His first order of business was to write to his father’s solicitors to inform them of his return. Next he painstakingly copied his father’s will and returned the original to the safe. He suspected he would need it for Weston.
After lunch, he walked around the grounds. It was clear why the Grahams had not made any progress in rebuilding the main house. It was going to be a phenomenal undertaking, and he would need to consult the ledgers of the shipbuilding enterprise to determine if it would even be possible. The estate was not particularly large, as the family’s holdings were primarily in shipbuilding. However, there were a few tenant farms, and he visited all of them. He assured them he had no plans to leave again. He discussed their problems, shared their sorrows. It was grounding, he thought, to be back with his people again.
He ended his business with a walk along the beach. Tynemouth had become a seaside destination for many tourists, but he was grateful there weren’t many about today. The day was fine, but the wind whipped off the water in razor-sharp bursts, until Edward’s eyes burned and his cheeks ached. He could not help but feel alive, and marvel that he was. It could so easily have gone the other way.
****
Coast of Boston, Massachusetts, November 1860
Edward watched the coastline of Boston approach from the bow of the Mercury, the two-masted fishing schooner he was supposed to be delivering to a friend of his father’s in Virginia. The voyage had been dreadful, beset by problems. What was supposed to be a six-week voyage was twice that as they were blown hundreds of miles off course during a full week of storms. There were broken lines, holes in the sails, and an infestation of weevils in the stores, which had dwindled to nearly nothing a week before their journey’s end. On their last night at sea, another storm had thrashed the ship, snapping the mainmast in half. By the time they limped into Boston Harbor, some five hundred nautical miles north of their destination, Edward and the crew were so grateful to be in sight of land they didn’t particularly care where they were.
Despite all the setbacks, however, Edward had been invigorated by the journey, and as the sight of the city came into view, excitement won out over fatigue. He would soon be setting foot in America, a country he had only dreamed of visiting. He wasn’t old enough to have experienced the Americans’ war of independence, of course, but he peered over the side and amused himself imagining there were remnants of tea left in the harbor.
Leaving the captain to make arrangements to repair the ship, he disembarked, in search of a tavern for his first weevil-free meal in weeks, not to mention a decent bath. On the streets he noticed boys selling newspapers. Curious as to what had been happening in the world since he left England three months before, he purchased one. Sampling his first American food—which was disappointingly like English food—he perused the newspaper. A man named Abraham Lincoln had been elected president. He was, it seemed, opposed to slavery, a practice that had been abolished in the British Empire nearly thirty years before, but still flourished in the American Southern states.
As Edward sipped his ale, relieved not to be feeling the floor shifting under his feet with rolling waves, he listened to the chatter in the room. Talk of war was on everyone’s lips.
****
Anna was about to close when, once again, Weston made his appearance. She wondered if she could close earlier tomorrow. Or maybe not open at all.
“What do you want, Mr. Weston?” Leaning against the bar, she pressed her fingers against her aching eyes and tilted her head to look at him.
“Is that a proper greeting for your most loyal customer?” Weston sat on one of the bar stools and gave her what she assumed was supposed to be a smile. He looked more like an owl closing in on its prey, and she shuddered.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Simply a drink after a long day.”
“Fine. The usual?” She stepped to the row of bottles behind the bar and picked up the most expensive highland single malt she stocked. He was the only one in town who drank it. The only one who could afford it.
“That would be lovely, thank you.” He accepted the glass she offered him and took a delicate sip. She sighed. At this rate he would be there all night.
After a few moments and a few more sips, he said, “I hear that Edward Mason has returned.”
Her head snapped up, and she studied him. “Yes.”
“Do you know what kept him so long from home?” He toyed with his glass, twirling it in his skeletal fingers.
“I have no idea. Nor do I care.” Anna began to wipe down the bar with unusual vigor. Apparently she was still angry. She forced herself to take a deep breath. She wasn’t sure why, but she had no desire for Weston to know Edward had any kind of effect on her.
“So I suppose you are unaware if he plans to stay.” He looked at her over the rim of his glass, his eyes burning with intensity.
She slapped her rag on the bar, and a chill danced up her spine. “No, I don’t know that either. Why do you care?”
He shrugged, as if he didn’t care at all, but his physical nonchalance was at odds with his expression. “If so, I suspect he will want to take charge of the shipyards. I have only been holding them in trust for his return, of course.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Of course.”
He rose and peeled a few pound notes from a wad of currency he pulled from his pocket. He placed them beside his glass. Her eyes widened when she realized there was more money there than he owed for his drink.
“But that’s too…” He placed a finger in front of her lips.
“Just consider telling me, if you would be so kind, if you hear anything from dear Edward about his plans.”
Anna’s mouth dropped open. “You want me to spy on him?”
“Don’t be silly, Anna, dear. Simply gossip, among friends.” He pinched her chin between his finger and thumb. “You know how I like to be aware of what’s going on in my little village.”
She shook her head out of his grasp and backed away. Weston tipped his hat and left the bar, and she hurriedly locked the door behind him. She turned and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. The man was up to something, and Edward was at the heart of it. Weston had assumed control of the shipyards almost as soon as Edward’s parents were laid to rest. When Edward didn’t return within a year, Weston changed the name of the business, remodeled the office, and sacked any employees who had been particularly loyal to the Masons.
By all accounts, the company was thriving under Weston’s firm hand, but few of the employees were happy. Weston did not get to be as successful as he was without trampling people on the way up, and she had a feeling Edward was about to become a stepping-stone. She just didn’t know what she was going to do about it.
Chapter Five
When Anna got upstairs, she noticed light creeping out from under Zachary’s door. She opened it, concerned the boy was still awake at this hour, and found him in bed, reading.
“Zach! Why are you still awake?” She gave him a look which made it clear she was displeased, but not overly so. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the book out of his hands.
“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.” She looked at him with some surprise. “Wherever did you get this?”
Zachary shrugged nonchalantly. “Miss Simpson loaned it to me.”
“Ah.” The schoolmistress was always loaning him books. Zachary was a voracious reader, even at six. Anna had been the same way, and she remembered a very similar conversation with her own mother, who had repeatedly caught her reading by candlelight well after she was supposed to be asleep. “Are you enjoying it?”
“Very much!” Zachary said. “It starts with a little girl—Alice, her name is—falling down a rabbit hole, and she has these wonderful…”
“Adventures?”
His eyes widened, impressed. “Yes, exactly! Have you read it, Mam?”
“No, not yet. The title gave me a hint.” She waved the book in front of his face.
; “Oh. Well, you should read it. But it is very silly, some of it, so maybe you won’t like it very much.”
“Don’t you think I like silly things?”
He looked at her strangely, as if such a thing had never occurred to him. “Well, Mam, you have to admit, you are rather serious.”
She sighed. He was right, of course. All the silliness had been thoroughly knocked out of her when she had a child, alone, at eighteen.
Now she smiled at him. “Perhaps you can help me bring the silliness back. Maybe we can read it together?”
Zachary beamed with such pleasure that she felt sad. “That would be grand! Shall we start now?”
“No, I think it’s well past time for you to be asleep. Let’s start tomorrow.” His face fell and her heart squeezed.
“Then again,” she said, “perhaps it’s not too late after all.” She took off her shoes and climbed under the covers. Her boy nestled comfortably in the crook of her arm, his dark head on her shoulder.
“Chapter One. Down the Rabbit Hole.”
****
As he rode to Wallsend the next morning, Edward worked hard to convince himself not to visit Anna. He imagined his lips still tingled from their kiss, even though he knew he was being fanciful. Then he thought of the boy, Zachary. Edward wondered where she found the name—there wasn’t a single relative of his who was called Zachary, and he couldn’t recall any of hers either. Perhaps that was exactly why she chose it.
About a mile from Wallsend, he was still ruminating on the kiss when his saddle suddenly lurched to the side, and he was pitched off the horse. He hit the ground on his back and lay there for a moment, trying but failing to catch his breath. When he was able to breathe again, he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He spotted Galahad a few yards away, placidly chomping on grass, apparently unconcerned he’d dumped his rider. Looking behind him, he realized he was only about five feet from being plunged into the river.
He picked himself up gingerly, feeling for broken bones. Finding nothing but a tender backside, he headed for his mount and examined the saddle, which was hanging haphazardly underneath the horse. Edward was puzzled by the loosened girth, since he had saddled the animal himself. He must have been more distracted by thoughts of Anna than he realized. As he righted the saddle and attempted to tighten it again, he saw it had frayed, and there was only a small strip holding it together. His riding must have loosened it to the point where the saddle had slid to the side.
Edward tightened it just enough to make sure it wouldn’t slip and cause discomfort for Galahad, then began to walk the rest of the way to Wallsend. A curious accident. He would pay more attention next time.
In Wallsend, he went first to the saddler, who promised to replace the girth by the afternoon. He started to walk toward the shipyards when a boy ran past him, splashing even more mud, or something worse, on Edward’s trousers.
At Edward’s shout, the boy stopped short, and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, sir.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Edward realized only then that the boy was Zachary. Anna’s son.
His son.
“I’m late for school.” Zachary had a satchel over his shoulder and a book in his hand. “I’ll get the dunce cap for sure, if I don’t hurry!” He ran off, his bag bouncing at his side.
Edward watched him go, wondering if his only interactions with his son were doomed to be little snippets of time as the boy ran off to do something else, to be somewhere else.
He heard a footfall behind him and whirled around to see Anna reentering her pub. Knowing it was a terrible idea but unable to help himself, he followed her. He caught the door before it closed and was hard on her heels when she turned to lock the door.
“Aah!” she yelled when she saw him, hand to her heart. “Damn it, Edward. You scared the life out of me!”
Edward held both hands in front of his face. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I had a feeling you wouldn’t let me in unless I snuck in before you closed the door.” He smiled sheepishly, but she clearly wasn’t impressed.
“Too right I wouldn’t. What do you want?”
She squeezed around him to lock the door. He caught a whiff of rose petals as she passed and forgot her question. The fragrance took him back to the single night they spent together, just before he left for America. He had buried his nose in her hair as they said goodbye, hoping to imprint the scent of her on his brain. It had smelled exactly the same as it did now. He had to fight the impulse to pull her to him just as he had then. Watching her walk away from him, her spine ramrod straight, he knew she would slug him if he tried. But then again, he thought, there was that kiss last night.
In silence, he followed her through the front rooms into the kitchen, and she put the kettle on. She seemed resigned to his presence. At least, she wasn’t trying to throw him out.
She pulled two mugs out of a cupboard and set them on the table. “Since you haven’t answered me yet, I suppose I should give you some breakfast.” She wrinkled her nose, and her eyes traveled from his filthy hat to the tracks of mud he had left on the floor. She sighed. “Or perhaps a bath. What happened to you?”
“My saddle girth broke, and I nearly fell in the Tyne.” He sat gingerly on a chair at the large wooden table, hoping he wouldn’t cover it with dirt as well.
“Apparently you were too long in America, if you’ve forgotten how to tighten a saddle.” She busied herself with making the tea and didn’t look at him.
“I didn’t forget how to tighten a saddle,” he said, annoyed at the defensiveness in his tone. “The girth was frayed.”
“Hmm.” She placed a teapot, plates, bread, and jam on the table, then sat down herself. For a fleeting moment, he could see the sadness in her green eyes. They used to sparkle—with mischief, merriment, and when he was lucky, passion. Now they looked defeated.
She stared out the window, not eating, drinking, or speaking, while he watched her. The silence stretched to fill the room, too many words between them unsaid. Finally, he grabbed her hand, and her head whipped around to face him, her beautiful eyes widening. She tried to pull away but he held fast.
“I’m sorry, Anna. So sorry.”
“Where were you, Edward? Why didn’t you answer my letters?” Her words cracked with the weight of unshed tears. “Why didn’t you come home?”
The pain in her voice nearly killed him. He was quiet as he tried to decide what to say. He was afraid to tell her the truth, so he settled for part of it.
“I didn’t receive any letters.”
Anna pulled her hand free. She rose, began to pace. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I can feel it.”
Edward’s stomach clenched. “I can’t tell you. You’ll think even less of me than I know you already do.”
Anna sat again, perched on the edge of her chair, elbows resting on the table. She was thinner now than she had been, more angular. The past seven years had not been kind to her. She was harder now.
“You used to be able to tell me anything.” Accusation dripped from every word. “What happened to you?”
Now it was Edward’s turn to pace. She deserved to know, but he couldn’t look at her.
“I was…in prison.”
****
It took over four months to complete the repairs on the Mercury. Boston shipbuilders were some of the best in the world, but most of the city’s resources were being focused on preparations for what would almost surely be war. Although Edward had written to his father to apprise him of the situation and to seek instructions, there was no reply. Edward’s correspondence with the customer was no less frustrating—the man insisted that Edward deliver the vessel, even as tensions continued to build between the north and south.
By the time the ship was ready to sail to Virginia, seven states had seceded from the Union. Although Virginia was not one of them, Edward knew it wouldn’t be long. Feeling rather desperate to get home, but knowing his father would expect him to do his
duty, Edward gathered a skeleton crew—most of the men who had sailed with him had found other work in the intervening months—and sailed for Virginia.
Seas were relatively calm as they made their way south. The weather became warmer, and Edward actually found himself enjoying the voyage. Until they attempted to enter the Chesapeake Bay and came face to face with a wall of ships. Edward and the captain were debating whether to turn around and return to Boston when one of the ships came alongside and a team of naval officers signaled they planned to board the Mercury.
As soon as they boarded, one of the officers asked in an imperious tone, “Who owns this vessel?” The man’s companions pointed muskets at Edward and the crew.
Edward gathered his courage, willing his voice not to shake. “My father does. My name is Edward Mason. I am a British citizen and a representative of the Mason Shipyards in England. I am delivering this vessel to a customer in Virginia.”
“Virginia is at war with the United States. No ships are permitted through the federal blockade, by order of the President. We have no choice but to seize this vessel and its crew.”
Edward paled; his first thought was that his father would kill him. “But…I didn’t know! I am simply trying to deliver this ship to a customer, then my crew and I will return to England on the next available passenger ship. We were thrown off course and detained to make repairs in Boston…” Edward broke off. Explanation was futile; the man was paying no attention. Federal troops were now seizing each of the crewmen, who were too stunned to give more than a cursory struggle.
Secret Promise Page 4