‘Huh.’
They drew level with Drummond’s Fine Wines, and Hornbeam steered Riddick inside. Alan Drummond was behind the counter, a balding man with a red nose. After the usual courtesies Hornbeam said: ‘Bring me pen and ink and a sheet of good letter paper, Drummond, would you?’
The man obliged.
‘Send a dozen bottles of a good mid-priced port to Major Donaldson of the militia, and charge it to my account.’
‘Donaldson?’
Riddick said: ‘He lives in West Street.’
Hornbeam wrote: ‘Congratulations on your promotion. With the compliments of Joseph Hornbeam.’
Riddick read it over his shoulder and said: ‘Very clever.’
Hornbeam folded the sheet and handed it to Drummond, saying: ‘Send this note with it.’
‘Very good, Mr Hornbeam.’
They left the shop.
‘I’ll do as you suggest, and butter him up,’ said Riddick. ‘We’ll get him on our side.’
‘I hope so,’ said Hornbeam.
The following morning, the wine was dumped on Hornbeam’s doorstep with a note:
Thank you for your kind congratulations, which are much
appreciated. I regret I cannot accept your gift.
Archibald Donaldson (Major).
*
Elsie took a pound of bacon, a small wheel of cheese and a dish of fresh butter from the palace kitchen. By arrangement she met Spade in the market square. He was carrying a ham. They walked up Main Street and into the poorer north-west quarter of Kingsbridge, heading for the home of Sal Box, who was in prison doing hard labour. They wanted to make sure her family were all right.
‘I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming,’ Spade said. ‘It just never occurred to me that Hornbeam would use the Combination Act in that way.’
‘It seems almost too outrageous even for him.’
‘Exactly. But I should have known better. And Sal’s suffering because of my lapse.’
‘Don’t torture yourself. You can’t think of everything.’
It was half past seven on a Monday evening. They found Jarge and the children at the table eating oatmeal. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your supper,’ Elsie said, putting her gifts on the sideboard. ‘I came to see how you’re getting on, but you seem fine.’
‘We miss Sal, but we’re managing,’ said Jarge. ‘What you’ve brought us is much appreciated, though, Mrs Mackintosh.’
Sue said: ‘I cooked supper. I put dripping in the gruel to make it taste better.’ She was fourteen, the same age as Kit. She was growing up before him, and had the hint of a womanly figure.
‘They’re good children,’ said Jarge. ‘I wake them in the morning and make sure they have something to eat before they go to work. We can have bacon for breakfast tomorrow, thanks to you. It’s a long time since we’ve tasted bacon.’
‘I don’t suppose you know how Sal is faring?’
Jarge shook his head. ‘No way to find out. She’s strong, but beating hemp is wicked hard work.’
‘I pray for her every night.’
