Chapter 2
Charlotte reined in at the crest of the hill and turned in the saddle to admire the view. To the south lay Edenbrook, a comfortable, sprawling house, more like an overgrown cottage than the English manor it was named after.
A watercolor of Mama’s ancestral home still hung in the dining room.
To Charlotte, it had always seemed an otherworldly place of chiseled rock and tall, forbidding windows, but Mama had pined for her home in England.
Sometimes Charlotte would catch her staring at the painting with a faraway look in her eyes, an unsteady finger tracing the garden paths or the bold initials of the artist in the corner.
When Charlotte asked her who T. F. was, her eyes grew troubled. Someone I knew once.
The whitewashed clapboard of Charlotte’s Canadian Edenbrook might be faded and its elegant French garden overgrown, but she loved every muddy corner and sagging fence post.
After weeks of cold, cloudy drizzle, the sun had emerged this morning, accompanied by a hard frost that turned the world a sparkling silver-gray and the puddles into glass. Charlotte escaped to the stables before Fulton could scold her on the dangers of slippery paths and biting winds.
She inhaled, noting the difference in the air.
The earthy decay of fall was superseded by the crisp, clear solidity of winter.
She turned Scarlett through the woods on the far side of the hill.
In spring, she and Simon always found the first blooms here, dogtooth violets or delicate spring beauties.
Once they’d gathered an armful to bring to Mama, hoping for one of her fleeting smiles.
Mama left the flowers on the kitchen table, insisting only roses and dianthus were fine enough for the crystal vase in the front hall.
What would Mama say if she knew the state of affairs at Edenbrook today? Simon gone, Papa beside himself, suspicions raised among the very people Mama had worked so hard to impress?
Charlotte knew the answer to that question.
Mama would never have let it come to this.
She sighed and turned Scarlett back to Edenbrook, following the road along the Don River.
Riding always lifted her spirits, but great gulps of air and wide-open views did nothing to clear her mind today.
The thought of head-in-the-clouds Simon following a rebel leader was laughable. Wasn’t it?
She chewed her bottom lip. As it were, they clung to the edges of good society by a thread. If Simon didn’t join the militia, there’d be talk. People would believe anything they heard, and her family would fall into deeper disgrace. How was she to keep her promise to Mama then?
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the rider’s approach until it was too late to avoid Deacon Cole astride his showy black gelding.
She contemplated kicking her heels into Scarlett’s sides and galloping past her neighbor, but Mama’s training ran deep.
Cole slowed to tip his hat, and Charlotte reined in Scarlett and inclined her head in response.
“Miss Carruthers, what a pleasure.” His lips rolled back in a smile that nearly disappeared into his gray muttonchop whiskers.
“Mr. Cole.” The last time she’d seen the man, he’d been trying to convince her father to sell Edenbrook.
To him. He wanted to expand his successful brickworks, and Edenbrook had the clay deposits he coveted.
Cole might have succeeded, had she not interrupted their interview.
Cole hadn’t appreciated her interference, and he’d only grown more determined in his efforts to buy Edenbrook.
Now Cole sized her up, and she had the feeling he missed nothing. Not the worn hem of her habit or the hole in her glove that was past mending.
“Haven’t seen much of Simon lately.” Cole’s tone was casual, but he regarded her closely.
No doubt he’d heard the gossip. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who started it. “The November rains have kept us all indoors of late, have they not?”
“Your father claims he left to study in Montreal.” His tone indicated how unlikely he found this possibility.
Had he already been to see Papa? Charlotte fought to keep her face expressionless while she scrambled to repair the damage.
Papa’s ridiculous claim would only have heightened Cole’s suspicions.
“You seem well-informed about the comings and goings of my family, Mr. Cole. I wonder you even ask.” She kept her chin high and her voice even, refusing to let him see that his question hit a nerve.
“If he was away at school,” Cole said, ignoring her comment, “why hasn’t he come back?
” He let the question hang between them, but she didn’t rise to the bait.
His eyes narrowed. “Bolton’s boy studies at McGill and hasn’t seen him.
Why is that?” Cole leaned forward in the saddle.
“I’ll tell you why. Because I’d wager that brother of yours didn’t go east. He went north.
Right into Mackenzie’s stomping grounds. ”
Charlotte refused to let him see how his words terrified her. “My brother is no rebel, not that it’s any business of yours.”
“I admire your bravado, Miss Carruthers, but we both know he’s not at his studies.” Cole shed the veneer of polite conversation, his voice low and menacing.
Charlotte swallowed. “Your accusations are ridiculous. And unfounded.” She winced as her voice wobbled on that final word. As hard as it was to believe Simon would join the rebels, she couldn’t rule it out entirely.
“You’ve done everything in your power to thwart me, Miss Carruthers, but I play the long game. I need Edenbrook, and some uppity snip of a girl isn’t going to keep it from me.”
“My father will never sell.” She wouldn’t let him.
“Your father will do anything to protect his good name.” He leaned forward in the saddle, so close she smelled the onions on his breath. “Imagine his dismay if word got out his son was a treasonous rebel.”
Charlotte gasped. “You have no proof of that.” Though she’d long worried over Cole’s intentions, he’d never threatened them openly before.
Cole shrugged. “Proof won’t be hard to find. And when I find it, I’ll be back.”
“You would blackmail my father?” He was an ambitious, unscrupulous man, but she hadn’t thought him a scoundrel.
He ignored the accusation. “Do you know what happens to traitors to the Crown, Miss Carruthers?” He lingered over each word as though it were a delicious morsel to be savored. “They hang.”
The streets of Irish Town were lively in the early evening as day laborers returned home, crossing paths with the less savory elements of the city who emerged after dark. Despite Joshua’s disappointment at the market, he felt a thrill of anticipation. He hadn’t seen Henry in nearly a year.
Mrs. Hoodless ran a boardinghouse that was as close to respectable as could be found in Irish Town. She lodged Henry in exchange for help around the kitchen. Joshua had told himself it was the best he could do. As a hired hand himself who slept in a stable, he couldn’t have a child underfoot.
But everything had changed when he bought his own land. Excitement swirled through him. It wasn’t luxurious, but they’d be together. He’d have a family again.
He fingered the wolf whittled from walnut that fit neatly in his palm. Not the easiest wood to carve, but he was pleased with the result. After weeks of careful work, he’d coaxed a mane from the wood’s unique curling grain. Wolves were Henry’s favorite animals. At least, they used to be.
Mrs. Hoodless’s home was more threadbare than he remembered. The stoop wobbled underfoot as though the boards were rotten. Flakes of whitewash peeled from the door as he rapped. He swallowed. He’d come for Henry not a moment too soon.
A man answered the door, bleary-eyed and rumpled. “If he’s sent you for the rent, I don’t have it. Said I’d need another week.” He flexed his muscles as he crossed his arms like a prizefighter issuing a challenge.
Joshua held up his hands in a sign of peace. “I’m only here for the boy. Henry.”
“Boy?” The man’s gaze narrowed in suspicious confusion. “Ain’t got no boys, only girls. That’s half my trouble right there.”
“Henry is his name.” Joshua peered over his shoulder, but the hall was dark, and the man’s size blocked his view. “I left him in the care of Mrs. Hoodless.” He stepped back for a look at the building. Yes, this was the right house.
“Hoodless ain’t been here for months. Got sick, couldn’t run the place no more.” Now that the threat of eviction was gone, the man seemed eager to talk.
Joshua’s heart sank. “She had charge of a boy. Henry. He’d be eleven years old now.” He forced his voice to stay calm and even. “Any idea where he is?”
The man shrugged. “Never heard of him. Hoodless went to the poorhouse, I heard, and there’s not too many who make it out of there, ’less it’s in a coffin.” He laughed at his macabre jest.
“You’ve heard nothing of a boy who lived with her?” Joshua swallowed his rising panic. The man shook his head, and Joshua tried again to jog his memory. “Perhaps a neighbor would know what’s become of him?”
“You can ask, but he’s likely working for his bread somewheres. Eleven years old? Practically a man, he is.”
Exactly what Joshua feared. Henry could be at the mercy of an employer with no one to speak for him. He might be mistreated. Whippings, sharp cuffs across the head, frosty nights in a loft, never enough to eat. Joshua had survived, but he’d promised himself it wouldn’t happen to Henry.
Forcing the dark memories back, he thanked the man. “If you hear of anything, send word to Mrs. Norris’s. I’ll make it worth your while.” The man nodded eagerly, and Joshua was left on the stoop, his stomach churning.
Somewhere in this slum of overcrowded shanties and public houses, Henry was alone.
A boy darted out of the dilapidated livery across the street and came to his side, eyes hopeful. “You’ll be needing a stall for the night?”
Joshua’s stomach flipped, even though he knew from the mop of blond curls that the boy wasn’t Henry. “No, lad.” He paused. “How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
Joshua’s heart sped up. “You ever met a boy around here, name of Henry Phelan?”
The boy started to nod, then caught himself. A suspicious mask fell over his face, no doubt learned from harsh experience in Irish Town. “Henry’s an awful common name.”
“He lived with Mrs. Hoodless. Red hair, same age as you.” The boy stepped from one foot to the other and Joshua feared he was about to run. “There’s a coin in it for you if I can find him.”
Joshua found himself under the boy’s scrutiny. “I reckon I might know where he is.”
The relief that flooded him was so profound that it left Joshua speechless for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Tell me.”
The boy shook his head. “First, you’d best tell me what you want with him.”
“I’m his brother. I’m here to take him to my homestead.”
“You’re his brother?” The boy looked him up and down in open disdain, making Joshua flush. “Well, then, I ain’t telling you nothing.”
Joshua gathered the threads of his fraying patience. “I want to make sure he’s all right. Tell me where to find him.”
“Well, he don’t want to see you, I can tell you that.
You’re the one who left him high and dry with Heartless Hoodless.
Never come back when you said you would.
” He spit on the ground. “I see how it is. Henry’s finally got a nice setup over there.
” The boy crossed his arms in disgust. “Now you’re wanting a piece. ”
Every word fell like a fist to Joshua’s middle.
He hadn’t thought Henry would turn on him.
Then again, he hadn’t known about Heartless Hoodless, either.
“I just want to make sure he’s well.” Joshua spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of supplication that did nothing to soften the scorn on the boy’s face.
“Well, he’s just fine where he is. Got a spot in a respectable stable, he does, right on Duke Street—” He broke off, pressing his lips together. “And that’s all you need to know.” He drew himself up, clearly willing to protect his friend to the end.
Joshua reached out, intending to give the boy a coin, but the child flinched and stepped out of reach.
He hated that he inspired fear instead of trust, but he couldn’t blame the boy.
He knew what growing up in this part of town did to a child.
“I’m happy to hear it.” He flipped the penny in the air. “Thank you for your help.”
Duke Street. A good part of town, but that didn’t mean Henry had it easy. For every good employer, there were ten who would take advantage of a poor boy like Henry with no parent to speak for him. Joshua shuddered to think what would have happened to him if he hadn’t found his way to Mrs. Norris.
He watched the boy disappear into the livery with a pang. Henry might have landed on his feet, but what about this boy, and the dozens like him in Irish Town?
Climbing into his wagon, he set his sights on Duke Street. He couldn’t help every child in need, but he could save Henry.