“Your father—”
“Have you papers? Have you witnesses? No? Unless you can raise him from his grave, then I suggest you stop trying to hide behind his name. It carries no weight here.” Vincent turned his shoulder to Pridmore, delivering the cut direct, and spoke with surprising gentleness to Silas, who stood frozen by the mules. “Please carry on to the hill. He has no power to stop you.”
While Silas was still gathering the reins on his mules, the heavily scarred black man stepped away from the group and ran to Frank. With a frown, Jane watched him lean down to whisper into Frank’s ear. Eyes narrowing, Frank nodded and directed him to Ellen. Straightening his coat, Frank stood, and then strode quickly across the ground.
Pridmore fairly frothed, hands opening and closing in fists. “You will regret this!”
Vincent did not distinguish him with a response. He stepped away and gave a bow to the planters and Captain Caesar, entirely calm in outward appearance save for having his chin tucked into his collar. “My apologies, gentlemen. I thank you for your patience.” He beckoned to Jane. “Have you had the opportunity to meet my wife?”
The eldest of the men set the precedent. He joined Vincent and closed ranks so that Pridmore stood outside their circle. “Charmed, madam. I believe you know my wife, Mrs. Ransford?”
“Oh!” Jane had not expected to add this awkwardness to the day. “Yes, she created an absolutely beautiful curtain of snow for us.” It took all her powers to pretend to be unaffected. Jane used her bonnet to block out the horror around them.
Mr. Ransford smiled, glancing past her to where Pridmore stood, and shifted his position to draw her slightly further away from Pridmore. “She speaks very highly of your ice palace. I cannot wait to see it.”
Jane could not give him her full attention. A series of curses and footsteps indicated that Pridmore was storming away. Jane swallowed and attempted to remain properly British. “That is very kind. Please give her my regards.” The conversation was intolerable.
Beside Jane, Vincent had turned to meet Frank. She could not quite make out what Frank murmured to him, but whatever it was caused Vincent to spin and shout, “Pridmore!”
“What!”
Snapping his gaze to the captain, Vincent said, “Did you pay him for the cargo already?”
“Yes, sir.” The captain’s face hardened with sudden understanding. “Yes, I did.”
This caused angry muttering among the planters. Jane wanted to scream at them. They would let Pridmore do what he wanted to human lives, but God forbid he should steal a purse.
Vincent strode across the yard to where Pridmore stood by his horse. “I require my funds.”
Pridmore laughed nervously and took a step back. “The money is in the distillery, in my office. It’s unfortunate that the entrance fell in when the boiler blew.”
Frank cleared his throat. “The purse is in his pocket.”
“You’re lying.”
Vincent stopped in front of him with a palm outstretched. “Sir.”
“I have a purse, but it is mine. Are you going to take that from me as well as my livelihood?”
“There is a witness who saw you pocket it.”
Pridmore glared past Vincent at Frank. “I cannot believe you are going to take the word of that nasty, lying, nig—”
Vincent punched him hard across the mouth.
Staggering back, Pridmore collided with his horse. A hand went to the blood trickling from his lip. With a snarl, he flung himself at Vincent, fists swinging. Vincent leaned to the side, dodging the first blow. The second glanced off his cheek.
With a speed that astonished Jane, Vincent cracked two blows against Pridmore’s chin, then planted a third firmly in Pridmore’s stomach. The man folded forward with a grunt until a fourth blow snapped him upright.
Pridmore hung for a moment, balanced on his toes, then fell to the ground, unconscious.
Vincent put a hand on the saddle of Pridmore’s horse and swayed for a moment. Hand tightening, Vincent’s spine straightened by careful degrees. Jane hurried forward and put a hand on his elbow, though she did not think she could stop him if he were to fall again. “Are you all right?”
He looked down and compressed his lips in his small public smile. “Better than I have been in a long time, I think.” He looked up, past her. “Frank! May I borrow you for a moment?”
“Sir?” Frank left his place behind the white men and came forward with alacrity.
The planters stood in a little group, clearly talking about the fisticuffs with great enthusiasm. As far as Jane could tell, the substance of the fight did not matter to them, but Vincent’s performance had somehow left them impressed. The vagaries of men would remain unaccountable to her.