Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  “No. I will not let you remain unprotected in this house. ’Twould be best, in fact, to get you out of the city at the first possible moment.” He held her close, as if he feared she would vanish otherwise. “Together, then. The three of us.”

  That made more sense than any other idea. As Woodhull had discovered long ago, a couple traveling together—and a supposed servant would help the image—were not halted nearly as often as a man alone. Woodhull had enlisted his neighbor’s wife to ride with him when he must get a message to Brewster. Just as it worked for Culper Senior, Winter’s presence with Bennet and Freeman would make their business seem legitimate to both British and Patriot guards. “Yes. We must leave at once. I will go fetch Freeman.”

  He held her tight. “One moment more. When I left here earlier, I followed Arnold to a meeting in Holy Ground. That is how I discovered the final pieces of my puzzle. And I met Viney.”

  “Viney!” She gripped his cloak. “Is she well? I have prayed for her daily—”

  “And she for you. She is nearing the end, my love, convinced she will not last more than a few days. She asked me to give you these.”

  He pulled away enough to reach into his pocket, and then he dropped three pearls from her necklace into her hand.

  Tears stung her eyes as she closed her fingers over them. “It was sufficient, then. I prayed it would be.”

  “The Lord answered your prayer, as He answered mine today.” He tipped her chin up. “You were right. He has been speaking to me all along. Guiding me and directing me. To you. Winter, this is not how I envisioned asking you, but will you be my wife?”

  How could hope so quickly replace the panic? She nodded and blinked away her tears, even as he slid something onto her finger. “You know I will.”

  He bent down and touched his lips to hers. Then he tightened his hold and angled his head. Hers swam as the kiss moved from the gentle touch he had given her before to one deeper. More demanding, yet more giving. Filled with the promise of a future together full to bursting with all she had begun to think out of her grasp. Companionship and passion. Love and understanding. A sharing of all the things that mattered.

  Winter wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, accepting every drop of feeling he offered. Her knees went weak, but it hardly mattered. Gravity could have no effect, not as light as she felt. The ground seemed to fall away, the heavens to lift her up. His strong arms were surely all the world she needed. His embrace could chase away any chill. Lips against lips, heart against heart, whispers and pulses matched.

  Together.

  When finally he broke away, she clung a little longer, nestled in a little closer. If only the pleasant haze could remain forever, but already reality intruded. She sighed. “I suppose we had better hurry. You can explain it all to Freeman, and I will gather what I need from the house.”

  “No. While I explain it to Freeman, you must gather up anything incriminating from this room. Then the house.”

  Of course. Which was why he had put the code book into the crate.

  A creak sounded behind them. “What is he explaining to me?” Freeman said from behind her. “Why he is where he ought not to be, perhaps, with my little girl in his arms?”

  She spun with a smile, though it was fleeting. “That is legitimate enough. He just proposed.”

  Freeman arched a dark brow. “Here?”

  “Well, he…that is…” She huffed and looked to Bennet. “Explain. I will pack.”

  She dashed about as Bennet went quickly through what had brought him there and the solution they had agreed upon. Inks and quills and papers, into the crate. Books and pamphlets and coin. All into the crate. Each of the little touches she had put here rather than her room in the house—into the crate.

  Freeman’s face was sober when she faced him again. He nodded. “I can think of no sounder plan. No one will look twice at the three of us together. I wish we could follow the Hudson straight north, but we haven’t the British passes. We will have to try to make Patriot territory as quickly as we can. Not to mention that if Arnold gets wind that Winter has disappeared…”

  Bennet nodded. “Do you still have your homespun, darling?”

  “In my room in the house. I will change before we go.”

  “We can take Old Canterbury.” Freeman pursed his lips. “I hesitate to try to liberate the Hamptons’ wagon, though.”

  Bennet grinned. “No need for that. I stopped at my house on my way here and brought mine, along with a capable horse to pair with Canterbury. Mother and Archie will never miss them.” He turned to her. “Get what you need. We will pack all this into the wagon. Bring only what you must, and you too, Freeman. I already have my belongings.”

  “All right.” She paused on her way by to hug Freeman and then to toss her arms around Bennet and gave him a kiss as warm as she could manage in a few seconds. Then she darted up into the stable, through the gardens, and into the house. Thankfully, her grandparents should be out for a while yet.

  Once in her room, she threw open the drawers and cabinets and dug her way to the backs of them, where her clothing from Long Island had been pushed. As she bypassed silks and satins and put her fingers to cotton and wool, it seemed she was grasping hold of rightness.

  She packed what she needed in a simple bag, including one finer dress for her wedding, and managed to wriggle her way out of the complicated gown she wore. Getting into her homespun required no assistance, thank the Lord. Once dressed, she paused in front of her mirror and smirked at the strange creature reflected. With a few quick motions, she jerked the pins from her hair, shook out the elaborate style, and put it up again in a simple chignon.

  There, that was the Winter she had missed so long. The only piece of wealth remaining on her person was the emerald ring she had scarcely looked at yet.

  But one more was called for. She fished the pearls out of the pocket of the discarded dress, and then withdrew a box buried under all the meaningless trinkets Grandmother had provided. Inside lay a delicate strand of gold that had once encircled Mother’s throat on the most special of occasions. The clasp was not secure, which was why Winter never wore it. But now it allowed her to remove the barrier so she might slip on the pearls and then replace it. It would hold enough for now, and she would have it fixed later.

  Her Bible was the only other thing she wanted, and its addition filled out the bag. Perfect.

  Ought she to have written a note to Grandmother? No. Better to post one once they were out of the city, letting her know she was well, betrothed, and…what? There would be no returning. Wherever they went after they found Tallmadge, it could not be here, at least not for her.

  Did Bennet realize…? Of course he did. He had come with a wagon, his own things already on it. He would not mourn the City of New York, and perhaps he could mend things with his mother and brother once they were settled in Connecticut.

  Father of fathers, knit tight the bonds of blood and love.

  She bade a silent, happy farewell to this prison of a room and flew downstairs toward freedom.

  Ben slid the bag of Freeman’s belongings into the wagon and then accepted the stack of blankets the man handed over. Part of him wanted to leap on his horse and go on his own—’twould be faster by far—but he couldn’t. Winter must be taken out of this situation as quickly as possible.

  Not to mention that she was right about his chances of being believed.

  He halted at the sound of approaching hoofbeats and moaned when Archie vaulted off his mount and strode his way.

  He did not need this right now.

  Archie wore a thundercloud on his face and waved a rolled paper in the air as he neared. “What in blazes is this, Benny?”

  Oh, deuces—one of his maps. He thought for sure he had grabbed them all. But no, his bottom drawer. He had forgotten to clear it out. He had become distracted when Mother had walked by on her way out for the afternoon.

  “Ah…”

  Archie stopped a step away, rage i
n the gaze he moved from his brother to the wagon behind him. “Going somewhere, are you?”

  Ben sighed. “If you would have rifled through your own things instead of mine, you would have found the letter I left for you.” Left among Archie’s shaving supplies so he wouldn’t find it until tomorrow, that is.

  “In which you would say what? Why, perchance, you have maps laying out where the militaries are and the spots in the city where officers gather?” Archie shook his head, sparks all but spitting from his eyes. “Is it not enough you have received every worldly good that should be mine? Will you take my standing in the army away from me too?”

  Ben slid the blankets into the back of the wagon. “Don’t be ridiculous, Archie. I have taken nothing from you. In fact, I—”

  “Taken nothing?” Archie hurled the map at him. “You’ve taken everything, absolutely everything. And now I learn you are…what is it you are exactly, Benny? A spy?”

  Freeman stepped to Ben’s side and somehow packed a world of encouragement in a glance, a message he was there if needed.

  Oh, how he prayed he wouldn’t need him. “Archie—”

  “And what are you doing here now? Has Miss Reeves actually forgiven you your loyalties and agreed to run off with you? An idiotic move. You know her grandparents will hunt you down.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Winter appeared in the barn’s doorway, her face peaceful, dress simple, hair sleek and dark. An image that made him think, There you are. The woman he had always hoped hid beneath the gloss. The woman he loved, and with whom he could build a future. She smiled at his brother. “They will not miss me. Especially when they realize I have taken your brother to meet my father. In the Patriot camp.”

  “Your…?” Archie’s face mottled red. “Quite a pair the two of you are. Well, I’m sorry, Benny, but I can’t let you do this.”

  In that infinite second he had in which to consider what was happening, he wondered if Archie would draw out a gun or perhaps his sword. If he would maybe even make some signal that would draw an entire squadron of soldiers out of hiding, ready to arrest them all.

  When he realized that Archie instead charged him as he had done a thousand times before, arms out ready to tackle him, he nearly laughed.

  Nearly. Instead, he bade farewell to the luxury of protecting his little brother and prayed that the Lord would do it for him.

  When the impact came, he didn’t go placidly wherever Archie pushed, as he usually did. He didn’t succumb or pretend to be weak. He crouched and absorbed. Then he struck back. One mighty push that both freed him of Archie’s grip and sent his brother tumbling to the ground.

  Archie’s eyes were glazed with shock as he landed on his back. Though he surely could have leaped back up, he stayed put and stared up at him. “Since when can you—?”

  “I always could. I chose not to.” Ben swept a hand over his damp forehead. A hand that shook. “I wanted to protect you, Archie. To keep you from being hurt. That was always my goal, always my reasoning. That was why I never told you I was a Patriot.”

  Archie slumped a little more into the ground. “You are my enemy.”

  “Nay. I am your brother. That is why I never took up the colors, Archie. I could not risk fighting you.” He knelt down beside him and prayed the truth would shine through. “I am sorry we cannot agree about so many things, but please don’t doubt that I did all I could to protect you.”

  “I don’t understand you, Benny. I never did, and apparently I never will.” He pushed onto his elbows but moved no farther. “Please rethink this. If you go to the Patriot camp, if word gets out where your loyalties lie—”

  “Freedom is worth sacrifice.” A hint of a smile found its way onto his lips. “I already wrote to Uncle Lane, explaining my position. I have no doubt he will name you his heir, as I suggested. You should, in fact, resign your commission as quickly as you can and hasten to England.”

  A light sprang up in Archie’s eyes, one that made peace swell within Ben. Not a light of greed, nor of gladness to get what he thought he deserved. Nay, ’twas a light of respect. Archie sat up the rest of the way and gripped his arm. “But then what of you, Ben? You will not be able to return to New York for the foreseeable future. Without Clefton, you will have only your house in Connecticut.”

  “Which is all I need.” Ben hauled them to their feet. “If Mother by chance is not ready to go with you and doesn’t wish to remain alone in New York, tell her she is welcome in New Haven with Winter and me.”

  “I will tell her.” Archie dusted off his rear as he set his jaw. “And I will have the property from her family transferred to you. Perhaps it will help see you through the war, since it seems you will soon have a wife to support, after all.”

  Winter stepped to Ben’s side and leaned into him. “At the first possible—”

  “Winter!”

  Winter’s fingers bit into his arm. Ben bit back a curse. “Hampton is home, and no doubt his servants reported that I arrived with a wagon. Archie, get out of here. Now. It will do you only harm to be seen with us.”

  Archie lifted a brow. “Still protecting me?”

  “Just go.”

  His shoulders went back, his chin up. “I could help.”

  “Nay.” Ben pushed him toward his horse. “Mother needs at least one of us to be at her side. You must be that one.”

  “Ben—”

  “Please, Archie. Do this for me.”

  Archie muttered something unintelligible, but he whistled for his mount. “If you get yourself hurt, I shan’t readily forgive it.”

  In spite of the anxiety mounting with each second, Ben smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Godspeed, Archie. To home and then to England.”

  “The same to you, brother.” He swung up onto his horse. “Write me?”

  The smile begot a chuckle. “We always did make better correspondents than companions. Of course I will.”

  Freeman grasped the horse’s bridle. “I’ll show you out the back, Major.”

  Glad when his brother disappeared, Ben looked down at Winter. “Perhaps if we meet him in the garden and act as though nothing is out of the ordinary…”

  She glanced down at her modest gown. Doubt crowded her brows, but as he watched she pushed it away and dropped her mask into place. “’Tis worth a try.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Why now? Of all the times for Grandfather to arrive home early, to seek her out, to call her name with such venom, why must it be now? Another five minutes and they could have been gone. Away from Hampton Hall and on the road out of New York. Free.

  Winter gripped Bennet’s arm and stepped from the stable into the warm sunshine of the October afternoon. They moved a few steps into the garden before she saw him.

  She swore her heart stopped.

  Grandfather, standing with arms crossed. And Hank, his favorite slave, behind him with a musket in hand.

  Bennet sucked in a breath. “‘Hide me under the shadow of thy wings,’” he murmured, “‘from the wicked that oppress me, from my deadly enemies, who compass me about.’”

  She put her free hand on his arm. “‘He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.’”

  Grandfather sliced a gaze over her. She knew that sneer well. She had seen it for the first time when he and Grandmother arrived on the farm in Oyster Bay. On that day they had finally deigned to see the place their only living child had chosen over the wretched mansion before Winter now, and they had judged it a disgrace. Judged her a disgrace.

  But she was not. She may never be what they wanted, but they would not be her judges. Winter lifted her chin and glared right back at him. “You called?”

  “Going back to your filthy roots, are you?” Grandfather took a casual, menacing step toward her. “We never should have raised you from them. I said from the moment Phillippa read Amelia’s letter that we ought to leave you to your swine and their muck. You could never be anything but a
shame to us.”

  O my God, I trust in thee: let me not be ashamed, let not mine enemies triumph over me.

  Bennet’s arm went taut under her fingers, and he too took a step forward. “You will not speak of her so.”

  “And why not?” Grandfather slashed a hand through the air. “She is no better than her whore of a mother, and you are no one to defend her. Or did you plan to marry her before you load her into that wagon you drove up?”

  Many a time she had seen Bennet’s face flush, but never with fury as it did now. “Marry her I most certainly will, once I have the permission of a family member whose word I can actually esteem. We are going to her father.”

  For a moment she thought Grandfather would succumb to apoplexy. She could see his veins bulge in his forehead from where she stood. But rather than fall, he barked, “You will not!” and motioned Hank forward.

  A shuffling sounded from the door at the opposite end of the stable. Freeman? She didn’t know whether to hope it or fear it. The last thing she wanted was for him to be in danger too.

  Percy stepped out, his face contorted with pain. He leveled what looked suspiciously like her pistol at Grandfather. “You might want to rethink obeying him right about now, Hank. I haven’t a whole lot to lose at this point.”

  Winter drew in a sharp breath as the slave advanced a few wobbling steps. He wore no shirt, and the angry, oozing welts on his back screamed for justice. Even from here she could see beads of sweat on his forehead despite the cool breeze. No doubt his eyes would be as glazed and feverish as when she had looked in on him earlier. Poor man. She put one foot forward.

  Bennet pulled her back.

  Hank transferred his aim to the injured slave. “Think about this, Percy. You put that weapon down now before you get yourself in more trouble.”

  “More trouble?” Percy’s lips curled up, his chest heaving. “There is no more trouble. This fever is eating me up. But if I’m going to die, I’m going to take that devil with me.”