Denis showed no interest in coffee. He moved to the window and watched Morgan disappear through the yard with the cow and into the miller's house.
I sat down at the table to ease my leg. "I know you long to say I told you so. If the keeper had nothing to hide, he wouldn't have fled when he saw us. I admit I should have been harder on him."
Denis didn't answer and didn't look at me.
The keeper had an old clock on the dresser where I'd found the mug, and the minutes ticked by. I heard the rush of the tide as it crept toward the house. Denis might not mind being cut off from the world, but I did not much fancy being alone out here with James Denis and a man who killed for him.
I put down the coffee and got to my feet. "Stay if you like, but I do not wish to wait the rest of the day for the tide to recede."
Denis looked at me at last, his expression unreadable. "Go, then."
I made myself walk out of the windmill without looking back. I knew in my heart that if I left the windmill keeper there with them, I might well be handing Waller a death sentence. Denis would not stop until he wrung from the man all he knew.
On the other hand, I did not believe Waller was still here. He knew the ways of the marshes better than we did and how to flee without being seen. He more than likely had run when he'd seen us coming.
I walked to the yard and to my horse. The cow moved aside for me, not really caring who came and went as long as her hay bin was full. We hadn't unsaddled the horses, though Denis's man had fitted them with halters so they could feed without restriction.
I pulled the bridle onto my horse and started to lead him from the yard. I knew that if I looked back up at the window of the windmill, I'd see Denis's slender and upright form framed in it. But I did not look back.
I'd have to search for a mounting block, but the ruined bits strewn about the place would let me find a good one. As I looked for the best candidate, I heard a soft noise.
The sound had come from the miller's house-not the cry of the keeper, caught, but a sort of low grunt. The cow continued to eat, but the horses lifted heads and turned ears, alert for danger.
I looped my horse's reins around a post and moved quietly out of the yard. The doorway to the miller's house stood open, an entrance into darkness. I heard nothing more from within, but I hefted my walking stick and quietly went inside.
I stepped immediately to the right of the doorway, to keep from being silhouetted against the bright light. I waited, making myself count to thirty, until my eyes adjusted to the gloom.
The miller's house was a two-story cottage, with two rooms opening off a center hall, one on either side. From what I could see, another room ran across the entire back of the house, its doorway dimly lit by windows beyond. The staircase was still intact, but the railing was broken, and spindles of carved wood littered the floor.
The place had been stripped of furniture, even of its doors. This house was much older than the windmill, probably having stood here for half a century. Why someone had built a cottage on this empty headland, I could not know. Obviously the windmill, when it had come, had brought no revenue as a grain mill, and so the house had been abandoned. The keeper lived cozily enough inside the windmill-likely there was no need to pay for the upkeep of the larger house.
I waited for a long time in the dark hall, but the noise did not repeat itself. I wondered whether Denis would rush down here to investigate why I'd gone inside, walking stick ready, but I doubted it. He was very good at letting others take care of problems for him.
I heard another sound, but this was a muted clatter, as though someone had tripped over a loose board. I moved quietly down the hall, the wind coming through the open windows and doors stirring dust.
I stepped into the room at the back of the house, again moving sideways as soon as I'd cleared the entrance.
I surprised the man in the middle of the room. He turned suddenly, holding a cudgel-one of the staircase spindles, thick and heavy. He balanced that menacingly in one hand, while his other arm ended in nothing but a blank stub.
"Cooper," I said in relief. "Damn it, man, we've been searching high and low for you. Are you all right?"
Cooper lowered his cudgel. "Captain. Is James with you? I thought I saw him ride up."
James. I started to answer then decided better of it. Where was Denis's other man, Morgan? And Waller, the keeper?
I heard a step behind me. Something was very wrong here, but I did not have time to stop and decide what.
I swung around, bringing up my walking stick, to find the terrified Waller standing in the doorway, blood all over his face. At the same time, I felt air move behind me.
I stepped sideways as I turned, letting fighting instinct take over. I brought up my walking stick and met the wood of Cooper's cudgel.
Before I could register surprise that Cooper was attacking me, I had to fight for my life. He brought the makeshift cudgel down with precision, gouging my shoulder as I swerved out of the way. The weapon whooshed past my ear, and I came up under Cooper's reach.
Fighting this close made my walking stick useless. I dropped it to drive a fist to Cooper's jaw.
His head snapped back with the blow, and I followed that with a jab to the throat. I'd learned the rules of boxing in Gentleman Jackson's rooms in Bond Street, but I'd learned survival on the battlefield. This fight was for survival.
Cooper had learned his fighting on the streets of London. He kicked at my bad leg, following that with a blow to my head as my knee buckled. I blocked the strike and at the same time I punched him in the gut. Cooper doubled over, but he was up again faster than I'd thought he could recover, and he kicked my leg again.
I grabbed for my walking stick as I went down, rolling on the board floor and trying to ignore the pain. I yanked the sword out of the stick and got onto my back, the point upward.
Cooper was coming at me, still hefting the cudgel. He tried to bash the sword with the wood, but I swung the blade out of its way. That meant that the wood came down on my arm, but I also managed to jab the sword's point into Cooper's thigh.
He grunted and jerked back. Blood oozed onto his dun-colored breeches, but not much of it. I hadn't cut deeply.
We kept fighting in the dim light, him swinging his cudgel and kicking at me, me thrusting the sword up at him and scrambling out of his reach. I got to my knees, but I'd need something to help me to my feet. We were in the middle of the room and the walls were too far away.
"Waller!" I yelled. "Get help!"
I heard no answer and no running feet. Waller could be dead or halfway down the path to the village. I did hear the rush of rising water. The tide.
Cooper kicked at my bad knee again, and this time I managed to catch his boot and shove him backward. He lost his balance but didn't fall, but the time it took him to recover allowed me the chance to push against the floor and get my feet under me.
My gloves had ripped, and sweat and grime dripped into my eyes. My breath came fast as I went at Cooper again. He and I were about the same age, but he was a few stone heavier, and he was strong, despite his missing hand.
He'd been holed up here, recovering, I realized. When we'd arrived yesterday to search, he'd hidden from Matthias and Bartholomew, somehow eluding them. Cooper would have been wise enough to hide signs of habitation, and I'd made plenty of noise shouting for the keeper from the other side of the river. He'd have been warned and had time.
His missing hand off-balanced him, but Cooper compensated well. Any time I tried to hit the stub of his arm, to give him a taste of what he was giving me, he manage to evade the blow. He was good.
"I didn't come here to kill you," I yelled at him. "If you think Denis did, I won't let him."
Cooper did not reply and kept trying to hit me. I did not know if he meant to kill me or simply beat me to a pulp, but either way I intended not to let him.