So Fair a Lady (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 1)

by Amber Lynn Perry

  So Fair a Lady

  By, Amber Lynn Perry

  Copyright 2014 Amber Lynn Perry

  Cover Design by Tekeme Studios and Indie Cover Designs

  Cover Photography by Danyell Diaz Photography

  Published by Liberty Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  Author/publisher information and contact: www.amberlynnperry.com

  Dedicated to all humble seekers of truth.

  May you find it, and may it make you free.

  Chapter One

  Boston, 1773

  Don’t leave us, Father, we need you!

  Eliza Campbell tried to keep her fingers from trembling as she tenderly stroked her father’s arm and watched him struggle to breathe. Her heart withered, and she stared out the partially open window of the large upstairs room, praying. Lord, how will we live without him?

  The early October sun spilled into the bedchamber, imparting the loamy fragrance of autumn. Large cotton-like clouds dotted the pale sky, while a cardinal floated across the breeze and into a clump of orange-colored maples.

  A beautiful day.

  Far too beautiful for Father to die.

  Eliza mopped his brow and smoothed away several strands of his brown hair, guarding her tears. He was only fifty—a skilled physician in the best years of his life. Eliza shuddered. Though she knew God always worked in wisdom, she couldn’t see why He would take Father from them now.

  Outside the window, the view across the swaying fields of grasses looked the same—peaceful, welcoming, joyful. But without Father this home, this place that had always brought so much happiness, would never be the same. The dreaded consumption that plagued him for so long would now take his life. The gray color of death painted his lips and small beads of sweat dotted his forehead. They could only try to comfort him and wait for the end.

  Sitting opposite Eliza on the large four-poster bed, Kitty knit her fingers and blinked. Large tears rolled down her porcelain cheeks, and thick dark-auburn curls pulled free from their pins, giving testament to her constant vigil. A sob escaped her lips and Eliza instinctively reached for her younger sister’s hand and squeezed. I won’t fail you, Kitty. I won’t.

  “Kitty?” Father gasped for air. “Will you . . . fetch me some more cool cloths?”

  She straightened and patted her tears, trying to smile. “Aye, Father, I should have thought of that myself, forgive me. I shall return directly.” She crunched her apron in her fingers and nodded at Eliza before darting out of the room, her light step echoing down the stairs.

  Eliza scooted closer to Father and gulped down the painful lump of sorrow in her throat. But it wouldn’t budge. She propped the pillows around his neck and back, but Father still winced with every rise and fall of his chest.

  Lord, please be with me. I need thy strength.

  “Eliza . . . listen to me.” Father wheezed as he spoke.

  “Yes, Father, I’m here. I’m listening.”

  He swallowed. “Behind you . . . on the mantel, underneath the candlestick is a letter.” Father stopped and tried to inhale what little air he could. “Go . . . retrieve it.”

  Eliza shook her head. “I don’t want to leave your side even for a moment. I—”

  Father inched his hand across the bedding and gripped Eliza’s fingers. “Get it. That letter is of . . . great importance.”

  Eliza opened her mouth to protest but snapped her jaw closed. No need to cause Father any added discomfort by her disobedience. “As you wish.” Slowly, she moved from her perch at his side, careful to watch him should he begin another fit of coughs.

  She removed the folded paper from underneath the heavy candlestick atop the wooden mantel. The paper was crisp and the seal fresh, as if he had just written it. But he couldn’t have. She’d been at his side for almost two weeks. When had he composed it? What information could it possibly contain that was so important?

  Father turned his head on the pillow. “Aye, that is it.” He paused, his lungs wheezing. “That letter . . . is for your eyes alone. No one . . . not even Kitty can know what it reveals.”

  Peering at the empty doorway, Eliza quickly took her position at his side. “What do you wish me to know that Kitty cannot?” Thank heaven her sister hadn’t yet returned with the cloths.

  “You are ready for the truth, but Kitty . . . she is too headstrong . . . she must learn of it in God’s time.” Father blinked slowly.

  Eliza forced a smile on her lips, while her insides twisted. Father had turned delirious. Kitty was only three years behind Eliza’s twenty. And yes, she may be headstrong at times, but she was mature and stable. Surely she could . . .

  No. Best to leave this alone and change the subject before Kitty returned. “I promise I shall do my best to care for Kitty, to protect her and give her everything she needs. I shall try and raise her the way you would have me.”

  Father moved his thumb across Eliza’s hand, providing comfort even in his last moments. “I know of your fears, my dear. What happened with Peter . . . was not your fault.”

  Her chest constricted. Of course it was her fault. She opened her mouth to speak, but the crowd of emotions in her throat blocked her words.

  Father’s tired gaze reached around Eliza’s shoulders like a tender embrace. “There is plenty of money for you and your sister to live on…. Do not worry.” He paused, his shoulders quaking as he coughed. “Focus on the letter . . . it is vital. I want you . . . to know the truth about me.”

  Eliza pressed her teeth into her lip and tucked the mysterious note into her skirt pocket. What truth? Was he trying to say he’d been hiding something? Surely he knew not what he was saying.

  “How is he?” Kitty rushed in, her arms laden with rags and a large pitcher of water.

  “Worse.”

  “I was afraid of that.” After wetting a cloth, Kitty quickly took her place at the other side of the bed and patted the damp cotton rag against Father’s forehead.

  The weight of her responsibilities crushed what strength Eliza had left. Clinging to the last thread of hope within, Eliza pinned a weak smile on her lips to let Kitty know that all would be well. Though of course, it would not. They had no real family to speak of and would be alone in the world if not for Samuel. Thank the Lord he would be there for them.

  “My daughters. . .” Father’s eyelids flickered, his chest barely moved.

  No!

  Eliza couldn’t breathe. It was upon them. The moment she’d feared for months. Eliza’s gut cramped and her eyes burned. Dearest Lord, he cannot leave us, please do not take him!

  “My spirit . . . will strive with you.” Father’s mouth barely moved, his voice no more than a whisper. He lifted his gaze to Eliza’s. Somehow, in these last moments, his eyes cleared and penetrated into the raw chambers of her heart. “Find the truth . . . find the truth.”

  The light left his face and his last breath hissed from his mouth.

  Numb, Eliza stared, unable to move.

  “Father!” Kitty draped herself over his limp form, her body shaking as she wept.

  Eliza’s chest constricted as she stared at the lifeless form on the bed. Father, her greatest confidante, friend and hero had returned home to God. He still smelled of coffee and sweet tobacco. His body was still warm to the touch. Yet, he was gone.

  His last words hung heavy in the air. Find the truth.

  She covered her
face. What truth?

  Clutching his limp hand, Eliza blinked away the blur in her vision as she set her mouth in a determined line. She clasped his fingers tighter. Whatever truth you want me to search for Father, I will find it. I promise.

  The vacant alley was darker than usual, adding to the shadows that littered his heart. Thomas Watson peered up at the black sky, his hands shaking. How much longer could he endure this? He jumped at a rustling sound along the cobblestone and almost dropped the folded paper into the puddle at his feet.

  Someone was watching him.

  It couldn’t be . . .

  His breathing stopped. He froze.

  Or could it?

  Had the worst finally happened? Had the Sons of Liberty discovered his treachery and followed him here? Tonight’s meeting at the tavern around the corner would begin any minute—any one of them could easily witness . . .

  Please no, Lord. My friends must never know what I’ve done.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he clenched his eyes shut. The sooner he left Boston and started his life over again in Sandwich, the sooner he could leave his terrible past behind him.

  He jerked again at a rustling sound. A rat scurried out of a pile of refuse and ran into the dim moonlight before disappearing around the corner. Thomas exhaled and raked his hand over his head.

  Blasted rat!

  Breathing still labored, he stared at the brick wall across the narrow alley. Paranoid. That’s what he was—that’s what two years of being blackmailed would do to any man. He crunched the folded paper in his fist as the tall, dingy walls closed in. How could he refuse the British, only to have Daniel imprisoned and dear Clara and the children sent to live in the streets? Impossible.

  The blood slowed to a halt in his veins. But what about liberty? Hadn’t he pledged his life to that very cause? How could he stand before God at the judgment day knowing that he had been such a coward? Robert Campbell would be ashamed.

  At least he never knew.

  Forgive me, Lord. Please forgive me.

  “You have the information, I trust?”

  Thomas jumped at the sound of Samuel Martin’s voice, then quickly widened his stance, holding his arms at his sides. His muscles strained. Martin approached, his crimson uniform taking on a foreboding shade of black, while the tiny bits of light from the street flickered off his buttons.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Thomas pushed out his chest and raised his chin. The sour odor of rotten fish drifted on the sea breeze and bit his nose. He fought the urge to laugh. Was that foul smell from the wharf or simply Martin’s cologne? Either way, the stench suited him.

  Without wasting a second, Martin reached out, wiggling his fingers. “Watson, you have the information, do you not? I should hate to have to make good on my promise if you don’t.”

  “Promise? You mean your threat.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have it?”

  Thomas’s anger boiled but he said nothing, only handed over the crumpled paper. He clenched his jaw in an effort to hold back the dagger-like words that threatened to erupt.

  “Well, Watson.” Martin’s voice sounded far too relaxed as he unfolded the paper and looked it over. “I know you will be most pleased to hear that my superiors are extremely grateful for the information about the Sons of Liberty that you have so kindly supplied.” He chuckled and smiled, the faint light gleaming off his teeth. “You’re country thanks you—your king thanks you.”

  Thomas clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. “I have no king. Massachusetts is my country.”

  Martin gripped the sword at his side with one hand and jabbed his finger in Thomas’s chest with the other. “Watch your words patriot, or you will find yourself in the pillory for speaking treason!”

  “You don’t frighten me.”

  Martin sneered. “I have you right where I want you, Watson. And you will do what I say, or your cousin and his family will—well, you know the rest.”

  Standing to his full height of six foot two, Thomas gauged his opponent who stood an easy three inches below him. His muscles flexed and his chest pumped. Martin may appear impressive in uniform, the sword at his side may be long and razor sharp, but Thomas’s shoulders were broader, his arms more powerful. More than anything he wanted to feel the crack of Martin’s square jaw as he sent his fist into it.

  At that moment another Redcoat emerged from the shadows. Thomas jerked. Where had he come from?

  “This had better be urgent.” Martin hissed when the man reached his side. “Can you not see that I am busy?”

  The man made a quick bow at the waist. “Please forgive me, Captain. You’ve requested to be informed about any changes in Robert Campbell’s condition.”

  “Aye, and?”

  The soldier cleared his throat. “He passed away earlier today, sir.”

  The ground under Thomas’s feet rippled. His lungs seized and he bit the inside of his cheek to conceal his reaction to the blinding news. Dear Lord, no!

  Even in the faint light Thomas saw Martin pale as his features dropped. Was the man upset? Surprising. Yet . . . Thomas reconsidered. Robert had been beloved by the Tories in town, especially the lobsters. It was no wonder Martin would want to know of his passing.

  “Thank you.” Martin cleared his throat. “That will be all. You are dismissed.”

  The other soldier looked Thomas up and down as if he were a pile of rubbish, bowed, then took his leave.

  Martin turned back to Thomas, his shoulders pulled back. “Two weeks. Two weeks and then I will be done with you. Meet me here at the regular time. I will send one of my men to give you the assignment.”

  He tramped out of the alley, leaving Thomas in a deafening quiet.

  Robert was gone.

  The terrible truth settled into his bones. Thomas had known the end was near, but the wrenching loss shredded his heart with unspeakable pain. He shuffled backward and thumped against the side of the tavern, shoving his hands through his hair. His throat tightened and he closed his burning eyes. The dank, salty air around him thickened as his grief swelled.

  After several moments of bitter silence, with his head bowed, he shuffled out of the alley and stopped in front of the tavern. He stared at the ground, mindless of the sights and sounds of Boston that usually served to cheer him. Memories of Robert’s compassion, wisdom, and fearless strength both warmed and haunted.

  Suddenly, a large hand smacked him on the back, jolting him out of the abyss and into the present. “Cousin!”

  Thomas straightened and exhaled a sorrow-filled breath before trying to smile, but nothing came to his lips. “Daniel. ‘Tis good to see you. As always.”

  Daniel grinned, revealing the gap between his two front teeth. “I’m very pleased to see you as well, Thomas. There is much of importance we must discuss tonight, ‘twould not be the same without you.” Daniel Williams flashed a disarming smile, which reached out and worked as a balm to the sorrow Thomas kept hidden. What a good man he was.

  What would he say if he knew the truth of what Thomas had done? No. Daniel should never know. It was better that way.

  Thomas looked into the window of the bright tavern at the few familiar faces of the other Sons of Liberty. Robert’s voice rang in the chorus of his memory— “Our greatest desires are worth every sacrifice, Thomas. And this cause? This cause is the future. It deserves everything.”

  Daniel’s bass timbre broke the silence and his tone lowered. “After today’s news about Doctor Campbell, I wasn’t sure whether you would come. I know how much he meant to you—how much he meant to all of us.”

  “Robert would want me here.”

  Daniel nodded, his head lowered in respect. “Aye, I believe you are right. I’ve never met a man with more courage and faith.” He moved aside to make way for a group of soldiers on the street. He lowered his volume another degree. “Robert had family, did he not?”

  “Two daughters.”

  “Have you been acq
uainted?” Daniel walked toward the tavern door.

  “No,” Thomas said, following. “He did speak of them often. I know he loved them dearly.”

  “What will they do now?”

  “I cannot say. I remember something about an aunt, but that is all. I fear they are quite alone in the world.”

  Daniel opened the door and motioned for Thomas to enter first. “God will keep them. He loves all His children, but I believe He holds a special place in His heart for His daughters.”

  Daniel’s wisdom reached into Thomas’s grief, blanketing it with a measure of peace. He gave a polite half-smile and stepped into the busy tavern. Please bless Robert’s daughters, Lord. Send someone to help them in their time of need.

  The air in the glowing room mounted with the pleasing aromas of ale, salty stews, and savory puddings. A gentle hum of voices bounced between the walls and lent a feeling of welcome camaraderie.

  The two of them approached the long table in the back. The conversation between the six other men became clear as the group nodded their greetings.

  Reverend Bassett, wearing a black jacket and breeches that contrasted his white hair, leaned forward and rested his twined hands on the smooth wood of the table. “I have been informed there is a traitor in our midst.”

  All the blood in Thomas’s limbs stalled and his heart refused to beat. They know.

  “A traitor? Whatever are you talking about?” Daniel neared and pulled up a chair.

  The Reverend continued, his tone grave. “Aye, indeed. Someone in this group is withholding vital information.”

  Daniel motioned for Thomas to sit, but he couldn’t move.

  “It seems that you, Mr. Rucks,” Reverend Basset continued, “have gotten engaged and have yet to inform any of us of such a fact.”

  The men at the table burst into laughter while Mr. Rucks’s boyish face turned a dark shade of pink. Congratulations bounced around the table while Thomas tried to find his breath. They hadn’t been talking about him. Thank the Lord.