Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution Read Online Free PDF

hadn't
affected his purse, or his appetite.
    Still, he
looked like a hunted man.   Was someone
after him?   An irate debtor from the
card tables who didn't understand that David loved reading the cards far more
than winning the money?   Or perhaps some
wealthy widow's jealous beau?
    The spoon
clacked in the empty bowl.   He wiped his
mouth, swigged wine and winced at the poor quality — David the wine connoisseur
— tossed the napkin beside the bowl on the table, and called his thanks to Enid
over his shoulder.   Gaiety departed, and
his voice lowered.   "For my safety,
I'd decided earlier to pass through Wilmington without visiting you."
    "Your safety ?"   Why did David believe his safety was
compromised?
    He nodded.   "But I spotted Charles at White's
Tavern, drunk."
    Memory
whispered the butler's need to speak with her in private.   Premonition zinged through her.   "That doesn't sound like him."
    "Not at
all.   He waved me over.   I ordered us a round.   He muttered, 'You realize they'll kill Madam
if they find it.' Before I could question him, the front door opened, and in
trotted my family's hellhound.   I exited
through the back door, hoping to gods he didn't see me."
    David pushed up
from the couch and paced.   "'They'll kill Madam if they find it.' Any idea what Charles was
talking about?"
    For my
safety , David said.   His agitation,
so haunting and uncharacteristic, spilled onto her and gurgled around in her
stomach.   She shook her head.   "I think he plans to talk to me on the
morrow."
    "Is
someone trying to kill you for money?"
    She
swallowed.   "What a futile gesture
that would be."
    "Sweetheart,
this feeling has niggled me for years, but tonight I cannot shake
it."   He pinned her gaze with
his.   "You're in danger
here."   His expression
tightened.   "Prescott is up to
something."
    The old wound
in her heart ached.   She clenched his
hat, relaxed her fingers.   "Of all
people, he should know there's no more money."
    "Damned
right, after wringing your estate of every last penny and throwing you the
husk.   And the worm bloody well better
keep his hands off you."   David
paced more and brooded.   "I've
never seen Charles drunk.   I had to make
certain you were well."
    He hadn't yet
explained why he felt Wilmington was dangerous for him.   What — who — was "my family's
hellhound?"   Knowing David, he
might not tell her straight out.   She
brushed lint from his hat and kept her tone light.   "Where have you wandered since May?"
    "Havana."
    "Cuba?"   She stifled a laugh and sobered.   His expression told her he wasn't joking.
    "My sister
and I chased Father there, hoping to talk sense into him.   He'd operated a spy ring out of our family
home in Georgia, printed sedition on his press.   The old man sailed to Havana to negotiate a deal between the
Continentals and the Spaniards.   There
it all exploded."
    "Gods,"
she whispered in horror.   "Was he
executed for treason?"
    "Oh,
no.   The redcoats bungled his
capture.   He escaped.   Major Ferguson nabbed him as a spy last
month on King's Mountain.   He was behind
British lines, a noose draped round his neck, when the rebels opened fire on
Ferguson.   Somehow his fellow rebels
didn't slaughter him.   I hear he's found
his way to Dan Morgan's camp.   Huzzah
for the old man!"
    Helen had never
met Will St. James, but every step his son David paced in her parlor snagged
her heart with sorrow.   Her lips fumbled
for words.   "How it must break your
heart to know your father's in danger, but he isn't your responsibility.   You must let him go."
    He stopped
pacing and faced her.   Firelight carved
the haunted shadows of a prey animal into his handsome face.   "When I went to Havana, I was judged by
the company I kept."
    Her stomach
burned, and her eyes widened.   "Oh,
no.   The king's soldiers are hunting you ."   After tracking him half a year, after the
stinging defeat at King's Mountain and unrelenting attacks