Twelve #2
Anna led him through the servants’ hall toward the back of the house. The kitchen was loud with purposeful clatter. Mrs. Fenwick was scolding Mercy about something involving burned sugar, while Elias could be heard outside speaking at great length to someone about a broken latch.
Useless near the west gate, Anna thought. Mrs. Pembroke truly was excellent at interruption.
At the garden door, Anna stopped. The evening air slipped in around the frame. Beyond the threshold, the garden lay dim and trampled in places where soldiers had crossed it without care. Mrs. Pembroke’s petunias were indeed a sorry sight.
Nathaniel looked at them. “She will blame Whitby for that.”
Anna nodded. “She already has.”
“Good.”
She turned to him and blurted, “Will you come back?”
Tenderness filled his eyes. “If I can.”
That was not the answer she wanted. It was, however, the answer she believed. She nodded and looked down at her hands. “Then be careful.”
“I am always careful.”
“No,” she said, and looked up. “You’re skilled. There’s a difference.”
Surprise crossed his face. Then something deeper. “Who told you that?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned slightly. “But it feels true.”
He stepped closer. “I will try.”
Blast it, tears began to sting the backs of her eyes. “That’s not the answer I wanted.”
“I know.” Nathaniel removed one glove. Slowly, giving her every chance to step back, he took her hand. His fingers were warm and the scratch across his hand was still there. There was some dried mud at his cuff, and enough restraint in the way he held her hand to make her chest ache.
“I am sorry I hurt you,” he said.
Anna nodded. If she spoke, she feared her voice would crack.
“I would undo that part if I could…”
“No,” she said softly. “You wouldn’t. Not if it meant Bell was taken.” She gave another small nod. “That’s why I believe you.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles so gently she might have imagined it. She did not.
“When this war is done,” he said, “and if Providence is kind, may I call on you as something other than Captain Whitby’s courier?”
Anna’s heart leapt in her chest. “That depends.”
“On what?”
She swallowed hard. “On whether you are still tragically flawed.”
His smiled. “I suspect I will be.”
Anna met his gaze. “Then I suppose I shall have to consider it.”
“That’s more mercy than I deserve. But you didn’t say no.” His finger brushed over her knuckles again.
Anna studied him, this man who’d made himself useful to the enemy so he could serve the cause. He wore calm like armor, had frightened her, saved her, and somehow found his way past every sensible defense she possessed.
“No,” she said quietly. “I did not.” For one breath, she thought he might kiss her hand.
Instead, he bowed over it, his lips stopping just short of her knuckles. His restraint affected her more than the kiss would have. When he released her, the loss of his hand send a shiver up her spine.
Nathaniel put on his glove, settled his hat, and stepped into the garden. At the path, he looked back. “Miss Turner.”
She gave him a single nod. “Mr. Reed.”
His gaze held hers. “Put two sheets and one towel on the line if you need to send word.”
Anna smiled. “And if I am still cross with you?”
“Then I shall assume three towels.”
Her smile broke into a grin. “Wise of you.”
He grinned back before he set off. Anna watched until the garden swallowed him, and the sound of his steps faded beyond the west gate.
Only then did she close the door. For a moment she stood with her hand on the latch, listening to the house breathe around her. Mrs. Fenwick’s voice rose in the kitchen. Mercy laughed. Somewhere above stairs, Mrs. Pembroke gave an order that sounded like it ought to have been obeyed by a regiment.
The British still occupied the town and the war hadn’t ended because one prisoner escaped and one locket left by the garden gate.
But Josiah Bell was free and another message was moving.
She crossed to the kitchen, then paused by the small window that looked toward the back yard. The laundry line stirred in the evening wind, empty now, but waiting. Anna touched her fingers to the place where the locket had once rested against her skirt.
In God We Trust.
The words felt different now. Steadier. As did the words from Martha Washington’s letter hidden in the case.
Mercy called her name from the kitchen, disrupting her thoughts.
Anna drew in a breath and turned from the window.
Tomorrow there would be dishes, linens, thin walls, dangerous men, and messages hidden in ordinary things.
But tonight, beneath the fear, something had settled inside her.
She’d made a choice for the cause. A man riding into danger with her trust tucked against his heart.
Anna smiled and went back to work, knowing at last where her allegiance lay.
The house should have felt lighter. Captain Whitby and his officers had left before breakfast, though not without complaint, confusion, and a great deal of stomping.
Major Ellis had ridden out in a fury sometime near dawn.
Lieutenant Rothburn had gone with him, looking as though he suspected every chicken in the yard of treason.
She wiped at the sideboard leg with too much force.
Mercy noticed. “You’ll take the finish off.”
Anna stopped. “Sorry.”
Mercy lowered her voice. “Have you heard anything?”
Anna kept her gaze on the cloth. “About what?”
“Don’t do that. You’re terrible at it.”
“At what?”
“Pretending not to know what I mean,” Mercy huffed.
Anna looked up. Mercy’s expression was soft with worry, not curiosity. That made it harder.
“No,” Anna said quietly. “I haven’t heard anything.”
Mercy glanced toward the hall. “Elias says there was trouble at the south wharf.”
Anna’s heart jumped. “What sort of trouble?”
“He doesn’t know. Which means he probably knows and has been told not to know. Men do that when they’re trying to look important.”
Anna rose too fast and almost struck her shoulder on the sideboard. Mercy caught her arm. “Careful.”
“I’m fine.” She looked toward the windows.
Outside, the laundry line sagged empty between its posts.
She’s looked at it ten times already, which was foolish.
Nathaniel wouldn’t send word by hanging linen in Mrs. Pembroke’s yard.
He’d only told her how to send word to him if she needed help.
Still, the sight of the empty line unsettled her.
Mrs. Pembroke entered the room with a folded paper in hand. “Mercy, go tell Mrs. Fenwick I require a tray in the small sitting room.”
Mercy dipped a quick curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And no seed cakes.”
Mercy paused. “No seed cakes?”
“None. I am not in a seed-cake humor.”
Mercy glanced at Anna, then hurried out. Anna’s pulse began to beat faster. Mrs. Pembroke waited until Mercy’s footsteps faded before crossing to the table.
“Come here, dear.”
Anna went to her.
Mrs. Pembroke held out the folded paper. It was small, plain, and sealed with nothing more than a smear of wax pressed flat by a thumb.
Anna stared at it. “What is it?”
“A paper.”
Anna gave her a look.
Mrs. Pembroke sighed. “That was not one of my better answers, I admit. Take it.”
Anna did. “Is it from him?”
“I dislike vague pronouns when a woman is nervous, but yes.”
Anna’s breath caught. She broke the wax and unfolded the paper. The message was brief.
The sentimental keepsake has reached safe hands. The child is remembered. The bird has flown. The ship sailed lighter than intended. I remain, unfortunately, tragically flawed.
Anna read it once. Then again. Her eyes stung with tears before she could stop them.
Mrs. Pembroke reached over and tapped the paper. “Well?”
Anna swallowed. “The locket is safe.”
“So it seems.”
“And Josiah Bell,” Anna said with a sniff.
“The bird has flown,” Mrs. Pembroke said. “A trifle poetic for my taste, but Mr. Reed cannot be blamed for everything.”
Anna pressed the paper to her chest before she remembered herself. “And the ship?”
“Sailed lighter than intended,” Mrs. Pembroke repeated. “I take that to mean Captain Whitby’s cargo has found more patriotic accommodations.”