Scamp's Lady

by Jackie Walton

  “Yip.” The young man in question ran around in a circle on the bed and then flopped down to contemplate the efficacy of his demands.

  Slipping out of the bed so as not to disturb his unusual stillness, she poured water from the pitcher into the basin on the commode. For a moment, she glared at the cold water with distaste, as if it were responsible for all her problems.

  Things were so complicated. She wanted to get back to her father. At least Adam was back safely. She wanted to stay to relay any information.

  She wanted to get back to her duties with the Continental Army. They needed her. She had people among the British who depended on her services. Helping the enemy went against her desire to defeat the British, but the idea of vetting her patients political standpoints before helping them went against every moral, religious, and ethical principle she had.

  She wanted to get away from the burr that was Lady Claudia, yet the newfound friendship of Sarah Kershaw was something she would willingly cultivate.

  And then there was Col. Christopher Marshall. She knew she should get away from him. He personified all the problems weighing on her. But oh, she thought, he makes me feel so alive when he’s with me. Arguing with him was more exhilarating then all the compliments she’d received from all the callow young men in her life. It was a sensation she’d never experienced before. Could she give that up?

  Suddenly, the proposed trip to Camden took on a new attraction.

  She splashed the water on her face and set out to enjoy the day.

  Chapter 11

  Deborah sat back in her chair as she nibbled at breakfast. Scamp clearly knew something special hung in the air. He wiggled, squirmed, and charged the main door to the dining room. Col. Marshall came into the dining room, chose a Spartan meal from the offerings on the sideboard, and sat across from Deborah. Scamp nearly vaulted into his lap. The colonel gently pushed him down and appeased him with a morsel of ham. The pup gobbled it and then settled by his hero with a gaze born of either worship or hunger.

  Deborah acknowledged the officer with a nod, “Keep your mouth shut, girl,” she told herself angrily. After admitting to herself just this morning that she was almost as willing as Scamp to “roll over on her back and have her tummy rubbed,” she needed restraint. He was a little slut about tummy rubs, and she knew she could easily become one, too.

  Marshall interrupted her moralistic musings. “Are you ready to go, Mistress Morgan?”

  She noted the warmth of his gaze. “Of course, sir.”

  “Good. We should stop by Mayor Beely’s house and request a meeting of the town fathers later. In between, we can run a few errands and perhaps have lunch at Celia Garth’s Tea House. I understand it’s…”

  The door opened and Lady Claudia sailed in, her dog in her arms. “Kit, love, how wonderful to catch you here. I have so many ideas for the holidays that I’m sure I must discuss with you. It will be absolutely glorious, especially if this wretched colonial weather will cooperate with snow.” She put her dog on the chair next to Marshall.

  “Where are those servants?” With none at hand, she went to the sideboard to daintily pick and choose her meal. She wrinkled her nose at most of the items.

  Scamp, a fast learner, circled around and under the table to reacquaint himself with the new arrival. When Lady Claudia flowed back to her place, he scampered over to the protection of Deborah’s skirts.

  Deborah watched in growing amazement as Lady Claudia set her plate down and took a link of sausage from it. She placed the meat on the polished table next to her plate and lifted the dog onto the table. He sniffed the link and, deciding it was acceptable, settled down to eat it.

  Deborah recoiled in distaste, but she bit her lip. Glancing over at Marshall, she saw him nod to her as if commending her for her forbearance.

  “Shall we go, Mistress Morgan?” He began to rise.

  “Where are you going, Kit?” Lady Claudia demanded.

  Morgan straightened his jacket cuffs as he walked around the table. “Mistress Morgan and I must wait upon the mayor of Camden.”

  “The mayor? With her? What in heaven’s name for?”

  Before replying, he helped Deborah with her chair. “We need to discuss certain developments in the recent murder with the mayor and his town officials.”

  “Well,” Lady Claudia considered, “I’m sure his wife is a jumped up mushroom of a woman, but there is so little true quality in town, I guess she’ll have to do. I will go with you.”

  Deborah, who had turned from the table, gave Marshall her blandest look. He narrowed his eyes at her but turned civilly to Lady Claudia. Taking his pocket watch out of his white waistcoat pocket, he glanced at it for a moment before snapping it shut. “We will be leaving in precisely five minutes. If you are ready to go, you may.”

  “Five minutes!” she exclaimed, horrified, “but neither Fluffy nor I have eaten. I’m sure I have to change.”

  “Five minutes. And the dog stays here.” He looked at Deborah, and she nodded acceptance.

  “Five minutes.” Deborah scooped up Scamp to take him to Rogers. She knew the old servant would happily spend the day spoiling her dog during her absence.

  **

  Deborah met Marshall at the front where the carriage waited. She wrapped her new cloak around her against the damp wind’s bite.

  Marshall took out his watch and nodded. “Most prompt. I approve of that in a woman, or anyone else for that matter.”

  Deborah sniffed, “Promptness is only common courtesy.” She hesitated and then asked, “Will Lady Claudia be coming?”

  He offered his arm to assist her into the vehicle. “Sometimes one’s prayers are answered.”

  She studied his face for some explanation of his cryptic statement, but before she could find an answer, Lady Claudia tottered down the steps, her patens strapped to her shoes.

  Deborah thought she heard, “And sometimes they aren’t,” but Lady Claudia’s complaints about the short notice overrode everything else.

  Lady Claudia’s complaints lasted most of the journey into Camden. She glared at Deborah who had taken the seat traditionally reserved for ladies, that facing the horses. After seating herself next to Deborah, with Kit facing them, she ostentatiously folded her cloak away from Deborah. Then she proceeded to complain about the early hour, the lack of company, the weather, the quality of service at the house, and finally Kit’s lack of interest in the Christmas preparations.

  Deborah watched Kit calmly nod in response to each indictment. When he gave her a small, wry smile, she sat back to be amused and ignored.

  Col. Marshall requested that the mayor convene the town officials at one o’clock and that the equipage be stabled for the day. Mistress Beely was not receiving yet so they did not stay.

  Marshall gallantly offered an arm to each lady as they stood on the street. He looked at Deborah. “Anywhere in particular you wish to go, ma’am.”

  “Yes, I would like to visit Mistress Kershaw’s establishment. I need some more gauze for bandages.” What she didn’t add was “I also have several pieces of information to deliver to her.”

  “Absolutely not!” exclaimed Lady Claudia. “I refuse to associate with that woman.” She tugged at Kit’s arm. “Kit, you and I can stroll down the main street and see what’s to be seen in this little town. I’m sure your little friend will enjoy calling on small-town shopkeepers.”

  “Shopkeepers!”

  Kit momentarily tightened his grip on Deborah’s arm, and she refrained, so he said, “Lady Claudia, I would prefer you stay with us. While the risks are slight, there have been some problems with unaccompanied ladies here in Camden.”

  “Well, that won’t be a problem if you escort me. I’m sure she,” Lady Claudia flicked her head at Deborah, but never took her eyes off Marshall, “can find her way to the Kershaw’s without any assistance. Why, I’m sure, even in London someone of her status can walk about unescorted. Let’s go, Kit!”

  Marshall stood his gro
und against Lady Claudia’s tug on his arm and against Deborah’s attempt to extricate himself from his other arm.

  Deborah stopped pulling and drew herself up. “Colonel, if you will excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” Her eyebrow lifted, and she hoped Marshall would let her go on alone. Some of the things she had to say to Sarah did not require a British army audience. She looked at him expectantly.

  Marshall studied each woman. He appeared to make a decision. “Lady Claudia, Mistress Morgan has business at several establishments around town. You knew we had business when you joined this trip. You may come with us, or you may secure an escort from the mayor or one of your friends. Perhaps the people we dined with the other night…I disremember their name.”

  “Sanders,” Lady Claudia provided coldly.

  “Very well. The choice is yours, but I do not wish you wandering around town unescorted.”

  Deborah tried again, “Colonel, please, it is not necessary for you to escort me. The Kershaw’s are only two blocks over, and I will simply remain there until the time for our meeting.”

  “No! The matter is settled. We’re going.”

  “No, Kit, we are not.” Lady Claudia was outraged. “I have no wish to associate with known traitors. I shall go to the Sanders’ until one o’clock and then I will return to the mayor’s house.”

  Kit looked unconvinced, but Lady Claudia simply turned and walked away, her pattens slurping in the mud with every step.

  Deborah looked after her, slightly envious of the wooden pattens that might keep her feet out of the muck. “Ah well,” she thought, “if I’d wanted to act the lady, I’d have brought…”

  “Shall we go?” Marshall interrupted her rationalization.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” She looked warily at the water-filled carriage ruts in the road. “Could we go down a little ways to cross? There are fewer puddles over…”

  “I can fix that problem,” he laughed and bent to scoop her into his arms.

  Startled, Deborah sucked in her breath. “Colonel!” He is lifting me as though I were a goose-down pillow, she thought. He’s so strong and he’s… All coherent thought dissipated as he curled her around his chest. The iron muscles of his arms cradled her into his warmth.

  “Put your arms around my neck and hold on,” he chuckled as he straightened.

  As her body curved to his, the mirth faded from his eyes. “Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea,” he muttered.

  **

  Deborah’s bubble popped. Wiggling, she demanded, “Let go of me. I never asked you to pick me up. Let go!”

  He snorted. “Stop squirming. I don’t want to drop you. Besides,” he looked at her furious face, “I don’t think I could let go of you now if I tried.” He started across the muddy street, his polished boots sucking up mud with every step. He never noticed.

  “What do you mean?” she hissed. “You’re the one who said this ‘wasn’t such a brilliant idea!’”

  “It wasn’t,” he replied as he set her gently down on the drier side of the street. “In public.” His hands slid to her waist and held her, a shade too close for propriety

  Her eyes never left his face. For a moment, she couldn’t move to save her life.

  A wagon squelching by reminded her that they were indeed in public. “Yes,” she started to breathe again, “I see your point.”

  He, too, drew a deep breath and, with a crooked smile, offered her his arm. “I thought you might.”

  She laid her arm on his. When he captured her hand with his free one, she surprised herself by not objecting.

  For awhile, they walked in silence except to exchange casual greetings or lifted hats with passersby who, no matter their politics, had no desire to be perceived as cutting a British colonel. On this side rode, they passed several prosperous looking houses mostly painted in white with blue-grey or dark green or red trim whose fronts came up to the street. Deborah felt the silence comfortable. Marshall appeared to as well, since he did nothing to disturb it.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he demanded, not unkindly.

  For a moment she was startled. “Why?”

  “Why? Why not? I like to know about the people who…work with me. Helps me understand them.” He pursed his lips. “If you have something in common, people just tend to work better together.”

  He shrugged, to Deborah’s mind, a little self-consciously. She decided an edited version of her life would do nicely. “Well, I have three older brothers. You’ve met Adam.” He nodded. “The others alternately treat me like a bratty little sister or like a bond maid they can order about. They can be very sweet, though.” A wistful look crossed her face. “My parents have a farm, and we’re all still at home, although Eli, the oldest has his eye on a girl. Papa’s a big, blustering guy, but it’s Momma who rules the roost.” She shrugged.

  “Now, what about you? How did you…why did you decide to become a healer?”

  “Why? Well, I’ve always been interested in helping people feel better. When I was a little girt, I used to set my doll’s broken arms and legs. I guess it just progressed to the real thing. My mother taught me, of course. I mean, most women here know the basics, just as a matter of necessity. And then I’ve done some reading and talking to doctors.”

  “Impressive,” he hesitated, “Is there anyone waiting for you at home?”

  She looked at him, noting the hesitation that was so unlike him. “No, there’s nobody but my family.”

  “Umph.”

  They walked on a few more steps, turning into the high road with it’s boardwalk between the shops.

  “So how, with a family that’s as everyday as tea and scones, did you get mixed up in this ha’penny rebellion?”

  “Ha’…” She stopped herself. “As to how I got myself involved with the British Army, you must consult Col Tarleton on that.”

  “Mayhap I have more to thank the old sot for than I once thought.”

  **

  Kit watched Deborah as she selected some yarn with Mistress Kershaw’s help. The two of them seemed sufficient unto themselves for the transaction, so he leaned back in one the store’s chairs and watched them. He knew the two to be friends, so he expected a certain amount of female gossip and small talk. They didn’t disappoint him.

  Unfortunately, he was almost positive that Mistress Kershaw was corset-deep in her husband’s rebel sympathies. After seeing her confrontation with Lady Claudia, he was sure her sympathies weren’t passive.

  His “little camp follower” had a streak of the rebel in her, too. Oh, she was reasonably discrete about it, and there was no one thing that could definitely be termed treasonous. It was, however, a pattern of small things: the blankets, her brother’s disappearance with the best horse in camp (namely his), her friendship with Mistress Kershaw which started right after the sighting of an unidentified man near the camp, her admiration of rebel leaders’ wives, and now her attempt to send him off with Lady Claudia.

  He wouldn’t leave the store after escorting her, so she’d effectively banished him to the chair on the other side of the store. She and Mistress Kershaw were head to head in a very quiet discussion.

  It was his job to be suspicious, even of his maddening little wench. However, suspicion was one thing. Proof was another. Letting her get away with anything was quite a third. And speaking of that, letting her get away at all was not to be borne, especially with his leaving in a few days.

  He had, as he saw it, several problems to solve. He had to keep her, he had to keep her out of trouble, he had to keep her from causing trouble, and he had to figure out how to get her to acknowledge his claim on her.

  He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. Keeping her didn’t present a major problem. Mistress Kershaw provided a perfect hostage. A few subtle hints and Deborah might as well have a chain holding her in camp while he was gone.

  Keeping her out of trouble pretty much meant keeping her from making trouble. He didn’t think she’d hurt the men with her doctoring. She was t
oo serious about her craft to do that. However, she stood in an excellent position to pass on information. That could be dangerous for both of them. Mistress Kershaw seemed to be the logical conduit of any information. Contact between Deborah and her friend would have to be minimized or at least closely supervised.

  Satisfied that he had his bird in his net, he turned his attention to what to do with her. She would have to be finessed into his bed. The more usual inducements of rank, gifts, or money were not going to be effective.

  Thinking about the rewards of his persuasion made things a little uncomfortable. He shifted in the chair to relieve the tightness in his britches. It was obvious that he had to do something more active to ease the problem. Soon.

  **

  “Getting into town won’t be a problem while he’s gone. If you can get me out here quickly and quietly, I can get up to the Continental encampment.” They both spoke in whispers.

  Deborah’s flat assertion that she had to get out of the British camp took Sarah by surprise. “You’re a tremendous asset there, but if you have to…” Sarah thought for a second. “It’ll be risky, but I think I can manage it.”

  “Good. I have to get out of here. That woman is concentrating on making my life a living hell.”

  “I understand perfectly. Remember, I left, too.”

  Deborah laughed ruefully. “It’s not only that. I’m, getting more and more involved with them. It’s getting harder and harder to pull away, professionally and personally.”

  Sarah nodded, “Don’t wait too long, then.”

  “I hate to leave you in the lurch, though.”

  “That’s the least of your worries. I have other sources.”

  Sarah deftly wrapped the package and gave it to Deborah. “Let’s get you going. Marshall has been watching you like a hungry cat watches a bird.”

  “I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  **

  Kit gallantly took her package as they left the shop and walked down the street toward the teahouse.

  Deborah smiled at him as he took the parcel, but her thoughts whirled elsewhere. Part of her exulted in the simple act of putting her escape plans in process. And part of her rejected the notion of leaving altogether. To be perfectly honest with herself, she didn’t know what she wanted.