01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  “I escorted her to the ball. She was my responsibility. ‘Twas only right for her to leave with—”

  “Captain Turner,” Pierce interrupted. “My reputation speaks for itself, and I—scoundrel of a Scot or no—have never yet failed to come to the aid a young lady in distress.”

  “Indeed, sir.” Turner stared at him for a long moment. “Especially since you were already on your way to this squalid little whorehouse for a sordid rendezvous with one of these disgusting wenches.”

  Pierce took a step closer to Turner. “Because my companion in this room happens not to be of the society with whom you usually associate, Captain, that does not mean that she deserves your disdain. The same holds for the people in this tavern. You think you are above them. Well, I drink their wine and their beer, and I even enjoy their company…and that is because I understand that this is not Bath or Bristol or even the pleasure gardens at Vauxhall. Still, sir, these are all honest subjects of the Crown, the last I looked.”

  The silence in the taproom was deadly, and Turner suddenly sensed it. He turned and looked around him again. Unfriendly faces were glaring at the armed redcoats.

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “My words were the result of my initial error in thinking that Miss Edwards might have been exposed to…might have been here with you.”

  “Here?” Pierce said with surprise. “’Tis astonishing to me that you would even entertain such a thought. How could you possibly think I would expose your escort to a place that might be injurious to her reputation? And I must say that you are not giving your companion much credit. As a young woman who assuredly must share your attitudes toward the good people of Boston, do you seriously believe she would step inside a place such as this?”

  “Uh…indeed, sir. I was misled. You must excuse me.” He stepped back and addressed everyone else. “Please continue with your celebration of His Majesty’s Birthday.”

  Bowing stiffly, Turner then started across the taproom toward the door. Pierce remained where he was until the door closed behind the redcoats.

  “Well done, lads,” he said jovially to the crowd. “You routed them without so much as a shot fired.”

  Laughter erupted in the tavern, and he nodded to his groom, who went out, as well. A cheer went up when Pierce ordered a round of drinks for eeryone, and the fiddler struck up a lively tune. Going to the broad open hearth, he lit a taper and went back through the door into the room. He latched the door and lit the candle again. The bed was empty, and he turned to find Portia standing in the farthest corner of the room. He quickly dressed himself.

  “I am grateful to you for what you just did,” she said softly.

  “No gratitude is expected, madam.”

  Moving to one corner, he pushed at a section of the wainscot paneling, which opened into a small hiding space. Peering in, Portia looked stunned to see a ladder leading downward.

  “These steps lead to a tunnel which will take you to an outbuilding of the chandlery next door. My groom Jack will meet you there in a few minutes. You tell him where you wish to go, and he will arrange to have you delivered there safely, though I doubt you shall get there before Captain Turner. So you’d better prepare something to tell him.”

  “I do not know how I shall ever repay you, Mr. Pennington.”

  “No repayment, if you please, Miss Edwards,” he said tensely. “My only wish right now is for you to go home and that our paths never cross again.”

  *****

  It was still early enough on the warm holiday evening and people continued to mill about on Sudbury Street. Portia looked neither left nor right as Jack maneuvered the carriage down the lane. When he reined in to a stop in front of the parsonage, she thanked him and hurried to the front door.

  Portia knocked softly, hoping that one of the two servants would come to the door, and not Mary or Parson Higgins himself. The disheveled condition of her hair and clothing might be explainable, but she was terrified that her guilt over the indiscreet behavior in the tavern would give her away.

  Luckily, Josiah answered the door, and the old manservant’s eyes rounded immediately at the sight of her.

  “Heavens, Miss Portia! What ever happened to ye?”

  “Harmless mishaps, Josiah, all due to my own foolishness, but I am perfectly well.” She touched his arm reassuringly and slipped past him.

  “Should I call the mistress? Mrs. Higgins and the parson are in his library.”

  “No. I do not want to alarm anyone. I shall be down as soon as I change out of this dress.” Portia didn’t wait for an answer and hurriedly climbed the two stories to her low-raftered bedroom on the top floor.

  On nights such as these, as soon as the children were tucked into bed, Mary would sit in the library and tend to her needlework as she told her husband about the brides, babies, and the old folks she had visited in the parish. In turn, Parson Higgins would talk of the ever-changing political climate in Boston and read from one of the many newspapers and pamphlets that constantly circulated amongst the colonial cities. When Portia would join them there, the minister would usually finish the evening reading from Revelations. And only occasionally, depending on his mood, he would read from Psalms.

  Portia hurriedly stepped out of the damaged dress and worked on taking off the layers of undergarments. She doubted she was strong enough tonight to thesten to any passages discussing sin and damnation.

  The knock on the door was soft, and the young woman pulled a wrap around her before opening it. Little Ann was waiting outside.

  “What are you doing out of bed, my cherub?” Portia immediately knelt down and opened her arms to the eight-year-old. The child hugged her hard.

  “You didn’t come up to tell me a story tonight. I had no good night kiss.”

  “I told you that I would be coming back quite late from the party, remember? I kissed you before I left.” Portia placed another kiss on the child’s round cheek. “Now let’s get you back to bed before your mama becomes angry with me for keeping you up so late.”

  “You didn’t keep me up. I did it all by myself. And Walter is awake too, but he was too afraid of mama catching us on the stairs, so he stayed in bed.”

  When Portia joined the parson’s family, Ann had just been born and Walter was only two. For all the days and weeks and years since then, she had been as much part of the children’s lives as their parents. In recent years she had developed other roles, as well—tutoring them with their reading and writing, teaching them the basics of the French she had learned at Lady Primrose’s school in Wales, serving as their confidante and friend. Leaving these two children was without doubt the most difficult part of the plans Portia had mapped out for the future.

  “I will tell you two stories tomorrow night to make up for tonight.” Portia pushed to her feet to take the child downstairs, but the mischievous sprite took advantage of the moment and quickly jumped onto the bed.

  “’Tis too late for playing, Ann.” She moved toward the child.

  “I want to hear about the grand ball.”

  “That can wait until tomorrow…and you can tell me about what happened here.”

  Ann rolled to the other side of the bed, out of Portia’s reach. “Was your dance card filled?”

  “You silly creature. I did not dance at all.”

  “Why not?” She scurried to the other side of the bed as Portia came around.

  “Because I left before the dancing began.”

  Little Ann strategically placed herself on the pillow by the headboard. “Walter and I watched you through the window when you climbed into the carriage with that officer. I think you must have been the most beautiful girl at the ball.”

  “No, there were many.” She reached and caught hold of a slim ankle. As the little girl giggled, Portia dragged her across the bed. “Truly, I believe I was the least beautiful woman there.”

  Ann ceased playing and looked up worriedly into Portia’s face. “But that cannot be. I think you are beautiful. You
are even prettier than Mama.”

  “Ann Katherine.”

  The mother’s sharp words from the door froze the child in place. The laughter stopped, the playfulness ended abruptl The reprimanding look alone was enough to start the little girl’s lower lip trembling.

  “To bed…now.”

  With her chin on her chest, the eight-year-old clutched Portia’s hand and started toward the door.

  “No. You will tuck yourself, young lady.”

  There were no protests. Ann let go of Portia’s hand and obediently headed for the door. At the doorway, she even stopped and placed a kiss on her mother’s proffered cheek before disappearing down the stairs.

  A strict disciplinarian, Mary Higgins required that everyone around her adhere to her dictated rules of behavior. Though her control over her household was impressive to outsiders, there were times when Portia felt that the parson’s wife was somewhat harsh and inflexible. In Mary’s eyes, there was right and wrong, and on the path of the righteous, deviation—no matter how small—could not be tolerated.

  When order prevailed in the household, though, another side of the young mother’s personality showed itself. As demanding as Mary could be, Portia had many times seen a warmth and affection that appeared almost boundless. If nothing else, Mary Higgins was a devoted mother and an exemplary wife for a young cleric.

  “I bribed Ann to say that,” Portia said, hoping to see a smile.

  The glower lasted as long as it took the eight year old to disappear down the steps. Mary closed the door.

  “You did indeed look beautiful when you left for the ball, but Josiah told me you now looked as if a team of horses had trampled you. I can see he was not exaggerating.” With look of concern on her face, Mary gently touched the scratch on Portia’s cheek. “And you are back much earlier than we had expected. What happened to you tonight?”

  Portia opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head. She moved to the bed and sat on the edge. Mary followed her, sat down beside her and took her hand.

  “Tell me what went wrong. You were so happy when you left.”

  Portia could no longer lie. These people were the closest thing to family that she’d ever had. In return for their kindness, she at least owed them the truth about her mother. If she had succeeded in convincing Helena to escape tonight, she’d been prepared to do a lot of explaining, anyway. This was the only place where she could have brought her mother. She had been counting on them to be sympathetic, once they had been told the truth.

  Portia looked up into Mary’s patient face. The woman’s blonde hair was smoothed back from her face and bound up in a bun at the back. Though only six years her senior, the parson’s wife seemed so superior in wisdom, in accomplishments, in knowing and doing correctly what needed to be done.

  “I was not truthful with you about my reason for being so eager to attend Admiral Middleton’s ball this evening.”

  “Do you mean you were not elated about going as Captain Turner’s escort?”

  Portia felt better, hearing the hint of humor in Mary’s voice. “No. And I was not keen, either, about the gown that I borrowed from Bella and ruined.”

  “We can talk about that later.” She squeezed Portia’s hand. “Why were you so eager to go?”

  “To meet my mother.” She said it quietly and then waited for Mary’s reaction. The other woman frowned, confusion apparent in her eyes. Portia removed the locket from around her neck and opened it, explaining everything from the beginning. She told Mary about Doctor Deming’s observation of the miniature’s likeness and about her own effort to find out what she could about Helena Middleton’s history.

  “But none of that offers any proof.” Mary stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Simply because Miss Middleton looks like the woman in this portrait does not make her your mother.”

  Portia lifted the locket passionately in one hand. “Lady Primrose told me this belonged to the woman who brought me to this world. And from everything I have been able to gather from people who knew the Admiral’s daughter, Helena was not always mad. The illness, or whatever it is they’ve been calling it, only began shortly after rumors of a disastrous affair that she had with a man—a man whom no one speaks of.”

  “No family wishes to allow scandal to taint their reputation,” Mary whispered roughly.

  “True.” Portia clutched her friend’s hand, knowing well the scandalous incident involving Mary’s youngest sister. But this was so different, she told herself. “I was told that my father had fought at Culloden with Bonny Prince Charlie. I’m told that Admiral Middleton helped negotiate the treaty that robbed the Stewart king of his French allies. It must have been in France that the affair took place. Could you imagine the Admiral’s disgrace if it were known that his daughter had an affair with one of the enemy?”

  “This is only your imagination running away with you, Portia.” Mary rose from the bed and stood stiffly beside it. “Even if what you have heard about Miss Middleton were the truth, still there is no proof that a child was the result of that affair. ‘Tis too farfetched to think that she might be your mother.”

  Portia held up the locket. “But I believe she is. Look at what is left of the initials engraved on the back of this. And I saw her tonight. We have the same eyes, the same complexion. If Lady Primrose were in Boston, I know she would confirm this. If I had an opportunity to speak to Helena, I know she would admit it, as well. I just know I have found my mother.”

  Reluctantly, Mary reached out and took the chain and locket from Portia. Moving closer to the candle by the window, she looked closely at the portrait before studying the faint engraving on the back.

  Portia didn’t want Mary think she was ungrateful after all the Higgins family had given her over the years. She could never tell Mary about the secret loneliness she’d buried within her all her life, thinking she had no family left in the entire world.

  Mary straighten up. “Let us suppose—just for argument—that you are correct in thinking that she is your mother. From the little I have heard of her, she spends all her time in seclusion. She does not attend balls, I would gather. What were you planning to do tonight?”

  Portia took the proffered locket. “Free her. Ask her to leave with me.”

  A look of disbelief spread over the face of the parson’s wife. She sat down again beside Portia.

  “But you couldn’t do that. You cannoty reach Mary placed a firm hand on Portia’s knee. “You have been living with us for eight years now. I love you like a sister. But you know I have always been wary of your tendency toward hastily made decisions.”

  “This decision was not hastily made…not entirely, anyway. And the goal was important enough to warrant it.”

  Mary shook her head, and her expression hardened. “Following your own reasoning, if the Admiral has been hiding this scandalous secret for so many years, he is not about to allow it to be made known now. And he wouldn’t let his daughter go.”

  “It would not be his decision,” Portia argued softly. “And there would be no reason to make a public spectacle out of it. I didn’t go there to ruin him. No one, other than his household, would have to know. A woman has the right to be free. He has no right to keep her under lock and key, away from the society and companionship of friends.”

  “A father has no right to protect an afflicted daughter from the world?” Mary waved off Portia’s protest. “Never mind that for now. Just tell me how you were going to accomplish your ‘rescue’ of Helena Middleton? How were you going to give her everything that she has supposedly been missing all these years? How were you going to live?”

  Portia gave her friend an apologetic look. “Well, I was planning to bring her here for a day or two and then find some other living arrangement before taking her back to Wales. I have a little money that I have saved. I thought I might use that to keep us until we could find passage. Once there, I felt certain that—with Lady Primrose’s generosity—my mother and I could both stay at the school until we
could find a place that suits us.”

  She clutched Mary’s hand again as the older woman shook her head in disagreement.

  “You and the parson have been so good to me. I love the children and I would be heartsick to be away from them. But my life and my dreams were stolen from me at birth. I only wish to recapture them now.”

  Mary pushed to her feet and paced the length of the room in silence. Portia watched her. She was a beloved wife, the mother of two beautiful children. She was a respected member of the community. She had eight brothers and sisters scattered across England and Scotland. Portia could see in the furrowed brow the young woman’s struggle to understand.

  Mary finally came to a stop before her. “Portia, we cannot live in the past. We cannot change things that have gone by.”

  “I agree. I wish to do this as discreetly as possible. I do not intend to create any unpleasantness for anyone. At the same time, both my mother and I have been wronged…and I intend to make the future right. In helping her, I shall forge a new future for both of us.”

  “You, who know so little of the world, will do this.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I am assuming that the Admiral’s daughter wishes the same thing for her future as you do.”

  “How can she not?”

  “Because what you will be offering her would not be a life of comfort and order. You could offer her nothing like what she is accustomed to. Also, she might have brought you into this wld, but I am certain she knows nothing of your impulsive nature, of your spirited independence. She could not know anything of the danger you bring upon yourself every time you rise up determined to change the world.”

  Portia closed the locket and fastened the chain around her neck again. “I was not planning to act as thoughtlessly as I sound.”