Page 32 of Earl of Excess
They walked up to the gate at the property’s edge closest to the water. “Thank goodness we have tall, thick fencing here. The fence keeps the alligators out of the yard,” Bethany described. “But there is a hole...” she said. “Let me look and see if I can see anything.” He could see her form leaning into the fence.
A minute later, she leaned back. “There seems to be a pirogue out there under some bushes. I cannot get a good look at it. No one lives there, so there may be someone around that Dandie is responding to.”
“Is there usually hunting around this area?” he asked, calmly assessing.
“I cannot be sure. Of course, gator hunters come and go, but they picked this area for its remote position. It is a small tributary and once the leper colony was placed here, others seem to avoid it.” She pointed to the property next to them. “That’s an old plantation house. The colony uses every bit—gardens... all of it. The matriarch of the family that used to live there died about five years ago, and they donated the property. A family member had died of the disease years ago, and it was a way to support others. The family was very involved in seafood and game hunting. So, until then, there were hunters. Now, since the colony occupies the manor house, it’s quiet.”
“Understandable. Please do not take that as a judgment on the occupants.”
Bethany picked up his hands and held them. He felt his body react immediately to her warm touch.
She was about to say something when a noise outside the fence alerted her. Dropping his hands, he saw her go back to the opening in the fence and look. “The boat is moving. I cannot see the face of the man in it. But it looks like one person. It was hard to make out much.”
That someone was outside the compound disturbed Matthew. He wanted to investigate. But with his limitations, could not do much more than absorb the information she offered.
“Watch him and see what he does. Does he look in this direction or somewhere else?” he asked.
“He appears to be watching this property fairly intensely, but his face is too distant to make out other than it having dark features.”
“We should alert the others to his presence. It was probably someone looking for a quarry. Hopefully, they did not find any and left,” he asserted. He hoped that was the case, but he did not think so. His instincts told him that something was amiss here. Not only could he not see, but he could feel a headache coming on. At least he was here with healers, he thought, wincing with a wave of pain in his head.
“You do not look well, Matthew. Perhaps we should sit down. There is a small bench closer to the house. Come.” She placed her hand in his and guided him to the bench.
For a winter day, it seemed the weather had turned rather mild of late, reminding him of the up and down temperatures experienced in London. The consistency of the climate was another reason he preferred his country estate to London.
“You look a little pale, of a sudden, Matthew.”
“I was fine until this headache started coming on. It feels like waves of pain and is coming from my eyes,” he said. Even to himself, his voice sounded strained.
“It could be from the excitement of all of this. Let’s go in and see if a cup of tea helps,” she urged.
“You are probably right.” This felt like the stress headaches his father would describe. He had never had one, but it had to be stress. The stress of knowing someone was watching them. The stress of knowing that if she was caught with him, she could be in trouble. The stress of being blind in a land full of danger.
*
Edward Sinclair hadbeen watching the compound, trying to determine who owned the old plantation house that sat on a fenced property. The well-constructed stone and brick fence was considerably shorter than the adjoining property, where Matthew had entered. It was in an unfamiliar area, and he sensed he needed much more information about the area before he could make any move to help Matthew. One thing he had discerned was that Lord Longueville was blind. He saw him walking into the house using a long walking stick in a fashion used by unsighted people. That complicated things considerably. He tugged at the unfamiliar beard that covered his face. It had been two weeks since he had shaved. Hopefully, it would keep him from being recognized until he was ready to make a move.
Judging from the way she catered to him, the woman, Bethany Phillips, obviously cared for Lord Longueville. Edward was not sure how that would help or hurt a rescue. The letter had been most revealing—not to mention it confirmed that she had Lord Romney’s son. He had suspected as much.
Why had she told him otherwise?She seemed to have believed what she told him. As soon as the thought rolled through his head, the answer dawned on him. Matthew had probably used his military address and not his title. She would not have recognized the name he gave for the lost man. Had he given thought to that, much of this chase could have ended sooner.
But Sinclair owed his friend, the former Earl of Romney, and he would see the man’s son back home. Sinclair did not care what it took to get this young man home. With what he had discovered so far, he thought wryly, that was a good thing since transportation had become more difficult with this latest battle.
With the loss of the battle, the British had not needed to stay beyond the time necessary to put their affairs in order with the casualties of the battle. They had pulled up stakes and were leaving and that complicated things. Most of their ships had already left the New Orleans area. He had hoped to use them for transportation back to England. Now he would have to think of a different route—with a war going on, that was no simple task.
Sinclair had lived in the country long enough that he easily blended in and could speak with an American dialect, as if he had been born to it. That gave him a slight advantage, and he needed any benefit he could gain. He had been in New Orleans long enough to get to know many of the locals.
Sinclair studied the fencing from across the water, observing through the long, low-hanging cypress branches. There appeared to be two compounds. A smaller one, surrounded by taller brick fencing—probably a deterrent to the alligator population—and a larger one next to it. The fencing on the larger property was not as high, and he could easily see into the enclosure. Besides the old plantation house, it had several gardens and small buildings and the land behind appeared more wooded. It seemed to be a self-supporting colony of some sort. But he saw none of the inhabitants.
For a late January day, it was warm. He noticed small pockets of mosquitoes that swarmed along the edge of the water, trapped behind fallen logs. He was not a fan of the unpredictable weather here and missed the northeast, where the seasons were more defined. Here it could be cold and hot within days.
His stomach reminded him of the need to eat. He had done all he could, it seemed, and he still wanted to check the British strongholds a little further up the river before calling it a day. He was certain he would find the last of the British already gone, but needed to be certain.
Sinclair needed more information. He would lie low for now.
Chapter Sixteen
There was aman in that canoe. Bethany was certain of it. However, without having seen him definitively, she knew better than to speak about it. She should not raise unnecessary alarms. But when she gave thought to it all... the canoe was very similar to the one she had seen in a distance on their way here. Yet neither occasion had allowed her to recognize the occupant, and she could not swear they were the same person.
