Joshua steeled his reserves, flexed his arm muscles. “My reward is knowing the lady is safe and with family. I’ll be on my way in a few days and beg respite and practice of my commerce, if you will allow.”
Years in the wilderness, years of drinking rum, had degraded Colonel Faulkner’s face to the likeness of a tragic reproduction made of unleavened bread left out in the rain, bloated yet sodden, the features flaccid and blurred. The war and the colonel’s time in the Colonies had not altered his hubris and, thankfully, he did not remember meeting Joshua in Boston.
The colonel lifted an eyebrow, sneering at Juliet in her doeskin dress. Apparently, he could not see past the tattered gown, the tangled hair, the smudges of dirt on her face.
“The lady remains untouched?” The colonel glared, his eyes like dried blueberries stuck in dough, each with a red rim as though reposing in a ringlet of bacon.
Juliet gasped.
The colonel wanted to know if she’d been raped by the Indians. Joshua clenched his hands, swallowed his need to punch the lout, and he plunged in before her buffoon of a cousin made an opinion and cast her aside. “I arrived in the village of the War Chief Onontio before any harm had befallen the lady and took great care to rush her to the safety of herlovingfamily where her person and reputation would be respected, that is,” Joshua dared, “if the family matches her innocence and her good character.”
Joshua admired the way Juliet bore up under the humiliating disparagement of her cousin. Faulkner’s scowl had taken down fiercer officers than a gently-bred girl, yet she met his stare with unwavering ferocity.
Captain Sunderland bowed to Juliet and glanced disapprovingly at his superior. “We thank you for the lady’s safe deliverance and obvious good character. She has been through much difficulty and should be heralded for her courage.”
“How is it you were in an Indian village in the first place, Lady Juliet?” asked the colonel. “Where had you been taken from?”
A muscle jerked in Joshua’s jaw. The pompous bastard. Joshua gave a brief summary. She has been neglected by family who should have protected her. I assume you are honorable and will hold up to the task?”
The colonel narrowed his eyes. “You arrogant colonial. No one questions me about my honor.”
Captain Sunderland interjected. “Rest and comforts will be provided to a subject of the Crown. May I recommend bringing her dresses from officers’ wives who have returned to England, and a seamstress in the fort to make any adjustments—and, of course, our hospitality can be extended to the trader, right, Colonel?”
“Be my guest for afewdays.” The colonel glared at Joshua and pressed an airy hand through the air. “Make available to Lady Faulkner whatever she requires. Captain Sunderland, you may escort my cousin to a room and make comfortable the other lady.” As an afterthought, he said, “Find whatever arrangement for the colonial that space allows.”
Chapter Eighteen
Despite the remote and primitive surroundings, everything spoke of royal munificence and splendor. The white linen shone around the burnished reflections of pewter and sparkling crystal wine glasses placed in precise arrangements along the table. From the suspended chandelier, candles had been lit against the late hour, and cast their yellow glows on an oily cracked portrait of the colonel. The gleaming patina of muskets and swords, dangling with menace on the wall. Since Joshua was in the belly of the beast, the collection of weapons might prove useful.
He drummed his fingers on his thigh, while waiting for Juliet, the guest of honor. Who seemed to be taking her time. He didn’t know why he had accepted the dinner invitation, suffering the snobbery of his countryman. Perhaps it was a chance to see Juliet one last time that had prompted him, to make sure she was safe and would be well-cared for. He’d seen her only once since he’d escorted her to the fort and in the attendance of Captain Sunderland.
Two officers had attached themselves to him. A jaundiced-colored scarecrow of a sergeant, his temples deeply sunken as if a hammer had struck them and frail as a fledgling’s belly continued to boast of his high intellect.
“Since you are a common colonial, you will profit from my greater experience and civilization,” said one man at his side.
Joshua raised a brow. Wouldn’t the sergeant be surprised to learn he was the third heir to the Dukedom of Rutland, an unbroken line for a thousand years, and was educated in the finest schools in England and could wipe the floor with him academically? “Enlighten my ignorant state.”
“Did you know, a tea made from horse manure is an effective treatment of Pemphigus?” Joshua took another look at the sergeant whose hand rose to itch large pustules erupting on his face. Joshua took a step back. By the smell of his breath, the sergeant had imbibed liberal doses. Was the prescription more fatal than the cure?
A lieutenant flanked his other side. He had deep-set black eyes beneath bushy eyebrows that marvelously knitted together in the center of his forehead, and possessed a particularly annoying habit: hands moving constantly in competition with his conversation. He, too, was a self-proclaimed physician.
The lieutenant rolled up to the balls of his feet. “Did you know there is a treatment for difficult breathing and excessive spitting? One makes small pills of dried and powdered toad, and consumes the prescriptions until the convulsion fails.”
Or until you breathed your last breath.Joshua diverted the delay to review his last two days of reconnaissance.
Fort Oswego projected a primary, two-story structure, loop-holed for musket fire and surrounded by a crenellated parapet which, in turn, was surrounded by a U-shaped stone wall and two integral blockhouses. Overall, it was an eight-pointed star-shaped fort, including a three-bastioned square fort and several four-bastioned forts, an irregular field fortification, three masked coastal batteries, a number of redoubts, retrenched batteries, and other minor works. Such fortification concentrations demonstrated outstanding tactical and strategic importance and a great link to the interior.
The fort was impassable and well-guarded, supplied by British ships across the lake from Canada and replenished with new recruits and regiments. The barracks were packed, even the officers’ quarters were crammed, the commandant’s quarters, the most lavish and spacious. Of particular note was the northwest bastion housing the munitions beneath. The fort would be a prize for General Washington to capture.
While his attention was focused on what the scarecrow sergeant was saying to him, a hushed murmur rose, growing into a crescendo. Everyone had shifted their gazes. Joshua glanced to his left. The lieutenant possessed the same sappy rapture as the rest of the men in the room. Turning his head, he looked for the source of everyone’s interest…toward the doorway…and froze.
“Lady Juliet Faulkner,” a soldier announced.
She entered the room like an immortal goddess, Aphrodite, granting divinity to miserable souls. The men stood at attention awed by her beauty and transformation, and so did Joshua.
Gone was her Indian doeskin dress, replaced by an emerald green gown made of stiff silk, the square neck cut low to enhance the deep valley of her swelling breasts, and edged with a fine white lace matching her long cuffs. The front of the dress was drawn back in the current fashion and well-served to show her tiny waist. Beneath flowed a finely embroidered petticoat that hid her shapely ankles. Her flaming red hair was pulled atop her head in an elegant style, leaving long ringlets that spiraled to her creamy white shoulders pinkened by the sun. A breathtaking vision of beauty and breeding.
Captured as every hale and lusty man in the room, he couldn’t pull his gaze away. A knot of jealousy churned in his belly. How he wanted to wipe off the stares and ogling of every man.
