Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)(84)

“I don’t blame them in the slightest. Did any of them know about my visitor?”

Tom shook his head.

“They said not, but I think they did, me lord. They weren’t a-going to say. I got Rodrigo off by himself and he admitted he knew about it, but he said he didn’t think it was a zombie what came after you, because I told him how you fought it and what a mess it made of your room.” He narrowed his eyes at the dressing table, with its cracked mirror.

“Really? What did he think it was?”

“He wouldn’t quite say, but I pestered him a bit, and he finally let on as it might have been a houngan, just pretending to be a zombie.”

Grey digested that possibility for a moment. Had the creature who attacked him meant to kill him? If so, why? But if not, the attack might only have been meant to pave the way for what had now happened, by making it seem that there were zombies lurking about King’s House in some profusion. That made a certain amount of sense, save for the fact…

“But I’m told that zombies are slow and stiff in their movements. Could one of them have done what…was done to the governor?” He swallowed.

“I dunno, me lord. Never met one.” Tom grinned briefly at him, rising from fastening his knee buckles. It was a nervous grin, but Grey smiled back, heartened by it.

“I suppose I will have to go and look at the body again,” he said, rising. “Will you come with me, Tom?” His valet was very observant, especially in matters pertaining to the body, and had been of help to him before in interpreting postmortem phenomena.

Tom paled noticeably but gulped and nodded and, squaring his shoulders, followed Lord John out onto the terrace.

On their way to the governor’s room, they met Major Fettes, gloomily eating a slice of pineapple scavenged from the kitchen.

“Come with me, Major,” Grey ordered. “You can tell me what discoveries you and Cherry have made in my absence.”

“I can tell you one such, sir,” Fettes said, putting down the pineapple and wiping his hands on his waistcoat. “Judge Peters has gone to Eleuthera.”

“What the devil for?” That was a nuisance; he’d been hoping to discover more about the original incident that had incited the rebellion, and as he was obviously not going to learn anything from Warren…He waved a hand at Fettes; it hardly mattered why Peters had gone.

“Right. Well, then—” Breathing through his mouth as much as possible, Grey pushed open the door. Tom, behind him, made an involuntary sound but then stepped carefully up and squatted beside the body.

Grey squatted beside him. He could hear thickened breathing behind him.

“Major,” he said, without turning round. “If Captain Cherry has found Mr. Dawes, would you be so kind as to fetch him in here?”



THEY WERE HARD at it when Dawes came in, accompanied by both Fettes and Cherry, and Grey ignored all of them.

“The bite marks are human?” he asked, carefully turning one of Warren’s lower legs toward the light from the window. Tom nodded, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Sure of it, me lord. I been bitten by dogs—nothing like this. Besides—” He inserted his forearm into his mouth and bit down fiercely, then displayed the results to Grey. “See, me lord? The teeth go in a circle, like.”

“No doubt of it.” Grey straightened and turned to Dawes, who was sagging at the knees to such an extent that Captain Cherry was obliged to hold him up. “Do sit down, please, Mr. Dawes, and give me your opinion of matters here.”

Dawes’s round face was blotched, his lips pale. He shook his head and tried to back away but was prevented by Cherry’s grip on his arm.

“I know nothing, sir,” he gasped. “Nothing at all. Please, may I go? I, I…really, sir, I grow faint!”

“That’s all right,” Grey said pleasantly. “You can lie down on the bed if you can’t stand up.”

Dawes glanced at the bed, went white, and sat down heavily on the floor. Saw what was on the floor beside him and scrambled hurriedly to his feet, where he stood swaying and gulping.

Grey nodded at a stool, and Cherry propelled the little secretary, not ungently, onto it.

“What’s he told you, Fettes?” Grey asked, turning back toward the bed. “Tom, we’re going to wrap Mr. Warren up in the counterpane, then lay him on the floor and roll him up in the carpet. To prevent leakage.”

“Right, me lord.” Tom and Captain Cherry set gingerly about this process, while Grey walked over and stood looking down at Dawes.

“Pled ignorance, for the most part,” Fettes said, joining Grey and giving Dawes a speculative look. “He did tell us that Derwent Warren had seduced a woman called Nancy Twelvetrees, in London. Threw her over, though, and married the heiress to the Atherton fortune.”

“Who had better sense than to accompany her husband to the West Indies, I take it? Yes. Did he know that Miss Twelvetrees and her brother had inherited a plantation on Jamaica and were proposing to emigrate here?”

“No, sir.” Dawes’s voice was little more than a croak. He cleared his throat and spoke more firmly. “He was entirely surprised to meet the Twelvetrees at his first assembly.”

“I daresay. Was the surprise mutual?”

“It was. Miss Twelvetrees went white, then red, then removed her shoe and set about the governor with the heel of it.”