Ezra nearly leapt from his stool.

Chris enjoyed watching Ezra's jaw drop open. "Katherine made a
statement that she and Pierce were not going to go beyond the Crown's
minimum expectations and requirements. That was heard by everyone
present in the ballroom. The music had stopped, and she was quite
loud. Davis did not like that. He left to go talk to her."

"Machiavelli could not plan this better." Standish rubbed his
forehead with one hand.

"Whoever set me up stripped me, killed her, and staged the scene."

"Then someone saw something, and someone knows something they aren't
saying. I must check into this."

"Be careful, or we will share this cell. No offense, but I'd rather
leave than get a roommate."

"This cell and the company would be an improvement over my room, but
I will endeavor for your freedom."

Chris managed a laugh.

"I should let you rest," Ezra said.

"I'm fine."

"You need your strength," his friend replied. "We will talk
tomorrow." He called out for the guard, no surprise on his face when
the door opened immediately.

Chris watched him go, knowing that the master of intrigue would
slowly unravel this puzzle.
 

Vin caught Ezra staring into the woods when he left the slave
quarters, and read that as a signal that he wanted to meet. Making
his way to the inn, he snuck into the man's tiny room without being
seen. "What did ya find out? How is he doin'?" The questions came
out quickly before he could call them back.

"Much better, but I require your help. Check with the maids, charm
them, do whatever, but discover whether or not someone saw Chris
being dragged from the path to the stable up to the house. He would
have been unconscious, and someone must have seen something."

"Reckon ya want me ta let them know I'm here?"

"I think you have the resources to discover the information
discreetly." Ezra grinned at him.

"I can do that." He thought about Miss Mary Lou's niece, and her
knowledge about everything that happened here. "What else?"

"The fiancιe and the sister were indiscreet with each other. Find
out how indiscreet before I question them."

"Ya think the poor murdered girl knew about it before?"

"Chris said she did. We may not know what precisely happened between
them, but there was a rather public argument between the victim and
Pierce about their loyalty to the Crown the night of the ball. Our
dear friend Matthew Davis was not pleased."

"I doubt he would be," Vin replied. "That all?"

"Would it be too much to ask to learn the stories about the sister
Mrs. Kingston, the governess Mrs. Brethsby, and Mr. Pierce? I
sincerely doubt her father would be responsible at this point in
time. A father wouldn't set the scene the way it was, unless he
truly hated her."

"She was his favorite; that much I know fer sure," Vin supplied.

"Then we will focus on the other four."

"I can tell ya about the sister, or some of it." Vin told Ezra what
he learned from Miss Mary Lou, and added the few details he'd learned
since then.

"Very interesting," Ezra remarked. "I will wait to hear from you."
 

Vin found himself in Nadine's cabin on the Brattenwrighter property.
She was happy to see him again and more than willing to tell him all
about the people in the main house. Since Brattenwrighter tricked
her mother into indenture, then charged her for everything he could
that so that she could never get out, Nadine's mother - Miss Mary
Lou's sister - held a strong hatred for the Brattenwrighter family.
That hatred spilled over into a willingness to talk to Vin about what
she and her mother knew. It took hours to learn the history of the
Brattenwrighter family, followed by the tragedies surrounding the
older sister, and finally an account of the intertwined pasts of the
Pierce family and the Brattenwrighters.

When he left, there was much to digest. He found his camp, watched
for a while, and then listened for the guard. At the appropriate
time, he worked his way to Larabee's window. "Chris!"

"Vin."

His friend's voice answered him almost immediately.

"How are ya?"

"Better. Ezra's here."

"I saw him. He's got me workin'."

Chris laughed.

It was the best sound Vin had heard in a long time. "Reckon I'm
doin' everythin' I can do t'pull ya out o'this."

"I know, and I appreciate it."
 

Chris was coming to count on Vin's visits. They were one of the very
few bright spots of his lonely days here; just seeing and talking
briefly with his friend. Though they could not really see each other
or touch, just knowing he was there reassured him. No matter what
happened, he knew he had a good friend on his side.

They talked about little things for the next quarter hour, then Vin
had to leave before the patrols found him. It was enough to keep him
going until the morning, and to push the ever-encroaching despair
back.
 

Vin carefully woke Ezra with the information he had, enjoying the
man's discomfort at rising early. Yet even in Standish's morning
fog, Vin was amazed at how quickly his friend assimilated the
information. Plans were made for two days hence.

Ezra went to see Chris again, and this time he questioned Chris
extensively on his actions, habits, and details. He hatched a plan
to bring all the elements together in one place, and needed
Magistrate Travis present along with Captain Darton.

Just to be sure, he sent Vin to a specific location to find out
information. When the trainer came back, more pieces of the puzzle
were in place. Now it was time for the reveal.
 

They were all gathered in Brattenwrighter's formal sitting room, most
glaring at Chris Larabee, who sat in his borrowed ragged clothes and
in chains. On his left sat a nervous Vin Tanner, though he didn't
show it, while two large soldiers stood guard behind the accused
man. Ezra sat to his right.

Magistrate Travis was seated near, not precisely next to that group,
with Matthew Davis beside him.

On the opposite side of the sitting room, Brattenwrighter, his wife,
Clarissa, and Pierce conferred amongst themselves between shooting
looks of hatred at Chris Larabee. Mrs. Brethsby kept her back to
him, talking in low tones with Clarissa.

The chambermaid that found the body stood in the back corner, well
away from those considered her betters.

Captain Darton held the middle ground with Sheriff Snyder, both
watching the groups warily.

"We're here, Mr. Standish. Could you please explain why you are
imposing on my hospitality this way, not to mention disturbing a
house in mourning?" Brattenwrighter queried, wearing a sneer on his
face and the barest traces of civility in his tone.

"Sheriff Snyder was gracious enough to allow us to meet, and he
stated you preferred to be here, instead of in town," Ezra smoothly
replied. "I felt it was necessary to gather everyone in one place to
clear up some matters."

"Nothing will change the fact that Katherine died violently at that
man's hands!" Pierce yelled, his shaking finger pointed at Chris.

"No one disagrees she died violently," Standish answered. "With your
permission, Sheriff, may I ask my questions?"

"Of course."

"How dare you agree to this, and make me submit, Sheriff!"
Brattenwrighter roared. "This is my home, and we are in mourning.
The questions should come at the trial, not at this delicate time."

"Mr. Brattenwrighter, Mr. Standish has brought up some points that
must be explained. I cannot, in good conscience, put someone on
trial for murder if he did not commit it!" Sheriff Snyder glared at
Katherine's father.

"I saw him atop the body myself, Sheriff," Darton smoothly
interjected. "It was his knife in her heart."

"True enough, which was why I did not investigate further. Mr.
Standish has. Go ahead, sir," Snyder replied.

"Outrageous," Brattenwrighter protested.

"But necessary," Ezra argued. "Mr. Tanner, what did you discover
about the whereabouts of Mr. Brattenwrighter during the time in
question?"

"He was seen drinkin' and carousin' with his huntin' club until five
thirty, then the morning maids saw him go into his room. His valet
found him passed out beside Mrs. Brattenwrighter, leaving him there."

"You have the audacity to question my whereabouts?" Brattenwrighter
shot to his feet. "Get out!"

"I want to hear this, Mr. Brattenwrighter," Matthew Davis
interjected. "If we are allowing a brutal murderer to set up an
honorable man, then we must pursue all angles." He stared hard at
the father.

Brattenwrighter sat down.

"Continue, Mr. Standish."

"I also can account for your whereabouts, Mr. Davis, and those of Mr.
Pierce."

Davis inclined his head.

"I would not kill her," Pierce protested. "We were to be married."

"Married for money," Ezra reminded softly. "An arrangement that
suited you and your family quite well and one you would not want to
upset."

"That is none of your business, sir," Pierce huffed.

"That leaves me, Clarissa, Mr. Larabee, and Mrs. Brethsby," Darton
said clearly. "I see no reason for this to continue, especially to
tarnish the reputations of two good women."

"Mr. Tanner?" Ezra turned to his friend. "I do believe we need to
regress."

"Mrs. Kingston killed her husband and the woman he was with that
night," Vin informed the assembled parties, his eyes locked on the
living daughter.

Chris could not help but stare at Clarissa. He'd thought her cold,
but that was quite an accusation.

"I beg your pardon!" Clarissa shot to her feet. "I will not stand
here and listen to this any longer!" She stormed toward the door.

Vin blocked her path. "You were seen that night, Mrs. Kingston. I
have four slaves, all sold t'different plantations since by the
plantation manager, who can attest t'watchin' ya through the windows
with the knife. They were told they would be sent t'the cotton
fields and families split up if they talked, not t'mention the threat
o'bein' outright killed."

"You would believe the word of slaves over me?" She pulled herself
to her full height and her nose shot up in the air.

"And their white plantation manager, who was with his mistress when
word filtered down ya were comin' t'the cabins. Everyone watched,
but they feared what would happen if ya found out they knew. They
didn't talk. Ya were their owner; ya kept the manager that
threatened them on, 'till his family forced ya out. They fired and
sold everyone, and ended up with better owners, so no one talked."

"That's a pretty hefty accusation, Mr. Tanner. I will want to talk
to them," said Sheriff Snyder.

"I checked it out, Sheriff. There's no question. The slaves ain't
spoken since 'fore they were sold, and the overseer's got no reason
t'lie now. He's been promoted t'plantation manager. Mrs. Kingston
got away with murder back then."

"I will have you arrested for this!" Clarissa yelled.

"Mr. Standish, Mr. Tanner, I must ask you to leave," Brattenwrighter
demanded.

"Oh, but it's only getting interesting," Chris spoke up. "You have
sheltered a murderer for years, yet you wish me to hang immediately
for something I did not do."

"I insist, in the name of Governor Martin, that this continue," Davis
said. "Anyone wish to question my authority?" He dared the family
to oppose him.

No one did. There were several uncomfortable looks, but no words
were spoken.

"Mr. Standish, I will assume you believe Mrs. Kingston murdered Miss
Brattenwrighter as well?" Captain Darton asked.

"Mrs. Brethsby, did you inform Mr. Brattenwrighter that you were
wanted in England for fraud and theft?" Ezra ran a thumb down the
side of his cheek and chin, ignoring Darton's question. "Under the
name of Mrs. Grigsby, if that is yet really your real name."

"What?" Brattenwrighter stared at the governess for his
daughters. "Is this true, Mrs. Brethsby?"

"You bastard!" the governess yelled, all previous propriety forgotten
in her surprise.

"You have proof?" Sheriff Snyder asked.

Ezra passed a parchment to the sheriff. "I am no bastard, and you
are no respectable governess."

The lawman opened it and read. "This picture is an incredible
likeness," he said. "Mrs. Brethsby, I will be taking you into
custody. Captain Darton, might I impose to have someone guard her
while we are here?"

"Of course." Darton signaled one of the men to leave and return with
another soldier, everyone silent until the soldiers returned to their
guard posts.

Vin made himself small at Chris's side.

"Did Mrs. Brethsby - Grigsby - kill my daughter, Mr. Standish?"
Brattenwrighter asked, more agreeable to listening to the
proceedings, dumbfounded by the recent revelation. "I hardly know
what to believe right now."

"Then there was the tryst Mr. Larabee overheard, and somewhat
interrupted, when he heard Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston involved with
each other. Mr. Pierce was plotting to have Miss Brattenwrighter
removed from the scene to allow him to have Mrs. Kingston."

"What?" Darton exclaimed. "Clarissa?" He spun on a polished heel to
face her.

"I love Peter, Father." She started to cry. "I always have, yet you
married me off. That was a failure, when all I wanted was him. Now
that I could have him, you refused."

"Because of the Scandal, Clarissa," Brattenwrighter explained. "And
because I knew that your sister had already ruined herself with
Pierce."

"You compromised her?" Clarissa's eyes flashed, and she advanced a
few steps on Pierce. "While you slept with me?"

Darton held her back.

"Why not?" Pierce sneered coldly. "She was willing. We were to be
married'; it was my right. Besides, it didn't stop me from taking my
pleasure with you."

"But, Clarissa, you and I -" Darton cut off. "I thought – "

"I chose to sleep with you because I was bored, Paul. I have no
feelings for you." She shook herself free of his grip, half throwing
herself into a chair. One of Darton's soldiers stood guard over her,
the other returning to his post by Chris.

Vin hunched his shoulders, using Larabee to block the new soldiers'
view of him.

"But you already knew that, Captain," Ezra said softly. "That was
how you were able to stage the scene so well."

"What?" The captain wheeled to face Ezra.

Mrs. Brattenwrighter gasped.

"Oh, you did not kill Katherine. Mrs. Kingston did. The chambermaid
over there saw her come out of Mr. Larabee's room during the wee
hours of the morning. She assumed that it was a liaison, and said
nothing."

"Are you accusing my daughter of killing her sister?"
Brattenwrighter asked.

Ezra did not answer directly. "There was a witness to the killing."

"Who?" Several voices demanded the identity of the witness with
impatience.

"A man who helped himself to Miss Katherine's favors before allowing
her sister to stab the fatal blow," Standish continued. "Isn't that
right, Mr. Pierce?"

"What?" The stunned man jumped out of his seat. "You said you could
account for my whereabouts."

"I can. I did not say that accounting would fare well for you. Two
grooms coming up the path to the kitchen saw you and Mrs. Kingston
bash Mr. Larabee in the head when he was relieving himself. They
watched and followed you when you carried his unconscious body into
the house, through the servant's entrance. Exceptionally curious,
they snuck into the house themselves and watched the pair of you
carry Mr. Larabee into his room. At that point, Mrs. Kingston snuck
out, leaving you alone with Katherine. The grooms stayed silent out
of fear for their jobs, or being killed. If you were willing to harm
an honored guest of the house, what would you do to a lowly pair of
grooms?"

"Explain to me, Mr. Standish, how you know Katherine was in that
room," Snyder demanded.

"The servants see everything, Sheriff. Everyone saw Mr. Pierce, Mr.
Davis, and Miss Brattenwrighter leave the ball to talk. Four valets'
wives, spying on the ball, admitted to Mr. Tanner that they saw the
punch Mr. Pierce give Miss Brattenwrighter had been doctored by Mrs.
Kingston. Their consciences could not allow an innocent man to hang,
but feared for the loss of employment. They also saw Mrs. Kingston
put something in Mr. Larabee's punch when he retrieved her fan."

Chris glared at the woman, yet remained silent. There needed to be
more proof to clear him before he would be released.

"Spell it out, Mr. Standish. I find myself growing impatient," Davis
huffed finding it difficult to follow so much intrigue within one
family.

"It's quite simple, really. Mr. Larabee was drugged, and then when
he drank quite steadily, he felt the need to clear his head. He made
it down the path to the stables, where he stepped off to answer the
call of nature. Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston clubbed him.
Beforehand, Mr. Pierce took Katherine upstairs, with Mrs. Brethsby's
help, and placed her in Mr. Larabee's bed."

"Mrs. Brethsby helped?" the sheriff asked.

"Yes. How else could her staggering from the drugging be explained,
and covered in a layer of propriety? Her governess was escorting her
to her room. Only Mrs. Brethsby had been found out. Mr. Pierce had
made inquiries about her, and discovered her fugitive status. My
guess was that he threatened her into cooperation."

"He did," Mrs. Brethsby confirmed. "Said he wouldn't tell anyone
that I wasn't who I claimed to be. Never thought he would kill her."

Brattenwrighter covered his face with his hands.

Mrs. Brattenwrighter fanned herself vigorously.

"Of course, Mr. Pierce lingered down the hall. He waited until you
left, and then took advantage of Katherine. She protested, evident
by the torn clothing. They planned that once Mr. Larabee arrived,
they would place him on top of her, let the maid find them in the
morning, and that would disgrace them both. That way Mr. Pierce and
Mrs. Kingston could easily remove Katherine from their coming
together, even with the Scandal."

"How does Captain Darton fit into this?" Sheriff Snyder
asked. "That's where you've lost me."

"Their plan took an unexpected turn. Captain Darton went to speak
with Mr. Larabee, and he found Miss Brattenwrighter in his room.
From what Captain Darton's valet told Mr. Tanner, he was in there for
a considerable time. The valet was waiting to find out if his
services would be needed that night, or if he could retire, hence his
staying in the area. Out of discretion, he said nothing, especially
when he heard arguing between his employer and Miss Brattenwrighter.
He also saw Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston come upstairs toting the
very unconscious, unresponsive Mr. Larabee, and he heard quite a
fight between all of them. His eyes watched them leave the room, all
with blood on them. Mrs. Kingston was shaking and kept repeating she
killed her sister."

"Are these people available for questioning?" Snyder asked.

"Yes."

Chris spoke oh-so-softly, his tone holding both surprise and
disdain, "Guess your guilty conscience got me treatment, instead of
your precious sense of honor and duty. I will not thank you."

The British military man looked away, swallowing hard. "You were
treated fairly once I discovered the situation."

"Once your men worked me over so I couldn't talk. You're a disgrace
to that uniform." Larabee glared. "The fact I lived complicated
things, didn't it?"

"Tell me what happened in that room," Brattenwrighter demanded,
giving all the participants his most dominating glare. "I trusted
each of you, and have been betrayed. Who killed Katherine?"

Darton cleared his throat. "I must confess to my part of this
tragedy. The burden weighs heavily on my heart."

"Heavy enough to beat Mr. Larabee senseless so he could not protest
his innocence or send word to others," Ezra remarked. "Weighed
enough to have Mrs. Kingston scratch him to look like Katherine
fought. Set the scene so well and so completely there would be no
doubt and the good sheriff would not even talk to Mr. Larabee.""

Darton's head fell in shame. "For that I apologize; the only
innocent was Mr. Larabee."

"You fool!" Clarissa yelled. "Say nothing!"

"I must speak. I entered the room and argued with Katherine. She
told me that she and Pierce were involved, and yet he was intimate
with Clarissa. I was enraged; I thought he was taking advantage of
them both. I confronted Pierce when he entered the room with
Clarissa and Mr. Larabee."

"Shut your mouth, Darton," Pierce snapped.

"I have prided myself on being a loyal soldier, yet I was party to a
crime. For that, I claim my responsibility. Inside the room,
Katherine was fighting the effects of the drug, and blaming
Clarissa. When I disagreed with her, she told me about Clarissa and
Pierce. I was shocked. Moments later, Clarissa and Pierce brought
in Mr. Larabee, and I asked what was going on."

He looked at Katherine's father. "They told me they planned to ruin
Katherine in order to force you to reconsider the marriage, Mr.
Brattenwrighter. She heard them, objected, and tried to rise from
the bed. Mr. Larabee was dropped on the floor, and his knife fell
from his pocket. Katherine grabbed for it, but Clarissa reached it
first. She swung it in a warning arc, but she was too close to
Katherine. The blade went right into her heart."

Mrs. Brattenwrighter sobbed quietly, leaning into her husband.

Darton continued, "By then, Katherine died, and we were quarreling
over what to do. Pierce asked me if I wished to see Clarissa hang
for her murder. I could not." His eyes fell to the tips of his
boots. "So I helped stage the scene so Mr. Larabee would take the
blame. You are right, Mr. Standish. I had Clarissa scratch Mr.
Larabee. I knew that the chambermaid came early in the morning to
change the basin water, and stayed awake until she screamed."

"Wonder if this is how you treat all your guests," Chris said to
Brattenwrighter.

"Mr. Larabee, please accept my apologies for your treatment,"
Brattenwrighter said stiffly. "I find I do not even know my own
family, and I have much to deal with. Sheriff, please release him."

They did, and Chris accepted Vin's help to stand. "I am leaving, Mr.
Brattenwrighter, and I do not expect to be back until the trial
against the guilty parties here. Magistrate, might I impose on you
to use your carriage?"

"Of course," Travis said. "I will remain here with Sheriff Snyder to
sort things out."

"As will I," Matthew Davis added. "Mr. Larabee - Chris - please
accept my apologies as well; it seems that I only saw what I was
supposed to see, and not the betrayal by those I trusted."

"We all make errors in judgment, Matthew, and I would like to talk
further with you at a later time." Chris intended to use the apology
and time wisely, further securing this man's trust and backing. With
him once falsely accused, Davis might reconsider any rumors he heard
connecting Chris with Captain Vengeance, and at least give Chris the
chance to defend his name if that happened. "Will that be
acceptable?"

"I will send word," Davis answered. "Fair journey to you."

"Thank you." Chris leaned on Vin to reach the freshly brought up
carriage. He climbed aboard painfully, settling back in the soft,
cushioned seats.

"Mr. Tanner," Travis called, stopping the man before he got into the
carriage.

Chris tensed, knowing how skittish Vin was around the Magistrate.

"Yes?" Tanner stood with one foot on the step inside, and the other
on the ground.

"Good work." Travis beamed at him. "You too, Ezra."

"Thank you."

"Thank ya, sir."

"I do have a question, Ezra. How did you convince all those people
to talk after so much time?" Travis gave his traveling companion a
curious look."

"It appears I will be arranging employment and new owners."

"You didn't bribe them!" The Magistrate glared.

"Absolutely not," Ezra huffed. "I do have principles, sirrah. We
discussed their having other options than their current ones. I made
no guarantees, but I believed that they would be able to find
employment."

"Very risky."

"I, for one, though, am thankful," Chris said through the
window. "At least I'm not going to be hung for murder." He held out
a hand and shook Ezra's. "Safe journey."

"Please tell me you are not leaving me here," Ezra pleaded.

"Ezra, I need you here to give me all the information and answer
questions. I suspect Mr. Tanner will not be available."

"Sorry, Ez." Vin slipped into the carriage and pulled the door
shut. "We're leaving." He tapped on the top of the carriage, his
own luggage already stored on it in case they had to travel fast.

"Thanks, Ezra!" Chris called from inside.

The carriage lumbered away.

"How ya feelin'?" Vin asked.

"Like hell," Chris replied. "See how many ruts we can hit on the way
home."

"Same old sourpuss Larabee. Gets cleared o'murder and whines about
gettin' bounced around in a carriage."

The injured man chuckled, then winced. "I'm grateful to you."

"T'me? Fer what?"

"Making sure I didn't stand alone. I can take the beating, the
accusations, and even the trial, but it was easier knowing I had a
friend like you willing to stand by me all the way."

"Ez was there, and so was the Magistrate."

"Yes, but they did not sneak to my window each night to check on me.
Or make sure my belongings were taken care of, or get the word out
that I needed help. You did that for me. Thank you."

"Ya gettin' soft on me?" Vin's rough tone showed the emotion in his
voice, belying the gruffness in his voice.

"Hell, no. Just saying I appreciate having a friend."

"Who said I was yer friend?" Vin held a straight face.

Chris glared.

Tanner burst out laughing; a few moments later, Chris joined him.

Their journey passed easily. In the next town, they stopped at a
physician's office to have Chris checked out. Vin followed the
instructions to the letter, much to Larabee's disgust over having to
eat herbal broths and medicinal stews. Throughout the entire trip,
one thing was for certain - they were friends, and only grew closer
with each passing mile.

Back at his home, Chris decided he was lucky to have such a man in
his life, a good friend that would risk so much to help him. Even
when he wanted to shove him out the door for being such a pain in the
butt. Of course, good friends are like that, he mused. They never
let you face crisis by yourself, stood by you, but didn't hesitate to
boot you when you needed it. Or if you didn't, he thought crossly,
when Vin gleefully entered Chris's room to announce Nathan was on his
way up, and then snatched Larabee's pants to prevent him from leaving.

THE END

Comments:  Heidi

Vengeance Index