A frown darkened his spirit and slowed his step. Why would she refuse to tell him who had hurt her? Did she not know the depth of his concern? Did she really have so little faith in him?
The questions were too numerous and too ponderous to find the resolution he desired in the short time it took to walk to the Watson’s.
Once there, he sucked in a deep breath and knocked lightly before stepping in. As expected, the parlor was empty and the pleasant sounds from the kitchen sang through the room.
“Hello?” Eliza’s voice rang surprisingly loud from the kitchen. “Thomas is that you?”
“Nay Eliza, ‘tis I.”
“Oh, Nathaniel, of course. Come into the kitchen if you like.” Eliza’s volume continued to carry strong, which gave him hope that his patient was awake. Or even better, resting quietly at the kitchen table.
Nathaniel removed his hat and placed it on the peg by the door and followed the welcoming scents of bread and spices on his way to the kitchen, speaking as he went. “I did mention to your husband that I might be kind enough to bring him a pail of food on my return to town, if you have one for him.” Once inside the heated room, he tried to keep the disappointment at not seeing Kitty from etching into his face. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” She looked up with a quick smile. “That would be kind of you, thank you.” The pinch in her voice nudged at a hidden worry in Nathaniel’s chest.
He tapped his fingers against the top of the nearest kitchen chair and motioned past the parlor.
“How is the patient today?”
Eliza shook her head while she fussed with the dough. “Well enough to get out, it would seem.”
“Get out?”
“Aye.” She picked up the laden pan and moved it to the fire. “She’s gone.”
He let out a sarcastic laugh. “I beg your pardon, did you say gone?” Kitty couldn’t actually be gone. She was not yet back to complete health. Gone to the privy perhaps, or gone to sit in the sun, but not gone.
Eliza pushed up on her knees, her shoulders slumping as she sighed. Turning, she faced him and immediately the concern woven into her features turned his stomach to solid rock.
“She’s not here, Nathaniel.” Eliza rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “She has left to take a walk.”
“A walk? She’s hardly well enough to leave her room.” Angst popped in Nathaniel’s chest like oil on a skillet. “Tell me she didn’t feel so obligated to make her deliveries to the poor that she put her own health at risk?”
“Deliveries?”
“Aye, the deliveries to the poor that Camilla Wythe can no longer do herself.”
Eliza paused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
He tipped his head and spoke slow. “Thomas informed me that you and the ladies in town took over Camilla’s deliveries to the poor when she became ill.”
Eliza’s voice went flat. “We spoke of it, but left that work in the hands of the church long ago.”
Nathaniel stalled, struggling against the fragments of information like a wagon struggles up a rocky ledge. “So why would she—” Suddenly his thoughts crested and he could see for miles.
Cyprian.
His heart charged to life, pulsing clarity and pure energy through his limbs. He charged forward. “Did she say where she was going?”
“Nay, she did not.” Eliza’s expression crumpled. “What’s wrong?”
“Do not worry.” He raced toward the door, speaking loud over his shoulder. “Whatever is wrong, I plan to make right.”
***
Cyprian stared, blinking and shaking his head to try and untangle the words he’d just heard. “What do you mean it’s missing?”
Andrew stood on the back stoop of Cyprian’s home, face ashen. “The powder, the munitions—it’s all gone.”