Fair Wind of Love

by Rosalind Laker

  He broke the silence at last. “You’re a very beautiful girl,” he commented conversationally.

  Deliberately she ignored the compliment. “You said there was a condition attached to my staying on in your employment,” she said pointedly, thankful that her voice did not betray her nervousness.

  Lazily he stubbed out the cigar before coming across to sit down on the seat beside her, and he leaned toward her slightly as he rested his arm along the back of it. “No doubt you will be a little surprised at what I have to say to you, but after you’ve given my proposition some consideration, I think you’ll realize that it’s the best way out of your dilemma, and it would certainly assist me in my guardianship of Lucy, which has become a great problem now that she is seventeen and should have been out of school long ago.” She steeled herself, knowing that for the sake of the children she must be diplomatic, but a refusal to be parted from them to act as chaperone to his ward, which was so obviously coming, was ready on her lips. Being so convinced that she knew what he was going to say, she turned her head to face him squarely, and as a result gave him full benefit of the expression of complete astonishment that registered on her face at his next words.

  “I’m offering you marriage, Sarah. Not love. Or romance. Or any of the frills. But my name, my honorable protection, and a secure future, not only for yourself, but for the two children who have been so forlornly deserted by both parents—the mother, I admit, through no fault of her own.”

  She went on staring at him, her eyes wide. Marriages of convenience were common enough in England where both families had something to gain from the contract, but she failed to see why this man, who could surely marry any woman of his choice, should make her such an offer. With the little she knew of him already, she had gathered that he always aimed to get the best of any bargain. She drew a little breath, regarding him with a measured precision. “I don’t understand,” she said bluntly. “What do you want from me in return?”

  He tilted his head, answering her look under his lashes as he relaxed back against the cushions, crossing one long leg over the other. “You can take Flora in hand for a start, educating her yourself for a while, and then later on a suitable school can be found. I’ve already seen my lawyers, and at four o’clock this afternoon she became my ward instead of my property.” He was certain that this piece of information must have pleased her, and smiled slightly as if it was a small enough concession to make in the bargain he was forging. “I want my house kept in order, and a gracious hostess when I entertain. I like a woman to be well dressed, and so I want no finicky cheeseparing when it comes to buying bonnets and gowns and any other gewgaws you’ll be needing. Then there’s this business of Lucy plaguing me to take her out of boarding school. With a wife under my roof I’ll be able to bring her here without risk of gossip. I care nothing for it myself, but I’ll not have Lucy’s chances in the marriage market wrecked by the slanderous speculation that would result if she were alone under this roof with me.”

  “You seem to have a dubious reputation,” Sarah commented sharply.

  His dark eyes rippled with a strange, ambiguous mixture of amusement and irritation. “That I can’t deny. People like to talk. I guess everything I do is suspect. I’m even accused of running guns and smuggling tea.”

  “Is there any truth in that?” Sarah asked him levelly.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I mind my own business, and I should expect my wife to mind hers. But on one point I do assure you”—his voice deepened in emphasis—“nothing I ever did would cause you the slightest distress.”

  “That, Mr. Garrett,” she said coolly, “does not interest me. I came to this house hoping for work—not marriage. But if that is the condition of my staying on here, then I must leave.”

  “Pity,” he remarked reflectively, his tone changing to a dry note as he pretended a marked interest in the stars twinkling above the treetops. “In order to protect your reputation I led those gentlemen in my house today to believe that we were already betrothed. Their wives will be agog at the soirée this evening for the sight of you.”

  “You’ve taken far too much upon yourself!” she exclaimed, rising quickly to her feet.

  He rose too, and seized her by the arm when she would have darted back into the house. “I asked you to give consideration to my offer,” he said firmly in the tone of one not used to being flaunted. “Do not reject it out of hand. Take time. Think it over. My home is yours.”

  Inwardly she despaired of his stubbornness, but it only matched her own. “You must understand that I cannot possibly attend the soirée with you this evening,” she said, her own plans already made.

  He nodded. “I had no wish to upset you, and I see that it would be out of the question for you to face the female tigers of York until the matter is settled. You shall choose your own occasion. At a party here. Or at a ball.”

  He seemed to have no doubt at all of what her eventual decision would be. “Good night, Mr. Garrett,” she said with apparent calmness, but frantic to get away.

  He released his hold on her, but as she crossed the threshold back into the house he spoke again, and gently. “Sarah!”

  “Yes?” She half-turned, the diaphanous frills of her gown ashimmer.

  He was a black shadow, silhouetted against the stars and the silvery garden. “With regard to our marriage, do not be alarmed on any other score. The key to the dressing room that links our two rooms is on your side of the door. You may keep it locked for as long as you wish!”

  The reply burst from her. “That would be forever!” She ran across the shining pinewood floor, and up the curved staircase. He did not follow her.

  The lace gown was hung away in the closet, and she was fastening the buttons of her print dress when she heard the carriage come from the stable. Swiftly she rushed to the window, and watched Bryne step inside on his way to the soirée. Then it went rolling away down the drive, and as soon as it was lost from sight she rushed back to take everything from the drawers and pack her portmanteau that stood ready. The children’s garments went in last of all. There were some still drying on the line, but she would take those as she slipped out of the house.

  She would have to make two journeys, taking the baggage first, which she would hide in a secluded spot down by the lake, and then return for the children. She would have to carry Robbie, for he would be far too sleepy to persuade into walking, and she might well have to piggyback Jenny at the same time. But she must get them away. Bryne would never think of her departing with them at this late hour, and it could be nine or ten in the morning before Agnes or Beth realized that she was not going to appear with them. By that time she hoped to be on a bateau to one of the farming villages farther along the lake. It would take the last coins she had, but farm work was the answer, and it was the beginning of the time of year when every farm could do with an extra hand. Everything from planting, fruit-picking, and harvesting awaited her. She could keep the children with her as she toiled, receive food to share with them from farm kitchens, and always find a barn or some other place to sleep. It was the answer to everything.

  Before leaving the house she wrote another letter to Will Nightingale. This she would leave for him at the post office before she left the city, hoping that one day he would call there in search of news of his family.

  She left the waking of the children for her return trip and silently slipped from the house, keeping to the shadows of the trees until at last she was out in the street. She set off at a good pace, in spite of the heavy baggage she carried. There were quite a few people about, and lights shone from the coffee houses, but as she drew nearer the lakeside the moonlight suddenly made her feel defenseless and vulnerable as she walked with her shadow down the long deserted street lined by dark warehouses. She increased her pace, her footsteps echoing, and had almost reached the turning into a side lane that led to the woods by the water’s edge when she stopped uncertainly. A man had lurched forward out of the darkness of a doorway, the glin
t of a bottle in his hand, and he was followed by half a dozen others. They had seen her, and were laughing and muttering among themselves, nudging each other with their elbows as they began to advance toward her slowly, spreading out into a semicircle.

  She took a step backward, and then another, not daring to turn her back on them in fear that they would sprint forward and catch her unawares. Who would hear her scream and come to her aid in such a place? Bitterly she regretted keeping to the area that she had taken note of the day she had landed in York, when all had looked bright and peaceful in the late afternoon sunshine. She caught her breath in startled terror as one of the men spoke to her.

  “Where’re you aiming to go at this late hour?” he asked in dangerously soft tones, his tall hat tilted forward over his eyes.

  She did not answer, but drew back again, praying she would not twist her ankle on the uneven surface and fall helplessly. The moon threw the men’s long, dark shadows before them as they came, long black shapes that rippled over the wheel ruts to reach the swiftly retreating toes of her shoes, and then creeping up her skirt hem.

  With a sudden shout they all made a bound forward, and she hurled her heavy portmanteau with all her strength, catching one across the knees with a blow that sent him crashing down, bringing two others with him. The cloth bag that followed it was less effective, doing no more than delivering a harmless blow on another’s head, but she did not wait to see that, having turned to race back up the street with her skirt and petticoats held up to her knees, her cloak stretched out behind her like a beating wing. She heard her purse fall from her pocket with a little tinkle of coins, but dared not to stop.

  They were pounding after her, their footsteps echoing along the silent street. Her bonnet fell back from her head, held by its ribbons across her throat, and strands of hair slipped free to whip about her white, terrified face. She had only one thought in her head, and that was to get back to the house. That it would be impossible for her to keep up such a speed over so far a distance did not occur to her. She went rushing on, long after pursuit had fallen away, scarcely aware that the lights from coffee houses and hotels were falling on her as she streaked by, and that people were turning heads in curiosity at her headlong flight.

  By the time she turned into King Street her pace had slowed to a loping, staggering run, her breath rasping in her chest, the tears streaming down her face. She knew she was no longer being followed, but still she dragged herself on until she caught her toe on the rough road and went pitching forward. She lay there sobbing helplessly until the clip-clop of approaching hooves forced her to raise herself up. As she reeled to her feet there was a jingling of harness as the horses were hauled to a stop, and from the box Joe Tupper’s voice addressed her with some surprise. “Here! It’s Miss Sarah, ain’t it?”

  “Oh, Joe!” she sobbed, looking up at him, not seeing that Bryne had put his head out of the carriage window to see why the horses had stopped. “Take me home!”

  But it was Bryne’s arms that caught her and helped her into the carriage. “What has happened? Has anyone harmed you?” he demanded, his grip on her tight. She shook her head, her face in her hands, unable to speak. Her plan to get away had turned into a complete fiasco. She had nothing left in the world except the clothes she was wearing. Everything she and the children possessed had been in the baggage she had thrown, and even her purse was gone. It was the climax to all the disappointments and hardships that she had struggled through, and she found it impossible to check the tears that were gushing from her eyes.

  Bryne asked her no more questions until they were in the house. There she stood, still shaken by her gasping sobs, while he untied the strings of her bonnet, and threw it aside. Then he released the clasp of her cloak, and it slipped from her. She felt his cool hands lifting her face to make her meet his eyes. “Well?” he asked her quietly.

  “I was leaving,” she gulped, so blinded by her glittering lashes that his face splintered into colored lights, and she had to blink away the fresh tears that came as she told him of her encounter with the men, and of her flight. “I’ve bungled everything, and failed the children,” she concluded with violent despair. “There’s nothing left.”

  She turned from him, and threw herself onto the sofa, setting her arm on the back of it and burying her face in the crook of her elbow. Finally her tears ebbed, and when she slowly lifted her head again she saw that he was sitting beside her.

  He gave her a little smile, and took her hand in his. “I’ll be a good husband to you, Sarah. You shall have a nursemaid for the children, and if their father is never to be found they shall have the same advantages in life and education as if they were my own. Is there anything more that I can promise you?”

  She answered with quivering lips, her eyes heavy with unhappiness. “I always thought to marry for love.”

  His face tightened. “You have no choice,” he said abruptly. “I need a wife, and you will suit me admirably. I’m well pleased. At the end of the week we’ll set off on a wedding trip. That will give you time to choose some clothes and replace whatever you lost in the portmanteau. I’ve a mind to have you to myself for a little while, away from this houseful of children, which will soon have Lucy and her tantrums added to it.”

  In silence she rose to her feet, and walked from the room. Halfway up the stairs she turned, her hand resting on the rail, and looked down to where he was standing in the doorway.

  “Doesn’t it matter that I feel no affection toward you?” she asked, low-voiced.

  A slow smile curved his mouth, and his eyes held a curious, meditating look with the glint of challenge in it. “I intend to woo you, Sarah. Did you not consider that?”

  Five

  They were married not far from Niagara in a village church that was primitively constructed out of round logs, and gaily painted within by a local artist with more enthusiasm than talent. The distant roar of the falls could be heard throughout the ceremony, which was performed by a missionary priest. A number of his Indian flock, solemn-eyed, gaunt-faced, dignified people, had gathered there in their colorful striped blankets and feathers to witness the marriage.

  Sarah wore an amber silk gown with a lace shawl about her shoulders, her straw bonnet lined with creamy gauze. At the last moment Bryne, realizing that she had no flowers to carry, disappeared into a neighboring orchard to return with a spray of deep-pink blossom. A trail of petals floated from it to trace her passage in and out of church, and she thought that never again would she look upon a peach tree in all its glory without remembering the day in late May in the year of 1812 when she had become linked by a gold ring to a dark, enigmatic stranger. As they were pronounced man and wife he bent his tall head and his lips touched her for the first time.

  “It’s only a short distance to the tavern where I’ve arranged accommodation,” Bryne said, expertly handling the reins of the hired wagonette as they drove away from the church. The vehicle, with a sturdy gray horse between the shafts, had been waiting for them when they had disembarked from the lake schooner on which they had traveled from York.

  It had been a leisurely voyage, for the schooner had been engaged in taking on and delivering cargo at numerous small ports of call. Bryne had taken her ashore at each place, and she had noticed that everywhere there was intense military activity afoot.

  It had been interesting on shore, but most of all she had enjoyed sitting on deck, watching the passing scenery and the other ships on the water. At night her cabin had been well appointed and comfortable. But now the voyage was over.

  Looking down at the spray of peach blossom, which she still held, Sarah wondered if her solitary nights were expected to come to an end.

  Bryne, glancing at her, noticed her serious gaze, and mistook the reason for it. “Stop concerning yourself about the children left at home,” he urged with a smile. “They seemed eager enough to be left with the Tupper girl, and apart from my knowing her background to be trustworthy, no nursemaid could have been more hi
ghly recommended.”

  That was true enough. Mary Anne, sister to Joe Tupper, was a kindhearted, capable girl, who had taken to the children at once, and they to her. Jenny and Robbie had accepted without question that they were to be left in her charge, and Sarah concluded that being settled in a home again had done much to restore their shattered sense of security.

  The wheels of the wagonette clattered over the logs laid crossways, which formed the linking roads, and it was a bumpy ride, but soon the tavern came into view. Several scarlet-jacketed soldiers from Fort Niagara were lounging on benches outside the rough wooden building, mugs of ale in their hands, and others sat in the shade of the trees. They looked at Sarah with interest.

  “I’ll get the key and take you to where we shall be staying,” Bryne said, helping her alight. Seeing her surprise, he added: “This is too busy a place. I sent word to the landlord to let him know I wanted the cottage on his land. There’s a short cut to it through the forest.”

  The key was waiting for him, and there was no delay. Taking her hand, he led the way along a winding path, and louder came the noise of the falls, which were still hidden from view by the denseness of the trees. Suddenly he stopped and turned to her. “Shut your eyes now. I’ll tell you the moment to open them.”

  She shut her eyes obediently, and he guided her forward. The dampness of spray met her face, and the thunder of the falls was as loud as if a thousand storms were warring. If it had not been for his right arm tight about her waist she would have felt frightened. The very ground was vibrating beneath their feet.

  “Look!” he shouted jubilantly.

  She raised her eyelids and cried aloud in wonder at the magnificent sight that lay before her. Never could she have dreamed it possible for such a vast curtain of water to exist! It tumbled down in shining streaks of azure and silver, emerald green and deepest indigo, and the shimmering spray that rose high in the air was shot with rainbows.