by P. N. Elrod
My mind took a sudden turn down a path I’d studiously avoided until now. “Elizabeth . . . how did Mother take it?”
She looked at me sharply. “I was wondering if you would get ’round to her.”
“Is she all right?”
“She wouldn’t dare not be.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how she is, all that she does is determined by how she wants others to think of her. I don’t believe the woman has a genuine feeling in her whole body.”
I pressed for details and got them. My mother had been shocked, of course, but while others around her gave in to their grief, she busied herself getting the funeral organized.
“ ‘Someone has to see to it,’ she said, and the way she said it implied that we were weak fools. My God, even Mrs. Hardinbrook had tears to shed for you, but not Mother.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was also deeply hurt. “She’s a sick woman, Elizabeth.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
I waved it off. “In a little while it won’t matter. What about Jericho?”
Elizabeth refrained from an immediate reply. I read it well enough on her face.
“My poor friend,” I said.
“Yes. I . . . I could not comfort him as I did when we were children. I sent him and Archimedes off with Father.”
No wonder I’d not roused anyone when I broke into the cellar. “But not yourself?”
“I wanted to be alone. Besides, someone had to stay home and keep watch on everyone. Did you not wonder why Mother didn’t burst in on our talk?”
“Vaguely. I assumed Beldon dosed her with laudanum.”
“He left a supply and instructed his sister about its use. I expect Mrs. Hardinbrook helped herself to it as well for sleep. I was tempted, but thought brandy would be sufficient.”
We reached the road soon enough. Elizabeth tripped on some old wheel ruts, and I had her hang on to my arm for guidance.
“You must have eyes like a cat,” she muttered.
“Or better. I am not without some advantages.”
And I would have enlarged on the subject but for an interruption that, for an insane moment, hurtled me right back to that hot morning by the kettle. I actually felt the sun’s heat on my face and the air lying heavy in my lungs. Without any thought behind the gesture, my hand fell protectively upon my chest as a Hessian soldier emerged from behind a tree with his long rifle ready and ordered us to stop. A second, then a third joined him and jogged toward us, their pale faces grinning like fiends in the moonlight.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elizabeth gave no outward sign of alarm, but her grasp on my arm tightened.
The soldiers closed on us, and one of them shouted something.
In my halting German I asked them what they wanted. An ugly brute on our left sniggered as he looked at Elizabeth, but his companions thankfully did not seem of a mind to pursue his idea. I repeated my question. It finally got through to them that I was speaking in their language. As with the other Hessians, it had a favorable effect; unfortunately, the answer I got was far too rapid and complicated for me to follow. They were skittish.
The same man shouted again and got a reply from someone coming up behind us. I saw him before the others did.
“Another bloody Hessian,” I told Elizabeth. “I hope this one speaks English.”
“What are they all doing here?”
“I got the impression they want to ask us the same question. Mind yourself against that villain on the end. He’s not polite.”
She made a brief nod and murmur of agreement.
The newcomer was the sergeant in charge and at first glance seemed a sensible, solid type. He gave me a brief greeting in English that was far more tolerable than my German, then conferred with his men. I gathered from their talk that a number of others were scouting up and down this part of the road.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, when he was free to place his full attention upon me.
“Perhaps for you, young sir,” he said. “There are rebels here all around. Why are you and this female out so late?”
With all the haughtiness I’d learned at Cambridge, I drew myself up and made formal introductions. I was careful not to be too condescending, but made certain that he knew he’d gotten off on the wrong foot. His men’s vulgar reactions to my sister would have more than justified my calling him out if he’d been a gentleman, or caning him since he was not, but circumstances required that I be flexible in the matter of honor for now.
The sergeant, who gave his name as Lauder, was not impressed. “Have you any papers, sir?”
“Papers?”
“Papers to say who you are.”
“My brother’s word is proof enough in these parts, Sergeant Lauder,” said Elizabeth. “If you need more than that, then you are welcome to follow us, and our father will be more than happy to provide it.”
“Your father will have to come to see you, miss. My orders say to bring in anyone out after curfew.”
“This is utterly ridiculous,” I said. “What curfew?”
“The curfew that has been ordered,” he answered, as though no further explanation were required.
“I have never heard of such a—”
He raised a hand. “You will come along now.”
“Who is your commanding officer?”
“Lieutenant Nash. He will see you in the morning.”
“Nash? But he’s—”
“But I know him,” Elizabeth said at the same time.
I stopped to look at her.
“He came to the funeral,” she said under her breath.
“Awfully decent of him,” I muttered in return, thinking low thoughts about Nash’s judgment that the rebels had left the area of the kettle. If he hadn’t been so damned optimistic . . .
“That is good, then,” concluded Lauder, ignoring this aside. “He will be most pleased to welcome you.”
I wrenched myself back to the present. “An army camp is no place for a respectable lady, Sergeant. I insist that you allow me to return my sister to our home—”
“I have my orders.”
“You nave no right—”
“I have my orders,” he repeated, tenaciously patient. The man had turned woodenly polite, but was implacable.
Damnation. The glum look on Elizabeth’s face indicated an exact concordance of thought between us on the situation.
“I’m sure Nash will sort this mess out for us once we talk to him,” she said.
I sighed and nodded. I expected that he would be cooperative enough—once he got over the shock.
Elizabeth maintained her grip on me, but kept her head high. The sergeant’s now-respectful attitude toward her had been noticed by his men and their discipline was such that no more coarse remarks or signals were to be heard from them. Now that the initial excitement of a successful capture had passed, they were looking more sleepy than lustful, thank God.
“What’s brought you out at this hour?” I asked the sergeant. “Even the rebels you’re chasing must retire sometime.”
“A farmer came in to tell us of a young man who had some misfortune on the road. Lieutenant Nash sent us to find him.”
So Farmer Hulton had been gossiping in the tavern. “He turned all of you out just for that?”
“It was a most strange thing to hear.”
“And what was so strange?”
“The young man told the farmer his name was Barrett. Yesterday a Mr. Barrett was shot dead by rebels. You are here and say that you are Mr. Barrett.” Now he broke his wooden facade down enough to bestow upon me a look of amused suspicion.
“Oh my God,” said Elizabeth.
“Sorry, miss,” added the sergeant, misinterpreting her reaction.
&
nbsp; “There’s been a terrible mistake,” she told him.
He invited her to go on, but his continued amusement was plain.
“Don’t you see? That was my cousin who was killed.”
“Pardon, miss?”
Elizabeth brought us to a halt, Lauder regarding her with polite interest, me with dawning dread. What in heaven’s name was she up to?
“My poor cousin, whose name was also Barrett, was the one killed,” she said.
“I am sorry, miss.
“It was my brother here that the farmer met on the road.”
“I see, miss.”
“So there’s no need to detain us.”
Lauder shrugged minimally. “You must still come along.” He moved on and his men herded us forward.
I squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. It had been a good try.
She wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Sergeant Lauder, I fully appreciate that you must perform your duty, but you are interfering with the king’s business.”
“In truth? It must be very late business.”
“My brother and I were taking a very important message to our father from Colonel DeQuincey, who is on General Howe’s staff.”
“What message?”
“We are not at liberty to say.”
“May I see this message?”
“It was not committed to paper, Sergeant. Surely you know how dangerous it could be if—”
Lauder held up a restraining hand. “It is not for me to say, only to follow my orders.”
After that there seemed to be no further purpose to argument. Elizabeth subsided for the moment into a state of smoldering indignation that no word of commiseration from me would dispel. It gave her a goodly energy, though, for she set a smart pace for the rest of us in our march toward Glenbriar and The Oak, where Nash and his men were quartered. Not half an hour more passed before the road made a last gentle curve and I saw the familiar sign.
It was an old building, one of the first large structures on the Island with upper and lower stories and a vast cellar below, famous for the choice and quality of drink kept there. The windows on the ground floor were open and lamps and a candle or two burned, but no one was presently in the common room.
Lauder left us standing outside while he entered, in search of additional orders, no doubt. Elizabeth crossed her arms and jerked her chin up to indicate her displeasure. Even the brute who had not been particularly polite kept his distance from her.
The sergeant returned shortly and issued a brief command to his men.
“What is it? What’s going on?” Elizabeth demanded.
“You will be placed in the cellar until morning,” he said.
“The what?”
“The cellar of the inn.”
I started to object, but Elizabeth was well ahead of me.
“Absolutely not! We’re loyal subjects of the king and will not submit to such insulting treatment. Where is Lieutenant Nash?”
“Those are my orders, miss—”
“To the devil with your orders, sir!”
“It must be so, miss. I have summoned the landlord to—”
“Lieutenant Nash!” she bellowed up at the windows above us. She was loud enough to wake everyone in the surrounding houses much less those hapless souls trying to sleep at The Oak. Lauder attempted to suggest that she exercise control and quietly go along to the cellar, but found himself drowned out by her continuous shouting. Then he indicated for his soldiers to restrain her and carry her off.
The first man who reached out to her got a punch in the eye from me. He dropped like a stone. The others, seeing me as the greater threat now, closed in. I lost sight of Elizabeth in the confusion of arms and legs and fists that followed.
Having my kind of upbringing, I’d no experience at street brawling, but natural instinct and anger made up for it. I had a vague impression of hitting one in the stomach, connecting with another’s chin, and kicking a third in a place where no gentleman would have presumed to strike. In what seemed like an instant, the lot of them, including Sergeant Lauder, were prostrate in the dust and moaning. Coming back to myself, I regarded the scene with no small astonishment as I could not make out how I’d been able to do it.
Elizabeth, from her vantage in the doorway of the tavern, stared at me with wide-eyed wonder. “My God, Jonathan.”
“Get inside,” I snapped.
She ducked through the door with me at her heels and as one, we shot the bolt into place.
“My God,” she repeated. “Four to one and all of them soldiers. What else did they teach you at Cambridge?”
“Ha,” was all I could reply, being still too surprised myself for coherent speech.
She thought to go to a window to fasten it shut, lest the sergeant and his men gain entry that way, but found it unnecessary. “They’re not getting up,” she reported.
Surely I not hit them that hard. I joined her, looking out on the yard and found it to be true. Though there was some movement in the ranks of the wounded, none were attempting to stand just yet.
“We’ll have to talk to Nash soon or there will be the devil to pay for this,” she said.
I almost objected to this sudden degrading of her language when it occurred to me that she was greatly enjoying herself and our circumstances. “Very well,” I said, though the encounter to come with Nash was not something I looked forward to with eagerness.
The row had been more than sufficient to stir the heaviest sleeper, and the narrow stairs leading to the upper rooms became crowded with the curious in various states of dress and undress. The company, all men, upon seeing that a lady was present, either finished putting on the clothes they had, or quickly retired to acquire more for modesty’s sake. Elizabeth had the presence of mind and the courtesy to turn around and allow them the privacy to retreat.
Stumping downstairs against the flow came Lieutenant Nash. He’d managed to throw on the necessaries, but lacked a coat or even waistcoat, and his feet, though in shoes, were without stockings.
“What the devil’s going on here?” he demanded sleepily. He pointed an accusing finger at me. “You! What’s happening here?”
I was in deep shadow at this point, thankful for it, and reluctant to come forth.
“I’ll manage this,” Elizabeth said, and moved into the light. “Lieutenant Nash?”
His aggressive manner commendably altered. “Good heavens, is that you, Miss Barrett?”
“Yes, and I must beg you for your help.”
Nonplussed, but attempting to be gallant, he reached the bottom of the stairs and gave a dignified bow. “No need to beg, Miss Barrett, I am entirely at your service.”
“Thank you, sir. Your Sergeant Lauder and his men wrongfully arrested us and were going to lock us in the cellar for the night. I only ask that you call him off long enough to hear me out.”
“Arrested you, Miss Barrett? Upon what charge?”
“He was not clear on that point, sir. He is, however, devoted to his duty and I fear he will continue with his arrest unless he receives instructions to desist.”
Nash opened and shut his mouth a few times, but decided to take action on her behalf. He unbolted the door and spent some time outside surveying his men. As Lauder was not yet in a condition to offer detailed explanations the business was concluded more quickly than one might otherwise expect. Through the window, more citizens, prompted by curiosity to forget about the curfew, had gathered to investigate. Other soldiers also emerged, and Nash ordered them to disperse the crowd.
The landlord of The Oak now appeared and demanded to know the cause of the uproar. Nash looked expectantly at Elizabeth.
“Would you please show us to a more private room, Mr. Farr?” she asked sweetly.
His instincts as host helped him to maintain some composure, and he gestured toward a door at
the back. Elizabeth swept up a candle and glided ahead, but turned just enough to make sure that Nash followed her. She was such an uncommon sight with her regal bearing, humble clothes, and mysterious manner that he’d forgotten about me. In their wake, I passed the landlord.
“Would you please bring along some brandy, Mr. Farr? The lieutenant is going to need it.”
Farr rocked back on his heels. “My God!” He whispered, going deathly white.
I made hushing motions with my hands. “It’s all right. There’s been a dreadful mistake, is all.”
“But I ’eard as they buried you. . ..”
I shook my head, assuming an air of exasperation. “Very obviously they did not, Mr. Farr. It was a cousin of mine, also named Barrett, who was buried. Now, please get that drink and have one for yourself as well.” I left him goggling and shut the door in his face.
Elizabeth placed her candle on a table and faced me as I walked in. The flame settled and the shadows stopped dancing. Nash turned, his expression one of expectation. It sagged into open-mouthed shock as he recognized me.
Elizabeth closely echoed my words to the landlord. “It’s all right. There’s nothing to fear.”
Nash appeared not to heed her. He fell away until his back was pressed to a wall. I heard his heart thundering so hard that it seemed likely to burst from his chest. His eyes, with the whites showing in abundance, tore from me to Elizabeth and returned.
“Sweet Jesu,” he whispered, as though in agony from a mortal wound.
And then the fatigue swept over me as I realized this was yet another in what promised to be an exhausting series of difficult confrontations. I could go all through it, as I had with Elizabeth, or . . . try an alternative. It would serve to at least abrogate his fear.
I stepped closer and looked at him straight. “Nash, you must listen to me . . .”
In this, I was repeating as nearly as I could the tone and manner that Nora had used often enough on me. I was not at all sure that it would have the same soothing effect on this terrified man until I realized that I’d already had some small practice at it with Rolly. It had worked then, it would work now.
