With wary eyes, Breage nodded and disappeared.
Then silence. The lovely silence after judgment has been proclaimed, punishment has been rendered, and the power of life and death has left his hands.
He settled back onto his keg. The thrill, the euphoria, raced through his lifeblood. Other men lived for the opium. They were slaves to it, the little fools. Others lived for the smuggling. The ships voyaging to India for the opium, then to China to sell it off, then back to England with their payment of valuable goods—all hidden in the cave at Ozias Bay and ready to be sold to English villagers.
But not him.
Not David Bowles.
He was larger, greater, more supreme than that. He lived for the moments of dominance. Like the day Bradshaw wanted out for the sake of his deformed daughter. Like the thrill in hunting him down, waiting for him in his inn chamber, and tossing him out the window on the end of a rope. The sounds still stayed with him. Along with Tall Postle’s cry. And those of many, many others.
From the doorway, his maid appeared with a candlestick illuminating her face. Her face bruised. “S–sir?”
“What is it?”
“I—I thought you might want to know a v–visitor is come to see you. The one I told you about before who was asking for you—”
“Tell him I shall be there promptly. See him into the parlor and give him something to drink.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Miss Reay?”
Her gaze slanted back to him. “Yes, s–sir?”
“As soon as our visitor is gone, do hurry back down and clean away the blood.”
Felton lowered his teacup to its saucer when the stranger entered the small parlor.
Tall and well dressed. Reddish-brown hair. Long sideburns and narrow, serious eyes. Hadn’t Felton seen him before? Or at the very least someone who resembled him?
“I trust the tea is to your taste, Mr… .”
“Northwood.” Felton leaned forward and placed his tea on the low table before the settee. “And the tea is fine. Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary, I assure you.” The man claimed a chair next to a glistening harp. “As you see, I delight in seeing my guests attended to, for though I have but a modest abode, I do take great pride in seeing it run properly.”
“I will not take much of your time, Mr. Bowles.”
“Go on.”
“I should like to inquire about a man called Jasper Ellis.”
“What do you wish to know about him?”
“His relationship to you.”
“There is none, I assure you.”
“Yet you were both survivors of theRed Drummer.”
“Only barely, Mr. Northwood. I spent three days in the ocean, and after I was picked up by a cutter and brought back to Lodnouth, I spent a great deal more time battling sickness. Only when I was well did I realize Ellis had survived too.”
“I understand many wished he had not.”
“Indeed. Our Captain Ellis, I fear, was rather out of his head when he started the fire.”
“As in too much drink?”
