by Izzy James
Married.
To Field Archer.
Her face warmed as a wisp of the old dream paraded before her eyes. Of course he would never marry a servant. She glanced at her watch. It was eleven. She would be late. She ran around back to find Ruben, with Ben alongside, just five steps from the back door. “I’m late for my appointment with Mr. Harris.” Delany picked up her basket and headed out the door. She took a deep breath. At least it was behind her now.
John Crawley wouldn’t come knocking on her door again.
~*~
The rain was dreary, but it could prove a useful companion after all. Outside work must wait while clouds wrung themselves of moisture. Perhaps he could gain some much-needed information by simply loitering near those who were usually more gainfully employed.
The King’s Arms was doing a hearty business despite the still visible storm damage to the upper floor of the establishment. Archer weaved his way through boisterous sailors sharing a meal, ducked just in time to miss a blow from a man waving a newspaper in a heated discussion, and slipped through a doorway into a smaller room. He took a seat at a table by a window as far as he could get from the clamor.
“You must be Archer.” A portly, ruddy-faced gentleman dressed in an old-fashioned coat with large cuffs awash with lace stood before him, “Max Calvert.” The man moved his silver tankard from his right hand to the left with dexterity, losing only a whiff of spice from his Arrack punch.
Field stood and took the offered hand. “Should I know you, sir?”
Max Calvert cracked a wide, practiced smile. “I know your father from my years as alderman and mayor of this borough.” Max sat down across from Archer and signaled for the coffee boy. “I heard you were staying with Mrs. Fleet.” His eyes narrowed as if trying to catch Archer in a lie.
“Yes.”
“These are dangerous times. Prudent men know where they stand and where their neighbors stand.”
“Indeed, I have heard it said that there is wisdom in a multitude of counselors.”
“Just so.” Max drank deeply from his tankard.
Field ordered his coffee and the latest paper.
“We haven’t had a new paper in weeks. Holt’s Gazette was our only source. I assume you heard what happened.”
Field nodded that he had. “What is your concern with Mrs. Fleet?”
The old eyes widened this time as if innocence was all they ever beheld. “I’ve known Delany Fleet since she and her father first came to work for old Thomas Fleet.” He took another drink. “She is the same age as one of my daughters. Always was a good girl.”
Satisfied that Calvert was not another Crawley, Field said, “She used to come with her father on buying trips to Archer Hall. I knew her then. I am to take her to her brother-in-law’s as soon as the roads are passable.”
“I am glad to hear it. I’ve removed my wife to Pomfret, and there she will stay for the duration of this mess. It is my good fortune that my daughters are married with husbands still alive to protect them.”
“Calvert, I see you have met our Mrs. Fleet’s house guest,” John Crawley bellowed from behind Max Calvert, slapping him on the back as he reached the man.
“Indeed. Are you acquainted with Mr. Archer?” Calvert’s eyes once again narrowed at Field.
Field raised an eyebrow. “We have met.”
Crawley dropped the fake smile.
“Mr. Archer will escort Mrs. Fleet to her brother in Princess Anne.” Calvert winked at Field before taking another draft from his tankard.
Crawley’s eyes flashed. His face flushed. “She didn’t mention that to me when I saw her just now.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t tell you everything, John. You’re not her guardian.” Calvert slid farther down the bench. “Stop hovering and sit down. You give me a crick in the neck.”
Field had forgotten the forthrightness of the inhabitants of his native colony. In London, the conversation would hardly be so blunt. It was refreshing.
“I’ll be about my business. See you watch yourself with Mrs. Fleet. She is not without friends.” The threat in Crawley’s eyes was unmistakable.
Calvert twisted his bulk to watch Crawley leave. Once Crawley was safely out of earshot, Calvert turned back to Field. “How did you make an enemy of John Crawley so quickly? My intelligence says you’ve been here less than a fortnight.”
“I suspect he has a liking for Mrs. Fleet.”
“Yes.” Calvert drank again. “He’s not as powerful as he thinks he is, but he can be a significant annoyance if he wants to be. One is never quite sure of all the shadows he might be hiding in.”
“What do you mean, shadows?”
“To use an old phrase, he has his hands in a lot of pots.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“For your father’s sake, of course.” He gave that practiced smile again. Calvert the politician had already decided who would win. “Lord Dunmore’s a fool. He had the Scots merchants in his pocket before he came. He should have slowed down a little. Taken a breath and looked around. Instead, he came and threatened to free our servants. It’ll backfire. Mark my words. He will come out of this the most hated man in Virginia. Ye can’t force love or loyalty, my boy.”
“I have heard of his Captain Squire plundering the local plantations.”
“He’s not your worry. You have to watch out for the so-called ‘commissioned’ Tories who are nothing but criminals hanging about in the swamps.” Calvert rose and went away with a wave of his hand.
Field left the coffee house after he’d finished his coffee. He was glad their journey had been postponed long enough to make preparations that he’d not anticipated. He would start with Ben.
6
“Mr. Field.” Mary startled him. He’d been listening to the rain in the parlor next to the fireplace in his favorite chair absorbed in a book on agricultural advances. She’d been so quiet he hadn’t realized she was there. “May I speak to you?”
“Of course, Mrs. Tabb. What is it?”
She sat down in the chair across from him. “I’ve heard some things, and I just wanted to know if you plan to tell your mother not to associate with Miss Delany anymore—not let Miss Delany sell her dolls.”
Where had she come up with that? He had been thinking that his mother should refrain from the odd association, but he’d not confided that to anyone. Did he talk in his sleep? If he did, Mary Tabb would never know it.
“Miss Delany is the alonest person I ever knew and the kindest,” Mary continued. “She takes care of herself, and she takes care of everyone else. She don’t deserve that from you.”
He couldn’t answer that. Not yet.
She must have been about ten or eleven years old the first time he’d seen her. Her father, Jimmy Button, had come on Fleet’s behalf to trade with his father. What must it have been like to be indentured with her father? He’d never thought about it.
Jimmy Button was a shrewd but honest man. A good man. Field’s father told him that Fleet had done well in his choice of servant.
How was it that someone he’d known for so long was still a mystery? An alluring mystery, at that.
Delany Button had one long braid down her back that day. He’d just been down to the rope room. Eyes wide with wonder and curiosity, she asked about the rope and how it was made. He’d learned since not to bore a woman like that, but at the time, he described everything he knew about growing hemp and making rope. When he was done, she still stood enraptured.
Delany was a remarkable woman. True, he hadn’t made up his mind about her yet. She was so different from the child he’d known. Or maybe she wasn’t. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t promise anything to Mary Tabb until he did. Delany Fleet was an alluring mystery, indeed.
“Tell me about Mr. Tom,” he said.
Her look soured. “Not much worth telling about that man. He was the greediest soul I ever knew.”
“How so?”
“Sometimes people are round,
and sometimes they’re flat. Mr. Tom was flat. All about money. How much he could make and how much he could sell so he could make more. Not like his brother, Mr. Samuel. Mr. Tom was flat and hard like a shilling.”
“How did Miss Delany wind up married to him?”
“Some things it’s not my place to tell, and that’s one of them.” She smiled at him as if she’d thought of something new. “When Mr. Tom died, she was lost for a while. But I don’t think it was about Mr. Tom. It was for her father. He’d died the same time the year before. She was all alone then. Mr. Tom was no kinda family to have, but he was what she had.”
Heartache fatigued his chest. Thoughts of Archer Hall filled with his brothers and sister. Too much time since he’d been home.
“Are you gonna tell Miss Ann not to let Miss Delany sell her dolls?”
“No.”
~*~
She’d forgotten how large a man he was. Field Archer filled the chair next to the unlit fireplace. In the week he had stayed with her, it had become his chosen seat. Delany found they all left it vacant so that he might be comfortable. He sat there now reading an agricultural journal by the light of a candle.
She had missed him. That truth was uncomfortable. Rambling walks with him crisscrossing the entire plantation stood out in her memories illuminated like the amber glow that now traced his hair. But then regret would stain the memory with shame that she’d ever entertained the hope that he would love her and make her his own. The sting of rejection had faded long ago, but the shame flamed bright again when accused by John Crawley. Had the old hope flared when she’d seen him again? She hadn’t thought so, but John Crawley seemed to think that it had.
She couldn’t afford to revert to her old fantasies. She would lose her dreams. Her only hope lay in facing her feelings straight on. Had she missed him? Yes. His presence in her house was no longer stifling, but that didn’t mean she wanted him. She wanted freedom: freedom to make her own choices, freedom to choose her own destiny.
Construction was progressing nicely on Button Cove according to the last report she’d heard from Williams. Lord Dunmore’s blockages had restricted the mail, so she hadn’t heard from her foreman in three months. Perhaps she should consider traveling there after she’d dropped Ben at home. Soon she would sell her house and remove far away from the muddy streets teeming with horses and British soldiers, who could storm in and take up residence in any house they chose.
“What have you heard from London, Mrs. Fleet?” Archer’s deep voice resonated in the room.
“Nothing more than I’ve heard from you. I’m sure you must have heard that Lord Dunmore has blockaded the entire town. The region, for that matter.”
“I thought perhaps you got news from your ships.”
“My ship arrived back in early September. And so she sits.”
“Any damage from the hurricane?”
“Remarkably, no.”
“I had lunch in The King’s Arms today. I heard Calvert is removing to Pomfret.”
Delany’s heart warmed at the thought of her old friends. “He’s not the first one. I’m glad for Mrs. Calvert, but it’s troubling to see our leaders absconding to safer domains.”
“He told me that the swamps are teaming with ne’er-do-wells.”
“Criminals that call themselves Tories are more like it.”
“Raiding farms like proper British soldiers,” Sarah added.
Field’s face relaxed into a smile at Sarah’s joke.
Delany couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him smile like that.
Ben’s eyes grew round, and he sat up on the edge of his seat. “Do you think we’ll have to kill ʼem?”
Field lost the smile and took on a somber expression. He responded before Delany formed an answer. “I hope not. Killing a man is not a light thing.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” Anticipation animated Ben’s entire body.
“No, and I hope I never will.”
“My father says we have a duty and a right to protect our family.” The phrase was an obvious quote from another conversation, most likely just like this one.
“Your father is right. We have to protect our families, but we don’t go looking for trouble.”
Ben deflated.
“But”–Field added with a grin—“we’re not afraid if trouble finds us.”
Field did sound like Samuel then.
Ben matched his grin and sat back in his seat a little more sedate.
7
Delany was walking up the cobbled path to her home when she heard musket fire. A plume of smoke rose from her garden and drifted her way. Stomach queasy, she ran to the garden gate.
Once inside, she found Ben and Archer in front of a wooden placard with a mark and a hole in it.
“Follow through is the thing— “
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Aunt Delany, look what Mr. Archer gave me.” Ben’s eyes gleamed with pride. It was a shiny new flintlock. No doubt where that came from.
She smiled at Ben and was rewarded with a quick embrace. He was excited.
“We are getting ready for our journey,” Archer said.
“We must be prepared for anything that might happen, Aunt Delany.” The grin disappeared from Ben’s face, replaced with the manly seriousness he had been cultivating. Innocent brown eyes requested approval.
She nodded and turned toward the house.
Archer followed. “I suppose you are wondering what I am about, teaching your nephew these tactics.”
“You are quite wrong, sir. I was wondering what took you so long to get started.”
“Took so long?”
She turned to face him. “Mr. Archer, we have a serious journey ahead of us. Do you suppose I wish my nephew to be a ninny, unable to look after himself?”
“No. I‒”
“I wish him to get to his parents alive. His chances significantly increase if he can take care of himself. When he is home, his father will see to such things. Until then, you will just have to do.”
Field arched his eyebrows.
Delany headed into the house to seek a cup of tea to calm her shaking insides.
“Well done,” Sarah said as she took Delany’s work basket and placed it on a table.
“I know it’s the right thing. It just worries me to put him in danger. What will I tell his parents if anything happens to him?”
“A man needs to stand on his own.”
“Thirteen years old is not a man.”
“I’ll grant you that, but he never will be if he’s coddled. I am glad he knows his way around a Brown Betty.”
Delany smiled. “It’s a Brown Bess.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Sarah giggled, “Brown Betty is the apple crumble. Not sure why I get them confused.”
“Let’s just get some tea.”
~*~
As Delany took the last bite of her apple crumble, she caught the eye of her nephew. “Ben, after supper, I should like you to join me in the garden with your Bess.”
Trepidation pinched his features.
“It’s been a few years since I used my father’s squirrel gun, and I should like you to refresh my memory.”
Trepidation swelled to pride.
“Yes, Aunt. We can go now if you’d like,”—he shoved the last bite of dessert into his mouth and added—“while there’s still plenty of light.”
Once in the garden, Ben proceeded to show Delany all the parts of his new gun. His thirteen-year-old impatience was stilled. Methodically he showed her step by step how to load the powder, pack the ball, and prime the pan. She bit back the urge to compete with his knowledge with “I know, yes, I know.” Her reward was a clearer window into the man he would become.
“Now,” he said, “if you could hold this.” He handed her the loaded rifle. It was a good deal longer and heavier than her father’s squirrel gun. “Point it this way so no one gets hurt.” He shoved the barrel toward the ground. Some powder
sprinkled to the ground from the pan. “That’s all right. It’s better to be safe.” He walked over to the tree and hung the placard on a nail. When he returned to her side, she handed the loaded rifle back to him. He re-primed the pan.
“You hold it like this.” He demonstrated by raising the gun into a firing position on his shoulder and squinted down the barrel. “You line up your shot and gently pull the trigger.” When he fired, he hit his mark.
Delany clapped. “Excellent!”
He glowed. “Now you do it.” He handed the musket to her.
Delany powdered, packed, and primed the pan. She hefted the rifle to her shoulder and took aim.
“Line up the shot.”
Her gaze danced off the target at the sound of Field’s quiet voice. She didn’t move. She forced herself to look down the barrel of the rifle.
“Take a deep breath,” he instructed, “Now gently squeeze.” His body, rock solid behind her, warmed her back.
The stock jammed into her shoulder. Smoke clouded her vision. She couldn’t see the target. She stepped away from the smoke to see her shot. She was off the mark, but she still hit the piece of wood. Maybe she wasn’t as rusty as she’d thought. She didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of Field Archer ever again. She’d had enough of that for one lifetime.
“You were too fast, Aunt Delany.”
Her face flamed hot. “What do you mean? I hit the board. That’s pretty good.”
“He’s talking about follow through.” Field said, “You moved too quickly after you fired.”
Delany started to reload the rifle. I can do this. It was just heavier and longer than I was used to—that’s all. When she was ready, she lifted the long gun once more and moved her feet into position. She lined up her shot when Field placed his hands on her waist. She froze.
“With your permission.” He changed her body’s angle to the target.
