A Matter of Principle (24 page)

“
Speaking of that, where’ll you sleep tonight?” Rosie asked.

She was answered with blank stares.

“
I suppose we might try the inn down that block.” Nicolas pointed east.

“
Nonsense! I’ve a place and you’ll all fit just fine!” Rosie bounced her head in punctuation.

“
Madam,” Vincent paused for emphasis, “we cannot rest in a house of ill repute.”

“
Pah! You think I got this far by bein’ a fool, boy?” Rosie challenged.

“
Well, I—”

“
Hell, no! I’ve bought a building back yonder, to let rooms by the week, and there’s a few empty tonight.”

Vincent straightened, obviously surprised by Rosie’s business acumen.

“
Oh.”

“
Come on then, afore you catch your death!”

“
A moment, Rosie? I need to speak with the landlord.” Nicolas was already several steps in that direction.

“
Sure, Nick.”

“
Thank you, Rosie.” Sydney looped her arm through Rosie’s. “Once again, you have come to our rescue!”

“
Aw, it ain’t nothin’ special.”

Sydney was sure Rosie was blushing. She squeezed her arm.

“
Well I thank you, just the same.”

After an earnest exchange with the man, Nicolas crossed back to them. The fire was slowing, succumbing to the sporadic onslaught from the volunteers. There was nothing any of them could do to help.

“
Let’s go.” Nicolas sniffed and spat again. “Rosie, my darling? Lead on!”

Vincent grunted. Leif chuckled.

Rosie addressed the teen, “How old are you now?”

“
I’ll be fourteen next month.” Leif stood taller. Sydney noted he was now the same height as she.

Rosie nodded. “Almost time.”

“
Rosie!” Nicolas barked. “He’s a child, yet.”

“
I’m not a child!” Leif objected, his voice cracking.

Rosie poked Nick’s belly through his cloak. “Just ‘cause you had to wait for that woman in Norway’s no reason to keep this young man in a state of distress!”

Nicolas spoke slowly and clearly. “He is not in distress, Rosie.”

“
Yes I am! I’m distressed!” Leif squeaked.

“
Rosie, I believe we should let Leif’s life follow its natural course,” Sydney opined.

Rosie considered her friend. “Are you sure?”

“
No!” Leif jumped up and down. “No one’s sure!”

“
I am,” Nicolas answered for them all.

“
It wouldn’t cost anything,” Rosie added. “I’d see to him out of friendship.”

“
Did you hear that, Sir?” Leif’s voice took on a pleading quality. “Out of friendship!”

“
No, thank you.”

“
But I’m distressed!”

Nicolas stopped the group under a gas lamp. “What, exactly, distresses you, son?”

Leif’s mouth flapped as he glanced from Nicolas to Sydney, Rosie and back. Vincent folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot imperiously.

“
You know.” Leif’s voice lowered. “Don’t make me say it in front of her.” He tilted his head toward Sydney.

“
Leif, if you cannot express it, you are certainly not ready to experience it!” Nicolas chided.

“
But—I—”

Nicolas leaned down to his young cousin’s eye level. “No.”

Leif’s countenance implored Rosie. “Ma’am?”

“
You heard the boss. See me when you can manage it on your own.” Rosie laughed and started walking, Sydney still on her arm. “The offer stands until then.”

Sydney looked over her shoulder at Nicolas. She wasn’t sure if he was fighting anger or laughter, but when the corner of her mouth lifted, his lips twitched and pressed, barely holding back his mirth.

Chapter Eighteen

February 9, 1822

St. Louis

The rooms in Rosie’s building were clean, though sparsely furnished. Nicolas and Sydney took the smaller room because it had one wide bed. The larger room next door had two narrow beds for Leif and Vincent. There was nothing to unpack, so after thanking Rosie again, using the privy and washing up, the displaced party retired.

“
Will you talk to me now?” Sydney whispered to Nicolas. “Why do you believe it was arson?”

Nicolas leaned up on one elbow. Sydney saw him clearly in the light of the fire set to warm the unoccupied room.

“
Have you ever seen a fire burn inside a house before?” he asked.

“
Yes—I had an uncle whose house nearly burned in Kentucky when I was a girl.”

“
Think on it, then. What burned first?”

Sydney frowned. “The rug in front of the hearth, as I recall.”

“
Why?”

“
Because it was closest to the flames, of course!”

“
Right.” Nicolas leaned closer. “In the drawing room, it was the door that burned first.”

Sydney’s eyes widened. “The door? How could you tell?”

“
How did you know it was the rug?” Nicolas countered.

Sydney concentrated on the mental picture. “Because the rug was destroyed. There was nothing left of it but black ash. And the destruction radiated out from there, in a big arc.”

“
Exactly correct.” Nicolas leaned back again. “In the drawing room, the fire spread from the door. It was easy to kick down because it was already far gone.”

“
I was so scared that I didn’t even notice…”

“
And, there were no flames by the hearth. Not to begin with, in any case.”

Sydney’s heart pounded. The reality of the situation, and the danger, shook her world. She gripped Nicolas’s arm, her mouth dry.

“
Who?” she managed. “Beckermann?”

“
Perhaps.”

“
Could he possibly believe that murdering his opponent was reasonable?” Sydney shuddered.

Nicolas shook his head. “Murder was not the intent. It was only a warning. I must be stepping on some rather important toes.”

“
What sort of toes?”

“
If I were to hazard a guess, I reckon it would be my stance on slavery. My declamation that once a slave is freed, he or she should not be enslaved again.” Nicolas ran his hand through his hair. “All other attacks have been on my character, not my politics.”

“
Except that you’re a royalist who wants to be King of Missouri, of course.”

“
Yes, well, besides that minute detail.” Nicolas smiled, calming Sydney’s heart a bit.

“
Do you know Beckermann well enough to know if this could be his doing?”

“
Truthfully, no. But I do know that he has many powerful friends. It’s rumored that St. Louis business favors are traded as easily as whiskey with Indians.”

Sydney touched Nicolas’s cheek, tracing the scar she could not see but knew was there. “And certainly he has promised them favors if he is elected.”

“
I would wager any amount of money on that.” Nicolas leaned against her hand. His eyes were black in the dim firelight.

“
What shall we do?” she whispered.

Nicolas laid back and drew a deep sigh. His chest expanded, held, then deflated. “Go home. Talk to Rickard. Ask his advice.”

Sydney leaned up on her elbow now, a sudden thought pushing her. “You won’t quit, will you?”

Nicolas pushed her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know. I never intended to put you, or my household, in any sort of danger.”

Sydney laid her cheek on Nicolas’s blond-furred chest and looked up at his sensual mouth, now grim and hard. Another cause had come to her, one she scarce believed, but she needed to mention it. But hearing it aloud would give it credence, and that terrified her.

She must have tensed, because Nicolas’s eyes dropped to hers. “What is it,
min presang
?”

Sydney swallowed, her throat thickening. Tears welled and she blinked.

“
Sydney?”

“
Perhaps,” she began, then paused. “Perhaps the fire was not meant for you.”

“
No?” Nicolas frowned. “For what then?”

“
Me.”

Nicolas scoffed. “You? What offense have you committed?”

“
Witchcraft. They burn witches, don’t they?”

February 12, 1822

Cheltenham

Nicolas accepted a second brandy from Rickard and resettled into a leather-covered chair by the fire. Low afternoon sun nudged through the window; soft pinks and yellows, hazed by chimney smoke and mist.

“
That’s the situation, brother,” Nicolas stated.

Rickard stretched his long legs toward the hearth. He retied his shoulder-length wavy auburn hair—
Lara’s hair, Stefan’s hair
—and pierced Nicolas with steady, hazel eyes.

“
Will you quit?”

Nicolas pulled a face. “Is the question that easy?”

“
No. And yes.” Rickard shrugged. “You continue, or you quit. Those are the only options, as far as I can see.”

“
I came here for your advice, Rick. I don’t know the answer!”

“
Is that so?” Rickard stroked his chin. “Have you come to doubt your convictions?”

“
Well, no. Of course I haven’t.”

“
Still against the institution of slavery?”

“
Yes!”

“
Still wanting every man in the state to be able to fulfill his dreams?”

“
Yes.”

“
Still hoping to enable those things by creating or changing our laws?”

“
Yes, Rick. What is your meaning?” Nicolas frowned.

Rickard sat forward, gesturing with his crystal glass of brandy. His eyes hardened to arrow points. “Do you still believe you can change the world?”

Nicolas groaned in frustration. “Yes, I do. At least, I think I do.”

“
And does the world still require changing?” Rickard prodded.

“
What do
you
think!” Nicolas bellowed. He gulped his brandy and stood. He poured from the crystal decanter while he spoke, his voice edged with anger. “What are you attempting here, Rick? I’ve come to ask for your help and all you are doing is taunting me!”

“
Isn’t that what Beckermann is doing?”

Nicolas jerked around to face Rickard. “What?”

“
Taunting you.” Rickard stood as well. “I’ve never known you to back down from a just fight, Nick. Not once.”

Nicolas’s jaws clenched. Then, “He’s endangered my family, Rick.”

“
I have seen you fight with your bare hands, until they were raw and bloodied, to protect my sister. And you were only ten at the time.”

Nicolas waved his hand dismissively. “Cecil wasn’t going to take her life! Only her slate and chalk…”

“
Did it matter in how you fought?”

Nicolas’s mouth twitched at the memory; he had truly been berserk that day. But none of the older boys ever picked on Lara, or
any
of the younger girls again, for that matter. “No.”

“
Then fight now.”

Nicolas didn’t move. The reality of the stakes held him still. “I might kill him.”

“
He is playing, quite literally, with fire. Liable to get burned,” Rickard whispered.

Nicolas returned to his seat and lowered himself, slowly, into it. He needed to mention the other possibility, as much as he had dismissed it in his own consideration as ridiculous.

“
Speaking of fire, Sydney did bring up one other possibility.”

“
Oh?” Rickard refilled his own glass.

“
Have you heard the rumors of witchcraft?”

Rickard nodded. “You refer to the ones centered on Sydney’s successfully calming the hysterical Renfrew brat and then delivering the mother of a healthy child?”

“
That would be correct.”

Rickard frowned at Nicolas. “You don’t put any stock in that, do you?”

“
I don’t—of course not. But do others?” Nicolas narrowed his eyes. “How is the idea of witchcraft received?”

“
Well, to the slaves, it’s as real as you and me,” Rickard began. “And I suppose some of the more remote inhabitants might still dabble in spells and superstitions.”

“
More to the point, do you believe anyone would set a fire to dissuade Sydney from any supposed spell-casting of her own?”

Rickard paled. “I had not considered that.” He shook his head, frowning. “But in St. Louis? In a city such as that? Have the rumors gotten that much attention?”

“
I can’t say. I don’t know.” Nicolas untied his own hair and combed his hands through it. He had not cut it short in winter for two years, since he last hunted for a living. It hung below his shoulders, now.
I should have it cut
.