Chapter 28
Charlotte paused, her hand on the knocker, and took a moment to collect her breath. She’d slept poorly and the ride to Ballantine’s home in the city had taken a toll on her after the turmoil of the last few days.
She couldn’t afford the luxury of a day of rest. If the men who’d attacked Fulton had been sent by Cole, there was no time to waste. And there was no Joshua Robertson to come riding to her aid this time.
Thomas Ballantine was likely her only hope.
She rapped at the door and dropped her hand to tug Mama’s fur-lined cloak closer.
She’d never worn it before. Usually, it hung in Mama’s wardrobe alongside her silk wedding gown, remnants of a more prosperous time.
The cloak was dreadfully old-fashioned now, but Ballantine wouldn’t care about that.
He was Papa’s oldest friend. A man with his influence could steer her free of this impasse. He had to.
A stern-faced butler answered. “Yes?” He looked down his nose at her, his quick perusal taking in her old bonnet, the fabric worn thin and shiny in places. The cloak. Even the worn tips of her boots that were just visible peeking out from the hem of her skirt.
Straightening her shoulders, Charlotte summoned a confident smile. “I’m here to see Mr. Ballantine.”
“He is not receiving visitors.” The man hardly waited for her to stop speaking before answering.
“But I must see him. It’s of urgent—vital importance.
” She swallowed back the urge to beg and channeled a haughty assurance.
You must be firm and confident with your servants, my pet.
Never let them question your authority. Charlotte hadn’t had the chance to put that long-ago lesson into practice.
The advice wasn’t as palatable now that she seemed more likely to be the servant than the served.
“Tell him Charlotte Carruthers is here. He’ll speak to me. ”
His eyes widened at her name. “Miss Carruthers,” he repeated, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“That’s right. I’m here on behalf of my father, Major Carruthers.” Which was true. Sort of. “I have an urgent message for Mr. Ballantine.”
“Come in. I will see if he is at home.”
Relief loosened the tension in her shoulders as she followed him to a small receiving room. It wasn’t the welcome she’d hoped for, but at least she was in the door.
No fire was lit, so she paced to warm her frozen limbs. Dark wainscoting lined the lower half of the walls, and dark wallpaper the upper, giving the impression that she was trapped in a box. She reached one end and smoothed her hand down the rich wood. Walnut, perhaps? Joshua would know.
The thought of him sent a pang through her chest. If only he’d proven to be the man she thought he was.
The low rumble of male voices interrupted her dark thoughts. Ah, so Mr. Ballantine wasn’t alone. Long minutes passed as the voices grew louder and more insistent. Finally, curiosity won out.
Charlotte peeked her head out the door. The hall was deserted, the voices coming from the library directly across from her. She moved closer. A lady never eavesdrops. A low, vulgar behavior. But Mama had never been in a situation like this with her survival at stake.
“Those backwoods louts are no match for our boys.”
“May I remind you, sir, that our illustrious governor sent most of the militia to Montreal? How will we defend the city?”
Ballantine’s voice interrupted the heated debate. “Come, gentlemen, we must remain calm. We’re not a group of hotheads at the inn. Reason and planning will be our best defense.” There were murmurs of agreement. “Word has come they’re assembling at Montgomery’s.”
Montgomery’s. Charlotte remembered the fervent men who’d waylaid her there. More rebels had gathered since that day, Simon no doubt among them.
“Then what are we doing here? We need to form an attack.”
Charlotte stifled a gasp. Attack. She hadn’t really thought it would come to that.
“Nonsense.” Ballantine’s voice held a reprimand. “A good picket or two in the road, well manned, ought to stop them in their tracks, or at least slow them down until reinforcements arrive. With any luck we can block the north road and trap them in their own hole.”
“Aye. See those rebels swing for treason, as they should.”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. Do you know what happens to traitors to the Crown, Miss Carruthers? They hang. It was all happening just as Deacon Cole predicted.
Papers shuffled, and a chair scraped the floor. “I must attend to some business,” Ballantine said. “I expect I won’t be long.”
Charlotte darted back to the cold receiving room, plopped in a chair, and attempted to look as though she’d been there all along.
The door swung open, and Ballantine walked in, his steps hasty and his cravat uncharacteristically askew.
“Charlotte, my dear girl.” He held out his hand to clasp hers as she rose from her chair.
“What brings you all this way? I must tell you, this is hardly the time to be gallivanting across the countryside.”
“I . . .” The discussion she’d overheard had scattered her careful arguments. “Men came to Edenbrook. Fulton is injured.” Ballantine looked perplexed. Why couldn’t she form a coherent sentence? “Papa has died,” she said finally. That was the crux of the matter. “Perhaps you’ve heard.”
His eyes softened. “Indeed, I was sorry to hear it. I intended to call on you at the earliest opportunity, but as things stand—”
“I understand,” she said, cutting off his apologies. “I’m not here about Papa. I need your help.”
“My dear child.” He sent a distracted glance behind him.
“I’ve pressing business to attend to. Why don’t I take you to the blue parlor and McBain can get you a cup of tea and some cakes?
” He strode to the wall and rang the bell.
“You can’t be on the roads now, but that’s no matter.
You can stay here.” He yanked the bell pull again.
“I can’t stay,” she said, her voice clipped.
“Yesterday while I was out, some men came to Edenbrook.” Her voice caught and she swallowed, stuffing the fear down.
She needed to present a calm, unflappable facade or Ballantine would never agree to help.
“They attacked Fulton and threatened me. Said I should leave Edenbrook if I knew what was good for me.”
“Heavens, child.” Now she had Ballantine’s full attention, his face white with concern. “I had no idea the rebels were active in the east.” He shook his head. “I’ll inform the governor at once.” He grasped her arm and attempted to steer her to the door. “All the more reason for you to stay here.”
“No.” She planted her feet, refusing to be moved by the gentle pressure of his hand on her arm.
“You must listen. It’s not rebels. It’s all Deacon Cole.
He says he has proof Simon has joined the rebellion.
” Her voice was loud in the small room. Unladylike, and it caught Ballantine’s attention.
“He wants me scared and on the run. If I leave, he’ll find a way to get Edenbrook, I know he will. We’ll lose everything.”
Ballantine shook his head. “My child, Deacon Cole is a formidable businessman, but I cannot believe he would stoop to threats and violence.” He patted her shoulder.
“Come, you are overwrought, and no wonder, after all you’ve been through.
” He tried again to move her toward the door, and she could tell he was only half listening to her worries.
Charlotte twisted out of Ballantine’s hold and stood before him, all but forcing him to meet her eyes.
“I found Simon. He’s living in the bush, and he’s joined the rebels.
He doesn’t even know Papa is gone.” She gulped, quelling the quiver of emotion in her voice.
“He wouldn’t listen to me . . . but he might listen to you. ”
Ballantine rang the bell again, as though he hadn’t even heard what she’d said. “What you need is a cup of tea and a good rest.”
“What I need is a lawyer.” She pulled Simon’s letter from her pocket and shoved it under Ballantine’s nose.
He snatched it up and scanned its contents. Charlotte’s shoulders relaxed. He’d see now why Simon must return. Simon would have to transfer ownership . . . if he didn’t change his mind and stay. Either way, Edenbrook would be safe.
Ballantine lowered the letter with a long-suffering sigh. “Foolish boy. We’ll have to sort this out, of course, but all in good time.” He took a step toward the door. “Where are the blasted servants?”
“I can’t stay. I must go back to Fulton. He’s not well.” Charlotte looked down, blinking back an inconvenient rush of tears. If Ballantine wouldn’t help her, who would?
“My dear, I have no wish to alarm you, but rebels are preparing to descend on the city as we speak. From all reports, they’re coming from every corner of the bush, drawn in by Mackenzie’s promises. Fools.”
“But surely the militia can hold off—”
“The militia is in shambles,” Ballantine said, lowering his voice. “Until reinforcements arrive, we’re in a very precarious position.”
Ballantine took her silence for agreement and ushered her to the door. “Rest assured, I will do everything in my power to protect your future.” He cast a harried glance at the hall, where the men had erupted into debate once again. “Only first, we must squash a rebellion.”
She gripped Ballantine’s hand where it rested on her upper arm.
“You don’t know what Cole is capable of.
” Not for the first time she regretted the pride that had kept her father from revealing the true state of his affairs to his closest friend.
“He was going to blackmail Papa. He wants nothing more than to find proof that Simon is a rebel and destroy him. He’ll stop at nothing until Edenbrook is his. ”