Of Limited Loyalty

Chapter Thirty-three

16 June 1767 Strake House Temperance Bay, Mystria

Ian Rathfield leaned heavily on a stout walking stick in the parlor and smiled as Catherine Strake ushered Bishop Bumble into the room. “So good to see you again, your Grace,” Ian said.

“I have been remiss in failing to visit before this.” The round man clapped his hands. “Please, you should not have risen. Sit down.”

Ian eased himself into a chair. Catherine busied herself adjusting cushions and raised his cast foot onto an ottoman. “Thank you, Catherine.”

“My pleasure, Ian.” She straightened up. “I shall bring tea, then leave the two of you to your business.”

“Most kind, Mrs. Strake. And perhaps some of those cakes my wife sent along, on a plate. Do save some for yourself and your daughter.” Bumble smiled. “Where is little Miranda?”

“She is at Prince Haven. It was thought best she stay there so she would not disturb Colonel Rathfield during his convalescence.”

Ian chuckled. “By all reports she has been very helpful with Becca Green. She is mature beyond her years, is Miranda.”

“And a blessing upon this house and the next, I see.” Bumble clasped his hands together in his lap as Catherine swept out of the room. “I apologize for only having sent Mr. Beecher to visit you, but there has been a great deal of work to be done in anticipation.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “I must have missed something. Anticipation of…?”

“Of putting Ezekiel Fire on trial for heresy.”

“Really.” Ian’s flesh tightened. “I must say, Bishop, that I do not remember anything out of the ordinary. No bloody sacrifices, no obscene rituals.”

“One could hardly expect they would reveal the same to outsiders.” The older man cocked his head to the side. “Still, the Happy Valley community practiced plural marriage, worshipped golden tablets, and was made up of people willing to sacrifice themselves and their children, and did so beyond the borders of Crown-sanctioned holdings. This also placed him outside the jurisdiction of the Church. He had no bishop above him and belonged to no established diocese.”

Ian winced as he lifted and resettled his leg. “I don’t wish to argue with you, but I believe there are a number of colonial villages in the west in which plural marriage is practiced. I sincerely doubt all of them are formally part of a diocese.”

Bumble raised his hands. “There may have to be allowances for what some people do in innocence. Whereas, Ezekiel Fire chose a murderer and notorious drunkard as his lieutenant.”

“We were told that Rufus Branch had not touched a drop of alcohol in years.”

“Believe me, Colonel, I do not fault you nor anyone else for being deceived by Fire.” The man turned. “Mrs. Strake, you really shouldn’t have.”

Catherine returned with a silver service in hand and set the tray down on a small table. She poured through a strainer for each man, adding two spoonfuls of sugar for the cleric. She handed Ian his tea, strong and black.

Bumble looked up. “You don’t take sugar or milk, Colonel?”

Catherine answered for him. “Colonel Rathfield developed a taste for his tea without adulterations in the field. One cannot always be certain to get milk and sugar on the march.”

Bumble stirred quietly. “Yes, ghastly thing, being on the march. I joined them, you know, going to Anvil Lake. Mud to my waist, biting bugs, profanity, all quite horrible.”

Catherine plated a small cake and offered it to Ian. “To say nothing of the actual fighting, your Grace?”

“Yes, of course. As your husband might know, Mrs. Strake, or the Colonel here.”

Ian watched Catherine stiffen and leaned forward. “Catherine, if you would not mind. That cushion. I promise, it will be the last I bother you.”

“No bother at all, Ian.” She straightened a cushion by pulling it to the side then sliding it back exactly where it had been. “If you need anything more, please, just call out.”

The Bishop, catching cake crumbs on a plate placed beneath his chins, nodded.

Ian waited for her to disappear before he set his tea down on a side table. “To be honest, Bishop Bumble, I am not at all certain we were deceived by Steward Fire. Branch may well have deceived him, but the man who traveled with us to Piety and back seemed quite sincere. Were he one to mock or tempt, he had more than enough opportunity to do so.”

“Really?”

Ian deliberately took a large bite from the cake he’d been offered. He found it dry and largely tasteless-consisting more of sawdust and salt than anything sweet. He would have washed it down immediately with tea, but that would have freed him to speak. He wanted the time that chewing and swallowing afforded him to cover his reaction.

The Bishop clearly was inviting him to talk about any theological discussions on the trail. Save for Makepeace Bone, all of them had made remarks that could have been interpreted as critical of the Church, whether they were meant to be or not. While Ian knew that his companions had tolerated him more than respected him, he didn’t want to reveal anything to the cleric which could come back to haunt them.

Ian sipped tea. “Yes, well, of course, as you saw in your time in the wilderness, men can be coarse and crude, even given to profanity. I will admit to uttering a curse or three myself. Had he wished to manipulate our view of him, he could have done so.”

“I see.” Bumble nodded solemnly. “Now when Mr. Beecher came to visit, he said you could remember nothing of the other matter we had talked about. Has your head cleared since then?”

Ian set his cup and saucer down. “I am not certain, Bishop, that Mr. Beecher serves you in the best way.”

“What do you mean?”

“He made a veiled reference to a matter which I had addressed with you, in the confidence of the confessional, if you will recall.” Ian allowed a scowl to steal over his features. “I fear the man may have listened in to our conversation. Not thinking him a safe conduit for information, I complained of a headache which clouded my recollection.”

“I see.”

“I apologize for causing you undue upset about your aide.”

The rotund man shook his head, his chins quivering. “Calm yourself on that count, sir. You must understand, sir, that Mr. Beecher did not listen into our conversation. I told him everything you told me.”

Ian blinked and sagged back. “You what?”

“Colonel, it is my duty to see to the spiritual life of everyone within my diocese. What you revealed to me is most troubling, and I would have been remiss if I did not inform Mr. Beecher. In the event I am unable to perform my duties, my responsibilities will fall to him.”

Ian glanced off toward the room’s far corner, avoiding the man’s gaze. “But what I told you in the confessional, you used to pressure me into undertaking special work for you in the wilderness.”

Bumble, eyes wide, set the cake plate down forthwith. “In the name of Heaven, sir, I apologize if that is how it appeared to you. I merely wished you to understand that as you trusted me with your most closely held secret, so I trusted you with a mission of incredibly great importance. If… if you felt I coerced you in any way, if Mr. Beecher gave you the impression that your secret would become public… well, sir, I understand your outrage and I offer you a most sincere apology.”

Ian shifted in the chair. “You will forgive me, sir, for making such a mistake.”

“Of course, of course.” Bumble’s smile spread across his face. “I do have to ask, however, if you saw anything concerning what we discussed.”

“I do not recall anything which indicated Steward Fire was practicing or causing his people to practice magicks.”

“Did you not tell Mr. Beecher that Fire prevented Woods and Strake from shooting Rufus Branch?”

Ian frowned, his head beginning to throb. “I told your aide that Woods and Strake both reported being unable to fire their rifles, but I have no proof that there truly was such a prohibition. To be frank, they had been having me on about all manner of things during the journey. I thought this might well be yet another of their amusements.”

“Are you certain that is how you remember it?”

“What are you implying?”

“I imply nothing, Colonel. I am asking if you have had time to reconsider what you remember.” Bumble brushed a crumb from his black coat. “You see, you are correct that the evidence against Fire is circumstantial at this point. Were you to recall his using magick in an inappropriate way, or making outright heretical claims, doing what must be done would be much easier.”

“But what if he is innocent?”

“I can assure you he is not.”

“And how do you know that?”

Bumble fell silent for a moment, then pressed his hands together in his lap. “The man was a promising student of mine many years ago. While he served under me, he seduced my wife. For her sake we have revealed this to no one. To punish us for our vanity, God made her barren. So I know the evil which has curled itself in his heart. I wished to deal with him, but he vanished years ago. I only wish I had acted more courageously. The people need not have died out there.”

Ian shivered. He’d seen Livinia Bumble once. She was to Catherine Strake what vinegar was to wine. The idea of anyone seducing her seemed absurd, and he just could not believe Fire would have done so.”

The Bishop reached out and grasped Ian’s right forearm. “You see, Colonel, this is why dealing with Ezekiel is so important. You may not have seen him use magick inappropriately, but I know he is capable of it. But you saw nothing?”

“No, nothing, not really.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, when the Green woman and her daughter came to Happy Valley, he laid his hands on the girl and healed her. He was able to help her, but not her mother, who had collapsed beside her and died.”

Bumble patted his hand. “You see, there you are, you do remember.”

“I just said he healed her, much as the Good Lord did.”

“Oh no; no, no, no. That’s what you think you saw.” Bumble nodded confidently. “What you saw was his using magick to drain the life of the mother to preserve the child. The mother knew too much. She came to report to him what happened at Piety, but he could not let her unless the truth be revealed to the strangers. Then he led you off to Piety so Branch could prepare a trap for you. It’s all very clear.”

Ian rubbed at his forehead. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No, Colonel. I am helping you remember the truth.” Bumble’s smile flashed past quickly. “Much as you asked me before to help you remember the truth so you could be absolved of any guilt.”

Ian stared blankly at the man, his mouth open, words choking him.

Catherine Strake, her brown eyes blazing dangerously, swiftly re-entered the parlor. “So sorry to have to ask you to leave, Bishop Bumble.”

The cleric ignored her and picked up his tea.

Catherine plucked it from his hands and set it down on the tray again. “You must come again, your Grace, when your visit will not tire Colonel Rathfield.”

Bumble looked up, his face hardened. “We have not finished our conversation.”

“Nor will you on this visit.” Catherine pointed a stiffened finger at the door. “Your horse awaits.”

The fat man stood. “Were I your husband, I should beat you.”

“Were I your wife, I should have long since been your widow.” Catherine gave him a withering stare. “Shall we be frank, Bishop? You have never taken to me because of your feelings for my husband.”

“I have never liked you, woman, because your husband has given you free rein.”

“And you don’t like him for the same reason you do not like Colonel Rathfield. Each of them has more courage than you will ever know, and they are the men who stand between you and that which terrifies you the most.” Catherine dismissed him with a wave. “You may hold sway in Temperance and even in other colonies, but in this household you are unfit to black the boots of the men who make this their home.”

Bumble turned to bid Ian adieu, but Catherine caught his arm and twisted him toward the door. She escorted him out. The door did not slam behind him, but it closed with a firm finality. Relief washed over Ian. He refused to look toward the windows and the front yard, therefore he only peripherally caught the Bishop’s departure in shadow.

Catherine returned and went to her knees by his side. “Please, Ian, forgive me. I’ve embarrassed you terribly. I shall go and write a note of apology. I shall say I was concerned for you and for Owen, and I spoke out of turn.” She pressed her face to his left hand and he felt tears dampen his flesh. “Do say you will forgive me.”

Catherine, I should forgive you anything.

That was what he wanted to say, that and much more, but he dared not say it or even think it. Gravely ill, he had been transported from far away and for every waking moment of the last month, she had been with him. She had bathed him and clothed him, fed him, read to him. She had changed his bandages and helped him work on his report for Launston. She had done for him all the things he could not do for himself, never passing judgment when he fell or soiled himself, when fevers came or the headaches shortened his temper.

For him she had been the perfect wife, and she had healed more than his body.

He brought his right hand over and caressed her brown hair. “Do not cry, Catherine. You have just done for me what a good friend does for one… of whom one is quite fond. I lack the words to express the depth of my gratitude for this. If you wish to write Bishop Bumble on your on accord, then do so, but I should not require it. Were I your husband, I should forbid it.”

She looked up, her eyes rimmed with red. “Really?”

“Yes. It would be a lie to suggest that he did not deserve what happened, or that anything you said was incorrect.” Ian smiled at her, pleased to see a smile coming back at him. “The soul in peril this afternoon was his, Catherine, and he should see to it before he concerns himself with aught else.”