Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  “Yes. Even so…”

  Winter looked from Mother to Bennet, her eyes full of love and shared sorrow. “Even so. We expect our heart to recognize when its other half ceases beating, but perhaps not knowing is one of the Lord’s gifts to us. For how much worse would it be to feel such loss and yet have no answers as to why we do?”

  Breath suddering, Mother leaned against the couch and cradled the cup in her hands. “Perhaps. Though I can see no gift in anything right now.”

  “Of course not.” Winter reached up to smooth a few of Mother’s curls back into place and straighten her necklace, quietly restoring her dignity. “There is no way to mitigate something like this. The only comfort to be found is in those who share our pain. As new facets of grief reveal themselves, you will cling to your sons and find solace in their devotion to you, and in offering the same to them as they mourn.”

  At that Mother reached for Ben’s hand and gave it a desperate squeeze. “That much I have already seen, yes. Had I been alone when I read that letter…”

  “Praise the Lord you were not.” Winter moved from her place and motioned Archie into it, and then she settled by Ben’s side.

  He pulled her close with his free arm. Under normal circumstances he would never dare do such a thing in company, but at this moment it seemed necessary. “I love you,” he murmured into her ear while Archie said something to Mother.

  She nestled in and looked up into his eyes, her smile somehow full of both sorrow and joy. “And I love you, Bennet.”

  He tucked her in a little closer. “How did you know exactly what to say, what to do?”

  “’Tis what Freeman did for me. And it only worked because you had already done what she needed first. Held her while she cried.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m glad you are here.”

  Mother leaned forward enough to look at them. For the first time, no hostility shone in her eyes when she gazed upon Winter. “As am I, Winnie dear. As am I.”

  Perhaps the family jewels would have to wait, but it seemed that Winter had earned a place in the family.

  Ben nearly smiled, until he recalled that her addition was only due to the gaping absence of his father.

  Twenty-Three

  Winter stared at Freeman, praying she had heard him wrong. “What do you mean it wasn’t there?”

  Freeman leaned against the door to Canterbury’s stall. “Just that. There was no letter in the tree. I checked the other locations Mr. Townsend had mentioned using, and those were all empty too. No letter, Winnie.”

  The scent of hay teased her nose, combining with that of rain and damp earth from outside. Soothing smells that imparted no comfort. “Did Mr. Roe not leave it? Robbie had always said he was undependable.”

  The arch of Freeman’s brow highlighted the unlikelihood of that. “Undependable in coming to the city when he said he would, not in delivering the promised correspondence once here. Nay, Winnie. I fear something has happened. Either to Roe before he could leave it, or—”

  “Or someone intercepted it.” Winter let her eyes slide shut. It hardly mattered that no one would be able to read Washington’s message. The fact that a second missive had gone missing—and heaven forbid anything had befallen the courier himself. “Unthinkable.”

  “Sorry I had to tell you such news.” Freeman chucked her under the chin, bringing face and eyelids up. “You hardly need to be worrying about this right now. I shall check again, and in a few other places.”

  “Be careful, Free. They are obviously watching—”

  “I only go when it’s so dark no one could make me out even if they are watching. I know how to use the shadows, Winnie. Now, you go and take care of your Mr. Lane. I can take care of this.”

  Much as she hated to leave this question unanswered, she indeed had little choice. With news of the elder Lane’s death making its way into the city, family and friends were all gathering at Bennet’s house today. She must be there, and she must leave now. Still. “It seems unfair to burden you with this, when it is my—”

  “’Tis ours, Winnie girl. Always has been. You know that.” He tweaked her nose, offered the same grin he had given her since she was a tot swinging from his arms, and gave her a push toward the carriage waiting outside. “Go. And give your young man my sympathies if a time presents itself when you may.”

  “I will.” But she paused when a groan sounded from one of the stalls. Her eyes went wide, her pulse thundered. Had someone heard them?

  Freeman’s jaw ticked. “Nothing for you to fret over. ’Tis just Percy.”

  “Percy?” She scurried to the stall the sound had come from and gasped when she saw the young man lying facedown in a pile of clean straw, his back a lattice of fresh, bloody welts. So far as she could tell, he was unconscious—undoubtedly a blessing. “What happened?”

  Freeman urged her away from the stall. “He tried to run away last night. They brought him back. I thought I had talked him out of such a foolish—well, obviously I failed. He must have been simmering all these months. But I shall take care of him, Winnie. You take care of Mr. Lane.”

  Nostrils flaring, all she could do was nod and obey his gentle push toward the door, murmuring a prayer for Percy as she did so. When she moved to the stable’s exit, the footman dashed into the rain and opened the carriage for her. She hastened up the pull-down steps and settled onto the seat.

  If only she were making this trip alone, as she had the return drive last night, long after her grandparents left the Lanes’. But they would come too, and so the carriage rocked to a halt at the front of the house.

  Grandfather alone climbed in, his face as stormy as the clouds above. “Your grandmother has a headache.”

  “Oh.” Much as she disliked spending time with Grandmother, she had always been present since July to provide a buffer between her and Grandfather. Being alone with him now…had he been the one to wield the whip applied to Percy’s back, or had he delegated that to another slave, as he had the blow to her head? “I am sorry to hear that.”

  He grunted and sent her a scathing look, and then he turned toward the window. Winter directed her gaze out the opposite one, trying not to think about the last time she had been alone in a carriage with her grandfather. Though she had no memory of it, the rough scar she felt every time she brushed her hair never allowed her to forget its results.

  The drive passed in silence taut as fabric in a loom and seemed twice as long as usual. But then they were at the Lanes’, and Winter could climb down and escape Grandfather’s presence. She hastened inside to find Bennet.

  His mother found her first and took her hands the moment they were free of gloves. “There you are, my dear. The guests will begin arriving any moment, and I had hoped you would read to me again first. It calmed me so last night.”

  Winter smiled and squeezed Mrs. Lane’s fingers. “Of course. Did you get any sleep?”

  “Directly after you read to me, yes. Though I awoke some hours later and could not sleep again.” The lady sighed and rubbed at her shadowed eyes. “How I wish you and Bennet were already married so that you needn’t leave us. Do you think your grandmother would consent to staying here with you for a few days?”

  For a moment Winter could find no answer, no words at all. Not twenty-four hours ago, it would have been unthinkable to all involved that Mrs. Lane would be so eager for her presence. Perhaps she ought to have abandoned pretense around her months ago, despite Grandmother’s insistence she shouldn’t. Certainly this was not the way she had hoped to earn a place in the Lane family.

  But then, yesterday was when the Lord had made it clear she was to be only herself. Rather than indulge in regrets, she would thank Him for using her to provide some measure of comfort.

  “I cannot say of what Grandmother may approve, and unfortunately she remained at home with a headache.” Winter offered a small smile. “But if she would agree to it, know I would come most willingly and remain as long as you wanted me here.”
/>
  Mrs. Lane held her gaze long enough that Winter thought she might reference their less-than-amiable history, or make some comment about the change in her. Instead, the woman gave her a ghost of a smile and led her toward the sitting room. “The Bible you read from is in here.”

  Winter took a seat, accepted the hefty tome, and opened to the Psalms, where she had left off last night. ’Twasn’t difficult to find some of David’s words that sang of both heartbreak and joy, battles lost and faith won. After reading several chapters, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the urge to pray.

  “O Lord, infinite and infallible, let us dwell in that secret place within Your shadow, where no fear nor malice nor strife can overcome Your safe protection. We can turn nowhere but to You for consolation, wisdom, and support.” She drew in a deep breath when Mrs. Lane reached for her hand again and clung to it. “And so, God of our ends, we bow before You with spirits contrite and broken, ready for the salve of Your Spirit, so graciously offered us so that we might approach You when our own natures would forbid it. Breathe Your strength into us, Father of our fathers, and prepare our hearts to reflect Your glory, for only in You rests any victory in these times of lamentation. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Bennet’s voice came from the door, though Winter had no idea how long he had been there. She opened her eyes to find him regarding them with contented sobriety. “Not to interrupt, Mother, but your friends have begun to arrive.”

  “Thank you, Bennet.” Mrs. Lane stood and pulled Winter up with her, though she transferred Winter’s hand to Bennet’s arm once they reached him. “Would the two of you handle the receiving for a moment? I am going to send a note to Mrs. Hampton straightaway.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Lane.”

  Bennet waited until his mother had gone, and then he loosed a low groan. “I came in here hoping to avoid having to greet our visitors. They all arrived with their daughters, and I don’t relish making a fool of myself today. I cannot bring myself to imagine them as young men in costume.”

  “As what?” Not sure whether to laugh or shake her head, Winter stared at him.

  One corner of his mouth pulled up. “Just a little trick George recommended to help me speak to baffling females with some coherence. After observing, that is, that I have no trouble talking to our school chums with whom I have little more in common.”

  Leave it to George Knight. Winter pressed her lips together against a smile. “Now I am curious. Did you do this with me? Is that why in the beginning you would suddenly seem to find your tongue?”

  He tucked her hand more securely into the crook of his arm and grinned down at her. “Nay, my love, not with you. All I needed was a glimpse at those mysterious secrets of yours, and I was too intrigued to be awkward.”

  Perhaps the intrigue had faded as he puzzled her out, but the love that replaced it was far more precious. As they headed toward the sounds of arriving guests, though, Winter knew the last of her secrets could not long be suffered. Not now. She could hardly stand beside him as he mourned his father’s death and not confess that hers yet lived in the Patriot camp. And, from there, share that he had instilled the same beliefs of God and country in her.

  But now was not the right moment to bare her soul. So she settled for speaking for him as they greeted their acquaintances and friends. More and more of New York society filled the house over the next half hour, and though Mrs. Lane returned soon to welcome everyone and thank them for coming, Winter stayed near at hand in case she needed her even after Bennet had mumbled something about checking on Archie and disappeared.

  She was beginning to wonder where he had gone when two men came in bearing the equally spaced shoulder laces of a general. General Clinton she had met before, but the other…given the angle of his chin and the whispers that swept the room, it could only be Benedict Arnold.

  Winter sucked in a breath and leaned close to Mrs. Lane. “Could you excuse me for a moment, ma’am? I must…”

  Too late. The generals strode their way, and Clinton even now reached for Mrs. Lane’s hand. “My condolences, madam. I remember your husband fondly from the one time we met before he left for England.”

  Mrs. Lane murmured something, but Winter paid no attention, given the way Arnold stared at her as if trying to place her face.

  Never in her life had she wished she didn’t take after her father, but in this moment it seemed more curse than blessing. She could only pray that her mask of oblivion covered any resemblance to her contemplative sire, if Arnold had indeed known him.

  General Clinton motioned toward his companion. “Mrs. Lane, allow me to make introductions. This is Benedict Arnold, our newest general.”

  Mrs. Lane’s smile was tight, though that was hardly unusual today. “Of course. How good to meet you, sir.”

  Arnold delivered the appropriate niceties as he bowed over her hand, but then his gaze arrowed Winter’s way again. “And is this your daughter, Mrs. Lane?”

  Now her smile went warm, and she slipped an arm around Winter’s waist. “God willing, someday soon, General. But at the moment she is still Miss Winnie Reeves, under the charge of her grandparents, the Hamptons.”

  “Reeves.” The arch of Arnold’s brow eclipsed the dutiful clasp of her hand. “Are you by chance related to a Colonel Reeves, serving under Washington?”

  The earth could have been shaking and the walls tumbling down around them for as solid as her footing felt right now. Tears wanted to burn her eyes, and her knees wanted to buckle. Her heart wanted to cry out “Yes! He is my father!”

  But she could not. Certainly not to a traitor like Benedict Arnold. Even if it felt as though she must play the part of Peter denying Christ, she held any emotion back from her eyes and put on that practiced smile and empty-headed blink that settled on her face like a slap.

  “Well now, General, I am afraid my memory for ranks is somewhat faulty. They are too bothersome. But I do have a second cousin thrice removed who sided with the Patriots, I believe. Though he was far too stupid to become a colonel. That is a higher rank, isn’t it, in the Patriot army? Or do they do those backwards, as with so many other things?” She looked up, to the side, and pursed her lips. “Oh, and my—what was he? My great-uncle’s second wife’s older son. Whatever that makes him to me, I never was quite sure, as we share no blood. But this second wife was far too young for my great-uncle, everyone said so, and yet came to the marriage with a horde of children from her first marriage. Mostly girls, though. Oh, but I suppose her son never took the last name of Reeves, so it can’t be him of whom you think.”

  She couldn’t tell if the narrowing of the general’s eyes was an attempt to peel back all those layers of nonsense or if he simply disdained her. “Nay, Miss Reeves, I have no concern for such distant relatives. I was wondering more about who your father is.”

  “My father?” She allowed a portion of the pain to slip through as she drew back an inch.

  And let Mrs. Lane step forward and all but push Benedict Arnold away with her chiding gaze. “Really, General, had you been in our city any true length of time, you would know not to ask such an insensitive question. Miss Reeves has lost both her parents and needs no extra reminder of her suffering. ’Tis hard enough on her, facing this loss with me and my sons.”

  “My apologies. I did not realize.” He bowed to Winter, though no apology shone in his eyes. Only icy calculation. Then he repeated the motion toward Mrs. Lane. “And my condolences, ma’am. Though I am sure your family and Miss Reeves will deliver you through the grief with their support.”

  And people thought spies were dastardly creatures? Nay, not unless they combined it with treachery like this beast before her.

  Winter put on her sweetest smile and added a few bats of her lashes. “’Twas nevertheless an honor to meet someone of such fame, General Arnold. And allow me to say that no matter what gossip may report, I find that the color red does indeed suit you.” When his face mottled, she couldn’t resist adding, “It complements your complexio
n so well.”

  The general spun around and stalked away, Clinton on his heels. Mrs. Lane leaned in. “I finally see what Bennet meant when he claimed your silliness covers a world of wit.”

  Her hostess smiled over it, no doubt having enjoyed seeing Arnold insulted, even if she may disagree about his new British jacket suiting him. But Winter could hardly manage to share in the mirth.

  He knew. He knew who her father was, and while that did not necessarily mean he would suspect her of any covert activities beyond lying about her Patriot ties—something half of the city did—he was now aware of her. He would be paying attention. Perhaps poking and prying as with Hercules Mulligan and so many others.

  She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking and wished she could go home and find Freeman.

  They must be prepared to protect themselves.

  What a miserable pair they must make. Ben stared into his mug of coffee and let his thoughts swirl along with the din of other patrons in Rivington’s. For once he hadn’t bothered bringing any texts or papers with him. He had been sitting as he was now ever since he took a seat ten minutes ago, rarely even sipping at his coffee.

  When Fairchild came in, he hadn’t said a word. He just sat down across from him with his own cup, which he proceeded to ignore as well.

  Ben drew in a long breath and willed the black brew before him to reveal a few answers. A week had gone by since he read that life-shattering letter, and it had taken that long for the fog to lift, once the crowds cleared. For pain to take the place of disbelief. For the choices to weigh upon him.

  The second half of Uncle Lane’s letter repeated continually in his mind. I am no better now than when my nephew arrived, and I have no greater expectation to last this next year. Bennet must come at once and acquaint himself with the estates. If he might depart before winter, that would be best, for I fear come spring that I will be too weak to be of any help to him.