Love's Courage

by Elizabeth Meyette

  “Perhaps you could show me, even though it’s not ready.” He smiled. “Perhaps my enthusiasm is premature, but I want you to know how happy you’ve made me. I would be most grateful to see what’s upstairs.”

  Did he know about Andrew? Was he playing a game with her?

  “I would be more comfortable if we readied the room first … Nigel.” His name stuck in her throat. But he smiled again when she said it.

  Mother entered. “Good evening, Lieutenant.”

  He stood and bowed over her hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Sutton.”

  “Nigel was just discussing the idea of bringing some of his personal items over as the wedding nears. He wanted to see a room he might use for storage.”

  Mother’s brows shot up. “Oh. Oh, my.” She played with the amethyst pendant resting against her bodice. “Well, we would need to prepare a room for you.”

  Something banged on the floor above them. Then another crash.

  She caught Mother’s anxious frown.

  Ashby jumped up and started for the stairs. Jenny grabbed his arm.

  “It must be Sarie cleaning. I’ll go check.”

  “It could be someone injured or an intruder. I insist on accompanying you.”

  Mother stood in his path. “I believe Sarie is up there. She will call if she requires help.”

  Another noise thumped above them.

  “I have pledged to keep you safe. I will honor my duty.” His eyes slid from Mother to her.

  “There is no need …”

  But he brushed past Mother, who stood gaping, as he strode toward the stairway.

  Gathering her skirts, Jenny tried to keep up with Ashby’s long strides up the steps. As they reached the hallway, Sarie was closing the door to Andrew’s room, her eyes widened when she saw Ashby. Jenny’s breath came in short gasps as she ran ahead to block the door.

  “So sorry, Miss Jenny. I dropped the basin and it smashed in two. When I picked it up, it fell again and broke to pieces. I’ll fetch a broom to clean it up.”

  “Thank you, Sarie.” She turned to Ashby. “Well, we are safe in our home after all. No reason to investigate any further.”

  He stood close, towering over her. His breath tickled the curls that framed her face. “No, but since we are upstairs, why not look at the room you had in mind for me? Was it this one?” He stepped toward Andrew’s room.

  She stepped in front of him. “This is most inappropriate. You should not be above stairs with me at all.”

  He cracked open the door then peered down at her. “You are to be my wife. If your reputation is sullied, it is no matter, since you will not have to present yourself for marriage to anyone else.” He pushed her aside and threw open the door.

  If he hadn’t been suspicious before, he was now. He would certainly arrest Andrew—and Andrew would hang.

  Jenny reached toward the pistol at Ashby’s hip. She could shoot him. If that’s what it took to save Andrew, that’s what she would have to do. From liar to spy to murderer. What have I become?

  But the bed was empty. She could see it had been hastily made, but perhaps Ashby wouldn’t notice. She drew back her hand.

  Where was Andrew?

  Ashby scanned the room, his brows drawn down in confusion. He turned to Jenny, searching her face.

  She stared back at him, arching her right brow as if to say, “What were you expecting?”

  He examined the room again.

  Sarie entered with a broom.

  “Let us return to the parlor so Sarie can finish her task.”

  His lips were a taut, grim line. His flinty gaze bore into her.

  She turned toward the stairs, praying he would follow. Andrew was in that room somewhere. Under the bed? In the armoire? That would be a tight fit with the clothes hanging in it. Please let Ashby follow rather than search further.

  When she had descended a few steps, his footsteps stomped behind her. She let out a sigh, realizing she’d been holding her breath since he’d opened that door.

  Beneath the bed, Andrew lay still, holding his breath. He’d been a fool to try to get out of bed unassisted. When he’d heard that damned British officer’s voice in the room below, he couldn’t keep himself from trying to get to Jenny. Surely, he’d just added bruises from his fall to his other injuries. But none of those injuries would destroy him. Not like what he’d just heard.

  She is to marry that British officer? He exhaled a hot, steaming breath. Could Jenny betray him like this? Could he have misunderstood that rotten lobsterback—what was his name—Ashby? Could he have misunderstood what Ashby had said? No, he was sure of what he’d heard.

  None of his wounds hurt as deeply as Jenny’s betrayal. All these days she’d spoken of love and devotion, and the whole time … Were they engaged when he saw her with him at the apothecary shop? The night they delivered the message to Montclair? Her greeting when she first saw him was passionate—had it all been a lie?

  He clenched his fists as his gut squirmed with anger and despair. It would have been better if he’d died at the hands of the Tories. Oh, Jenny.

  Sarie’s face appeared as she knelt beside the bed, and she offered her hand to help Andrew slide out. The gashes on his back reopened, and he felt the blood seeping into his nightshirt. His weakened arms grew limp as he tried to scuttle along the floor without making any noise. The coppery taste of blood oozed in his mouth as he bit his lip against the pain.

  Mathias entered and hurried over to lift him to standing.

  The room spun out of control. Everything went black save for pinpricks of light swirling in a crazy dance. He reached out to find support, but only air filled his grasp, and his knees gave out.

  “I’ve got you. Don’t worry, son.” Mathias’s voice echoed as if they were in a cavern. It was the last thing he remembered until the acrid odor of ammonia shocked him to consciousness as Sarie waved smelling salts beneath his nose. He pushed her hand away.

  Jenny sat beside him. “Andrew. Oh, my God. Andrew.” Jenny lay her face against his. Sitting up, she wiped beads of sweat off his forehead.

  He turned his head away and pulled his hand from hers. She picked up the tincture of laudanum from the bedside table and tried to spoon a dose of the remedy into his mouth.

  “No.” He tried turning away, but the effort was too great. She administered the medicine, and he sank into the pillows. His brows creased as he fought the pain. He studied her face. Her eyes didn’t glow as they had, she did not smile, there was no dimple to entice him. He looked away. Had everything been a lie? He closed his eyes.

  She gasped. “Oh, my God. You heard what Ashby said.”

  He kept his eyes closed.

  “Andrew, let me explain—”

  “You are to be his wife?” Overcome with exhaustion, he could barely form the words.

  “No, Andrew, no.”

  He lost focus as he drifted off with the effects of the medicine.

  “Andrew, please listen.”

  Her voice sounded like she floated away. Then blackness.

  Chapter 20

  “We must move him. Ashby knows Andrew is here. Mother, I swear he knows.” Jenny twisted the handkerchief in her hands as she looked out the window into the evening.

  “I believe you’re right, but where can we take him?”

  Jenny studied the street. Was Ashby out there now? Watching and waiting for the opportunity to return for Andrew? Clouds darkened the sky, but it would be wiser to wait for nightfall before moving him.

  “Mother, did you get a message out about the risk of approaching our home?”

  “Yes, I did. What plan is hatching in that brain of yours?”

  “After sunset, I’ll fetch Ephraim. He and Mathias can put Andrew in the carriage and take him to the apothecary. With Mr. Montclair’s death, if the British had been watching it before, they no longer have a reason. Lucy can tend him, probably better than I can here. Andrew would be safe there until he can return to Boston with us.”

 
; “Jennifer, it could be weeks. Ashby will keep a close watch on you now. Andrew might not be strong enough to travel before your …”

  “Wedding day.” She breathed deeply. “I know.” She pivoted to Mother. “But what choice do we have? Either we chance moving him or Ashby will have him hanged.” She rubbed her throbbing temples as blood pulsed there. Her limbs prickled with the urge to move, to act, to do something to keep Andrew safe. Mother’s reasoning was logical, but logic didn’t work in the world in which they now lived. Risk, lies, menace were the words of the day. She struck her palm with her fist. It was time.

  “I’m going to tell Mathias to ready the mare. As soon as it is dark, I will ride to the Carters’.”

  “It will be dangerous.”

  “I know, Mother. Everything in our lives has become dangerous.”

  Dressed in the clothes she wore the night Andrew first came to her, Jenny mounted the mare. She had secured her hair tighter tonight to keep it from tumbling out from beneath the slouch hat. A light rain fell. Good. It would discourage people from being about.

  “Let’s go, Aggie.” She clicked her tongue and the mare walked along the side of the house toward the dark street. Turning in the direction of the main street, she nudged the mare to a trot.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” A rider rode out from behind the trees across from her house, approached, and blocked her way.

  Terrified, she reined Aggie in. Expecting to see the scarlet coat of a British soldier to her left, she was puzzled to face a tattered brown jacket. Her gaze traveled up the buttons of the coat to peer into its owner’s face.

  Martin Wirth. He rested a rifle on his shoulder, using only one hand to handle his horse. A large steed to accommodate a large man.

  “Mr. Wirth.” She looked around for his brother. Abel appeared from the shadows on another large mount. “And Mr. Wirth.”

  “Now, where in God’s great earth are ya’ going? And dressed like a lad?”

  She looked from brother to brother. They had already saved Andrew’s life once. Perhaps they could help again. She explained the situation.

  Without any consultation, as one they turned their horses toward her house. Jenny scrutinized the shadows but saw no one watching them.

  Tying up their horses, they followed her into the house.

  Mother’s frightened face met them at the door. “I heard you in the yard, Jennifer. What is wrong—” She clutched her shawl at the sight of the two men. Then her face broke into a grin. “The Wirth brothers—how fortunate.”

  The men ducked their way into the door, removing their hats.

  “Good evenin’, Mrs. Sutton.” Abel made a half bow.

  “Mrs. Sutton.” Martin did the same.

  Jenny frowned at them, curious. “What brought you to our house at such a convenient time?”

  The brothers glanced at each other, shifting uncomfortably.

  “We decided to hang about a bit, seein’ as how Andrew was in such a bad way,” Martin said. “We didn’t think …we didn’t know …we knew if he died here, you ladies would need to leave and quick. And we kept seein’ that lobsterback lurkin’ about.” He looked at Jenny. “Lucky for you miss, he must’a gotten hungry or bored, because he was there until about five minutes before you came out.”

  Jenny shuddered.

  “Jennifer was on her way to the apothecary. We need to move Andrew immediately because ‘that lobsterback,’ as you call him, seems to know Andrew is here.”

  The men nodded.

  “You have a cart?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll take him.”

  Jenny slumped against the wall. She remembered how heavy Andrew had been when they had tried to lift him back into bed. Even Mathias had struggled to heft his weight. For these two, it would be like carrying a large doll. Hadn’t they brought him here all the way from Hart Island?

  “Thank you both.” Her voice broke.

  Martin patted her shoulder. “Don’t fret, Miss Sutton. We’ll get him to the apothecary safely.”

  Lucy Carter led them to the rooms above the apothecary where Laurence Montclair had lived. She hesitated on the landing, wiping her tears with the edge of her apron. “This way.” She held the candle high.

  The Wirth brothers propped Andrew between them, his toes not even reaching the floor. His head dropped forward, swaying with their movement. When they reached the bed, Martin took Andrew’s weight while Abel swung his legs up onto the mattress. Jenny pulled the covers over his trembling body, then took his hand.

  Lucy returned shortly with a small vial. Popping off the cork, she dribbled some on a spoon and slipped it into Andrew’s mouth. He coughed, spitting some back at her, spattering her shawl. She chuckled. “He’s still got fight left in him. Leave him to me, Miss Sutton. We’ll get his strength back.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carter.” She lifted her gaze to the two men. “Thank you both.” Her shoulders dropped as exhaustion—and relief—seeped through every muscle and joint.

  After Lucy escorted the men downstairs, Jenny scanned the bedroom. She had known Laurence Montclair so briefly. It seemed intrusive, almost voyeuristic, to be viewing his personal belongings like this. His brush and comb lay beside the ewer and basin on his dresser, each item carefully placed before he left the morning he was murdered. She shivered. All the furniture was walnut, the counterpane and curtains, crisp, the linen, ivory. The four-poster bed sat positioned near the window to catch the morning sun’s rays from the east.

  The window! She snapped the shutters closed. Dear God, please let us have been unobserved tonight. She breathed deeply to quell the panic rising within.

  Andrew shifted, groaning in his sleep.

  She returned to his side. “You must get well, my love.” A tear escaped, a tiny rivulet down her cheek. “We must keep you safe.”

  Lucy appeared in the doorway. “I will stay with him tonight. It’s best if you return home.”

  She nodded. But how could she leave him?

  “Miss Sutton? The men are waiting to escort you home now.”

  She rose, still holding his hand. Finally, she released it and started for the door. Looking back one last time, she stopped. Even in sleep, a crease formed between his brows.

  Sadness or pain?

  True to his word, Lieutenant Ashby arrived in the morning, hoisting a trunk of his clothing. When Jenny saw the trunk, she folded her arms, drawing her blue shawl around her shoulders. She had never imagined this marriage would actually take place, but seeing his belongings in her house brought the truth of it. He started toward the stairs, his expression eager with expectation of what—or whom—he would discover up there.

  Jenny blocked his way. “We are not married yet, Nigel. It would be inappropriate for you to be abovestairs before we are.”

  He looked at her as if noting her presence for the first time, scrutinized the top of the stairway, then snorted softly in frustration.

  Mother appeared beside her. “Jennifer is correct. I am sure as an officer in King George’s army, you would never want to appear crude or cause your fiancée to appear compromised.”

  He inhaled deeply, planting his feet in an unyielding stance. “My apology, although my presence there last night seems to have set a precedent.”

  “Your presence there last night was on your insistence because you thought we were in danger.” Sarie appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a broom. Mother glanced up at her, then back at him. “You can clearly see the only danger we may be in is from too much dust.”

  He bowed, but upon rising, his face was stone. “However, I cannot leave this heavy trunk here for you ladies to grapple with, so I will make haste to deposit it upstairs, leaving your reputation unsullied.”

  He pushed past them and mounted the stairs. Sarie allowed him to pass into the room where Andrew had recently lain. His footsteps were heavy as he tromped over the wood floor. The door of the armoire slammed, the scrape of his boots signaled his search under the
bed.

  “Damn.”

  Mother smothered a laugh, but Jenny’s heart raced at the thought of what would have happened had Andrew still been there. She listened as he opened the doors to her bedroom and Mother’s. She balled her fists in fury.

  Once he’d descended the stairs, she rushed at him, thrusting her face toward his. “You take inappropriate liberties, sir. You have no right to search our house.”

  “I have every right under the order of King George.” He took her hand and pulled her closer, his breath caressing her face. “My tender feelings toward you grow more fervent every day, Miss Sutton, but remember, I am an officer of the Crown and I must perform my duty. However, as my wife, you will be protected.”

  Mother stepped between them. “But she is not your wife yet, Lieutenant Ashby. It would be best if you leave now.”

  “And I offer my protection to you, madam. You would be wise to be grateful.” He bowed, planted his hat on his head, and left.

  Mother placed an arm around her. “Are you all right, darling?”

  Jenny nodded, wiping on her skirt the hand he’d just held. “He’s a bastard.”

  “Generally, I would punish you for that language, but instead, I’ll praise you for your accuracy. Though I believe his fondness for you is sincere.”

  “Be that as it may, he knows our lives hinge on his good graces. He is playing cat and mouse with us. I believe he knew Andrew—or someone we were protecting—was here last night. Which will win the day? His fondness for me or his duty to King George? We must leave as soon as possible.”

  “Jennifer, perhaps we should leave Andrew in Carters’ care. I believe he will be safe there and—”

  “No. I left him once. I can never do that again. And I can no longer live with lies.”

  Chapter 21

  Andrew stared at the leaves dancing in the tree outside his window. Birdsong filled the air, but nature’s beauty could not assuage the despair that held him. For a week, he had grappled with the knowledge that Jenny was engaged to a British officer. How could that be? Were her sympathies swayed in so short a time? Could her heart be stolen from him in the time it had taken him to reach Manhattan? But what of their brief times together since his arrival? His head ached with confusion.