Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  After Mr. Everett closed his door, Josiah walked toward the other two rooms and stood uncertainly. Should he wait here until morning, just in case Miss Carter was here?

  “Trust in the Lord.” Charles put a hand on his shoulder. “She will be kept safe until morning.”

  Josiah did not answer. He was tired. He was confused. Sleep—and oblivion—was the only idea that held any appeal. And yet, could he leave her here, within reach of this unknown man? But, of course, if the young lady was not Miss Carter…

  “Trust, Josiah, trust. Come.” Charles motioned up the stairs.

  Josiah still held the key in his hands. How could he trust? Look what had happened so far. But the words Be not afraid came into his head, and he remembered the peaceful moments on the ship when he had repeated them to himself. He would take courage in the words again.

  To Josiah’s surprise, it had not been difficult to sleep. The next sensation he noticed after blowing out the candle was the warmth of morning sun through the eastern window. It was just after dawn, and the bright sun remained low in the sky.

  He had a taste in his mouth like dry leather, and he looked around in vain for a pitcher of water. He stood and stretched, gingerly touching the lump on the back of his head where an overzealous patron at Farthing’s had hit him “accidentally” with a chair leg. Then he looked over at Charles, to see how badly he had been cut by the broken bottle he had “accidentally” backed into. The younger man was sleeping closely entwined in a linen sheet, however, so Josiah could not see his injured arm.

  As he started to yawn, another scene from the night before suddenly flooded into his memory, and he found he had to sit down to keep his head from spinning. Miss Carter might be here, in this very house, and yet—she had acted so strangely. Surely, the young lady could not have been Miss Carter.

  With the rum, the late hour, the dim light of the candles on the porch…it had only looked like Miss Carter.

  Certainly, Miss Carter would have been overjoyed to be rescued from her ordeal. The young lady on the porch last night had been less than pleased to see them. Therefore, it could not possibly be Miss Carter.

  Josiah breathed easier with this conclusion. No need to wait outside her door now; in fact, he thought with a grin, she would be even more frightened at this attention from strangers in daylight. He looked over at Charles and decided to let him continue sleeping while he procured some water and ordered breakfast.

  On his way back up the stairs, with the smell of bacon in his nostrils and a girl at his heels bearing towels and water, Josiah was in high spirits. They had, after all, survived a grueling journey—no, two difficult journeys—at sea, and now they had lived through yet another trying ordeal in the taverns of Charles Town. They might be off to Nassau soon, and untold horrors might await them on the high seas, but so far they had fared admirably. Of course, they hadn’t learned much. But they had not expected the expedition to be swift or simple. Be not afraid, the voice in his head had said last night, and, by God, the voice was right. The morning showed he had little to fear.

  By the time he reached the garret, Josiah was actually whistling, albeit rather fitfully, with his mouth being so dry.

  “Josiah?” Charles sat up in bed. “You seem so wonderfully cheerful. Have you seen Caroline this morning?”

  Josiah waited as the girl deposited the water and towels with silent efficiency. Only when she had closed the door behind her did he answer. “No, I have not seen Miss Carter this morning. And I do not believe that we saw her last night, either.”

  “What?”

  “I do not believe the young lady we confronted on the porch last night was your sister,” Josiah announced with certainty.

  “What do you mean? Of course, it was Caroline.” Charles swung out of bed and landed with an angry thud.

  “Can you really be so certain? Listen, by the time we returned last night it was very late, and very dark. There were two, perhaps three candles lit on the porch, so we had little light to see by. And, to be honest, we had, shall we say, imbibed more than a little rum?”

  “Well, yes…but she looked so much like Caroline!”

  “Did you get a full look at her face in the light? Remember, she covered her face soon after we saw her.”

  Charles cringed. “Yes, I remember. But her voice, I know I heard her voice.”

  “You heard the young lady giggle. Now, you have four sisters, and they all tend to giggle at times. Can you honestly say that you can tell one sister’s giggle from another?”

  “Well, perhaps not, but…it was Caroline. I am certain of it.” Charles began to walk toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Downstairs. To talk to her.”

  “For God’s sake, man, put your breeches on first!”

  “What? Oh.” Charles looked down in annoyance. Though his shirt reached to his knees and covered him as well as any dressing gown, it would, indeed, have been embarrassing to be caught in the public rooms wearing nothing else.

  Josiah tossed Charles’s shoes and stockings over as well. “If you insist on accosting this young lady further, you had better be fully clothed.”

  Charles dressed in hurried silence. “It is Caroline, and I will speak to her.” He punctuated his remark with a jarring slam of the door.

  Josiah began washing up and thought of breakfast waiting in the parlor.

  Josiah had just finished a second slice of beautifully toasted bread and was reaching for the pot of preserves to spread on a third when Charles appeared with a look of utter despair on his face.

  “Don’t worry, I shall have the girl bring in some more toast, and I believe I’ve left you some of the excellent bacon and sausage, too.” Josiah laughed, but Charles did not even crack a smile. “It’s not Caroline, is it?” he said softly. He understood Charles’s disappointment, to feel that they had come so close—

  “No, it is Caroline, I am even more sure of it this morning. But she won’t talk to me.”

  “What makes you believe the young lady upstairs is your sister?”

  “I recognized her voice again.”

  “But you said she wouldn’t talk to you. How could you hear her voice?”

  “Because she told me she wouldn’t talk to me!”

  “What?”

  “She told me she wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “She told you she wouldn’t—?”

  “She said she didn’t want to talk to me and told me to go away.”

  “I see. And from that you inferred she must be your sister?”

  “Well, she said that rather frequently back at Hill Crest.” Charles suddenly adopted a high falsetto. “Go awaaayeeee!” Then he dropped back into his normal baritone. “I’d recognize that whiney tone anywhere. It is Caroline, I tell you.”

  “I see.” Josiah munched thoughtfully. “Perhaps she’s given her name to the landlady?” But he didn’t think that was likely. “Perhaps her companion of last evening would give us her name? Or…” He was almost afraid to say it “…perhaps she might speak to me?”

  “It’s certainly worth a try. She might be angry with me for some reason. But she will be cordial to you, won’t she?”

  Josiah wiped his fingers on a coarse but clean linen napkin and stood. Before heading upstairs, he turned toward the kitchen, which was connected to the parlor by a terrace in back of the building.

  “Hullo in the kitchen?” He could not remember the name of either the serving girl or the proprietress. “We’ve another for breakfast.” He smiled as he passed Charles. “Which room is it?”

  “To the right of the stairs.”

  “Thank you. Enjoy your breakfast, and I shall put this matter to rest momentarily.” He headed up the stairs with more energy than usual.

  Once outside the young lady’s room, however, his bravado faded. Who was this young woman? What on earth would he say to her?

  He paced a few times, started to knock and then continued pacing. At this rate, he would certain
ly attract attention from her gentleman companion across the hall, and his situation would be doubly embarrassing. He knocked at the young lady’s door.

  “Pardon me, miss.”

  No answer.

  He knocked a little louder, looking behind to see if he had roused Mr. Everett. “Pardon my intrusion, miss. Might I perhaps have a word with you? In–in the parlor, not in your room, of course.”

  “Please,” a small voice answered from the other side of the door, “go away. Please leave me alone.”

  A shiver ran down his spine. Josiah could not be entirely certain, but the voice did sound like that of Miss Carter. He felt he had no choice but to obey the timid plea.

  As he walked slowly back down to the parlor, he realized with some curiosity that her refusal to talk to him had not greatly surprised him. It was as if he had been expecting all along to be rejected by her one day, and its coming was almost a relief.

  Suddenly, he was certain, as Charles had been, that the young lady upstairs was Caroline Carter and that she wanted nothing to do with either of them.

  He and Charles both grew increasingly anxious to talk to the mysterious Mr. Everett. When they learned he had breakfasted and gone out hours earlier, all they could do was remain and wait for his return. At one point, after they saw the serving girl carry a breakfast tray upstairs, they decided to try to speak jointly with Caroline again, but the girl informed them firmly that “The lady say she ’cepting no visitors this mornin’.”

  And so they waited, and paced. The day grew warmer; they ceased to pace. Josiah tried to pass the time with a book from the landlady’s meager collection but found himself reading the same line over and over. The sight of him reading apparently inspired Charles to go upstairs for his Bible, and though Josiah heard him pause in the hallway outside Caroline’s room, he heard no knock.

  After his return, Charles settled back into his chair in the parlor. Within a few minutes, the familiar pages of Psalms left him visibly calmer. Josiah glanced at him in envy.

  Be not afraid?

  No, he was not afraid, just anxious. But what was anxiety if not fear in a subtle disguise? Very well, he would let the words calm him. Be not afraid, he repeated to himself. But the phrase didn’t seem to mean much in the light of day. He needed a few more words to put the idea into context.

  Josiah looked at the book in Charles’s hands but was too embarrassed to ask to borrow it. Instead, he casually roamed the room to see if the proprietor had a Bible. To his surprise, he found one. It was mildewed and obviously old, but the text remained legible. He sat down with the book, after first looking around to see if anyone were watching. Where had he seen that helpful quote, “Be not afraid, etc. etc. etc.?” The Bible was a lengthy book, and he could find no discernable index.

  He opened the volume and turned a few of the heavy pages. “Eleazar begat Phinehas, Phinehas begat Abishua, And Abishua begat Bukki, and Bukki begat Uzzi, and Uzzi begat Zerahiah…” This definitely was not the section he was seeking. Josiah opened to another page. “And if thy oblation be a meat offering baked in a pan, it shall be of fine flour unleavened, mingled with oil. Thou shalt part it in pieces, and pour oil thereon…” Josiah looked at the cover. The book was starting to read like a cooking text. Did Charles really study these words every night before retiring?

  He looked toward the empty doorway again and sighed. Presumably, this Everett would return, at least to collect his luggage. But what if he did not? What if he left his belongings behind? What if he sent a servant to collect the luggage?

  Josiah felt his muscles tense, and could no longer bear to sit still. After several steps and a deep breath, he reminded himself that no one, servant or otherwise, could collect Everett’s belongings without being seen by himself and Charles, and if someone came, they could ask of Everett’s whereabouts. Or, if he would not disclose the man’s whereabouts, they could follow him covertly.

  Might that not be dangerous though, especially in a frontier town such as this? The rough seamen, hunters and planters made up a formidable enough population, but the addition of quantities of savage-looking Indians gave the town a thoroughly unsettling air. Josiah touched the bump on the back of his head, looked toward the doorway again and resumed pacing until the beads of perspiration on his brow made him stop. Again.

  He sat down and picked up the old Bible. “‘Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear…’” These words, now, would be of some use. He decided to repeat them over several times in his mind before continuing with the next section. “‘Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear. Though a—’”

  “Josiah!” Charles motioned toward the doorway as Mr. Everett stepped into the room.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” The long-awaited personage said nothing more.

  “Might we,” Josiah licked his dry lips, “might we have a word with you, sir?”

  “Concerning…?” Mr. Everett asked politely.

  Charles took a fierce step toward the man. “Concerning my sis—”

  “Concerning the young lady, your companion on the porch last evening.” Josiah gave a pointed look to Charles as he interrupted him.

  “You wish to speak with me about the young lady?”

  “Yes. Please, take a chair, Mr. Everett.”

  “Thank you, but I would prefer not to enter into a discussion here.” He glanced meaningfully toward the stairs. “Would you be so kind as to meet me at Campbell’s Tavern in a quarter of an hour?”

  “As you wish.” Josiah replied. “Campbell’s Tavern.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. Now, if you will excuse me…”

  “Of course.”

  Josiah and Charles watched him ascend the first flight of stairs then scrambled up behind him as quietly as possible, only to see him walk into his own room without so much as looking at the door across the hall.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Caroline rolled over on the bed and opened her swollen, tired eyes to stare once again at a crack that ran the length of the ceiling and reminded her of the Patapsco River on the map at home. Then, she turned back onto her stomach and stuffed her face into a musty-smelling feather pillow. That wouldn’t do, either.

  She got up and started to walk around, but there was really very little to do in the room, and she was rather sick of looking at it. She sighed and sat down on the bed. Sad as she was, she had cried enough already. Now it was time to do something. But what?

  The short shadows outside her window announced that the hour was probably just past midday. Little wonder then that she was starting to get hungry; she had eaten only a few bites of the breakfast Annie had brought up this morning. Would she bring up some dinner? Caroline could not go down for it herself, of course. She was a prisoner in her own room.

  She nearly laughed at the romantic imagery of it. Like Anne Boleyn, a noble prisoner in the Tower, locked away from the world, except that she had made this prison for herself and she could, if she chose, release herself.

  But she chose not to.

  If she went downstairs, if she even agreed to speak to Charles and Mr. Throckmorton, they would take her home. She could certainly never convince them she wanted to stay with Captain Talbot, and with no money or friends, she doubted she would get very far if she tried to run away.

  Unless she posed as a boy again and ran off on another ship…no, that would never work. She could not go back to that life of labor and uncertainty under the constant threat of the lash.

  Perhaps she could run away with the captain, offer to serve as his—dare she think it?—his mistress on the ship. Could she really do that? Live with a man without the blessing of marriage?

  Caroline didn’t know. But her options seemed rather few at this point. Without a dowry, what incentive would the captain have to marry her? She did not want to go back to Maryland and marry Mr. Throckmorton. And she certainly could not stay locked in a room in Charles Town forever.

  Maybe she could convince the cap
tain to marry her. Maybe he would take her back as a member of his crew. She simply had to talk to him. But he had not been to see her all day.

  Then, as if in answer to her unspoken prayer, she heard crisp footfalls up the porch steps, and soon heard his familiar warm voice in the parlor downstairs. She could not quite make out the words, but it was obvious he was speaking with Mr. Throckmorton.

  The footsteps soon came again, only louder this time, and with a thumping heart, Caroline realized the captain was at last coming up to talk to her. She smoothed her hair and dabbed at her eyes, wishing Annie were nearby to help her tighten and straighten her gown. She could not afford to mind these details, now, though, and certainly he had seen her under much worse circumstances.

  She held her breath, waiting for the knock. The door across the hall closed, and the footsteps…seemed to be getting farther away. Down the stairs and away. With a little cry of dismay, Caroline ran to the window and looked out to see the captain walk up the street and turn the corner.

  Why, why had he not come to see her? The look in his eyes yesterday, and last evening, had been unmistakable, or so she had thought. And where was he going? Not back to the Osprey, certainly, for he had turned away from the waterfront.

  Her questions compounded when she saw her brother and Mr. Throckmorton follow him up the street only a few minutes later. They also turned at the corner. They had not left the inn all morning. Where were they going now?

  Caroline kicked at the washstand. Why had he not come to see her? She would have to remain here, a prisoner in her room, until—

  But Charles and Mr. Throckmorton had left also hadn’t they? At the very least, she could descend to the dining room for something to eat without risking a confrontation.