"That's ridiculous. All I've ever done is prod you into action occasionally. If you had had your way, you'd have spent your life lying in bed, having your hair brushed, and taking baths!"
"At least I wouldn't be in the scrapes you're always in!" Buttoning her bedgown, she went on. "Look at you now. You could be living in society in Boston, but you've chosen to reduce yourself to a servant. I realized tonight that it really isn't such a masquerade, Meagan. I mean, you really are dependent on me now. Whom else do you have?"
Meagan was stunned by her words. It was obvious that Priscilla was taking her new thoughts very seriously. Tiny hairs rose on her arms and legs in the chilly night air; slowly she crept into bed.
The silence stretched between them, finally broken by Priscilla, sweetly imploring, "Meagan, don't misunderstand now. You'll always be my best friend, no matter how high I go on Society Hill. You know, that's what James says they call the rich part of Philadelphia. Anyway, I won't desert you."
"You're too good," Meagan said sarcastically.
"Just don't you embarrass me with one of your little pranks! Oh, Meagan, I want to thank you for bringing me to my senses tonight—about Lion, I mean." She pulled up her quilt to her chin and sighed meaningfully. "I'm going to make him love me, you'll see. I wouldn't be surprised if he does already! I declare, he can look so attractive when he turns on that dazzling smile of his!"
***
The final day of their journey put Priscilla's new determination to the fullest test.
The three travelers rose before dawn. In his single-minded desire to reach Philadelphia, Lion was distant and brusque toward both girls, saving his attention for the horses and the roads.
As it turned out, the sun never had a chance to make an appearance, for as they moved northward, a band of black clouds began to climb on the horizon. Inside the carriage, Meagan had little to say to Priscilla, transferring her attention to the blurred little window beside her. Through it she could see the clouds stacked across the sky like fat, clinging puffs of smoke. Lion cantered nearby on his chestnut roan, his tanned face set like stone as he watched the storm gathering strength. The air was eerily still. Finally the rain began and the wind rose up to join it so that the heavy droplets shot from the black sky like bullets.
Meagan clearly saw the old terror in Priscilla's eyes, but felt disinclined to reassure her, and for once Priscilla's pride kept her silent. Barely a minute passed before the carriage came to a stop at the bottom of a hill, and Meagan saw Lion tethering his roan to the rest of the team. When he came around to the side and pulled open the door, the assault from outside had the impact of a tidal wave. By the time Lion and Joshua had climbed in, the girls were nearly as wet as the men.
Meagan managed a bemused smile as she ran a hand over her rain-splashed face and pushed back her hair. The coachman sat next to Priscilla, looking very young and pale. Then Meagan felt Lion Hampshire beside her, felt his sodden cape soaking her skirts. The seat was small, joining them together like Siamese twins. Meagan's heart began to pound.
"Damnation!" Lion ejaculated, pulling off his hat to run a brown hand through lustrous hair. "I swear that nature has conspired against me to prevent this journey from being completed!"
The pair across from him stared back, speechless, but Meagan heard herself rejoin blithely, "What hellish luck!"
She could have hit herself once it was out. Priscilla looked faint; Joshua stunned.
However, after barely a moment's pause, Lion gave a shout of laughter. "Good Lord, what a delight you are!"
Meagan was blushing and examining the seam of her pelisse when the post-chariot was rattled by a sudden onslaught of hailstones. The horses whinnied and stamped helplessly.
"Won't they run, poor things?" Meagan asked anxiously.
"No, ma'am," came the coachman's quiet voice. "I tells them to stay."
Lion grinned. "Joshua has a talent with animals. Those horses understand every word he says and never disobey him."
The four passengers were jostled from side to side as the lead pair of horses reared up against the storm outside. Meagan's heart ached for them. Across from her, Priscilla's face was as bloodless as Joshua's, but she seemed determined not to give way to her usual bout of hysterics.
They all sat together for over an hour, waiting for the wind and rain to abate. Little was said; the atmosphere did not lend itself to small talk. Meagan stiffened beside Lion, feeling the hard muscles in his arms and legs pressing against her own body through her thin cloak and dress. Every one of her nerves was painfully aware of his presence, and Meagan hated her body for its instinctive reactions.
Lion, however, seemed unconcerned with her or anyone else. His damp head was turned toward the window, eyes serious as he stared at the gray sky and the dead, dark fields. It was depressing for him to see the land looking so bleak, for he knew it best in the spring, when clover, grain, and flax abounded, followed by miles of orchards and elegant villas, each with a garden more beautiful than the last.
Alert to the silence outside, he looked over to Joshua. The rain had tapered off and stopped; now Lion threw open the door. The air that rushed in was pure, fresh, and cold.
He and Joshua leaped to the ground and closed the door.
"Do you imagine that he likes you?" Priscilla asked bluntly, catching Meagan off guard.
Hot blood stained her cheeks before she could summon up a semblance of composure. "Why, I suppose he does. What of it?"
"Don't think you can steal him from me, Meagan. I've heard plenty of stories from James about the things men do with their servants. There is only one way he would ever like you."
"How dare you say such a thing? Or suggest that I would invite that kind of—"
"I've seen you with him at night! I know the way you look at him. I'm not so simple-minded as you seem to believe!" Her green eyes sparkled with jealousy.
Meagan was shocked to see her display so much emotion over Lion Hampshire.
"All I'm saying is that you should stay away from him. If you want me to remain your friend—and if you want to avoid a proposition from Lion—just keep away!" Her voice caught, choking near tears.
Before Meagan could respond, the door flew open and Lion was framed in the opening.
"How are you ladies doing?" His smile was tight, troubled. "Are you prepared for more? Our back wheels are deep in mud. We were on a slight downhill slope when we stopped, but the horses moved during the storm to the very bottom. There's nothing ahead of us but another hill, and I'm afraid it will be one hell of a task getting us going and on our way up."
Priscilla reached for his hand protectively. "What does this mean?"
"It means that you'll both have to get out and walk. Prepare yourselves for a lot of mud."
Priscilla managed to moderate her cringing expression when she saw Meagan silently put a hand on Lion's shoulder and hop to the ground. Priscilla struck the perfect balance between femininity and bravery as she bent, poised in the doorway. Lion lifted her down gently, blue eyes flickering with surprise as she smiled up at him courageously.
The slender yellow wheels were half-swallowed by the mud. Both girls stood on the side of the road, a clean, chilly wind catching the hems of their pelisses, causing them to billow out like sails. Neither of them spoke as they watched the efforts to free the carriage. The five horses strained up in front while the men pushed from behind. In moments, both Lion and Joshua were showered with black mud and the wheels were still mired under. This went on for several minutes, Priscilla covering her face in horror as Lion was sprayed again and again by the spinning wheels. At last they seemed poised on success, but their strength gave out just as it seemed the carriage would roll free. Lion swore softly when the wheels dropped back into the deep ruts, tightening his dirty jaw. When they repositioned themselves before Joshua called the order to the horses, Meagan found herself rushing forward to stand between them.
"Let me help, too. I'm really quite strong."
Lion
grinned caustically. "What the hell—come on and put your back into it." He looked over to Priscilla who seemed both panicky and angry. "Why don't you come over and lend a hand, too?"
Priscilla was speechless as she hesitated, then lifted her skirts and ventured forward. After shooting one furious look at Meagan, she put her hands against the carriage, closing her mouth and eyes tightly.
When Joshua gave a shout to the horses, everyone began to push, the men grunting loudly. The wheels spun, showering them with frosty black mud, and Meagan could feel her silk-encased feet being forced deeper into the bog the harder she pushed. Suddenly the carriage broke out of the rut, rolling away from them. Priscilla, her eyes closed and her face screwed up in a grimace, fell forward abruptly, landing full in the quagmire. The other three were so happy to have freed the wheels that the sight of her lying there was too much to endure. Lion and Meagan clung to each other, laughing helplessly until they cried. Finally, Lion reached out with Joshua to lift his fiancée to her feet, offering a large handkerchief to wipe her mud-smeared face.
Priscilla gingerly opened her eyes and promptly burst into a torrent of tears.
***
Along the banks of the icy Delaware River the ships were huddled close together, their sails furled tightly along the skeletal masts. Philadelphia's docks were empty; even the wide, wet thoroughfares were nearly deserted. Meagan leaned forward to stare out the window as the horses clopped noisily through the puddles along Front Street. The outline of the city was barely visible now; the sky was rapidly shading toward complete darkness. The post-chariot turned onto Spruce Street, following the hill up from the waterfront until a cheerful-looking inn came into view. The horses stopped in front of a sign that read "A Man Full of Trouble." Above the legend a man and his wife were pictured, carrying between them a parrot, a monkey, and a bandbox.
Lion pulled the door open and helped the girls down to the wet cobbled pavement. Even in the misty darkness the tired lines were apparent on his face. "Well, Priscilla, you may clean up here. I'm in no mood to wait very long, though."
She said nothing. She intended to nurse her grudge against both Lion and Meagan until it suited her purposes to forgive them. The hour of furious crying that had followed her fall into the mud that afternoon had done little to soothe her injured pride, particularly since her companions had ignored her.
The three of them went silently into the clean, redbrick tavern. A few crusty-looking sailors sat drinking in the bar and most of them called hasty greetings to Lion. The respect was evident in their voices, a fact that surprised Meagan since all the men appeared older than him.
He took a pewter mug from the tavern keeper and dropped into a bow-back Windsor chair in the midst of the other seamen. His sudden smile was astonishing.
A plump woman wearing a starched white apron and mobcap came forward to lead the two girls upstairs to a warm, cozy chamber where a basin was already filled with steaming water.
Meagan scrubbed hurriedly, but Priscilla took her time, clearly making an effort to provoke her fiancé. Meagan hated the silence that had been growing more oppressive with each hour that had passed since the incident in the road, and looked up with relief when Lion's loud knock hit the door.
"Let's go!" The tone of his voice brooked no argument.
Hastily Priscilla pushed the remaining pins into her hair and they were on their way again.
While they were in the tavern, lamps had been lit along the wide streets, their flames now flickering against the inky night. Meagan shivered in her corner of the carriage as they rolled up Spruce Street, slowing down just two blocks west of A Man Full of Trouble. Both girls peered out the window, only to see yellow lamplight dancing up a high, painted fence that was so long its end was swallowed up by the darkness. The post-chariot drew up before a towering ornamental gate immediately opened by a watchman. Lion rode ahead along the circular driveway which led to the impressive Mansion House of William and Anne Bingham. Lights blazed on all three floors, shining a welcome through the fanlights and pouring out both gleaming light and liveried servants through the double doors.
Priscilla's pout disappeared. "It's the Binghams', Meagan!" she exclaimed, her face glowing with excitement. "The most magnificent house in America! The stories I've heard James tell about this place... I just can't believe that I'm a part of this world now. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Wonderful," her companion agreed dryly.
When a satin-clad footman rushed forward to open the carriage door, Priscilla stepped down wearing her most brilliant smile. Lion took her elbow, eyeing her cynically. As Meagan climbed down behind them, William and Anne Bingham appeared in the doorway, and even she allowed herself to feel impressed. Meagan watched as greetings were exchanged and Priscilla was introduced, following the group at a distance as they turned into the house.
The entryway took her breath away, for it was far more magnificent than anything she had seen in all the great mansions of Virginia. The floor was an incredible mosaic of priceless marble which ran up to a wide, white central staircase also built of marble. Ahead of Meagan, Priscilla was chattering gaily as she took in her surroundings with darting emerald eyes. Meagan had to admire her composure; she hadn't even gasped.
A thin, austere man clad in black satin crossed over to her. "Miss, my name is Wickham and I am the butler here. I gather that you attend Mistress Wade?"
"Uh—yes!" Meagan stared at him, astonished by his haughty manner until she realized that in the class system of servants he ranked far above her. "My name is Meagan, Wickham." He raised thick black eyebrows, waiting. "Meagan... South." What imagination, she thought sarcastically.
"Well, South, the head housekeeper will be here momentarily to show you your room and Mistress Wade's suite."
"We're staying here?"
"Of course. Until Master Hampshire and Mistress Wade are married." He nodded slightly and disappeared around a corner.
Meagan stood against the wall, suddenly very conscious of her grimy appearance as she watched the two couples who stood in the parlor which opened off to the left of the entry hall.
A servant was moving among them distributing glasses of wine, and Meagan found her eyes drawn to Anne Bingham, watching as she lifted the crystal goblet to her lips. Her beauty was undeniable. She wore an exquisite gown of amber silk, rich in its very simplicity. Her hair was lightly powdered, the soft brown curls pinned up around her face while a cluster of long ringlets escaped to fall over one white shoulder. Even from a distance the elegant bone structure was unmistakable: high cheekbones, long graceful neck, willowy figure combining with her innate gracefulness to make her unforgettable. She was laughing now, and everyone's eyes were on her. William Bingham watched her proudly, confident that his newest guest was properly dazzled by Anne. His reason for living was the accumulation of wealth and beauty, and Anne was the most splendid of all his possessions, outshining even the sumptuous Mansion House.
Meagan found Bingham far less impressive than his young wife. Ruddy-cheeked and stocky, his manner seemed affected to her. Lion's presence made him look even worse.
She let her gaze slide over Priscilla to Lion and was startled to find him staring boldly back at her. Blushing hotly, she was grateful to Anne Bingham for finding just the right words to reclaim his attention. "Lion, you will never guess who is back from sea!" she exclaimed with an innocent enthusiasm that rang false. "Marcus Reems! If I didn't know better, I would swear he was following you..."
Lion's entire body tensed, the muscles showing in his shoulders and neck, his eyes alert. Priscilla, oblivious to his reaction, had no use for names unknown to her and promptly changed the subject.
Her eyes on Lion, Meagan failed to notice when someone stopped next to her. A throat was cleared discreetly. Startled, she turned around, running smack into the tiny woman who was about to tap her on the shoulder.
"Oh my! I beg your pardon! I didn't know—"
"That's all right, dear. No damage done." The other woman
was quite young, thirty perhaps, and no taller than Meagan. She wore a neat gray cotton dress and a lace mobcap over her powdered curls. Her hazel eyes were as warm and friendly as her smile, set off by the roundest, rosiest cheeks Meagan had ever seen. "My name is Smith. I'm the housekeeper here. I want to welcome you to Mansion House."
"Thank you, Smith. Will you call me Meagan? I'm afraid the names Smith and South might get a bit confusing!"
Smith laughed softly. "Perhaps they would at that. Let me take you to your room now. The servants' quarters are right this way."
Servants' quarters! Meagan thought. What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Eight
William Bingham observed Lion over his glass of port, wondering at the tired, distracted look he wore. Finally, he cleared his throat and remarked, "I paid a visit to Dr. Franklin last week."
"How does he fare? Better than a month has passed since I last saw him."
"His spirits are good, but physically he is unchanged. We discussed the next meeting of that newest political society of his and the progress of the Philosophical Hall. He told me frankly that he doubts he will ever attend a meeting there once it is completed."
"Aren't you a vice-president of this Society for
Political Enquiries? What's it all about?"
"Yes, I am, along with George Clymer," Bingham admitted a trifle pompously. "We still meet fortnightly at Dr. Franklin's house. There are only fifty of us and we just discuss politics. Of course, that is quite a topic these days and the Doctor is full of ideas and opinions. It is great entertainment for him, but God only knows how much longer he'll be able to get downstairs to the large room."
"I'd better make a point to see him tomorrow."
William Bingham puffed on his long, slender pipe, watching Lion across the shadowy study as he stared into the fire. He had been unusually quiet all evening, in spite of Anne and Priscilla's attempts to make him laugh during supper. It was not the dashing Lion Hampshire of months past.
Wright, Cynthia Page 6