“Shrewsbury Towne,” she said in awe. Seeing the town from the middle of the waterway proved an experience she could never have imagined. Standing on the hillside and looking down at the vast expanse of water had not allowed her to appreciate the full scope of this amazing part of nature. The great dome of sky above, and the immense width of the river below, reflected heaven’s azure while she and Edwin sped along with the help of the current and the wind. It was both terrifying and thrilling.
Her thoughts turned inward and she thought of her poor mother carried by this same river, heading out to that great ocean where all the rivers emptied and fresh water became salty.
Like tears.
Her eyes misted, but she held back the threatening flood. She had promised not to encumber Edwin. She would not get hysterical. When she met those who had abducted her sister, she would need all her wits about her. She fisted her hands more than once and thought of revenge, but after several deep breaths, she regained her control. Vengeance was the Lord’s. She wanted only Margaret.
If her sister was not at Sandy Hook, Agnes intended to continue searching. She would never rest until Margaret was returned, even if she had to hunt for her all alone.
“The wind blows stronger here in the center of the river. Brace yourself on the gunwale. We will catch as much wind as we can gather in the sail. The boat will tilt at a steep angle.” Edwin let out more slack in the ropes.
Agnes held on as the boat tilted to one side. When winding through the marshes, the water had been smooth, but now formidable waves rolled toward the small wooden craft. Rising up on the crest of each surge, the boat would then splash into the trough with a bone-jarring bump. Spray soon drenched her from head to toe.
She did not realize water was hard. Enduring the regular pounding sapped her energy.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“A headland on the left rises to a great height where the river empties into the bay. Sandy Hook will be on the right side,” Edwin explained.
“Will the waves in the bay be even bigger?” she asked.
“Are you feeling seasick?”
“I am weary of the constant battering,” she replied.
“Haste is in order.” His voice turned gruff.
She nodded, clenched her teeth, and braced herself before each oncoming swell so she would not be bruised.
“The tall headland looms above.” He pointed. “Watch for Sandy Hook.”
Agnes’s apprehension increased and her prayers grew more frantic. Edwin had no weapons and neither did she, other than the knife she always carried. She would be stepping into the enemy’s territory. The same enemies who had stolen her livestock and murdered Colleen.
Horrible men who snatched Jonas along with Margaret. Monsters. Unfeeling, uncaring, heartless souls, minions of the devil. Fear chilled her more than the water.
Edwin’s deft maneuvering brought them around. On the right, a sandy spit of land stretched toward a tall white lighthouse. People who had seen the singular sentinel called it picturesque. Indeed, the scene, complete with grasses and low bushes, awed her. She had viewed black and white ink sketches of the Sandy Hook light, but those did not match the beauty of seeing it with the colors of summer surrounding it. She could not imagine a more picturesque scene or one more idyllic. Yet, it was the stronghold of the enemy, the camp from which lawless raiders issued forth to rob and plunder.
They cruised closer to the shore until Edwin spotted a dock lined with boats guarded by two sentries.
Her alarm mounted as Edwin slid the boat alongside the pier. The sentries came running with their bayonets fixed.
“State your business!” one shouted as he pointed his musket at them.
“I am Lord Edwin Greenly and I wish to speak to the British commander on a matter of extreme urgency,” Edwin announced.
The guards lowered their guns. “Your sister, Lady Tabitha, arrived earlier in the day. She has been searching for you.”
Stunned, Agnes listened to the proceedings. Lord Edwin Greenly?
He had lied to her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The shock and surprise in Agnes’s features troubled Edwin’s conscience, but he had no time to warn her, for he had only formulated his sketchy plan as they sailed on the river. In British territory, his status offered him a measure of protection and lent him the influence to speak to those in command. He had no rank in the army, but as the son of the Duke of Dalfour, his words carried some weight. If he ordered a search for Margaret, his request would be honored.
Hearing of his sister’s presence disturbed him. Her word would vouch for the truth of his identity, but how had she discovered his whereabouts? Why had she come searching for him? What punishment did his father intend to mete out to him this time?
Visions of volumes of dusty tomes in the library at Oxford swam through his mind and a sudden sickness roiled in his stomach. He ought to write his obituary now. Forced to learn all those interminable laws by rote to become a barrister was a death sentence. Spending time discussing petty points of law while wearing a dreadful itchy, smelly, hot wig—crawling with vermin—would be torture.
He grimaced as the sentries helped him out of the boat. Whenever he shifted his leg, it ached. His sister would notice his debility and report it to his mother. The Duchess would inform the Duke and Edwin would never hear the end of it.
The Duke enjoyed haranguing him from morning until night. Now his father had what he would consider another foolish escapade to add to a long list of stupid antics. Harping on how he had failed in his responsibilities, he would scold Edwin on his lack of gratitude, reminding him how he had been granted an honor in being handed the opportunity to become a barrister. He would rebuke him for disgracing the long line of distinguished members of the Greenly family and threaten to remove his portrait from the wall.
Edwin kept his head down as he hobbled along slowly with the crutches. He sensed Agnes’s churning emotions as she walked beside him. He hoped for her forgiveness. He was forever indebted to her for her assistance in his time of greatest need.
He prayed he would find Margaret quickly. He prayed for an amicable parting with Agnes.
The thought of all her tender ministrations came to his mind. The gentle touch of her hands on his fevered brow. The concern in her hazel eyes. The sweetness of her soft lips.
How could he leave her? He doubted another woman like her existed in the world. While she was the daughter of a Patriot, an enemy of the king, she had protected him from being shot or hung or worse.
Guards ushered him into a wooden dwelling beside the tall lighthouse. Told to remain outside, Agnes sat upon a mounting block and stared out at the scenery with a forlorn appearance. A small, sharp pain went through his heart as she turned for a moment to raise her eyes to his, and he viewed the depth of her agony in her expression.
Please, God. Please find Margaret soon. Please keep her safe. He prayed silently.
With lumbering clumsiness, he climbed the steps and entered the building. A door on the left of the hall opened into a room where he found General Clinton, one of the general’s aides, the captain of Edwin’s unit, his sister, Lady Tabitha, and her husband at a table having tea. They rose as he entered and made deferential bows, except for his sister who lunged at him, threw her arms around his neck, and nearly knocked him down. He would have fallen, but the general’s aide caught him in time.
“Our father died four months ago.” Tabitha sobbed with anguish on his shoulder. “He had a stroke after he discovered you had run away. He never fully recovered, but Mother sent agents to find you. Why did you leave? Why would you even think of joining the army without a commission?”
The news overwhelmed him. He went cold inside as images of the terrible dreams he had about his father flashed before him. Answering Tabitha’s questions with everyone listening was impossible. Besides, though she knew of their father’s temper, she had never been singled out as he had. She had been pampered and petted all h
er life while he had been marked from birth as a troublemaker. No, she was incapable of comprehending his reason to escape.
“I am sorry, very sorry,” he murmured. Was he responsible for the Duke’s stroke? Was it his fault? Guilt rose up and nearly choked him.
“My condolences on your father’s death, Lord Greenly.” His captain spoke up. “I regret that I did not recognize you. Your remarkable horsemanship should have allowed me to see through your disguise. My apologies, sir.”
My disguise? Did the captain think he joined the army for entertainment?
Edwin cleared his throat. “Your apology is not necessary, sir. Thank you for your condolences.”
“I knew I recognized you when I handed you the message on the battlefield. You strongly reminded me of your father. You’re the very image of him,” the general said. “Do you know my brother’s brother-in-law was the Duke of Newcastle?”
Edwin nodded politely as the general spoke of being introduced to the Duke of Dalfour. From the warmth of his account, Edwin assumed his father must have been in an unusually pleasant mood that singular day.
Tabitha’s husband encouraged her to sit and compose herself.
“What happened to you after you left me with the message?” General Clinton asked. “By the way, I made a copy of my note as I always do.”
“Someone shot me in the thigh. I held my seat for some miles afterward, but I grew weaker as the wound bled profusely. I must have passed out and fallen off the horse, though I do not have any recollection of it. When I came to and opened my eyes, I found myself—”
An earsplitting scream interrupted him and sent a shaft of panic into his heart. He hurried in his ungainly manner back to the porch. One of the sentries had Agnes on his shoulder as he stamped away. She let out another yell and pounded the man with her fists.
“Put that woman down!” he ordered.
The sentry turned. “Begging your pardon, sir, but this saucy wench is headed to the brig. She attacked me.”
“Put her down.” General Clinton came to stand beside Edwin.
The sentry set Agnes on her feet.
Edwin lumbered down the steps.
“Give me the cameo!” she shouted at her captor. “You thief!”
“Who did you steal it from? A loyal citizen of the king?” the sentry asked.
“It belonged to my mother.”
Edwin glared at the sentry. “Show it to me.”
The man dug into his bag and pulled out the cameo depicting Broadcraft Hall.
“She did not steal from anyone. It is hers.” Fury scalded Edwin, but he tamped it down to the best of his ability.
“She’s a thieving rebel,” the sentry groused.
“She’s a woman. We fight men,” Edwin stated with contempt. “Hand it to me.”
The man muttered beneath his breath, but he gave the ornament to Edwin.
Agnes’s lips quivered as he placed it in her hand. Her fingers trembled so badly she failed to pin the cameo to her bodice.
“Go inside. My sister can help you,” he said.
Her head bent, she walked toward the building with her shoulders shaking.
Edwin wanted to pulverize the sentry with his own hands.
Once she stepped inside, Edwin turned and spoke to the general. “I want that man punished.”
“He has lost his bauble.” The general shrugged. “Perhaps for today, that is punishment enough.”
“He is a disgrace.” Edwin clenched his teeth.
“Indeed, there are few gentleman in the ranks of these deplorable refugees.” The general shook his head. “She is a pretty lass. Who is she?”
“She healed the wound on my thigh and cured my fever. In short, I believe she saved my life.”
“Why did you bring her here?” the general asked.
“Because a group of Loyalists kidnapped her young sister in Leedsville this morning. I came to find the child.”
* * *
Agnes’s hair fell out of her cap. She fumbled to contain her long tresses, but her fingers shook and she gave up. She pulled off the cap and her hair tumbled down over her shoulder in a way that would horrify Aunt Sally, but she no longer cared.
She held her tears in check, though her lips threatened to tremble, so she kept them clamped shut. Taking a seat at the table, she drew in a ragged breath while Edwin’s sister pinned the cameo back in its place.
Agnes smoothed her quivering fingertips over her precious possession. The small bauble comforted her. She tried to visualize her mother’s face, but the image had faded in her mind over the years. Yet, she had a vivid memory of the dress her mother wore the day the river carried her away. The dress had been blue, her mother’s favorite color.
“That is such an unusual ornament. It must be quite old, for Broadcraft Hall itself is a veritable relic,” Lady Tabitha said. “My mother told me her childhood friend lived there, but the old Earl never entertains. I have not seen the inside of the estate. I daresay few have been granted the privilege.”
“Earl?” Agnes’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
“Yes, an aged man, though they say he still possesses all his faculties.” The woman sighed. “I have a miniature of his daughter, who was my mother’s friend. The daughter married a commoner against her father’s wishes. She came to settle with her husband in this country. My mother loaned me this little painting hoping I might find her friend while looking for my brother.”
Lady Tabitha took out the tiny portrait from her purse and stared at it for a moment. “It’s so very odd. She resembles you.” She handed it to Agnes.
A tremor shimmered up her spine as Agnes beheld the diminutive likeness an artist had rendered in vibrant colors. It was smaller than the palm of her hand. The soft smile, the high forehead, the pert nose. All as she remembered. Her mother in the flower of her youth and dressed in a bright blue gown.
This revelation proved too much for her strained nerves. Though she had promised Edwin she would not be a hindrance and vowed not to become emotional, the link she had been hoping to find all her life had come to her. The story of her mother’s past, the story her father had refused to tell, was now a reality.
But she did not have Margaret.
She lowered her head on the table as the last shreds of her control vanished. “That is my mother…” she sobbed.
Lady Tabitha gasped. “How…how extraordinary! Where is she?”
“She died. Eleven years…ago.”
Lady Tabitha’s hand touched her shoulder. “I am sorry. My mother will be most distressed. The last letter she received came after your mother lost a child. A boy, I believe.”
Agnes nodded, sniffed, and fought to compose herself. “Mother was never the same afterwards. She became melancholy.” Even Margaret’s birth had not brought any joy to her mother.
The clump, clump of Edwin’s crutches came to her ear. She wiped her tears.
“The general has ordered a search throughout the refugee camp. We should know soon whether Margaret is here.” He took a seat at the table beside her.
“Thank you.” Agnes kept her head lowered, for she did not doubt her face bore the ravages of her emotions, and she did not wish for him to see her in such a state.
More plates were set and Agnes was offered her choice of a variety of fine dainties, but she did not think she was capable of swallowing a single morsel with her stomach clenched as tight as it was. However, she drank the tea and found herself a little restored by the hot beverage.
The miniature of her mother went from hand to hand around the table and all remarked how very much she resembled the delicately painted image.
“Did your mother never tell you of her father?” asked Edwin as he stared at the fragile portrait.
“She spoke of Broadcraft Hall and how beautiful it appeared in the springtime. She told me of many grand parties, sleigh rides in the wintertime and picnics on the lawn, but no, she never said anything about the Earl, or whether she had any brothers or sisters.
Nor did she mention her own mother.”
“The Earl is a widower and your mother was his only child,” Lady Tabitha explained. “Perhaps you will be an heiress…someday.”
“I do not care about being an heiress. I want Margaret returned to me.” Sorrow with the weight of a black pall draped itself around her heart. She recalled the last argument her parents had. Her mother insisted they return to England, but her father refused.
The next day, her mother stepped into the raging river. Swept away, she broke the hearts of those she left behind.
Agnes shuddered. She did not fault her poor mother, who had suffered many hardships with the never ending chores as well as the loss of a son. Life was fragile at best and went from one series of difficulties to another. Highborn and pampered as a child, living as a blacksmith’s wife would have been difficult for her. While the presence of a deep and abiding love was said to make trials easier to bear, Agnes had come to the conclusion that an individual’s strength of will was the most necessary requirement to survive a crisis, along with an abiding faith in the Lord.
A wave of apprehension overwhelmed her. What if the Lord had not heard her desperate pleas?
Until now, she had never doubted, but did she truly have enough courage, conviction, and trust to bear the loss of her sister? Or would she simply give up as her mother had?
She shuddered and glanced out the window. The sun dropped lower in the sky. Where was Margaret? Was she hurt? Or frightened? Or worse? Horrible possibilities raced through her mind and she barely breathed.
“May I go outside and look around the camp?” she asked.
Edwin nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
Grateful for his presence, she walked through a strange town of rickety shelters which did not appear sturdy enough to survive the next thunderstorm. Edwin explained that those Loyalists who had the means had sent their families to the safety of British-held New York, but the children and women in the camp lived like beggars.
“What will they do when winter comes?” she asked.
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