Dawn on a Distant Shore

by Sara Donati

  “That’s a mighty small parcel to keep you away such a long time.” Nathaniel spoke English, because Will and Moncrieff were with them still.

  Bears shrugged and reached for the cold beef. “You want the whole story now?”

  Hawkeye cast a sidelong glance in Moncrieff’s direction. “I expect we’re all curious, but it’ll have to wait. Lots going on while you were away.”

  Beside Elizabeth, Will put down his glass. “I should say so. It did give me a start to see the Nancy so dark and deserted.”

  Nathaniel said, “We’re better off here for the moment.”

  Elizabeth was much relieved that he didn’t feel it necessary to raise the topic of Mac Stoker. Her pride was still too raw, and Angus Moncrieff was still too much of a stranger to be trusted with such a confession.

  Hawkeye explained what there was to know about the Providence in a few sentences. Will’s expression brightened even before he finished.

  “Well, then, you’re off now to have a talk with her captain, I take it? Can I be of any assistance?”

  “I dinna think it would be wise,” Moncrieff said. “The man lost a leg at Lexington, and he’s been nane too fond o’ Englishmen ever since. He didna care overmuch for me, either, so p’rhaps it’d be best if I stayed clear of Henry Parker.”

  Robbie’s head came up with a snap. “Wad that be Henry Parker o’ Boston?”

  Moncrieff scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Aye, I believe he is from Boston. A wee mannie, with a fringe o’ hair the color of straw and stare like a new-sharpened bayonet.”

  “That could weel be him,” said Robbie with a grin. “I served wi’ a Henry Parker for five years under Isaac Putnam. Hawkeye, d’ye remember him? He was always whittlin’ awa’ at birds.”

  Hawkeye stretched and pushed back his chair. “I do remember him. I suppose we better get along and see if it’s the same man. Don’t forget the coin, Nathaniel—as I remember, Henry Parker drives a Yankee bargain.”

  In no time at all Nathaniel, Hawkeye, and Robbie had directions to the spot farther downriver where the Providence was at dock, collected their weapons and got themselves ready to go. Elizabeth wished for a moment alone with Nathaniel but had to be satisfied with slipping the strap of his carry bag over his shoulder and taking the chance to touch his cheek.

  “Don’t be long,” she said quietly. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

  “You’d best be ready to go right quick,” said Hawkeye, squeezing her shoulder on his way out. “It may happen all at once.”

  Moncrieff went up on deck to make sure they reached their destination, and they were gone with just a nod and a smile.

  “It’s time I was away to my lodgings,” Will said.

  “Oh, no,” said Elizabeth, drawing him down to sit on the chaise longue next to her. “You and Runs-from-Bears have some explaining to do. You had me very worried.”

  Bears plucked up the bundle from the table and tossed it to Elizabeth without comment. Inside were some large pieces of cured doeskin of very high quality, a smaller piece of heavier buckskin, a bone needle and a paper of three steel needles, a bowl of loose beads with a fitted lid, and a small basket of spooled threads.

  Elizabeth ran her palm over the doeskin. “Hannah asked for these things?”

  He shook his head. “She wanted Kahnyen’kehàka clothing, but there was none to be had. It was the best I could do.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why would you go off on such an errand?”

  He blinked at her. “Squirrel asked me.” He spoke English, which took her by surprise. Then she saw Will’s expression and she knew two things: whatever had happened on the other side of the river, they had acted together, and were of one mind; and more, neither of them wanted her to know too much about it. More trouble. Elizabeth had a good chance of arguing them into divulging whatever it was, but right now it was all she could do to keep her mind on the night ahead.

  Will cleared his throat softly. “I’m sorry we worried you, cousin.”

  “You are as mysterious as you ever were,” Elizabeth said, getting up to put the bundle on the desk. “But it is too late to interrogate you now. Tomorrow you must find passage. My aunt and Amanda will be waiting for you.”

  A flickering in Will’s normally placid expression and then he turned away from her.

  Elizabeth said, “Perhaps it would be better not to trouble my aunt with the details. I expect that otherwise she might make things rather difficult for you.”

  He laughed softly. “You cannot begrudge Amanda and me the bit of drama and adventure Lady Crofton brings into our quiet lives. Leave my mother-in-law to me, can you?”

  “I have little choice,” Elizabeth agreed. And then, more soberly: “I will miss you, Will.”

  With an abrupt movement he turned back to her. “You are not the only one with a confession to make, Elizabeth. Since we left Albany I have been at a loss on how to introduce a rather … difficult topic, but I see time has run out on me.”

  Elizabeth let out an awkward laugh. “So dramatic, cousin? You have me worried.”

  He shook his head. “You needn’t worry for me. At least, not so long as I stay out of England, you need not worry for me. You have heard perhaps of the London Corresponding Society?”

  Because she could not trust her voice, Elizabeth merely nodded.

  “Your expression is priceless, Lizzy.”

  “Will,” Elizabeth said. “Are you telling me that you are one of the gentlemen charged with advocating revolution on the French model?”

  He flushed. “Revolution? But of course not, Elizabeth. The society prefers the term ‘reform.’” He rubbed his forehead and allowed himself a small smile, just a glimpse of the old Will she knew so well. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you are familiar with all of this.”

  “How could I not be? Every newspaper is full of Lord Braxton and his charges.” Elizabeth felt slightly dizzy, and she pinched the web of skin between her thumb and first finger until she was more sure of herself.

  “I think it would be best if you stayed out of England, after all.”

  He laughed. “You and your aunt are of one mind, then. Had you not thought it strange that she would come to New-York so suddenly?”

  “Is it as bad as all that?”

  Will lifted a shoulder. “The worst that has happened thus far is unexpected change of abode. My friend Hardy is worse off—he has just been arrested; I expect they will send him off to Australia.”

  Elizabeth felt herself growing pale. “Transported!” She thought of Amanda and understood Aunt Merriweather’s rush to get Will away from trouble.

  “Unfortunately, the situation has gone from bad to worse and I cannot return home. I had hoped to settle here in Canada, but even that seems improbable given recent events. We may well make our home in Albany, or perhaps in New-York City.”

  “Oh, Will.” Elizabeth sat down heavily. “You have kept this from Amanda.” It was not a question, but his expression gave her an answer in any case.

  “We did not see the need to alarm her before the situation was fully known,” he said.

  After a long moment, Elizabeth raised her head. “I think it most cruel of you to keep this from her, Will. And unnecessary. She will not break under the truth, after all. But, now. Where do you go? Back to Albany? Was all this talk of meeting in Halifax pretense?”

  “No,” said Will quietly. “We do meet in Halifax. But your aunt will sail for home, and Amanda and I will turn back to New-York. I had thought that perhaps I could appeal to the captain of the Providence for berth space. Unless you are too disgusted with me to sail on the same ship.”

  “Will,” Elizabeth said, crossly now. “Do not talk such nonsense.” She got up and brushed a hand over his shoulder. “I cannot deny that you surprise me—the Corresponding Society! But I admire you for it, truly I do. And I shall not mind having my family nearby. By all means, you must come along with us to the Providence and speak to the capta
in. You do know that I will want all the particulars of this business?”

  “If you will tell me the story of the Tory gold, Elizabeth, I will give you the details of the London Corresponding Society. I don’t doubt whose story will be more interesting.” He gave her a half-smile. “It is a relief to have this out in the open, cousin. But now I must away to bed.”

  “Will we see you tomorrow at the Providence?”

  “You may count on it,” said Will. “I would not miss it for the world.”

  As tired as she was—and it was the kind of weariness that ached deep in the bone—Elizabeth knew that she would not rest easy until they were safely on board the Providence and out of Canada. She would have been glad of Runs-from-Bears’ company while she waited for the men to return, but he went off yawning to one of the side cabins. With some irritation, Elizabeth sat down on the feather bed to see if it would serve, and promptly fell asleep without putting up any struggle at all.

  Dreams plagued her. On a forest path a red dog ran ahead to disappear into a vast marsh of dead trees hung with moss like ruined bridal veils. Elizabeth called and called, Treenie, Treenie!, but the dog was gone out of hearing. And then, without any warning, she was paddling a raft as it bumped and careened down the Richelieu. People crowded in: Tim Card wearing a necklace of stones, Hannah wrapped in a striped blanket like the one on the bed at home, Miss Thompson who had taught her to read so long ago in the Oakmere nursery. The raft rocked wildly and the wood began to melt like ice under their feet.

  Elizabeth struggled up from sleep as the casement clock struck midnight, and slipped back into an uneasy rest at the twelfth chime.

  Rain, pounding and pounding. She pulled the pillow across her face but it was still there: rain on the river, yes. But something else, too. The sound of men moving in quick march, heavy boots, the jangle of weapons. Moncrieff’s voice at the door, now. It was no dream.

  From its spot on the poop deck, the round-house on the Isis looked out over the boatyard and docks. Elizabeth followed Moncrieff there, still fastening the buttons on her bodice, her hair lashing around her in the wet wind. Runs-from-Bears followed her, his expression closed and watchful. Pickering and his officers stood aside for them. There was no time for pleasantries, given the scene spread out before them.

  Redcoats everywhere. Forbes & Sons was sealed off, and from their vantage point on the Isis they could see it all: the dock around the Nancy was surrounded, her decks crawling with soldiers. Some part of Elizabeth’s mind insisted on taking count: a chain of twelve men at the gates; thirty-six men on foot on the dock, two officers on horseback, and another pacing so that his cloak flared around him. Foot soldiers carried lanterns on long poles and the light reflected on the muzzles of their guns, brass buttons, silver spurs.

  “The King’s Own,” said Pickering behind her. “And the sixtieth, too, by God.”

  Elizabeth rounded on him. “You had no warning?”

  “Of course not,” he said hoarsely. “None at all.”

  Moncrieff touched her elbow. “Perhaps you should go below, Mrs. Bonner.”

  A group of the soldiers had broken off and were headed toward them. A tall man led them, the one in the cloak. She saw now that he wore no uniform. “Who is that?”

  “Sir Guy,” said Pickering, picking up his hat. “The governor himself. I must go and meet him.” There was a tremor in his hand that Elizabeth did not like to see.

  “He’ll want to search this ship,” she said more to herself than to him.

  “He wouldna dare!” Moncrieff’s tone brought Elizabeth around in surprise.

  “Let him,” said Runs-from-Bears calmly, his gaze locked on the men moving toward them.

  “What?” Moncrieff snapped. “Are ye daft, man?”

  Elizabeth put her hand on Moncrieff’s forearm and felt the tension leaping there.

  “Runs-from-Bears is right,” she said quickly. “If you refuse the governor, he will know for certain what he only suspects.”

  “Can ye lie tae the man’s face, then? D’ye ha’ any idea wha’ a bluidy bastard he can be?”

  Elizabeth felt all her concentration shifting down to a fine point. By the pricking of my thumbs, she thought, and she smiled.

  “I’ve dealt with a bloody bastard or two in my time,” she said, and turned to Bears. “You must get word to Nathaniel and Hawkeye.”

  He shook his head. “They’d have me followed.”

  “Lord Dorchester requests permission to come aboard!” called a midshipman.

  Elizabeth picked up her skirts and ran with Runs-from-Bears close behind.

  Hannah stood in the middle of the cabin. In the candlelight her eyes were very large.

  “Are they coming for us?”

  Elizabeth clutched the girl to her chest, hugged her hard. Then she tilted up her chin to look directly into her eyes. “Listen to me, Squirrel. Your father and grandfather and Robbie are safe on another ship. There are some soldiers come on board the Isis to look for them. We mustn’t look frightened or guilty. Do you understand?”

  The vacant expression in Hannah’s eyes shifted away like sand, and she nodded. She went to her uncle Runs-from-Bears, and he put a hand on her head.

  “Dress now, quickly,” Elizabeth said, even as she went in search of her shoes. But it was too late, there was a sharp rap at the door and it opened without her bidding. The captain, with a crowd of men behind him. Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, folded her shawl across her bodice, and drew Hannah in to her side to put an arm around her shoulders. Now that it had come to this, she was perfectly calm. She put her mouth to Hannah’s ear. “They are only men,” she whispered. Hannah’s head bobbed, but she said nothing.

  “Captain Pickering,” Elizabeth said firmly. “What is the meaning of this disturbance?”

  Pickering cleared his throat, his expression woeful. “Lord Dorchester, may I present Mrs. Bonner. And Mr. Runs-from-Bears.”

  He was tall, with a high sloping forehead and a prim mouth, in his sixties or perhaps even older. The cool gaze took in every detail of her person, from her bare feet and wrinkled skirt to the wild flow of her hair. He was waiting for her curtsy; she could see it in the set of his thin mouth.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Sir.”

  “Mrs. Bonner. Good evening.” By his voice she knew him: plummy tones polished to a sheen in the company of great men. But not born to the very highest places, not quite; there was Ulster Irish there just beneath the surface. He meant not to let it show. He was a typical third son, dedicated to the army, advancing only as quickly as his talents, good luck, and connections allowed. Elizabeth had the sense that there was more of luck and connections here than talent, but she might be wrong; she would reserve judgment.

  She held up her head and met his gaze while he took her measure. It did not last long. All he would see was an Englishwoman of good birth gone to waste. Run away to marry an American backwoodsman. To him she was at best a simpleton, at worst a whore, but Elizabeth had cut her teeth on the disdain of men who were not her equal. She smiled because he expected it of her. It would pacify him, and she would keep her advantage.

  “How may I be of service at this late hour, sir?”

  A restless shifting behind him. A little man with a face like an underdone pudding cleared his throat.

  “You will give Lord Dorchester his rank,” he piped.

  Elizabeth inclined her head. “Of course. I am too long away. How may I be of service to you, my lord?”

  “We will have your menfolk,” said Sir Guy. “Tell me where they are.”

  Elizabeth raised a hand, palm up. “I would ask you the same question, sir. I came to Canada to plead their case, and found instead that they were already fled.”

  “They are not on board this ship?”

  “They are not, sir. I hope that they are well on their way home.”

  “Then you will consent to a search of these cabins.”

  Elizabeth inclined her head. “As you wish. My lord.”


  His gaze the color of claret, sweeping over the stateroom now. Hannah seemed to be invisible to him, but Runs-from-Bears was not.

  “You.” He waved a hand. “You are Mohawk?”

  Bears nodded.

  “A white man was found murdered this evening in the Indian camps. A peddler but a subject of the Crown, after all. His throat was cut. Major Johnson will look at your weapons.”

  Elizabeth felt a flush of cold all along her spine. With every bit of her willpower she controlled her expression. Runs-from-Bears seemed neither worried nor intimidated, but simply slipped his knife from the beaded sheath on his belt and held it out. The governor flicked a finger in that direction and Johnson hurried forward to examine the knife.

  “No blood, my lord.”

  “Ah.” Carleton tapped one prominent tooth thoughtfully. “Well, then. I would speak to you privately in my offices. Tomorrow morning, at ten. See that you are not late.”

  Runs-from-Bears said, “I won’t be late. I won’t be there at all.”

  The governor’s mouth narrowed to a blade.

  Elizabeth said, “He cannot oblige you, my lord, because he is bound to accompany us. We sail tomorrow for home.” She willed her tone cool and her anger in check.

  His gaze came back to her with a jerk. “Do you, indeed? For England?”

  She met him without flinching. “My home is in New-York State.” And then, weary of the whole game, she asked him a direct question. “Sir, is it your intention to arrest me?”

  Hannah tensed, and Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder gently.

  “I had not thought of it,” said the governor. “But on the other hand you have not proved especially helpful. I have it on good authority, madam, that the escaped prisoners are indeed in Québec.”

  “Sir,” said Elizabeth. “As you can see, they are not here. But if my word does not satisfy you, perhaps we should send for my cousin, Viscount Durbeyfield. Runs-from-Bears could fetch him in just a few moments’ time.”