Seven
By the evening of Captain Whitby’s ball, the house looked as though it had finally surrendered to Mrs. Pembroke’s preparations.
Candles blazed in every room, the floors shone, and every piece of silver gleamed.
The parlor had been cleared for dancing and the dining room dressed for supper.
Every side table was burdened with bowls, cups, decanters, flowers, and objects Mrs. Pembroke declared necessary, all while wearing the expression of a woman who would rather have declared war.
Anna had been on her feet since before dawn.
She’d carried linens, polished more spoons, fetched water, and helped Mercy rescue the custard.
She’d also arranged cups, rearranged cups, and naturally been told to rearrange them back again.
Goodness, she’d climbed the servants’ stairs so many times her legs wanted to file a formal complaint.
And all the while, the locket remained pinned inside her petticoat beneath the side seam. Every step she took reminded her it was there.
“Anna,” Mrs. Fenwick hissed from the dining room doorway. “Stop touching your skirt.”
Anna snatched her hand away from her side. “I was not.”
“You were. If you’ve torn a seam, please don’t tell me. I haven’t the strength. And I cannot have you running off to mend it.”
“It’s not torn,” Anna assured her.
“Then leave it be,” the housekeeper ordered.
Anna straightened. “Yes, Mrs. Fenwick.”
Mercy appeared carrying a tray of filled glasses, her face pale with concentration. “No one speak to me. I am responsible for the crystal.”
Mrs. Fenwick stepped aside. “Heaven preserve us.”
“I heard that,” Mercy said as she carefully walked past.
“You were meant to.” With a huff, Mrs. Fenwick hurried off.
Anna reached out to steady the tray as Mercy passed, and the girl gave her a grateful glance before disappearing toward the parlor.
The music had already begun. The musicians were tucked near the wall, playing as though the fate of the colonies depended on their fiddles. Perhaps it did. Anna was beginning to believe everything in the house carried some hidden consequence.
The first guests arrived before sunset. Loyalist families, merchants, officers, wives, daughters, and men in polished shoes.
They entered with smiles, compliments, and gossip.
They praised Mrs. Pembroke’s hospitality, Captain Whitby’s charm, and the king’s officers in such generous terms that Anna wondered how their tongues didn’t blister from the effort.
Mrs. Pembroke, of course, received every compliment with perfect grace. Anna knew because she’d seen her grip a folded handkerchief so tightly it was a wonder the linen survived.
“More wine in the parlor,” Mrs. Fenwick ordered, “and mind you take the side hall. The front hall is full of people.”
Anna picked up a tray. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And Anna,” Mrs. Fenwick called.
Anna paused.
Mrs. Fenwick’s sharp eyes softened by the smallest degree. “Keep your head down.”
Anna’s stomach tightened. “I always do.”
“Tonight, do it better, child.”
Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. She pushed the thought aside and carried the wine through the side hall, past the morning room, and into the parlor.
The room was warm from candlelight and bodies and crowded with voices. Ladies in silk and muslin stood in small clusters, their fans fluttering like nervous birds. Officers in red coats filled the spaces between them, all brass buttons, polished boots, and confidence.
Captain Whitby stood near the fireplace, laughing with Mr. Sloane. Lieutenant Rothborne stood near the windows, speaking with Major Ellis, a tall, severe man with iron-gray hair and eyes that never appeared to rest on one object for long.
Anna didn’t need an introduction to know it was the major. Danger had a way of announcing itself before names did.
She spotted Nathaniel nearby. He seemed to be listening to conversations without looking like he was listening.
She tightened her hold on the tray. His coat was the same dark, serviceable one he often wore, and his hair was tied back neatly.
He wore no uniform, no fine waistcoat meant to draw attention, nothing that should have made him stand out among officers and gentlemen.
Yet Anna saw him immediately. Maybe it was because she was trying not to.
He glanced her way, and her heart stumbled in the most irritating manner.
She lowered her eyes and moved to the nearest group of guests. A woman in blue asked whether the punch had been sweetened with imported sugar or some sad colonial substitute. Anna managed not to pour wine on her slippers, which she counted as an act of Christian restraint.
She moved along the edge of the room, filling glasses and emptying her mind of everything except the work.
As she neared the fireplace, Mr. Sloane’s voice drifted through the noise. “The roads are troublesome only if one insists on using the obvious ones.”
Major Ellis answered in a low tone. “Troublesome roads become dangerous roads when men grow bold enough to stop wagons.”
Captain Whitby gave a dismissive laugh. “You see plots in every shadow, Ellis.”
“I see them, Captain, because they are there.”
Anna turned to offer wine to an elderly woman seated near the hearth. The woman took none, but the movement allowed Anna to remain where she was without appearing to linger.
Lieutenant Rothborne’s voice joined the others. “Two patrols on the east lane, one at the north road, and men at the grounds until midnight. No one will come near the house unseen.”
Mr. Sloane made a soft, scoffing sound. “And after midnight?”
“After midnight, the house no longer matters,” Major Ellis said. “The shore does.”
Anna kept her face still, the locket growing heavier by the minute.
Captain Whitby’s voice dropped. “Not here.”
“I’m aware of where I stand,” Major Ellis replied, his voice just as low.
“Then speak as though you are,” Captain Whitby said.
A short silence followed. Anna turned as if to leave, but Mrs. Pembroke entered from the hall with two more guests and claimed the attention of half the room. The movement allowed Anna to step behind a chair and adjust the tray.
Mr. Sloane spoke again. “If Bell talks, the matter will have to be moved.”
Nathaniel’s expression didn’t change, but Anna saw his head turn a tad in their direction.
Bell. That was a name she’d not heard before.
Rothborne muttered to Captain Whitby. “He won’t talk.”
“Everyone talks eventually,” Major Ellis said. The words out of his mouth were mild. Almost bored.
Anna’s mouth went dry as Captain Whitby looked around the room. She moved, a little too quickly, and realized her mistake the moment Lieutenant Rothborne’s gaze landed on her. “You there.”
Anna stopped. Several heads turned in her direction. She quickly curtsied. “Sir?”
“How long have you been hovering by the hearth?”
The parlor quieted around her, though the music continued. Heat climbed up her neck. Anna held the tray steady with both hands and willed them not to tremble. “I was serving wine, sir.”
“I didn’t ask what you were doing. I asked how long you were there.”
“Only a moment, sir.”
Rothborne stepped toward her. “A moment can be quite long, depending on what was heard during it.”
Anna lowered her gaze. “I heard nothing, sir.”
“Nothing?” he drawled.
Nathaniel moved as if to take a glass from her tray. “She heard Mrs. Wexford complain about the sugar,” he said mildly, “which, to be fair, we all heard.”
A few people laughed.
The woman in blue, presumably Mrs. Wexford, stiffened. “I did no such thing.”
Nathaniel looked at her with polite confusion. “Forgive me. Perhaps it was your sister.”
More laughter followed. The woman gasped in outrage, and the attention shifted blessedly away from Anna.
Captain Whitby chuckled. “Careful, Reed. You’ll have every lady in the room at war with you before supper.”
“I have always found surrender to be the wiser course when facing ladies, Captain,” Nathaniel said smoothly.
Mrs. Pembroke, who’d come close enough to hear, arched an eyebrow. “At last, a sensible military strategy.”
That earned another laugh from the guests. Anna remained still, her heart hammering so hard she feared the tray would shake. Nathaniel took one glass of wine from it and met her gaze for a single heartbeat.
Go.
The word wasn’t spoken. It didn’t need to be.
Anna curtsied and moved away. She didn’t breathe again until she reached the side hall. There, she stopped behind the closed door to the morning room and pressed one hand against the wall.
Bell talks. Everyone talks eventually. The shore after midnight. The matter will have to be moved.
She repeated the fragments of conversation silently, memorizing them. She didn’t have enough yet, but she knew they mattered.
The door opened and Anna jerked back.
Nathaniel stepped into the morning room, the sound of music and laughter behind him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Apparently, risking my reputation with Mrs. Wexford,” he said with a grin.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
He smiled. “No, I probably shouldn’t have.”
She glanced at the door and back. “You were drawing attention.”
“I drew it away.” He reached out and steadied the edge of the tray. “You were about to drop this.”
Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I didn’t need your help.”
“Yes,” he said quietly, “you did.”
She looked away, furious because he was right. But… why was he pointing it out?
From the parlor came a burst of laughter, followed by the scrape of chairs and Captain Whitby calling for the next dance. Somewhere down the hall, Mercy squeaked. Mrs. Fenwick hissed a warning, and a glass clinked dangerously against another.
Nathaniel’s voice softened. “Rothborne is looking for a leak.”
Anna’s heart stopped. “A leak?”
He bent closer. “Information has moved faster than it should. Men have been stopped, a wagon turned back. Someone named Bell has been taken.”
“I… I don’t know anyone named Bell,” she stammered.
“Good.”
Her breathing picked up. “Why are you telling me this?”