He frowned to keep from smiling. “I thank you for the refreshment, but not for the circumstances in which I find myself. If you had attended to your duties, I would still have my ship. What was so important that you let your light extinguish? Now my cargo for the British troops in New York is scattered all over the bottom of the ocean.” He hoped there was no trace of his true activities.
She looked away. “I am sorry for that.”
“Sorry does not put food in the mouths of the troops. I shall have to report this, you know.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I care not for what the British say.”
“Oh, a revolutionary, eh?” He felt a wave of a relief, then scowled again. There was no guarantee she was telling the truth.
“I care not what label you put on it. But this country will be free, and pirates and money-mongers like yourself cannot stop liberty.” Her lip curled in disdain.
Birch didn’t much care for the contempt in her eyes, and he wasn’t quite sure why. He’d seen plenty of it over the past two years posing as a loyalist. “Country? You think a piece of paper calling yourself a country will make it so? You are very naive, mistress.”
Her green eyes flashed, and she took a step closer to him. “Your accent betrays you. You are from the South, are you not?”
What business was it of hers? “North Carolina,” he admitted grudgingly.
“I am from South Carolina. In my colony, men were taught to hold women in respect. What would your mother say to the way you have spoken to me?”
He flushed at the reprimand, and he bowed, a bit awkwardly from the waist up, since he was lying in the bed with his leg bound. “It is my turn to apologize, Mrs. Thomas. My mother would have taken a switch to me had she heard our conversation.”
She inclined her head stiffly. “I accept your apology.”
She was a spunky little thing, but looks could be deceiving. He would reserve judgment. He forced himself to smile. Women usually softened when he tried to make himself agreeable. “Allow me to introduce myself. Captain Birch Meredith. It appears I shall have to avail myself of your mercy while this busted leg heals.”
She curtsied. “I’ll do my best to attend to your injuries, Captain.”
It was easy to pretend to be a colonial and hide loyalist activities, especially in freedom-mad Massachusetts. “How came you to be caring for the lights yourself?”
A shadow darkened her extraordinary eyes. “My husband, John, was the keeper. His family donated the ground this light stands upon. When he went to join the Continental Army, I was left in charge.”
She was married. Some women married young, but she couldn’t be more than eighteen. He frowned at his own shaft of disappointment. It was nothing to him. “A large job for a small woman. It may be many years before your husband returns.”
She shook her head, and the shadow in her eyes deepened. “He shall never return, Captain Meredith. He was hung as a spy in New York over three weeks ago.”
A shock ran through him. A spy! Did he know him? Quickly, his mind ran through the men he knew from New York. The name John Thomas did not sound familiar, but perhaps he used an alias.
“It is a most cruel lie,” she continued. “John would never have been a spy. He was much too honest and straightforward for anyone to put him in such a position. I know not how this tragedy occurred, but the full story has not been told.”
“I am sorry for your loss.” He would have to check with his contacts in New York.
“More tea?”
“No, I thank you, but I would take some of that bread now.”
Only after she left him did he realize she’d never answered his question about how she had let the light go out.
Lydia wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. The October wind was cold, and she was beginning to regret coming north. The wind blew through the cracks in the house, and even maintaining a blazing fire did not keep the chill away. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like in full winter. South Carolina weather would still be warm.
“Would you mind going to Gurnet for supplies, Lydia?” Hannah called from her post at the fireplace. “I shall need to mind these roasting pigeons most of the afternoon.”
“I should love it above all things.” Lydia longed to get out of the house. She wanted to find a way to get a message to Galen. Did he know Hannah was free now? The thought caused her some discomfiture. She knew how he had always felt about her sister. But Lydia was determined to make him see how much more fit she would be as the wife of a British officer. Hannah would never do. She was a fervent colonial. Lydia had heard her arguing politics with Captain Meredith nearly every evening in the week the man had been here. She would be heartily glad for his leg to mend and him to be gone.
Still, he was an attractive man. Tall, broad shouldered with dark hair and even darker eyes. Hannah said he looked like a pirate. Lydia shivered at the thought of those eyes. They seemed to size her up and find her wanting. Why was that? She was beautiful. She and Hannah looked much alike except her hair was fair while Hannah’s was dark. Their features and figures were similar. He seemed to find Hannah attractive enough. Why was it men always seemed to notice Hannah first?
“There is a list of my needs on the table,” Hannah said.
Lydia glanced at her sister on her stool near the fireplace. Her cheeks were pink with the heat, and the glow of the fire cast glimmers of light on her black hair. Normally, blonde hair attracted more attention. What was it about Hannah that men found so appealing? She shrugged. She wasn’t a man, so she couldn’t decipher it.
“May I borrow your cloak? It’s so much warmer than my own.”
“It’s on the hook by the door.”
Lydia picked up the list, threw the cloak about her shoulders, and went to hitch the pony to the wagon. The crisp, clear air was invigorating. It was colder than it looked, and she snuggled deeper into the wool cloak. The sunshine cast dappled patterns on the brilliant display of gold-and-red leaves that had fallen from the maple trees. She paused and looked toward the twin towers that held the light and on out to sea. England lay across the water. Would she ever get there? Sometimes she almost gave up hope.
When she got to town, she went to the mercantile and gave the list to Edna Baxter. While Edna filled her order, Lydia browsed the buckets of ribbon. A dashing British soldier eyed her with interest. When he saw he held her attention, he sauntered over with his hands in his pockets.
She did so love that red uniform. She smiled at him in a way that made her dimples show and was gratified at his flush.
He bowed. “Mistress. Major Hugh Montgomery at your disposal. You know, it is not safe for such a lovely young woman to wander about unescorted.”
She curtsied. “Lydia Huddleston. I think I’m quite safe here, Major.” He was a most attractive man. Not like Galen, of course. No one compared to Galen. But the major was medium height with sandy-blond hair and pale-blue eyes. She liked him instantly.
“In that case, might I interest you in refreshments at the tavern? You have to sup, do you not?”
Lydia was conscious of Mrs. Baxter’s glare of disapproval, but she took the major’s arm in defiance. The old baggage had no right to judge her. Just because she was a traitor to the mother country gave her no right to look down her nose at those who remained loyal. “I would be delighted, Major.” She allowed him to lead her to the door. Pausing, she looked back with a triumphant smile. “I shall be back later to gather my supplies, Mrs. Baxter.” She ignored the woman’s glare and sauntered across the walk with the handsome major.
The Lion’s Paw was nearly empty this early. In spite of the major’s blandishments, it was much too soon for most residents to be thinking of dinner. The serving lass, glowering with disapproval, seated them at a table in a corner. The chit was simply jealous. And if Lydia had missed out on meeting a man as attractive as Major Montgomery, she might have been jealous too.
Major Montgomery ordered them kidney pie and tea, t
hen stared into her eyes. “Now tell me all about yourself.”
As Lydia told him about her childhood and her dream of going to England someday, his blue eyes never left her face. “So your sister is keeper of Gurnet Light? How would you like to help the mother country?”
Her heart pounded so hard, she thought she might suffocate. Wouldn’t Galen be proud of her if she were able to strike a blow against the Continental Army? “How?”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open and report back to me. I have a contact here who will see that I receive your messages. You can tell me if you see rebel ships offshore or smuggling supplies.” He flashed his winsome smile. “And since we’re going to be partners, would you call me Hugh?”
“I should like that.” A harmless flirtation would be good for her ego. She smiled. “Could you deliver a letter to Lieutenant Galen Wright in New York? He is attached to General Howe’s office.”
Hugh frowned. “Who is he to you?”
“My sister’s fiancé.” Lydia lied without a trace of guilt. He should have been. She was still no closer to discovering what had happened between the two of them. Every time she asked Hannah, her face had clouded and she changed the subject. A mystery Lydia was determined to solve.
His face cleared. “I should be glad to do you this service when I return to New York tomorrow. I have heard it said that the keeper of the lights at Gurnet Point is a staunch colonial. How is it that she is engaged to a loyalist?”
“They were childhood friends. Right now relations are strained, but when England has won the war, they will soon be made right again.” But only when Galen was wed to Lydia and they were both in England.
He nodded. “The conflict has split many families.”
She pulled the sealed letter from the basket at her feet. “My sister will be grateful to you, and so am I.” His besotted expression soothed her bruised ego. Maybe life in this backwater wouldn’t be so bad after all.
The only thing she hated was betraying her sister. She loved Hannah, truly she did. Someday Hannah would thank her.
CHAPTER 6
OCTOBER 28, 1776
The hills of White Plains beckoned in the distance. Galen pulled his horse to a halt and surveyed the battle arena. He hated battle. He was much more comfortable in the drawing rooms planning strategy. But Howe had transferred him to Major Hugh Montgomery’s entourage, and Montgomery had insisted he come to the front.
The Americans held Chatterton’s Hill, and the British meant to take it. Looking at the masses of troops around him, Galen doubted it would be much of a battle. This might even be their opportunity to defeat the rebellious colonies once and for all. Spies had told them the American troops were disheartened and poorly equipped. It wouldn’t take much to send them all scurrying home like rats.
He held back a bit when Montgomery ordered the charge. He wanted to live to fight another day. Within minutes it was clear the tide was with the overwhelming numbers of British troops. The Americans retreated, and Galen soon stood on top of the very hill he’d looked up at this morning.
“Cease fire! We’re setting up camp.” The cry echoed throughout the milling troops just when Galen thought they would pursue the retreating forces. Galen pushed his way through the ensuing melee and found Major Montgomery.
The man’s face was red, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. “Howe’s a fool!” he burst out. “We could have wiped them out today and taken Washington himself captive. Their entire flank was exposed to our cannon.”
Treasonous words for an officer to say about his commander. Galen glanced around to make sure no one had noticed. He didn’t want to be tarred with Montgomery’s brush. “I thought it odd myself.”
“I swear I wonder if it was deliberate. Mayhap our leader nurses some tenderness for the Yankees. I do not!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “In fact, I have ordered all the prisoners hanged.”
Galen had long heard of the major’s cruel streak, but he doubted even the slaughter of the prisoners would assuage his ire. Was Montgomery about to have an apoplectic fit? Galen placed a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, sir. You might be overheard.”
“I care not!” He paced like a caged lion. “Howe should be replaced as soon as possible. I mean to write England over this matter. It smacks of treason. Moderate peace, he wants. The man is a fool! A bloody fool!”
Galen was inclined to agree, but the safest course was to divert the major’s rage. “Would you care to sup, sir? Your tent is ready.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “Bring it to my tent.” He spun on his heels and stalked off to his quarters.
Galen sighed and went to find some food and drink for his superior. By the time he was told to enter with the food, he could tell Major Montgomery had calmed down. His face preoccupied, he sat at his desk scribbling quickly with his quill.
Montgomery folded the paper and stamped it with a wax seal. “I want you to take this to New York and personally see that it is sent to England.”
Galen paused before reaching out to take the letter. He did not want to get involved in any court machinations. It was a good way to wind up in London Tower. “Yes, sir.”
“Wait for me in New York. There is no sense in trying to find me with a madman as a commander. We could be anywhere.”
Galen nodded and left immediately. This suited him very well. Major Montgomery wouldn’t be back for days at least. Galen could take a short trip up the coast to see Hannah. The letter he’d received a week ago via Major Montgomery had assured him he would be most welcome.
Galen tossed his haversack on the bed and sat on a chair. He pulled off his boots and rang for the maid to bring some water for a bath. Riffling through his things, he reread Lydia’s letter. He smiled slowly at her request for him to visit soon. She would have her wish.
Hannah cleaned the last reflector, then sighed and pressed her hand on the ache in the small of her back. Staring out over the blue water, she thought she saw the white dot of a ship’s sail on the horizon. Friend or foe? There was no way to tell until it came near enough to see the flag it flew, and it would be too late by then. The strain of always worrying about those ships out there was beginning to wear on her.
“What are you looking at?” Lydia had climbed the steps behind her almost noiselessly.
“Just the sea.” What was ailing Lydia lately? She seemed to follow her everywhere, almost as though she was watching for something. “What is our guest doing?”
“Winding your yarn. Can you believe a man would do something like that?” Lydia raised her voice indignantly.
“He is not used to inactivity.” Birch was mending fast. He planned to leave after the harvest feast. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Against her will she found she nursed a powerful attraction to him, which shamed her since John was so lately in his grave. Though theirs had been no great passion, she owed him a sense of loyalty. She had no idea if Birch felt the same about her, but she doubted it. He was a staunch loyalist, and she didn’t want to care about him. They disagreed about everything.
“He’s a strange man. Always watching and weighing everything.”
“And a Tory.” Hannah voiced her main objection.
“It’s the one good thing about him.” Lydia stared at her sister as though daring her to contradict her.
Hannah compressed her lips. “We are all invited to the big house for supper tonight.”
“Oh no!” Lydia wailed. “Olive’s sniping is more than I can take.”
Hannah could sympathize. John’s sister tried her nerves most grievously. “Even Birch is invited. I’m not sure what Mother Thomas wants, but methinks she has her reasons.” Hannah was no more eager to attend than her sister. The times they were all together were strained and unpleasant. She had tried her best to keep the peace, but it was so difficult with the attitude they had toward her. If she had been able to present them with a grandson to take John’s place, it might have been better. But God had not ordained that.
Lydia pout
ed prettily. “I shall stay home.”
“You’ll do no such thing. They are John’s family and, by extension, ours as well. We will attend, be pleasant, and do our duty.”
“Duty. Such a dreary word.” Lydia sighed. “You speak too much of duty.”
“And you practice it too little. I fear I have done you no service by bringing you here, Sister. Daily you grow more enamored of the British. What of your duty to your country?”
Lydia stared Hannah in the eye. “Our duty belongs to our mother country, Hannah. Our forefathers came from Sussex, and we are British in our bones. Why can you not see this?”
“We are Americans. Americans! Born and bred on the soil of this new land. Are you so blinded by the glamour of the fairy tales Grandmother wove that you miss the true miracle in front of you?”
“You will never understand.” Lydia turned with a flounce and stalked to the steps.
Hannah watched her with tears in her eyes. The disagreements came daily and grew louder. Neither could give an inch in this battle. It was too fundamental. She had tried to understand her sister, but it was impossible. She knew Lydia felt the same way. She saw it in the frustration in her face when they talked. She needed to remember that her sister believed she was in the right. That was the problem with disagreements of this nature. Hannah strolled to the house and closed the door behind her.
Birch looked up with his hands full of wool. “What did you do to Lydia? She stomped through here like an angry wet hen.”
She suppressed a smile at the sight of such a large, obviously masculine man winding wool. “Lydia told me what you were doing, but I had to see it to believe it.” He was such a puzzle to her. Strong and virile with his pirate eyes and black hair, yet somehow gentle when you least expected it.
“Are you trying to change the subject?” He smiled and put down the yarn. “I used to do this for my mother when I was growing up. She didn’t have any daughters, and I did not mind helping her. Although my brothers often objected to the indignity.”
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