Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3 Ch20: Ben On The Move
Ben Davidson couldn't sleep. His anxiety, impatience and longing for Felicity was too much to bear. It hadn't really sunk in that he was actually in England. Oh sure, he was aware of it, but nothing would truly sink into his brain until he had Felicity back in his arms. Then life would have meaning again. Then he could eat, sleep and breathe normally again. But as of now there would be no sleep for him. At least his tossing and turning had not bothered poor Arthur Pratt; the still sea-sickened blond Brit was apparently having nightmares about being aboard the Titania, for he was clutching the covers up to his chin and moaning absurdities like "All hands!" and "Ahoy, ye!" in his fitful sleep.
Ben and Arthur were instructed to share a room, as was Elizabeth with some other female visitors. The Stag's Head Inn was a decent, clean, respectfully run establishment, and even though the inn-mistress believed Arthur and Elizabeth to be the married couple they were posing as, even married couples were required to sleep apart. The ladies had the ground floor, the gentlemen recieved the top floor of the three-story building. It was warm and well-tended, although the rooms were small. Arthur most likely felt he was still in a ship's cabin.
Ben could not sleep, so therefore he ceased trying to. He quietly slipped out of bed, still clad in his shirt and breeches, although his shirt was untucked. He pulled on his riding boots and quit the room without bothering the already bothered Arthur Pratt any further. He closed the rrom's door behind him quietly and headed for the glow of firelight coming up from the stairwell at the end of the hall.
He had nary a clue as to what he would do now that he was up and about. All of his instincts screamed 'go to Forsythe Manor and get Felicity out of there!' But he didn't know where Forsythe manor was! Lady Templeton had told him something about it being just outside of the city to the north. Using the skills for maneuvering around in the dark he had learned from Harry Lee, he was quite certain he could follow a road with no problem. Judging it to be the right road going north out of Bristol was the problem, for according to the passing conversation between Elizabeth and the helpful Lieutenant Rogers there was more than one. So whether he liked it or not, he required help.
Which was why Arthur and Elizabeth were with him. Well, part of the reason anyway. They could ask for help and get it without rousing suspicion, or having to beat it out of someone, which was the method Ben was opting for in producing speedy results. Elizabeth's way was probably the better way, he reasoned reluctantly with himself. I cannot help Felicity if I end up in an English I have waited far too long as it is!
The glow of firelight brough him down to the ground floor, into the little cozy sitting room. It had a magnificent stone fire place that made the room look smaller than it actually was. 'Twas obvious that the innkeeper was a woman, for there were feminine touches dominating the decor, such as the pinks and mauves in the upholstered sitting chairs and sofas, lacy doilies and a painting of a vase of pink and white flowers above the mantelpiece. But there were masculine touches, too. such as the dark wood of the furniture and the fireplace itself in its bold stony sharpness.
And in the slender elderly man sitting beside it with a book in his lap, spectacles down on his nose, for he had nodded off whilst reading. The inn-mistess's husband, Ben assumed. He stepped closer to the sleeping gentleman, cocked his head to try to see if the man was all right there, dozing like that. And the man must have sensed someone watching him, for he started and woke, jolting himself so suddenly that his glasses fell from his nose and ont ot he book in his lap.
"Eh? Something the matter, lad?"
"No sir. I know that its past your inn-curfew, but I couldn't sleep. I felt that I needed to be up, that I had to think. I appologize for waking you."
"Not English, are you?" The old gentleman nodded at the sitting chair across from his by the fire. "Sit yourself and tell me where you're from."
Ben quickly sat, grateful that he had not been mistaken for a rougish thief, for his hair was loose and a bit untidy from his tossing and turning. "I'm from the American colonies, sir. I arrived with my friends, the Pratts, just this evening."
"Ah, yes. Nice young couple. How is it you came to travel with 'em, if you don't mind me asking." The old gent had picked up his spectacles and put them on again.
As far as Ben was concerned, he had nothing to loose in speaking the truth. He had nothing to loose at all if he did not have Felicity. So he leaned forward upon his elbows and replied, "I don't, sir. They are two of my dearest friends. They're helping me find my fiance. She was taken away by force and brought here to Bristol...or someplace right outside of it."
The old man scratched his stubbly chin. "Sorry to hear that, lad. When I saw ye go upstairs with lookin' all troubled, I thought it was due to my wife's cookin'." Ben only smiled meagerly in response to that, so the man went on. "Zelda's not a bad cook, but she's nary a great one, either."
"The roast was fine," Ben commented emptily. He looked into the fire and sighed.
"Talked to a constable yet, lad?" the man wanted to know.
"No sir. Eliza-Mrs. Pratt, that is, thinks that is what we should do first; get the authorities to assist us. I do not think I can wait that long. I am near to where my fiance supposed to be, and I am about to go out of my mind." He ran a shaky hand through his long brown hair and shook his head miserably.
"You don't say." Suddenly roused, the old gent laid his book aside on a doily-covered table away from the fire, finding the American colonist's angst much more intriguing than The Expedition of Humphry Clinker, which he had been reading for the tenth time. He too, sat forward. "Where's your woman supposed to be located, boy?"
Ben looked at him a moment, contemplating on how much to tell the old fellow, but then shrugged. Forsythe couldn't possibly have spies and henchmen everywhere, it just wan't possible. "As far as we know, she was taken to Forsythe Manor by Lord Forsythe himself. I mean to go there and get her back, and no one is to stop me."
The old man rubbed his chin and looked positively mesmerized. " 'Forsythe Manor,' you say...Hmmm, seems I've heard that place mentioned recently...Wait here, boy. Let me see about something."
Ben watched with held breath and widened eyes as the man rose with a grunt and a bit of required effort, (for his bones were not what they used to be), and left the room. He heard the man shuffling around in the thin slippers he was wearing, the shuffling growing faint for a moment, then returning. Ben stood up immediately, stiff with anxiety as the man came back into the room carrying the rumpled paper that was the Bristol Journal. He gulped as the old fellow crossed to the fireplace to see by better light as he ruffled through it.
"Sir...you wouldn't happen to know Reginald Forsythe, would you?" Ben inquired, his voice nearly cracking under the strain of anxiety, as he watched the old man adjust the spectacles and lean toward the light of the fire in order read.
"No, boy, I don't. The working class cares very little about the high and mighty unless they've got something to gain or there's gossip for the women. Now let me see here..." Time seemed to stand still while he gazed up and down at the articles. Ben bit his lip and tried to remain still. "I know I'd heard that name before. Could've sworn...Ah, here it is!"
"What, where?" Ben was immediately beside the old fellow, his breathing suspended as his brown eyes raced all over the page.
"Right here." A wrinkled, seventy year-old finger pointed out a few lines that barely made a paragraph under an article heading that read Local Misfortunes. Aloud the old man read, "Fire at the estate of Lord Reginald Forsythe consumes barn and injures one. No livestock reported harmed but one cart horse reported missing. Also reported missing is the Mrs. Forsythe and a female Negro slave-"
"A fire?" Ben cried out, his face going ashen and his mouth agape. "My God, there was a fire! Does it say who the injured person was?"
"Calm down, now, lad, or you'll wake the whole building." The old fellow peered closely at the page again and said, "No, it don't say. This issue is about a month old, though. There have probably been updated articles since this one came out, but this is the only 'Journal we got layin' around. I would reckon that there's a reward being offered for the slave and for the Missus, too. That's usually how those things go..."
"His mother," mumbled Ben without even realizing he himself had spoken aloud, for his shock-stricken brain was focused on the word injured, and not on the possibility that the "Mrs." just might be Felicity. It only vaguely registered in his sleep-deprived mind that Reginald Forsythe had an ill mother who had been mentally distraught since the death of her husband. He was imagining all manner of horrible 'injuries' one could sustain in a fire.
"Doesn't say anything about an American lass being missing, but that don't mean there aint nothing to your story. For what it's worth, lad, I believe you, 'cause I don't put nothin' past the high and mighty. Why, they make better criminals and villains than poor folks!"
Ben gulped unsteadily. "I need to know exactly where Forsythe Manor is- I've been told it is to the north, just outside of the city. Is there a road that can take me there?" There was a frightened tremor in his voice, and he was back to imagining all sorts of wretched scenarios.
"There's more than one road out of town going north, but ye won't have any luck going this late. First of all its cold and dark. Second of all, there's bound to be at least one highway man just waitin' for someone ignorant enough to be out when its all wicked outside like it is. No, you best wait until dawn, when you have light to see by and a horse to use."
Ben was stunned. "You would loan me a horse?"
"Eh, why not? You aint takin' it back to the colonies are you?"
"No sir!" Ben swallowed hard, his heart seemingly up in his throat. He was another step closer to Felicity! "I am good with horses. All I want is Felicity back."
"Heh! So it appears. Now how about you turnin' in again? You won't do anyone any good staying up all night worrying." The old man rubbed his chin again. "You sure ye won't wait to take a constable out there with you?"
That's what Elizabeth wanted to do. Get the local authorities and go out to Forsythe Manor en masse. That way none of Reginald's goons could draw weapons upon them or put up any resistence. Ben thought quickly, quicker than he ever had before. Faster than when he had been in the war, even. This was a far graver war than the one he had just left. This was for his sanity, his future, his very existence. This was for Felicity.
"Sir, if I may," he entreated desperately, stepping forward with a gesture of reproach, "I need to know the way to Forsythe Manor! I need to leave at the first sign of dawn-and to leave a message for my friends to let them know where I've gone. Felicity is in danger there! She had been in danger ever since she was abducted from Williamsburg, no thanks to myself. Every moment that has passed and is still passing just makes everything worse! I cannot bear to be this close to where she is and not do anythng!"
The old man contemplated Ben for a moment, noting the utter anguish and the pleading in the younger man's emotion-filled brown gulped. "I've crossed that murderous ocean very willing to die to get Felicity back. You just don't understand, sir! All of this is because of me! If I hadn't been so hot-headed and self-pitying-" Oh stop it, Benjamin Davidson! he snarled at himself mentally. THIS is not the time for idiotic self-pity, either, you lackwit! He held a hand up, more so to steady himself rather than calm the gentleman's startled expression. "I am here, now, very close to where Felicity is being kept against her will. I cannot be stopped from getting to her, no matter what! I just need only a little help."
The man held Ben's gaze for only a moment longer before crossing the room to a writing desk. From out of a drawer he withdrew a piece of blank parchment, quill, and ink pot. He gestured to the unlit candlestick on the desk top. "There, boy, light that. Write your friends whatever message it was you wanted to write and I'll see that they get it." Ben gaped as the old man started for the doorway again. "Gotta go wake up young Rollie- he's our stable-boy, ye see. He knows places. He better not complain about being roused, it aint like he's an old scarecrow like me..." And he had shuffled out of the room, leaving an astonished Ben Davidson staring after him in surprise.
But then he got busy. He sat down at the desk, on the edge of the chair, not even bothering to light the candlestick; the light of the comforting fire was more than enough for his youthful eyes to see by. He wrote in haste, hoping his handwriting was legible enough for Elizabeth and Arthur to understand, for his hand was shaking with nervous excitement. He would have to dash upstairs to fetch the things he would need, such as his winter clothing, cloak, gloves, hat...dragoon pistol.
He left the folded parchment in the care of the old man, who's name he had learned was Abel Weatherby, with Arthur and Elizabeth Pratt's name on it, and left Arthur still sleeping like a disconforted puppy ("Man overboard, man over board!" mumbled the blond Brit as Ben left with his things). He did his best not to wake anyone, jogging out to the small barn where four visitors' horses and two of the Weatherby's horses were kept. There he met thirteen year old, ginger-haired, freckle-faced Rollie Newton, who was very much awake and eager to help. The boy even offered to ride with Ben most of the way. The Weatherby's horses were saddled and ready when Ben strode in, all business and determination.
The thought that he could have Felicity back safe and snug in his arms by the coming afternoon was almost enough to make him dizzy with excitement.
A grey streak of dawn began to show in the east as he and Rollie made their way through Bristol's cobbled streets, some of which were hilly and some of which crossed canals by bridge, but there always seemed to be water nearby. To keep from giong mad with all that he had speeding through his brain, he attempted conversation with the youngster. "So what is that big church in the distance, there?"
"That's St. Mary Redcliffe, sir," replied Rollie, eager to show off his knowledge of the city. "Nicest church you'll ever see. "And if you go that way, to the east, you'll come to Queen Square, where important folks keep townhouses."
"Do you know anything about a Lord Reginald Forsythe?"
"No, sir. But I know which roads will take ye to the big houses where Lord and Ladies live, even if I don' know their names. We're going to take the road most used; it's got the best carriage path, which is the one a fine Lord would want to take if 'e's in his carriage."
"That makes good sense, Rollie," Ben told him encouragingly.
"Thanky, sir." The lad seemed quite pleased. "There aren't any really good roads goin' out of town in any direction, but if you use a carriage, ye want the road that fares the best. Folks who live in the country have the biggest, nicest homes, with fences all around them and lots of land. They all have their names on their gates where you go in. That's a good way to tell who's land yer about to tresspass on." He laughed a little nervously. "If'n ye don' already know."
Ben grinned at the boy. "How do you know so much about this place? I'd be completely lost if I was on my own."
"I grew up on the streets," Rollie told him, sounding not at all ashamed. "My mum died of something that made 'er spit out black stuff, an' I don' know who my father is...I'm what they call a bastard, y'see. My aunt put me in an orphanage, but there was a lot of sick children there. I decided I didn't like it, so I left. Mr. Weatherby found me rummagin' through his rubbish box, an' he took pity on me an' gave me a job. He and 'is wife never did have children of their own, so they was extra nice to me."
Immediately Ben felt pity for the boy himself. Just when he had made up his mind to not like anyone else English outside of Arthur and Elizabeth! The Lord sure knew how to put a person in their place! "You're a good boy, Rollie. I'm glad to have met you. Thank you for your help."
"Yes sir." Again he sounded pleased. "Mr. Weatherby says yer goin' to fetch yer lady back from that Lord Forsythe. You want I should stay with you an' help some more?"
"Will you get into trouble if you do?"
"Oh no, sir! Mr. Weatherby always tells me to help people I know who are in the right. So I reckon if a man crosses the sea to get his stolen lady back form a wicked Lord, then he is in the right."
"Yes!" agreed Ben whole-heartedly. "That is most definitely correct!"
"So I'm going to help you, sir" concluded Rollie, as if this was the most sound judgement in the world.
"Well, I cannot say that I do not need the help, because even I am not sure what I am going to do once I get out there! But I do know that I do not want you or Felicity- that is my lady's name, Felicity- to be in harm's way...should any harm have to be done." Ben felt a bit awkward, knowing that he had every intention of killing Reginald Forsythe for what he had done. He had not anticipated having an accomplice, especially one so young and impressionable as young Rollie here. He knew the look on the boy's face; one of dedication and determination, an eagerness to please, to show his worth and usefulness. How many times had he himself worn a look of the same type, feeling as if it would be devastating to be turned down. To tell Rollie Newton to go home would hurt the youngster severely, even if it would be for his own good.
As if he could read Ben's thoughts of concern, Rollie said ease and complete confidence, "Don' you worry about me, sir. I can take care of myself!"
"All right, then. But if there has to be violence, I do not want you to stay. You and Mr. Weatherby have been very kind to me, and it would kill me to see you get hurt, understand?"
Rollie smiled. "Yes sir!"
The sky had turned a few shades lighter, the growing dawn in the east revealing that it would be an overcast morning. Recent rains had left the road in a wretched state, all muddy and ever so sloppy, but it was indeed a road a carriage would take. And the horses seemed to prefer the mushy ground to the rough cobblestoned streets of the city, anyway. Ben wondered if Felicity had been taken along this road. Well if this road does indeed take us to Forsythe Manor, then she most certainly did come this way, idiot! he scolded himself self-irritatingly.
They had been riding for at least a couple of hours, the slate-grey sky having brightened to where Ben could see rolling hills, some of them forrested, some of them looking like patchwork quilts of every shade of green imaginable. If he had not been in such a rage at Forsythe and most things British, he would have thought this to be some of the most beautiful scenery he'd ever seen. He even wondered if Felicity had felt the same way.
As they came upon a more densely wooded area, Ben began to get the impression that they were in the domain of some wicked witch out of childhood stories. Some of the trees looked gnarled and lifeless. Suddenly Rollie pulled his horse to a complete stop, so ben did the same thing, looking at the boy questioningly. "Were getting near one of those fine houses. It might be the one yer lookin' for, sir. We should stop here so that no one can see us in these trees. See that big iron gate over there?"
Ben frowned, looking hard through the tree braches. Indeed, he could just make out a tall, black wrought-iron gate running the length of what might be the front grounds of someone's estate. He gulped, trying to control his anxiety. Before he could say or ask anything, however, Rollie was sliding down from his horse. He looked back up at Ben and said, "I can find out for you who lives here. I learned to be fast while I was livin' on the streets, stealing fruit and what-all." And just like that, he was gone, slipping through the trees and undergrowth like a rabbit, with little sound, leaving Ben astonished and not having been able to respond.
Indeed he did not have to wait long, for within five minutes, Rollie was racing back to where Ben had dismounted and was standing with the horses, looking tensed for action. The boy was panting as if he'd just run a foot race down Duke of Gloucester Street. "It's the Forsythe place, sir! There's a crest on the gate with a big 'F' on it! But there's a man on a horse coming toward the gate from the other side, and the gate-keeper has come out of his cottage to let him out!"
"Is the man on the horse alone, Rollie?" Ben asked quickly, feeling his familiar prepare-for-battle sensation flowing over him like a marauder's cape.
"Yes sir! 'Tis a big burly fellow, looks like he's dressed for hunting!"
'Big burly fellow?' Where had he heard that description mentioned before? Why, that was the description of that 'Gooch' person Arthur and Elizabeth had spoken of! The sinister hired man of Forsythe's that Felicity tried so desperately to tell him about that horrible morning when she had been so sick and he had refused to listen. HIs guts lurched achinginly for her, the guilt enough to kill him. He inhaled shakingly, his mind spinning out ideas like mad. "Well done, Rollie! Now listen, I have an idea. I am going to stop that man once he gets away from the gate and down the road a bit, so that I can question him. I am going to use force, for if this man is who I think he is, I will have to use force, because he will not want to tell me anything about Felicity. He will be one of Lord Forsythe's men, one who helped steal Felicity away from me. Do nothing unless I tell you to, all right?"
"Yes sir!" piped Rollie excitedly.
"Very well, then. Let's mount up,then you follow me. Remember, do nothing unless I say." He and Rollie got back on their horses and moved further away from the road to wait. Ben's hand slipped under his cloak to grip the handle of his cavalry pistol tightly. He still didn't know what to do; he was simply going by whatever happened. He stared hard at the huge, intimidating black iron gates of the manor and believed them to be some of the most hideous, evil-looking things he'd ever seen. Oh how he hated himself for not listening to Felicity before all of this happened! And now she was in there, probably injured from trying to escape from that fire..
The gate was unlocked and opened by a skinny old man who didn't seem to be any where near the pleasant, helpful sort of person, but then Ben wasn't expecting anyone who came out of those gates to be so. The gates were opened to allow the big burly man on the brown horse to exit. And yes, this 'big burly Gooch' matched every description he had heard given.A man who loved to drink and would kill for anyone who offered him the right price. This was the man who shot Edward Merriman, former master and father of his beloved. This was the ass who poisoned Felicity's and Arthur's drinks to make them insensible so that they could be placed, unconscious, in a bed together so that it looked like..so that Elizabeth would find them and think...so that he would think...
Ben clenched his teeth in self-hatred and in hatred for the hired man on the horse. The thoughts of everything that had happened so far made his so bloddy angry that he began to shake. It was time to do something! The burly bastard was actually humming! And in no particular hurry to be on his way, either, fortunately, Ben thought. The Gooch was going toward Bristol. His brown eyes dark with rage, ben nodded to Rollie, and the two of them nudged their horses into a slow walk among the trees, following the Gooch while they remained hidden by foliage. Neither of their horses made any nasal sounds of any sorts, much to Ben's relief, for he did not want his prey to hear himself being followed.
But it didn't matter, not really. Ben intended to catch him no matter how much noise there was, or who overheard. He merely did not want to be bothered by anyone once he was taking action, which he was preparing to do. He withdrew his gun. Rollie saw and his dark blue eyes widened, not with worry but with awe. No doubt the lad was immediately thankful that he was on Ben's side!
Ben leaned twoard him and whispered. "We have to hurry, Rollie. His pace is picking up and we dont want to let him get away. We have to act fast, and here's what I want you to do: ride up as fast as you can and cut him off sharp. I will come up from behind and catch him."
"How?" Rollie asked, fascinated.
"You let me worry about that. You just stop his horse and keep it from taking off."
"Yessir!"
"All right, Rollie, go!"
It happened very fast; the boy took off out of the trees at nearly a full gallop with Ben right behind him, pistol drawn. The Gooch was totally unaware of the sound of galloping hooves with his humming and his drinking from a shiny metal flask. That is, he was unaware he was being set upon until it was too late; a freckle-faced boy seemed to come out of nowhere, cutting directly across his path and grabbing the reins of his horse. The Gooch immediately reached for his flintlock with his free hand, but there was a loud pop! of a pistol being fired, and Ezekiel Gooch jerked and yelped aloud, for he had just been shot in the back of a knee. It surprised so much that he fell off of his horse sideways, lost his tricorn, and landed hard in the mud while the boy held his horse's reins tightly.
Ben was down off of his horse before the animal could be halted, kicking aside the Gooch's pistol and bringing a boot down savagely on top of the knee he had shot. Gooch yelped again, sounding very much in gurgly pain as he struggled to knock ben's leg away, but Ben was faster. His experience in the war under the training of Light Horse Harry had not left in any way: He grabbed the Gooch by the woolen cravat and jerked him up roughly while keeping his dragoon pistol near the grimmacing man's stubbled, roundy face.
"Who are you? What is your name?" Ben demanded through clenched teeth.
"Ye shot my bloody knee, ye damn thief!" the Gooch blubbered drukenly, trying to grip his wound.
"Answer me, or I'll bloody your other damn knee!"
" 'Oo the 'ell are ye?"
"What, you don't recognize me, Gooch?"
"Huh?" There were no rays of sunlight peeping out from behind any clouds, but the big man squinted anyway as he tried to focus on Ben's furious face. " 'Ow did ye know my name?"
"So you are this whoreson Gooch I've been told about! You're the one who shot Mr. Merriman when you were supposed to have shot me!"
"What do ye...?" Then recognition crossed the Gooch's face as it dawned upon him who his assailant was. His dark eyes grew wide with panic. "Yer the apprentice I was supposed to..Oh Gawd, yer really here?"
"That's right, Gooch, I've come for Felicity! Now I want to know where she is right this minute, godammit, or I'll blow your fat face right off of your fat head! Tell me, now, quick! I have no patience anymore!" And indeed he did not, for he was shaking with uncontrolled anger. Although his pistol was not reloaded, he kept it aimed at the big man's ghostly white face for the fear effect.
"Ye've come fer th' girl?" the Gooch nearly squeaked in absolute shock, his big hands having come up to try to shield his face from the pistol's barrel. "Ye were supposed t'think she had bedded that funny fella-Oh law, 'e's gonna kill me!"
"You mean Forsythe? Oh no he's not, because I'm going to kill you first! I know Forsythe hired you to kill me! But when that didn't work because of your own love of ale, he made you poison Felicity and Arthur Pratt so that they would be unconscious when you set them up! I know about all of it, Gooch, I know everything except for where Felicity is, and now you're going to tell me or have your face blown off! Now tell me where she is!"
"Awright, awright! I'll tell ye! She aint in there no more! She's gone!"
A wave of cold washed over Ben in horror."What do you mean, she isn't in there anymore? Where in God's name is she, Gooch? You better tell me right now, or so help me, I'll-"
"I don' know, I don' know!" The big hunter, half drunk and half paralyzed in pain from the hole in the back of his knee, was nearly choking on his own fear. "She escaped the house while there was a barn fire and no one's seen 'er since! Everone's lookin' for 'er, there's even a reward! He made me try an' track 'er, so I think she's somewhere west of here, mebbe the Bel Hastings village, but I don' know! I just' don' know!"
Good God, Felicity wasn't here anymore! She could be anywhere, in any condition! That she had managed to escape was good, but to where? Where in the world could she go all alone and still be safe? Ben gulped, his rage having turned to panic so thick he almost couldn't think at all. He had not expected this, either. And of course, Forsythe had men out searching for her, in order to bring her back here, to this ungodly place. Oh Lissie! My sweet, beautiful Lissie, where are you? God help me find you! That fire was weeks ago! Please, plese be somewhere safe so that I can find you! The excitement that had been building up from anticipating having her back in his arms once more was giving way to new fear for her safety and whereabouts. What was he to do now?
He gripped the Gooch's scarf even tighter. "You're coming with us, Gooch! I'm taking you to the local authority, and you can tell them that I shot you, but you'll also have to tell them why. You're going to have to tell them everything while you're at it, right from the beginning!"
"Oh no, oh law, don' do that, I beg ye! I'll be jailed, mebbe hung!"
"You think you do not deserve either of those?" Ben asked incredulously.
"I jus' did what 'e paid me to do! 'E's the one ye want, not me!"
Ben Davidson was not feeling any mercy at all, not a bit. If anything, he was becoming outraged and furious again. "Oh you can be assured that Reginald Forsythe will get what is due him, Gooch. And so will you, even if I have to shoot your other knee out and throw you over the saddle of your own horse! But you are coming with us, dead or alive!"
"Oh Gawd, oh law!"
With the awe-struck Rollie's help, Ben got the Gooch up and back onto his horse with a great deal of moaning and groaning on the burly hunter's part. And as they rode toward the nearest constable's house, which was also in the closest village of Bel Hastings, Ben forced the big man with the threat of death to tell him everything Forsythe paid him to do, starting with the shooting of Edward Merriman.