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“Ah. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
Daniel nodded his thanks. But his thoughts were already drifting back to that elusive memory that had tried to surface before his defenses had snuffed it out. He frowned. What was it about those men that had affected him so? It was not as if he had not met with veterans before. He had even met with other men who had fought in that devastating battle. And not a one of them had affected him as Aaron’s three friends had. Anxious to know so he might understand, he prodded it carefully. But it wouldn’t budge. Dragging in a deep breath, he tried again. Once more, however, it eluded him. He let out a frustrated burst of air.
Wilkins paused. “What is it, Your Grace?”
Daniel shook his head. “Just a memory. But it isn’t clear. The moment I think I’ve captured it, it slips right through my fingers again.”
“Brought on by these three men?”
“Perhaps.” But at the mention of them the memory surged again. Daniel, determined to hold on to it this time, grasped at it. But once more it vanished, like a puff of smoke.
Like the brief burst from the end of a musket as it fired…
Waterloo…
Suddenly it took form, brilliant and devastating and horrible. And he saw what he couldn’t before: not a faceless boy, but Mr. Newton’s frightened face as he pushed past Daniel, knocking him off his feet, sending him to the muddy ground.
Daniel gasped and reared back. Alarmed, Wilkins reached out to steady him.
“He was there,” Daniel said. “He was the one to push past me, who sent me sprawling.”
Wilkins, confused and more than a touch concerned, stood and clasped his hands in worry. “Perhaps we’d best stay here another night, Your Grace. I worry that you’re exhausting yourself.”
“You don’t understand.” Frustrated, Daniel surged to his feet. He was no doubt undoing whatever good Wilkins had managed to do in working on his leg, but in that moment he didn’t care. Everything was falling into place, rearranging into a new and stark reality. And all he could think of just then was getting back to Synne.
Back to Margery.
No, he told himself brutally. Back to Synne. To confront Newton.
“He was there,” he said, slowly and distinctly, as if making Wilkins understand was paramount in understanding it himself. “One of those men from the beach, Mr. Newton. He was running away from the fight. And Margery’s husband was not deserting. He was running after Newton, his friend.”
If anything, Wilkins appeared more confused. “Margery? You mean Mrs. Kitteridge?”
But Daniel hardly heard him. Faster and faster pieces were clicking into place: Margery needing money, frightened. Her voice, so low and tortured:What would you do if the memory of someone you loved was threatened?And then,Aaron didn’t do anything wrong. He was a good man. A brave man. He would have never—
Ah, God. She thought her husband was a deserter. When all along he had been trying to prevent his friend from deserting.
Which, of course, didn’t lessen Daniel’s own guilt in shooting the man, no matter how accidental. But he couldn’t allow her to think for even a minute more that Aaron had done something wrong.
But why would she think such a thing? Who had made her think it? Newton’s face flashed again. He frowned. No, the man had been Aaron’s friend. What reason could he have for making Margery believe such a heinous thing?
The answer was instantaneous:money. Money would make a person do all manner of horrible things.
Desperate now, he turned back to face Wilkins. “We have to return to Synne.”
***
It didn’t take Daniel long to locate Mr. Newton’s residence. For all that Synne was a sprawling island, the town center was not, and the areas where the veterans resided even smaller.
Though the man wasn’t at home, it wasn’t hard to learn just where he spent the majority of his days. And so, just as the sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon, Daniel found Newton on that very same rock he and Margery had been resting on that fateful day when they’d first seen the man. He didn’t look up as Daniel approached and sat beside him. But Daniel could see he was aware of him all the same in the tight press of his lips and the deepening lines about his eyes.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” the man murmured. “Only I didn’t expect you to take so blasted long figuring it all out.”
“So it’s true then.” Daniel turned to face Newton more fully. “You’re blackmailing Mrs. Kitteridge.”
Newton heaved a heavy sigh, closing his eyes, as if in acute pain. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. But I was desperate. I got in too deep, owed too much.” A rough bark of laughter escaped him. “I began drinking, began gambling, to distract myself from my memories of war. But it proved just as much of a curse, if not more so.”
Daniel shook his head, clenching his hands on his thighs, fury and disgust and pity all warring in his chest. “But Aaron was your friend. And you accused him of deserting.”
