by Jerri Hines
“Don’t know what Lydia would do without the little lad,” Peter Lanson said after Jonathan returned from tucking little William in bed. “And myself, I should add.”
“He’s a handful, I’m certain,” Jonathan chuckled and took a seat across from Lanson in his father’s old study. He loved this place, a sanctuary from the world outside. He still felt his father’s presence in this room. “I will never be able to repay the both of you. When I return…”
“I hope he will always be part of our home,” Peter began in a rather brisk tone. “I had hoped…we had hoped to add to this little family, but so far…let us say it weighs on Lydia’s heart. After she lost the baby years ago, Doc Morris had warned her she might not ever have another. She needs a houseful of children. I wish…”
Jonathan studied Lanson. He had known him for years, the hardhearted man directing a network of spies. A network that had cost Jonathan’s father and brother their lives and almost Hannah’s… Hannah! Guilt plagued him. She should be within these walls; instead, she lay under the protection of a husband who Jonathan knew little about.
Lanson promised she was safe. Jonathan believed him. At one time he would not have, but the man sitting before him was a changed man. The strange marriage between his former sister-in-law and the once impassive soldier seemed to have softened him.
“Well, I shouldn’t concern myself about little William leaving. I couldn’t pry him apart from Lydia if I wanted to,” Jonathan informed Lanson. His tone altered to a serious one. “I wouldn’t have my son if not for you both. I want only to return home after this war. I want nothing more than to spend my remaining years here. And if I never left again, I would be content.”
“Ah, but in time you will marry once more…”
“That,” Jonathan interrupted his friend quickly, “is an impossibility. I have no desire to ever repeat that mistake. Besides,” Jonathan added, “I have to survive this Southern assignment. All I have heard about what we are entering into isn’t promising. According to my sources, we have more to worry about than the British.
“From what I understand General Howe and Gadsden have been into it continually. The whole of the command is in shambles. Fighting between the two has caused a huge rift. The damn squabbles. If they’re not careful, the British won’t have to raise a pistol.”
“Their eyes lay on the South,” Lanson informed Jonathan in a manner that told Jonathan that Lanson may not be in the network, but he had maintained his connections. “Take care, Jonathan of yourself . It is becoming more of a civil war than a revolution in the Carolinas.”
Lanson’s words resounded with truth that blared at Jonathan on his arrival. Thank goodness, the concerns of Dr. and Mrs. Jenkins seemed unfounded. At least he had one less worry on him. Although he had not yet seen Rebekah, he had visited the home of Adam Reed the day after he arrived, only to be told that Rebekah was visiting a friend in Beaufort. Mr. Reed had been exceedingly cordial, extending Jonathan an invitation to dinner that he couldn't refuse. Mr. Reed had even offered a room for Jonathan to house during his stay in Charles Town. Jonathan politely declined and left a package that the Jenkins had sent to the children.
At least he had seen Daniel and Paul. By God, did Daniel look like his father, Jonathan thought. A tall lad, Jonathan figured he must be around seventeen at the most and he stood taller than Jonathan's six-foot frame. Wide-shouldered and muscular, Daniel's passion for the cause oozed from his being at dinner. The young man had a million questions about Saratoga and General Washington.
Rodger would be proud, Jonathan reflected. Fine-looking boys and as he wished, all together. At least, the trip wouldn't turn out to be a total loss. Dr. Jenkins would be able to find comfort with the knowledge all were well and safe.
Dusk settled over the shores of Charles Town’s harbor when Jonathan’s coach wound through the streets after a late afternoon meeting with Colonel John Percy, another meeting that proved tiring and frustrating to no end. His escort from the South Carolina militia was a Lieutenant Ernest Sherman, who lounged in the forward-facing seat. He seemed a decent sort, pleasant enough, Jonathan supposed. At the moment, all Jonathan cared about was his bed.
Jonathan sat uncomfortably next to his companion on this mission, Floyd Keyser. Jonathan was grateful that they were on their way back to the Berkley residence where they were housed until they could meet up with the army that seemed to be out on maneuvers of some sort. No one could give Jonathan a sense of where exactly the army was.
Jonathan glanced over at Keyser, who seemed irritated himself. Jonathan liked Keyser, a short man with a boyish charm. Moreover, he was a man of few words. Having grown up in the Carolinas, Jonathan thought Keyser would hold the secret on how to break through this bedlam, but from the look on Keyser’s face, he seemed as frustrated and aggravated as Jonathan.
“Perhaps your family would have time to travel to see you and pass the time until our army resurfaces,” Jonathan offered in a way to soothe his companion’s feelings.
"Ain't safe for traveling in some parts," Lieutenant Sherman broke his silence. "Depends where they're traveling to and whether they have an escort. The roads are dangerous, especially if ya are traveling far."
"Wouldn’t ask. They got enough worries," Keyser agreed. "My dad and brother might attempt it at some point. They would be coming down from Fayetteville. Long enough journey without worrying about them raiders."
"To be truthful, the countryside has gone mad,” Lieutenant Sherman informed the two doctors. “Once someone is branded one way or the other lately, it seems to ignite violence. Both sides, I suppose, but the Tories got a couple of real bad ones. Black Rory, the Jamieson's gang, Randolph Boyce, just a few. Not many days ago heard Boyce rounded a group of Patriot supporters in Aiken into a church and burnt it to the ground."
"My God, are we dealing with barbarians!" Jonathan uttered unable to believe the words the private spoke.
"Beg your pardon, Dr. Corbett. It may seem like it. And I'm not saying it’s not—it’s just the way it is," Lieutenant Sherman acknowledged. He edged up straight. "It started back with the British got the goddamn Cherokee to attack innocent settlers. I can tell ya it wasn't pretty. Then you got 'em relatives retaliating against the Loyalists. Guess you can say we're caught in a vicious circle."
"People have gone mad if you ask me," Keyser snorted disdainfully and frowned. “The whole lot. Both sides. Don’t even seem like they know we’re fighting the British.”
"Won't argue. Then you got the ones that just want to be left alone." Private Sherman reached across to the window and pulled back the curtain. Jonathan noticed he nodded slightly as he glanced out. He let go of the curtain and looked at Jonathan. "Hope you don't mind, Dr. Corbett, but I had a request from a friend. He wanted to meet with you. It won't take long and then I'll get you to the Berkley’s."
"Someone needs medical attention?" Jonathan asked, confusion in his voice. "I'm certain you have..."
"Asked for you personally," Private Sherman steadfastly replied.
Jonathan didn't have time to protest as the carriage's wheels slowed to a stop. Instinctually, Jonathan reached down to his waist, touching his musket butt. A moment later the door handled rattled and the door swung open. Jonathan released his grip on his weapon.
Young Daniel Morse stood before him, holding to the open carriage door. "Dr. Corbett, come in please. I have to apologize, but I didn't have another option. I…we need your help."
Quite taken by surprise, Jonathan followed Daniel Morse in silence through the wrought iron fence and up the stone path. He walked up the steps of a house of considerable proportions, although glancing around quickly, he saw other houses of the same magnitude resided along the street. Three stories of iron lace-trimmed balconies adorned the side of the house with well-tended flowers growing on each level.
Jonathan hadn’t a clue to whom the house belonged, but he sensed Daniel’s eagerness for his help. Halting on the last step, Jonathan cast an apprehensive
glance over his shoulder when he heard the familiar sound of a carriage driving off down the street. He hadn’t time to contemplate the action when Paul Morse opened the entrance door.
“Good evening, Dr. Corbett,” Paul offered his greeting. “I hope this is not too much of an inconvenience.”
“I must confess I’m slightly confused,” Jonathan acknowledged, turning his attention back to the two brothers.
“I’m sorry for having to waylay your carriage,” Daniel started as he walked past Jonathan and gestured for Jonathan to enter. “But it was important that we talk with you in private without fear of this conversation becoming public knowledge. You should have no worries about your colleague. Ernie will see that he gets to his destination, as will you as soon as we talk.”
Jonathan complied with the request and found himself in an elegant foyer. A crystal chandelier lit the entrance brightly. The butler closed the door behind the small group, directing his attention to a tall, handsome man standing by the massive, ornately carved staircase. The man carried himself with an aristocrat air that Jonathan had seen before in Williamsburg with Governor Dunmore and the Randolph family. Immediately, Jonathan suspected who the man before him was. His reputation preceded him.
Pierce Cutler, born a fourth son of an Irish baron, bought, as most aristocrats in his position, a commission in the British army. He had been assigned to Boston back in 1770 when the turmoil escalated, but a year later found him married to Mary Polly Hamilton, daughter of one of the elite of Charles Town. Selling his commission, he settled down to the life of a colonist, siding plainly with the Patriots when the war broke out. He now had a price on his head, a high price. The British wanted him badly.
“Dr. Corbett, please come in. The boys told you that I wanted to hold a conversation with you?”
“Cutler, is it not?” Jonathan asked dubiously.
“Please, Pierce. We may eliminate the formalities. Time presses.” He drew out his watch from his waistcoat’s side pocket. Frowning, he replaced it as his gray-blue eyes shifted across the room. “Do you mind if I have a word with you in private? There is a room down the hall that would allow us some privacy.”
“I thought I was to talk with the boys…”
“Mr. Cutler talks for both of us. I’m the one who suggested this talk, Dr. Corbett. Maybe she’ll listen to you. She needs to listen,” Daniel interrupted Jonathan. His voice conveyed a deep concern. Paul stood back and gave a sedate nod.
“I understand your reluctance, Dr. Corbett,” Cutler assured him, displaying no emotion. “But if it was not of the utmost importance, I would not have bothered you otherwise. You are an old family friend. You fended concern for Miss Morse when you dined with Adam Reed the other night. Did you not?”
“This is about Rebekah?” Jonathan questioned, but Cutler motioned for him to follow him. Jonathan turned on his heel and followed. Questions lay on his lips, his curiosity roused. Had not Reed told him of Rebekah’s well-being? Settled was his exact word. Why this secrecy? What the hell was going on?
Jonathan walked quietly into a study. Immediately, Cutler shut the door and walked straightaway to a large mahogany desk. His shadow traveled along his path in the candlelight of the room. Once more, the room gave way to an elegance that emulated wealth. Leather-bound seats circled the fireplace; magnificent paintings graced French wall-papered walls. A large gold plated mirror hung over a rose-wood carved mantle where a large fire burned. Cutler took a seat and gestured for Jonathan to do the same.
The lean, hard expression solidified on Cutler’s face. Without question, Cutler was fixated on a serious matter. Yet, he said nothing, but sat staring at Jonathan as if evaluating him.
“Is there a purpose here?” Jonathan’s voice rang sharp, rapidly losing patience.
Cutler’s prominent chin stiffened. Not a man that liked to be pressed, Jonathan observed, but at the moment Jonathan didn’t care. He didn’t appreciate being treated as a child being taken behind the shed.
“Impatient?” Cutler asked with a keen look. “I suppose I don’t blame you. I hesitate only because I take my responsibilities seriously and gave my word to Ian that I would take care of the situation. It is what I intend to do.”
“Look here…Cutler. I haven’t the foggiest idea why you called me back here…”
“It concerns your friend, my ward, Rebekah Morse.”
Jonathan gawked at the statement in wide-eyed astonishment. “Your ward…Rebekah? What of her uncle?”
“All isn’t publicized. Her…fiancé, Ian Cahill, was my business associate, besides an old and dear friend of my wife’s family. The whole of the situation is complicated, but at this time I’m at wits’ end on what to do with Rebekah. It is why I’ve come to you now.”
“I’m afraid you have me confused.”
“I will back up.” Cutler’s eyes fixed on him. “I will be honest. I have done some digging into your past, Dr. Corbett. You bide from Williamsburg. Old friend of Rebekah’s family in Philadelphia. Your father and brother sacrificed their lives for the Patriot cause. Have served as surgeon since the start of the war. Widower with a young son, who is being cared for by your sister-in-law in Williamsburg. Ah!” Butler gestured for Jonathan to keep his composure for Jonathan’s mouth opened for a rebuttal. “I have my reasons. Rebekah has need of a friend, a close friend whom she could depend on. Would you say that could describe you?”
“If you have done your digging, you know the answer,” Jonathan said with clear indignation in his tone. “Her father was a close friend to my father and our families as well. If Rebekah needs help, she knows I would do anything for her. I owe her father. But you also must be aware that I haven’t seen Rebekah in years.”
Cutler waved his hand above his head in a circular motion with obvious frustration. “Pray, listen to me, Dr. Corbett, before you respond. You do not know what Rebekah has endured and…Rebekah does not know what she needs! For the life of me, I have never met someone as headstrong and stubborn…She steadfastly refuses to listen to me. Dr. Corbett, if you are a friend, you need to convince her that she needs to take the steps I have lined up for her. She is heading down a road that will only lead to disaster.”
The rising voice cut off abruptly. Jonathan watched the man in front of him, momentarily embarrassed by an excess of temper.
“However.” Cutler cleared his throat. “This is getting me nowhere. I understand you are confused and all the information that you need, I can’t give you. Rebekah will have to. There are a few points I can clarify. The rest you will need to get her to do so.
“I’m certain if you haven’t already heard the rumors concerning Rebekah, you will. The cover story was lame at best, but nothing can be proved, at least at the moment. If I have my way, the story will never emerge to the public. There was a botched attempt on her life a few months ago that resulted in her being abducted.”
“Excuse me? Rebekah…abducted?” Jonathan raised his eyebrows and looked questionably at the man. “Why have I not heard of it before…?”
“Patience, Dr. Corbett.” Cutler raised a staying hand. “Given the circumstances, it was deemed the best course of action to contain the situation. Unfortunately, Rebekah was used as a pawn. A vendetta of sorts for one. A means to an end for another.
“Ian Cahill’s brother, Layton Daventry, ran up considerable debt with his gambling and wild living. Seemed he caught wind of Ian’s plan to marry Rebekah, which had been kept quiet,” Cutler said, his voice soothing. “Ian wasn’t a well lad. In essence he was living on borrowed time. Rebekah had formed a bond with him and added joy to his last days. He wanted to repay her. But Layton had her abducted with the intent to kill her, except the murder, from what I can gather, was interrupted by a notorious Loyalist raider, Black Rory.”
Jonathan froze. The name sent a chill down his spine. “Rebekah was abducted by Black Rory?”
Cutler did not change his expression. “There is much for you to understand. Black Rory saw an opportunity and took
it. Years ago, Black Rory was much like any other plantation owner until his plantation was raided and his family murdered in front of him. He suffered greatly himself, but survived. He holds Adam Reed and his business partner—Sandler—responsible for the tragedy.
“Black Rory held Rebekah out on one of his old farms while he blackmailed Layton and ransomed Rebekah to Ian. All the while plotting revenge on Reed. I advised Ian not to make the ransom. Ian would have none of it. He paid it. I thought without question we would find Miss Morse murdered if we found her at all, but she was where Black Rory indicated. I thought all strange. Now though, I believe I understand what he has maneuvered.”
“That would be?”
“I hold to your honor that all I have told you and will tell you will be only between us.”
“I give you my word.” Jonathan sat with his mind racing, trying to make sense of Cutler’s words.
“Rebekah was held against her will for more than three months, Dr. Corbett. When she was rescued, she had bruises on her person, ones that were kept from Ian. Ian lived long enough to see she lived. He died content, but did not have time to marry her before death overcame him. Rebekah…” Cutler paused, as if searching for the right words. “Rebekah is with child.”
Jonathan stared in disbelief at Cutler, lost for words. “Is it…?”
“Black Rory’s,” Cutler finished his question. “It is my belief it is. She will only talk to Esther about the situation. Esther was Layton’s wife, but a dear friend to Ian and had nothing to do with his dastardly plan. Of course, Esther had no choice but to convey to me the situation.”
“So what do you want from me? I will help do whatever is deemed best for Rebekah without question, although for the life of me I cannot imagine how something like this could happen to a lady.”