01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  “There must be some grave trouble there for the Admiral to spare an officer as trusted and valuable as yourself. The matter must be very important indeed, or he certainly would surely have sent a junior officer.”

  Turner’s chest stuck out, and he nodded at her approvingly. “You are correct, my dear. I would not be boasting to say that he is sending me to be sure that the situation is handled properly.”

  “But what can be so important?” she asked, trying to sound as awestruck as she could manage.

  “Well...” The man looked out the window of the carriage. They were almost to the gates of the mansion. “This information is highly privileged, so you mustn’t breath any of this to a soul.”

  “Of course not,” she whispered.

  “We have intercepted some messages circulating in Boston pertaining to some trouble that is brewing in Rhode Island. We know that the villainous jackal they call Captain MacHeath has a hand in it. And we believe his aim is to disrupt the work of our revenue ships there in the Narragansett Bay.”

  “You believe something is going to happen today?”

  “That is what our information leads us to believe.” He waved to the guards at the gate, and the carriage rolled through. “But we are prepared for them. We have been working to force their hand. If we capture MacHeath in our snares, all the better.”

  “That is so clever of you,” she said, with enthusiasm. “Why wait when you can take the fight to their door. Put them on the defensive and capture a ringleader at the same time. But how would you do that?”

  The carriage stopped by a side entrance, but Portia showed no interest to getting down. Instead, she stared expectantly at the officer.

  “We have been harassing the rogues regularly for some time now. We spread the rumor, however, that starting today every ship entering Narragansett Bay will be seized. All cargo will be sent to Boston if there is even the slightest irregularity—and there will indeed be irregularities—and the ship’s masters and owners will be jailed until they can be tried.”

  “You will do that even if everything on the ship is as it should be?” Portia asked, unable to hold back her surprise at the unfairness of the threat.

  “We must, I’m afraid. These Rhode Islanders are rogues and rascals. We are putting pressure on them all to flush out the worst. The best way to teach the thieves anything,” he said passionately, “is to disrupt their commerce, interrupt their trade. And when we catch MacHeath, we shall hang him in Newport and drag his body back to Boston. That shall be a lesson for these dogs.”

  She drew in a deep breath. She was going away tonight, now her concern for Pierce was threatening to upset everything. What if he was indeed MacHeath? Tears once again welled up in her eyes, and Portia had to blink them away. There was no purpose in learning any more about him, she reminded herself. The less she knew the better. Besides, he could take care of himself. Still, though, Portia wanted to be sure.

  “I still do not see your role in this, Captain. Why must Admiral Middleton deprive Boston of your presence? Does Rhode Island have no one of authority capable of handling this situation?”

  “I must go because the officers commanding the vessels in the Narragansett Bay do not report to the colonial governor in Newport but to the Crown authority here in Boston. The decision was made to send a ranking officer to take command of the situation, should MacHeath act tonight, as we think he will.”

  She was going to Bristol, Portia told herself, not Newport. It was unlikely that her path and Turner’s would cross tonight.

  “And you said you will be leaving for Newport this morning?” she asked.

  “I do not recall mentioning any particular time.” He climbed out of the carriage and turned to assist her.

  Portia quickly scrambled out herself. She guessed her pail had scraped the bottom of the well with regard to getting any more information out of the officer.

  “Have a safe journey, Captain,” she said, quickly backing toward the house.

  “I shall make arrangements for someone to escort you here tomorrow morning.”

  Portia was tempted to tell him there was no need. Instead though, she gave him an amiable wave and went inside.

  Let him think what he wished. She wanted Turner to go away with his conscience at ease.

  ****

  Mary had thought she’d left her house early enough to catch Portia before she left for the North End, but Mrs. Crease told her otherwise.

  “We’re finding that Miss Edwards is an early riser, ma’am,” the older woman said. “Both today and yesterday, she was up and gone before Dr. Crease and I were even up. And that’s saying something.”

  Mary considered coming back tonight, but for the basket of peace offerings she’d put together. A loaf of fresh bread, a bottle of Portia’s favorite jam, a cross-stitched handkerchief Mary had finished working on last week, a small framed silhouette of Ann and Walter. They were just a few things, but Mary wanted to shed the feeling of guilt she’d been carrying since last night.

  Mary could not recall ever being more wrong about a person. Hearing Turner’s opinions had been appalling. Thinking that she had slyly encouraged the officer to spend time with Portia without the young woman’s knowledge was almost unforgivable. She needed to find a way to gently approach Portia about the matter. She needed to explain her blunder to her friend and perhaps, with her help, find a way of putting an end to the officer’s attentions.

  “Since I am here, may I leave this basket in Miss Edwards’ room?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Higgins,” the landlady said good-naturedly. “You know the way, I believe?”

  Moments later, Mary pushed open Portia’s door. Inside, however, she looked about in confusion. All of Portia’s belongings had been neatly packed and her small trunk was sitting on the floor beside the bed. All of the small mementos she had previously displayed has been packed away as well, and the room had been thoroughly cleaned.

  Mary thought back over last night. Portia had said nothing about moving again. But she remembered that the young woman had not had much chance to say anything, thanks to Captain Turner.

  Certainly, it would be understandable if Portia were offered a room at Admiral Middleton’s. There was also the possibility that she had found a living arrangement closer to the North End. Mary placed her basket on the small writing table. That was when she spotted the sealed letter, addressed to herself.

  Without hesitation, she broke it open.

  Dearest Friend,

  By the time you receive this letter, I will have begun the first leg of my journey back to Wales, where—as I mentioned to you before—I intend to petition the good Lady Primrose for aid and a position. My friend, I thank you for all the kindness you and Parson Higgins have shown me over the years. I am so very grateful for your gift in allowing me to be part of your beautiful children’s lives.

  Mary looked up from the letter at Portia’s trunk. She could not have left yet. She hurriedly read through the young woman’s request that Mary make her apologies and pass on her gratitude to Dr. and Mrs. Crease, and to say goodbye for her to Bella, and to Josiah and Clara. She again paused before scanning the rest of the letter. Nowhere did Portia say that she was taking Helena with her. But was she? She also didn’t say on what ship she was departing. If she were going alone, though, then what was the reason for all the secrecy? Unless…she did have company.

  She read the last lines.

  If anyone else whom I failed to mention speaks of me, remember me to them. No one knew I was leaving, and I have failed to leave myself enough time to write to each one of them. Please hug the little ones at home. Tell them I will always love them. Farewell, my dearest friend.

  Mary held the letter against her chest and remembered the urgent message that had reached Portia at their house last night. She could still remember Turner’s attempted interference and how upset Portia had become.

  She was doing it, Mary thought sadly. The reality of it struck her like a January wind. Por
tia was leaving, and they might never see her again. And for days or months or years to come, Mary would live in regret over a few unpleasant moments, for not meeting her one last time and putting their difficulties behind them. Mary wanted for both of them to cherish only their eight years of joy. She wanted Portia to remember the family who thought of her as one of their own.

  She hurried to the door. Perhaps there was still time to see her…one last time.

  ****

  They were not as strict at keeping watch over Helena today, and Portia knew why. Her mother, heavily sedated, drifted in and out of consciousness.

  Still, Portia was allowed into the bedchamber. She sat by her mother’s bedside and pretended to be content in reading a book to her in French, as two serving women chatted continuously by the window.

  Helena’s eyes occasionally opened, but they didn’t seem to able to focus. She was floating somewhere, suspended in a land of dreams. Her occasional descent into reality lasted only a few seconds. She was aware of Portia’s presence, though, for whenever the young woman stopped reading, she moved around in her bed. So she continued to read, satisfied and relieved that there was some level of awareness there, hopeful that perhaps there would be a chance to draw Helena out of this stupor before all was lost.

  About nine o’clock in the morning, Portia was asked to step out as the Admiral’s physician paid his visit. As he left, she slipped back into the room and watched as Mrs. Green prepared more of the medication that was to be given to her charge.

  “I’d be happy to give it to her,” Portia offered as soon as the housekeeper stepped out.

  The young serving woman who had been assigned the task looked at her askance, but seemed less doubtful when Portia told her how she had done this many times for those sick in Parson Higgins’s congregation. When she told her that she live above the apothecary shop of Dr. Crease the Younger and even made deliveries for him, the girl happily turned the duty over her and went back to chatting with her fellow worker by the window. Portia fetched a spoon and over the next hour made a great show of giving the medicine to Helena.

  Never once did the drug touch Helena’s lips. Each time Portia tended to her, she carefully poured the spoonful onto a linen cloth that was kept by the bedside.

  Her mother’s recovery from the drugs was slow though. Portia knew that neither of the two attendants spoke French, so as she read she altered the words on the page. In a low voice, she told hother of the open sea and the ship that waited to take them to a place where they would be together. She told her how she needed Helena’s help to break out of these prison walls. She also told her that they needed to act today.

  Mrs. Green returned around midday to check on everything and Portia looked on nervously. Luckily, Helena’s restlessness disappeared for the few moments that the housekeeper was looking closely on her. Portia began to hope that her mother had begun to comprehend what she had been saying.

  “I believe the reading is keeping her quiet, ma’am,” she said to the older woman.

  Mrs. Green grunted. “More likely, ‘tis the medication.”

  “Still, I’m grateful that you allow me to read to her.”

  “That’s what you’ve been brought here to do, young woman, and you shall earn your keep.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Portia replied, trying to sound dutifully submissive.

  “Still, I expect Miss Middlefield to sleep for the rest of the day,” Mrs. Green told Portia at the end of her inspection. “You can help yourself to some fish ragout and bread from the kitchen before you go on your way.”

  “Would you mind if I were to stay until this afternoon, ma’am? Captain Turner went to trouble of arranging a ride home for me before he left for the day. I should hate to disappoint him.”

  “Suit yourself. But do not expect to be fed supper, as well.”

  With a curtsy, Portia returned to her seat by the bed and listened to the instructions to the two young serving women. Apparently, the housekeeper had other duties for them to perform in the afternoon. Her hopes soared when she heard that they would not be watching over their mistress the entire time, either.

  “Whoever is the last to leave this room is to lock the door from the outside. Is that clear?”

  “Aye, mum,” the two attendants said in unison.

  The housekeeper had just finished issuing her instructions when a young servant came up to the room in search of Portia.

  “One of the gatekeepers walked up to say that there is a Mrs. Higgins waiting there to see you, miss. She says ‘tis urgent.”

  Portia’s heart sank, thinking that Mary would only come all the way to the North End if something were wrong with the children. No, she would have sent Clara or Josiah. Something else had happened. There was only one way to find out. Portia quickly tucked the book under her arm and started for the door.

  “Who is this Mrs. Higgins?”

  At the housekeeper’s question, Portia paused by the door. “Mrs. Higgins the wife of Parson William Higgins, whose church is on Sudbury Street. Both she and her husband are the most generous of souls. I have been a member of their family for eight years…before I joined the Admiral’s household here. Mrs. Higgins is a dear friend. I was not feeling too well last night, and I can only think that she has walked all the way here to see if I am better.”

  The thin housekeeper sd suspiciously at Portia for a moment before turning to the servant who had brought the news. “Tell the gatekeeper to allow her to come to the house.” She turned to Portia. “Mrs. Higgins may join you for something to eat, if she so wishes.”

  “That is very kind and generous of you, Mrs. Green,” Portia responded. With another curtsy, she followed the young servant downstairs and waited until the housekeeper’s message had been relayed to the guard.

  Portia walked down the drive to meet Mary as her friend hurriedly approached the house on foot.

  “I am so glad to have found you before you left.”

  There was no longer any need to ask. She knew what had brought Mary here.

  “You should not have gone through my things, and you should not have read the letter,” Portia scolded gently.

  “But ‘twas addressed to me. How could I not read it?”

  She took Mary’s hand and took her onto a path that led to the garden, away from prying eyes and ears. “You asked me to keep your family out of my plans, Mary. That is what I have been trying to do. So I want you to please pretend that you did not see it, did not read it. I want you to pretend that you know nothing about any of it.”

  Mary tugged on Portia’s hand and turned her around. “Then ‘tis true? You are going?”

  Portia looked about her cautiously first. There was no one around. “Yes…I am,” she finally admitted, unable to stop her voice from breaking slightly. Excitement, sadness—so many emotions—all knotted together and lodged in her throat.

  “When?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Please,” Mary pressed. “I do.”

  Portia shook her head and moved along the garden path. Her friend followed.

  “You are not going to tell me,” Mary said with feeling. “After all the years we’ve known each other, you do not trust me with the truth. You think I have no right to know? Or that I do not deserve a proper goodbye? How could you think that the children have no desire to see you one last time? Or that William does not need to send you off with some sage advice? You might have already forgotten about all of us, but you are quite important to us, Miss Edwards. And—”

  “No more, Mary,” Portia pleaded, finally turning to her friend. She was fighting to keep the tears back. “I beg of you, please do not make this harder than ‘tis.”

  “I am not trying to,” she said, staring solemnly at the tears that finally escaped. She gathered Portia’s hands in her own. “I am just worried about you. I do not want to see any hardship befall you.”

  “All is well. Everything is in hand. The only trouble I can get into now is if my plans were to
be known to…to people who could ruin everything.”

  “Such as Captain Turner.”

  Portia nodded. “I know you meant well. He told me that you asked him to look after me. But the whole thing was a mistake. He—”

  “I know. I know.” Mary looked down at their joined hands, her face flushed red with embarrassment. “That is why I came to your room today, to apologize for inviting him last night. Imagine that I thought he might be a proper suitor for you! I spent half the night cursing myself for my poor judgment. I had no idea how disgusting a man he really is. I was hoping that, between us, we could devise a way off ridding you of him.”

  Portia shook her head. “None of that matters now. He was leaving for Rhode Island today. Before he returns, I shall be gone.”

  “You are leaving today?”

  As two workers carrying rakes and hoes entered the garden, Portia grabbed Mary by the arm and steered her toward a bench at the farthest end from the house. “I cannot have anyone hear about this.”

  “So you are not going alone,” Mary asserted as soon as they sat down together. The gardeners went to work on two flowerbeds well out of earshot. “But have you thought through all the details? Have you secured a passage across? How are you going to take—”

  “Do not ask these things,” Portia ordered. “You and William cannot afford to know. When this whole thing is made known, I shall be gone, but you cannot avoid being questioned about it. I want you to be as unaware of my actions as…as any stranger walking down the street.”

  Mary took Portia’s hand in hers once again. “I promise to act unaware. I am actually quite excellent at looking shocked, too. And betrayed. And whatever else the moment dictates. You forget, I am a parson’s wife.”

  Portia stared at her friend. “You cannot mean what you are saying. I am trying to learn from my recent mistakes, Mary. I have not forgotten the scandal that nearly ruined your family. William’s career was seriously damaged once. I cannot allow you to—”