He must have been standing there gaping for quite some time, because Laura grasped him firmly by the biceps and tugged him back to clear the doorway. “Please, Mr. and Mrs. Pearce, do come in.” Then, frowning, she added, “It’s is Mr. and Mrs. and not Lord and Lady or Your Graces, I hope?”
Thomas laughed, the tone rich and mellow, as he and Sabine stepped inside. “Mr. and Mrs. is quite correct.”
Laura released Geoffrey’s arm to shut the door and then turned back to their unexpected visitors. He could see her weigh the humbleness of her home and its spartan furnishings against the opulence of Thomas and Sabine’s clothing, and knew she must be unjustly judging her accommodations unworthy of them. Geoffrey needed to get out of his head and make the situation clear to his friends so there would be no misunderstandings.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Pearce,” he said formally, “I would like to present to you my wife, Laura, and to welcome you to our home. Make yourselves comfortable while I put the kettle on.”
* * *
“Bloody hell, Langston,” Thomas groaned some hours later when the two of them were sitting alone together in the parlor while Laura and Sabine were upstairs in Daniel’s room. The Pearces had protested the invitation, as they had planned to take a room at the inn in town, but Laura had been insistent upon them staying at the farm until they were ready to return to Quebec City. Daniel and Joseph had been sent to fetch their luggage from the aforementioned inn, and Abigail had retired to her own room to give the two men some privacy. “I understand why you chose not to turn yourself over to the Americans or try to get back to York on your own, but you know as well as I that as far the War Office is concerned, you’re a deserter, plain and simple.”
“A man can’t desert if he’s dead, Thomas.” Geoffrey could not bring himself to call the other man by his surname because that name belonged, in his mind, to his brother-in-law, the older of the Pearce siblings. Even though now, technically, Conrad Pearce was the Earl of Ormondy and should be referred to by his title instead. “And whatever was in that letter Nash received, it was a lie. My superiors must have known I was missing the night before the battle even began, and they didn’t lift a finger to try to find me. Not only that, but if I’d gone back, whoever tried to kill me the first time might get the job done the second. If I remembered who did this to me, I’d be a damn sight more amenable to returning to Fort York because I could be considerably more assured of not getting a knife in the back.”
The diplomat sighed and shook his head. “As I said, your decision makes perfect sense to me, but the letter of the law always trumps the spirit. You’re putting me in a damn difficult position.”
“You’re in a difficult position?” Geoffrey retorted, heat creeping into his voice. “Consider mine for a minute, if you please. Why would a high-ranking officer, whose commission is worth thousands of pounds, choose to desert without a damned good reason? I’d have to be bloody stupid to walk away from a comfortable retirement I could take at any time.”
Thomas’s gaze shifted pointedly in the direction of the staircase. “You fell in love. With an American.”
This was unquestionably true. Geoffrey would have relinquished the riches of Croesus for his wife, but the British military didn’t need to know that. “After they’d left me for dead. And wedding an American woman doesn’t strip me of my right to sell my commission. If it had been safe for me to return, nothing about my marriage would have kept me from doing so.”
Thomas opened his mouth to say something else, but the sound of feminine voices at the top of the stairs interrupted him. He frowned. “We will talk more later.”
* * *
They never got the chance. The next morning, there was another unexpected knock on the door and this time, the visitors were British officers.
“Lieutenant Colonel Geoffrey, it is our duty to place you under arrest on suspicion of treason.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Treason?” Laura’s heart plummeted into her shoes when she heard the word. “Desertion I could understand, but treason? On what grounds?”
Geoffrey sat heavily on the bed in their room, where they’d retired to after the officers had ensconced themselves in the parlor to await their quarry’s preparations for departure. In theory, Geoffrey was packing his clothes for the journey back to England for trial. In practice, Laura had no intention of letting him put a single garment in a valise until she understood what they were up against.
“According to my second-in-command, Major Martin Shelley, I was the traitor. He claims to have encountered me on my way toward the Saranac that night. He enquired as to my purpose, and I told him I was stretching my legs before retiring for the night. When he offered to accompany me, I demurred, so he headed back to his own tent, but he noticed that I watched him for some time, as if making certain he would not follow me.
“The following morning, I did not report for duty, and so he took command of my battalion. Afterward, Shelley says he put two and two together and realized I must I have betrayed the British plans to the Americans, and my absence on the day of the battle was proof. Clearly, I committed treason and deserted. And possibly fought on the American side.”
Icy dread now occupied the space where Laura’s heart had been. This Martin Shelley had to be mistaken, if not lying outright, but the story sounded horribly plausible. It explained everything—why the British had lost when they’d outnumbered the Americans more than five to one, why Geoffrey had been missing when the battle had begun, and why he had neither returned nor been taken as a prisoner of war.
Her head swam, and her stomach churned with a terrible, ugly certainty. She was going to lose another husband. The penalty for treason was death. If he was not cleared of the charge, her beloved would be executed by firing squad. Her eyes burned, and her throat felt as if she had swallowed molten lead. She could not bear it.
So she would not think about that. Not yet. She would be angry instead. “The Pearces led them straight to you. How did they not notice British officers were on the same ship and realize what they were about?”
Geoffrey stroked the back of her head with his free hand and shook his head. “It isn’t their fault. They were sailing to Upper Canada. It is perfectly common for British soldiers and officers to be on such voyages. There was no reason whatever for them to have suspected they were being followed.”
Laura huffed with frustration but nodded resignedly. “Very well. If only they hadn’t come looking for you in the first place.” If only his family had left him for dead, you mean? What kind of woman was she, to wish for such an evil thing? No, it was not their fault. Of course it was not. “But you could just refuse to surrender yourself to those officers, couldn’t you? We are in the United States, after all. And from what Mr. Pearce says, there is probably already a peace treaty, even if we haven’t heard of it yet. Surely those men have no jurisdiction here.”
“Oh, my love,” he said, and his voice was so heavy with resignation that her blood turned to sleet. “It is almost certainly the case that any treaty includes a provision allowing both sides to arrest and extradite deserters and other military criminals in each other’s territory. Even if I could legally refuse now, those days are numbered. Soon enough, the American army would come to arrest me to turn me over to my own countrymen, and they certainly will have jurisdiction. One way or another, the British Army means to make an example of me—to show that they take military discipline seriously, even when the criminal is a high-ranking officer. Perhaps especially then.”
Leaping to her feet, she rounded on him angrily. “So you will just go quietly to the gallows? Allow them to convict and execute you for a crime you did not commit?”
He gave her a calm and pointed look. “We do not know for certain that I did not commit it.”
It took all her willpower not to strike him. After all his protestations when she had first raised the possibility that he might have been Macomb’s informant, now—when it truly mattered—he would not reject
the notion. “I know you didn’t do it,” she told him, gesturing angrily at him. “Because I found you with your head practically crushed, and the weapon that was used was found on the British side of the river. Nothing in that duplicitous Major Shelley’s story explains how or why that could have happened. No, you were the one who discovered the identity of the traitor, and he tried to kill you to keep you from revealing the truth. And I will bet every apple I’ve ever grown that the traitor is Major Shelley himself.”
Smoothly capturing her wrists in one hand, Geoffrey pulled her gently into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “I think so too. Of all the officers I’ve served with, Shelley was the most selfish and untrustworthy. He told me more than one lie in the months he was my second-in-command, but they were mostly minor untruths—claiming he’d been one place when I knew he’d been another, and so forth. And generally, the men did not like him or respect his authority. But this…” He shook his head again, frowning. “I never dreamed he would do something like this. Although perhaps he is telling the truth. It’s possible a different person altogether was Macomb’s informant, and I discovered that man after I encountered Shelley.”
Laura snuggled into his shoulder. This was better. At least now he was thinking about how to defend himself from the charges instead of accepting his fate as a foregone conclusion. “No, that’s too complicated. And if someone else was the informant, why would Major Shelley be so determined to point the finger at you? The most likely reason is certainly that doing so deflects suspicion from himself.”
With a snort, Geoffrey kissed the top of her head. “You probably have the right of it. You have had the right of most everything else.” Rising to his feet, he slid her down his body to stand on her own. “And now, I had better get packed.”
“Then so must I.”
“What?” he asked. “Surely you cannot think to accompany me."
She placed her hands on her hips and gave him a defiant stare. “And surely you cannot think you are going to England to face a firing squad without me.”
“But—” His throat worked, and his eyes shone damply. He coughed. “I told Daniel I would not take you away from him. That we would not move to England.”
“And we are not moving to England,” she shot back. “We are visiting it—very much against our will—but that is not at all the same thing as planning to go live there. Daniel will be eighteen in a little more than six months. Although he doesn’t legally come into the farm until he is twenty-one, he is a young man now and has more than enough knowledge and skill to manage in our absence. Especially with Joseph’s help and expertise. With any luck, we will be back before the next harvest.”
Geoffrey stared at her. His spine was ramrod straight, but despair and distress rolled off him in waves. He swallowed again, as if his throat did not work properly, and closed his eyes. “You cannot come with me, Laura. I do not want you to see me die.”
With a cry of comprehension, she flung herself against him and held him through both their tears.
And then they both packed their bags.
* * *
“When will you be back?” Daniel and Laura sat side-by-side on the bunk he’d occupied in the barracks the previous night so the Pearces could use his bedroom.
She’d expected more of an argument from him about her decision to go to England with Geoffrey, but he seemed to accept the necessity of the journey. Not that he appeared to like the idea, either, but over the past few months, he had become a good deal fonder of his stepfather. Not to the point that she would have characterized their relationship as being like a father and son, but more like the closeness one would see between two brothers, one much older than the other.
“They tell me the sea journey usually takes six to eight weeks, though sometimes, it can take as long as twelve. Once we arrive in England, Geoffrey will have a few weeks to perhaps a month to prepare his defense. The court martial itself should not take more than a week. Once he is cleared…” she would not allow herself to consider the alternate possibility, “…we will be able to return. So, altogether, I should say we will be gone no more than eight months.”
Daniel’s eyes—brown like his father’s—got very wide. “Eight months! That is…longer than I imagined.”
She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You will be fine. Between Joseph and Abigail, you have everything you need, though you might think of hiring another charwoman to help with the household tasks once spring arrives. You have been helping me run this farm since you were twelve. I have complete confidence in your ability to manage without me.”
Expelling a shaky breath, Daniel nodded. “Of course. I just…” His shoulders drooped a little. “I will miss you.”
Laura’s throat got a little tight at that admission. It was not that she doubted her son’s love or that she thought he would not miss her. She was just touched and a little surprised to hear him admit to it. Lads his age were so often wont to conceal their emotions under manly indifference.
She draped her arm over his shoulders and laid her head against his biceps. It still astonished her that this tall, strapping young man had once been small enough for her to carry in her arms, let alone inside her body. “I will miss you too, but I will write often. I know it’s not the same, but it will be something.” Straightening, she reached into the pocket of her skirt. “Speaking of,” she said as she withdrew the envelope that contained the missive she had finished writing twenty minutes earlier, “please post this letter as soon as possible.” She handed the slender packet to her son and watched his forehead crease as he read the direction.
“Brigadier General Macomb?” He blinked down at her. “Why would you write to him?”
Finding her palms a bit damp, she wiped them on her apron. It was a desperate gambit, of course, but one she’d had to attempt. “You remember that we met him at church, don’t you?”
Daniel nodded. “Yes, but what has he to do with anything?”
“General Macomb knows who betrayed the British army’s plans to him, and I am nearly certain he did not recognize Geoffrey when they met. That means Geoffrey cannot possibly be the traitor as he has been charged. I have written to Macomb in the hopes he will write back with information that will help prove Geoffrey’s innocence.”
“I see,” Daniel said. He tapped the envelope against his leg several times. “But surely the general won’t wish to disclose the true identity of his informant, will he? While the man might be a traitor to the British, he made himself our ally. Betraying him would be dishonorable.”
“Which is why I have only asked the general if he can verify whether or not he ever saw the informant again after the battle. Since he came face-to-face with Geoffrey at church, if Macomb denies having seen the man again, that would be nearly incontrovertible proof that his informant could not possibly be Geoffrey.”
“What if Macomb says he did see the informant again?” Daniel asked.
Laura sighed. “That would be a blow, although it would not prove the man in question was Geoffrey. If the traitor is not Major Shelley, as I suspect, but another man, and he also deserted, then it is entirely possible Macomb might have encountered him at some point after the battle.”
“And if he tells you my esteemed stepfather was the informant?”
Then I will burn the letter before it sees the light of day. “He won’t,” she said, putting every scrap of confidence she possessed into her voice. “Because it wasn’t Geoffrey, and we are going to prove it.”
Chapter Twenty
They set sail from Quebec City on March 8, 1815 at noon.
The ship was not a commercial vessel, but a Cruizer-class brig-sloop belonging to the Royal Navy. With the war officially over, the crew of the HMS Venture had been reduced to only the number of men needed for seaworthiness, leaving the cabins normally occupied by the sergeant and corporal vacant. One of these was assigned to the Pearces and the other to Laura and—to his complete astonishment—Geoffrey.
Af
ter the overland trip from Plattsburgh, during which Geoffrey had traveled in a separate carriage and had been guarded by one or more soldiers at all times, he had presumed he would be held in similar confinement aboard ship. Instead, he and Laura were shown to their quarters as though they were both honored guests. Upon their arrival in the small cabin, Geoffrey discovered that the trunk containing his personal belongings, which he’d assumed lost when he’d failed to return from the battle, was waiting for him, along with the luggage they had brought with them from the farm.
Pleased as he was by the return of his possessions, Geoffrey was puzzled as hell. He was an accused traitor—the worst of the worst by any military person’s estimation—yet he was being treated more like a war hero than a war criminal by the captain and crew of the Venture. He was even more perplexed when the first mate knocked on their cabin door and announced that they were free to move about the ship as they liked, provided the weather above decks was not foul, and that the captain had invited them, as well as the Pearces, to dinner that evening.
The Venture’s captain was a short but brawny Scot with a thick reddish-blond beard grizzled with white and sharp gray eyes. Geoffrey put Dougal McLeish’s age within a few years either side of his own, though the captain’s skin had a toughened, weathered texture that made him appear either considerably older or perhaps ageless; Geoffrey couldn’t quite decide which. The man’s Highland brogue when he introduced himself to his passengers was thick as a slab of butter on a piece of dry toast and, Geoffrey suspected, just as put on.
Sleeping with the Enemy: Lords of Lancashire, Book 4 Page 15
