She strove to keep him talking, to hear the burr of his voice. “What about your family? Are your parents still in Wales?”
“Ye know how to rip to the heart of things.” He slowed, shoulders rigid. A minute or so passed. “My father died young, when I was but fourteen. Lung disease from the coal mines. My mam married again to support us, me and two sisters and a brother. But my step-dad were a man who liked his drink and spoke with his fists when drunk. When I was seventeen, I’d had enough when he hit my mam in the face and broke her teeth.” Derec fisted his hands, his tone hard. “I stabbed him. Not to death, mind; but enough to chase him off.”
She nearly reached out to hug him, though touched his sleeve instead. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s when I went to London to find work. Eventually the secret services. I sent much of my money back to her.” He scraped a boot along the dirt. “Now, my brother found good work and she refuses more from me. Wrote me to live my own life.”
And he seemed to court danger ever since, she thought.
A group of riders trotted down the main trail, heard before seen. Derec grabbed her and they ducked into the bushes, prickly on her skin. Crouched, Rowena’s breath held, she watched rebel soldiers ride by.
She and Derec finally crawled out and continued on the smaller path, alert to every sound. He kept his hand on her shoulder, his fingers massaging. “We must be careful.”
She hurried on, enjoying the warmth of his touch, no matter the folly. “Since the defeat at Springfield, what are our choices?” she whispered.
He increased his gait, pulling her with him. “’Tisn’t good, but we toil harder. Most of the fighting is in the southern colonies now; that will determine the outcome.”
* * *
The Whitehouse Tavern, plastered bright white over stone, was a welcome sight to Rowena. “At last I can find soap to wash. Perhaps a brush for my unruly hair.”
“Ye do look a tramp, I daresay. Yet a trooper of the first order.” Derec scrutinized her as they stood outside, his eyes glinting. “We must find ye decent clothes.”
“I am at a loss without my personal maid.” She smirked, and stared down at her torn, filthy shirt and breeches. “Shall I dress as male or female?”
“What be yer pleasure?” He smiled, and her heart flipped. Their journey together had been quite friendly, but she remained confused.
She dropped down on the tavern step. No denying it, she was attached to him in a way that he may not want. She sensed he was a man not to be tethered. “Womanly attire is appropriate, I suppose. A better disguise for those who might be looking for me.”
“’Tis true. I’ll go inside and see if James is about, and what we can do for ye.” He pressed on her shoulder. “Rest, geneth.” He opened the door and slipped within.
She stretched out her legs and flexed her sore toes in her boots. Time passed, but she didn’t care. She had to decide what she wanted to do next, which depended on the direction of the war. Would her family be allowed to stay if the rebels won? Her father might not even want to remain in America. Some loyalists had already emigrated to England, a country she knew little about. Many talked of sailing north to cold Nova Scotia, Upper or Lower Canada, if needed.
The door opened behind her. Derec stood beside her a moment later, extending his hand. “The innkeeper’s wife will take care of ye.”
After a hot soak in a metal hip bath in her room, her bruised and scratched body soothed, Rowena washed her hair in soap shavings. She inspected the pink and raw burst blisters on her feet. Toweled off, she pulled on the shift, stays, and plain beige gown brought to her by a maid from the innkeeper’s wife. The dress smelled clean but hung too long; at least it covered her beaten-up half-boots. She had to wear her same torn stockings, though no one would see them. No cap or petticoat had been provided. She had no pins to contain her curls so was forced to leave her hair loose.
She glanced in the mirror of the small room and had the odd wish for powder to cover her sprinkle of freckles, plus a dab of rouge for her lips. “Oh, how vain.”
Her mother would have chided her for trying to look like a ‘fast’ woman.
She shook her head at her attempt to impress a man who no doubt thought of her as a little sister.
Downstairs, she joined Derec and her cousin James in the dark-paneled dining room. A large hearth took up the right wall, but no fire was lit on such a warm day. One other couple sat at a corner table. She tripped over the gown’s hem, then held it a bit higher. Her feet stung with each step.
The men stood. “That is how you should always dress, Ro,” James said with a superior nod. He looked thinner, his face even narrower. “Very proper, like a girl of good breeding.”
She made a mock curtsy. “James. How are you? I’m fine; thank you for your cousinly caring.”
Derec smiled, gave a slight bow and pulled out a chair. “Ye look refreshed, m’dear.”
She sat. A young woman brought them bowls of rabbit soup, the meaty aroma savory. A cup of hot coffee reinvigorated her.
“I’m taking you home to Easton. It’s less than thirty miles to the west.” James ate from his bowl then glared at her. “No more nonsense. My mother will plan your ‘coming out’ and…”
“And what, I will dance with the rebel officers, choose one for my husband?” Her response dripped with sarcasm.
Derec put his hand on her arm, fingers circling. “Have a care. We know not who listens,” he whispered.
She tried to ignore the tingle on her flesh each time he touched her. She concentrated on her food, starving after the trek through the countryside munching on plants like cattle. The chunks of rabbit and potatoes in broth tasted delicious. Then anger at James resurfaced. “Be aware, Cousin. Do not order me about.”
“I’m only trying to guide you, Ro.” James grimaced. “As impossible as that has been. My temper is short, my work…absorbing.”
She decided to end this line of discussion. “Where is Sam?”
“He is with the horses, in the stable.” Derec studied her, concern on his face. Yet he hadn’t objected to her banishment.
“I trust you’ve provided him victuals.” She spooned in more soup to silence herself, to avoid his pity. They would be rid of her, back to their important ‘men’s’ duties.
Irritation at being so easily dismissed redirected her upset. She did need to return home, to see how her father and Aunt Elizabeth fared, perhaps to reorder the household. However, dullness at the prospect draped over her.
Once again outside, to wait for Sam to bring around the horses, a man she hadn’t seen before approached Derec. They conferred together away from the steps. James stepped onto the porch, his expression wary. She wondered again at his uneasy relationship to the Welshman.
Derec returned to her, his smile questioning. “Rowena, I have a new dispatch for ye to decipher. Unless ye must return home quickly?”
“She needs to return to the farm; leave her be,” James snapped, boots thudding on the front portico. “Ro, you don’t know what—”
“Enough. I’ll be happy to decipher the message.” After a glare at her cousin, her spirits lifted; her desire to stay close to Derec no matter how futile continued to unsettle her. “How did anyone know we were here?” She darted her gaze about.
Derec gave her an enigmatic smile. “I’m usually in touch with my comrades.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Aunt Joan set down the tea tray, along with bread and jam, on the low table in her back parlor. “I’m afraid my maid didn’t show herself today, and Mrs. Bailey has retired to the country. Servants are reluctant to be in my employ for fear of the rebel’s increased repercussions.” She sat on the sofa beside Rowena, her face in a rare frown. “And you witnessed another battle and were captured, then escaped? How very brave of you, but completely astounding, my dear. Now Philadelphia is a city of worse unrest. Tensions are higher. I’m thinking, though it breaks my heart, it may be time for me to leave.” She gripped Rowena�
�s hand. “You should give up these dangerous activities and return home.”
“Cousin James insisted on the same, before he and Sam left for Easton to check on Father and Aunt Elizabeth. But I can’t yet. Have faith in me.” Rowena accepted a cup of tea and slice of bread. She had argued with James over her decision; nevertheless, Derec agreed to bring her with him as a part of his scheme.
She’d deciphered the report, which said a British spy on his way to Philadelphia had been discovered and was in grave peril. The loyalist was trying to persuade a member of the Continental Congress to report on the rebel’s seditious activities. Derec needed to warn and protect the informant from arrest.
The spy, known as Mr. Zachary, was heading from Trenton for a third time and Derec had hoped to waylay him, but they hadn’t been able to stop him before he entered the city.
“When do you meet with your Welshman?” Her aunt stirred her sugarless tea, also sans milk. “And since you had me help you alter this gown when you arrived unexpectedly last evening, I know you won’t dress as a boy.”
“No, my disguise will be as myself, a woman, as you see.” Rowena perused the lavender-hued, closed-robe gown she wore. A pretty confection once worn by her aunt’s daughter, it was too girlish, but better than the plain garment she’d acquired at the White House Tavern. She and Derec had traveled here by stage coach as brother and sister, another disappointment, though she must bear the situation. “I will depart soon to meet him. I’ll carry a picnic basket as if Mr. Z and I are to sup.” Derec said to meet him a block from the Pennsylvania State House at 11 a.m. She sipped the weak tea and nibbled the bread covered with sweet plum jam. “If you move from Philadelphia, where will you go?”
“I have various ideas and invitations to join our Tory friends.” Aunt Joan’s smile looked weary, resigned. “Perhaps New York. If the war is won by us, I can always come home.”
Rowena glanced about the parlor. The house had a neglected feel with few candles lit the previous evening. The elegant woodwork held a light coat of dust, and cobwebs clouded the corners. “Have you heard from Uncle Charles?”
“I have not. As far as I know, he’s still in the southern colonies.” She drank from her delicate cup and stared off into space. “I worry, although it’s safer for him if we don’t correspond.” Her shoulders drooped. “We never thought the war would get this far. Their congress has no means to collect taxes to supply the rebel army. Soldiers are ill-clothed and starving, I’ve heard.”
A knock sounded on the front door. Rowena darted her gaze to her aunt. “I’ll answer—”
“No, dear, allow me.” Aunt Joan rose and rustled down the corridor in her red-striped gown. She came back moments later holding a letter. “A missive with no indication of who sent it.” She broke the wax seal.
Rowena joined her.
The note in a hasty scribble said, Dear J, I can no longer be of service but wish you well on your impending journey. T.
“I’ve been expecting this.” Her aunt sighed, then her mouth firmed. “Mr. Fitzsimons, my rebel merchant friend, has withdrawn his protection—for his own security I’m certain—and urges me to leave the city. Though this place isn’t much of a home without my family, he’s definitely made up my mind for me.”
* * *
Wrapped in a muslin shawl, basket in hand, Rowena reached the alley near the corner of Chestnut Street and Fifth. The late June air mild, the humidity hadn’t yet risen to the level of suffocation. Derec emerged at the edge of the shadows and her heart fluttered like a foolish girl’s.
After a glance about to make sure she wasn’t followed, she lifted her skirts and stepped around a pile of sloppy horse dung to hover closer to the alley. To appear occupied, she stopped and rummaged through her basket, where her muff pistol was wrapped in a cloth, and covered by a second blue-checked cloth.
“I’ve had word. Mr. Zachary is set to meet a Samuel Livermore,” Derec whispered. “Livermore is a member of Congress from New Hampshire and is believed to be sympathetic to the British. Our spy has been working on him to give us intelligence. There is much jealousy and dissension among the rebel members.”
“How was Mr. Zachary kept safe during the night?”
“No one knows where he resides while here. He changes location. Ye will sit in the park across from the State House. Livermore is to come out and walk with Mr. Zachary. Ye approach and engage them. If rebels try to arrest him, ye will insist Mr. Zachary is innocent and yer lover…cry if ye must.”
They fell silent as two men in cheerful conversation strutted by. Horses and carts trundled along the street. Women chattered, straw hats bobbing, as their long skirts swished across the cobbles.
“How will I know Mr. Zachary?”
“He’s very short, stocky of build, with a large head. Ye will direct Zachary…” He told her the details, the ruse. “I’ll be waiting, then we’ll whisk him away. I won’t ask if ye can manage it. I’m confident ye can.”
“You are correct, sir.” She basked in his trust and would never admit to any doubts; she must succeed.
Derec bent closer from his shadowed place, their shoulders almost touching. “Work the word ‘Delaware’ into yer discourse, then Mr. Zachary will know ye come from me. Be very careful, geneth. If it gets too dangerous press yer handkerchief over yer eyes. I’ll be watching.” He nodded slowly, turned and strode off down the alley.
With a deep breath, she proceeded along the street. Rowena realized she’d been waiting for a warm word or clasp of her hand, though his intense gaze had held her fast for a moment.
The red brick State House, now called Independence Hall, loomed before her with its white, wooden tower. A giant clock on the building’s west end showed the time of ten past eleven.
Under the shade of an oak tree in the grassy park across from this impressive structure, she settled on a wooden bench and spread her lavender skirts. Earthy smells wafted from the grass and trees. She gripped the basket handle then tapped the wicker in an anxious rhythm with her thumbs.
Men came and went from the Hall. Children ran through the park. A dog crouched and did his business. Rowena studied each person, and thought, in spurts of apprehension, of how she could help her aunt pack; though she’d most likely have to return home to Easton.
She watched more people hurry in and out of the state house. Robins chirped in the trees. A squirrel chittered then scurried up a tree trunk, its bushy tail twitching.
Minutes went by when no one came down the stairs. She fidgeted on the hard bench.
Was Derec behind her? She almost turned to look. What could she do about her feelings for him? She didn’t seek marriage and was certain he wouldn’t, either. No man would have legal command over her. Her father, the one man who might claim control of her, was kind and lenient; she had few concerns of his being overbearing.
But what were Derec’s feelings?
Two men left the State House: a squatty man with a medium-sized person beside him.
She leaned forward, then quickly sat back. Was this them? Would they enter the park? She gripped the basket until it crackled. Standing, she prepared to intercept Mr. Zachary near the steps if needed.
The duo crossed the cobbles and walked onto the grass. The short man had a large head and wide mouth with thick lips. He looked in his thirties and resembled a frog. She fought a cringe.
The other man was older, perhaps fifty years of age, with a double-chin and loose, powdered hair. They both wore tailored frock coats, the spy in maroon the other man in dark blue, and ivory-colored wool breeches.
Two blue-coated soldiers in high black boots strode toward the men. One wore a gold epaulette on his left shoulder. “Sir! Halt.”
Mr. Zachary glanced in their direction, shoulders hunched, then straightened. “Do you speak to me, young sir?” He had a gravelly voice with a forced air of indifference.
Rowena swallowed hard, smoothed her skirts and sauntered toward them.
“I will consider your offer. Now, if you�
��ll excuse me, gentlemen,” the other man, whom she assumed was Mr. Livermore, said. He backed away from Zachary and the soldiers. He bowed, turned, and hurried down the street.
The officer patted the musket he carried. “We have reason to believe you are a spy for the British. You’re to come with us now.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Zachary stretched his wide lips wider, but a flicker of alarm passed over his features. “You have most certainly made a mistake.”
Rowena swept up to him in a flurry of lavender skirt and white petticoat. “Darling. I’ve been waiting forever for you.” She turned to the soldiers. “What is the problem here, pray?”
“Step aside, Miss. This man is under arrest.” A baby-faced private frowned.
She huffed and stood her ground. “I will not leave this dear man.”
Mr. Zachary glared at her in confusion, then at the officer. “I have no idea what you mean, young man.”
“Dearest one, you’ve been with me most of your time. And you’ve been so honest to our cause, you could never have done what this soldier said.” She tried her sweetest smile on the ugly man. “Have you forgotten our picnic on the Delaware banks today? My maid prepared the food.”
One brow arched before realization dawned in Mr. Zachary’s eyes. “No, no, I remember…our picnic. I look forward to it, my dear.”
“Firstly, you are coming with us to answer questions.” The officer stepped closer. “And if we don’t like the answers…”
She hooked arms with the frog. “I persist, you are mistaken. This upstanding man is my fiancé. My father, General Parker, will be much disturbed at your behavior.” She’d plucked that name out of thin air to toss in their faces.
Her Vanquished Land Page 16