Asher pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the numerical pattern. Marcus looked out the window, impatience blooming. The mist had turned to rain. What was taking so long? Finally, Asher spoke.
“I don’t have a clue what this is. There is no way these numbers represent the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. Ones and twos are used too often, and other numbers vary too wildly.” He rubbed his head as if it pained him.
Asher grabbed the other correspondences from the bundle and hastily opened them, laying them side by side. They were all alike in their construction. “Does Mrs. Caldwell have any exceptional skills?”
None that Marcus would reveal to his friend. “I don’t think she’s much of a seamstress. She’s been darning the same shift for weeks.”
“I meant…” Asher waved a letter at him. “If she’s tasked with deciphering this mess, how difficult is this for her?”
Marcus had the good fortune to surround himself with highly capable and intelligent people. Henrietta was no exception. However, he didn’t sense encryption was her talent. She didn’t spend time working out riddles like Asher. Nor did she play with algebraic equations for the fun of it, like Asher.
“She’s not like you.”
Asher leaned back. “Then there is a key for this somewhere in the house.”
The pot of water made a roiling, rattling noise. Marcus hopped to the hearth. “Probably right under our noses.”
Chapter 25
The last thing Henrietta wanted was to show up on Bedloe’s Island in British custody. After her last visit, she was sure they’d recognize her as Caldwell’s niece—and since her visit coincided with the misplacement of two of its inmates, they wouldn’t welcome her as the Colonel’s kin. Though she didn’t regret interfering with Mrs. Gittel’s arrest, her circumstances were bleak. Her only hope was Caldwell’s continued absence.
The officers delivered them to the War Office. Someone had to decide what to do with them as they couldn’t be detained with the male prison population.
In the waiting area before the clerks, Mrs. Moskowitz sat in a chair and worked lines of a small gray stocking she was knitting for a grandchild. Mrs. Medina put her sewing scissors to good use, switching threads on her embroidery. Mrs. Gittel and Henrietta rested. After two hours, Frances gave up trying to sit. Levi screamed less when she paced.
By now, Henrietta was hungry. One of Mrs. Medina’s ratafia cakes was in her pocket. She’d offer to share it, but it was small, and she didn’t know how she’d break it into pieces without hurting herself. If Levi were older, he could teethe on it. That wasn’t his problem today. He was all of a couple weeks old and irritated.
“Shut that baby up!” The clerk on the left pounded his fist on the desk. Levi wailed louder.
Henrietta lowered her head and turned away. The two clerks would recognize her if she gave them half a chance.
Mrs. Moskowitz looped yarn around her needle and said to no one in particular, “Only a man thinks a baby shall settle because he wills it.”
As Frances glided by, Henrietta’s hands extended. She didn’t know why she’d done it, but by then it was too late. Frances was lifting Levi off her chest. Henrietta had to take him. The small package of his body wrapped in a blanket fit effortlessly in her hands, against her bosom. Something tight inside her unraveled and expanded.
She took a turn with him around the room. Sweaty, healthy heat radiated from his body. With his cap at her chin, his sweet newborn scent filled her nose. The pleasure of it arrowed to her heart. She braced for the puncture. It never came.
Henrietta sighed, a little teary-eyed, holding Levi a little tighter, feeling whole and strong for the first time in years.
Until a foul smell issued from his soiling cloth, and she pinched her nose. Henrietta handed him back to Frances.
Frances shook her head in panic. “I don’t have a clean one with me. We were rushed.”
Henrietta narrowed her eyes at the clerks. “I would find it hard to believe there isn’t a spare cloth in this building. Whatever do they clean their muskets with?”
Mrs. Moskowitz gathered her knitting into her pocket. “I’ll ask.” She put Levi against her shoulder. The clerks were deep in conversation. Mrs. Moskowitz cleared her throat. They ignored her.
Her brow rose indignantly. One clerk stopped speaking mid-sentence.
“Ma’am?” The clerk’s nose wrinkled in revulsion.
“The baby has needs which can’t be met here. What do you intend to do about it?”
“I don’t intend to do anything. Sit down.”
She moved closer. “This is intolerable treatment of a prisoner.”
He scoffed, eyes darting to his peer in uncertain amusement. “The baby isn’t a prisoner.” The other clerk shrugged.
“Then why is he being treated like one?” she demanded.
“Because the mother—”
“—needs to go home and do the things mothers do to raise their children to not become bullies like you.”
Mrs. Gittel came to Mrs. Moskowitz’s side and crossed her arms over her chest, creating a wall of disapproval out of the two of them.
Mrs. Medina became the third. “She needs to go home.”
“The mother matches the description of the accused,” the clerk insisted.
Henrietta bit her lip, standing behind the older ladies. Frances came to stand beside her. “My mother was like them.” Her face beamed with pride as her lips and eyes twitched on the precipice of tears.
Mrs. Gittel shouted, “Does she? Because it was me!” Her voice echoed in the antechamber.
Mrs. Moskowitz placed the baby on the desk. His legs punched through the blanket as his face reddened with anger.
“God’s bollocks!” The clerk leaped to his feet, his chair flipping backward. The other stormed through a set of doors behind the desks, making his escape.
The front door of the War Office flew open. Mr. Mizrahi rushed in from the pouring rain, wild eyes scanning the room. He had two men with him.
“Franny!” He charged to her and threw his arms around her. The fury on his face matched Levi’s. “Who’s in charge?”
The five women pointed to the one remaining clerk who’d gone as white as an unsoiled soiling cloth. “He is.”
The two men with Mr. Mizrahi rushed forward.
“I’ll . . . I’ll find Lieutenant Stark.” The clerk left in a panic through the same set of doors as his partner.
Back in Frances’s arms, Levi hiccupped.
Not five minutes and the clerk returned alone, his face flushed, a clean cloth in hand. “I must beg your pardons. There has been a misunderstanding.” He bowed his head. “You are free to go.”
Gasping in relief, they hugged each other, passing Levi around like a trophy. Henrietta buzzed with giddiness. She pressed a palm to her chest at the small expanded space, feeling Willow’s heart beat within her own. That was where she would carry her daughter from now on. In her heart, not in a bedroom that might be destroyed by mold or the whims of men.
Mrs. Moskowitz slipped her arm through Henrietta’s, moving her toward the door. “Come now, bubeleh. We have more important matters at hand.” A devilish smile brightened her wizened eyes. Henrietta was about to ask what she meant when a soldier shouted behind them.
“Mrs. Caldwell!”
She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming.
“Mrs. Caldwell.”
She opened them and turned. It was Lieutenant Stark, the arresting officer, calling her back.
“I believe your situation differs from your peers. Colonel Caldwell is in residence and should like an interview with you directly.”
Fear spiked. Henrietta couldn’t breathe. Did he know about the prison escapes, what she’d done to mess up his confidenti
al letters, what she’d allowed to happen to his house? Had he heard about her and Marcus? The list of her transgressions seemed endless.
Henrietta unwound her arm from Mrs. Moskowitz. With great effort, she forced her face to become blank and nodded to the lieutenant. Mrs. Moskowitz pulled her back for a quick hug.
“We’ll take care of this,” she said with absolute confidence. “Don’t worry.”
Henrietta kept silent rather than explain to Mrs. Moskowitz that she knew this was coming and there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Caldwell had warned her enough times.
Mrs. Gittel grabbed Henrietta’s arm. “I am sorry, Henrietta. I never meant for anyone to be drawn into my mishegoss.”
Henrietta nodded. She’d allowed love into her heart, she’d opened herself up to her friends, she’d stood up to her uncle, she’d made peace with motherhood, and she found a safe place to hold Willow for the rest of her days. She had her victories.
~ ~ ~
Asher dipped a stale piece of bread into his tea to soften it. “Nellie still hiding the dozen casks of gunpowder you bought off the French frigate in Martinique?”
“Aye.” Marcus studied Asher, wondering what plans for taking down the British army single-handedly were whipping through his labyrinthian mind. “You do realize the Sons are currently me, you, Mouse, and An: a barely mobile man, a barely breathing man, an old lady, and a one-handed woman. My confidence is soaring.”
“We need only outsmart them.”
Outside, a woman scurried up the path to the house. “Mouse is here.” Gingerly, Marcus limped to the door with his cane to get answers and forestall what was coming.
“Where’s Hen?” Marcus barked. She should have been home hours ago.
“That’s why I’m here.” She pushed past him as if he weighed nothing and froze.
Asher rose from his seat, propping himself with his fists on the table.
“Ma.”
“Oh, my God!” She strode across the room like Boudica crossing the Celtic Plains, ready to take on the Roman Empire. Asher had every reason to shudder. Her hands were on his forehead, his neck, ear to his chest, grabbing his tongue, plucking his eyelids. Dr. Nealy could learn a thing or two with that kind of expediency.
“Are you trying to kill me?” she barked. “Would it be so horrible to let your mother and father sleep at night, knowing you are safe?”
Asher brushed her aside, squelching a cough. He turned blue and collapsed in his seat. Mouse pounded him on the back.
“Don’t hold it in on my account.” Sitting beside him, she gathered him in for a hug. “You’ll live.” It was more of a threat than a proclamation of health.
Asher patted his mother. She shook her head, still processing that her son was here and free.
“Neither of you thought to send a note?”
It honestly slipped his mind. He was supposed to talk to her about Asher no longer being held on the Margate, then he was arrested, found Asher on Bedloe’s Island, Henrietta helped them escape, and then she broke his heart. He’d been a little busy.
“Mouse.” Marcus hated to ruin their moment, but he had his own reunion to plan. “Where is she?”
“Hen? With Caldwell. Sit.” She waited for him to hobble to the bench. “There was some trouble with our reading club.”
Asher shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Only you, Ma.”
She ignored this, clutching him tighter. “She’s on Bedloe’s Island. You know about it?”
Both men exchanged dark looks. A secret pact to never speak of it because Asher also forgot to send his mother a note.
“Mouse, the point?”
“The point is, they allowed us to take our leave when a soldier recognized her. We told them we’d wait to go together. They refused us. I don’t like it. I think she’s in trouble with that uncle of hers.”
Marcus rubbed his face with his hand and growled. He stood, wincing from the pain shooting up his leg. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but he couldn’t ignore it either. He shouldn’t be walking. Running was out of the question. “I need—”
“I know,” Mouse said. “I sent a message. An is coming. We’ll discuss it together.”
“It’s worse than all that.” Asher cast aside Henrietta’s bible and pushed his scribbled notes toward his mother. As she read, the color drained from her face.
“Oy vavoy.” For once, she looked her age. “What are we going to do?”
“Make a Hellburner,” Asher answered as if he’d thought through every possible scenario.
“Oh. There’s an idea.”
He chuckled. “You know what they are, Ma?”
“Sure. You forget I read every book my brothers brought home. Nellie still has the gunpowder?”
Marcus’s annoyance was mounting. “I don’t know what they are.” Twenty years ago, his tutor should have told him he’d need this information one day to save Henrietta. Then he might have paid attention.
“You know what a fireship is?” Mouse gave him an imperious look that said if he didn’t, she’d lose all respect for him. He rolled his eyes. He knew that much. “This fireship isn’t just a burning ship set on a course for its enemy. It’s loaded with gunpowder. When they collide . . .” Mouse tilted her head and offered up empty hands, assuming he’d understand. Asher started laughing. “What? Am I wrong?”
“No, Ma. I’ve never seen you this blood-thirsty. Pa must be very proud.”
The sound of moving wheels carried from the road. A blacked-out carriage stopped in front of the house and an expensively dressed woman stepped down. The three of them watched her make her approach up the path.
Mouse tutted. “I always thought one of you would fall for her. Such a pretty girl, and a mind like that, you should never be bored.”
“She doesn’t like men, Mouse.” In all the time Marcus knew her, she’d only kept company with women.
Mouse shrugged. “Hmmph. I don’t always like them either. I take my husband and sons to exception—most of the time.” She went to the door. Asher let out a heavy sigh.
“How about a cup of tea?” she offered before An crossed the threshold.
An murmured her response.
Entering the kitchen, An removed her black hat and lace veil, setting them on the table. She breezed across the room to Asher and touched his face with a gloved hand.
“You are looking better than I expected.” The apples of her cheeks pinkened.
Asher shrugged away from her touch. “Worried about me?”
Her hand dropped, and her eyes narrowed.
Mouse moved about the hearth, trying not to watch their interplay and failing.
Marcus cleared his throat and filled An in on what would happen to Turtle Bay when Turk’s ship, the Valiant, made port. Based on the deciphered letter, the Valiant captured a British supply ship with a cargo worth forty-thousand pounds, including seventy-five tons of gunpowder and sixteen hundred muskets. There was an order in place to burn its port of origin upon arrival, to impress upon other rebel ports the consequences of attacking British holdings.
“Does Mrs. Caldwell know?”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t think she deciphered all of it.”
If Henrietta knew what the rest of the letter revealed, would she forsake her friends or her town? No. He didn’t believe she would. But the house—it was her last connection to Willow. What deal would she make with her uncle to save the damn house?
Mouse sat across from An and patted the blunt end of her arm. “We should prepare for the worst. Pack our things and store them at Swiftwater.”
“You’ll need to pack Mrs. Caldwell things,” An said. “You would know what she’d want.”
“We’re not going in and getting her?” Marcus was all for preparation, but some
times action was warranted.
The lines of Mouse’s face softened. “I figured you’d do that. We’ll pack what we can of hers, then our own.”
“Oh. Right. Thank you.” Marcus thought about Henrietta’s belongings. He didn’t know what was hers or what belonged to her uncle. He’d hate to save the wrong things and leave behind the most important. “Mouse, can you pack her daughter’s room? I don’t have the first idea what a mother would want.”
“Of course. It would be an honor.” She rose and kissed Asher on the head, then Marcus as she left the room.
Asher stood with the box of clock parts. “I’m contemplating an idea. I need a pistol. An?”
She shook her head. “I’m carrying knives today.”
Marcus was restless. His good leg bounced, garnering him a scowl from An. He forced himself to stop and took Henrietta’s blue ribbon from his pocket to play with. “Look in the trunk in her room. She keeps her husband’s effects in there.”
“Should we take the trunk?” An asked on her way out.
“No.” Marcus hopped to his cane. “Mouse!”
The older woman poked her head in the doorway. “What? So loud? I’m right here.”
“I need a uniform. One with buff facings, should you find one.”
~ ~ ~
Archibald Shrupp spent all day in the saddle, returning to Turtle Bay. He’d received a message from Caldwell that his niece had disgraced herself, and it was Shrupp’s problem to clean up the mess when he arrived. As the Colonel reminded him for the hundredth time, Shrupp’s commission with the army was at Caldwell’s pleasure.
Being born on the wrong side of the blanket meant he missed out on the Banbury title, money, and lands. He was in no position to refuse Caldwell. In fact, he owed everything he had to the man.
Shrupp approached the crumbling stone house with a strong sense of revulsion. A wedding gift, Caldwell wrote. The house was worthless, but the land had value. All he had to do was grab the letters from Henrietta and get to Bedloe’s Island. By night, he’d possess a title—cornet, an officer in the cavalry—land, and a wife. Marriage was a formality, not something he intended to honor.
A Widow's Guide to Scandal (The Sons of Neptune Book 1) Page 23
