Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Thank you for tending my injury.” Despite the British lilt, his deep voice soothed over her, untying her nerves.

  “As I said, I was obligated to help you.” She forced spite in her tone.

  “As I was to prevent Mr. Garrick from ravishing you.” A shiver coursed through her at the memory, and she lifted her eyes to his. “Then we are even, Mr. Reed. And when you are well and are gone from here, we shall owe each other nothing more.”

  But he didn’t seem to be listening to her. Instead his gaze focused on her neck, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You have dirt on your …” He pointed toward her upper chest.

  Looking down, Rose wiped a muddy smudge from the skin above her neckline then she scoured him with a sharp gaze. “And you are covered in dirt as well, Mr. Reed.”

  He glanced down the length of his filthy uniform and chuckled. “Indeed.”

  Amelia floated into the barn on a stiff breeze that fluttered the lacy trim of her lavender gown. She held a sack in one hand. “I’ve brought the clothes you requested, miss.” Her eyes trained on Mr. Reed while a coquettish grin danced over her lips.

  Despite the woman’s flirtations, Rose released a sigh of relief at her presence. “Mr. Reed, may I present Mrs. Amelia Wilkins, my companion and lady’s maid.”

  “My pleasure, Mrs. Wilkins.” Reed nodded toward her. “Forgive me if I do not get up.”

  Amelia giggled. “No need, Mr. Reed. We are most happy that you did not die.”

  “I share your enthusiasm.” Mr. Reed grinned revealing an unusually straight row of white teeth.

  Reaching into her pocket, Rose opened a small pouch and spread saturated leaves over Mr. Reed’s wound.

  “Poison?” He chuckled.

  “Comfrey. To speed the healing process.” Giving him a lopsided smile, she wrapped a fresh bandage around his thigh. “So you can leave as soon as possible.” She tied it tight, eliciting a wince from him and bringing her a measure of satisfaction, albeit only momentary.

  Stretching his leg, he gripped the wooden rail of Liverpool’s stall. “Then I will be happy to accommodate you, miss. Do you have a horse I may borrow?”

  “Not one I’m willing to forfeit.”

  “Why not lend him Valor?” Amelia glanced toward the filly’s stall where the horse stood watching the proceedings.

  Rose gave her a measured look. “Who is to bring her back to me after Mr. Reed boards his ship?”

  Amelia took a step toward Mr. Reed. “I will go with him and bring her back.”

  “Don’t be a goose, Amelia. All alone? With British soldiers raiding the countryside?”

  Mr. Reed’s brow gleamed with sweat as he strained to pull himself up. Leaning upon his good leg, he blinked as if trying to clear his head. “Miss McGuire is right. It isn’t safe for a woman alone.” He faced Rose. “A carriage perhaps? You could bring your footman for protection.”

  Rose packed her bandages and salve and slowly stood. “You presume too much, Mr. Reed. Besides, both our carriages are in use.”

  Mr. Reed’s breath came in spurts as he fell against the wooden railing. “I will walk then.”

  “When you cannot even stand?” Rose took a timid step toward the man who if he were standing to his full height would surely tower over her by at least a foot. The last thing she needed was for him to fall and injure himself further. “It must be miles back to your ship.”

  “And you’re in enemy territory, sir,” Amelia offered as she slipped beside Rose. “You’ll either open your wound and bleed to death or be caught and hanged.”

  Mr. Reed peered at them both through half-open lids. Hot wind swirled about the barn, swaying a strand of his hair across his stubbled jaw. “Either way, ladies, I shall not impose on you any further.” He glanced down at the hay. “Now where, pray tell, have you placed my coat and weapons?”

  Rose grimaced. She wondered when he would ask about them. Thank goodness she’d had Amelia store the heinous things in a trunk in the loft. “They are hidden, Mr. Reed. Out of your reach where you can do no harm with them.”

  “Do you think me so base as to assault the woman who saved my life?” Incredulous pride saturated his tone. “Or to assault any woman for that matter. I am second lieutenant aboard the HMS Undefeatable, miss, an officer in His Majesty’s Navy and not without honor.”

  “I believe your Mr. Garrick gave me a taste of your navy’s idea of honor,” Rose retorted, tossing her nose in the air.

  Amelia fluttered her lashes. “You were so brave to come to Rose’s defense.”

  “I could do no less.” His admiring gaze swept to Rose.

  Confusion jumbled her thoughts and tore through her contempt. She took a step back.

  He frowned. “Very well, I shall leave without my things.” Releasing the railing, he took a step forward on his good foot, but started to wobble.

  Dashing toward him, Rose shoved her shoulder beneath his arm, gesturing Amelia to do the same on the other side. He smelled of hay and man, and she nearly toppled beneath his weight. Amelia gripped his other side and they managed to assist him out of the barn and across the field.

  “Oh my, he’s quite heavy, miss.” Amelia exclaimed in wonder.

  “My apologies, ladies.” His murmur came out weak as they led him step by painstaking step to the icehouse and propped him against the front wall.

  Rose opened the door and a waft of cool, moist air tainted with mold blasted over her, refreshing her hot skin. She and Amelia assisted Mr. Reed inside and helped him down onto the bed of hay Rose had prepared earlier.

  “I am not without compassion.” She sighed. “You may stay a few more days until you are well enough to walk.”

  Mr. Reed propped himself up on his hands and studied the gloomy room.

  Amelia handed her the bundle that had been slung across her free arm. “I’ve brought some of Samuel’s old clothes.”

  Grabbing the sack, Rose tossed it at Mr. Reed’s feet. “You may want to change. If someone does find you, it would be better if you weren’t dressed like a British naval officer.”

  “Thank you.” Mr. Reed nodded.

  Rose glanced at the dreary walls, the empty space, anywhere but into his kind dark eyes. “I shall bring you some food and water later. There’s a bucket in the corner where you can relieve yourself.”

  He wrinkled his nose, and a brief glimmer of repulsion crossed his face before he dipped his head in her direction. “I am completely at your mercy, Miss McGuire.”

  “So it would seem.” Rose started to leave, confusion tumbling within her at his accommodating attitude.

  “Why do you hold me with such scorn?” His indignant tone turned her around.

  Rose threw back her shoulders. “As I said before, because you are attempting to rob me of my freedom, sir.” Sorrow weighed on her heart. “And because your countrymen murdered my family.”

  His throat moved beneath a swallow, and he opened his mouth as if to say something but then quickly slammed it shut.

  “And because of that”—retribution surged through Rose, tightening her voice—“you will keep hidden and behave yourself, Mr. Reed. Or mark my words, I will gladly turn you in to the American military where you will rot in prison until the end of the war.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Rose adjusted her sprigged muslin gown and fingered the lace trim on her collar. She gazed out the window of the landau as they traveled down Calvert Street. Beside her Amelia pinched her cheeks and chattered incessantly about who she was going to see at church, which couples she had heard were courting, and which privateers might be in town.

  Amelia glanced out the coach’s small window with a sigh. “Privateering is so romantic.”

  Aunt Muira exchanged a smile with Rose at the woman’s fanciful views of life. Dressed in a plain cotton gown of emerald green, Rose’s aunt looked much younger than her fifty-eight years. Perhaps it was the love she shared with Uncle Forbes that kept her so young and vibrant. Rose wondered if she woul
d ever find such happiness with a man.

  She turned her gaze back to Amelia and saw her wistful expression. “Privateering is anything but romantic, Amelia.” Rose clasped her gloved hands together in her lap, noticing the tremble that went through them. “It is difficult and dangerous work.”

  “Oh why must you be such a crosspatch, Rose.” Amelia closed her eyes as the breeze blowing in through the window sent her dark curls twirling over her neck. “I daresay I hope I am never as frightened as you are of everything.”

  Rose lowered her chin beneath the affront, yet before her anger had a chance to swell, she remembered her trembling hands. As curt as Amelia was, her maid spoke the truth.

  Aunt Muira leaned forward and touched Rose’s hands. “How are you faring, dear?” Her dress brought out the deep green in her eyes—eyes full of concern.

  “It grows easier each time I travel into town.” Rose smiled and her aunt squeezed her hands and leaned back on the leather seat. Though Rose knew her aunt referred to the tragedy that had befallen Rose years ago, it was the recent assault by Garrick that had Rose’s nerves twisted in a knot. In fact, despite her trembling hands, she was proud of herself that the incident had not kept her from her Sunday trip into town. A trip she’d only found the courage to take during the past few years. Before that, constant dangers that lurked on the city streets had kept her home frozen in fear. Yet now she was beginning to wonder whether her farm offered her any refuge at all.

  Bright morning sun angled across the carriage windows and glittered over Aunt Muira’s pearl earrings—a remnant of the lady’s former wealth. Her jewelry being the only luxury she had kept from her past.

  As they turned down Baltimore Street, Rose adjusted her bonnet and gazed at the brightly colored homes passing by in a rainbow of colors. Mulberry and hackberry trees lined the avenue while pink and red hollyhocks dotted the landscape. Turning, they ascended a small bridge that crossed over Jones Falls River into the east side of the city. The wooden planks creaked and groaned beneath the weight of the carriage. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves echoed over the sparkling water that frolicked over boulders and fallen branches toward the sea. On days like this, it was hard to imagine that their country was at war. It was hard to imagine being frightened of anything.

  Aunt Muira smiled at Rose—a calm, loving smile that reminded Rose of her mother’s. A pang of longing pinched her heart. Oh how she longed to talk with her own mother—to share her fears, her hopes, her disappointments. Though Aunt Muira didn’t hide her love for Rose, neither did she harbor much patience for Rose’s timid temperament.

  The smell of salt from the nearby port mixed with the sweet nectar of flowers blew in through the window, and Rose drew a deep breath. She looked forward to Sundays—a day of rest and worship. Safely surrounded by family, it was a day she could get away from the farm. Away from her problems.

  From the British officer hiding in the icehouse.

  A twinge of guilt stiffened her. While it was the Christian thing to do, Rose felt like a traitor to her country for helping Mr. Reed. She should hate him. She should want him dead for what his countrymen had stolen from her. But after he returned her insults with courtesy and her threats with graciousness, she could conjure no feelings of contempt toward him. Regardless, she must put him from her mind. His strength was returning and he’d soon be gone. Back to his ship. Back to his nightly raids.

  Back to being her enemy.

  “You seem lost in your thoughts today, my dear,” Aunt Muira said.

  “Yes, forgive me.” Rose gripped the window frame as the coach jostled over a bump in the road. “How was your trip to Washington?”

  Her aunt’s lips pursed. “Worthwhile.” She shook her head as a breeze sent her red curls dancing. “My heart saddens for those poor little ones. This war has stripped many children of their parents. And of course, Reverend Hargrave takes them all in. Why, the orphanage is bursting at the seams with lost, desperate children.” The lines on her face seemed to deepen as she spoke. “And with only dear Edna there to assist him. No one in Washington seems to care. They are far too busy with their politics and their fancy balls.”

  Amelia tore her gaze from the window. “I see no harm in an occasional ball. It is most agreeable to have a pleasant diversion from the war.”

  Rose cringed at the impropriety of her maid chastising the lady of the house.

  Yet Aunt Muira only smiled. “I quite agree, Amelia.” She tugged upon her white gloves. “I myself enjoy a good soiree now and then, yet never at the expense of the comfort of those in need.”

  Amelia nodded as the landau pulled up in front of Uncle Forbes’s small stone church. Mr. Markham leaped down from the driver’s perch and assisted them one by one to the cobblestone walkway leading to the front door. A sign by its side read FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH.

  REVEREND FORBES DRUMMOND. Pride swelled within Rose for her uncle’s accomplishments.

  An odd assortment of people ambled through the open front doors, ladies in gowns of calico and pastel muslin, trimmed with ribbons and long colorful scarves. Wide-brimmed bonnets decorated with brightly colored plumes graced their heads. The more fashionable men wore silk breeches and white stockings, cocked hats, lacy cravats, and high-collared coats. Fishermen and seamen dressed in stained cotton shirts and breeches that smelled of fish and brine entered the church right alongside the ladies and gentlemen in their finest and took seats in the back or along the upper balcony.

  Rose smiled at the diverse crowd her uncle drew to church as she slipped into their assigned pew near the front. Amelia and Aunt Muira eased in beside her. Cool air swirled around her, enveloping her in the musky aged smell of the church—a smell that always seemed to settle Rose’s nerves. As Mr. Smithers, the organist, began to play, a white blur brought Rose’s attention to Marianne, her good friend, waving her gloved hand. Her one-year-old son, Jacob, crawled up in her lap as her husband, Noah, eased in beside her and nodded his greeting to Rose.

  Rose waved in return. Her heart lifted to see her friend so happy. And also to see that Noah was back in town. Although their relationship had not begun on the best of terms, Marianne and Noah were truly blessed with a great marriage. Rose had no idea how Marianne endured his long absences or the danger he was constantly under as a privateer during wartime. But the sweet woman had a peace about her that Rose envied. Her uncle stepped out from a side door and took his place by the retable. After leading the congregation in several hymns, he began his message. Though his sermons were usually quite thought-provoking, Rose found her mind unable to focus today. Instead, she gazed at her uncle, admiring the man who had once been nothing but an indentured servant.

  After the sermon, they stood to sing another hymn before the crowd slowly filtered out of the now stifling church into the stifling summer sun. Rose led Amelia and her aunt to stand in the shade of an elm tree while she peered through the crowd for Marianne. Several young gentlemen and not a few seamen cast admiring glances toward Rose and Amelia. Giggling, Amelia drew her fan out and waved it enticingly about her face.

  “Be careful, or you’ll signal one of them to come this way.” Rose stiffened her jaw. The last thing she needed was to endure some man’s amorous dalliance.

  “Perhaps that is what I wish.” Amelia gave her a playful glance. “At least the rich ones.”

  “Oh my.” Aunt Muira gave a hefty sigh. “What are we to do with you?”

  Smiling, Marianne emerged from the crowd, young Jacob in her arms and her sister, Lizzie, by her side. “There you are. I was hoping you hadn’t left. We have so much to catch up on.” The shorter woman gazed up at Rose just as Jacob grabbed the edge of her bonnet and pulled it down over her eyes. “Oh drat. He’s become quite a handful.” Marianne nudged her bonnet back up and kissed Jacob on the cheek.

  Lizzie cocked her head, sending brown curls bobbing. “Good morning, Miss Rose.”

  “I can’t believe how big you are getting, Lizzie,” Rose said.

 
; “I am nine now. Almost ten.” The girl announced with a bit of pride.

  “Indeed.” Rose leaned over. “You have become quite a lovely young lady. Before we know it, you’ll be all grown and married like your sister.”

  Lizzie smiled up at her sister as a blush blossomed on her cheeks.

  Aunt Muira brushed her fingers over Jacob’s soft skin, a look of longing in her moistening eyes. “He is absolutely precious, Mrs. Brenin.”

  Rose grabbed her aunt’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Why the good Lord had not given children to such wonderful people, Rose would never understand.

  Her aunt leaned toward Lizzie. “And my niece is correct. What a young lady you have become, Miss Lizzie. Is that a new dress?”

  The little girl beamed and twirled around, sending the flowered calico fluttering in the wind. “Yes, it is.”

  “It is lovely.”

  “And I have good news.” Marianne’s brown eyes glowed. “I am with child again.”

  “Truly? I am so glad!” Rose’s eyes drifted down to Marianne’s belly just barely rounding beneath her gown.

  Noah appeared by her side and took Jacob from her arms.

  “You are looking well, Noah.” Rose gazed at his sun-streaked hair and bronzed face. “Privateering agrees with you.”

  He shared a knowing glance with his wife. “It is my calling, to be sure. My duty to my country. And I won’t complain that it is also quite lucrative.” He tossed Jacob into the air, eliciting a giggle from the boy. The babe’s white lacy gown billowed in the breeze, revealing his chubby legs. “I do, however, long for the day when I can spend more time home with my family.”

  Marianne’s eyes brimmed with love. “You’d be bored silly at home. As it is, I’m happy with the time we have together.”

  She faced Rose. “Would you care to spend the afternoon with us, Rose? And Amelia and your aunt and uncle, of course. We plan to have our meal at an inn by the docks then take a stroll down Market Street.”