Her Heart’s Allegiance (Petticoats & Patriots #3)

One

Setauket, Long Island New York,

September 1778

Anna Turner hung another sheet on the line. She had two baskets of wet laundry to see to and hoped it didn’t decide to rain later.

Then again, maybe it should.

There was a hanging today. The main streets would be clogged with people by now, and she was grateful she didn’t need to venture into town anytime soon. She hated days like this.

Anna reached into the basket, shook out another sheet, and pinned it to the line. She’d better hurry. Mrs. Fenwick expected help with the midday meal soon.

Mercy, the other maid, hauled out another basket and set it at Anna’s feet. “This is the last of it. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Mrs. Fenwick has me peeling potatoes.”

“That’s all right,” Anna said. “I’ll manage. Go on and help her. As soon as I finish here, I’ll come in.” She reached for a hand towel and hung it neatly beside the sheet.

“Very well.” Mercy hurried back toward the house.

Anna returned to work. “Sheet, sheet, towel, towel, sheet, towel,” she recited silently.

She hung the linens in careful order. She’d been doing this for over a month and still wasn’t certain she’d made the right choice. At times, fear gripped her so hard she could scarcely breathe. Yet deep down, Anna knew this was the right thing to do.

Simple household tasks as a means of communication were her contribution to the war against the British. But on days like today, when they were hanging spies, while she was hanging laundry, it gave her pause. Still, she continued.

Anna hung Mr. Pembroke’s handkerchiefs between several dish towels before moving on to the second basket.

While the laundry dried, someone would cut through the alley behind the house, read the message on the first line, and leave.

A hedge separated the servants’ yard from the alley.

People cut through there now and then. It was nothing unusual.

So it wasn’t long before Anna heard the clop of approaching hooves. She had to hurry.

Thankfully, Captain Whitby, the British officer staying with Mr. and Mrs. Pembroke, was attending the hanging. Still, Anna breathed easier knowing she’d gotten the message up in time.

Now for the second basket.

She went back to work, her heart thundering as the hoofbeats drew near and stopped. Anna didn’t dare look up. She didn’t want to know who carried the messages or where they ended up. She already knew far too much. So did Mercy and Elias, the Pembrokes’ footman.

Anna froze. Normally, the rider would be gone by now. Whoever collected the message was always quick and efficient, never lingering longer than necessary.

But this rider remained.

Anna hung a sheet and peeked around it. “Oh, no,” she muttered. That wasn’t the usual courier. In fact, she recognized him. Anna ducked back behind the sheet, her pulse pounding.

Nathaniel Reed.

He worked as a courier for the British and called at the house several times to speak with Captain Whitby. Anna risked another glance. Mr. Reed still sat astride his horse, staring at the laundry.

Or… was he staring at her? Did he suspect what they were doing? Was she about to be arrested and hanged like the poor souls meeting their fate today?

Her throat tightened. Anna reached for a tablecloth and forced herself to hang it with steady hands. Then she made the mistake of looking up.

Her eyes locked with Nathaniel Reed’s. She smiled politely, gave him a small nod, and returned to work.

Everything must appear ordinary. Just a maid hanging laundry.

If her eyes lingered on him, she could say it was because he was handsome, which he was.

Brown hair, blue eyes, and broad shouldered.

What woman wouldn’t look? Still, it might not be considered a good excuse.

Anna didn’t look at him again, and after a long moment, heard him continue down the alley. As soon as he was gone, Anna let go of the breath she was holding.

She returned to the house to help with lunch. Captain Whitby often had some of his fellow officers call on him. Mrs. Fenwick was one of the best cooks around, and the British were taking advantage of Captain Whitby’s hospitality.

Anna entered the kitchen and fretted over Nathaniel Reed’s scrutiny of the laundry. Had he read the message there? But how could he? He had no idea she was a spy, or that the rest of the servants in the house were all on the side of the rebels.

“You’re being awful quiet,” Mrs. Fenwick commented as they prepared the food.

Anna bent her head to Mrs. Fenwick, a short plump woman, and whispered. “That Nathaniel Reed cut through the alley just as I finished hanging the laundry.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Fenwick said. Then, “Oh!” She glanced at the door leading to the back of the house. “He couldn’t have noticed anything. The wash is hung differently every time.”

Anna’s hand went to her chest. Sometimes it burned with fear they’d be found out. But she was made of stout stuff, and so took a deep breath, and tried to relax.

“Best prepare the platters, dearie,” Mrs. Fenwick said. “Put the washing behind you.”

Anna nodded and got to work. Luncheon was served promptly at noon.

When it was time, Anna carried a platter of roasted chicken into the dining room and set it on the sideboard while Captain Whitby entertained two fellow officers.

“...and then the horse threw him directly into the pond,” Whitby said.

Laughter erupted around the table.

Anna lowered her gaze and began filling water glasses. She recognized two of the officers, but not the third.

“The fellow was soaked from boots to hat,” the unknown officer replied. “I only wish I’d seen it.”

“You would have laughed yourself senseless,” Captain Whitby said.

More laughter followed.

Anna moved quietly around the table. The officers rarely paid attention to servants, which suited her just fine. She was setting a basket of rolls beside Captain Whitby when Lieutenant Rothborne asked, “Did your courier ever return?”

Captain Whitby eyed the roast chicken. “He did.”

Anna’s hands stilled for the briefest moment.

“Nathaniel Reed?” the lieutenant asked.

“The very man.” Whitby buttered a roll. “Reliable fellow. I wish half my officers were as dependable.”

The others chuckled. “That good, is he?” the unknown officer asked.

“Better,” Whitby said. “Delivers messages, keeps his mouth shut, and asks no unnecessary questions.”

Anna stepped away from the table. Every word tightened the knot in her stomach. Reliable. Dependable. Trusted. Exactly what she would expect a British courier to be.

“He’s in town today, isn’t he?” another officer asked.

Whitby nodded. “I sent him on several errands this morning. He should return soon.”

Anna carried an empty tray toward the sideboard, praying no one noticed her listening.

“Good man to have around,” Whitby continued. “If more people understood their proper allegiance, we’d have fewer problems in this colony.”

The officers murmured their agreement.

Anna’s jaw tightened. Proper allegiance. The words lingered long after the conversation shifted to other matters.

When the meal finally ended and the gentlemen moved to the parlor, Anna gathered plates with Mercy. “Nathaniel Reed again?” Mercy whispered.

Anna nodded.

Mercy looked in the direction of the parlor. “What did they say?”

“Enough.” Anna took a deep breath, then another. What were they going to do about Captain Whitby’s courier? What if he cut through the alley more often, and began to suspect what they were doing?

Mercy glanced toward the doorway to ensure they were alone. “Do you think he suspects?”

Anna stacked another plate atop the pile. “I don’t know.” But she feared he did.

And if Nathaniel Reed truly enjoyed Captain Whitby’s confidence, he might be the most dangerous man she’d ever encountered.

Nathaniel Reed kept his horse at a steady walk leaving the Pembroke house behind. There was no sense in hurrying. A man in a hurry attracted attention, and attention was the last thing he wanted.

The lane curved between two hedgerows before opening onto a broader road leading into town. Only then did he allow himself a glance over his shoulder.

The laundry still fluttered on the line. A sheet. Two towels. Another sheet.

Nathaniel suppressed a smile. The message was simple enough. A meeting had been requested. Nothing urgent, thank goodness. Urgent messages usually meant trouble. And there was already enough trouble to be found in Setauket.

He nudged his horse forward, his thoughts drifting not to the message, but to the young woman who had hung it. Anna Turner. She was a pretty thing, with light reddish brown hair and green eyes. She’d nearly dropped the tablecloth when she spotted him.

Nathaniel winced. He’d lingered too long. Normally, one glance at the wash line was enough. Today, however, he'd noticed something unusual. The arrangement had changed from the previous week. He'd wanted to make certain he understood the signal correctly.

Problem was, in doing so, he'd frightened the poor girl half to death. He doubted she’d thank him for it.

Come to think of it, Anna Turner wouldn't thank him for much of anything.

As far as she knew, he worked for the British.

Which, Nathaniel supposed, was exactly what he wanted most people to believe.

Captain Whitby trusted him. Several other officers trusted him as well. That trust had taken months to earn by carrying messages, keeping questions to a minimum, and acting interested in nothing beyond collecting a fee for honest work.

It was a tedious role at times, but a useful one. Men spoke freely around those they considered unimportant. Nathaniel learned far more than the British realized.

The sound of approaching hoofbeats reached his ears. A farmer coming from the opposite direction lifted a hand in greeting. "Mornin', Mr. Reed."

Nathaniel gave a friendly wave in return. "Good morning."

The man continued on his way.