01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  Pierce’s face came into her mind again. It was too farfetched to think that he could actually be MacHeath.

  Two soldiers and the junior officer returned and took their position behind the cart. Captain Turner reached up and took her hand. She tried immediately to pull it free, but his hold was unyielding. He leaned toward her.

  “’Tis a very unfortunate thing that you have been forced to make such a change in your life. Of course, I understand perfectly Mrs. Higgins’ concern. The correct thing for you to do would have been to seek me out when you became ill. If I could not have taken you home, I would certainly have arranged for a proper escort, as I am doing now. And as far as this morning, sending a note to Mr. Pennington would have been sufficient.”

  Portia entertained thoughts of murdering Bella for telling him every little detail.

  “Still, the fault really lies with Pennington himself, both at the ball and this morning. He compromises you at every turn, it seems. Quite unlike a gentleman, in my estimation. And your reputation must not be compromised, my pet.”

  He squeezed her hand meaningfully, and came close enough that Portia had to move her knees for fear of his face touching them.

  “I am thrilled, however, that you thought of me in your moment of need. I assure you I shall sing your praises when I meet with Admiral Middleton tomorrow. If indeed the rumor is true—though I own I know nothing of it—we shall secure you that position, my pet.”

  “I am so very grateful, Captain,” she said in a strained voice.

  “I shall bring you the good news personally after my conversation with the Admiral. Carry on, driver,” he ordered in a commanding voice as he backed away.

  She was certain that the smile on her face must look positively feeble, but Turner bowed as the cart lurched into motion, the escort trailing behind.

  ****

  Pierce would have liked to believe that women were capable of keeping their word and were as innocent as they pretend to be. The truth was, however that he couldn’t trust Portia or her promise of secrecy. His past had taught him that. She was too much like Emma.

  Dressed once again in his own clothes, he arrived at his friend’s house around midnight.

  In addition to being a faithful friend and a financial genius, Nathaniel Muir was resourceful and connected with people of every class, in the colonies and in England. There was not one shred of information that Nathaniel could not obtain. If it was a person one sought, Nate knew how to find him. He was the man who could get answers, and that was exactly what Pierce was after now.

  “You do not know how awkward ‘tis for me to see you right now, my friend,” Nathaniel said crossly, strolling into his study wearing lounging robe of blue silk.

  Pierce looked over his friend’s tousled blond hair, and glanced down at the white silk stockings and black slippers that he worneath the robe. “If your companion has made no more progress in taking off her clothes than you have, then I should say you have nothing to complain about.”

  “We were assisting her first, if you catch my meaning.” He walked to a side table bearing a decanter of wine and poured each of them a glass. “’Tis bloody difficult work, some of these dresses women wear nowadays.”

  “With your assistance or without, my guess is she’ll be waiting for you in bed when you return. Who is it this time?”

  “I have learned well from you. I shall never tell.” Nathaniel smiled and gestured toward a chair. “’Tis after midnight and you are here without an armed guard, so I must assume you experienced no difficulties tonight.”

  “None that got in the way of what needed to be done.” He took the glass from Nathaniel and sat down. “There was a wee matter, though, that came up after leaving the Anchor. One that I need your help to see my way through.”

  The other man’s expression immediately sobered. He went to the door, opened it, and looked into the hallway before closing it again. He came back in and took the seat across from Pierce. “Someone saw and recognized you.”

  “’Tis appalling how easily you read my mind.”

  “Who was it?”

  Pierce took a swallow of wine and leaned back in the chair. “Miss Portia Edwards.”

  It took several seconds before the name fully registered. “The same one who came into your office this morning?”

  Pierce nodded.

  “But she was responsible for stopping you last night. And you say she ran into you tonight? Bloody hell, the woman is everywhere.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “How foolish of me to think I was going to like her.”

  “You still might.” Pierce put the glass of wine on a table beside the chair. “She definitely recognized me, and yet there were no redcoats waiting to arrest me at my house. And an hour later, coming here, still there was no one jingling shackles behind me.”

  Nathaniel relaxed a little. “Now that I think of it, I do like her.”

  “But ‘tis still early. She might not have had a chance to contact her friends on Admiral Middleton’s staff.”

  Nathaniel put his glass down, as well, and leaned toward Pierce. “Out with it. Did the woman recognize you as MacHeath? Did she threaten to hand you over? Give me the bloody details, while we still have time to do something about it.”

  “She saw me wearing a tides man's clothing. If she did not make the connection at first, I am certain she made it by the time she got back to the cart that was carrying her. A group of soldiers seized the Anchor a few moments after I left.” Pierce was not worried about who the informers were, for there were many Tories in Boston. The important thing was that both he and Ebenezer had gotten away. “Portia did tell me she would keep my secret.”

  “Your ‘secret,’ eh?” Nathaniel pondd on that piece of information for awhile. “If she were my lover, I would trust her.”

  “She is not my lover.”

  “Too bad. But even if she were, Pierce, you and I are different. I am too trusting, and you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Well, I’m happy to hear you admit my judgment is better than yours. But that doesn’t help us here. I’m not certain what to do about her.”

  A frown darkened Nathaniel’s visage. “You are not considering having some of those Sons of Liberty lads murder her, are you?”

  “If that were their line of work, I just might.”

  “Bloody hell, Pierce. You cannot just murder the creature.”

  Seeing the look on Nathaniel’s face, Pierce gave his friend’s chair a kick. “Of course not, you fool. If you were just a little more sober, you’d know I was only joking.”

  “Well, I make no pretence of sobriety tonight, and I am quite ready to be rid of you,” he complained. “I would very much like to return to my bedchamber before a certain young woman becomes nervous and leaves my bed. So if you came here to ask my opinion of Portia Edwards, I will tell you that, what little I have seen of her, she does not come across as deceitful. I think you should trust her.”

  “And we know how valuable that judgment is.”

  “What do you want from me then? Out with it, dog.”

  “I want you to find out whatever you can about her.”

  “Find out what I can about her?” Nathaniel grinned. “Well, it sounds like you are finally getting ready to propose marriage.”

  He raised both hands, feigning self-defense as Pierce glowered at him.

  “Portia has some secrets of her own. Some of them I already know, the rest I want you to ferret out. I should like to meet her on a level battleground.”

  “I shall get you your answers,” Nathaniel promised. “But if you want to subdue her, just remember that she is a woman…and a spinster at that. I suspect that she hasn’t the sophistication of a lady of the ton nor the wealth, either. So do what you do best, Pierce. Woo her. Bed her. Then she shall remain devoted to you for as long as you need.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Mrs. Green immediately became uneasy at being summoned to the Admiral’s libra
ry. She knew he had been meeting with his staff since breakfast, and it was very unusual to call on her on occasions such as this. Entering the library, she found that Captain Turner was the only officer remaining. She expected no small talk or pleasantries, and the Admiral started in directly as s curtsied.

  “Mrs. Green, do you know anything about the need for a French-speaking companion for my daughter?”

  The thin woman clasped her wiry fingers politely before her. “I cannot say, sir.”

  Captain Turner leaned toward his superior. “With your leave, sir, may I address the issue?”

  The older man nodded indifferently and picked up a report or letter from his desk.

  “Mrs. Green,” the officer said, walking toward her. “Are you certain that Miss Middleton has expressed no interest in finding someone with such qualifications?”

  “Miss Middleton expresses an interest in a great many things. Last winter she wished to have an apple tree planted outside her window. This spring, she wished to have a hawk to replace a songbird that died. During this past month alone, she has expressed an interest in such things as being allowed to sleep on a bench in the garden at night and walking barefoot through the mansion.” She looked from Captain Turner, who was leaning over her, back at the Admiral, who was scanning the paper in his hand. “These are only a few of the odd things Miss Middleton continually expresses interest in.”

  “Surely, though some of your mistress’s requests might seem…er, extraordinary, do you not think some of these things have value? Surely, keeping her mind engaged with such worthwhile activities as the enjoyment of poetry, albeit French, should be encouraged.”

  The housekeeper was not intimidated by the officer’s presence, leaning over her as he was. “Miss Middleton has been in my charge for several years now, Captain Turner. I happen to know that what she asks for today is generally forgotten tomorrow. Miss Helena has a great many things around her to keep her mind occupied…if she wishes it.”

  “I see I must speak more plainly, ma’am, if I am to receive a straight answer.” Mrs. Green flinched as Admiral Middleton swung around and fixed her with his glare. “Has my daughter asked for a French tutor?”

  She was familiar enough with the Admiral’s volatile temper, and she was not about to court his anger now. “Aye, sir. She said something about it before the servants yesterday morning. I did not pass on the request, however, because one of the dressers speaks a little French. I thought that for the few minutes here and there that Miss Middleton desires it, the girl will do just fine. I decided ‘twould be a waste of money to hire someone—”

  “You decided,” the Admiral barked, silencing her. He turned to the officer. “Ask your friend, Miss Edwards, to report here in a couple of days time. Mrs. Green will take care of whatever arrangements need to be made.”

  Flustered and angry at being treated so roughly, she nonetheless curtsied and backed out of the room.

  Well, she thought as she hurried down the corridor, a week should be sufficient before Her Majesty tires of this little amusement.

  *****

  As there were only two servants working full time in the parsonage, Clara’s position the encompassed a variety of tasks. Housekeeping, serving as personal maid to Mrs. Higgins, looking after the children, even filling in for Molly the cook whenever Molly’s husband was ashore from his work on the coastal packet that sailed from Boston to Newport and New York and back. It had never been Clara’s job though to look after Miss Portia, but the middle-aged woman had a soft spot in her heart for the young tutor from the first time she’d met her.

  And it was because of that feeling that she’d sent word this morning to Portia and brought the children to Wind Mill Point. The young woman was waiting for them there, thankful for being given the opportunity to say farewell to Walter and Ann properly.

  The grassy point sat some thirty feet above the gray-green waters and had a perfect view of both the wide sweeping harbor and the town of Boston. Clara knew this was a place that Portia loved to bring the children when the weather was agreeable, and today could not have been more beautiful. She looked from the clusters of brick houses and shops to the masts of ships swaying gently on the water. The harbor surrounded the town on three sides, and from here she could also see the tapering neck of the peninsula to the south. Clara breathed in the fresh salty air. This was her favorite place to get away, as well.

  The older woman walked leisurely down the slope to where the three stood on a bluff.

  They had been there for an hour and thankfully there had been no tears so far. Miss Portia, in her great wisdom, had occupied the children with running and playing games with them. When they rested, she’d been having Walter and Ann point out Faneuil Hall, and the Old South Meeting House, and the tall steeple of Old North Church way off in the distance. Pointing out the ships at the Long Wharf, she’d kept them entertained by giving each of them a turn with a long spyglass she had borrowed from Dr. Crease.

  Walter’s interest lay with the traffic he could see moving through the crooked and narrow streets of the town. Ann was far more fascinated by the white sails of a ship leaving the inner harbor. “Will you take us with you when the time comes to leave Boston?”

  Both Clara and Portia turned curiously to the eight-year-old.

  “What makes you think that I will be leaving?” Portia asked, joining the girl at the edge of the cliff.

  Ann shrugged. “Mother would not give any reason why you left, and our father could not be disturbed. Still, Walter and I know that you love us too much to leave for a better position. So I thought you must be planning to leave Boston on a great ship that has sails like the wings of a great swan.” She looped an arm around Portia’s waist, her small voice breaking. “That would be the only thing that would convince me to leave you.”

  The wind whipped Portia’s dark curls into her face and she was glad of it, as tears had finally found their way. She hugged the little girl tight against her side.

  “Give me the glass, Ann,” Walter demanded quietly. “I think if I look harder, I can find our house from here.”

  “I care naught about you finding our house. I’m tired of you looking at all the silly buildings and streets.” Ann turned her sorrow into anger and poured it on her older brother. “Tell Portia how much we miss her. Maybe she’ll come back, then. Maybe she would love us again if she thinks both of us want her back.”

  Portia crouched down and cradled the young face in her hands. “Listen to me, my little cherub. Just because I am living somewhere else, it does not mean that I love you any less.”

  “People who love other people do not leave them. Mama never goes anywhere. Neither does father. You must come back.” Ann was weeping openly now.

  “They are your parents, my love. You and Walter are their responsibility…and they are yours.” Portia wiped the little girl’s tears. “Still, I could not love you two any more than I do, even if you were mine to begin with. But you need to understand, Ann, even people who love each other, as we do, sometimes need to move on. They need to find their own families, make their own homes. Someday, you and Walter will move out of the parsonage, too.”

  “I am never getting married,” Walter muttered.

  Portia batted away a tear from her own cheek and smiled at the ten-year-old who had moved in within arm’s reach. She pulled him closer and held on to each of their hands. “When you move away, that doesn’t mean that you have lost what you had. You should think of it as a chance to add on to what you have.”

  Ann squeezed her hand. “We do not have more, Portia, when we don’t have you.”

  “You still have me in your hearts. But I…I need to find my own family, too.”

  “You are marrying Captain Turner,” Walter announced with certainty. “I told Ann that is the reason that you moved out.”

  “No, I am not marrying Captain Turner.”

  “I’m glad. I don’t like him,” Ann put in peevishly. “He’s always cross and he leans when he tal
ks and he looks like he’s stuffed into his fancy coat.”

  “I do not intend to defend Captain Turner, but he really doesn’t have any choice about his uniform.”

  “I don’t care,” Ann said, stamping her foot. “I still don’t like him.”

  “Then who are you marrying?” Walter asked.

  “No one,” Portia said, relieved that their conversation was becoming less emotional. Everything had happened too suddenly, and her greatest fear had materialized. The children were the ones who were most hurt by her leaving the parsonage.

  “Walter would marry you if he were old enough,” Ann blurted out.

  “I would not,” the little boy protested.

  “I would make you marry her.” The young sister leaned toward him fiercely. “If you married Portia, then she would be family and never go away.”

  “You are leaning like Captain Turner,” he protested, shoving her.

  “Say that you shall marry her, so she does not take someone else’s offer. ‘Twould be horrible if she married Captain Turner. All their children would be fat and look down the ends of their noses and lean this way and that.” Ann leaned dramatically toward Portia. She raised her delicate chin, mimicking the officer’s pose. “’Tis simply too dreadful even to think of. She would need to dress them all in little cats and listen to them all march up and down the street, shouting orders.”

  Portia couldn’t hold back her laughter. She looked up and shook her head at Clara, who was close enough to overhear everything that was being said. She appeared entertained, too.

  “But they could take their looks from Portia, you know, and be quite beautiful, really. Of course, that is only if she has daughters.”

  “Ha! You said it,” Ann shouted triumphantly, delivering a blow to Walter’s arm with the spyglass. “You said she is beautiful. Why not marry her, then?”

  Portia and Clara grabbed one of them each before Walter could retaliate or Ann could attack in anticipation of her brother’s retaliation.