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“Not at all, sir. In truth, I believe he would want me to go, to enjoy myself in his absence.”
“As well you should.”
Hand extended, mouth open to speak more, Stockton jolted as the door burst open.
A soldier burst in, his face flush with embarrassment. “Excuse me, sir.”
“What is it, Private Sackett?” The kindness in his voice vanished.
The soldier entered, closing the door behind him. “Major Pitman, sir.”
“Major Pitman?” The honest surprise in his voice was both inquisitive and concerned.
“Aye, he is here.” The soldier nodded. “He asked me to come fetch you, sir.”
Stockton’s arms hung at his sides, fingers of one hand tapping his leg. “Very well.” He pivoted back to Hannah, posture formal but gaze at ease. “We shall finish the remaining part of the letter when I return.”
“Of course, sir.” She grinned, unsure whether to be relieved or anxious.
The tight smile on his mouth said far more of his frustration than the clip of his words. “I shan’t be long.” Nodding, he exited, shutting the door quietly behind him.
* * *
Fingers blackened, arms burning with the pleasant strain of labor, Joseph pounded his hammer against the glowing iron. The incessant clangs were a welcome tune compared to the odious silence Major Pitman flung through the room.
Arms crossed over his chest, the man looked as if he could heat an iron rod with his eyes only. Last evening he’d seemed at least civil. Now he appeared ready to explode from a mere spark, and there were plenty of those to be had in this room of fire and heat.
Joseph shifted the iron against the anvil and began striking again, this time harder. Pitman had arrived only moments ago, saying only that he’d come to inspect the work, but nothing more. ’Twas the benign admission that niggled, and the fact Higley had yet to make an appearance in the foundry, though he’d mentioned his interest to help several days past. Perhaps he could not be spared. The thought eased over Joseph, and he pounded one last blow to the glowing barrel before digging it back into the fire. Not having the man around was a blessing he could only hope would continue until he could at last return to the troops. The memory of Higley’s parting words still throbbed down his spine.
How had he known h
im?
Sackett rushed back in, Stockton at his heels. The soldier hurried back to his place beside the forge, where Deane prepared another rod, while Stockton moved beside his brother at arms.
He bowed slightly, brows fixed. “Good day, Major Pitman. You’ve come to see our progress?”
“Aye.” Pitman scratched beneath his jaw with his knuckles, his gaze shifting to Joseph. “You gave me such a pleasant description of your work that I wanted to come see it myself.”
Expression light, Stockton’s mouth bowed down in a pleased, contemplative frown. He marched to the far wall, where the finished barrels were stacked. “Much has been accomplished, as you see.”
Pitman made his way to the small grouping of prepared barrels, inspecting the lot as if he were the general and they his troops. “You shall have to work faster.”
Joseph stopped the bellows and brought the iron back to the anvil, noting the tick beginning beneath Stockton’s eye. He no doubt disliked being spoken to thus by a man supposed to be his equal. Joseph began pounding, keeping one ear intent upon the conversation.
Stockton neared his companion, heavy brows folded, jaw firm. “I have only three men to do the work.”
“I find that impossible to believe. With all the men at your disposal—“
“’Tis not a simple thing to teach a man this work, and only these two in my regiment were familiar with the trade. If you’d like to spare some of your own…”
Pitman’s grunt could be overhead above the clanging. “What about Greene?”
Stockton leaned back against the table, expression taut. “I have sent him to Sandwich. He attacked Miss Young in town, excusing his behavior on the fact you are searching for an informant.”
“Attacked?” Pitman’s shock raised his brow before it lowered again. “When was this?”
“Two days past.”
