Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone
- Автор: Гэблдон Диана
- Серия: Outlander #9
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Delacorte Press
- ISBN: 978-1-473-51900-8
- Жанр: Исторические приключения
Электронная книга - «Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone». Краткое содержание книги:
The past may seem the safest place to be . . . but it is the most dangerous time to be alive. . . .
Jamie Fraser and Claire Randall were torn apart by the Jacobite Rising in 1746, and it took them twenty years to find each other again. Now the American Revolution threatens to do the same. It is 1779 and Claire and Jamie are at last reunited with their daughter, Brianna, her husband, Roger, and their children on Fraser’s Ridge. Having the family together is a dream the Frasers had thought impossible. Yet even in the North Carolina backcountry, the effects of war are being felt. Tensions in the Colonies are great and local feelings run hot enough to boil Hell’s teakettle. Jamie knows loyalties among his tenants are split and it won’t be long until the war is on his doorstep. Brianna and Roger have their own worry: that the dangers that provoked their escape from the twentieth century might catch up to them. Sometimes they question whether risking the perils of the 1700s—among them disease, starvation, and an impending war—was indeed the safer choice for their family. Not so far away, young William Ransom is still coming to terms with the discovery of his true father’s identity—and thus his own—and Lord John Grey has reconciliations to make, and dangers to meet . . . on his son’s behalf, and his own. Meanwhile, the Revolutionary War creeps ever closer to Fraser’s Ridge. And with the family finally together, Jamie and Claire have more at stake than ever before.
Jamie wanted to tell him he mightn’t, but he wanted to know things about Partland, too, so answered equably.
“General Washington appointed me as an emergency measure, sir—General Henry Taylor having died only a few days before the battle, and Washington requiring someone with experience to lead General Taylor’s militia companies. However, most of those companies were enlisted for only three months, and their enlistment expired very shortly following Monmouth. There was no longer any need for my services.”
“Ah.” Partland was regarding him quizzically, trying to decide whether to say what he had in mind. He did say it, though, and Jamie was surprised to find that he had been keeping a mental checklist, on which he now made a mark next to the word “Reckless.” Right under “Greasy as Goose Fat.”
“But surely the Continental army could find continued use for a soldier of your experience. From what I hear, they are scouring the armies of Europe for officers, no matter what their experience or reputation.”
Jamie made the same noise, slightly louder. Granger made an English version of the same thing, but Partland ignored them both.
“I had heard some talk—mere ill-natured gossip, I’m sure”—he waved a hand dismissively—“to the effect that you had left the field of battle before being relieved of your duty? And that this … contretemps? had somehow resulted in your resignation.”
“Gossip is somewhat better informed in this case than it usually is,” Jamie answered evenly. “My wife was badly wounded on the field—she is a surgeon, and was caring for the casualties—and I resigned my commission in order to save her life.”
And that’s all ye’re going to hear about it, a gobaire.
Granger cleared his throat again and looked reprovingly at his nephew, who sat back and picked up his cup with a negligent air, though still with a sidelong look. The muffled, regular blows of Claire’s mallet were audible through the uninsulated wall, somewhat slower than Jamie’s heartbeat, which had sped up noticeably.
Taking a deep breath to slow it down, he picked up the wine bottle, weighing it. Half full; enough to keep them going ’til supper.
“Would ye tell me something of the rum trade, sir?” he said, freshening Granger’s cup. “I worked for a time in Paris, dealing mostly in wine, but with a small trade in spirits as well. That was thirty-five years ago, though—I imagine a few things have changed.”
The atmosphere in the study eased, and the mallet blows stopped. Conversation became general and amiable. The roof wasn’t leaking. Jamie relaxed for the moment, sipping wine. He was going to have to talk to Bobby and Roger Mac about Captain Cunningham. Tomorrow.
BOBBY HIGGINS TURNED up on the doorstep just after noon the next day. He was dressed in a clean shirt and breeches, with his good waistcoat and a lace-trimmed neckcloth, which rather alarmed Jamie. This degree of fastidiousness meant Bobby was worried about something and hoped to placate the fury of the gods by means of plaited hair and starched cloth.
“Amy said Mrs. Goodwin told her that your sister said you wanted to speak with me, sir,” he said at once. He bobbed his head anxiously, eyes fixed on Jamie for any clue as to what might be coming.
“Och, that’s all right, Bobby,” Jamie said, stepping back and gesturing him in. “I only wanted to ask what ye might know about Captain Cunningham. A couple of fellows came by yesterday on their way to visit him.”
“Oh,” said Bobby, relaxing visibly. “The bad guys.”
“The what?”
“That’s what little Mandy called ’em,” Bobby said, holding his hand level by his thigh and about the height of Mandy’s head. “She said they looked like bad guys, and wanted me to go shoot them.”
Jamie smiled, not quite surprised at Mandy’s acute perceptions, but appreciating them.
“What did ye think of them yourself, Bobby?”
Bobby shook his head. “I didn’t see ’em. The little’uns were playing up by the springhouse and saw two strange men go by. They came home and told me, and I wondered aloud who they were, and Germain told me they were looking for Captain Cunningham. So that’ll be the same fellows, I expect.”
“I expect so. Will ye join me in a can of ale, Bobby?”
The ale was remarkably bad—Fanny and Brianna had made it—but it was strongly alcoholic, and they drank it without complaint, talking over the tenants and any concerns Bobby might have.
“I’m thinkin’ it’s maybe time we raised a militia company, Bobby,” Jamie said casually.
To his surprise, Bobby nodded soberly. “Past time, maybe, sir, if you’ll forgive me saying so.”
“I will,” Jamie said, wary. “But what makes ye say so?”
“Josiah Beardsley was by, two days ago, and told me that he’d seen a group of men in the forest between here and the Blowing Rock. Armed men—and he was sure that he’d seen at least one redcoat among them.” Bobby took a swig of beer and wiped his mouth, adding, “It’s not the first I’ve heard of such a group, but these men were closer than any I’ve heard of.”
“Aye,” Jamie said softly. He remembered what he’d told Brianna, when she’d told him about Rob Cameron, and the hairs prickled at the base of his spine. Someone will come. He doubted that these men had anything to do with the wicked buggers that had tried to kill his daughter in her own home and her own time—but these days, someone could be a threat, regardless.
“The sooner the better, then. Make me a list, will ye, Bobby? What kind of arms every man on the Ridge has to hand—whether it’s a musket or a scythe. Even a skinning knife will do.”
IN THE EVENT, it was Rachel who told him all about Captain Cunningham. He’d meant to lend Roger Mac and Richard MacNeill a hand with the rooftree of the new church, and had come by Ian’s cabin to see if the lad would come along. With four men, they could have half the roof on by sunset; it wasn’t a large building.
He found Rachel alone, though, peacefully churning butter on the porch of her cabin, aspen shadows fluttering over her like a cloud of transparent butterflies.
“Ian’s gone hunting with one of the Beardsleys, Jamie,” she told him, smiling, but not missing a stroke. “Thy sister has taken Oggy to visit Aggie McElroy—I think for the purpose of exhibiting him as a terrible example, in hopes of keeping Aggie’s youngest daughter from marrying the first young man who asks her.”
“That would be Caitriona?” he asked, running through his mental map of the Ridge. “She’s nay more than fourteen, surely?”
“Thirteen—but ripe, I believe. She’ll not wait long. No great sense in the girl,” she said, shaking her head. She drew breath and went on, “Though in fairness, it’s as much fear as lust or desire for novelty,” she added, gasping slightly, though her shoulders kept moving evenly. “She is the youngest, and … fears that she will be compelled … to remain unwed in order to care for her parents … as they grow elderly, if she does not escape … before they begin actually to dodder.”
Gordon McElroy was five years younger than himself, Jamie reflected, and Aggie maybe forty-five. He wondered whether he would notice if he was doddering or not.
“Ye’re a keen observer of human nature, lass,” he said, smiling.
“I am,” she said, smiling back. “Though I cannot claim much perception with regard to Caitriona … as she told me of her feelings herself.” Rachel had been working for some time; the day was warm, but sweat darkened the edge of her fichu, and her skin, normally the color of cream with a spoonful of coffee, had taken on a pink bloom.
On an impulse, he stepped up onto the porch beside her and, reaching out, took the handle of the churn, nudging her aside without missing a stroke.