Eight
The next morning, Pembroke House looked as though the war had been fought entirely with glasses of punch.
Glasses stood abandoned on mantels, tables, and windowsills.
Several chairs had been dragged into the wrong room, and candle wax dripped onto the edge of Mrs. Pembroke’s good sideboard.
When Mrs. Fenwick saw it, a sound so low and dangerous escaped her, that Elias backed out of the dining room and hurried down the hall.
Crumbs lay under almost every chair, and someone had overturned a vase in the parlor.
Flowers were strewn all over the carpet, which made Mrs. Fenwick growl like a wild beast.
Anna survived the affair, but only just. Her feet ached, so did her shoulders, and her head was stuffed with music, whispers, and fragments of conversation. She’d repeated them so many times during the night that she feared the words would become stitched into her thoughts.
The shore after midnight. Brewster’s lower field. Bell still silent. Everyone talks eventually.
And beneath it all, she carried the message in the locket until Mrs. Pembroke took it from her in the narrow hall by the pantry.
The locket was gone now, thank goodness. She didn’t know where Mrs. Pembroke sent it or whose hands carried it from the house. She only knew that sometime after the country dance, Mrs. Pembroke had appeared beside her.
“Pantry,” she’d said. “Now.”
Anna obeyed without question. Once inside, behind shelves of crockery and jars of preserves, Mrs. Pembroke held out her hand.
Anna unpinned the pouch from beneath her petticoat and handed her the locket.
Mrs. Pembroke took it, tucked it into the hollow beneath a folded tablecloth, and handed the cloth to Elias not a minute later with instructions to carry it to the laundry basket near the back door.
A maid from the neighboring house took the basket before supper ended. At least, Anna thought she’d been a maid. She’d worn a cap, at any rate, and never looked directly at anyone. By dawn, the woman was gone, along with the locket and the message inside.
Anna spent the remaining hours of the ball with one hand moving toward the seam of her petticoat where the locket no longer resided. Not carrying it was almost as frightening as carrying it had been.
She looked around with a sigh. Now the house was bright with morning sunshine. There were no officers in the parlor, no music in the hall, and no ladies fluttering fans to get their attention.
There was only one big mess.
“Mercy,” Mrs. Fenwick snapped from beneath the dining room table. “Why is there a sugared almond in this candlestick?”
Mercy, who was gathering napkins from chairs, peered over at her. “Perhaps someone wished to save it for later?”
Mrs. Fenwick glared at her. “In a candlestick?”
Mercy shrugged. “People do peculiar things at balls.” She rolled her eyes. “There was a lot of wine served last night.”
Mrs. Fenwick emerged with a spoon in one hand and the almond in the other. “If I ever host a ball, child, you have permission to strike me with a rolling pin until reason returns.”
Mercy glanced at Anna. “Would that be before or after the musicians arrive?”
“Before,” Anna suggested.
“Definitely before,” Mrs. Fenwick added.
Anna bent to collect two empty glasses from beneath a chair. “At least nothing was broken.”
A crash sounded from the hall, causing the three to still.
Mercy closed her eyes. “I would like everyone to know that I was in this room when that happened.”
Mrs. Fenwick pointed at Anna. “See what it is before Mrs. Pembroke hears and blames the entire kitchen.”
Anna set the glasses on the table and hurried toward the hall.
Elias stood near the sideboard, staring at the remains of a blue-edged plate on the floor, his face pale. “I barely touched it.”
Anna took in the shards. “You touched it firmly, then.”
“I was carrying the stack, trying to straighten it and one slid. I couldn’t catch it without dropping the others.”
Mrs. Pembroke appeared at the end of the hall in a morning gown and cap. She glanced at the broken plate. “Ah, a casualty.”
Elias swallowed. “Please forgive me, ma’am.”
“Better the plate than a patriot.” Mrs. Pembroke walked past him.
Anna’s gaze flew to her. The woman didn’t so much as blink at her own remark.
A fist hammered on the front door. Mrs. Pembroke stopped.
Anna’s stomach tightened as the knock came again, harder this time. Mrs. Fenwick stepped into the hall, wiping her hands on her apron. Mercy appeared right behind her, eyes wide. Elias looked to Mrs. Pembroke.
She smoothed one hand down the front of her gown. “Answer it.”
Elias hurried to obey.
The front door opened, and Captain Whitby strode in with Lieutenant Rothborne at his side. Both men looked as if they’d slept poorly, if at all. Whitby’s face was flushed with anger, and Rothborne’s eyes glared at anything that moved.
Nathaniel followed behind them.
Anna’s heart leapt in her chest at the sight of him. It was annoying, until she took the time to study him.
He looked tired as well. His coat was damp at the shoulders, his boots muddied, and whiskers darkened his jaw. His gaze swept the hall once and found Anna before moving away.
Mrs. Pembroke lifted her eyebrows in accusation. “Captain Whitby, I did not expect the honor of another invasion so early.”
Whitby removed his hat and held it behind him. “Madam, this is no time for levity. Besides, I’m staying here. I only knocked because of the early hour and, of course, because the door was locked.” He looked away with a sheepish hint a smile.
“Sir,” Mrs. Pembroke began, shaking a finger at him. “My home was overtaken last night by officers, musicians, and too much wine until half past three this morning. I assure you, Captain, levity is all that stands between me and violence.”
Lieutenant Rothborne’s mouth tightened. “There has been an incident, Mrs. Pembroke.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s expression changed a fraction. “How unfortunate. Shall I summon tea, or does the incident prefer coffee?”
Whitby stepped closer. “A shipment was interfered with last night.”
Anna tried not to pull at her apron.
Mrs. Pembroke went still. “Interfered with?”
“Delayed,” Rothborne said coldly. “Diverted. Possibly stolen.”
“Good heavens.” Mrs. Pembroke pressed a hand to her chest. “Not the wine.”
Whitby gave her a hard look. “This is a military matter.”
“Then why are you telling me? Should you not be speaking to my husband?” She glanced upward. “Not that it will do you any good. He’s still in bed. Or is he hunting… I’m not really sure.”
Rothborne stepped forward. “We believe information may have moved through this house last night.”
Everything went dead quiet.
Mrs. Pembroke turned her head toward Rothborne. “Lieutenant, if information did move through this house last night, it would have had to elbow past thirty-five guests, twelve decanters of wine, a group of musicians, one overturned vase, and Captain Whitby’s speeches. I wish it luck.”
Rothborne ignored the jab. “You know as well as I do, the servants were everywhere.”
Mrs. Pembroke pinched the bridge of her nose. “As servants tend to be when guests require serving.”
“Every servant in this house will be questioned,” he said, eyes narrowing.
Mrs. Fenwick stiffened. “What? Questioned for doing their work?”
Rothborne’s gaze shifted to her. “They will be questioned for what they heard while doing it.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s voice rose a notch. “You will not bully my household. Is that understood?”
Captain Whitby stepped between them. “No one is being bullied, madam. We merely need to know whether anyone saw or heard anything unusual.”
“Unusual?” Mrs. Pembroke said. “The only thing unusual I’ve heard this morning was a man putting a sugared almond in a candlestick.”
Nathaniel lowered his gaze, and Anna knew he was trying not to smile.
Rothborne looked toward her. “You.”
Anna’s heart thudded as she curtsied. “Sir.”
“You were serving in the parlor most of the evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You stood near the hearth while Major Ellis and Mr. Sloane were speaking.”
“I served wine near the hearth, sir.”
“What did you hear?” Rothborne snapped.
Anna forced herself to look puzzled rather than terrified. “Music, sir.”
Rothborne’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”
She offered him a tiny shrug. “Mrs. Wexford was displeased with the sugar.”
Captain Whitby made an impatient sound, but Nathaniel coughed. Rothborne glanced at him.
Nathaniel took on an innocent look. “And she was quite displeased.”
Mrs. Pembroke shook her head in dismay. “The matter caused considerable distress.”
“It did not,” Rothborne snapped.
Mrs. Pembroke’s eyebrows shot up. “Then you were not the one who had to hear about it a half dozen times.”
Rothborne stepped toward Anna. “Do not play games with me, girl.”
Anna lowered her eyes. “No, sir.”
He took a step closer. “Who did you speak to after leaving the parlor?”
“Mercy, sir. Mrs. Fenwick and Mrs. Pembroke.”
“No one else?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” The lies slid off her tongue easier than she expected. That scared her almost as much as Rothborne did.
Nathaniel still stood near the door, silent and watchful. She couldn’t tell whether his silence meant approval, fear, or calculation.
Rothborne looked her over again in a way that made Anna want to step back. She forced herself to stay put. “Turn out your pockets.”
Mrs. Fenwick gasped. “Lieutenant!”
Mrs. Pembroke’s voice grew impatient. “Absolutely not.”
Rothborne didn’t look away from Anna. “If she has nothing to hide, she has nothing to fear.”
“What a foolish thing to say,” Mrs. Pembroke replied. “In my experience, innocent people often have the most to fear from men determined to find guilt.”
“Enough, Lieutenant,” Whitby snapped. “Leave the girl be.”
Rothborne turned on him. “Captain—”
“I said enough. If there was a leak, it didn’t come from a maid with a wine tray.”
Anna sensed Nathaniel’s gaze flick toward her again but didn’t dare look at him.
Rothborne stepped back as Whitby turned to Mrs. Pembroke. “We’ll need a list of everyone who attended last night.”