Cherished

by Elizabeth Thornton

  “And what brought you to York?” asked Leon baldly.

  Lady Hester took it upon herself to answer. “William is our cousin. Didn’t you know, Mr. Devereux?”

  “Your cousin?”

  “Our mothers were cousins,” William corrected.

  “They were as close as sisters,” Hester chided. “And when you were boys, you and Peter were almost inseparable.”

  “Inseparable?” William laughed. “At school, he was an infernal nuisance, always following me around like an overgrown puppy. There was three years difference in our ages. You know how it is when you are young.”

  “I remember,” said Hester, smiling at him in an indulgent way. “And you will never convince me, William, that you were anything but kind to Peter.”

  “Lord, no!” he exclaimed. “And you know why. If I had been unkind to the boy and it had got back to my father, I would have taken a beating. My parents were sticklers for discipline.”

  “As were mine,” Hester intoned, her eyes alighting for a moment on Sara, before moving on to Emily.

  For the next few minutes, the conversation turned on the deplorable lack of discipline to be found in the younger generation. As was to be expected, Emily and Sara contributed very little, and when the butler entered to remove the tea things, Emily seized on the momentary lull to turn the subject.

  “I understood from your letters that servants in York were as scarce as fifty-pound notes?”

  Though she addressed Sara, again it was Hester who answered. “Mr. Fraser was kind enough to secure the services of Paterson for us.” She flashed James a grateful smile. “Since his arrival, I may tell you that the pilfering going on below stairs has ceased altogether.”

  “Pilfering?” Emily inquired politely. “Do you say that your servants were stealing from you?”

  “No,” Sara said decisively. “Hester, how can you imply such a thing? Only one girl was involved, and she stole very little. Lace caps, bric-à-brac, that sort of thing. She never took anything of real value.”

  “What happened to her?” asked Emily.

  Hester’s nostrils were quivering. “Nothing happened to her. She was an Indian girl. The authorities can do nothing with the Indians, it seems. They melt into the woods and no one can ever find them again.”

  This reference to the Indian maid gave the gentlemen the opening they were looking for to return the conversation to its original topic. Before long, a full-scale debate was in progress.

  “It seems a strange way to make peace,” Leon remarked at one point, “to supply the Iroquois and Shawnee with guns and ammunition.”

  Emily had heard this argument before. If Americans were not denouncing the British for their piracy on the high seas, they railed at them for arming Indians who were hostile to American settlers. She had never known how to answer these charges, and listened interestedly to what William might have to say.

  “Historically, the Indians are our allies. We have treaties with them. We have been supplying them with guns and ammunition for years past. There is nothing new in that. Why should we stop now?”

  “Oh, I—and every other American—is aware of what has been going on these many years. For the moment, it is American settlers who are being massacred. One day, it might well be British settlers. And you will have no one to blame but yourselves.”

  William laughed, but it was a forced sound. “Your settlers are trying to move onto Indian hunting grounds, and your government encourages it. That is why you have brought down the Indians’ ire on your heads.”

  “James, what do you think?” The question came from Sara.

  There was something in her sister’s tone that made Emily turn her head to look at her. Then James was answering and she gave her attention to him.

  “I am a fur trader,” he said. “Settlers spell death to the fur trade. In this conflict, I endorse whatever promotes the interests of the Indians.”

  “In short, self-interest,” Leon retorted.

  “Of course,” James answered at once, and everyone laughed.

  Emily was acutely conscious that Leon was biding his time, waiting to pounce on her. She owed him an explanation for concealing from him the knowledge that William was in York. She was anxious to get it over and done with. She hated the hostility he veiled from others but which seemed to come at her in waves. She was used to something different from him now and was coming to see how much she might have forfeited by her little deception.

  Throughout the rest of that day, however, Leon carefully and politely treated her like a stranger. There were moments when they were alone, moments when he might have broached the subject of William’s presence in York. He chose not to do so, and Emily’s unease increased tenfold. He wasn’t going to treat her little deception as though it was innocent and well meant. In his eyes, she had committed an outrage.

  Such were her thoughts as she took her place at the dinner table that evening. There were six of them. Peter had arrived earlier from the garrison, apologizing profusely for the delay. General Brock had ordered fortifications to be built and some problem had arisen with the surveyor which had necessitated Peter’s presence. He spoke in such vague terms that no one doubted he was being evasive. Leon was an American, and though the fortifications were there for any eye to see, a certain circumspection must be observed in the presence of an outsider.

  His words and manner were anything but offensive. There was no awkwardness. With a mocking laugh and a knowing wink in Leon’s direction, he reduced the secrecy to an amusing folly. It was deftly done, and set the tone for the conversation which was to follow. There would be no debate such as the one that had taken place that morning.

  James Fraser was there, though William Addison had absented himself. He was engaged to dine with friends at the officers’ mess, where he was a paying guest. Emily was relieved at his absence. The strain of conversing with William under Leon’s watchful eye was removed, and though she knew she was not going to get off scot-free, her spirits lifted.

  The dinner was as elaborate as anything she was used to in England. There were two or three kinds of meat, as well as fish and game. The gentlemen had no quarrel with the choice of wines and brandies their host had to offer.

  Throughout that long dinner, Emily became an observer. It did not take her long to divine that beneath the banter, Peter and Sara were estranged. On Sara’s part, there was a thinly veiled contempt. Peter was less obvious. Nevertheless, Emily detected a kind of defiant gaiety—he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

  There were other things she noticed. Her first impression, that Hester was Peter’s real hostess, was reinforced. Hester was very much the grande dame and in her element. All matters relating to the household were referred to her, and Sara gave no indication that she cared one way or another. When she made a contribution to the conversation, her eyes invariably sought out James Fraser’s, not deliberately, but almost without volition. Emily was used to observing this trait in her sister, but formerly it was Leon who had been the object of Sara’s attention.

  This thought gave rise to all sorts of speculation. Sara, it seemed, had outgrown her girlish infatuation for Leon. She was more natural with him, like a sister. Surreptitiously, Emily began to study her husband. Their eyes brushed and held, and in those few seconds a silent communication passed between them. He had caught her out. He was amused at what she was doing, was aware that she was covertly weighing each look and word because he was doing it himself. Suppressing a smile, Emily averted her head and concentrated on what was being said.

  Peter, the gracious host, had involved James Fraser in a description of the fur trade, thinking that it might be of some interest to Emily. It was. For the first time, she learned that James was of mixed blood. His mother and his younger siblings lived in a house which his father had built for them on the shores of Lake Huron. She thought she might like to visit it, and made the suggestion.

  Laughing, James shook his head. “No white woman has ever set foot
so far west. Only the voyageurs and agents. There are no roads and few trails. We travel by canoe.”

  Emily thought for a moment, then said, “But I was sure you made reference to neighbors and other families you visited when you were a boy.” She was not quite sure of this, for during much of the conversation she had been thinking her own thoughts.

  “Those are fur traders’ families,” answered James. “In every case, the wife is of Indian blood.”

  To Emily’s ears, the silence which followed betrayed a certain awkwardness. It was soon glossed over by a reference to Montreal as the center of the fur trade. Emily sat back in her chair and flicked a look in her husband’s direction. Leon was topping up his wineglass. He had nothing to contribute to the discussion on Montreal. It was odd.

  Montreal. She could not help wondering about it.

  Peter was waiting for Sara when she came in from the kitchen. “I poured you a glass of wine,” he said, keeping his voice light. “You deserve it. That was a splendid dinner, Sara. I was proud of you.”

  “Were you?” she murmured. “I don’t know why. You should be thanking Hester.”

  She accepted the glass from his hand and followed him into a small parlor where logs were still burning in the grate. Some time had elapsed since James Fraser had departed and their guests had taken themselves off to bed.

  “It went quite well, I think,” she said, for something to say.

  They went on in this vein until, it seemed, they had run out of small talk.

  Taking a quick breath, Peter said, “You will want to introduce your sister to York society. We must give more dinner parties, Sara, accept invitations to dine out. It would not be fair to Emily to keep her to yourself.”

  She smiled faintly. “I think I know what I owe my sister.”

  “Then you agree that you must make the effort to introduce our guests to our friends and neighbors?”

  She inclined her head. “For as long as Emily and Leon are with us, I shall become a social butterfly.” He frowned at her levity, and she went on more naturally. “If you had been here, Peter, you would have known that Hester and I have arranged a full calendar of events for our guests over the next few weeks.” When he remained silent, her brows lifted. “I thought you would be pleased.”

  “I am. That goes without saying. But I was thinking…”

  “Yes?”

  “You would not do as much for me.”

  She stared into her wineglass and he paused, sensing her withdrawal. As his frustration increased, his tone hardened. “Sara, they can’t remain in York indefinitely. When they go, what then? Will you continue to remain hidden away in this house like a recluse?”

  “They have just arrived and already you are talking of their going away?”

  “All I am trying to point out is that when they go, as they must, I shall still be here. Can’t we put our differences behind us? Can’t you at least try to make something of our life here, for your own sake if not for mine? It could be so much better than you have allowed it to be. If tonight showed me anything, it was that you are still the same girl I married. You always enjoyed parties, far more than I. It’s not good for you to cut yourself off like this. People are wondering about you…talking. How do you think I feel when I have to make excuses for my wife’s absences? If you would only try to be a bit more accommodating.”

  “Like Hester, for instance?”

  “Yes, like Hester. Do you think my sister prefers York to England? I assure you, she does not! She puts a good face on things, she has too much…Well, what I mean is, Hester is too proud to let others see her disappointment.”

  “Oh, yes, too proud by half. I think we are all agreed on that!”

  “What does that mean?”

  Instead of answering him, she said, “You are very close to your sister, aren’t you, Peter?”

  “Very,” he said, hesitating as he sensed a shift in ground. “In many ways, as we were growing up, Hester was a little mother to me.”

  “And now she would like to be your wife!”

  “That’s a vile thing to say!”

  She knew that she was being unreasonable, but she could not seem to get command of herself. “Is it? To all intents and purposes, she is mistress of this house. She is your hostess. Everything must be deferred to Hester.”

  “Because you relinquished your position to her! Sara, for heaven’s sake, you were deathly ill. If Hester had not been here to take care of things, I would never have had a moment’s peace. She nursed you. Can’t you give a little credit where it is due?”

  As though he had not spoken, she went on relentlessly. “You have a sister for your house and a mistress for your bed. Why won’t you let me go?”

  Hot color flooded his face. There was a tense silence, then he burst out, “I wondered how soon it would be before we would get to that.” He brought his glass to his lips and drained it. Setting it down sharply, he said, “If you were any sort of wife to me, I would have no need of a mistress.”

  Her amusement turned to mockery. “I’m sure that is what all errant husbands say.”

  “The woman means nothing to me.”

  “I’m not finding fault. As you say, if I were more of a wife to you, you would not stray.” She leaned forward slightly as if to emphasize her words. “Do you still want me, Peter?”

  He stared at her wordlessly, jaw tensed, chest rising and falling as his breathing became harsher.

  She cocked her head to one side. “Promise me that we can go home to England and I shall welcome you into my bed—tonight, if you like. It rests with you, Peter.” She raised one hand in a gesture of supplication, but quickly withdrew it as she saw the fury building in his eyes.

  “You are no better than a whore, do you know?”

  She tossed her head. “Why? Because I refuse to bear children in this uncivilized country?” Her tongue began to trip over the words as her thoughts outpaced her speech. “For God’s sake, Peter, why do you keep me here against my will? I don’t fit in. I’m not happy. I want to be with my own kind. I have money enough for both of us. We could be living in style in Mayfair instead of in this pigsty.”

  His smile was bitter. “And what would I find to do in Mayfair?”

  His question baffled her and she stared at him dumbly.

  Sighing, he said, “Sara, try to see it from my point of view. For the first time in my life, I feel that I am accomplishing something. If you would only give it a try…” His voice died away when she made a small sound of derision.

  After a moment she said, “I don’t know if I can take much more of this.” She looked into his eyes. “You say that I am fully recovered from my illness. How can I believe you? How do you know? You were not here when I was at my worst. You are away so much of the time. It was…well, I don’t want to think about it. Peter, I am frightened. Sometimes I fear I shall end up in a madhouse if I stay here much longer. Sometimes I think I might as well be dead.”

  “Sara! For God’s sake!” It was a moment before his voice steadied. “All right. I shall think about it.”

  “You mean…we can go home?” Her voice was eager.

  “I must remain here. In any event, it’s not possible at present, not as things stand, not with the threat of war hanging over our heads. Don’t try to argue with me on this. I shall think about it. I won’t promise more than that.”

  “Peter, do you really mean it?”

  His head was bent, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. He nodded and looked up. Very softly, he said, “You never loved me, did you, Sara?”

  For a moment she hesitated. “I was…am…very fond of you,” she said, and looked away.

  Slowly, he got to his feet. He looked older. Weary, resigned. “I shall see you in the morning,” he said and quietly left the room.

  When the door closed, Sara let out a short breath. She had not wanted to hurt him, but she wasn’t going to tell him a blatant untruth, either. If she had said that she loved him, he would not have given up so
easily.

  Love. She would not wish that affliction on her worst enemy. She had suffered its effects and she should know. There was a time when she had thought she would love Leon Devereux to her dying day. It seemed she was fickle. Once she had accepted that there was no hope for her, her “undying” love had died a quick and natural death. Poor Peter. He loved her and it gave her the upper hand. She frowned, thinking that she did not have everything her own way.

  She had thought once that she could mold him to her every whim. He allowed her to go so far and no farther. Sometimes she hardly recognized him. Major Benson. He had taken to Army life like a duck to water. Unhappily, she was not cut out to follow the drum.

  Her eyes traveled the small room, taking in the fine English furniture which had been bought at auction, from the home of a family that had sold it and had gone back to England. Sara envied that family. This house and its contents was regarded as one of the finest in York. It was Georgian in design and built of brick. Compared to the fine houses she had known in England it was a doll’s house.

  Surprisingly, Emily admired it. But Emily was fascinated with every aspect of colonial life. Sara shook her head in wonderment. She would have thought her sister too refined, too urbane for the rawness that was part and parcel of life on the frontiers of the New World. There was no accounting for taste.

  Self-pity crept up on her slowly. Blinking back tears, in a flurry of motion, she extinguished the candles and climbed the stairs to her bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emily knew that the moment of reckoning for concealing William’s presence in York from Leon was finally upon her. As the maid moved around the chamber, shaking and folding away clothes, she debated with herself what course she should follow. She knew that she must be scrupulously truthful. She balked, however, at perfect honesty, unless it became absolutely necessary. She was afraid that if Leon were to discover the extent of her stupidity, the new intimacy they shared would suffer a blow from which it might never recover.