01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  “If you two urchins make a mess of your clothing, I shall never be able to bring you out here again.” Clara’s warning had immediate results. The children ceased their struggle and looked up hopefully at the housekeeper.

  “We can do this again?” Ann asked.

  “Only if we keep it as a secret,” Walter warned. “Mama did not know where we were going today, or she might not have let us come.”

  “I am good at secrets,” the eight-year-old chirped up.

  Portia crouched down between them. “Today was a special occasion—a chance for us to see each other and say goodbye properly. But what Clara meant was that if you do not behave, she shan’t be bringing you back to Wind Mill Point, whether I am here or not.” Portia’s clarification brought a somber look into children’s faces.

  “Will you come to see us?” Ann asked hopefully.

  “If ‘tis acceptable with your mother.”

  “But why must we ask her?” Ann whined. “You know she never says yes to anything that is fun.”

  “Give her a chance, cherub. She might surprise you.” Portia addressed both of them. “Even though I no longer live in the same house as your parents, I still respect them. And you should, too. Now, telling the truth, and trusting them to make the best decisions for you is part of that respect, too.”

  Although Portia did not want Mary and her husband to make life decisions for her, she still hoped someday to gain back their trust. Walter and Ann were wonderful children, and that was because of their parents. On this uncertain road that Portia was traveling, the last thing she wanted Mary Higgins and the parson to think was that she was acting as a wedge between them and the children.

  “Someday…I might come back.” She held on to both of them. “We shall not give them reason not to want me. Now let’s go down and look at the shells on the shore.”

  An hour later, Portia stood on the bluffs and tried to smile bravely as the two angels were led down the slope. When they disappeared into the trees beyond the Point, she sat down on the cliff’s edge and finally allowed herself to cry.

  Everything appeared to be moving in the right direction, and yet she felt that nothing in her world was right. People that she loved were being taken from her. She had independence, but fear had dug a deep hole beside it, and she questioned her own decisions. Her confidence was stealing away, and with good reason. If she made a wrong step, no longer did she have soft ground to land on. Every mistake meant a bruise, and quite possibly a severe one. She had no security left in her life. And worst of all, she was alone.

  What was left of the afternoon was slipping away, and finally she stood up and brushed the sand from her clothes.

  Portia picked up the spyglass, looked once more at the harbor, and turned her steps down the slope. In the best of times, and with not much nudging, the ups and downs in her moods and emotions were always extreme. Now she had no one like Mary to remind her of this fault, but Portia somehow forced herself out of the melancholy as she reached the path through the woods. She needed to focus on the good things that might lie ahead.

  Captain Turner had promised an answer, hopefully today. This meant that she might possibly meet with Helena again this week. The thought of the officer arriving at the apothecary shop quickened her pace, and soon she was hurrying along the narrow, winding streets of Boston. It took her half an hour to reach School Street. Mrs. Crease was standing by a window of the house next door, holding one of her cats in her arms and gossiping with the neighbor as Portia came by.

  “I am glad you are here finally, Miss Edwards. Some time ago—it could have been an hour, I’m afraid—a gentleman called, looking for you. He gave me no card. When I did not find you in your room, I asked him to wait in the sitting room up the stairs.” The old woman touched her arm apologetically as Portia petted the large gray cat and stepped in. “I fear I know not if he is still there.”

  “Thank you,” Portia said politely. “I shall go up and see straightaway.”

  “I hope the gentleman was not offended,” Mrs. Crease called up the stairs after Portia. “Please pass on my apologies for leaving him so long. A very nice gentleman. Please send my regards if he is still there.”

  Portia gave her a friendly wave as she turned the corner on the stairs. She knew of only one man who could affect women, even those as old as Mrs. Crease, like this.

  “Mr. Pennington,” she said pleasantly, walking into the sitting room off the narrow corridor at the top of the stairs.

  “Miss Edwards.” Pierce came up to his feet.

  He was dressed in buff colored buckskin breeches, high boots, and a short coat—very much looking like a gentleman coming back from ride in the country and not the business man of the yesterday. Or the wharf worker of last night. The first thing that crossed Portia’s mind was that Pierce Pennington had no right to look so well in everything that he wore, all the time.

  “You’ve been taking some fresh air, I see.”

  Portia immediately placed the spyglass on the nearest table and tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. She could only imagine how terrible she must look. Upon receiving Clara’s message first thing this morning, she had hurried out with little regard to her clothes or her hair.

  “Yes. I was meeting a friend at Wind Mill Point.”

  “A romantic liaison?”

  Portia couldn’t hold back a smile as she remembered Ann pressuring Walter. “Actually, I did come close to receiving a proposal of marriage. But my eight-year-old friend could not convince her ten-year-old brotherto commit. So it was a day lost, after all.”

  “Foolish lad. He needs a good talking to about the rewards of wooing older women, especially when they are as beautiful as you, Miss Edwards.”

  This time Portia did blush, surprised by the gentle caress of his gaze that seemed to leave not an inch of her untouched.

  “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Mr. Pennington?”

  “I thought I owed you an apology about last night…and an explanation.”

  “No apology on your part is necessary, sir. I was very much at fault for running into you in that alley.” She said politely. “But as far as the reason why you were there, I have no—”

  “Miss Edwards?”

  Portia froze at the sound of the man’s voice at the bottom of stairs. Captain Turner. Panic washed down her spine like March rain.

  “Are you up there, Miss Edwards?”

  He was coming up the stairs, and Portia had no doubt this would be where Mrs. Crease would send him if he had stopped to ask for her.

  “I cannot believe this,” she muttered under her breath. “You must help me, Mr. Pennington. Please…no questions. But I need to find a place to hide you.”

  Portia knew her only hope of securing a position at Admiral Middleton’s house lay with the officer who was coming to call on her, and she also knew how he felt about Pennington. If he found her here with the Scot, she would never get to see her mother again.

  Frantically, she looked around her at the small room. There were no other way out. No closet or dresser large enough to hide his body, even if she cut him up and quartered him. And if he were to go out the door, Turner would surely hear him or see him.

  She ran toward the window and pushed them open, looking down the side of the building. “This way.”

  “I should like to help,” he whispered. “But I am not jumping out of any second story window.”

  “Well, do something. Please make yourself disappear,” she begged him. “’Tis critical that he not find you here. I will be forever indebted to you.”

  Turner called from the top of the stairs. She ran back to the door hoping to divert the officer before he reached it. He arrived there at the same time.

  “Miss Edwards, how delightful to see you.” He bowed.

  She gave a small curtsy but refused to move away from the doorway. Her mind raced with other possibilities of rooms on this floor where she could take the officer. But unfortunately, Mrs. Crease only had
the opportunity yesterday to show Portia this sitting room and the available bedchamber.

  “I am very sorry to intrude on your time, my pet, as you seem already to have had a very busy day. I introduced myself to Mrs. Crease, your landlady, who mentioned that you had another gentleman caller not too long ago.”

  “So I understand,” she replied hurriedly. “I just got back from a long walk…just moments ago. ‘Tis a lovely day, Captain. Perhaps you’d like to take a walk?”

  “Do you know who the gentleman was?”

  “It could have been anyone, I suppose. Perhaps Parson Higgins thought to drop over, as I did not have a chance to speak to him yesterday before I left. Or perhaps old Josiah found something I had left behind.” Portia stepped away from the door, extending a hand toward the steps, hoping to entice him outside. “I have not gone to my room yet to see what was dropped off. But, now that I think of it, I am sure it must have been Josiah calling on me. He dresses very well and is often thought to be a gentleman. Did I mention what a lovely day it is outside?”

  “Indeed you did, my pet. But I have very important duties to accomplish, and I cannot take any time for leisure activities today.” He moved past her into the sitting room.

  Portia cursed silently and followed him in. Pierce was no where to be seen.

  Turner turned and looked at her. “Even so, I have some excellent news for you, my dear.”

  He was not gone. He was standing behind a panel of heavy drapes that covered some storage shelves set into a shallow niche in the far corner. She was horrified to see the tips of his black boots protruding about a mile into the room.

  “Your duties are too important for you to be dallying with trivial matters such as mine, Captain. Perhaps you should go. In fact, ‘tis better if you did go. I could never forgive myself to stand in the way of the King’s business. Please, I insist.”

  “My gallant pet.” He spared her a gentle smile. “Are you not curious at all to hear the news?”

  “Absolutely.” The drapery moved. “But you should sit down.”

  He started for a chair facing the corner.

  “No!” she cried out, containing herself immediately. “Not that one. I was told that chair belonged to…to Dr. Crease’s father, Dr. Crease the Elder. The family frowns on anyone sitting in it.” She guided him to a chair facing the door instead.

  Turner obeyed her instructions and sat down with his back to the large lump behind the drapery.

  Portia sat down across from him.

  “Did you not just say the family opposes anyone sitting in that chair?” the officer asked.

  Portia realized what she had done. “Did I not say ‘men’? They don’t like men sit here. But Dr. Crease the Elder was quite fond of women, I understand. ‘Tis perfectly acceptable with the family for me to sit here.”

  Turner looked at her as if she had grown a second head. This was fine with Portia, though.

  “You mentioned some good news, Captain?”

  “Indeed.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I had a very successful meeting with Admiral Middleton this morning.”

  The man behind the curtain must have moved, for the drapery followed suit. She tried not to look and instead stared at th officer’s long nose.

  “First of all, Miss Edwards, I must congratulate you on your astuteness in learning of the position. Admiral Middleton was absolutely unaware that his daughter had expressed such an interest. After some questioning of the household staff, however, your information was verified.”

  One of Mrs. Crease’s cats, a yellow striped thing, dashed into the room, and Portia reached down quickly and grabbed it. She knew the woman kept the two cats to keep down the mouse population, and she placed the animal on her lap.

  “The Admiral was most impressed with the fact that you, with your limited connections and means, were able to hear this before his own household had informed him of it.”

  The large gray cat that Mrs. Crease had been holding on the street now appeared, as well. When Portia tried to reach for it, however, the first one darted off her lap and ran toward the window. She cringed as both of them headed toward Pierce’s hiding place.

  “Incidentally, Miss Edwards, you never mentioned who ‘twas you learned of the position from?”

  Portia wanted to kick herself for not preparing an answer to this question. Her mind was too distracted to think of one now. One of the cats meowed loudly and playfully batted at Pierce’s boot. The other stood up on its back legs and clawed at something behind the curtain. Portia closed her eyes. A moment later, the cat skidded across the floor into the center of the room. Delighted, the playful animal rushed back, swatting at Captain Turner’s boot as it went by. The officer started to turn, but Portia stood up quickly.

  “Is it not too warm in here?”

  “Actually, ‘tis quite pleasant.”

  “You are too courteous, Captain. But these animals are far too restless. I really think they need to be outside. Don’t you agree?”

  “My men are waiting on the street. I would much rather spend my time with you, my pet.”

  All the more reason for haste, Portia thought. Snatching one of the cats off the floor, she came to him.

  “Well, I am not really too fond of—”

  She deposited the animal into Turner’s lap. She picked up the other one who was at that moment trying to climb Pierce’s boot. As she did, Portia caught a glimpse of his face and she was alarmed by the coldness that she saw there. She backed away from the drapery and started for the door.

  “Thank you for your assistance with these creatures.” She smiled at the officer, who reluctantly stood up. “You still haven’t told me when I can start at the Admiral’s house, Captain.”

  Turner held the discontented animal at arm’s length and started across the room. “After I mentioned how eager you were about the position, Admiral Middleton decided that you can start as early as the day after tomorrow, if that suits you.”

  “It does indeed.” Portia waited at the door until the officer had joined her and then started for the stairs. “I feel as if I have been waiting a lifetime for this opportunity.”

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  CHAPTER 12

  Nathaniel’s connections were indeed impressive, and Pierce had been pleased with what his friend had been able to gather in the span of a few hours about Portia Edwards.

  His partner’s inquiries supported her claim to have been raised at Wrexham in Wales. Her parentage was questionable, but because the school she had attended was funded by Lady Primrose, a suspected supporter of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the exiled Stewarts, Nathaniel believed that Portia’s father had probably been a Jacobite. From the time the young woman joined the Higgins family at the age of sixteen until their arrival in the colonies last fall, there was nothing of any significance that Nathaniel had learned. In the period since, though, he had learned the names of Portia’s few friends, and even how she had become acquainted with Captain Turner.

  Based on the information Nathaniel had turned up, Pierce’s assessment was that Portia was harmless, and this settled whatever concern he still had about running into her last night. Still though, he felt there was definitely a need for some kind of explanation and a closure to the incident. And that was the reason for this visit. He resented, however, being forced to hide like some delivery boy caught in the queen’s bedchamber.

  From the second story window, Pierce spied Portia talking cheerfully with the pompous redcoat before sending him on his merry way. As he left, she was approached by Mrs. Crease and another woman, who took her by the arm and led her toward the door to the apothecary shop itself. Nothing more happened for ten minutes, and Pierce found his mood growing more sour by the minute.

  If she intended this as a snub, thinking that he would simply go away, she was mistaken. He was not going anywhere until they had their little talk. He was indeed insulted, though.

  The gray cat returned shortly after Portia and the two older women disappe
ared. Intelligent creature that it was, however, the cat sensed danger and maintained a respectable distance from Pierce as he impatiently paced the length of the small room.

  Pierce did not know what might have delayed the woman. He didn’t want to think about it. Finally, he heard Portia on the stairs. He ceased his pacing and stared intently at the door.

  “Mr. Pennington,” she said with surprise, stepping into the room.

  “Miss Edwards,” he said sternly.

  “You are still here.”

  “My apologies, miss. You did not inform me that I was dismissed.”

  “’Tis I who must apologize. I meant no disrespect in leaving you here…or any of it.” A deep blush crept into her cheeks. “You were wonderful to keep your presence a secret from Captain Turner. And then Mrs. Crease detained me with questions about the new position.” She bit her lip and then the prettiest of smiles broke out on her face. “Is it not wonderful, Mr. Pennington?”

  “What is wonderful?” he asked grudgingly, finding himself not totally unaffected by her charm.

  chareight="0" width="29"> “About the position. Did you not hear?”

  “I only heard some veiled discussions about delivering information to Admiral Middleton,” Pierce growled. “It sounded to me as if you have accepted a position as a spy for the British military establishment here in Boston.”

  “Oh, no! You could not be further from the truth,” Portia blurted, momentarily upset. “This has nothing to do with politics. Yes, I have the opportunity of employment in Admiral’s household, but as a French tutor and a companion to his daughter.”

  “Your alleged mother.”

  “Not alleged. She is my true relation.” Portia let out a satisfied breath and came toward him. The excitement of it all was clear from the smile on her face. “We finally met yesterday morning and, though the time was brief, we had an opportunity to talk. All my hopes were realized. Helena does not suffer from any infirmity of the mind, as far as I can tell. With the exception of losing her sight, there appears to be nothing physically or mentally wrong with her. Still though, she is held like a prisoner inside those mansion walls. There was so much that we wanted to say, but there was little time. Her servants were coming back. Helena was the one who planned this thing…of asking for someone who spoke French fluently and—”