Bowles turned. “Breage.”
Sweat upturned the ends of the man’s shaggy hair, and his cheeks blazed red despite the cool breeze. He glanced around him twice before he spoke. “I watched the ’ouse like you told me.”
“And?”
“Two o’ them went visitin’ alone, they did, so I followed them…followed them right to where Tall Postle lives—err lived, I mean.”
“Go on.”
“While they was at the other cottages, I went inside and waited for them. This close, I was.” He pinched two beefy fingers. “This close.”
“That close, you say?” Bowles approached him. Seized the man’s throbbing wrist. Tugged him closer. “What did I tell you, friend, about being that close?”
Perspiration dotted Breage’s forehead. He mumbled something incoherent. Some pathetic, whining little sound.
Until Bowles pulled out his knife.
Then he blanched, shook his head, and pulled away at his wrist.
“Hold out your fingers, Breage.”
“No, sir, no—”
“Hold them out.” Bowles jerked him closer, squeezing the wrist so tight his own fingers cramped. “Now.”
The man’s fingers uncurled from their fist, trembling.
Then the knife blade slashed across them and blood spewed forth, dotting the wet dock boards, dripping onto their boots.
With a deep-throated groan, Breage finally jerked away. He clasped his bleeding hand to his chest and bit his lip, waiting, begging for mercy.
Bowles waved him away. “Get Amos and the Swabian and circle the Northwood abode. If she leaves again, follow her. If there is opportunity, kill her.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned to leave—
“And Breage?”
The man’s shoulders slumped as he glanced back at him. “Yes, sir?”
“Do not fail me again, hmm? I should hate to mutilate all of your fingers at once.”
The knock came again. Louder. Loud enough Eliza wondered if he’d break down the guest chamber door. “Eliza, open up.”
“Please, Felton.”
“Open the door.”
“I cannot. Please.” She could not face him now. She could not face anyone. Not with blood crusting her nostrils, not with tears, not with her legs still shaking so hard she wondered if they were strong enough to carry her.
“I want to know what happened. I have a right to know.”
She backed against the wall, tore off the bonnet with the purple flowers.
“He hurt you.”
Yes.
“You should have never left this house.”
