“Can it not wait?”
“No, I’m afraid it cannot.”
Sir Robert nodded as if he knew what she was talking about.
Barnabas Power looked from the lady to the governor. “I hope you will be able to resolve the matter to your satisfaction.” His tone sounded doubtful.
Mrs. Finch took a sip of her punch. “I’m certain we shall. Sir Robert has proven himself most accommodating.”
Power retreated after a barely civil bow. “Later, then.”
Mrs. Finch raised her cup to him then drew Sir Robert toward the bay end of the ballroom.
“So what is this urgent matter we must discuss?”
“Shh! Not so loud, if you please.” She lowered her voice until he was obliged to bend very close to hear her. “The only urgent matter is my need for you to keep me from falling into the clutches of that obnoxious man again.”
Had he heard properly? Sir Robert’s heart felt as if it were beating to the jaunty rhythm of the dance music.
Mrs. Finch looked up suddenly. Her bewitching gaze captured him. “If I have to suffer another five minutes in his company, I may say something that will land me in a great deal of trouble.”
He would not put it past her. “Worse than challenging me to a duel?”
“Much worse.”
“We cannot have that, can we?”
She shook her head slowly. “I believe it is your duty as our host to prevent it.”
By spending the rest of the evening in her company? Never before had his duty promised such great pleasure!
Chapter Eight
The evening after the governor’s levee, Jocelyn stole away to a quiet corner of the sitting room at Prince’s Lodge with the small rosewood writing box she had brought from England.
Of the finest craftsmanship, it was just large enough to hold a supply of paper and her writing implements—quills, ink, blotting sand and a tiny knife for trimming pen nibs. In the absence of a table, she could even rest her paper on the gently slanted cover to write. It was one of her last possessions of any value she had not sold after Ned’s death.
Now she drew out a sheet of paper and prepared to draft her first report to Mrs. Beamish. The captain of the Hestia had paid a call that morning to inform her he had secured a cargo for the return voyage and expected to sail two days hence. If she had any messages she wished to send back to England, he would be pleased to deliver them for her.
She had intended to start her report earlier, but the girls were so keyed up after being presented at Government House and dancing the evening away with the young officers and merchants of Halifax, she had been obliged to supervise them more closely than usual. Vita Sykes alone had been more than a handful. Her striking looks and forward manner had made her rather too great a favorite among the gentlemen at the levee.
Once too often since then, she’d gloated to the other girls of how she had not sat out a single dance. She’d boasted she would be the first and best wed of them all—she would choose the richest and handsomest of her suitors, then the others could console themselves with inferior brides.
Jocelyn had been obliged to intervene in the ensuing scuffle. As punishment, she’d assigned Vita to the scullery giving the others duties that would keep them as far from her as possible. Vita had complained bitterly of the unfairness of it, but Jocelyn had turned a deaf ear. No doubt the men of Halifax wanted Vita, but not as a wife. If she was not careful, the little minx might land herself in some scandalous scrape that would bring the whole bride-ship scheme into disrepute.
Forcing thoughts of Vita from her mind, Jocelyn trimmed the nib of her pen, then uncorked her bottle of ink. She marshaled her thoughts and began to write of their long, difficult Atlantic crossing.
We did not arrive in Halifax until the first week of May, but we thanked the Almighty that we had been spared to reach our destination at all. I fear our letter of introduction met a worse fate and never arrived. There was some…
Jocelyn paused, pen poised over the paper, trying to work out how she would phrase the next part of her report. After a moment’s consideration, she began to write again, her lips pursed in a devious little grin.
There was some small difficulty, at first, about our arrangements, since our arrival had not been anticipated. We were most fortunate in the kind hospitality of His Excellency the governor, who placed at our disposal a very pretty little estate just outside town.
In this spirit of well-intentioned duplicity, Jocelyn went on to tell how Sir Robert had hosted a levee for the girls to make their debut in Halifax society.
Colonel Carmont, the commander of the garrison, and his wife will be hosting another ball for us next week. The chief justice has promised us a garden party as soon as the flowers bloom. And Mr. Power, a merchant of great consequence, says he will host a picnic this summer for us on his island in the harbor. At the rate events are progressing, I fear there may not be many of my charges still eligible for matrimony by then.
Her lips puckered in a grimace of distaste when she thought of Mr. Power. He was very obliging, and he had proven a valuable ally in her early disagreement with Sir Robert. Yet there was something about his manner that made her uneasy in his presence as she had never been with the governor, even at the height of their hostilities.
I hope you will make favorable mention of His Excellency to any friends you may have in the Colonial Office. I have found him a most diligent servant of the Crown and of his colonists.
That part was scrupulously true, Jocelyn told herself. A commendation to Sir Robert’s superiors in London should relieve her conscience of any lingering remorse for the way she had browbeat him. No doubt it would mean more to him than her efforts to put him at ease last night.
She was tolerably certain she’d succeeded. As the evening wore on, Sir Robert had seen for himself how well the leading citizens of the town approved of the levee. That had helped him relax, as had her observation that his guests were too much absorbed in their own merry-making to take much notice of him. Provided he did not take it into his head to swing naked from the lusters—some imp of mischief compelled her to add.
He’d sputtered and blushed almost as red as his splendid uniform, but for the rest of the evening his behavior had been livelier and more convivial. Perhaps he was convinced at last that the bride ship could be a boon to his colony, not the trouble he’d predicted.
Trouble? Jocelyn lifted her pen from the paper so her silent laughter would not make her hand shake and spoil her writing. What manner of trouble did Sir Robert reckon a shipload of marriageable girls could make for his colony? Once she had mastered her amusement, Jocelyn returned to her report. She had scarcely written another sentence when she heard hurried footsteps approaching.
Lily Winslow appeared at the door looking very agitated. “Mrs. Finch, you must come! One of the soldiers said you must.”
With an exasperated growl, Jocelyn rose from her chair. “What has Vita done now? I vow, that girl is the most—”
“It isn’t Vita.” Lily caught Jocelyn by the hand, fairly dragging her out of the sitting room.
In the entry hall, a number of the girls were clustered around one of the young soldiers Colonel Carmont had sent to guard the lodge. Some of them were wide-eyed and pale, clinging to their friends. Others were exchanging urgent whispers.
But with what cause? Prince’s Lodge was the most peaceful place.
Jocelyn shook off Lily’s hand. “You wished to speak with me, Corporal? Is there some difficulty?”
“Yes, ma’am, there is. Leastways there could be. I spied a crowd gathering down at the foot of the lane, so I barred the gate and told them to be on their way.”
“Crowd?” Out here? Jocelyn could scarcely imagine it. “What sort of crowd?”
“Men, ma’am. Not gentlemen. Some farmers, by the look of them. Fishermen. Woodsmen. Laborers. That sort.”
“I see. And what did they do when you asked them to leave?”
The young soldier
clutched his musket tighter. “They…laughed at me, ma’am.”
A whisper of fear made the fine hairs on Jocelyn’s nape rise but she strove to appear unruffled. “And where is your partner, pray? Down keeping an eye on the gate?”
The corporal shook his head vigorously. “No, ma’am. I can’t find him nowhere. You don’t reckon they got him, do you?”
Louisa gave an anxious whimper.
“The men at the gate, you mean?” Jocelyn fixed the young soldier with a dubious look. “They have proven themselves impolite, but nothing worse. I’m sure your partner is somewhere about. Girls, look around the house for him.”
When no one moved to obey, she raked them with a forceful glare. “Now, if you please!”
After a swiftly murmured consultation, they split up in groups of two or three and headed off in different directions.
Jocelyn turned to Lily. “Go outside and summon the rest of the girls in. None of them were down by the shore, were they?”
The little music pavilion was a favorite destination for groups of the girls to take short strolls.
Lily shook her head. “I don’t think so, ma’am. Not at this time of day.”
That thought relieved Jocelyn’s mind…a little. “Once our second sentry has been found, tell everyone they are to go to their rooms and wait there. That way we can count heads and make certain everyone is accounted for.”
“Good idea, ma’am.” Lily hurried off.
It was a sensible precaution, Jocelyn assured herself, nothing more. There was probably no cause for alarm. Perhaps the men down on the road had just happened to gather there on their way someplace else.
The young soldier cleared his throat. “What should I do, ma’am?”
He looked fearful she might order him back to hold the gate single-handedly against an invasion. Jocelyn wondered if he had ever seen military action. Probably not, she decided. The boy didn’t look as if his cheeks had yet felt the scrape of a razor.
She beckoned him toward the stairs. “Let’s go have a look from the attic dormer. Perhaps the men have gone already. They may not have meant any harm. Even if they did, they might have reckoned you left to fetch reinforcements and run off.”
“I hope so, ma’am.” The lad sounded far from convinced as he mounted the stairs behind her.
A few moments later, they looked out the huge window that protruded from the roof of the lodge. For an instant, Jocelyn was struck by the splendid view. She had never seen the sunset from this window before. The evening sky glowed in vivid hues of orange, red and gold, all reflected in the tranquil waters of Bedford Basin. What a pity that tranquility did not extend to the Windsor coach road!
Even in the fading light, Jocelyn could easily pick out the dark figures of a rather large crowd—she would not permit herself to think of them as a mob.
“They’re still there, ma’am,” the young soldier pointed out, as if she might not have noticed. “I reckon there’s more of ’em, now, than there was before.”
Suddenly aware of her racing pulse, Jocelyn told herself it must be on account of having climbed two flights of stairs so quickly. “It is a public road. As long as they stay outside the gate, those men have done no harm by gathering. And they can do us no harm. If we ignore them, I expect they will all go home once darkness falls.”
As if to mock her fragile hopes, a few lights kindled down on the road, then flared and flickered. While Jocelyn watched in dread, the lights began to move, bobbing through the gate and up the winding carriage driveway toward the house.
“Corporal, you must go for help.” Jocelyn fled for the stairs, issuing orders as she went. “Duck out the back, then take the path through the woods heading east. That will lead you to the edge of Hemlock Ravine. Follow it down to the road and you will come out not far from the inn. Our coachman is probably there at this very moment enjoying his evening pint. Get a horse from the inn and ride to town with all haste. Explain to Colonel Carmont what has happened and tell him to send out a party of mounted men.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy sounded relieved at being ordered away. “I’ll be right quick, ma’am. I promise.”
“Do be careful around the ravine,” Jocelyn warned him. “I would rather you reach town a few minutes later than not at all.”
With luck the lad would have enough light to make his way safely to the inn. Jocelyn whispered a little prayer under her breath as she watched him go. But how long would it take him to get there, then ride five miles to Fort George? Once he’d delivered her message, how long would it take Colonel Carmont’s men to reach Prince’s Lodge?
Long enough for a great deal to happen—and none of it good. Jocelyn had witnessed some of the civil unrest besetting England in the wake of war. Though her situation had made her sympathetic to the plight of the rioters, the explosive violence of their protests had shaken her. It was one of the things she’d been glad to escape by coming to the colonies. Now it appeared she might not have escaped it after all.
She was about to pull the back door of the lodge shut when a trio of girls scampered in. “Whatever is the trouble, Mrs. Finch? Lily said we must all go to our rooms at once. Bossy old thing!”
“I don’t have time to explain, now.” Jocelyn pointed toward the stairs. “Just do as you were told and don’t dally about it!”
“Yes, ma’am!” The three bolted past her.
Lily arrived not long behind them, her pale cheeks flushed and her chest heaving as she gasped for breath, “That’s everyone…I could find…outside, ma’am.”
“Any sign of the other guard?”
Lily shook her head.
“Did you check the outhouse?”
The girl’s flushed face reddened further, but she gave an emphatic nod.
Jocelyn muttered an oath that would have shocked Lily’s late father. “We must bar the doors and windows.”
It would provide no protection for this wooden house against those flaming torches, but Jocelyn could not bear to dwell on that thought, let alone put it into words. “Go make certain all the girls are in the house. Miz Ada, too. Then send me half a dozen of the strongest and calmest to help shift furniture.”
By the time Jocelyn finished speaking, Lily had caught her breath. She dashed away. A while later, several of the girls appeared, looking frightened but not overwrought.
“Heavy pieces in front of the doors,” ordered Jocelyn as she tried to drag the settee out into the entry hall. “Anything tall and solid to bar those big bay windows. Wardrobes or the sideboard. Upend the dining table if you have to.”
Hearing the rumble of approaching voices and the tread of feet, she cried, “Hurry!”
The girls scattered like a flock of pigeons set upon by a tomcat. Soon the ominous noises from outside the house were drowned out by the heavy scrape of furniture across the wooden floors of the lodge.
Jocelyn and a hardy Dorset lass named Mary Ann had just finished barricading the sitting-room window when Lily appeared again, looking more agitated than ever. “All the girls are accounted for except Hetty, ma’am. And there’s no sign at all of the other guard—I checked everywhere. Eliza Turner claims she saw him and Hetty go off together just after supper.”
“Why didn’t she say something sooner, the little fool?”
Lily shrugged. “She didn’t want to land Hetty on scullery duty with Vita, I expect.”
Jocelyn’s fists clenched. When she got her hands on Miss Hetty, the little minx would count herself lucky to be scrubbing pots in the scullery. Why, she’d be emptying chamber pots from now until autumn!
“At least I needn’t worry about her,” Jocelyn muttered. “Wherever she is, she’s probably a good deal safer than we are.”
She peered through a chink in the barricade of furniture piled in front of the sitting-room window. Their callers had reached the house at last. The men ranged about the lawn, talking together in smaller groups. It appeared they needed to work up their nerve for every step they advanced. Jocelyn welcomed
any delay.
But the size of the crowd dismayed her. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep from thinking of it as a mob. If those men decided to storm the house, a few piles of furniture would scarcely slow them down.
She turned to Lily again. “Move all the girls up to the attic. Then take your helpers and barricade the top of both staircases behind you. Do you understand?”
Lily gave a jerky nod, like a marionette in the hands of an unskilled puppeteer. “Anything else, ma’am?”
“Once the heads of both stairways are barred, I want you to collect everything you can find that is small enough to throw, but heavy enough to hurt if it hit someone on the head.”
“D-do you think that will be necessary, ma’am?”
Jocelyn reached for the girl’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I pray it will not, but we must be prepared. I know if the worst happens, I can rely on you to what must be done. We need only stall for time. I sent the corporal to fetch help from town. I expect he is riding to Halifax at this very moment.”
Why had she let him take his musket away with him? Jocelyn cursed herself. He could have traveled more quickly without it, and the tenants of Prince’s Lodge needed the weapon far more than he did. She thrust the thought from her mind as quickly as it had come. There would be plenty of time to indulge in self-blame later. At least she hoped there would.
“You can rely on me, ma’am.” Lily spoke with the solemnity of one swearing a sacred vow. “But where will you be while I’m doing all those things?”
Jocelyn inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I shall be where one would expect to find a good hostess—out on the veranda, bidding our guests welcome.”
Deborah Hale Page 11