George grinned. "That were a trooper's art, sir. One I'll own a mite o' proficiency in."
"Yes, and I have always been of the mind that should I have failed to take you with me when I sold out in ' 14, you'd have ended as gallows bait. Now I find myself wondering if perhaps all my efforts were in vain. I should hate to discover at this late date that I made an error in judgment."
Indignant outrage skewered Romley's visage. "As if I would ever, sir!" He paused and shrugged philosophically. "Leastways while I were in your employ. You was always up to every rig and row. There weren't no fobbin' you off with any gammon."
"I am happy to see we understand each other so well," Branstoke said evenly, though his hooded eyes gleamed with hidden amusement.
"Well, course, sir. Now tell me, guv'nor," Romley said, leaning forward across the desk, "how come I'm gettin' the nacky notion that you've a lay for me akin to 'em Penins'lar days?"
"I suppose, George, that's because I do," Branstoke said slowly, appreciating his man's cunning. He'd chosen wisely.
"I knew it!" Romley crowed, slapping a hand on his knee.
"Your enthusiasm overwhelms me," he said drily. He picked up the letter he had written, absently tapping it against the blotter. "I suggest you listen intently. I want you to deliver this letter to Mr. Hewitt, Mr. Dabney Hewitt."
"Hewitt! I remembers him! Bad sort, guv'nor, very bad sort. What do you be wanting with the likes of him?"
A slight smile pulled at Branstoke's thin lips. "He was, as you say, a bad sort and would likely have been cashiered from the military if our need for men had not been so great. We were, perforce, left with the likes of men of his ilk."
"Should ha' marked him for cannon fodder," Romley grumbled.
"War never slays a bad man in its course, but the good always!"murmured Branstoke.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir?"
Branstoke smiled. "Sophocles. Never mind, George. Suffice it to say, life is never that easy, and I, for one, never held it that cheap. You see, I once had the questionable good fortune to save Mr. Hewitt's miserable life from extinction."
"Good fortune, bah!"
Branstoke stopped tapping the letter and stared blankly at it as if seeing something else entirely. "The interesting thing about Hewitt is that he has his own sense of morality. It's a very rigid morality, in its way. As I saved his life, he believes that he owes me a favor. It seems he believes he must do something important for me that will wipe the slate clean between us. He is very determined in this."
George grunted. "So he said then, but guv'nor, there's promises, and then there's promises. I don't hold faith with the likes of him keepin' promises."
Branstoke laid the letter down and leaned back in his chair. "So I would have thought myself. We are wrong. Truthfully, I'd forgotten all about the incident until I chanced to run into him again six months or so ago. It is not important how that occurred. Let it stand that I came away with my purse and body intact. This, however, was not sufficient for Mr. Hewitt. He lamented being beholden to aflash covesuch as myself—that is his description, not mine. He desires the slate wiped clean."
"So he can stick his chive in you 'nother time, more like."
"George, I find your abundant faith in human nature endearing. I can deal with Hewitt in the future. The nub of the matter is that I do have a favor to ask of him that is ripe for a man of his—ah, talents."
George Romley looked suspiciously at his employer. "You ain't founderin' in high seas are you, and need to bring your ship about?"
"I assure you, my purse is intact. I need you to deliver this letter to Mr. Hewitt. He informed me when last we met that he could be reached through a tavern in the City rejoicing in the name ofThe Pye-Eyed Cock"
"Coo—guv'nor, that's a wicked address."
"I'm sure it is, but not, I believe, beyond your touch, George."
Romley fidgeted in his chair. "Now, what would I be doing in a hell-hole like that, I ask you?"
Branstoke raised an eyebrow in an unspoken comment. Romley fidgeted some more, rubbing his nose vigorously with his finger. "More'n likely the bloke cain't read."
"I assure you, Mr. Hewitt's education is wider than you think."
"Why me, sir?" Romley finally blurted out.
"Why, George?" Branstoke shrugged. "Consider it my feeble way to broaden your—ah, horizons."
"All right, sir, I'll take your letter. What am I to do after I delivers it?"
