“Who is Melinda, Mr. Reed?” she asked, leaning forward to lay a hand on his knee. “Is she your wife?”
His face crumpled even more. “My daughter.”
“Melinda Reed?” Her eyes brightened, and she tapped his knee. “Oh, my. She was a few years ahead of me at Last Chance, wasn’t she? She’s such a lovely girl. A mother now, though, isn’t she? With young boys.”
The tears fell faster. “I would ruin them.”
“Indeed, you would,” she agreed, “if you hurt yourself now. But if you helped save the king, just think what you could offer them.”
He looked over at her. “You don’t understand...”
She smiled, and Flint thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. “Oh, from what Miss St. Clair has been saying about you and Mr. Harvester, I think I do. I’m sure Lord Flint does, and I haven’t heard him say a thing against you—-well, except that you tried to shoot him.”
Reed looked over at Flint. “I’m so sorry...”
Flint nodded. “I appreciate your missing.”
The gun was beginning to droop. Flint balanced on the balls of his feet so he could move fast.
“This is a coward’s way out, Francis,” he urged. “And you are no coward. I served with you, remember? I know you. And I know that you don’t want John Harvester’s memory to be tainted by poisonous accusations. But John is gone. He doesn’t care anymore. He died a hero trying to relieve my men. That is what we’ll remember. I’ll make sure of it.”
The tears came fast now. “I…I loved him.”
It was Flint’s turn to nod, the fresh pain of still-new grief welling in his own chest. “He was a good man.”
Reed’s hand shook all the more, and Flint knew he was running out of time.
“Francis,” he snapped, his voice sharp with well-remembered command. “We will protect you and yours. Drop. The. Gun.”
It seemed to be working. The gun drooped. Francis lowered his hand.
Now!Flint jumped at him and grabbed it before Francis could change his mind.
But all the fight had gone out of the man. He merely dropped his head and closed his eyes as Flint secured the weapon and unloaded it for good measure before setting it on a table far away from Reed.
“Francis,” he said, laying a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I did not drag you out of that burning chapel to see you end like this.”
The man sobbed. Felicity reached forward again and took a tight hold on one of Reed’s hands.
Flint held onto Francis’s shoulder. “The names on the list,” he said.
Francis nodded. “All ripe for blackmail. Coercion into treason.”
“We shall try to protect them as well. Do you have names of the people who have pressured you?”
Francis nodded, his head down.
Flint turned back to see that Felicity’s complexion had paled considerably, even as she continued to smile at that sad man. Miss Chase had her arm wrapped around Aunt Winnie’s shoulder, still holding the old woman’s hand. There were tears streaming down Winnie’s cheeks as well. Flint wasn’t quite sure what question to ask first.
“Are you all right, Felicity?”
She briefly looked at him, her eyes also awash in tears, and smiled for him. “Of course.”
He nodded back, wondering at her immeasurable courage. “I know someone is going to tell me how this all came about.”
Hegot vague nods.
“Francis wished to talk to me,” Aunt Winnie said, suddenly looking her age. “He wanted to share some last words about John before he left. He has come for some time so I could hear of John and now, share...memories.”
