“It appears that way, at least when their ships are in Alaskan waters, and that means we’ve got no legal reason to hold the ship.”
Bryony glanced at the wine goblet in front of her plate—the one she’d been served without asking for it. “I don’t understand. Is drinking illegal in Alaska?”
“Technically, yes.” The governor cut into his steak.
“They why do we have wine?”
“It’s the savages, dear.” He sent her a placating smile. “They become quite dreadful when they consume too much liquor, so Alaska banned it. The ban was never intended for us. Though I must say, enforcing the law every now and then can prove useful.”
“Didn’t you notice the bars down by the docks that we passed on the way here?” Heath asked her. “Drinking’s only illegal when someone official wants it to be.”
Mr. Caldwell smiled at Heath. “Yes, that’s a good way of putting it.”
“So in the case of the Amoses’ ships, you want drinking to be illegal so you can seize their ships?” Bryony asked.
“Precisely.” Mr. Caldwell moved his gaze to his brother. “And I think it’s time we plant some aboard the next ship that comes in. I’m tired of waiting for them to slip up. What do you say, Simon?”
The breath froze in Bryony’s lungs. Had the owner of the Alaska Commercial Company just said what she’d thought? Was he planning to have someone put something illegal aboard one of the Amoses’ ships so it could be taken away on false charges? Surely she’d heard wrong. Surely whatever feud ran between the Caldwells and the Amoses, it didn’t go that deep.
“I was hoping to let things happen naturally, but I, too, find myself growing impatient. I’ll see what I can do.” The governor speared his bite of steak with his fork and popped it into his mouth.
“How is Rosalind faring? Does she have a fever?” Bryony blurted. She couldn’t simply sit here and listen to such a conversation. She didn’t know how her father and brother appeared so calm. Dr. Ottingford was the only one who’d even stopped eating.
“Are you missing your friend, dear? Don’t worry. I expect she’ll be fully recovered by morning.” Mr. Caldwell dabbed the sides of his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you the good news, Miss Wetherby. The man responsible for your fiancé’s death has been arrested.”
“The man responsible for...” The food in her mouth turned even drier, and she dropped her fork.
They couldn’t mean Mikhail. They simply couldn’t. He wasn’t responsible for anyone’s death, least of all Richard’s. Quite the opposite. All he did was save people.
Her gaze landed on Heath, cutting into his steak with a blank expression on his face. He’d been the first one to accuse Mikhail of not preventing Richard’s fall. She’d assumed that was just part of his grieving, but what if it had been more?
“What have you done?” she rasped.
Heath carefully set down his fork and knife. “All I did was answer the Marshal’s questions in a previous interview. This was a natural outcome of the lawman’s investigation.”
“There’s no need to fret, Miss Wetherby.” The governor sent her a placating smile. “You can rest assured that as governor of Alaska, I will see Mikhail Amos is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
She shoved back from the table, her stomach twisting. “No. There shouldn’t be anyone getting prosecuted, and there was nothing natural about the Marshal’s investigation. Mikhail had nothing to do with Richard’s death. You know that.” She stood and shoved her hand toward her brother, then glared her father and Dr. Ottingford. “You all know that. How could you let this happen?”
Her father stiffened, anger flashing in his pale eyes. “We didn’t do anything other than answer a few questions. Now sit down and eat your food, girl.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She turned and hurried from the room. Chuckles erupted behind her, followed by the sound of her father apologizing, and a general consensus that women could be fickle.
Tears burned her eyes as she raced up the stairs. She was intending to go to her room, though what she’d do within those four small walls, she didn’t know. But then she spotted Rosalind’s door at the end of the hall, and she raced there instead.
“Rosalind?” She knocked twice but didn’t give her friend a chance to answer before bursting inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but...”
She froze the moment she entered. Rosalind wasn’t asleep or even lying abed with a cold cloth pressed to her forehead. She was sitting at her vanity dabbing makeup over a large purple and blue bruise on her cheek.
A bruise that looked awfully close to the size of a man’s hand.
“Bryony!” Rosalind whirled around, then a hand came up to her check. “I... What’s... I fell earlier today, on the stairs. I’m afraid I have a bit of a headache now, and?—”
“How often does he hit you?” She planted her hands on her hips. She should have pressed her further when she saw the bruises yesterday.
Rosalind shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
