Eli opened the door, saving Lydia from the uncomfortable turn of their conversation and the intensity of eyes she would never consider plain or old. They were vibrant, rich, and much too penetrating.
~*~
Cold sweat seeped from Daniel’s skin and the back of his throat ached from thirst by the time he reached the ground.
Lydia hurried to the door of the smallest of three brick buildings and stuck a key in the lock.
The wiry Negro assisted Daniel. What was his name? Daniel scraped through his memory. E something. A Bible name. Eli. “Thank you, Eli.”
The man started as if surprised, but he nodded.
Set behind the larger storehouses, a row of trees kept this storehouse tucked mostly out of sight of the road, but after their recent meeting with the British, Daniel sped his steps as best he could.
The scent of molasses and honey saturated the musty air. With the door left open, Daniel could make out barrels stacked high, bearing the markings of their contents, while smaller crates held wines.
Lydia paused in front of them. “I thought this place was supposed to be empty.” She ran her hand over the layer of dust coating the top of one of the crates. “It was empty the last time I was here, just after the Magellan went down. Charles said it wasn’t in use.”
Eli, helping Daniel, continued past her to the back wall where sacks of grain were piled high. He released Daniel long enough to rearrange them. A groan mingled with a sigh as Daniel lowered his body onto the makeshift bed. At least he didn’t have to worry about starving.
“We will need to bring some blankets,” Lydia said, with barely a glance toward him. She stepped back to the door and waited for her servant. “I doubt I shall have time to return today with a dinner to prepare for, but I will send Eli with what you need.”
Daniel pushed aside a twinge of disappointment. “Colonel Tarleton will be joining you for supper, I assume?”
Her dark lashes lowered. “Yes.”
“Then perhaps you will be able to confirm the numbers the lieutenant was kind enough to offer. Give me something to take back to Colonel Marion.”
“You are hardly in the position to worry about helping Marion take Georgetown. I doubt you will be leaving here for a while.”
“On the contrary. I won’t stay for more than a day or so.” Just enough to sleep off the intense exhaustion. “It’s a horse I need.” And another boot, but he’d settle for not having to walk.
Lydia merely looked at him as though he were insane, and then pulled the door closed, plunging the room into darkness.
The clicking of the lock resounded in Daniel’s head. Though he trusted Lydia—she’d already had opportunity to betray him to the redcoats—he couldn’t shrug off the feeling of entrapment.
11
“Lydia, may I have a word with you?”
She paused on the bottom step. “I have so much to prepare for this evening, Charles. Now is not a good time.”
“I asked you to meet me after breakfast.” He strode to her from the small room he had made his office after the shipping company had fallen to him. “Where have you been all morning?”
“I was visiting with Ester Hilliard. Major Layton agreed to inform you.”
“And he did.” Charles crossed his arms. “But I called upon Miss Hilliard and her father myself this morning, and she told me she had not seen you.”
Lydia braced to keep her expression from flinching. “Why did you call upon the Hilliards?”
“I had business with John and to invite them to join us this evening.”
“Of course.” She flashed a smile, but her lips fought the upward curve. She stepped off the stairs. “With Ester and her father coming, I must change the arrangements for the dinner.” They were more neutral in their political views and could not sit by just anyone. She tried to turn, but he caught her arm. “Charles, let me go.”
Instead of heeding her, he dragged her to his office. He shoved her inside and slammed the door. “What are you up to?”
She spun to him, rubbing where his fingers had bruised her arm. “I do not know what you speak of.”
“What exactly is your arrangement with Major Layton? He said something of a rebel informant. I believe those were his words. And the cane? Whose cane was that?”
Lydia backed away from the anger in his eyes. “Why not ask the Major?”
“I did. But I want to hear it from you. You have knowingly endangered this house. Your family.”
Heat spiked up her spine. “I have no family!”
Charles relaxed a step and lowered onto the corner of the desk. “What about your sister’s daughter? Does Maggie and her future mean nothing to you?”
Lydia stood for a moment, heart pounding. She did not want to consider the question, afraid to answer truthfully even to herself. With quick steps, she made a break for the door.
Pain shot up her wrist as Charles caught hold of her. “No more, Lydia. No more sneaking around. No more risking your life and reputation.”
She glared at him and jerked away. “You do not own me.”
“But everything else, I do own. Without me you have nothing. No allowance. No hope of a future. The very roof over your head I provide out of respect for your father and sister. The law does not require such generosity.”
Is that what he had discussed with Mr. Hilliard? “Are you threatening me?”
“I am warning you. If you cross certain lines, I cannot protect you. And I will not allow you to risk…” Muscles danced in his jaw. “Everything.” The word squeezed between his teeth.
Lydia twisted away. She charged up the stairs, almost tripping over the hem of her gown. From the nursery, a soft lullaby was joined by a child’s cooing. Her legs lost strength. Truth be admitted, little Margaret already held too much power over her heart. Better to keep her distance until she could leave this place. Charles’s warning weighed Lydia’s steps. In her bedchamber, she paced. What were her options? She had to get to England or remain under Charles’s thumb forever. Unless she married. But Charles was the only one who had expressed any honorable intentions. There were no prospects in Georgetown, and even if there were, she didn’t want marriage.
She spun on her heel and started back across the thick woolen rug and its extravagant pattern of reds and blues. Her parents’ marriage had been one of love, and losing his wife had almost destroyed her father. It was as though he had shriveled up inside. And then he lost himself at sea, returning only for short periods to check on his daughters and supply for their needs.
Of course, marriage didn’t require love.
Lydia shook the idea from her head. Marriage of any kind often brought children, and in many ways she feared that the most. To give birth to a sweet infant, feeling a mother’s love and to risk losing that child to complications, accident, or disease. She had only been six when her brothers died, but the memory of their motionless little bodies and Mother’s screams still haunted her.
No marriage. No children.
Dropping onto the edge of her bed, Lydia pressed her palms against her face. Another bargain with Major Layton seemed the only realistic option. She couldn’t bring herself to use Daniel as she had, to set an ambush, but surely he still had information that would be worth something to the Major. He knew how to find Colonel Marion. That was all she needed.
Daniel Reid was still the key, poor man.
Lydia pushed back to her feet. Her thoughts in a tussle, she could not bear to sit a moment longer. Maybe if she spoke with Daniel again, she would glean something more from him. Something useful. And she hadn’t had a chance to send Eli back with blankets or a change of clothes. She would see to that.
Course set, Lydia slipped past the happy noise coming from the nursery and into Charles’s chambers. The room still carried the memory of her sister. The dressing table against one wall, the silver-handled hairbrush, the cream drapes Margaret had chosen. Lydia did not allow herself to linger. She dug out a pair of breeches and muslin shirt that
would probably not be missed. Though similar in height, the breadth of Daniel’s shoulders was her main concern as to whether the clothes would fit. After creating a bundle with a spare blanket and tucking it under her cloak, Lydia crept down the stairs and out the back of the house.
The servants, busy with preparations for the evening, seemed not to notice her.
Keeping out of sight of the roads, she wound her way through the trees toward the bay. She knew the path well and within ten minutes she came to the small storehouse. The door creaked as she pushed it open, and daylight spilled across the dirt floor. She hadn’t considered how dark the interior would be without a window. A lamp hung from a hook on the wall, and she hurried to light it so she could again close the door.
“I wondered if you’d thrown away the key and decided to forget about me.” Daniel pushed himself to his elbows. “Your man, Eli, never came back.”
Lydia thought of the hustle and bustle of preparations for the dinner in a couple of hours. Time was short. “Just a few delays.”
Daniel swung his booted foot to the dirt floor and leaned forward on his knee.
“I brought you some dry clothes to change into.” But he needed much more than that. She made a mental list of things to send down with Eli as she laid the bundle beside Daniel.
“Thank you.”
“And your ankle should be seen to.” His foot was propped up on the sacks of grain, and she motioned for him to unbind it. “What happened?”
“Madam crushed it when she fell.”
Lydia cringed as he unwound the tattered shirt, and then drew off the long stocking. A deep purple and black bruise stretched across the outside of his lower calf, and his ankle appeared badly swollen. The thought of that beautiful animal tugged at her heartstrings, as did the image he had lodged in her mind of a lad having his chest ripped through by a musket ball. If only the rebels would admit their defeat and end this horrid war.
Daniel moved his toes and gave a grunt. “As frightfully painful as it is to walk on, I don’t think the bone is broken.”
“All the same, you should wrap the ankle with something besides your shirt and…” She lowered her gaze to the tall boot his other foot sported. “I will try to find you a new pair of shoes or boots.”
“That would be appreciated. As are these clothes. Your weather is mild compared to New England’s, but sitting wet to the bone last night—” His voice broke with a cough. “Pardon me.”
“I will send some tea. You look quite ill.”
He waved her off. “Other than the foot, I am fine. Besides, I’ve given up drinking tea.”
Lydia opened her mouth to argue, but clamped it closed just as quick. She had forgotten many of those opposed to the Crown had traded their tea for coffee. “Understandably. But something warm to drink would do you no harm.”
“I’d not be against warmth with some substance to it. Sitting amongst all this food does nothing for the hollow pit my stomach has become.” His fingers worked to unbutton his coat, bearing his chest inches at a time. “I hate to burden to you, but give me one day and I will be off your hands.”
Lydia had no reply as he pulled off his coat and laid it aside. Warmth rose through her core as his chest was bared. Had he no sense of decency? Had she? She needed to look away, but fascination kept her attention from wandering as he plunged his arm into the cream-colored shirt she’d provided. Only then did she notice the wide scar marking the other arm above his elbow. An ugly bruise resided over it.
“I should think that is also quite painful?”
Daniel glanced at her and then followed her gaze. “The bruise? A little. Not as much as it did when the horse’s hoof first made contact. And the scar—long healed.”
“What is it from?”
The wound vanished inside the pale muslin shirtsleeve. “Tomahawk. We were on our way to relieve Fort Schuyler along the Mohawk. Walked into a British and Tory ambush.” His chest deflated. “I was blessed to walk out of that ravine. A lot of men didn’t. Eight hundred marched that day, and only half left Oriskany alive.” He fastened the buttons, and then brushed his hands down the front. His jaw tensed.
“Is something wrong with the shirt?” It seemed to fit him well enough, though perhaps a little tight across the chest.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s fine.”
“Good. I will leave you to finish dressing, then, and send Eli back with something for your foot and for you to eat.” Lydia hesitated before turning. She had forgotten to ask him more about the Swamp Fox and his movements. But how to go about it when all of her previous attempts failed? Unless… “Perhaps if I bring some parchment paper and ink, you would like to send word to Colonel Marion. You could tell me where to take it.”
Daniel’s deep brown eyes seemed to peer through her. “I would like to send word but not to Colonel Marion. That would be too dangerous. Would you bring the ink and paper, all the same?”
“Of course.” Lydia forced a smile and walked to the door. She needed to hurry back to the house and dress for dinner. The rusted hinges sang at her departure. Despite the cool breeze rising off the bay she felt overheated. She should hurry to find Daniel a horse as he’d mentioned earlier. The sooner he left Georgetown, the better for both of them.
She took three steps.
“Good evening, Miss Reynolds.”
Lydia jerked at the deep voice and scarlet coat emerging from the shadows of the nearby trees. “Lieutenant Mathews? What are you doing here?”
“Wondering what you are doing away from your home with guests soon to arrive.”
“I…was checking on something.” She retreated a pace. “I mean, I forgot something for the dinner this evening.”
The lieutenant strolled forward, studying her. “What exactly? Or were you making a delivery instead?” He paused only a foot away. His voice lowered. “What was in that bundle you brought with you? Blankets? Food, perhaps?”
Lydia’s mouth went dry. If she tried to deny Daniel’s presence, she would only be aligning herself with him. How much did the Lieutenant already know?
She caught the soldier’s sleeve and drew him away from the storehouse and out of earshot. “I have an agreement with Major Layton.”
“As I am aware.” He looked behind them to the building. “That is who you have in there? Major Layton suggested he was dead.”
And he nearly had been. The image of Daniel lying under the ancient oak clenched her stomach.
“What are your plans with him?”
“As long as he has not overheard us, he believes me to be sympathetic to their cause, I will continue to garner what information I can.”
“Good.” Lieutenant Mathews narrowed his gaze at her. “But why the secrecy? He was with you in the carriage earlier today, was he not?”
“Yes, but I could not very well have introduced you, could I? And I need time.”
One of the lieutenant’s pale eyebrows peaked.
“His ankle is hurt. I know how impatient Major Layton can be, but we did have the understanding that he would leave the man alone until I was finished with him. Of course, that was before the Major almost killed him.”
“Even the Major has little control over what happens in the middle of a skirmish.”
“All the same...” She let the sentence die, not sure what more to say. “Have you told anyone of your suspicions?”
“Not yet.” Lieutenant Mathews gave a thin smile.
“Then wait. Please. Let me speak with the major first.”
He crossed his arms and then nodded to the path she had taken. “Let’s walk. You will soon be missed.”
Hardly an answer, but she kept pace beside him as he started toward her home.
“Tell me, Miss Reynolds, why are you so anxious to return to England? What awaits you there that rivals the life you have here?”
“A cottage near Brighton.”
His feet faltered. “In Sussex?”
“Yes.”
“My family is in Worthing,
a village west of Brighton. Must be a mighty fine cottage to make you want to leave the estate your father built.”
Lydia kept walking. From the description, the cottage that awaited her was comfortable enough and had rooms to spare, but not near as grand as her present home. It would easily meet her needs, though. That was what mattered.
The brick walls appeared through the trees and she paused. “No one knows I left, so it is best we part ways here, Lieutenant. And please, wait to report anything about the…storehouse to Major Layton.”
“I shall wait. But be wary, Miss Reynolds. The major is a shrewd man. Your brother-in-law and his ships are a boon to our position here, but there is only so much protection that will grant you. If Major Layton comes to suspect your loyalties…” He shook his head. “This is not a threat, ma’am. Only a warning. I do not know all your reasons for keeping the rebel hidden, but be sure you do.”
Lydia hurried to the back door, her thoughts on his warning—the second one she’d received in as many hours.
12
Daniel sat on the edge of the sack of grain, clean breeches in hand, the deep voice that had faded with Lydia’s still rumbling in his mind. If only he had made out the words. Eli had likely been the one to meet her. The alternative…
Pushing aside the sinking sensation in his gut, Daniel focused on the dry change of clothes. As with the shirt, the quality of the breeches chafed his pride. While Lydia might share some of his sisters’ features, her upbringing was far displaced. The sooner he left the better.
The single lamp lit the dark of the storeroom, but after he finished changing his clothes, little was left for him to do except sit and glare at his offending ankle. It still throbbed with each pulse of his heart, but that no longer held his thoughts. Gabe’s pleas, and the sudden explosion of the musket laid to his chest echoed in Daniel’s mind, tormenting. That and the understanding that soon Tarleton, Layton, and other British officers would sit around the Reynolds’ dinner table discussing their victories and possibly their plans. What he wouldn’t give to listen in and garner the sort of information that could bring about their fall.
The Patriot and the Loyalist Page 8
