Chapter 20 #2
Her entry took them by surprise.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen, but there seemed a dire sense of emergency to the lieutenant’s arrival. I thought whatever the emergency is might delay our wedding plans. Am I right?’
Ethan stopped pacing. His initial surprise was swiftly replaced by one of bemusement. ‘Lochranza, you are a woman. All women are curious. You want to know what’s going on and that’s it and all about it.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but stalled, smiling sweetly instead.
‘Yes. I am not a shrinking violet without a brain, Ethan. I take an avid interest in what goes on in the world. My apologies, Lieutenant, for my interrupting.’
She threw the young man a smile. He saluted. She detected a pale blush infusing his downy cheeks. He looked far too young to be a soldier.
‘No apologies needed, ma’am. I certainly wouldn’t want to delay your wedding. No sir!’
He saluted for a second time. She thought it quite sweet. Here stood a young man who could be easily swayed by a sweet smile and a pretty face. How very refreshing.
She thanked him for his consideration.
‘Lieutenant Wellow informs me of troubles in the Fort Charlotte area. We believe an outlaw band of disaffected French and American colonials have attacked Indian encampments in that area. The Indian Nations fought for the British against the French. Napoleon isn’t here to take revenge, so they’ve taken it upon themselves to do so.
They must be stopped. Our new government is determined to lay the foundations for a great peace – and indeed for a great nation.
I need to ride to Fort Charlotte to review the situation.
It’s unlikely they may attack the fort, but more likely they’ll rabble-rouse the white settlers to take up arms against the Indians. We cannot allow that.’
‘Will it be possible to protect the Indians? I mean, will they seek the protection of the fort?’
‘Not exactly.’
There was something about the way he avoided meeting her eyes that made her suspicious that he was holding something back.
‘Well, there’s no point me staying here choosing laces and silks for a wedding that’s looking further and further away. I’ll come with you.’
He arched one coal-black eyebrow. Then he smiled. Amusement creased his tanned complexion. ‘And if I should refuse?’
‘Then I’ll follow you anyway.’
‘I thought you might say that. Lieutenant?’
‘Sir?’ Wellow snapped to attention. He’d followed the interchange between them quite avidly, eyes round with interest. They were quite an imposing couple and had impressed him greatly.
‘Take a tip from me. Never fall in love with a powerful woman. You’ll never get a minute away from her! Marry a mouse and she’ll do what you say!’
* * *
Preparations for travelling to Fort Charlotte began in earnest.
Moira made a big fuss about Lochranza venturing into the wilderness where she might get eaten by a bear or taken prisoner by wild, half-naked savages.
Perhaps it would have been a little vulgar to remark that she would prefer to get eaten by Ethan in half-naked state, just to see Moira faint with shock.
She desisted. Instead, she directed her to pack a few things for the journey; she emphasised ‘a few things’, just enough to throw over her saddle.
Once Moira got the bit between her teeth, she could pack enough to fill a wagon!
Old habits die hard, and Moira couldn’t get it out of her head that they would not be travelling in a carriage.
‘We must ride fast on nondescript roads and over rough terrain. I prefer to ride direct across country than trust to four wheels and a set of springs!’
Eventually, Lochranza took over the job herself, frugal regarding change of clothes and toiletries.
Adopting a common-sense approach, she declined a side saddle in favour of riding astride.
‘I can borrow a pair of your britches and ride all the better for that,’ she declared to Ethan, barely able to contain her excitement. What was planning a wedding compared to the excitement of riding into Indian territory? She was seeing the world and her mind was broadened.
Jove’s disapproval was apparent when he accompanied her into his master’s room to select an appropriate pair.
‘Men wear britches, women wear skirts.’ His tone was as condemning as God’s must have been when he reprimanded Eve in the Garden of Eden for eating an apple!
‘It’s only clothes. There’s no law saying a woman should not wear trousers,’ she pointed out to him.
Once attired in a pair of black britches, over which she wore a dark blue smock and a few layers of other things underneath, plus her riding boots, she was ready.
Ethan was in the stable yard where their saddle and a single baggage horse carrying food and water had been made ready.
‘How do I look?’
‘Ravishing, but the britches have to go.’
Jove was right behind her. ‘That’s what I told her, your lordship, but nobody listens to me. Who am I to be listened to anyway, just an old…’
Ethan ignored Jove’s meanderings. ‘My dear, we will be arriving at Fort Charlotte. The few women there are the daughters and granddaughters of the Pilgrim Fathers. A woman arriving in their midst dressed in manly attire would be regarded as disrespectful. Wear something more…’ He waved his hand as he sought for the best description for what he had in mind. ‘Feminine but reserved.’
Rebellion stirred her soul, but on reflection she had to concede that Ethan had a point. Besides, she had no wish to give him an excuse to forbid her from travelling.
Her bedroom was empty, though clothes discarded as being unsuitable for the journey remained spread on the bed.
Moira or Helen should have tidied away by now. She frowned, thought about tugging the bell pull at the side of the fireplace, but stopped; her fingers paused on the embroidered hemp. Was that the sound of weeping she could hear?
She got up from the bed wearing only one riding boot, the other hanging from her hand, and made her way to the dressing room. The door was slightly ajar and from within came the sound of sobbing.
Even before she eased the door open, she knew who she would find and felt instantly guilty. She had promised to speak to Ethan about Venus and her beau, but in all the excitement had forgotten.
‘Venus?’
The girl was sitting with her head bent over her knees but scrambled to her feet, knuckling her eyes which were already red. Her nose was snotty, cheeks tearstained.
Lochranza handed her one of her own lace-trimmed handkerchiefs. ‘Here. Blow your nose and wipe your face.’
Venus stared at the handkerchief before doing so.
Lochranza guessed why she was crying. ‘Is this about Lester?’
Venus nodded. At the same time, the delicate handkerchief was screwed into a small ball by her ever-moving fingers.
‘Your sister told me about your problem. Strangling the handkerchief will solve nothing.’
Venus shook her head and looked down at the floor, then jerked upwards, her look intense. ‘Why am I a slave? Why do black folks have to be slaves and white folks don’t?’
The outburst was heartfelt and Lochranza was filled with the utmost pity. This poor girl had been born into a life of slavery just because of her colour?