If General Washington would only allow her to fight on the battlefield beside her brother, she would take up her gun and never look back. When she looked back now, all she saw were the burning walls of their plantation.
She missed their piece of the river, and she missed Morah and Thomas and the other Negroes on the plantation. After managing a household, it was hard to live under another’s constant direction. And yet she was grateful for a home.
People conducted business in this town as they did in Williamsburg, as if there was no war outside. Now that the British no longer occupied these buildings, the people of Philadelphia pressed for freedom. Most of the workingmen had joined the ranks of Washington’s army, leaving the women to work in the shops and manage the town. Those with husbands who remained at home kept busy with sewing jackets and knitting socks for soldiers before the winter.
One day perhaps Sarah would have a business as well, though she didn’t foresee herself being content for long inside a shop.
The spring air had parched her throat, and she turned back toward the house for a glass of water. As she opened the back door, she heard the voices of several women talking with her aunt. She sighed. Her days, it seemed, were an endless display of socializing and stitching. Thankfully Aunt Emeline seemed to understand her need to escape on some afternoons.
Sarah paused at the door to the drawing room, listening.
“He’s been gone for almost three months,” one of the women said. She recognized the voice of Mrs. Benson, a sprightly woman who seemed to know everyone in Philadelphia along with their business.
Mrs. Benson’s daughter, Amity, spoke in a loud whisper. “I heard he’s supposed to return by the month’s end.”
Sarah smiled. Amity was at least five years older than her and still unmarried. They must be discussing the visit of a bachelor, a novelty these days.
“Perhaps he will be back in time for the Miltons’ ball.”
Ball? Good heavens. Aunt Emeline would want her to attend, but Sarah hadn’t danced since 1776. She sighed. Even though she enjoyed the bustle of the city’s busyness, she wasn’t fond of the social gatherings her aunt insisted upon. During a war, Aunt Emeline thought, it was good to keep oneself occupied—but distractions like these only seemed to weary Sarah.
Even though she was Emeline Hammond’s great-niece, the women in Philadelphia still didn’t trust her. Nor did they really know her. When she first arrived in the city, Sarah quickly learned that her running the plantation in her father’s absence embarrassed Aunt Emeline. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem to embarrass her aunt in the least that John Hammond worked for the Crown.
Louisa came upon her eavesdropping on the women just then, and Sarah quickly handed the maid her parasol before stepping into the parlor. Mrs. Benson and Amity and another unmarried woman named Victoria Pittman greeted her as she took a chair by the tray of tarts and lemonade. The women sat in awkward silence, as if they were unsure what to say now that she was here.
Amity shifted on the settee beside her mother. With her auburn hair and lovely fair skin, she had probably had suitors lining up outside her door before the war.
“Who is coming to the dance?” Sarah asked as she lifted a glass of lemonade.
Mrs. Benson patted her hand. “No one you would know.”
Sarah guzzled the sweet drink.
Aunt Emeline changed the topic. “How was your stroll?”
“Quite pleasant, thank you.”
“We shall go up to Chestnut Hill soon to escape the summer heat,” Aunt Emeline said. “Do you like to dance, Sarah?”
“I do, but I am not particularly fond of crowds.”
Victoria’s pleasant smile reminded her of Lydia’s. “You will have a marvelous time.”
Sarah smiled back at her. “Are there any men left in Philadelphia to dance with?”
“Aye, but all of the gentlemen are married.”
Sarah reached for a tart. “I am not seeking a husband.”
Victoria’s smile turned sympathetic. “Of course not.”
Mrs. Benson eyed the tart in Sarah’s hand. “It is a good thing you are not.”
Sarah held the woman’s gaze as she took a bite of the tart. Then she looked above the woman’s head to Louisa, standing in the back, and lifted her empty glass. “Would you fetch me some more lemonade?”
“Certainly,” Louisa said.
“Gracious,” Mrs. Benson said, eyeing the glass as Louisa took it. “Did you guzzle your entire glass?”
Sarah shrugged. “I am always thirsty after I walk.”
Mrs. Benson tilted forward. “I have heard rumors of your frolicking through town.”
Sarah couldn’t stop her laughter at the woman’s words, as if her walks had caused some sort of disturbance in Philadelphia. “I do not believe that touring the city in the daylight is considered frolicking.”
“It is if you do not have an escort.”
“Then perhaps I shall have to marry after all, so I have a handsome escort.”
Mrs. Benson sat back in her chair, looking properly offended.
When the women left, Aunt Emeline settled back into her chair. “Do not mind them. They do not know what to say to you.”
Mrs. Benson knew exactly what to say, but Sarah didn’t wish to air her offense since Aunt Emeline was her friend. “Victoria and Amity do not trust me yet.”
“The young women are overwrought,” Aunt Emeline said. “One of our privateers is due back in town soon.”
“I am sure it will be good to have the supplies.”
“Oh, it is not because of the supplies he brings. He is a fine-looking gentleman, and the unmarried ladies are smitten with him.”
“They are enamored of a pirate?” She’d imagined privateers to be unshaven, burly men lacking any sort of social grace.
Aunt Emeline shook her head. “His name is Porter, and he is no pirate. He steals only from the British, and he takes supplies for the war and for our women.”
“And this Porter shall come to the ball?”
“There is a rumor that he will attend. If so, all the ladies will be swooning.”
Let them swoon. The only man she wanted to see was the one who had disappeared.
Darkness settled around Lydia like a heavy mantle as she pretended to stroll down the path to the river. She wished for a light, but she didn’t dare even take a candle with her to the orangery. It was one thing to enjoy the view of the river from the gazebo, but quite another to be sneaking outside at midnight to find a hidden letter.
It had been two nights since Nathan found her at the gazebo. Even though she wanted to retrieve his message, she had resisted until tonight. Tomorrow they would attend services in Williamsburg.
Goose bumps pricked her arms again, and she drew her shawl tight around her arms. She rarely spoke to Mrs. Pendell on Sunday mornings. Father usually escorted them in and out of services before they had a chance to speak with anyone. How was she going to talk to Mrs. Pendell without raising suspicions?
When Lydia reached the orangery, she counted the bricks with her hands and moved the loose brick out. Just as Nathan had said, a sealed letter was set inside, and she quickly stuffed it under her shawl before replacing the brick. Then she rushed back through the gardens and climbed the steps to the security of her chamber.
After hiding the letter under her window cushion, she collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Sleep was fitful that night as she dreamed about Nathan, letters, and fire.
Prudence helped her dress in the morning, and then she filled an embroidered reticule with scented powder and slipped the letter inside. Mother always took a sweet bag filled with potpourri to church to ward off the variety of smells that clung to the air, but Lydia never carried one.
None of her family members questioned her about the reticule when she stepped into the coach, and she clutched it in her lap along with her prayer book on their drive to church and through the entire service. If the British stopped them, they would ha
ve to pry it out of her fingers.
Mrs. Pendell sat in the boxed pew to the left of the Caswell family’s pew. Lydia couldn’t focus on the music from the organ above or the words of the rector before her, not even when he prayed for peace.
She fidgeted with her sweet bag through the service until Mother nudged her. Then she pushed her toes against the tops of her brocade slippers. How was she supposed to deliver this message to her mother’s friend?
Instead of having to seek out Mrs. Pendell after service, the woman found Lydia and enveloped her in a tight hug. As Mrs. Pendell released her, Lydia slipped the bag into her hand.
Mrs. Pendell moved to embrace Lady Caswell, and when Lydia looked back, Mrs. Pendell held the bag to her side as if nothing was amiss.
It was official.
The daughter of Lord and Lady Caswell had betrayed their king.
Chapter Nineteen
The British officers returned to Caswell Hall on a warm day in July. Rumors abounded about their plundering across Virginia and the other colonies, and although Lydia wondered of their plans, she didn’t dare ask. She needed to appear as oblivious as possible to the affairs of this war.
Major Reed greeted her with a smile. She cringed at his friendliness and even more at the friendliness she must feign in return.
“We shall have men arriving throughout the day,” the major informed her father.
“Of course.”
“There is much for us to discuss.”
As the men arrived, Lydia helped the servants prepare their rooms. They had no idea how many would turn up, but Mother feared that if they didn’t provide the officers with places to sleep, they might opt to take the family’s rooms.
The men came by foot, horse, and wagon. A good thirty of them. Major Reed said the officers had been staying in homes across the region, some hosts more willing to have them than others. Part of her was glad that Sarah was in Philadelphia. At least she didn’t have a horde of soldiers overtaking her house with no husband or father to protect her.
Viney and her staff rushed to prepare a large meal for the officers, and it seemed to Lydia as if they were preparing their great hall for a celebration. Except this was no special occasion. The men didn’t bathe this time, and they smelled like animals that had rolled in ashes after a fire, smoke clinging to their uniforms. Instead of lingering over the meal, the officers devoured every morsel served to them and slurped cup after cup of Mother’s prized tea.
Her parents insisted that Lydia and Hannah join them at the table for dinner, and Lydia watched enviously as the servants carried platters in and out of the room. She wished she could escape down to the kitchen with them. Then she glanced over at her father, at the gray that rimmed his dark hair. He’d aged much since Grayson left and even more so since the British came to Virginia. He maintained that he wanted the British staying here, and yet the strain they caused was unmistakable.
If something happened to her father, what would she and Hannah and Mother do? Mother wouldn’t want to run the plantation as Sarah had done, and Lydia couldn’t imagine doing it. Perhaps if Grayson heard of Father’s death, he would return. The men who’d killed Grandfather were no longer in Williamsburg, and those Patriots who remained no longer threatened with tar and feathers.
Two new officers walked into the room, and the other men quieted.
Major Reed’s voice was brisk. “What did you find?”
The two men stood before him, their red uniforms soiled and wet. “A storehouse of rebel supplies hidden near their shipyard on the Chickamee River.”
The Chickahominy, Lydia wanted to say—but it was better to let them think she wasn’t paying attention.
One of the new officers glanced over at Lord Caswell. “Perhaps we should wait to discuss this.”
Major Reed shook his head. “No one here will talk.”
Heat rose to Lydia’s cheeks, and she stared down at her hands so they wouldn’t see her face burning. The major might have meant it as a compliment—the fact that they were all Loyalists—but she felt insulted. How dare he declare what she would or wouldn’t say?
“What sort of supplies do the Yankees have at the shipyard?” Major Reed asked.
“Food and clothing and gunpowder.”
Major Reed inched closer on his seat. “How much ammunition?”
“Probably a dozen tons,” the man said. “Much more than we captured at Richmond.”
“This must be where they hid it.” The major took a long drag on one of Father’s cigars. “How many men are guarding it?”
The officer shrugged his shoulders. “A pittance.”
Major Reed leaned forward. “How many, exactly, is a pittance?”
“Ten or fifteen at the most.”
“The precise number, lieutenant,” Major Reed clipped.
“There were fourteen of them,” the man said, but it was obvious that he didn’t know the actual number.
Major Reed pounded his fist on the table. “Details like this are critical to winning this war.”
The lieutenant took a step back. “Yes, major.”
Major Reed regained his control. “The Yankees must be preparing for the arrival of their military. We must move quickly before their men retrieve these supplies.”
“We shan’t delay,” another officer said. Several men stepped toward the door as if they were anxious to march out at any moment, but Major Reed raised his hand to stop them as he seemed to consider his next step.
Did this mean that General Washington and his men were on their way to Williamsburg? She wanted to move closer so she wouldn’t miss a single detail, but feigning indifference was the only way to gain any more information.
“We shall gather our men and go up the river on Friday night,” Major Reed said. “Before sunrise, we shall confiscate all of their supplies.”
Lydia memorized the details of the raid as Major Reed delegated them. Nathan had only asked her to act as a courier, but surely he would want to know what the British had planned.
Late that night, she transcribed the details she’d heard onto two sheets of Father’s paper. Guilt swept over her as she wrote. Part of her was convinced that she was saving her family, but in other moments, it felt as if sharing these secrets would destroy them.
If only she knew where to find Nathan, she could deliver this information to him without incriminating herself in writing. But there was no other choice.
The moon was high in the sky when she strolled out toward the orangery to deliver the letter she’d written. Then she sat in the gazebo for a spell, hoping to deter any suspicions.
If the Patriot army was indeed on its way to Williamsburg, would Seth be among them? Her heart should leap at the thought of seeing him, but she felt nothing. She hoped he was safe, for Sarah’s sake, but could no longer marry him. Not when her heart had begun to pine for another.
Her gaze wandered back toward the orangery. Was Nathan out there tonight? Perhaps he was in the trees now, watching her.
Hopefully, he would check for messages before it was too late.
The bricks on the outside of the Hammonds’ summer kitchen were blackened, but the inside made an excellent hiding place for Nathan while he worked near Williamsburg. Once he got inside, he lit a candle and read Lydia’s message twice, impressed by her attention to the necessary details.
Earlier tonight he’d left his cane here and secretly followed two of the British officers back to the Caswell home, hoping to obtain intelligence as he trailed them. He had heard the men talk of what the Caswells would feed them and then about their families back home, but not of their journey to the shipyard. Lydia, however, had been able to obtain the information he needed, and she’d delivered it well.
The Patriots had managed to sneak most of their supplies out of Richmond and hide it in an abandoned mill near the shipyards. They’d stopped building ships for their fledgling navy this winter. No matter how many ships they built, they couldn’t compete with the Royal Navy. Instead, they f
ocused on the land battles and contracted with privateers to raid British ships and run loads of supplies for them.
There was no time for delay. The Patriots didn’t have enough soldiers nearby to defend the supplies, but Nathan could muster up enough people to transport them. He only had to determine how to move them. And where.
Nathan blew out his candle.
Perhaps they could hide the supplies somewhere on the Hammond plantation until the military arrived.
The British might have discovered where the Patriots had hidden supplies, but he hoped they didn’t know that the Continental Army was in the process of marching north from Charles Towne. The King’s Men were wreaking havoc on the east side of Virginia, and the Patriots refused to let the British ravage this colony as they had South Carolina.
He leaned back against the hard wall. Lydia had done an amazing service for them.
Seth was a blessed man indeed.
Lydia helped her mother decorate the dining table with candied flower petals, and then they began to build an elegant centerpiece with ribbons and fruit. Lydia reached for a cherry, but instead of pinning it to the pyramid, she accidentally pricked her finger.
Holding a cloth to her finger, she sat down on a chair. She’d barely slept during the night, worried that Nathan might not receive her message, worried as well that he would find it—and worried that the major or his men would discover her treason.
Mother held up a pear decorated with a silver ribbon. “Do you think I should use a red ribbon instead?”
Lydia glanced over. Red ribbon or silver—it seemed so trivial. And yet in spite of the foul-smelling men, in spite of the devastation, she knew her mother desperately wanted to preserve some beauty in the house.
“Aye,” she said.
Mother patted her hand. “You are distracted.”
“I feel as if I am living in a dream, Mother. As if one day all that is secure around me will collapse.”
“The major and his men might not be the best-behaved guests, but they have certainly kept us safe and will continue to do so.”
The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries) Page 15
