The Soldier's Poisoned Heart

“Mister Foster, I was wondering if you could do me a favor, you see.”

The Colonel didn’t respond right away. He would wait. Of the many things he had learned in the army, the first was never to volunteer.

“I…” He paused. John Paul could see that he was clearly struggling, but he did nothing to help, either. If it was to be a favor, then whatever embarrassment would need to be borne out. “There are some men, you see.”

“And you want me to…”

“I owe them a sum of money, you see.”

“Ah,” John Paul said. “So it’s like that, then.”

“I can pay you back, mister Foster. If it takes me the rest of my life, I will pay you back, I swear on it.”

John Paul frowned. It was not the sort of proposition he had hoped for, that was certain. Another ally in the house, though, may prove invaluable.

“Might I sleep on it, Simon?”

John Paul watched him squirm for a moment. If he refused, then he would be get nothing; that much was obvious. Yet, he seemed reticent to wait, as well. John Paul was sympathetic, but not sympathetic enough to compromise. Finally, Simon relented.

“Yes, sir. Make your decision at your leisure.”

“Have a good evening, Simon. I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, sir. Oh, you won’t regret it.”

John Paul turned and started back toward his carriage. He called back over his shoulder before Simon went to go inside.

“I haven’t decided anything, you know.”

Simon stood there with his hands balled up. John Paul turned back again.

“Of course not,” Simon said evenly. “But you will consider it, of course.”

“I said I would. Good evening,” John Paul said again, and stepped up to the seat of the carriage. He was at home again two hours later, crawling into bed, exhausted. He had a good deal to think about, now, and he was in no state to do it without sleep. So sleep he would get.

Chapter 9

John Paul tossed and turned. He had no conception of how he might convince the elder Wakefield, except by telling him everything he wanted to know. Even still, the house was very nearly empty, and that by itself was something to criticize. He had no family to speak of to keep company with Lydia, and that was a real concern.

As he lay awake in the darkness, the cogs in his mind turned ‘round and round, but he got nowhere. There would be no harm in telling him. So far from Australia, it couldn’t turn into anything. The worst case was paying tax on the money he had made, and he had hidden enough of it that they would not even tax so much of it.

With his mind just about made up, he turned over once more and set his mind on sleeping. When he opened his eyes again after what seemed like only a few moments, sunlight was streaming into the room brightly.

He rose unsteadily, still feeling the tiredness in his eyes, making his shoulders sag. He picked up his pocket watch and flipped it open. Eleven. He had never thought to sleep so late.

In the evening he would need to call on James Wakefield. Had it been a few hours earlier, when he normally arose, he might have done some work. Instead, he had precious few hours to bathe, dress, and brush his hair, to get into town, and at some point in that entire thing, eat a supper. So he set about getting prepared.

The bath was easy enough to draw for himself, though the place had no internal plumbing as yet. He mentally added that to the list of what remained to be done in the house. It was too big a job for him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t need to be done. A plumber might be hired, he suspected, for a perfectly reasonable rate.

While he did that, he set out the clothes he would wear for the evening. He took a basin of water and brushed his teeth while he waited for the rest of the water to come up from the kitchens. When his tub of water, still steaming-hot, sat filled in the middle of the room, he spat out the tooth-paste and settled into the scalding water.

He scrubbed hard. He bathed as much as anyone, but this time seemed somehow more important. He wou

ld need to make an excellent impression, to be certain, and part of that would be his looks.

He felt as if everything was happening too quickly; when he checked his watch as he pulled his clothes on, it was already three in the afternoon by his watch; he barely had time to get into town for supper, and then he’d be able to stop by the Wakefield home and make another impassioned plea to the elder Wakefield.

If he were forthcoming this time, then there would be no doubting him. Mark had the horse saddled and ready for him when he stepped outside; he stepped up and onto the horse, thanked the young man and headed off without any further ado.