by Gayle Callen
“Actually, I’m not. I’m still with the army. But no one can know who I really am.”
“But—”
“There’s so much to tell, Frances. Why don’t you sit down?”
He waited as she sat in a wingback chair near the window. She let go of him reluctantly, as if he might disappear.
“Julia Reed is in trouble,” he said.
“I know,” she answered in a solemn voice. “General Reed sent word when she was arrested, in case newspapermen visited us.”
Sam felt tense just hearing that name. “Have any?”
“No, but General Reed assured me that the government was trying to keep everything as quiet as possible. But a constable was here asking questions, and he said he might return with more.”
“Did he specify when?”
“No.”
Damn, another thing to be worried about. “Did Lewis say he was leaving London?”
Her brows lowered. “I’m not sure that’s any of your concern, Sam.”
“I’ve made it my concern,” he said tersely. “Is Lewis coming here?”
“No,” she finally said, watching him too closely. “He has business in London. Sam, you need to explain yourself, and what all these questions have to do with Miss Reed.”
He held up a hand. “Now, don’t be upset.” Opening the curtains, he whispered out the window, “It’s all right.”
Julia stood up, gave him a reassuring smile, then accepted his help climbing into the room. When he brought her into the light, Frances stared, but there was no sign of recognition on her face. Julia only looked silly in his baggy garments. Frances glanced at him in confusion.
“Frances, this is Julia Reed.”
His sister’s eyes went wide for only a moment, and then she looked troubled. “M-miss Reed, we were told you were in jail.”
“I was,” she said softly. “But he had something else in mind.”
Frances’s lightning gaze landed on him. “Samuel Sherryngton, what have you done?” she demanded in a hoarse voice.
He was grateful when Julia remained silent. “I was one of the officers who tracked down evidence that branded Julia a traitor. Then I discovered we were wrong. I couldn’t let her wait in jail while I proved the truth. They were going to behead her.”
“So you took her from jail!” Frances cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth and sank back into her chair, her face a pasty white.
“What choice did I have? The real traitor made it appear that I’d killed a witness who would have testified against Julia.”
“You’re wanted for”—Frances lowered her voice—“murder?”
He nodded. The silence was tense, uncomfortable, but he had anticipated Frances’s reaction. Now he could only hope he’d been right about her response.
“Why would you bring her here?” his sister whispered. “Surely her own home is the first place they would look for her.” Her shocked gaze kept darting to Julia.
He sat down opposite Frances and took her clammy hands in his. “No. They wouldn’t assume a criminal would be stupid enough to go home.”
“Well, you can’t hide her here—it is too dangerous!”
Julia sat down on the arm of his chair, her backside pressed into his arm. “I don’t want to hide, Frances, you must believe me. But I’m innocent. Sam thinks he has an idea who committed the treason.”
“But why here?” Frances asked desperately.
Sam grimly said, “Because I think Lewis Reed betrayed his country, and framed his sister for the deed.”
He hadn’t thought his sister’s face could get any whiter, but it did. When her eyelids fluttered, he said, “Julia, get her some water.” He patted her hands and murmured her name. The blow must be enormous, considering so much of his family’s financial soundness rested with Lewis.
Frances tried to protest, but when Julia found the water pitcher and brought her a glass, she gladly drank it.
Then she stared at the two of them with deadly earnestness. “Tell me everything.”
When he was finished laying out all the evidence against Julia, and now against Lewis, Frances was silent, her gaze distant with thought.
“So you see why we’re here,” he said gently. “I need to discover proof that Lewis is the traitor.”
Julia sighed. “And I still hope he’s innocent. Will you help us?”
Frances shook herself back to awareness. “What do you need me to do?”
He let out a breath in relief. “Let us stay here, masquerading as constables, while we search for evidence against the true traitor.”
“You can’t possibly fool our family about who you are!” Frances said.
“You said yourself that you didn’t recognize me. I’ve been gone fourteen years.”
“But Henry—”
Sam raised a hand. “I probably can’t keep the secret from him, so if necessary, I’ll tell him. But no one else.”
“What about Lucy?”
Their youngest sister? “I was going to ask you about her and George.”
“George is away working on railroad construction up in Scotland. But Lucy is here, living in this very house! She’s been learning a maid’s trade for the last year. She hadn’t found anyone she would marry, so she wanted to support herself.”
“Relax, Frances,” he said. “She won’t remember me. She was six years old when I left.”
“But she’ll certainly keep me on my toes,” Frances countered. “I’ll have to be even more careful not to speak familiarly with you.”
“I’m a police officer. I can talk to you as much as I need to.”
Frances sighed in defeat. “How will we begin this charade?”
“Tomorrow Julia and I will show up at the front door and ask permission to remain and look for evidence. Of course, you won’t be able to refuse. Give us rooms, some of the adjoining ones.”
“Adjoining!” Julia said, getting to her feet and moving away from him. “That can’t be necessary.”
“You think I trust that you won’t get yourself into trouble trying to prove me wrong about Lewis?” He looked back at Frances. “Adjoining rooms. So we constables can work without disturbing the rest of the household.”
A frown never left Frances’s face as she seemed to be committing everything to memory. “What will you do then?”
“Look for clues. We’ll have to search Lewis’s bedroom, of course.”
“You can’t mean that,” Frances said worriedly.
Sam tensed. “Why not?”
“He is my employer, and this is his household. I’m already betraying my loyalty. Is there no other way?”
“Eventually I’ll have no choice.”
“Only if everything else has failed,” his sister pleaded. “If he’s innocent, I’ll never be able to forgive myself for violating his privacy. And how would it seem to the other servants, who look to me to keep order? And surely Jenkins, the butler, would tell General Reed. That man is a great snoop.”
Sam didn’t say anything more about Lewis’s bedroom, knowing that he’d search it without telling her, if necessary.
“Can’t you…talk to people?” Frances asked.
“We will. Are there any servants still around from when I used to work in the garden?”
She frowned and considered. “There’s old Tom in the stables. He’s been grooming the horses for thirty years.”
“I remember him.”
“So do I,” Julia added dourly. “He never allowed me to ride Papa’s stallion. Said it was not ladylike. I kept away from him as much as possible.”
“Then that will be at least one person who won’t recognize you,” Frances said. “And then there’s Mrs. Bonham, the cook.”
“The cook?” Sam said. “Wasn’t she a kitchen maid before?”
“She’s been promoted. She won’t be happy you’re here. She’ll have to serve a meal in the dining room, instead of just the servants’ hall.”
“We don’t want to arouse suspicions,” Jul
ia said. “Maybe we should just eat with the servants.”
“No,” Frances said. “You’re guests. General Reed wouldn’t like it if you weren’t treated well.”
Sam arched an eyebrow sarcastically.
Frances ignored him. “Mrs. Bonham is crafty, and has such a good memory that she’s even recognized cows sold off the estate years before. You’ll do well to stay away.” She smothered a yawn.
Sam got to his feet. “We should let you sleep. I only have one more request of you. Julia needs a young man’s clothing.”
With a discerning eye, Frances looked Julia up and down. “We have livery garments, but you wouldn’t want to match the servants. There are trunks of General Reed’s clothing from his youth stored in the attic. You both wait here—and make no noise!”
She lit another candle, then picked it up and swept from the room.
When Julia covered her face with her hands, Sam was surprised to see that she was trembling.
“I hate to do this to her,” she whispered. “What if she’s caught?”
He listened at the door and was satisfied with the silence. “It would be easier for her rather than us to find an explanation for roaming the house at night.”
When Frances returned, she carried a worn portmanteau stuffed full, which she proceeded to dump onto her bed. “I hope something in here fits you.” She pulled Julia to her side and began to hold up various trousers to Julia’s waist. “I even found two pairs of serviceable boots.”
Julia blinked repeatedly. “You are too good to me, Frances. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay your kindness.”
Frances waved off her concern, but she seemed to be looking from Sam to Julia and back more than was necessary. He quickly glanced out between the closed curtains, while Julia busied herself laying out clothes. He didn’t know what Frances was thinking, but under her penetrating stare, he found himself remembering with guilt the kiss he’d given Julia under the guise of playacting.
When they’d finally assembled two pairs of trousers and drawers, three shirts, a checked waistcoat, a plain brown frock coat, and a soft hat with a floppy brim, Sam professed himself satisfied.
“One last thing before we leave,” he added, beginning to feel annoyed at Frances’s close examination. “I need a piece of white cloth a couple yards long, only a foot in width.”
His sister looked puzzled. “I’m sewing new shirts for the footmen. I have material in my sitting room.” When she returned and handed Sam the folded cloth, she asked, “What will you use this for?”
He watched Julia blush as he explained their need to hide her “womanly attributes.”
When they stood at the window, prepared to leave, Frances softly asked, “Where will you go for the night?”
“We spent last night out in the open,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’ll be fine.”
“But it’s begun to rain,” Frances said, opening the curtains.
Sam quickly blew out the candles, leaving them in darkness. The three stood silently looking out on the faint mist of a rain shower.
“There used to be an old gardener’s shed,” he said, “abandoned after Father built a larger one. Is it still here?”
His sister shrugged. “I never heard of one being destroyed.”
“Then we’ll go there. Up with you now, Julia.”
He boosted her onto the windowsill and she jumped out, landing softly. He followed her, and with a last wave for Frances, they set off across the garden.
The old gardener’s shed was partially hidden by a trellis affixed to it, and was overgrown with ivy, so that it seemed part of the plant rather than a building. Sam pulled vines aside, then pried open the door. Julia ducked beneath his arm to get inside, and he followed, smelling musty dampness and dirt. He pulled the door shut and they were alone in the darkness.
Chapter 9
Julia stood still while Sam dug in his saddlebags and found his matches and candle.
“Do you think the horses will be all right until morning?” she asked, as a flame flared to life.
His eyes reflected the light just above her. “They’re hobbled well off any trail. They’ll be fine for a few hours. It’ll be dawn soon enough.”
The small shed contained only two stools—one teetering on a broken leg—a dusty workbench, and several stacked wooden crates. She heard the steady drip from a leaky roof, but it must be in a corner, for she saw no wetness on the packed earth floor.
He went to the only window, which was covered by a shutter, and pushed it more securely in place. “We don’t want the light to show to anyone who happens to step outside for air.”
“At this time of night?”
“You never know. Now let’s get you out of those clothes.”
She understood his purpose, had even undressed in the same room as him before, but it didn’t stop the small shiver that moved through her. She turned her back to him, removed the coat, and slowly unbuttoned the shirt. The shed was so small that he was practically at her back, and her too-long trousers brushed his lower legs.
Angry with herself for feeling embarrassed and shy, she knew there was no place for such foolishness. “Can you turn your back?” she asked when her trousers started to sag.
“I already have.”
The shirt and trousers dropped to the floor and she kicked them aside. She had left her chemise on earlier in the day, so that Sam’s shirt wouldn’t leave her chest so transparent. Just as she held up one of the new shirts, Sam spoke.
“Wait. I have to show you how to cover your chest.”
“Not likely,” she scoffed, “considering I’ll be doing that over bare skin.”
“Leave your chemise on, and I’ll show you over that.”
“All right,” she said with reluctance.
They both turned to face each other. She noticed that he was careful not to look down her body, but when he held up the white cloth, she knew he’d soon not have a choice.
“Lift your arms,” he said softly.
When she did so, he reached on either side of her, pulling the cloth snuggly around her back.
“I’d rather not pin this in place,” he explained, “for fear of you feeling a prick at an inopportune moment.”
She nodded, keeping her gaze averted as he worked.
“As you wind the cloth,” he said, “spread the material down your torso, so it isn’t all bunched in one place.”
“That might make me look more womanly than I normally do.”
She raised her gaze to his, expecting laughter, but he was looking at her strangely as he tucked the material in at her back. Standing within the circle of his arms, she stared helplessly up into his face, wanting him to kiss her, wanting the comforting touch of him for all the wrong reasons: because she was scared and lost and so dependent on him. His eyes shone with a compassion he normally didn’t allow her to see. His lips were slightly parted, and when he glanced down at her mouth, she almost gave in to her desires and kissed him.
But she’d be using him.
She pulled away, and his arms fell to his sides. “Done?” she asked with false cheer.
He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Yes. Will you be able to repeat it?”
“Of course. And I’ll go to Frances if I need help,” she added pointedly.
A faint smile crossed his face, and then he turned his back. “Go ahead and change.”
For a moment, she let herself admire the width of his back, the muscles she’d pressed herself against more than once. It would take all her determination to resist her feelings for him.
Did he desire her as well? Oh, she’d aroused him once or twice, but they’d been close together in the most intimate fashion. It wasn’t her he was responding to, but a female body.
Wasn’t he?
She turned her back and quickly removed the binding and pulled off her chemise. Shivering in the dampness, she wound the cloth over her naked chest, and thought she’d done as good a job as he had. She exchanged her drawers for a ma
n’s pair, then added shirt, trousers, waistcoat, and coat to complete the ensemble. She was trying to tie her shirt collar into place when something occurred to her.
“Sam,” she said, turning around, “we forgot a cravat.”
He started to face her. “I have an extra—” He broke off and just stared at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking down at herself. “Did I put the clothes on incorrectly?”
“No…” Then with firmness he repeated, “No. I guess I just didn’t imagine you’d be able to look more like a young man than you had in Afghanistan.”
“Really?” she said, smiling with pleasure. “So you can’t see my chest?”
“No, the binding actually makes you look broader. It’s a good thing you’re a robust woman.”
“Robust?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Of—of course, I don’t mean anything bad by that,” he stammered. “It’s just lucky that you’re not petite like some women are.”
“Hmm.” She let him tie a black cravat into a bow at her neck. “I suggest you bring out the blankets so we can have at least a couple hours’ sleep.”
He looked relieved by the change of subject. “We’ll want to be out of here just before dawn.”
“Will you be able to wake up in time?”
He nodded. “Something I learned how to do in the army.”
So much of who he was, was wrapped up in the army. And now he’d jeopardized it all just for her. How would she repay him? How would she live with herself if she’d permanently damaged his reputation?
They lay down side by side, taking up all of the small floor. This time they didn’t touch, just tolerated the warmth their bodies gave to the shed. But their arms were so close that when she rolled over in the cramped space she brushed against him.
She couldn’t fall asleep. “Sam?” she whispered.
“What?”
She braced her head on her arm and looked out into darkness. “Was this shed in use when you worked here?”
“Only when I was young. Your father gave mine permission to have a new one built, nearer the main garden.”
“Then why didn’t anyone tear this down?”
“Probably used it for storage when necessary. It doesn’t seem as if my brother even remembers it’s here.”
