Nine
By the following afternoon, Anna decided there were worse things than carrying a secret.
One of them was waiting to see if the secret came back.
Since the ball, Pembroke House had settled into a peculiar sort of quiet. Even Mercy, who usually filled silence the way a kettle filled a kitchen with steam, spent most of the morning speaking only when spoken to. Mrs. Fenwick said it was because everyone was tired.
Anna knew better.
The British had been in the house twice before noon.
Captain Whitby had been all tight smiles and clipped words.
When Lieutenant Rothborne showed up, he looked at every servant as if he could see treason hiding beneath their caps.
Major Ellis arrived later, asked for Captain Whitby, and said nothing to anyone else.
That made his presence worse. He moved through the front hall like a man measuring it for a gallows.
Nathaniel hadn’t returned, but Anna wasn’t thinking about that. She absolutely was not wondering whether he’d ridden out again, or carried another message, or been stopped, questioned, or caught between British officers and whichever side he truly served.
She was also not thinking about the way he’d stood in the hall during the ball and told her she needed to be careful, nor the way he’d drawn attention away from her when Rothborne began asking questions.
And especially not the way his eyes seemed to find her, even when she was doing everything possible not to look for him.
No. She was polishing candlesticks. That was all. Everyone knew candlesticks required the utmost concentration.
“Anna,” Mrs. Fenwick said from the kitchen table, “if you polish that stem any harder, it will beg forgiveness.”
Anna stopped. “Sorry.”
Mrs. Fenwick eyed her over a bowl of peas she was shelling. “There it is again.”
“What?” Anna asked, eyes wide.
“Sorry. You’ve said it six times so far today. Either confess whatever you’ve done or stop apologizing for it. You’re making me nervous.”
Mercy, shelling peas beside her, whispered, “I thought we were all nervous already.”
“We are,” Mrs. Fenwick said. “Which is why I dislike additional contributions.”
Before Anna could answer, Elias appeared in the kitchen doorway, his face blank. That meant he carried a message from Mrs. Pembroke. Elias did solemn very well, until Mrs. Fenwick terrified the solemnity out of him.
“Anna,” he said, “Mrs. Pembroke wants you in the morning room.”
She almost dropped the candlestick.
Mrs. Fenwick’s eyes narrowed. “What for?”
Elias cleared his throat. “A household matter.”
Mercy’s face lit up. “Is it dull? I could do it.”
Elias glanced her way. “I was not informed.”
Mrs. Fenwick pointed the peapod in her hand toward Anna. “Go on, then. And if Mrs. Pembroke asks whether we made enough pies for Captain Whitby and his usual guests, the answer is no. We only had three apples to work with.”
Anna wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes, Mrs. Fenwick.” She took the back hall because in the front hall had she might be cornered by Lieutenant Rothborne. Even so, the men’s voices drifted her way.
“You cannot arrest a household,” Captain Whitby said.
“I can question one,” Ellis replied.
Anna’s stomach tightened, and she forced herself forward.
Mrs. Pembroke stood by the writing table when Anna entered. She had the curtains partly drawn and a tea tray sat untouched beside her. The first sign something was wrong. Mrs. Pembroke believed tea was suitable for grief, rage, strategy, and indigestion.
“Close the door, Anna,” Mrs. Pembroke instructed.
Anna did.
Mrs. Pembroke held up the familiar small black leather case. She set it on the table, opened the clasp, and lifted the lid. Nestled against the cream velvet interior was the locket.
Anna’s knees weakened. It had come back. Anna met Mrs. Pembroke’s gaze.
“The message was delivered,” Mrs. Pembroke said, “if the uproar in my parlor is any indication.”
Anna stepped closer. “Then why is it here again?”
Mrs. Pembroke gave her a look. “Because useful things are often inconvenienced by being useful.”
Anna sighed. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is a very good answer,” Mrs. Pembroke said. “It simply does not satisfy you.” She lifted the locket from the case and placed it in Anna’s palm. “Open it.”
Anna hesitated a moment. When she opened the front, she saw the familiar inscription centered on the left.
In God We Trust.
Anna released the portrait and pressed the hidden clasp. The second compartment opened. Martha Washington’s name gleamed on the hidden left side. The faint PR mark rested on the right, nearly invisible unless one knew to look.
Tucked inside was a folded scrap of paper. Anna’s mouth went dry. “There is another message.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna unfolded the scrap. The writing was small and hurried.
Bell alive. Midnight moved to night. Girl named. Reed watched.
Anna read it once, then again. “Bell alive. Moved to night. Girl named. Reed watched.”
Her heart thudded so hard the paper trembled in her hand. “Girl named,” she whispered.
“We may safely assume that means you, dear,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna looked up, eyes wide. “They know my name.” Her voice cracked.
“Rothborne does.”
“Because of the ball?” Anna asked.
“Because you were unfortunate enough to be clever in public.”
Anna thought a moment. What had she done? Then it dawned on her. “I caught a spoon.”
“You caught attention,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna sat in the nearest chair and stared at the little scrap of paper, then the locket. “Who sent this?”
“Someone who wished us warned.”
She looked at Mrs. Pembroke and fought an eye roll. “That’s not an answer either.”
Mrs. Pembroke heaved a sigh. “No, but it is the one I am giving.”
Anna glanced at the note again. “And Mr. Reed?”
Mrs. Pembroke closed the locket case, though the locket remained in Anna’s hand. “What of him?”
“It says he’s watched.”
“So it does.”
“By the British, Mrs. Pembroke?”
Mrs. Pembroke thought a moment. “Most likely.”
“What about the patriots?”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
Anna stared at her. “You know more than you say.”
“My dear, that is how I have lived this long.” The humor in Mrs. Pembroke’s voice did nothing to steady Anna.
She touched the tiny portrait with the edge of her thumb, then drew back before she smudged it. “Who is Bell?”
“A patriot courier.”
Anna’s breath caught. “The man they spoke of at the ball?”
“The same,” Mrs. Pembroke said. “They have him for now.”
“For now,” Anna repeated. “What does that mean?”
Mrs. Pembroke ran a finger along the case. “It means there may be an opportunity to keep him from speaking, if he hasn’t already.”
An icy lump formed in Anna’s gut. “What do you mean, keep him from speaking?”
“Not by killing him, if that’s the direction your imagination is going. Good heavens, Anna.”
Anna flushed. “I didn’t know.”
“It means moving him before Major Ellis puts him somewhere worse. It also means getting word to the right men before tonight. We have very little time, less than we had yesterday.”
Anna glanced at the note again. “And the locket has to carry the message.”
Mrs. Pembroke crossed to the window and looked toward the front drive. “The locket is known to a select few. That makes it valuable. It also makes it dangerous. If anyone begins to suspect what it carries, every clasp, portrait, and scrap of silver on it becomes a noose.”
Anna closed the hidden compartment as if that might protect it. “Then why use it again?”
“Because desperate times do not always permit alternatives,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
For some reason, Anna thought of the way Nathaniel stepped into danger with nothing but a smile and a careless remark about country dances. All to protect her. She also thought of Rothborne’s eyes on her, Sloane’s thin warnings, and Major Ellis’s cold voice saying that everyone talked eventually.
Then she thought of Nathaniel being watched. She didn’t like the fear that came with that thought. It was too personal.
Mrs. Pembroke turned away from the window and studied her. “You are concerned for Mr. Reed.”
Anna straightened. Merciful heavens, how did she know? “I’m concerned for anyone being watched.”
Mrs. Pembroke smiled. “A very sensible answer, my dear.”
“It’s true,” Anna said, her cheeks heating. “Mrs. Pembroke, what made you think I’d be concerned for Mr.—”
“I’m old, not blind, dear.” She returned to the table and tapped the folded note. “You look toward him whenever he enters a room. He looks at you when he thinks no one notices. Heavens, if I were a sentimental woman, I might find it charming.”
“You’re not sentimental,” Anna pointed out.
“Fortunately for everyone.” Mrs. Pembroke smiled at her and winked.
Anna brushed at the skirt of her dress. “There’s nothing charming about Mr. Reed. He’s dangerous.”
“Most worthwhile men are, in some fashion,” Mrs. Pembroke said. “The question is whether they are dangerous to you or for you.”
Anna had no answer to that and disliked that she wanted one.
A knock sounded at the door, and both women stilled. Mrs. Pembroke took the note, slipped it into the locket’s hidden compartment, snapped the portrait into place, and closed the front with a motion so swift and practiced that Anna could only stare.
“Who is it?” Mrs. Pembroke called.
“Reed, ma’am.”
Anna’s heart leapt in her chest. Dash it all.
Mrs. Pembroke glanced her way and winked. Anna looked back, horrified by whatever her face had just revealed. Drat. Drat. Drat.
Mrs. Pembroke’s brows lifted as she set the locket inside its case and closed the lid. “Come in,” she sang.
Nathaniel entered and removed his hat. His eyes found Anna immediately, then moved to Mrs. Pembroke. He looked tired. In fact, more than tired. Anna could see the strain beneath the weariness. That frightened her.
“Forgive the interruption,” he said. “Captain Whitby requests the attendance list again. Major Ellis wishes to compare it with his own notes.”
“How tedious of him,” Mrs. Pembroke drawled.
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Perhaps he considers it a hobby. I will suggest it if I grow tired of living.”