Patriot's Pride

by Penelope Marzec

  It did not take long to reach Sudbury, for Broadcraft Hall was barely five miles from the middle of town. Though Mrs. Ulery wanted to meet with her brother right away, other matters needed immediate attention. While Theo took all the horses to a stable, Derrick, Mrs. Ulery, and Margaret hurried to the solicitor’s office.

  Margaret lost count of the number of documents she signed. Her fingers became tired and cramped. Afterwards, Mr. Tinton and Mr. Willis handed her a wad of bank notes. She stared at them for a moment and her head spun. Thankfully, she was sitting in a chair, for otherwise she doubted whether her legs would have held her upright.

  “This is my monthly allowance?” she asked.

  “Take good care of it,” suggested Mr. Willis. “Some woman sew special hidden pockets into their…their…” His face colored.

  “Into their petticoats,” Mr. Tinton finished. He named several reputable shops and a comfortable inn where they should be quite safe for the night. “I am relieved Doctor Fortune has agreed to go along with you until you reach Dalfour Castle, for the roads abound with thieves who have no regard for anyone.”

  “Yes, we’ve met a few of them,” Mrs. Ulery muttered through her teeth.

  “But...this appears to be a nice, quiet town,” Margaret blurted out in a rush.

  “Dalfour Castle is about ten miles away,” Mr. Willis stated. “A well-known aristocrat was murdered on the road to the castle not five months ago.”

  “Was the murderer caught?” Derrick asked with his brow deeply furrowed.

  “No.” Mr. Willis gave a heavy sigh.

  A chill shimmered up Margaret’s spine, but she drew herself up and informed them all. “My aim with a fowling piece is excellent.” She glanced at the bank notes in her hand. “I’ll buy one instead of using this allowance for mere fripperies.”

  “Don’t you remember what happened on the Prosperity?” Derrick’s brow creased with anger. “You can be tossed aside without much effort.”

  “You were the one who reminded me that those who live by the sword…” Mrs. Ulery quoted.

  “The men will protect you.” Mr. Tinton’s words were soft but no less commanding. “Once you reach the castle, you won’t need to worry.”

  Margaret rubbed her forehead where a dull headache threatened. She was more annoyed than worried. At home, she ran her business. No one doubted her ability. From the moment she’d stepped on board the Prosperity, her fate was in the hands of others. She had no say and no control.

  She drew in a great breath. The Lord has control. He would sustain her, but she needed time to pray, and it seemed every minute was fraught with some important task.

  After leaving the office, they went to the inn for a substantial meal. Later, Mrs. Ulery joined her at a shop where they were fitted with suitable gowns to wear in Dalfour Castle. They purchased another trunk and innumerable other necessities. By then, evening was not far off, and they set out to visit Mrs. Ulery’s brother. Theo came with them. Derrick begged off, for he claimed to have gotten little sleep the night before. He loaned Theo his pistol.

  Margaret’s anxiety increased. “What if Lord Isaac comes looking for you?”

  “I merely insulted him,” Derrick reminded. “You received the fortune he thought would be his. You should be safe within Sudbury, though.”

  “Yes, this is a fine town,” Mrs. Ulery proclaimed with confidence. “It hasn’t changed a bit.”

  Her brother’s house turned out to be less than a mile from the inn, but when they knocked at the door, nobody answered. After fifteen minutes of persistent knocking, the neighbor in the adjoining house came out.

  “’E died three months ago,” she said. “Consumption. ’Is wife passed on a month later. I think she died of a broken ’eart.”

  Margaret feared Mrs. Ulery would faint dead away. Theo held her up on one side and Margaret bolstered her up on the other. The neighbor ushered them inside her tiny house. Mrs. Ulery sat at the table and the woman gave her a goodly quantity of gin.

  “It ’elps at times like this. I always keeps it on ‘’and,” the neighbor sighed. “’Er brother was a good man and ’is wife a good friend to me, but after ’e died she wouldn’t eat and couldn’t sleep. Looked like a ghost, she did and one day she didn’t answer my knocking. I knew she was gone.” Tears ran down the woman’s face.

  Mrs. Ulery sobbed. “I came all this way to see him. My little Bobby, I always called him.”

  “’E knew you were coming and ’e did ’is best to hold on, but the Lord called ’im ’ome,” the neighbor sniffed. “They’ve a daughter ’oo lives in one of the cottages at Dalfour Castle with ’er ’usband and their children. ’E’s a shepherd.”

  Mrs. Ulery brightened somewhat at the knowledge that she had not only a living niece, but a few grandnieces and a grandnephew as well. She dabbed away the tears on her cheeks and thanked her brother’s neighbor for her kindness.

  They walked back to the inn in the soft summer evening.

  “My little Bobby was a fine, healthy lad—strong, too,” Mrs. Ulery said.

  “Frances was sturdy and robust, but with consumption he wasted away.” Margaret sighed. She had not been dwelling on Frances as much with everything else happening on their journey. “I made puddings for him, since they are soft and he favored them, but nothing helped.”

  “I had a sister, but she died of a terrible fever,” said Theo. “My mother still cries for her.”

  Margaret’s throat tightened as she thought of her sister. Had the baby been born? Was it healthy? How long would it be until she had word from her family? A pang of homesickness went through her and she struggled not to cry.

  As they emerged from a narrow alley onto the main road, a familiar coach with a gold-encrusted crest thundered past.

  Margaret stifled a gasp. “It’s Lord Isaac’s coach.”

  “Where’s the driver?” cried Theo. “Did he fall off?”

  People screamed and ran out of the way as the coach careened around a corner. Margaret, Mrs. Ulery, and Theo raced after the coach, calling for help.

  Two men on horseback went after the coach and managed to pull it to a stop in front of a large church.

  “That’s Saint Gregory’s church,” Mrs. Ulery whispered. “His lordship didn’t seem particularly mindful of the Lord, but maybe the horses are.”

  One of the men who stopped the runaway horses dismounted and opened the door of the coach. A figure rolled out and fell onto the road.

  Margaret saw the plumed hat, wig, and shiny silk jacket.

  “It’s Lord Whittington!” someone called out.

  A small crowd gathered around the still figure. Theo, Mrs. Ulery, and Margaret joined the circle and stared down at Lord Isaac. His fine silk jacket was coated with blood.

  “’E’s dead, ’e is,” said someone in the crowd. “Looks like ’e’s been stabbed in the back.”

  Margaret swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Despite the warm, summer breeze, Margaret’s bones turned to ice. The heir to Broadcraft Hall lay in the dirt on the road. Had he provoked a duel? Had highwaymen waylaid him?

  The sun began its descent. Theo, Mrs. Ulery, and Margaret walked back to the inn where they found the news of Lord Whittington’s death had preceded them. The tavern was abuzz with speculation.

  “Please send a light supper to our room,” Margaret asked the innkeeper. Her stomach twisted into a knot after viewing the bloody body.

  She and Mrs. Ulery started up the stairway when another man rushed in and called out that the driver and two other servants were dead in the road about mile back.

  Loud voices rang through the tavern.

  “Murderers in Sudbury!”

  “Aye! Let’s find them before they kill us all.”

  “They can’t be far away.”

  “Time for a hunt,” one of the men spoke with a marked measure of glee.

  Frenetic zeal burned in the eyes of the mob. The inn cleared out quickl
y as the men stumbled out into the street.

  “I’ll tell Doctor Fortune,” said Theo.

  “Yes, go to his room and wake him,” Mrs. Ulery suggested.

  “Maybe we’ll join the search for the murderers.” The boy’s face lit with enthusiasm.

  “You should eat some supper and check on the horses.” Margaret used a stern voice, hoping to tamp down the boy’s eagerness. The mob frightened her with their shouts of vengeance. She didn’t want Theo getting involved or getting hurt.

  “I bet Doctor Fortune knows how to track a man,” Theo continued. He hurried up the steps.

  “Do you suppose Lord Isaac threatened to shoot someone else with his small Queen Anne pistol?” Margaret whispered to Mrs. Ulery.

  “If he did, the other man retaliated with his knife,” Mrs. Ulery surmised.

  Margaret rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms. “First the solicitor and now Lord Isaac.”

  “Sudbury used to be such a quiet, safe, place,” Mrs. Ulery noted.

  Within a few moments, Theo rushed back. “Doctor Fortune’s not in his room. Maybe he’s already joined the hunt. I’ll see if his horse is in the stable.”

  Margaret’s anxiety spiraled. Had Derrick lied to her? Instead of resting, had he gone off to make sure Lord Isaac never threatened anyone else again?

  “I’ll come with you.” She hurried after the boy.

  “Curse Lord Whittington,” Mrs. Ulery puffed just behind Margaret. “He’s caused nothing but trouble.”

  “As Derrick reminded Lord Isaac, it is inappropriate to speak ill of the dead,” Margaret cautioned as they made their way to the livery.

  “I say give credit where credit is due,” Mrs. Ulery huffed. “He would have killed Doctor Fortune if those guards weren’t there to prevent it.”

  Theo arrived at the livery before them and came out with a frown on his forehead. “He’s not here and neither is his horse. I guess he already went looking for the murderers. I’ve been left behind.”

  Apprehension coursed through Margaret. She could not control her erratic pulse. She leaned against the livery wall for support.

  “Don’t get yourself in a tizzy.” Mrs. Ulery patted her arm. “It’s a lovely evening. He may simply have decided on a nice ride along the River Stour.”

  Margaret could not stop her mind from envisioning any number of terrible possibilities. They returned to the inn and encouraged Theo to eat some supper. While he wanted to join in on the hunt, food strongly appealed to him as well. He had an endless capacity for food and ate a whole pie by himself.

  The women ate a light meal as planned in their room, but Margaret was far too tense to rest. She paced back and forth, constantly peering out the window.

  “Let’s sit outside,” Mrs. Ulery suggested. “You’ll be able to see him the minute he comes in.”

  The moon rose high and full before a crowd of men came back, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

  “We got him!”

  “They’ll hang him for sure!”

  “One of those rebels, he was.”

  “Says he’s a doctor.”

  “Claims he’s studying with John Hunter.”

  “Bet he’s a resurrectionist.”

  “Hunter took the corpse of the Irish giant even though the man asked to be buried at sea.”

  All the blood in Margaret’s body slid to her feet and cold sickness churned in her stomach.

  “Don’t you go passing out on me.” Mrs. Ulery patted Margaret’s cheeks.

  “Is he still alive?” Margaret whispered.

  “I’ll find out.” Mrs. Ulery went inside the tavern.

  Tears welled in Margaret’s eyes. Without Derrick, she would never have made it this far. She knew he cared for her. He called her his Lady Sunshine. A tear rolled down her cheek. She loved him with all her heart. Please, Lord, take care of him.

  After a quarter of an hour, Mrs. Ulery returned.

  “They’ve put him in the jail.” Mrs. Ulery grabbed her hand. “Come, we’ll get Mr. Tinton and Mr. Willis. They’ll know what to do.”

  * * *

  The lock clicked in place and Derrick’s heart nearly stopped. This was the end. He would hang for a crime he did not commit. Already beaten to a pulp, he would die painfully and in agony. The mob had pulled him from his horse, pummeled him, and dragged him along the ground until he was senseless. When he came to behind iron bars, he knew there would be no escape.

  He would never realize his goal of finding a way to prevent sepsis. His time on earth was pointless, like Julian’s. Life did not made sense.

  He took Margaret’s small book of verse from his pocket. This slim volume would be the cause of his demise. When he had gone to his room at the inn to lie down, he realized he had left the book in the study in Broadcraft Hall. He knew how important it was to Margaret. However, he didn’t relish meeting up with Lord Whittington again and, despite his own exhaustion, he rode back to Broadcraft Hall.

  He stayed off the road as much as possible. Broadcraft Hall was empty when he arrived, which seemed odd since Lord Whittington had boasted that the king’s own decorators would be there. Still, he appreciated the absence of the overbearing new earl, for he did not wish for a meeting with the small pistol the man carried.

  The book rested on the table in the study where he had left it last night. He shoved it in his pocket and headed back to town, but before he reached Sudbury, a mob of drunken men attacked him, claiming he had killed the earl.

  They didn’t give him a chance to dispute their claim.

  Moonlight shone through the tiny, barred window in the jail cell. Derrick opened the book and smoothed his hand over the inscription left for Margaret. He could barely see with his badly swollen eyes so he recited part of one poem he had memorized last night.

  ‘‘Now rest in peace, our patriot band;

  Though far from nature’s limits thrown,

  We trust they find a happier land,

  A brighter sunshine of their own.’’

  Had Julian gone to that happier land? A new fear gnawed at Derrick. Would Margaret be safe? He could do nothing to watch over her now.

  He considered prayer. It had not worked with Julian, and it wouldn’t work for anyone with sepsis, which took the lives of a great many of those who underwent critical operations. However, tonight he had no other recourse. He was a doomed man.

  Every part of him hurt. One of his fingers was broken. While death would end his pain as it had ended Julian’s agony, what if there was a judgment? What if he died tomorrow, only to be thrown into the fiery furnace?

  He did not doubt Julian went straight to heaven. He wanted to be with his brother. He wanted forgiveness and life everlasting. He wanted to be in that happier land, too. A deep well of sorrow threatened to drown him.

  He wanted to believe.

  Painfully, he got to his knees. He managed to hold up his broken finger and keep his hands together.

  He didn’t know where to start at first. He envisioned his life—from his earliest memories, his loving mother and father, his joyous youth, his brother, his years of study, then the war, and Julian’s horrible death. Next came his long bout with melancholia, the voyage of the Prosperity, and lastly, Margaret.

  Yes, his beautiful Lady Sunshine. He closed his eyes and pictured her in his mind. Warmth flowed through him as he saw the radiant, glowing halo of her hair, the peach in her cheeks, and those silvery eyes which never failed to mesmerize him. He realized he loved her.

  What a fool he had been!

  She would go to heaven when she died, too. If he could not be with her in this life, his only hope would be to see her in the next.

  He thought of all his rash behavior and arrogance. He begged for forgiveness, but most of all, he prayed Margaret should be safe. He also asked if, once more in this life, before he left it, he might have a glimpse of her, but if he could not, he would accept the Lord’s will.

  A gentle peace settled upon him. His pain did not go a
way, but he leaned back against the stone wall and let the hush of serenity wash through him. He had denied the Lord when Julian died, but that’s because he’d expected the Lord to perform a magic trick.

  The Lord had suffered and died on the cross. No magic trick there. Why should he expect one for himself?

  The miracle came after the suffering. He needed to remember that. He must have faith in that. It was the source of his hope.

  Softly he recited John Donne’s poem in the dark, dank cell as a small tinge of light heralded the dawn in the east.

  One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

  And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

  “I believe,” he whispered. “I always believed, but I was angry I could not have what I wanted. I am sorry. I should have known better. Still, I entrust my soul to you, Lord.”

  The sound of loud knocking came at the outer door.

  “All right, all right, I ’eard ye the first time.” The jailer’s keys jangled on a large ring as he shuffled away to answer the summons.

  Derrick drew in a deep breath. A sharp ache cut through his side. One of his ribs was broken, too, but he managed to get to his feet. He must remain calm and composed. The mob who had grabbed him last night was not likely to listen to reason. He could do nothing against so many.

  Still, the sounds he heard did not sound like a mob. After all, it was too early for a horde of drunken men who were sleeping off the effects of a night of revelry after capturing him.

  The rumble of men’s voices—low and insistent, came to his ears, but he could not distinguish what they said. Although the walls of the jail were thick, he detected a few higher tones—like those of women.

  Was his mind addled from the beating? Was he actually dreaming?

  Time passed. He lay down and dozed fitfully, for pain prevented him from true rest, but after what might have been only an hour, he opened his eyes again. The day had dawned bright and clear. He shook his head. He would hang on a beautiful summer day.

  More voices echoed through the thick walls, but again, he had no idea what was said, only that there was an argument as some voices were more strident.