Seven #2
He stepped closer still. “Because crowded rooms make people careless, and you cannot afford to be careless tonight.”
She looked him in the eyes. “You speak as though I have some reason to be afraid.”
“You do,” he said, his voice lowered.
Anna swallowed. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Reed?”
His eyes swept over her. “No.”
“Warning me, then?”
He gave her a tiny smile. “Yes.”
“On whose behalf?” she asked.
His gaze held hers, and for one wild moment, she thought he might answer. Either that or kiss her, considering how close he was.
Footsteps sounded at the far end of the hall, and he stepped back.
Mercy appeared with an empty tray and wide eyes. She looked from Anna to Nathaniel, then to the closed parlor door down the hall.
Anna’s cheeks heated. “Mercy,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
“I was sent for more punch glasses.”
Nathaniel inclined his head, all politeness again. “Then I shall not impede the punch glasses.”
Mercy watched him walk back toward the parlor, then turned to Anna. “Were you being warned of something or courted? He looked about to kiss you.”
Anna nearly dropped the tray. “He was doing no such thing.”
Mercy shrugged. “I only asked because it looked a bit like both.”
“Well, it was neither,” Anna snapped.
Mercy considered that, then gave her a solemn nod. “Ah. So it was both.”
Anna swept past her toward the dining room. “Punch glasses, Mercy.”
“Yes, yes, very important,” she groused. “The fate of the empire may rest upon them.”
Anna should have scolded her. Instead, she pressed her lips together and kept walking.
Behind her, the music swelled. The ball had barely begun, and already the house seemed to tremble beneath its secrets.
Anna touched the side seam of her petticoat where the locket was hidden. She’d thought the message inside was dangerous. Now she feared the next one would be worse.
Nathaniel had attended enough military gatherings to know that men spoke more freely when wine flowed and music played. The sound of a violin quartet could cover carelessness, laughter excused indiscretion, and wine loosened tongues that discipline usually kept tied.
Officers who normally never discussed roads, wagons, ships, or powder thought nothing of dropping half a war plan between a minuet and a glass of Madeira.
Captain Whitby’s ball was proving to be no exception.
Nathaniel stood near the dining room doorway with a glass he had no intention of drinking. He watched the room as if all he cared about was whether Mrs. Pembroke’s supper would be as fine as her candlesticks. Of course, everyone knew it would be. It was half the reason so many came.
The house glowed with candlelight, and every polished surface in the dining room and parlor seemed warmer, brighter, and far more innocent than they were.
Nothing about this evening was innocent.
Major Ellis arrived after the first dance began.
When he did, Whitby became more jovial, Rothborne more severe, and Sloane, whom Nathaniel was keeping a close eye on, more careful.
That alone made Nathaniel’s shoulders tighten.
And then there was Anna Turner.
She moved through the rooms, a tray in her hands, her eyes lowered as usual. The very image of a servant occupied by serving wine and punch.
Nathaniel saw the small pauses when Ellis’s name was spoken. He caught the slight turn of her head as Sloane mentioned something about the shoreline. He also caught the way her hand drifted once toward the side seam of her skirt before she stopped herself and raised it again.
She had something on her. He wasn’t sure what, but concluded he didn’t need to know every secret in the house.
Still, he didn’t like it. Whatever she carried made her afraid. She hid it well, better than most would, but he still recognized the subtle hints of fear in her.
“That girl again,” Rothborne lamented beside him.
Nathaniel feigned indifference. “Which girl?”
Rothborne’s eyes narrowed. “Do not play the fool, Reed. The reddish-haired maid.”
Nathaniel took a slow sip of wine, though it tasted like vinegar in his mouth. “Mrs. Pembroke has several servants. I don’t know them all by name.”
Rothborne ignored the remark. “I think she listens.”
“Most women do,” Nathaniel said. “It’s how they know what men are about to ruin.”
Rothborne gave him a sidelong glance.
Nathaniel smiled. “My mother said that.”
“Your mother sounds tiresome,” Rothborne sneered.
Nathaniel laughed. “She would have said the same of you.”
For a moment, Rothborne seemed unsure whether to be insulted or laugh with him. That was when Mr. Sloane approached.
“The road is settled,” Sloane said in a low voice.
Rothborne’s attention shifted to him. “Which road?”
Sloan surveyed the room. “We should not speak here.”
Nathaniel looked away as if the conversation bored him.
Sloane glanced around some more. “The east lane is watched. The north road is too busy. So the cart path past Brewster’s lower field will serve after midnight, if the tide holds.”
Brewster’s lower field.
Nathaniel set the name next to the others in his mind. Kingfisher. South Wharf. Friday tide. Oil barrels. Powder. Brewster’s lower field.
“And Bell?” Sloane asked.
“Still silent as the grave, for now,” Rothborne said.
Nathaniel didn’t move. Josiah Bell was still alive, but still in British hands. It was good news, but only by the thinnest possible measure.
Across the room, Anna passed near the pianoforte with an empty tray. Her gaze flicked toward the three men, but not long enough to draw notice. Still, Nathaniel caught it and had no doubt she was sharp enough to know there was something to hear.
Rothborne casually followed his gaze.
Nathaniel turned toward the musicians. “The second violin seems sharp, don’t you think?”
Sloane blinked. “What?”
“The second violin,” Nathaniel said, waving a hand toward the musicians. “It is painfully sharp. He needs to tune his instrument.”
Rothborne frowned toward the musicians as Anna vanished through the side door with the tray. Nathaniel breathed a little easier.
Sloane made a dismissive sound. “You have a peculiar set of concerns, Reed.”
Nathaniel smiled and lifted his glass. “I am a man of many disappointments.” He took a sip and choked it down.
Rothborne’s gaze returned to him. “See that you remain merely disappointing.”
Nathaniel raised his glass again.
The lieutenant moved away, drawn toward Major Ellis, who’d taken Whitby aside near the window. Sloane lingered a moment longer. “You hear a great deal, Mr. Reed.”
Nathaniel looked at him. “Can I help it if people keep speaking near me?”
Sloane gave him a narrowed-eyed look. “That could become unfortunate.”
“For them or me?” Nathaniel asked with a smile.
“That remains to be seen.” With that, he left Nathaniel standing alone near the doorway.
For a few seconds, Nathaniel remained where he was, his expression mild, and decided to lean against the doorjamb. He waited a moment or two, then crossed toward the supper table as though drawn by the roasted fowl and sugared almonds.
Mrs. Pembroke stood nearby, directing Mercy with the calm ferocity of a general arranging artillery.
Thankfully, Nathaniel didn’t make eye contact. Not that it helped. She noticed him without so much as looking at him.
“Mr. Reed.”
“Mrs. Pembroke.”
She looked up. “If you are about to compliment the supper, do it quickly. I’m busy.”
“I would never burden you with praise at such a time.” He gave her a slight bow.
“How considerate.” She glared at Mercy, then returned to arranging some of the silver.
He glanced toward the side hall. “Your maid is attracting notice.”
“Most women do when men begin looking for someone to blame.”
He moved closer. “Rothborne has named her.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s hands stilled over the spoons she was adjusting, but only for a heartbeat. “How tiresome.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “And what word would you use?”
“Dangerous,” he said in a low voice.
“Then perhaps, Mr. Reed, you should make yourself useful.” She arranged a few more spoons.
And there it was.
Mrs. Pembroke knew more than he’d given her credit for. Perhaps more than anyone in the house. The realization should have alarmed him. Instead, it gave him the unsettling sense that he’d stepped into a game already in motion, and Mrs. Pembroke was moving pieces from behind a supper table.
“What would you have me do?” he whispered.
She smiled. “Good heavens, sir, must women manage everything?”
Before he could answer, she turned to Mercy. “Child, take those plates before Elias stacks them into a tragedy. You know how clumsy he can be.”
Mercy curtsied and hurried off.
Nathaniel glanced across the parlor. Anna had reappeared near the far wall. She appeared calm, yet her face was pale. Rothborne was watching her. So was Sloane. And Major Ellis, who missed nothing, had begun to look interested.
Nathaniel set his glass on the table. Very well then. If the room wanted something to watch, he would give it one.
He crossed to Captain Whitby just as the musicians finished their piece. “Captain,” he said, “I fear your guests are growing too solemn.”
Whitby laughed. “At my ball? Impossible.”
“Then prove it,” Nathaniel said jovially. “Call for a country dance. Something lively enough to save us from becoming bored.”
“A fine thought.” Whitby clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to the musicians. “You heard the man. A country dance!”
The musicians struck up again. Chairs were shifted and moved farther back. Ladies laughed as they stood, and officers moved toward them. Clusters of folks around the room broke apart as guests searched for partners and space.
Suddenly, motion filled the parlor, and everyone’s attention scattered.
Good.
In the middle of the bright confusion, Anna slipped from the room unseen. Once she was gone, Nathaniel allowed himself a breath of relief. But disappearing was not the same as being safe.
Somewhere inside Mrs. Pembroke’s crowded, candlelit battlefield, Anna could be carrying a secret dangerous enough to get her killed.