Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)(71)
“He would eat anything that did not try to eat him first, sah,” Rodrigo assured him. “It was probably the sound of the cockroach that made him come out. He would hunt those.”
“What a very admirable sort of snake. Could we find him something to eat, do you think? To encourage him to stay, I mean.”
Tom’s face suggested strongly that if the snake was staying, he was not. On the other hand…he glanced toward the door, whence the cockroach had made its exit, and shuddered. With great reluctance, he reached into his pocket and extracted a rather squashed bread roll containing ham and pickle.
The snake was placed on the floor with this object before it. It inspected the roll gingerly, ignored the bread and pickle, but twined itself carefully about a chunk of ham, squeezing it fiercely into limp submission. Then, opening its jaw to an amazing extent, the snake engulfed its prey, to general cheers. Even Tom clapped his hands, and, if not ecstatic at Grey’s suggestion that the snake might be accommodated in the dark space beneath the bed for the sake of preserving Grey’s eyebrows, he uttered no objections to this plan, either. The snake being ceremoniously installed and left to digest its meal, Grey was about to ask Rodrigo further questions regarding the natural fauna of the island but was forestalled by the faint sound of a distant gong.
“Dinner!” he exclaimed, reaching for his now snakeless coat.
“Me lord! Your hair’s not even powdered!”
Grey refused to wear a wig, to Tom’s ongoing dismay, but was obliged in the present instance to submit to powder. This toiletry accomplished in haste, he shrugged into his coat and fled, before Tom could suggest any further refinements to his appearance.
THE GOVERNOR APPEARED, as Mr. Dawes had predicted, calm and dignified at the dinner table. All trace of sweat, hysteria, and drunkenness had vanished, and beyond a brief word of apology for his abrupt disappearance, no reference was made to his earlier departure.
Major Fettes and Grey’s adjutant, Captain Cherry, also appeared at table. A quick glance at them assured Grey that all was well with the troops. Fettes and Cherry couldn’t be more diverse physically—the latter resembling a ferret and the former a block of wood—but both were extremely competent and well liked by the men.
There was little conversation to begin with; the three soldiers had been eating ship’s biscuit and salt beef for weeks. They settled down to the feast before them with the single-minded attention of ants presented with a loaf of bread; the magnitude of the challenge had no effect upon their earnest willingness. As the courses gradually slowed, though, Grey began to instigate conversation—his prerogative, as senior guest and commanding officer.
“Mr. Dawes explained to me the position of superintendent,” he said, keeping his attitude superficially pleasant. “How long has Captain Cresswell held this position, sir?”
“For approximately six months, Colonel,” the governor replied, wiping crumbs from his lips with a linen napkin. The governor was quite composed, but Grey had Dawes in the corner of his eye and thought the secretary stiffened a little. That was interesting; he must get Dawes alone again and go into this matter of superintendents more thoroughly.
“And was there a superintendent before Captain Cresswell?”
“Yes…in fact, there were two of them, were there not, Mr. Dawes?”
“Yes, sir. Captain Ludgate and Captain Perriman.” Dawes was assiduously not meeting Grey’s eye.
“I should like very much to speak with those gentlemen,” Grey said pleasantly.
Dawes jerked as though someone had run a hatpin into his buttock. The governor finished chewing a grape, swallowed, and said, “I’m so sorry, Colonel. Both Ludgate and Perriman have left their offices.”
“Why?” John Fettes asked bluntly. The governor hadn’t been expecting that, and blinked.
“I expect Major Fettes wishes to know whether they were replaced in their offices because of some peculation or corruption,” Bob Cherry put in chummily. “And if that be the case, were they allowed to leave the island rather than face prosecution? And if so—”
“Why?” Fettes put in neatly.
Grey repressed a smile. Should peace break out on a wide scale and an army career fail them, Fettes and Cherry could easily make a living as a music-hall knockabout cross-talk act. As interrogators, they could reduce almost any suspect to incoherence, confusion, and confession in nothing flat.
Governor Warren, though, appeared to be made of tougher stuff than the usual regimental miscreant. Either that or he had nothing to hide, Grey considered, listening to him explain with tired patience that Ludgate had retired because of ill health and that Perriman had inherited money and gone back to England.
No. He watched the governor’s hand twitch and hover indecisively over the fruit bowl. He’s got something to hide. And so does Dawes. Is it the same thing, though? And has it got anything to do with the present trouble?
The governor could easily be hiding some peculation or corruption of his own—and likely was, Grey thought dispassionately, taking in the lavish display of silver on the sideboard. Such corruption was—within limits—considered more or less a perquisite of office. But if that were the case, it was not Grey’s concern—unless it was in some way connected to the maroons and their rebellion.
Entertaining as it was to watch Fettes and Cherry at their work, he cut them off with a brief nod and turned the conversation firmly back to the rebellion.