The Lacemaker

by Laura Frantz

  She swiped the water from her eyes. All she saw were a few fireflies. “I have no fear of the river. Not with you here.”

  “So our adventure continues.” He looked up at the sky, the moon overhead, a few stars blinking. “Most couples marry and honeymoon quietly, but here we are braving both a hurricane and a war.”

  “But the hurricane is over and the war has not begun.”

  Their eyes met. “True enough.” Reaching out, he smoothed back her wet hair, then looked beyond her to the house and landscape. He seemed extraordinarily wary. What else had Captain Hodge told him? “Can you swim, anwylyd?”

  She sighed. “I’m no mermaid.”

  “Mayhap a Welsh water fairy then. One of the Gwragedd Annwn.” Spanning her waist with his hands, he pulled her toward deeper waters, the sand disappearing beneath her feet. “They haunt lakes and rivers and live in castles that sometimes show their battlements and towers above the waters.” His lips brushed her damp temple. “One lake maiden is said to be a wondrous beauty with hair long and yellow, who rows up and down gently in a golden boat with a golden oar.”

  She hung on his winsome words, a bit lost in the tale. “You make me wish I was in Wales.”

  “Someday, Lord willing, we will go.”

  “I should like to meet your brother, heir to the true Ty Mawr.”

  “The true Ty Mawr, aye?” Both teasing and indignation rode his handsome features. “Am I an imposter then, a counterfeit Contintental, like the false paper money being forged by the British?”

  Her high spirits dimmed. “So every artifice is used to injure us.”

  “Aye, Libby. Our cause is akin to David and Goliath.” He started swimming out beyond the broken wharf, still embracing her. “As for my brother, I’ve yet to send word we’ve wed, given the post is oft compromised. Since Elon has yet to marry, I have the prize.”

  Elon Rynallt? And she thought the name Noble poetic. As for being his prize . . . no longer did she feel like the penniless daughter of the enemy. More Welsh princess.

  Together they bathed in the cool water, the sticky heat stripped away. Daylight had eroded completely before they returned to the house. Nell had left a light burning in the oriole window, a golden starbust in the blackness. Hand in hand, they trudged up the sloping hill toward that light, Liberty’s head and heart a-dance at another night alone with him.

  This was what it must be like to be without servants. Able to do as one pleased without shadows. Able to run down hills and splash and laugh like children with no one watching. Able to kiss in the foyer with abandon, and then all the way up the stairs till you were breathless and no longer remembered your clothes were dripping wet and leaving little puddles atop the plank floor, conscious only of each other, not even the cat.

  This was bliss.

  36

  And then, just like that, he was gone. No tearful parting. No protracted goodbyes. Captain Hodge was looking on, after all. They were only going to drill in Williamsburg with Colonel Woodford. Why did it feel as far as the Orient instead?

  Liberty missed him more intensely now because her room was no longer just hers, nor her bed, nor her body, nor anything else. Truly, two had become one. She felt a bit lost. Upended. Perhaps the first day apart was the hardest. His very scent seemed to linger. She wrapped herself in his banyan to try to stay close to him.

  He’d left a letter for her atop her dressing table, secured with an indigo blue seal. She broke it open hungrily, craving something of him, even his elegant, bold hand.

  Dearest Anwylyd,

  You’ve given me a rare gift upon leaving. I no longer go alone but take the memory of you with me. It is the deepest pleasure to think of you waiting for me, peering out Ty Bryn’s cracked door, or waiting on the stoop and looking down the lane in expectation. I retain a deep affection for you, which neither time nor distance can alter, nor words do justice.

  I know not the time of my return. We will soon move from Williamsburg to confront the opposition in another place. Till I come home, keep yourself safe. Take extra care, knowing my prayers have hemmed you in.

  Continue to fill our home with your unearthly music. Let the hospitality of the house with respect to the poor be kept up. Let no one go hungry away.

  Your entire,

  NR

  A teardrop spattered his initials. She wiped it away, staring out the window at the James, now a tranquil blue. Workmen were repairing the wharf, their hammering an exclamation point to her angst.

  She sensed what he did not say. Virginia’s newly formed Continental Army would soon move against her father and the British fleet. She pictured her husband beneath the blistering Indian summer sun as companies enlisted, stores were gathered, and preparations were made for the coming conflict.

  Lord, he is but a barrister. Once a burgess. Now he is a soldier leading other men, some to their deaths.

  What had he said to her at the last? Before Captain Hodge came round?

  “The dangers we are to encounter I know not, but it shall never be said to my children that their father is a coward.”

  She pressed hands to her cinched middle, feeling the familiar restriction of stays. He spoke of children like he knew her secret, yet she had breathed nary a word. Was this mysterious sixth sense part of the bond between husband and wife?

  She took solace in the nursery. The little christening gown she’d just begun lay on the wide windowsill, the lace she’d made to trim it alongside. The chamber was filled with light. It pushed back the darkness of the unknown, blanketing her with peace whenever she stepped into its warmth. As if the presence of the Lord was here, in this very place, the embodiment of her hopes and dreams.

  Sitting in the rocking chair, she had a view of the summer kitchen. A man was below, clothing ragged and bare of foot. She’d given Nell several pairs of stockings to hand out to needy souls along with Cook’s provisions of meat and bread and whatever the kitchen offered. Since the storm there’d been more arrivals at Ty Mawr’s back door. All the staff was aware of the hospitality of the house in regard to the poor.

  She sewed the afternoon away, pausing only to read a post from her mother, who gushed about her marriage. A wedding gift was forthcoming, if one could be found in trade-deprived Philadelphia. While she reread it she took a turn in the walled garden, savoring her mother’s delight. The flowers were righting themselves, most of the damage cleared away. How was it for Noble in such weather? Did the officers wear full uniform on the hottest days?

  Pocketing the post, she swung her gaze wide, taking in the river beneath her bergère hat. What memories they’d made! In her mind’s eye she could see them swimming or boating with their children in the years to come, a whole, happy family, enjoying the very best of Ty Mawr’s bounty.

  “M’lady, d’ye want to dine in the master’s study again tonight?” Nell was at her elbow, squinting in the sunlight.

  “That shall do nicely, thank you.” No doubt the staff found it strange to shun the dining room, but it held a lonesome echo, even for Ty Bryn. She felt closer to Noble in his study. Besides, there she had his broad-nibbed pens and ink pot near at hand. Each night after supper she penned him a letter, giving an account of her days down to the humblest details.

  He’d surely want to know about the recovering winter wheat. And that his prized oxen, the Ruby Reds, had finally been found after they’d bolted in the storm. Or that a valued mare had foaled and was being celebrated by Dougray and everyone in the stables. And then, just today, they’d inspected the orchard trees that had survived the hurricane, a few remaning peaches and cider apples left hanging. She mustn’t forget to mention that she’d heard from her mother, who extended felicitious greetings on their marriage.

  She wouldn’t write that the house yawned empty, the bed seemed too big, and she even missed his slight snoring. Nor could she say she’d begun to feel a little topsy-turvy, her nose and stomach turned by the coffee Nell brought round in the morning. And that when she got to her feet all of
a sudden, Ty Bryn seemed to spin round. Or that she was overjoyed by these discomforts because she hoped they meant the nursery would soon resound with a baby’s cries.

  Nay, she would save these things for him in person, once she was in his arms again.

  Noble had never seen such a company of riflemen. He himself had always been considered a fine shot, but these frontiersmen took powder and bullet lead to a new level. That some were cronies of his old friend George Rogers Clark didn’t surprise him. General Daniel Morgan’s sharpshooters were equipped with the finest Pennsylvania rifles instead of muskets, improving accuracy at up to ten times the distance. This corps of sixty-nine men was on a special detail to join the northern army.

  In linen hunting frocks they made quite a show, bringing down impossible targets at a hundred yards or more amid the cheers and huzzahs of the men. According to intelligence and the Virginia Gazette, the British fleet was threatening to bombard the coastal towns if frontier riflemen entered the fight. Lord Dunmore had even convinced his troops they would be scalped if they fell into the hands of these frontiersmen, the most warlike people in America second to the Indians, ’twas said.

  “This may well be the edge we need to end the conflict.” The usually stoic Colonel Woodford stood beside Noble, his appreciation plain. “I’d rather they stay with the southern army, being Virginians. But orders are orders.”

  “I suspect they’re welcome anywhere,” Noble said, turning toward a courier who handed him a post.

  Woodford and Hodge looked on, Woodford nonchalantly, Hodge almost enviously. Noble quietly slipped Libby’s latest letter inside a pocket as the rifles reverberated around them, the humid air writhing with white smoke.

  “I do believe the army should make exceptions for honeymooning officers,” Woodford said.

  Noble gave a slight smile. “Or allow the ladies to visit their husbands in camp, at least.”

  “I suspect that is exactly General Washington’s intent for officers’ wives should they wish it, even his own.”

  “But far from the danger.” Noble couldn’t imagine Libby in such conditions, even in Williamsburg. Several hundred men encamped here, as well as a few female camp followers, including Thalia, fresh from the Raleigh Tavern. Dougray was ready to enlist. Many a servant entered the Continental Army to substitute for an unwilling master.

  In the fortnight he’d been in Williamsburg, the short distance to Ty Mawr seemed both an eternity and a torment. All sorts of hearsay reached them, a persistent rumor being the British fleet’s plan to not just pirate provisions but commandeer coastal plantations in the future till they’d regained control of Virginia.

  He’d feel better if she was here in town, but Libby would not be moved. The servants were on high alert, and there was an escape plan in place. Still, his prayers seemed to be unceasing for her safety.

  With a quick word to his superior, he left the sprawling encampment behind the college and took a back street to the armory. James Anderson’s smithy was rarely idle, the coal fires and bellows from its seven forges burning far into the night. Journeymen and apprentices scurried like ants amid all the clanging, clad in leather aprons and besmirched with charcoal. They’d all but forsaken the simple tools and accoutrements of colonial days. Any passerby would note the difference. These men were preparing for war.

  Pausing under a shady eve, Noble withdrew Libby’s letter. Devoured it. Held it to his nose when no one was watching. How could paper be so fragrant? As if she’d captured the very essence of Ty Mawr’s garden and tucked it within.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  He turned, the voice vaguely familiar. Cressida Shaw stood behind him, her wide hat shading her unsmiling features. “A quiet moment, Major Rynallt?”

  The pleasure of the letter soured. “Not any longer.”

  His curt words failed to turn her away, though she did stiffen visibly. “I simply wanted to congratulate you on your nuptials.”

  Unease clutched him. “Thank you,” he said flatly.

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled, but it failed to reach her eyes. “You’ll soon be the talk of Virginia, marrying a Tory. Though I don’t know where you’re keeping her. Rumor is that she’s not at Ty Mawr.”

  “And how did you come by your knowledge?”

  “I have confidants in strategic places, mind you. Too many to count. I simply wanted to call on your new wife, offer my felicitations.”

  “No need since, as you’ve said, the lady of the house is not at home.” Cressida’s accusations of Libby spying leapt to mind, along with the accompanying dislike he always felt in her presence.

  “How unfortunate.” She looked away from him at the noisy clatter of a carriage. “Of course, everyone knows why you wed her. Either that or she’d be as destitute as the poor that I hear flock to your door.”

  He folded the letter and returned it to his breast pocket. “Miss Shaw, for a woman of small standing you have an acid tongue. I’ve beheld more gracious beggers.”

  He entered the smithy, bending his thoughts to the task at hand—an order of muskets for his regiment. But the bitter taint of his exchange with Libby’s onetime friend remained.

  The fortnight ebbed and Noble did not come home. His letters, nearly as frequent as hers, hinted at a movement of troops. She prayed they would not join Washington in the northeast. Surely Virginia needed them right here. Since the hurricane, news of Lord Dummore and her father had dwindled to a few reports of damage to the British fleet. ’Twas rumored her father had come ashore at Westover farther down the James, paying a visit to Mary Byrd, the Loyalist-leaning wife of debt-ridden William Byrd. But rumors were as thick as dandelions dotting Ty Mawr’s fallow fields.

  Noble’s latest letter came cleverly concealed in a bobbin made of artfully engraved walnut. Somehow he’d gotten hold of imported pins and thread. Smuggled goods? She turned the extravagance over in her hands, marveling.

  In her idle hours, she returned to lacemaking. The christening gown only needed trimming. By the wide nursery window she worked, her hands moving rapidly, even rhythmically, the wooden bobbins creating a chime-like sound. Every so often she would rest her eyes and take in the cradle. Being in this room, believing she was already a mother, made her heart overflow.

  Here she sat when the brass knocker sounded on the front door below. Had she misheard? ’Twas rare anyone got past Ty Mawr. She’d begun to think of the big house as her guardian, the first line of defense for Ty Bryn. ’Twas Mistress Tremayne’s voice she heard mingled with Nell’s quiet tones, and then a masculine voice filled the whole foyer.

  Leaving the nursery, she trod down the hall and looked over the banister. Gladness was swept away by suspicion and surprise.

  Doctor Hessel?

  Gosport and all its what-ifs still shadowed her. If the doctor and her father had had their way, she’d still be with the fleet, perhaps foisted upon some officer or even en route to England.

  He looked up, hat in hand. “Lady Elisabeth.”

  The old address fell flat. Mistress Tremayne and Nell exchanged glances, clearly ill at ease with his coming.

  “Good day, Doctor.” Cool as a frosty morn she was. Once he had been her friend, her physician. Now he was neither. Grief cut her that it had come to this.

  He made a move toward the first step. “’Tis imperative that I speak to you—alone.”

  She made no move to leave the landing. “Why alone?”

  “I bring word from your father.” His tone was earnest enough, but he seemed irritated by the two women on either side of him. “A private matter.”

  The silence grew more prickly as they awaited her response. Liberty was torn between refusing him and making him state his case here in the foyer before them all.

  “Please . . . we haven’t much time,” he said.

  She could imagine Noble’s reaction. She’d always felt he had no great liking for Hessel. She asked the question he surely would have. “How did you find me?”

  His fing
ers clutched his hat. “You said you’d wed when we last met. I recently spoke with Miss Shaw.”

  Her alarm spiked. How did Cressida know? She started down the stairs. “I’ll see you in the parlor. Mistress Tremayne, if you wouldn’t mind waiting in the foyer.”

  Nell slipped down the hall, resuming her tasks.

  Liberty led the way and left the parlor door open, the doctor following. “Elisabeth, please. We parted on poor terms. I know what you must think of me. Let us be done with all that. I come today on behalf of your father, who is quite ill.”

  She faced him, saying nothing, weighing everything he told her as suspect.

  “He’s asked that you come immediately.” Doctor Hessel’s blue eyes seemed to drill into her. “He desires to see you one last time.”

  “And his malady?”

  “A throat catarrh. Likely fatal. Your mother is with him now.”

  “My mother?” This struck her harder than if he’d announced her father’s demise.

  “She’s just arrived from Philadelphia. Her chief desire—and his—is for the three of you to be reunited, perhaps for a final time. Let bygones be bygones.”

  Her parents were now of like mind? Disbelief tugged at her. “Where are they?”

  “Aboard the William in the Elizabeth River.”

  “Why did my mother not come here first?”

  “Urgency required she sail. Traveling overland is too risky.”

  He had an answer for everything. She looked down at the patterned rug without seeing its bold design, her thoughts aswirl. The nausea that had begun to bubble up had recently intensified, sometimes so unexpectedly she was embarrassed. She’d have to carry a bowl in the carriage . . .

  He took a step nearer. “They’ve asked that you come with me as your escort—”

  “Have you any proof? Perhaps some note in my mother’s hand, begging me come?”

  “Only my word.” He flushed, whether from the blatant distrust in her question or his lacking proof, she didn’t know. “For God’s sake, Elisabeth. I am your lifelong friend, politics aside. Will you not go with me?”