Her little brother glanced over his shoulder at her, stuck out his tongue, and let fly another volley of gravel. His intended target, the baker’s daughter, shrieked and ran for cover behind the water trough.
Kassie shook her fist. “I mean it, Mathew!”
Her brother scowled. “Make ‘er go home then. I don’t need no chuckle-headed girl pesterin’ me.”
She groaned and tried another tactic. “If you do not stop, I will tell mama and she will make you recite bible verses all day.”
William dropped his handful of stones and walked toward her, scuffing his worn boots through the dirt and bright fall leaves. He scowled at her with a ten-year-old’s pouty defiance.
“Why not go with Mama to the Smith’s? She could use some help carrying the basket of preserves.”
William shrugged and headed off around the back of the church to their cozy living quarters.
Kassie shook her head and turned to re-enter the church. A gig bounced down the road toward her. She held up her hand, shading her eyes from the sun to see who it was, and then groaned again when she recognized Penelope Stanhope’s conveyance. Her hope of retreating into her former life was fraught with the barbed tongue of the vexatious young woman.With a sigh she headed for the church. She had notes to make for her father’s sermon the next day. Her feet had touched the first step when the gig drew up at the hitching rail.
“Oh, yoo-hoo, Lady Everton.”
Kassie flinched but forced a smile to her lips as she turned around. “Good day, Miss Stanhope.”
The groom helped the flamboyant woman down from the coach, and then stood at the horse’s head. Penelope picked her way across to the steps as if afraid to get a spot of dirt on her pretty pink slippers that matched the sash on her white muslin gown and bonnet. “I so hoped to catch you at home.”
Kassie tried not to cringe at the woman’s phony sweet demeanor. “Yes, well, where else would I be?”
Penelope giggled and carried on as if Kassie had not asked such a sarcastic question. “Mama says I should host a soirée to celebrate my betrothal to Squire Cumberland.”
“What does your soirée have to do with me?” Kassie glanced at the maid seated in the gig. The girl twirled a lock of straw yellow hair around her finger with an air of extreme boredom as she waited for her mistress.
“Well, mama says it would be a social faux pas not to invite you to my affair. After all, you are a countess, albeit an impoverished one.”
There, barb number one. Kassie rolled her eyes at the maid who cracked the smallest smile in response. How many more veiled insults would she have to endure before Penelope went on her merry way? She turned back to Penelope and forced a tight smile to her lips. “Thank you for thinking of me, but I am afraid I must decline. Papa has not been well and he relies on me to help him these days.”
Penelope returned her smile with one of her own, but it did nothing to cover the ice in her gaze. “Really? I would have thought you would be spending most of your time praying these days.”
Barb number two. Kassie crossed her arms, the smile slipping from her lips. “Why is that?”
Penelope blushed and tossed her perfect chestnut curls, her eyes widening in pretend surprise. “Why surely you have heard the rumors going around. It is just scandalous. I, of course, do not listen to rumors or gossip.”
“Of course not, Penelope.” Barb number three. Kassie bit her tongue to keep from saying what she really thought of the rumors she ran away with a traitor to the English crown, and was later cast aside by said man after the earl left her penniless.
“Anyway,” the girl continued, “I thought it would be especially nice of me to come and deliver the invitation to you personally.” She held out a delicate scented envelope.
Kassie fought back the urge to tell Penelope how nice she thought the gesture was and took the envelope. “It was sweet of you to think of me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.” Turning on her heel she shoved the invitation into her skirt pocket, and hurried up the steps.
She walked up the aisle between the pews, the same one she walked down the day of her marriage to the earl. That day seems so far away. My whole life has changed. Her thoughts wandered to Lucca. How old would he be now if he were alive? Eight months? Would he be crawling, talking, or sitting up? She shook her head. There was no sense in thinking about what might have been. As she walked by the pulpit, she slowed, running her hand with loving care loving across its worn top. Papa will not deliver many more sermons from his mountaintop view of his flock. Everyday saw him weaker and more tired than the day before. A single tear trickled down her cheek. There was no money to look after her family when he was gone. The earl’s promise was as hollow as his heart.
Heavy-hearted she continued on to the little room behind the chapel. The desk and chair sat where they had been since she could remember, right next to the little window so the light would illuminate the ledgers. Once again, she pondered her future. It was the same, yet different than last time. Beth no longer shared her bed, gone and married to a young minister from Dover. She was always the pious one, kind and loving to a fault. God favored the good and punished the wanton, like her. Like the last time she wondered what her future held, she was alone.
Flipping open the ledger on the desk, she sat. She had years to make up for her sins. Her eyes wandered down the columns, adding up the tithes for the month. An hour later the books were tallied and in order. There was naught left to do but go over Papa’s notes for the morrow’s sermon.
“Kassandra?”
She paused and looked to the door where her mamma stood. “Yes, Mama?” Instinct told her something was wrong.
Her mother crossed the room and grasped her hand. Her fingers trembled, tears trickling down her face. “It is time,” she said in a soft strangled voice. “Your Papa is asking for you.”
Sorrow filled Kassie’s heart. She had hoped for more time with her dear Papa. On unsteady legs she rose and followed her mother. The others were there, the ones who still remained at home, her three younger brothers and two younger sisters. They watched her wide-eyed and solemn as she followed their mother to the bedchamber.
Her father lay still against the pillows. His eyes were closed, his face slack and soft, like he was at peace with life and death. As she approached the bedside, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. “My Kass,” he whispered, his voice a mere shell of its usual bluster when he gave the words of wisdom from the Bible every Sunday.
“Papa.” Her voice broke. Tears filled her eyes, and she struggled to keep them in check.
He squeezed her hand in his frail one with a grip still commanding strength. “Do not cry for me, Kass, for I am ready to go and meet our Lord. He holds a special place for me in his lofty kingdom.”
She nodded, not sure what to say and afraid if she did talk she would break down.
“You have been a good and dutiful daughter. I failed you, and for that I am sorry.”
“Nay, Papa. It is I who failed you.”
“No, I delivered you into evil as a sacrifice for the rest, and I shall have to answer to God. Tell me you forgive me before I die.”
Sobs rent her body and she nodded, unable to speak.
Her Papa closed his eyes, gave one last sigh, and then slipped away into the forever after of passing.
* * * *
Kassie went through the days with quiet conviction. She ate when she had to, slept when her mind and body were too tired to do anything else, and mourned at her Papa’s graveside like the rest of her family and friends. When word came of her father’s replacement, she closed herself in the little study behind the chapel and cried.
Her mother found her there. “Kassie, do not cry so for this old house. It is only a place where one bids their time until the Lord calls them home.” She wrapped her arms around her, holding her close.
“I will miss the little things that remind me of Papa and quiet solitude of this place. Where will we go? What will we d
o?” Kassie sniffled.
“The new clergyman will not be here for a few more sunsets. When he comes, we will go to the little cottage that was given to us in Dover.”
“What cottage?”
Her mother smiled and patted her shoulder. “A man named Bernard came a few months ago. He said he owed you something for the suffering he caused. He would not tell me what or why, but he gave me the deed to the cottage and a large enough piece of land to grow what we need to survive.”
Kassie shook her head in wonder. It seemed the earl’s promise was fulfilled despite his intentions and because of his death.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Prepare to be boarded!” the cry rang across the water as the fleet of British frigates closed in on them.
Cohen glanced at Auggie and the ship’s captain, decked out in their finest garb. Getting past the French was the easy part, the English ships would be another story altogether. The English frigate HMS Victory slid up alongside. Mooring ropes were thrown across and the boarding planks settled in place.
The vice admiral strolled across and stepped onto the deck, the pleasant smile on his face deceiving no one as he scanned the ship. Cohen plastered a like smile on his face and marched forward to greet the officer. He suspected the Englishman’s eyes missed very little, his relaxed posture a mere facade. This was a man who would be quick to anger, who would find the least excuse to sink them.
“I am Vice Admiral Nelson. Who are you and what is your purpose in English waters?”
Cohen exacted a polite bow. “Vice Admiral Nelson, I have heard your great name brandied about in the highest social circles in London. Your exploits on behalf of England are legendary.” He hoped the flattery would charm the admiral into relaxing his guard.
The admiral eyed him. “Yes, we all do what we can for our country. You have not answered my question, sir.”
“I am Cohen Ashton, sir, a humble cloth merchant on my way back to safer waters.”
“I see.” The admiral snapped his fingers and a dozen of his men spread out, searching the ship. “Did you run into any trouble from Napoleon’s French swine?”
Cohen took care to keep his voice from betraying his disgust for the admiral’s reference.
“We did not, sir. For we sailed before the war broke out.”
The admiral’s eyes narrowed. “If you left before the outbreak, then how is it you are still so far from an English port?”
“We were in Portugal, sir, aground for repairs.” Cohen swallowed.
One of the admiral’s men returned to his side and whispered something in his ear. The admiral dropped his hand to the handle of his sword at his waist. “How is it a cloth merchant has no bolts of material in his hold?”
This is the do or die moment. Cohen’s hands shook. Either the admiral would accept his explanation, or they would be forced to fight for their lives. He glanced at Auggie and noted the tension in his jaw and the flex of his fingers above his own weapon. “Needless to say, sir, we were anxious to get back to London and did not complete our trade.”
The admiral’s hand tightened on his weapon and the look in his eyes grew shrewd. “I see. I assume you have documentation to prove that you and your crew are English?”
A nervous sweat broke out on Cohen’s forehead. Stealing artifacts was less risky than this venture was turning out to be. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of papers and handed them over.
The admiral scanned the documents with careful deliberation before looking up. “These appear to be in order, what about that of your crew?”
Auggie stepped forward with the handful of forged documents they obtained for the crew.
The admiral looked him over with interest and took the papers.
Sweat trickled down the back of Cohen’s neck, but he stood unmoving as he waited. The tension stretched taut between his crew and the admiral’s. He watched out of the corner of his eye as his men shifted and glanced back and forth between each other.
The papers rustled in the breeze as the admiral shuffled through them. He looked up and fixed his gaze on Auggie. “You, there. Where is your documentation?”
Auggie handed over his paperwork.
The admiral glanced at it and raised a brow. “Scottish? Why are you on an English trading vessel?”
“Me ship was sunk by them French bastards. I and a few of me crew survived. We hopped a ride on this ship to get home to Scotland.”
The admiral leaned forward and mumbled something in his officer’s ear. The young man turned and waved to the crew on the frigate.
This cannot be good. Cohen took a step back as men began to file onto the ship. Every muscle in his body went on alert.
The admiral scanned the crew. “You there, come forward.”
Cohen resisted the urge to look behind him and see who the admiral had singled out. If it was Alex, they would be all right. Alex spoke English so well now it was hard to detect even a hint of French accent. Cohen groaned as Jean Guiyesse stepped forward. If the admiral asked the sailor a question the man’s thick accent would be sure to give him away.
Vice Admiral Nelson grinned, the lethal twinkle in his eyes telling Cohen he was calling their bluff. “What is your name?”
Jean glanced at Cohen, and then back at the admiral. “Ju-ohn Smith, zir.”
The admiral sneered, and then snapped his fingers. In an instant, thirty or more swords and pistols were pointed at them. “Tell your crew to drop their weapons, Ashton. You are under arrest for consorting with the enemy and treason to the crown.”
Cohen signaled for the crew to drop their weapons, knowing it was useless to fight. The other two frigates in the vicinity made the chance of a victory against the British officer obsolete.
His plan to get to Kassie had failed. He did not offer any resistance when his hands were shackled in front of him, and he was led from the ship ahead of his French crew. As they crossed the narrow plank onto the English frigate, Cohen looked down at the sparkling water as it lapped against the side of the ship. Kassie’s eyes were the color of the waves. He stepped down onto the opposite deck.
“Take the crew and the captain to the hold. Escort the Scotsman to my cabin and Ashton to the storeroom.” Admiral Nelson turned on his heel and marched off down the deck.
Cohen grimaced at Auggie before he was elbowed ahead by an English sailor, across the deck and down a narrow set of steps to a storeroom. He was shoved into a cramped room and the door slammed shut. A key scraped in the lock, leaving him alone in the dark musty room.
Would they execute him or would they take him to Newgate to await trial? Would he have a chance to plead his case to the King? After all, he was still an English citizen. He sat down on the dirty floor. He would just have to wait and see.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kassie sympathized with the old horse hitched to the little cart as she lifted the last of their possessions out. The poor nag was long past her prime, but the best they could afford to get them to their new home.
Her mother waved from the doorway of the neat little farm cottage. “Kassandra, William says something is coming down the road through the orchard. I wonder if it is more livestock from Bernard?”
Kassie shaded her eyes and looked down the road. A small cloud of dust rose over the hill. With a sigh she handed the carpet bag to her little sister and grasped hold of the horse’s bridle. “Come on, old nag. I’ll turn you out in the orchard to graze.” She patted the sway backed mare and unbuckled her from the harness. The mare rubbed her head on Kassie’s shoulder and snuffled in her ear. Kassie rubbed her between the eyes and led her down the road to the paddock.
A lone coach materialized out of the cloud of dust. She wondered who it could be as she flipped the latch open on the gate and led the horse into the paddock. She turned her back to the drive and slipped the bridle off the mare’s head. After a final pat the mare wandered away, pawing away the thick carpet of leaves, nibbling here and there as she pleased on rare patc
hes of still green grass. Kassie slung the bridle over her shoulder and turned around as the coach drew up beside her. She exited the gate, shut and latched it behind her, and shaded her eyes. The door to the coach was flung open, and a familiar face peered out at her.
“Sally? What are you doing here?” She dropped the bridle and ran to the coach as Sally climbed down. Kassie threw her arms around her old friend. They hugged each other close for a moment. Then Kassie stepped back.
Sally smiled. “I have a position as a ladies maid with Dowager Countess of Salisbury, who lives on the other side of town. Her young nice has come to stay with her, and her grace is looking for a companion of sorts to keep the girl company.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “I heard you moved here and suggested you might be interested in the position.”
Kassie gave her another quick hug. “You are a gem, Sally, and yes, I could really use the position. Mama has the farm, but she does not need an extra mouth to feed.” She took the maid’s hand and squeezed it. “Come on up to the house and meet Mama, and we can tell her about it.”
“Only if you promise to tell me all that has happened since I last saw you. The earl was fit to be tied. He thought I had something to do with your disappearance and threatened to send me to Newgate until he found the grappling hook and his tablet missing.”
They walked hand-in-hand to the house. “You would not believe it, Sally.”
“I cannot wait to see the baby, he must be so big by now.”
Kassie’s breath caught in her throat and she struggled to say the words she must. “The baby died, Sally. He went down with Cohen and the ship.”
Sally’s eyes grew wide with disbelief, and then clouded with sympathy. “I did not know. I am so sorry, Kassie.”
“Come on, we have a lot of catching up to do.”
* * * *
Later that evening Kassie was finishing up the last of the washing when her mother approached her. “Are you to go to the Dowager’s on the morrow then?”
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