She halted mid-step.
What would Samuel say if she confided in him about Father? He hated the patriots and anyone who spoke against the king. Even though he’d loved Father, could Samuel get past what he had done?
Eliza reached the house. After closing the door, she found a lantern and lit it. The light painted the door and she stared at a large knot in the wood. She’d done the right thing. She couldn’t marry Samuel—not right now. Not with this pressing secret that Father and Samuel were enemies.
Resting the lamp at her side, she slumped her back against the door.
Samuel said he could help care for Kitty. He knew how Eliza feared her abilities in that respect, and why. An icy shudder passed over her as the images of that frigid day nine years ago flashed across her mind. She clenched her eyes shut, hoping to squash the dreadful memory. She’d already proven her lack of ability in caring for her siblings—which ended with deadly consequences.
Eliza pushed off the door and dragged her feet across the smooth wood floor. She couldn’t shove the realities of life onto someone else forever, as much as she wished to. With Kitty now under her care, she’d have to make difficult decisions, even if it frightened her to the very core.
What about marrying Samuel? Would she know the right choice when the time came?
God would provide direction—wouldn’t He?
She could only hope.
Chapter Three
“Well if it isn’t Tommy Watson!” a jolly, fat-sounding voice rang out.
Thomas turned from his work behind the press toward the unfamiliar man who’d addressed him. Grateful to be taken away from his menial task of setting the type, he wiped his hands on his apron.
“You know me, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you.” He stepped around the machine and moved toward the gentleman. The man grabbed Thomas’s hand and shook with gusto as he smiled, revealing large yellow teeth.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t remember an old man like myself. Last time I saw you, you were no higher than my breeches.” He stopped to straighten his posture and thrust out his chin. “I’m your father’s brother, God rest his soul.” Swooping off his dilapidated hat, he bowed his head as if trying to show reverent remembrance.
Thomas reserved a bitter laugh and shifted his weight over his feet. Anyone who really knew Father would know he wasn’t a man worth mourning.
“Name’s George Watson,” the stranger continued. “Just came over from England today and I knew I had to stop by first thing to exchange pleasantries with my kin.” He brushed the toe of his boot against the floor. “My brother left you the press then, did he?”
“Aye.” Thomas made a quick assessment of the man who professed to be Father’s brother. Father had never mentioned having any siblings. Then again, he had never been forthcoming about much.
The more Thomas stared at the man, the more it all seemed strangely plausible. George could be related. It looked as though this man and Father shared the same unfortunate nose. Thomas tried not to grin. Thank goodness God had not endowed him with the same protrusion.
George’s very wide frame took up most of the space in the front of the press, and Thomas detected the distinct smell of both urine and alcohol. Perhaps merely a result of the abysmal conditions travelers were often exposed to on the ships coming to and from. One could only hope.
“Very nice to meet you, George,” Thomas said, inviting the man in and closing the door. “I’m sorry to say I never knew my father had a brother. Will you tell me how you knew he had passed? I’m sure we never sent word to anyone.”
George nodded and scratched under his immense arm. “Well, the world may be a big place, Tommy, but still word gets ‘round. I only found out about a year ago, which is when I started making plans to come and see America for myself.”
Tommy. No one had called him that in more than twenty-four years. Thomas remembered very little of getting off the boat from England—he’d only been four years old at the time. Father had heard great things about America and brought the three of them to Boston “to make a new life”. Now, only Thomas remained—the few happy memories of his family, completely overshadowed by the rotten ones.
“What kind of a son are you? You killed your mother. If you’d do that to her, how will you do anyone else any good?”
Thomas took a cleansing breath to erase the doleful thoughts that darkened his mind and focused on the present. “So, George, what made you decide to cross that great ocean and settle in Boston?”
George laughed. “Well, I needed a new start—there was nothing left for me but gaming debts, you see. So I left all that behind. Left the gaming too. Nasty habit, that.” His grin made it seem as though he didn’t think the habit quite as “nasty” as he professed. “Anyway, I’m here for a new start like I said. I’m old, but there’s good work in me. I’m in need of employment, Tommy—hoped you might want some help.”
Rubbing his palm, Thomas peered at the press machine behind him. Could this be God’s way of providing for him? He hated the idea of leaving the press—the trade he loved and had worked so many years to build. But he couldn’t stay. Not anymore. George needed work and Thomas needed someone to take over. But what did the man know about operating a printing press?
Rubbing the cleft in his chin, Thomas exhaled through his nose. He could only hope the bloated fellow before him had the tenacity to deal with the sometimes tedious work. “This is a small shop and I work alone. No newspaper here. Just contracted work for fliers, advertisements, political pamphlets and the like. However, I have needed some help. Do you have any experience with the trade?”
“Aye, Tommy, I have. Not much, mind you, but enough to get me through until I’ve learned the rest. I have a lot of weight on me, as you can see, so I was hired as a pressman at a newspaper in London a few years back. The owner never complained about my work.” George stopped and played with the tricorne he held in his pudgy fingers. “I’m a good laborer, you won’t be disappointed in me I can guarantee you that.” He nodded as if to emphasize his words.
Could this really be God’s will? Thomas stared out the window as a peaceful presence encircled him like white smoke from an invisible fire. Tingles shot down his arms and he smiled. Did he need more of an answer then that? “Excellent, Uncle. I’m pleased to hire you.”
He extended his hand and they shook on the agreement. George pumped his arm up and down, his jowls jiggling from the movement. “Thank you, Tommy. I’m indebted to you.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Thomas grinned and took a deep breath then gagged on the acidic air. As glad as he was to help, the longer this man stayed in his presence the stronger the oppressive odor became and Thomas was forced to breathe from his mouth. No question—this man needed a bath.
George twirled the hat in his fingers. “Uh, there is one more thing, Tommy.”
Ready to finish his work, Thomas walked toward the press. “Yes?”
“I’m in desperate need of a place to stay and I was hoping, being that you’re family—”
“Say no more.” With a wave of his hand Thomas stopped him mid-sentence. “Of course you are welcome to stay here. I’ll show you upstairs. Make yourself at home—feel free to wash up.” Please wash up.
“Thank you, Tommy. God bless you!” George picked up the small bag he’d carried with him. Thomas showed him through the back door and up the stairs that led to the modest living quarters above the shop.
“Take your time getting settled before you come down. I’ll be here whenever you are ready.”
George panted in giant heaves as he made his way up the few stairs. Halfway, he stopped and turned to Thomas. “I say, is there anything to eat? I’ve been living on the most unpleasant grub—I’m in terrible need of some real victuals.”
Thomas stifled a chuckle. This man? Hungry? Never.
“You will find a bit of bread and cheese in the cupboard, but I don’t cook much. No wife, you know.” Thomas laughed to mak
e light of it, trying to tell himself he liked it this way, living alone, but his heart would never believe such a lie.
“I understand. Never had a wife myself.” George laughed for a moment and then shook his head as if fighting a memory. “Thank you again. I’ll be down soon enough, and ready to work.” He began his trek back up the stairs, pounding on each step as he went.
As Thomas returned to the press, his uncle’s foul smell accosted him anew. He opened the front door of the shop, allowing the cool air to pour in from the noisy street. How had he missed that it was raining?
He paused for a moment and leaned his shoulder against the frame of the door, taking in the view and inhaling the fresh scent of rain. Crowds of people ran in and out of the shops, dodging the streams of water. Redcoats dotted the streets, their muskets in-hand. Carriages bumped over the muddy streets, dogs barked. A young boy darted past the shop door, waving with a wide grin on his dimpled face. Thomas smiled and waved back.
Pushing out a loud sigh, his stomach plummeted to his feet. Shaking his head, Thomas went back to his work. He left the door open, savoring the familiar sounds and smells of his city—his home. He hated to leave Boston. In time, Sandwich would feel like home . . . wouldn’t it? Only time would tell.
Placing the minuscule type, his thoughts turned to the dark task that awaited him.
The clock struck noon. Only ten hours left, but he wasn’t counting.
One of Martin’s minions had come by several days before specifying that his superiors wanted names. Four names of powerful members of the Sons of Liberty to use as “examples” of what happens to patriots who choose to go against the Crown.
How could he possibly do it? Thomas placed the tiny metal letters into the trays as a boundless pit dug into his middle. If the soldiers wanted “examples”, why not go after them themselves? It wasn’t as if all members of the group kept their involvement a secret.
Plunging the letters in with greater force, Thomas clenched his teeth. The blackmail was perfect. He had no choice but to comply. Daniel’s safety and the safety of his family was paramount.
Give Robert Campbell’s name.
Thomas’s head shot up and his hands froze as God’s words dripped over him like the rain that fell outside his door. Would it work? Robert had gone to great lengths to be seen as a trusted Loyalist . . .
The longer Thomas contemplated, the more the plot seemed plausible. Robert was dead; there was nothing the soldiers could do to him—they hadn’t specified the men had to be living.
Chuckling, Thomas pulled the lever of the press. It might work. It had to. He would give them the names of two deceased members of the group along with two phony names. Hopefully that would keep them occupied long enough to allow him to get out of Boston and safely into Sandwich before they realized his fraud and caught up with him. He would have to stay hidden for a while, but no matter. He had everything he needed to make a good start. And God would be with him—as He had always been.
Thank you, Lord.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Blast! Who could be bothering him now?
Thomas looked up and his jaw slackened. His neck heated around his collar, his eyes widened. A woman stood just inside the stoop, the rain trickling off her crimson cloak.
She smiled, and his breath caught.
“Sir?” she asked again, in the same melodic voice.
“Aye, forgive me, Miss.” He quickly wrenched off his leather apron. “How may I help you?” He rushed forward, almost tripping on the leg of the press.
“Forgive me.” Her gaze moved over his face for a moment before she dipped her chin. “I . . . I was looking for the new bakery and had been told it was down this street, but I can’t seem to find it. Your door was open so I just came in.” She looked behind her, allowing Thomas a full view of her graceful neck. “It’s silly, I know. Having lived here all my life I ought to know my way around town, but it’s been a while since I’ve, well . . . never mind.” The woman stopped her endearing ramble as her cheeks pinked. She lowered her lashes but not before Thomas took another long drink of her chocolate eyes.
She bit her lip and he grinned as big on the inside as he did on the outside. “Not silly at all, Miss. The Arbonne’s Bakery is just four doors down. The shingle is poorly placed, anyone could miss it.” He moved toward her and pointed down the street.
Their eyes locked for a moment and he inhaled the sight of her gentle smile and clear skin. His heart flipped behind his ribs and he couldn’t stop his gaze from combing her from head to foot.
Realizing his ill manners, Thomas bowed at the waist, his eyes never leaving hers. “My name is Thomas Watson.”
She made a shy curtsy, but said nothing.
Would she not offer her name? His pulse quickened. Etiquette prohibited strangers from being introduced without a third party. But he was desperate, and in a desperate moment such manners were obsolete. “And will you be so kind as to tell me your name?”
Her face flushed with color, adding to the pink that already decorated her skin. “My name is Eliza Campbell.”
Thomas stepped back and straightened. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to the late Dr. Robert Campbell, would you?”
A shadow of grief darkened her gentle features. “Aye. He was my Father.”
The air in his lungs evaporated and all words escaped him. This magnificent woman was one of Robert’s daughters. Somehow he’d figured the Campbell girls would be young and gangly. Eliza was anything but that.
Her lips tightened and her fingers twisted the purse string in her hand. His heart swelled with the knowledge that her grief must be even more powerful than his own. He wanted to give her some kind of comfort, but every word that entered his mind seemed inadequate.
Thomas lowered his voice. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
For a second she didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard him. Then slowly, she raised her eyes and offered a polite smile. “Thank you.”
An alarming thought suddenly revealed itself and attacked his mind like an armed Indian. Did she know the truth about Robert’s involvement in the Sons of Liberty? Most likely not. Thomas’s brow knit. Tonight’s revelation to Martin could put her in very real danger.
No. They wouldn’t hurt women and children. And since there were no living men to capture, there was nothing to fear. Was there?
Eliza turned toward the door. “I thank you for your assistance. I should be going.” She stopped as if she were reluctant to leave.
Tell her.
Thomas paused.
Tell her you knew her father.
There it was again. He couldn’t deny the voice of God.
Despite his reservations, Thomas stepped forward. “I . . . I knew your father, Miss Campbell. He was a man of great honor, and I admired him very much.”
“Truly?” Her eyes searched him with a piercing kind of longing.
Just then, another younger woman came to the door. She didn’t enter, but stood on the stoop in the pouring rain.
“There you are, Liza. Forgive me for taking so long in Aunt Grace’s shop, I just—” She stopped and her gaze jumped between them for several seconds before she started up again. “This isn’t the bakery, Liza.” A mischievous smile spread on her face and Thomas pressed his lips together to keep from grinning.
Eliza turned toward the girl and smiled. “Forgive me, Kitty. I couldn’t find it and Mr. Watson was kind enough to point me in the right direction.” She took the girl by the hand and led her into the shop. “Mr. Watson, allow me introduce you to my younger sister, Miss Katherine Campbell.”
Thomas bowed, realizing how absurd his assumptions about Robert’s daughters had been. He should have visited Robert long ago. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Katherine.”
The young girl offered a polite bow and smiled at Thomas before turning back to her sister, with a grin that dripped with glee. Eliza glanced at Thomas again and his muscles turned weightless. He’d
never seen such dark eyes.
“Forgive me for taking so much of your time,” she said, pulling her wet cloak tighter around her shoulders. “I must allow you to return to your work.”
“Think nothing of it.”
She stepped into the rain and Thomas strained to think of something he could say or do to make her stay, but his mind worked at half-speed and nothing satisfactory sprung to life in his jumbled brain.
Before walking away, she peered over her shoulder once more then slipped her arm around her sister. They made their way through the busy, muddy street in the direction of the bakery.
Thomas stood in the doorway like a chunk of useless iron, unable to take his gaze off the two women until they entered the shop.
Miss Campbell. Eliza.
She was the kind of woman a man did not easily forget. He released a long breath through his nose. He could only hope she would never learn of what he would do in only a few short hours.
God, please keep them safe. I don’t want my actions to cause them harm.
“I’m ready for work, Tommy.”
Startled, Thomas turned to see George standing by the press, struggling to tie the strings of the apron around his ample girth.
With a low chuckle, Thomas came in and closed the door, hoping his momentary stupor hadn’t been obvious.
“Who was that pretty thing you were drooling over just now? I thought you said you had no need for a wife?” George grinned. A flicker of teasing splashed his voice as he fumbled with the apron ties.
Blast. He’d been caught.
Thomas moved behind the press, donned his own apron then dipped the ink balls in the sticky black goo. “I never said I hadn’t a need for a wife, I just said I don’t have one at present.”
So Fair a Lady (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 1) Page 3
