Page 169 of The King's Man
As the girl hesitated, Thamsine clasped the little hands tighter. ‘Please, Clara. We don’t have much time. Tell me what happened.’
Clara took a shuddering breath. ‘Outhwaite.’ She screwed her face. ‘He wanted to marry Miss Jane but Miss Jane, she love Dan’l and the Massa, he thinks Dan’l a good man for Miss Jane.’
A picture began to form in Thamsine’s mind. Daniel, young, educated, intelligent and, if he resembled his brother in any way, handsome and capable of great charm, could quite easily have won the heart of Pritchard’s daughter.
Clara’s lip trembled. ‘Just after Christmas, Miss Jane, she took sick and died. The Massa’s heartbreak to bury his girl and Massa Dan’l, he loved Miss Jane. Massa took sick and Massa Dan’l tried to run the plantation.’ She looked up. ‘He a good man, but Outhwaite hate him, and one day he and Massa Dan’l have a terrible fight. Outhwaite tell him that he is not taking orders from a slave and he was in charge. He had Massa Dan’l flogged and put in the Hole.’
Thamsine bit back the question that sprang to her lips. Whatever the Hole was, it could not be pleasant.
‘He … ’ Clara broke off at the sound of heavy feet on the stairs. She just had time to recline back on the bed Outhwaite flung open the door.
‘How is she?’ He addressed the slave.
Thamsine’s eyes fluttered open. ‘Ou est mon mari?’
‘Ici, Cherie,’ Kit pushed past Outhwaite and held out a hand for Thamsine. ‘What did you discover?’ he continued in French.
‘He did not die of fever,’ Thamsine responded. ‘The girl knows more.’
‘Speak English,’ Outhwaite said.
‘My wife is still feeling unwell,’ Kit said. ‘And it is growing late. As a good Christian, please may we beg a bed of you for the night?’
Outhwaite scowled and opened his mouth to speak when someone downstairs bellowed his name. He stomped to the head of the stairs.
‘What is it?’
‘Trouble in one of the fields,’ an English voice responded. ‘It’s that bloody Scot again, McPherson. You’re needed.’
At the mention of the name, Kit stiffened.
‘You know this man?’ Thamsine whispered.
‘I knew someone of that name … at Worcester.’
Outhwaite swore. ‘McPherson? Have him taken to the Hole.’
He turned back to the bedchamber.
‘What is the ‘ole?’ Kit enquired. Thamsine wondered how he managed to make the question sound so ingenuous.
A twisted sneer crossed Outhwaite’s face. ‘Little invention of me own. The old man was too soft on these bastards. I had a hole dug in the middle of the slave quarters. Not long enough to lie in and not tall enough to stand, with nothing but a grate over the top. I find a floggin’ and a few days in there brings ‘em to heel pretty quick.’
The bile rose in Thamsine’s throat and her hand tightened on Kit’s sleeve.
‘That sounds a little extreme,’ Kit remarked in a mild tone of voice, while beneath Thamsine’s hand the muscles of his arm had tensed.
‘Vermin, that’s what they are. Vermin, and deserve no better. I’d better see to the troublemaker. You can sleep here but don’t expect to be entertained. Clara, you’ve got work. Get to it.’
He turned and stomped out of the room. The little maid turned one last despairing glance at Kit and Thamsine before scuttling after him.
Kit shut the door behind them. Thamsine sat up and recounted what Clara had told her. Kit’s mouth tightened, and the fingers of his left hand clenched and unclenched.
‘If Pritchard’s an invalid, he’ll be in one of the other rooms. Let’s go and see if we can get any sense out of him.’
***
They waited until the house had gone quiet. Through the slats that covered the window, Kit could hear Outhwaite yelling. He shuddered to think what fate he intended for poor McPherson.
