01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  “Ne’er saw her like this before, knocking down the medicine, giving orders the way she did.”

  Portia held her breath for fear of rustling any leaves as they passed under the tree.

  “That’s the way ladies should act. Those charlatans pour so much heaven-knows-what into the poor soul, for naught would I blame Miss Middleton for her actions.”

  “Mrs. Green will scorch us good if she hears we left Miss Helena alone in the garden.” The first one said nervously, looking bac from where they came.

  “Let the dragon do her worst. ‘Tis not like her ladyship is going anywhere. If it makes the poor soul happy to be left on her own for a few minutes, then who are we to say different. Mrs. Green is just...”

  Portia scrambled down the tree as soon as the two women disappeared along the pathway. Her clothes were covered with bark and twigs and her hair was a mess again, but her concern about what her mother would think of her appearance came and went quickly. She hurried down the path.

  The sun was shining brightly, and the day was warm and beautiful. When Portia stopped at the entry to the enclosed garden, the scene was exactly what she’d always thought heaven would look like.

  Like an angel, Helena wore a dress of white with a shawl as blue as the sky thrown over her shoulders. Her golden hair was pulled up, and she sat quietly on a stone bench by a green hedge. Flowers of violet and red and yellow bloomed in the gardens around her. She was not reading or painting or sketching, but looking toward a patch of white cloud that was sauntering along the horizon.

  Portia stood frozen where she was. For a moment, she forgot what was it exactly that she planned to do. For all her life, she had stared at a miniature portrait in a locket. Now faced with reality, she didn’t know where to start or stop, or how to put the longing of all the years into words, into action.

  Helena turned her face toward the garden, and Portia thought she looked more like the woman in the locket now than she had last night. Helena picked something up from her lap, and the young woman was surprised to find the mask she’d left last night was the object of her mother’s interest.

  The thought of how little time they have alone forced Portia to step through the arched entry into the garden.

  “Good day, madam,” she said softly.

  Helena started and shrank back a little. The mask fell to the ground by her feet, but this time there was no scream.

  “I did not mean to frighten you. My name is Portia Edwards,” she managed to say. She didn’t know if the name meant anything to the other woman or not. She didn’t move any closer.

  Helena’s hands shook a little as her fingers began to search the stone seat for something. Her eyes appeared to be focused on her, but Portia realized that the older woman could not see her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Helena finally whispered. The hands continued the search. “I have misplaced something important…a mask.”

  Of all the people with whom she had spoken about Helena, none had mentioned her loss of sight. Even Doctor Deming had made no reference to it, and it took Portia a few seconds to overcome the surprise of it.

  Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it would at any minute burst out of her chest. A lump the size of a fist was forming in her throat, and Portia desperately fought the waves of emotion that were about to pull her under.

  “Are you part of the household, miss?”

  “No…milady,” she replied, force words out.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I came in search of something I lost.”

  The short distance took an eternity to cover. Portia knelt before the bench and picked up the mask, handing it to the older woman. Helena’s hand caught her own.

  “And were you here last night?”

  “I was.”

  The face drew closer. “Were you the one who climbed to my window?”

  Portia’s voice came from a deep hollow. “That was I.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  They had the same eyes. They were even the same color. “I needed to meet you.”

  “For what reason?”

  Portia took hold of the locket that was around her neck. She brought the chain forward until the cold metal touched her mother’s hand. “I have had this for my entire life. I was told that it belonged to my mother. ‘Tis the only clue I have of my parentage.”

  “Did you say your family name is Edwards?”

  “That was the name they gave me.”

  Helena released her hand and focused on the locket. Portia removed it from around her neck and handed it to her mother. Helena turned the locket in her hand. She felt the engraving, opened the latch, and touched the miniature inside. Through it all, Portia knelt on the greensward, suddenly terrified as the thought struck her that the whole thing might have been a lie. What if she had been wrong about it all along?

  “How old are you?”

  Portia gave her what she knew of her exact age, including the day and month Lady Primrose had told her that she had been born.

  “Where were you raised?”

  “In Wales.” Quietly, in just a few sentences, Portia related her life history—of her childhood under the protection of Lady Primrose, of her time in the household of Parson Higgins, of coming to Boston last fall. Taking a deep breath, she went on to tell how she learned about Helena and the events of last night.

  Helena finally closed the locket and held out a hand to Portia, drawing her onto the bench next to her. The two women sat in silence for what seemed to Portia to be an eternity. Doubts continued to linger in her head. The thought of all of her dreams being nothing more than assumptions, or coincidences, or lies was too difficult to consider. Then, when Portia thought she could wait no longer, the older woman spoke.

  “I lost that locket the same day that my child was taken away. The same day that she was born,” Helena whispered. “I was not given a chance to hold her…or even name her. I was told she died shortly after the birth.”

  When she saw the pools of tears in her mother’s eyes, Portia could no longer control her own emotions. A sob escaped her, and the older woman turned and drew her into her arms.

  “Is there a possibility…that all of what I have been searching for…was not some foolish dream?” Portia asked brokenly. “Could it be that I was that child?”

  Helena touched her face, her hair, her hands again. This close Portia thought she could see.

  “Indeed. I always dreamed of someday holding you in my arms, but I thought it would not be in this life.”

  Portia couldn’t stop the tears. As she wept, Helena touched her face again, as if branding in her memory everything that her eyes could not envision.

  “There is so much that I want to tell you, Portia.” She hesitated. “My Portia! And you called me ‘mother’ at my window last night.”

  “Mother.”

  They held each other for another moment, each woman drawing strength from the other. Each woman building a new world within her that did not exist before. One now had a mother, the other a daughter.

  Helena drew back, suddenly panicked. “But he’ll take you away from me again. I cannot let them find you out.”

  “No one saw me come in. The Admiral does not know who I am. I must see you again.”

  Helena jumped at the sound of women’s laughter in the distance. Portia assumed it came from the same two women who had passed under the tree.

  “You must come back. They do not let me leave the mansion grounds.” Helena squeezed Portia’s hand. “But I will come down here—to this same spot—every day. And you must come and see me.”

  “’Twill be difficult. The Admiral does not have many guests. Unless one is invited, his guards at the gate do not allow anyone in. I shall try, but I do not know when it will be.”

  Helena rose to her feet and pulled Portia with her. “Wait! Do you speak French?”

  “Oui.”

  “Excellent. Then I shall ask for a
companion who can read me French poetry. You can apply for the position. I shall do that today.” She stuffed the locket into Portia’s hands. “Now go. Go quickly…before they find you here.”

  She was reluctant to release her mother’s hand, terrified that once she walked away, there would be no coming back. How could Portia say goodbye when she had just found her.

  “What happens if they choose someone else?”

  “I will make their lives miserable until they choose the person I wish.”

  Women’s voices in the adjacent garden startled them both.

  “Go…my own Portia.”

  She gave her mother’s hands a final squeeze and then ran down one of the brick paths, escaping the garden a moment before the two serving women arrived to fetch their mistress.

  CHAPTER 9

  Getting out of Admiral Middleton’s mansion was much simpler than Portia had imagined, for Jack—the gentlemanly groom that he was—sat waiting for her in the carriage on the drive. The man scowled fiercely, but he did not refuse to take her back to School Street. Though she said nothing to the groom about it, she was dreadfully relieved that Pennington was still inside with the Admiral. The ride to the apothecary shop was quick and she rode in silence, thinking back on the momentous event that had just occurred. She could barely contain herself.

  She was now a woman with a mission. To stay close to her mother, Portia would do anything. No connection was too unimportant, and she intended to use the help of anyone who could help her secure that position.

  Back in her new room, Portia opened her trunk and immediately went to work mending Bella’s dress. An hour later, she was calling at her friend’s house. The young woman was both delighted and shocked to see her. Portia quickly found out that Bella had stopped at the parsonage earlier and knew about her change of residence.

  “No matter what tactic I used, though, Josiah—that old Cerberus—would not tell me a word other than that you have moved. And I waited as long as I could for the Parson or Mrs. Higgins to return, but when neither arrived, I had to leave.” Bella led her into the sitting room and ordered a servant not to tell her mother about Portia’s visit…and not to bother with tea or cakes, either. They did not wish to be disturbed.

  The two young women had met when the Higgins family first arrived in Boston last fall. Bella’s father was a well known lawyer. Born in Boston and graduated from Harvard, James Turner was a first cousin to Captain Turner’s father. The two families had not communicated much, however, until the captain arrived in the city as a member of Admiral Middleton’s staff. The Turners were the parishioners of Reverend Higgins, and that was how the connection had begun. Though Bella was the only child of wealthy parents and doted on by them, Portia had been pleasantly surprised to find her completely lacking in snobbery and unaffected by the ways of the wealthier class. Bella’s only flaw was her youthful exuberance. The young woman handed the borrowed clothing to the departing servant.

  “Tell me everything, Portia. What is this all about?” She forced her friend to sit beside her. “I was hoping you would come back here last night, but you did no such thing, you horrible creature. And then, early this morning that beastly cousin of mine stopped by to see father. Naturally, I questioned him thoroughly. You should have seen him, leaning like an Italian tower and moaning about the fates being always against him. He told me that you had fallen ill and had left the ball early last night. And at noon, I come to visit you at the parsonage and you are gone. So tell me, before another minute passes, what happened. The mystery of it all is killing me. What precisely is going on?”

  Because Bella was a month shy of her debut eighteenth birthday, her parents had not allowed her to attend Admiral Middleton’s ball. Portia had sensed the young woman’s disappointment. As repayment for arranging for her friend to go, however, Bella had made it clear that she would want to hear in detail who wore what dress and who danced with whom and all the other gossip that interested someone of her age on the verge of He tog out.

  “I am sorry, Bella, but I have lost the mask you loaned me. And there was some damage to the dress, but I was able to repair the worst of it.”

  The young woman’s expression turned threatening. “I do not care about the dress or the mask or any of it, but I will strangle you if you do not tell me this instant what is happening.”

  “I left the parsonage and I have taken a room above the apothecary shop of Dr. Crease. I am hoping, also, to secure another position very soon.”

  “But this makes no sense,” Bella blurted out. “The Higgins family regarded you as family, and you thought the same of them. How could one night make such a change? You will tell me everything that there is to tell, Portia Edwards.”

  Considering the size of the favor Portia was about to ask of the young woman, she had no other choice but to comply with her wishes. “But so much has happened.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  “I went to the ball.”

  “That much I already know,” Bella reminded her, settling back against a cushion. “What was it like.”

  “The Admiral’s mansion is magnificent. And there were at least two hundred guests—if not more—that had been invited to celebrate the King’s Birthday.” Portia spent some time talking about the beautiful grounds and the impressive ballroom and the types of food and drinks served. She spoke of the music and the fancy gowns. She told Bella how stunningly dashing the officers looked in their colors. Portia tried to cover all the things that she knew Bella would be curious to know about an event so grand.

  After listening attentively with a dreamy smile on her face, the younger woman suddenly grew serious. “How did you become ill?”

  “Well…I…I…” Portia knew she could not tell everything to Bella. “Perhaps ‘twas the punch…or the food. It may have been the excitement of the evening. Whatever ‘twas I was standing in the ballroom one moment, and the next I was running for the gardens…for fear of becoming ill.”

  “Captain Turner said that you found a ride home with someone else.” Bella was obviously most interested in this part of the evening. “But he wouldn’t tell me who this mysterious gallant was. In fact, he became almost irate when I tried to press for an answer, which tells me your champion must be higher in rank than the captain…and more dashing.”

  When Portia laughed, Bella leaned closer. Her black eyes shone with mischief.

  “Who was the gentleman…and what did he want in return?”

  “Really, Bella! What on earth have you been reading? ’Twas simply good fortune that I ran into him, and the gentleman offered me a ride home out of pure kindness. Nothing more.”

  “A name. I need a name,” Bella pressed.

  “He is not in military. I was told he is a Scotsman, involved in shipping.”

  Bella impatiently tugged on Portia’s arm. “A name!”

  “His name is Pierce Pennington. He is—”

  “Oh…him!” The sigh was long and deep, and the young woman sank back dramatically on the pillows of the sofa.

  Bella passed a few moments in dreamy silence, and Portia looked at her friend in amusement. She didn’t remember a time in her life when she might have acted and felt in such a fashion at the mere mention of a name…even if the person was as handsome as this particular gentleman. At the moment, however, she could almost understand Bella’s reaction.

  “I have seen him thrice,” Bella said finally, “though only from a distance. Once when he was pointed out to me when I was riding in a carriage past Christ Church. Two other times I saw him riding his horse down King Street. Tell me, is he as handsome up close as he is from afar?”

  “I’m certain I don’t know. Last night was the first time I ever laid eyes on the man.”

  “But he is handsome.”

  “He could certainly be called that.”

  “And tall?”

  “Mr. Pennington is no giant, but he is tall.”

  “And was he a gentleman to you?”

  Por
tia could name a few things that he had done that were far from being gentlemanly. “Of course.”

  The same dreamy look as before took over the young woman’s expression. “I think he is absolutely magnificent. And rich, too. I am told there is not a party given in the province that does not include him on the guest list. I can tell you for a fact that there is not a girl of marrying age in Boston that does not dream of capturing him.”

  Portia gave her friend a narrow stare. “How do you know all of this? How is it that I never heard of him until last night?”

  Bella laughed. “Because you have not been on the marriage market. And because since you first arrived here, your only female acquaintances, other than Mrs. Higgins, have been Ann—who is eight years old—and I.” Her tone became confidential. “If you were to consort more with other women, you would be amazed at some of the stories that you hear about the men of Boston. And I should tell you the gentleman who always leads the topic of discussion is your Mr. Pennington.”

  Portia was not interested. She was not going to get trapped into this. She could not help herself, though. “What kind of stories?”

  “The word is that he is not looking for a wife, and a few who have pressured him have found themselves in rather surprising situations.” Bella glanced in the direction of the door, making sure it was closed. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And more than one has even admitted to having shared his bed.”

  “Bella!”

  “And told others that they would do it again.”

  “Really, Bella!”

  “’Twas an experience as near to heaven as—”

  Portia stood up. “Bella, your mother would skin you alive if she heard you say such a thing.”

  “If I remember correctly, ‘twas in the company of her friends that I overheard it,” the young woman said with a giggle. “That is why I asked if he was a gentleman with you. Would it not be an experience to treasure…being a spinster as you are?”