Sparks flew as the swords clashed.
“One could be construed as an accident.” Nathaniel stepped up his attack, managing to drive the other back across the room. “Five would be seen as open warfare.”
The advantage was only temporary, as the taller man deftly sidestepped a fierce blow, staggered Nathaniel with a fist to the face, and then pressed forward amid cheers from the gallery.
“It would only be open warfare if we put their entire fleet…damnable as it is…to the torch. But now that you mention it…”
Sir Nathaniel Yorke, the Surveyor of the Navy, continued to back away under the ongoing onslaught of his opponent’s saber. “I’m surprised, you blackguard, that you haven’t tried that yet.”
“It is a bloody business, Nathaniel.” The tall nobleman backed up and swung his sword, forcing his opponent’s thrust to slide away from his body. “It is barbarous to ruin human lives for a few pieces of gold.”
“Everyone knows how you feel.”
“Well, there are more than a few in Parliament who are already supporting the cause. It won’t be long until the law sides with justice.”
Nathaniel drove forward, but the other fighter deflected his blows and suddenly the two were again face to face, the crossed swords locked between them.
“And how,” he asked breathlessly, “would Parliament feel about the confiscation of five new ships?”
“However Parliament feels, I will continue to cut away at the assets of these slave trading dogs until no dockyard in England will accept such a commission, no matter what price they’re willing to pay.”
With a quick move, Nathaniel pushed his opponent’s sword downward and held it there, saying in a low voice, “Aren’t you afraid of the consequences? What if the truth comes out? You know I agree that slavery is a dishonorable trade. But what if your name were to be connected with the campaign of terror that has already cost the slavers so much? You have so much to lose!”
“I have nothing to lose.”
With a twisting flash of metal, Nathaniel’s sword suddenly left his hand and went skittering across the floor as the tip of his friend’s saber was suddenly pressed against his chest. The gallery exploded with cheers.
“Five new ships, Nathaniel! Confiscated by my own men and anchored in the Channel off of Gravesend. They’ll be there, ready for you, at dawn next Friday.”
“It goes against all of my training to destroy so many fine British ships.” He pushed the weapon away with a gloved hand and wiped out the sweat on his face with the back of his wrist. “But, by Gad, ‘tis for a good cause. And besides, our fleet certainly does need the target practice!”
The clap on his shoulder was friendly. “You are a fine man, Nathaniel, despite your weakness for the low parry.”
“And you, Stanmore, do have a heart!” With a wry grin, he accepted the sword from the servant. “But wouldn’t that be a shock to the legion of women who swear that you haven’t one?”
***
Philadelphia
Standing in the darkness of Strawberry Alley, Rebecca shivered and pulled her shawl tightly about her. The evening was chilly, but it seemed to her that she was the only one who noticed.
The door to the Death of the Fox Inn stood open, and the sound of a fiddle and singing voices spilled out into the muddy street around her. She could see the tables filled with tradesmen and travelers, tankards and cups of beer and cider in every hand, swinging to the rollicking rhythms of the old tune. As she watched, Annie entered from the summer kitchen out back and worked her way through the revelers, plates of mutton stew balanced expertly along her arm.
The sign above swung slightly in a light breeze, and Rebecca looked up at the painted depiction of the fox, its back to a tree, cornered by a pair of hounds. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to climb the three stone steps to the doorway.
“Mrs. Ford!” The wife of the innkeeper was quick to notice and come to her as she stepped in. “Is everything all right? Has Molly gone to labor?”
Having served as a midwife in her younger years, Nellie Fox was still called on from time to time by those living along the alley.
“No, she is well, and it is not time yet.” Rebecca said quietly. “I am here to see a gentleman from England. I was told he is staying here. Sir Oliver...Sir Oliver Birch.”
The woman’s eyes brightened at the name. “Aye, he’s here. A fine paying customer, too. In fact, the gentleman just retired to his room not long ago. I didn’t know he was any relation of yours, Mrs. Ford.”
“He is no relation. We have business together.” She stepped to the side to allow two of the patrons to walk out. Both men nodded to her respectfully. “Would it be too much trouble, Mrs. Fox, for you to send someone to the gentleman’s room and tell him that I desire to speak with him?”
“Nay, not at all, Mrs. Ford.” The woman immediately turned to one of the serving lads and told him shortly to do exactly as Rebecca had asked.
With a word of thanks, Rebecca moved to the closest table by the door and sat down uncomfortably on the edge of a bench standing against the wall. She didn’t want to think for fear of losing her courage and walking out of the place.
On the far side of the tavern room, Efraim Fox was standing by the square storage space that had been built into the corner. Through the wooden bars rising to the ceiling, she could see the casks stacked against the wall and the smoked meats hanging from hooks. The innkeeper was pouring cider from a large pitcher into a couple of leather cups and watching the fiddler, who was playing merrily by a side window.
Other than stopping in every now and then for one of the local meetings held at the inn, Rebecca was not a frequent visitor to the place. But having lived in this neighborhood for as long as she had, she knew the innkeeper and his wife (and more than a few of the revelers) well enough to feel quite safe sitting in the tavern alone. As she waited, the fiddler finished his tune, mopped his face with his sleeve, and sat down at a table where Annie had laid his supper.
Rebecca had rehearsed in advance all that she wanted to say to the lawyer, but when she saw the tall, older man enter on the heels of the serving lad, she felt fingers of panic gripping her throat.
“Mrs. Ford, I am in your debt. Thank you for coming to meet me on such short notice.”
Rebecca rose to her feet and nodded hesitantly. The dim light of the stairs to her rooms had not afforded her a very good look at the man. Here in the inn, she had a much better view of the lawyer’s features. Sir Oliver was younger than she had originally thought. His gray eyes were gentle and not unfriendly. He extended a hand, inviting her to sit down again. Once she had seated herself, he took the chair across from her.
“To begin, madam, I sincerely hope that you will accept an apology for the reckless manner in which I approached you this afternoon. Doubtless, I should have sent a letter of introduction around first.” The lawyer paused, continuing when she nodded. “You see, Mrs. Ford, I am fully empowered to act on behalf of Lord Stanmore, and my primary aim is to accomplish fully the undertaking his lordship has entrusted in me. And I should say immediately, that includes expressing his lordship’s gratitude for the manner in which you have cared for his son. Allow me also to explain his desires with regard to his son, and speak briefly of the reward you might expect for your…”
“Let me make something clear to you right now, Sir Oliver. What I have done for Jamey these past years—what he has meant to me— it is not something that I ever expect to be rewarded for...beyond what I have already received.” Rebecca tried desperately to fight back her surge of emotions. “I have loved Jamey as my own son, and I am the only mother he has ever known. There is nothing that you could ever pay that would replace the joy he has brought into my life.”
The lawyer stared at her, a thoughtful look gradually working across his face as she continued.
“Now, with regard to your client’s desires…I must tell you straight away that as yet I have seen no proof to support your claim that Jamey is the earl o
f Stanmore’s son.”
“I should be more than happy to provide you with documentation, if you wish to see it,” he responded quietly.
“Later, if you please, Sir Oliver.” Rebecca nodded. “I will tell you that I see no reason why anyone would make such a claim if there were not some basis for it in truth.”
She paused as Annie approached the table and offered drink to the two of them. Rebecca declined anything for herself with a shake of her head.
“Please continue,” Sir Oliver encouraged brightly, obviously pleased with the turn in the conversation. “I must say that when I left England, I harbored grave concerns as to the kind of people I should find in the colonies. You have no idea, madam, how reassuring it is for me to find someone of your…well, your level of understanding.”
“Be that as it may, Sir Oliver, the puzzling matter for me…” Rebecca paused as Annie quickly returned with a pewter cup of ale and placed it before the lawyer. “Perhaps you can enlighten me why it took the good earl of Stanmore nearly ten years to seek the return of his son?”
“His lordship did not know of his wife’s death, Mrs. Ford, or he would have sent for his son sooner, I assure you.”
The man’s matter-of-fact answer jarred Rebecca momentarily.
“If I might pose a question for you, madam…if you knew the deceased traveler was Lord Stanmore’s wife, could you enlighten me why in ten years you have not returned his son?”
She felt heat rush into her face. “Why, I did not know anything about Lord Stanmore. I fear I had no chance of knowing the lady.”
His eyes studied her face carefully. “Then how was it, madam, that you came to take possession of her child?”
“I…” She tucked her hands in the folds of her skirts to hide their trembling. The gentleness in the man’s gray eyes was gone now, replaced with a look of close inquiry. “A kinswoman of mine was traveling on that ship. As far as I know, there was no one traveling with the mother, not even a single servant. You certainly can understand, sir, that no one would have imagined a woman traveling alone might be the wife of an earl. When she fell ill and died on that ship, there was no one to take the child.”
“I see.” The lawyer’s long fingers reached for the cup. “May I ask if you were already married before James was brought to you?”
“I had already been promised. So I knew I would soon be.”
“And did not this frighten you?”
“Certainly not! I asked for the child. And Mr. Ford and I were delighted to have him…it was just so sad that my dear husband passed away so soon after our marriage.”
“Raising a child alone! Did it not cross your mind even once to try to find the child’s proper kin? Perhaps sending a correspondence by way of the ship’s master. Would it not have been…?”
“As I said, the lady was traveling alone.” She let her temper boil to the surface. “All that the ship’s master knew was that the good lady had arrived on his ship when the babe was still only an infant. Now, Sir Oliver, I desire that you place yourself in my position for a moment and answer this. What kind of a husband would a wife run away from with so young an infant to care for?”
“You assume, of course, that she was running away.”
“Very well. But if she were not running away, why would her husband wait ten years before even inquiring after his wife and son?”
The lawyer was clearly put off by the frankness of her question. “I must tell you, madam,” he said finally, “I am not at liberty to answer all your questions.”
“Then we are at loggerheads, Sir Oliver, if you will pardon so plain a term. Though I openly admit that I did not bear Jamey, I tell you now that I will not allow my son to be taken by a stranger to an unknown father, no matter what potential advantages this new life might hold for him.”
She rose to her feet.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Ford.” He, too rose, and gestured to the seat. His voice was calm and conciliatory. “The last thing I care to do is to alarm you more than I did this afternoon. I shall explain as much as I can. And please accept my apologies for placing you on the defensive regarding what you did or did not do so many years ago.” Sir Oliver’s eyes gentled again. “I have seen James. I am aware of his…well, if I may be so blunt…his physical deformity. At the risk of being presumptuous, madam, may I say that your abilities as a guardian are, in my mind, quite remarkable.”
Rebecca sat down again on the edge of the bench. She could feel her face still burning. Her entire body felt as tightly strung as the instrument the fiddler was taking up again across the room. She waited for the lawyer to continue.
“Searching the world for a wife and a child is not an easy task, Mrs. Ford. Until recently, the earl of Stanmore had no knowledge of where his wife had fled. You see, he was away at the time of James’s birth.”
This did nothing to soothe Rebecca’s concerns about the man.
“I will confide something in you, Mrs. Ford, that normally I would not. But under the circumstances…” Sir Oliver lowered his voice. “The scandal-mongers in London at the time of her disappearance had a delightful time spreading the story that Elizabeth Wakefield had run away with…well, with a lover. No husband, I should think, could be expected to recover readily from such scandal.”
At that moment the fiddler struck up a tune, saving Rebecca from giving herself away. She’d been ready to speak on the behalf of the deceased woman, in spite of knowing that her safety lay in remaining silent.
“You said that you are aware of my son’s physical condition. Does his lordship know of it, as well?”
“His lordship does, indeed, know about James’s hand. He was informed when he arrived home by those in attendance at the time of the birth.”
“Does he also know...?” Rebecca added quickly. “Does his lordship know that Jamey is also hard of hearing?”
The lawyer’s gray eyes showed surprise for the first time. “But today...today he seemed quite...”
“Jamey hears the words if he is looking at the speaker’s face. I believe he is entirely deaf in the right ear and can hear only a little in his left.” Oliver Birch’s silence reinforced Rebecca’s anxiety. “Knowing what you do now, can you swear to me that your client is compassionate enough to look past the boy’s shortcomings and accept him as his son?”
The look that immediately came into the lawyer’s face spoke volumes about the high regard he held for his client. “I can assure you, Mrs. Ford, that the present earl of Stanmore is a most honorable man. He is an esteemed and active member of the House of Lords. His character is noted throughout England for his sense of fairness and justice. I have known him personally for over twenty years. No matter what James’s difficulties, I would stake my life that you’ll do very well by the boy in sending him back to England and to his father.”
As he finished, Rebecca felt her very life slowly draining from her body. Words of reason kept forcing themselves over and over into her awareness. He would be better off in England. He will be happier there. He will have title and wealth and position. But she didn’t want reasonable. Or logical. She wanted Jamey. Panic began to rise again within her. Thoughts of running from the inn and hiding, of taking Jamey west with some group of settlers popped into her head.
“Perhaps such words sound hollow and insubstantial.” The lawyer pushed the cup away and folded his long fingers together before him on the table. “Knowing now the full extent of James’s difficulties, I truly understand your concern regarding how he would fare on this journey. I sense quite clearly that you are also concerned how well the lad will adjust, once situated in the household of his father.”
She nodded, forcing herself not to think even for an instant how devastated she herself would be once Jamey was gone. Sir Oliver’s thoughtful gaze lingered on her face.
“Mrs. Ford, allow me to make a suggestion that might ease the situation for all parties. If all had gone as I had planned—and you had parted with James as I had hoped—I would have employed someon
e to accompany us on this journey. Being a confirmed bachelor myself, I do not have much experience with the needs of a lad his age. What I am suggesting is this, Mrs. Ford. Why not accompany the boy and me back to England?” Rebecca knew she must have looked startled, for he quickly continued. “As an honored guest, naturally, of the earl of Stanmore...and myself.”
The same fear that had gripped her when Molly had suggested such a thing once again took hold of her body. Rebecca could feel the noose tightening.
“This is the only solution that makes sense. And there is nothing that you need to concern yourself with while you are away. I shall make any arrangements that are required.”
Rebecca pressed her fingers to her temples briefly, trying to soothe the pounding ache that wouldn’t go away.
“I understand your concerns, Mrs. Ford. Your doubts and fears are quite real, and I admire you for having them.” Oliver Birch’s voice turned gentle. “Though you do not know me, I ask that you trust me, my dear. Trust me that this journey shall prove to be entirely advantageous to both you and your son. Come to England and see for yourself that the lad is satisfactorily settled.”
Rebecca swallowed hard, forcing down the knot in her throat. She rose slowly to her feet.
“Please tell me that you will at least consider the offer.” Sir Oliver stood, as well.
“I do not have to consider the offer, sir,” she managed to whisper. “I have no choice but to accompany you.”
CHAPTER 6
Sir Nicholas Spencer tossed his overcoat to the footman and scrutinized his appearance in the mirror. Ignoring the fresh cut above his right brow and the darkening bruise on his prominent cheekbone, he focused instead on his cravat. Satisfied, he stood back, cocked his head critically, and smoothed the lapels of his new satin coat. An old house steward hovered patiently a step away.
“Good morning, Philip,” Nicholas said, turning. “Did you and your master have a pleasant time down at Solgrave?”
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