“Of course not.” Victoria’s enthusiastic tone did not match her frozen smile as she cut a sidelong glance at her sister. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Heather?” Snatching her sister’s hand, she headed for the staircase and trailed up the steps after the giggling youngsters.
As the noisy group took their leave, the mistress turned back to Mariah. “And who is this attractive young lady you’ve brought with you, Cora?”
“La, forgive me, Diana. I should have introduced you.” Mistress Barclay smiled at Mariah. “She’s our private tutoress. We wanted someone a touch more educated and sophisticated for our girls than was offered at Miss Bridgestone’s Academy. I’m most pleased to introduce Miss Mariah Harwood, from Bath, England. She’s not only a wonderful instructress in all the womanly arts, but she’s also an accomplished musician—much to our Heather’s delight.”
“Oh my.” The young matron dropped into a quick curtsy. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Mariah returned the curtsy. “And I you.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think wealthy Mistress Barclay was putting on airs for the wife of a clerk, bestowing such lavish compliments. But from the look of this fine home, especially in this colony, it was natural that a man in the governor’s employ would be held in high esteem. Now, it seemed, so was she—so long as there was no mention of her being a bondwoman. Mariah highly doubted her mistress would divulge that. A smile tickled the corners of her lips.
“Oh dear, do forgive my lack of manners. Please join me in the parlor for refreshments.” The hostess swept a graceful hand toward an open doorway, then turned to the uniformed slave who had let them in. “Gladden, would you see that tea is served right away?”
As they ambled into another front room with paneled wainscoting, Mistress Everard came to Mariah’s side. “I’ve always longed to visit England. My husband is from London, and he’s promised to take me there one day. And I do so want to visit Bath while we’re there. But before I ask you a thousand questions, I must catch my dear Cora up on the latest.” She turned to her. “Cora, you are simply not going to believe this….”
If Mariah had been acquainted with any of the individuals mentioned in an animated stream of who did this, who went where, and with whom, perhaps listening to the two matrons seated together on a burgundy-and-ivory-striped settee wouldn’t have been so tedious. She’d all but memorized the delicate porcelain figurines on the walnut mantel, the gold-framed mirror above, and the red window hangings that appeared to be some sort of rich wool.
A sudden burst of flute playing came from the stairwell, evidence that the luggage must have been taken to the upper floor. But the music ceased as suddenly as it began, as if a door had opened and then closed. Then hurried footsteps came down the stairs and tapped across the floor of the great hall. Perhaps the women would stop their infernal gossiping as if Mariah weren’t even there.
Victoria swept through the parlor entrance. “Excuse me, Mother, but you absolutely must let me go to the shops to find another pair of gloves. The ones that go with my sapphire evening gown are not among my things.”
Her mother sent her a condescending look. “Dearest girl, I’m sure you’re mistaken. You took such great pains in laying out all your accessories.”
“I know.” Her expression turned woeful. “I can’t imagine how I forgot them. Please, Mama. I simply cannot wear mismatched gloves.”
Since she’d seen Tori place those gloves into her trunk, Mariah knew the girl was not being truthful. But she wasn’t about to say anything that would cause strife between herself and the sister of her betrothed.
Mistress Barclay drew a deep breath. “You are quite certain you didn’t bring them?”
“Yes. I looked and looked.”
“But we’ve only just arrived, dear. Diana and I are having such a nice chat.”
“No need to interrupt your visit. Mariah could go with me.” Victoria swung a hopeful glance to where Mariah sat across from the matrons. “You wouldn’t mind terribly, would you?”
“No, not at all.” She rose. “A walk would be refreshing after that long journey aboard ship.”
Her mother swung a slightly suspicious glance between the two of them. “Very well. But be back in plenty of time to dress for dinner. We shouldn’t want to look shoddy for the secretary to the governor, now, should we?”
“Of course not, Mother.” Tori reached for Mariah’s hand.
“Do you have enough money with you?”
“Yes, Mother. Thank you.” She tugged Mariah toward the entrance.
“That girl,” Mariah overheard the mistress comment as Victoria ushered her to the front door. “She may think she’s matured, but she acts the silly, thoughtless child at times.”
Moonstruck would be more like it, Mariah reasoned as she accompanied Tori out into the lovely spring afternoon.
They set a fast pace in the direction of Market Square.
“Thank you for rescuing me.”
Victoria laughed. “Rescuing both of us. What with Heather’s shrill flute playing and the little girls’ screaming, I just had to get out of there.” She caught Mariah’s hand and slowed her pace as she leaned close. “Look ahead. Two handsome young men are peering into that apothecary window.” Straightening her shoulders, she toyed with a curl dangling by her ear and hiked her chin as if she planned to ignore them.
Mariah knew it was merely a ploy to get their attention. She’d taught Tori that trick herself.
And of course it worked. Before the two of them reached the finely attired young men, they’d turned to stare.
The bolder of the two, slim, with light brown hair and eyes, grinned and tipped his cocked hat as he stepped into Victoria’s path. “Good afternoon, lovely ladies. Or should I say, the loveliest young maidens ever to grace our fair city.”
Completely disregarding all that Mariah had taught her, Tori giggled and extended a hand. “Why, what a gallant thing to say.”
“But quite true.” The other young man, lanky and somewhat taller, with russet hair and green eyes, bowed before Mariah and reached for her hand.
“Excuse me. I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” Though said as a proper chaperone should, her smile betrayed her good intentions.
The first fellow, still holding Victoria’s hand, spoke up. “If you two are attending the play tomorrow evening, I’m sure I can arrange a proper introduction then. In the meantime, for convenience’s sake, I’m Willard Dunn, son of Dr. Arliss Dunn, physician to our honorable governor. And my friend is Ronnie—”
“Ronald Sedley,” his pal corrected, puffing out his chest. “My father is in shipping, out of Yorktown.”
“How lovely.” Victoria practically meowed. “I’m afraid our family merely farms and raises Thoroughbred horses. I’m Victoria Barclay, of Barclay Bay Plantation, near Alexandria. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Oh, and this is our Mariah.”
The words plantation and Thoroughbred seemed to impress them.
As both men again bowed, Mariah realized that Victoria had included her in the family. She decided not to correct her. “We’re very pleased to meet you, but we really must be on our way. We have some purchases to make for the play tomorrow evening.” She withdrew her hand as the pair continued to stare. “We’ll be most pleased for a proper introduction then.” She took Victoria’s arm and prodded her onward.
The girl glanced back and waved. “Tomorrow eve…”
After they’d gotten far enough away, Tori turned to her. “Why did you do that? They were so handsome and—”
“I agree. However, we know nothing about them, and a small bit of encouragement is sufficient until we do.”
“But they just told us—”
“And everything they said could have been lies. That is why a proper introduction is always vital. They know it just as well as we do.”
“Fine!” With a huff, Tori jerked her arm free. “Well, what I do know is that those attentive gentlemen saw no need to go riding out into the wi
lderness, leaving me with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs.”
The last words struck hard. Mariah hadn’t been twiddling her thumbs for a mere few weeks. Colin had been gone for months, only to return for less than an hour before he was off again.
“I’m gonna flirt with every good-lookin’ bachelor I see while we’re here,” Victoria drawled as she increased the pace. “Mayhap I’ll find a beau or two willin’ to come visit me at the plantation. Isn’t Mother always wantin’ me to marry a merchant’s son? Well, I just might give that Mr. Sedley some extra attention.”
The girl was proving to be quite headstrong. Thank goodness, Mistress Barclay would accompany them to the play. Mariah changed the subject. “There’s that millinery shop the hawker at the wharf said had a shipment of fabrics. They might have gloves as well.” She pointed to a tidy wooden building just ahead that held a display of feminine accessories in its window.
“You know very well that I don’t need gloves.”
“True. But we’d better not return without some. I, for one, wish to remain in your mother’s good graces.”
Never had she uttered truer words. Mistress Barclay could very well become her mother-in-law before the end of summer. And though Mariah had never been known for her patience, she had to remain true to Colin while she awaited his return. Please, Lord, bring Colin home soon.
Mariah wasn’t sure how much longer her patience would stay her. Those obviously prosperous young men were entirely too tempting.
Chapter 23
Rubbing the stubble on his face, Colin promised himself he would shave in the morning. He wagged his head with a smile. If his mother could only see how lax he’d become with his grooming. He’d managed but a quick wash before supper with nothing more than a small piece of soap. Considering he still wore the same clothing he’d had on when they slogged through all the mud on their way here, no less than a full bath and a change of attire would make him feel human again.
Colin rose from where he’d stooped at the upper end of a small brook that sliced through the large, oval-shaped meadow. He could easily see why the Indians had named it Great Meadows. A gentle evening breeze feathered across his face as he left the small spring behind, reminding him how grateful he was that the weather had finally turned warm. Starting toward the large ring of campfires and makeshift tents, he viewed the setting sun as it crowned the surrounding pines with gold. Not a single dreary cloud in sight.
He calculated that it must be sometime past the middle of May. Surely by now, Mariah had received the letter he’d left at Wills Creek Station. It would have been sent out with the first dispatch rider going back to civilization. As so many times before, Colin was overwhelmed once again with a deep yearning. Mariah. My beautiful Mariah. We’ve had so little time together. So little…
He heaved a woeful sigh as he passed by the herd of horses, hobbled and quietly grazing. Finding Storm among them, he was pleased that the Thoroughbred he’d ridden from home had managed the rigors of the rugged wilderness so well, especially since the mottled gray was a more delicately boned breed of horse. But then, Paladin, whom he’d sold on his trip, had more than proved the breed’s stamina that marvelous day Colin had held Mariah close all the way home from Baltimore—the day he’d fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love. Even after all this time, echoes of her delightful, sparkling laughter rang in his memory. How he wished he could hear it now, on this waning, lonely evening. He missed her so much, his insides ached.
A number of the horses jerked their heads up from the grass. Ears flicking, the herd turned their necks in the direction of the dark woods to the west. Several cows just beyond them mooed low.
Closing his hand around his revolver and drawing the weapon from its holster, Colin tried to peer past the animals. He wheeled to face the camp and raised the firearm high, waving it back and forth until he caught the attention of several of the men.
His heart pounded as he crouched and moved swiftly toward the animals, his only cover in this open space. Waiting and listening, he hoped the other men had remembered to prime their flashpans, then breathed easier, recalling that everyone kept their weapons loaded and ready since Trent’s men had met them at Wills Creek Station.
No unusual sound came to his ears, but several of the horses remained alert and uneasy. Something—or someone—was out there. Bear, mountain cat…or the French?
Movement in the deep shadows produced an Indian wearing only a loincloth and leather leggings that reached halfway up his thighs. A musket dangled from his hand as, glistening with sweat and breathing heavily, he jogged past the horses.
A minute passed. Then two. No other Indians appeared. Not ready to trust that the man was alone, Colin remained hidden, his gun propped on the back of a sturdy quarter horse and aimed in the direction from which the Indian had come. When no other sounds came from the woods, Colin noticed the horses grazed placidly once again. He glanced back at the encampment and spotted the Indian walking with Washington toward the colonel’s tent. Obviously the ruddy man had come with a message.
Colin holstered his pistol and ran across the field for the tent, his curiosity piqued. Was the news good? Or bad?
Approaching the command tent, he noticed a number of enlisted militia milling about outside. Obviously they were as curious as he to learn why the Indian brave had arrived with such haste. Upon entering the sailcloth enclosure, Colin saw that Tuck and the other officers had all gathered inside. The Indian stood next to the colonel.
Washington spied Colin and addressed him in his usual formal manner. “Lieutenant Barclay. Thank you for your vigilance.”
Colin nodded acknowledgment of the compliment, though he was more interested in what the Indian had come to report.
“Gentlemen.” Washington swept a glance around at the officers. “Our visitor comes from our good ally, the great Chief Monakaduto of the Seneca people. Some of you might know him as Half King. I shall allow his messenger to speak the words of Chief Monakaduto.”
He then nodded to the sinewy brown-skinned man. Fully armed with a knife and hatchet tucked in belted and beaded sheaths, the Indian held his musket like a staff. His head was shaved except for a braided hank of top hair adorned with beads similar to the numerous ones decorating his moccasins, an armband, and earrings. The man made a striking picture.
“I come from great Chief Monakaduto,” he spoke in halting English. “He say French warriors come. They come quiet like the fox. This many.” He spread his fingers and thrust them forth three times, then held up four fingers. Thirty-four. “Chief Monakaduto say you come. Chief and Seneca warriors take you. Make war on enemy.”
Dennis Tucker gave a huff under his breath. “Thirty-four. That ain’t so many. Surely they don’t plan on takin’ on all of us.”
Washington pierced him with a withering glare. “Most likely they’ve been sent to spy on us, discover the size of our force and what weaponry we have.”
Compared to the strength of the French force that took the fort from Trent’s men, Colin knew their militia made up a rather pitiful adversary. However, they were supposed to be joined any day by a Colonel Fry, with a regiment of regular British soldiers and a few pieces of field artillery. So far there’d been no word from them.
“It’s vital we intercept this party before they reach our camp.” Washington swept a gaze over his officers. “Each of you pick ten of your best men to accompany me. Captain Trent, I’m putting you in charge here while I’m gone.”
Trent, a seasoned frontiersman, grunted. “You sure, Colonel?”
“Yes. You’ll know what to do.”
Colin considered that oblique statement a touch ominous, but he also knew Trent would take extra care after having lost the Ohio River fort to the French.
“Barclay.” Washington turned his pockmarked face to Colin, his eyes serious. “You shall come with me as my second-in-command.”
The men who would accompany Washington had a bite to eat and gathered their supplies, but it wasn’t u
ntil after ten that night that they left camp. Colin noted with disgust that not a star was visible. Heavy clouds again blanketed the sky, casting the party into thick darkness that grew even blacker as they entered the woods behind the Indian guide. Not a single torch would be permitted this night.
The Seneca, who called himself something like Sequahee, set a fast pace, forcing the men to jog in order to keep up with him on a trace so narrow and overgrown they had to travel single file in silence, with no torches, and no mounts for the officers.
Running behind Washington, Colin noticed within minutes that the men in back of him had begun to slow. He paused to let his winded friend Tuck catch up, then whispered to him. “Keep up. Pass it on.” Then breaking into a full run to rejoin Washington and the Indian, Colin sent a prayer heavenward that the others would do the same. While I’m at it, Lord, keep us all safe. And if it’s Your will, give us a swift victory.
He tried to ignore the cutting straps of his jostling pack and the burning in his chest, along with the aching of his feet. The best way to do that was to allow his mind to fly home to Mariah. He was running headlong into danger for the first time. He could get killed. What would happen to her if he wasn’t there to protect her? He and the bond papers in his breast pocket had been all that kept his mother from selling the girl into some other man’s hands. If he died, the document, along with his other belongings, would be returned to his parents.
The thought distressed him. He should have signed off on the papers before he left, freeing Mariah. If he survived this engagement with the French, he would take care of that matter as soon as he got back to ink and quill at Great Meadows. He would dispatch the papers to her by the first courier.
A stickery branch caught the sleeve of his woolen frock coat. Without slowing, he gave a quick jerk to free himself, then resumed devising his plan. He’d send a letter along, informing Mariah she needn’t tell Mother she was free. She should stay within the family’s protection until he returned.
Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140) Page 51
