Four years had passed now, and there was still no word from him or even about him. How she missed him and his antics that made her laugh. He was only two years older than her, and yet she’d always thought him much wiser. Grayson loved to solve problems, and during the early part of the war, Mother had relied heavily on him to find household items and fabrics that no one else could secure.
Someday they would have to accept that he was gone, that they might never know what had happened to him, but at present her parents refused to even discuss the disappearance of their son.
Perhaps after the war—
She had retrieved a yellow ribbon from her chamber, and in Grayson’s room, she opened the wardrobe and scanned the navy-and-black breeches and the waistcoats colored with light gray, sage green, and a coral that reminded her of the wildflowers that grew in their forest each spring. Her brother wouldn’t mind if she used some of his clothes.
His silk stockings were in a drawer, and under his bed were two pairs of buckled shoes. She slipped out a pair to take to the stranger.
In the first months after Grayson disappeared, she wondered why he—or an acquaintance of his—didn’t send them a message. As the months and then years passed, she began to assume that he had passed on like Grandfather. Before the declaration for colonial independence was published, Grayson and the senior Lord Caswell had spoken out for peace over patriotism in Williamsburg, and Grandfather advocated loyalty both to their neighbors and to a monarch. Neither man wanted war or death, but their sentiments for peace hadn’t made them popular with either side.
She retrieved a tan-colored waistcoat and made a bundle of stockings, shoes, a blue-and-gray scarf, and a black cloak. As long as Mother didn’t find Lydia with the clothing, she would never realize they were missing.
Father was meeting with the overseer in his office to the north of their house this morning, and last she knew, Mother was mending a dress in her chamber. She heard strains of the pianoforte in the drawing room downstairs, thankful that Hannah was occupied for the moment as well.
It was ridiculous, all this sneaking around, but her guest couldn’t leave until he had decent clothing.
But then again, perhaps he wouldn’t have to leave at all. If Major Reed had washed up on their shore, her parents would welcome him into their home.
Every bone in Nathan’s body ached as he slowly pushed himself up from the bed again. He was almost upright, his hands balanced under his weight—but then his arms collapsed and his head crashed back onto the pillow.
His foot throbbed, and a terrible weariness seemed to chain him to this bed. He didn’t know how long he had been here, but he must leave soon. He had to warn the colonists and rally the people of Virginia to defend Richmond before the newly commissioned British general, a traitor named Benedict Arnold, surprised them with an attack.
Richmond first and then Williamsburg.
He scanned the small room again. Sunlight beamed through the beveled glass and lit a cream-colored bowl beside the basin. In his last prison, he hadn’t had a bed or a window—or food, for that matter. Someone had been taking good care of him here.
There was no time to linger in the comforts of this place. He must obtain a new disguise and travel to Richmond straightaway.
He sat up and forced his legs off the side of the bed. Perhaps if he could stand, the rest of his body would cooperate. He just had to make himself move.
But no matter how hard he pushed himself, he failed. It was as if his body was anchored to the bed.
How was he going to walk to Hammond Plantation if he couldn’t even stand?
He fell back onto his pillow again. It was hopeless. He couldn’t even walk as far as the window. He certainly couldn’t stop Benedict Arnold from taking Virginia, nor could he deliver his message.
Something shuffled outside his door, and he covered his legs with the blanket. Closing his eyes, he prayed silently that the person on the other side of the door was a friend.
The hinges groaned as the door opened and footsteps padded toward him. For a moment, all was still.
A shadow crossed over him, as if someone was inches above, examining his face. He kept his breath steady, hoping the visitor would think he was asleep.
Did this person intend to harm him or care for him? Or perhaps he or she was just curious about who he was.
The person shuffled away, and he opened his eyes ever so slightly to see a woman in the room, her back to him as she rummaged through his coat.
He propped himself on his elbows, his mind racing. “Those are my things.”
She gasped, whirling around to face him.
Her light chestnut hair hung loosely under her cap, and her eyes were the lavender color of the Virginia bluebells on his uncle’s plantation. In any other situation he might be intrigued, smitten even, but he didn’t care how pretty this woman was. She had no right to be going through his private affairs.
He sat up straighter. “What exactly are you searching for?”
Lydia swayed on her feet, her heart pounding. The stranger in Elisha’s bed was awake, staring back at her.
She hung his coat back on the peg and took a shaky step toward him. He searched her face like Father had done earlier, as if he was trying to determine whether she would speak the truth, but she had no reason to hide anything from this man. “I was looking for your name.”
He edged back down to his pillow and rolled over to face her. “What do you want—” A harsh cough interrupted his words. “What do you want with my name?”
She scooted the stool close to his bedside, and the ruffles and lace of her dress covered it as she sat. His English was educated, but it was not the British English she’d heard in London. Still, she had to inquire. “Are you Major Reed?”
The man sighed and then looked back toward the window. “My name is Nathan.”
When he didn’t offer his last name, she inquired again. “But are you Nathan Reed?”
He pressed his lips together in such a way that made her wonder. Either he didn’t want her to know his name or he knew a man by the same name. A man he disliked. “How do you know Major Reed?”
She shrugged.
He struggled again to sit up on his pillow. She leaned forward to help, but he rejected her assistance, scooting himself up again to a sitting position. “How long have I been here?”
“Since last night. I found you on the riverbank of our plantation.”
“What is the name of your home?” he demanded.
“Caswell Hall.”
His eyes closed. “I was hoping—” he began and then stopped, looking at her again. “Who are your neighbors?”
“The Webb family lives to the west, on the other side of the Chickahominy River, and the Hammonds own the plantation to the east.” She paused. “Are you acquainted with either of them?”
He lifted his head and then rotated his body, placing his feet on the floor. “I must leave right away.”
She watched him for a moment as he struggled to stand, but he wavered. She grabbed his arm and helped him return safely to the bed before he injured himself further. “There will be no leaving until you heal.”
“You do not understand.”
“I am aware that Arnold is coming.”
He turned toward her, his eyes wide. “How do you know?”
“You kept saying it in your sleep.”
His gaze wandered back to the window.
She picked up the bundle off the floor and set it on the edge of his bed before returning to her seat on the stool. “Here are shoes for you, and a waistcoat.”
He eyed the bundle. “Where did you find the clothing?”
“The clothes belong to my brother.” She held out the yellow ribbon. “And this belongs to me.”
“Will your brother not miss his clothing?”
She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. “I do not think so.”
He eyed her with curiosity. “Where is he?”
She paused. “Gra
yson has been missing for four years.”
“I am sorry.” He hesitated. “Is it because of the war?”
“I believe so.”
“It is a brutal affair.” He pushed himself back up on his elbows. “Which side do you find yourself on?”
“The side my grandfather was on.” She paused. “He wanted peace.”
“Aye. That is what most of us wish for, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “It will come soon, will it not?”
“I pray it will.”
She smoothed her hands over the lace on her gown. “Are you a rebel or a Loyalist?”
His shoulders straightened. “I am a Patriot.”
She slumped back against the wall. “I thought you might be . . . You were on a British ship.”
“I was a guest.”
She blinked. “A willing one?”
“Hardly.” He shifted his leg. “How far are we from Williamsburg?”
“About four miles.”
“I do not suppose I could hire a horse to ride.”
She cocked her head. “Do you have someone waiting for you?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“There is no livery near here.” She studied him for a moment, wondering whom he needed to visit in Williamsburg. “Perhaps I could send a message to your friends.”
He shook his head. “I fear I must deliver this message on my own.”
“Lydia?” She heard Hannah call outside.
Why was her sister looking for her?
Lydia stood and backed toward the side of the room, away from the window. The finger to her lips warned him to be quiet, but she realized he probably didn’t need a warning.
“Where are you?” Hannah called, terribly close to the room. “I know you are out here.”
Protocol demanded that family members not frequent the quarters of their servants, but Hannah seemed more concerned with Lydia’s secret than protocol at the moment. If her sister opened this door, there would be nothing Lydia could do. Not only would her sister find this man, but she would find Lydia in his chamber. Father’s heart might give out with that news.
She held her breath, praying silently that Hannah would continue searching for her on the other side of the building.
Seconds passed, and she glanced over at Nathan. He’d covered his head with the pillow, as if Hannah wouldn’t see him when she walked into the room. Any other time, it might have been funny, but Lydia couldn’t find much humor in it tonight.
If Hannah did open the door, hopefully she would see only a hump of bedcovers and think it was Elisha ill in bed.
She stepped toward the door, listening. When she didn’t hear Hannah’s voice, she propped open the door and glanced both ways.
“Good-bye,” she whispered as she reached for the bowl beside the basin.
The sooner he left the plantation, the better it would be for all of them.
Chapter Seven
Sarah dipped her pen into the inkwell and began to write in tiny lettering that only the eyes of youth could read. She had no choice but to write small. She could ill afford to buy any more paper, and even if she could afford it, it was almost impossible to obtain.
Before he left, Father had stashed a large box of linen paper among the other supplies in the basement. She could do without tea or sugar, but with her family gone and most of her friends occupied, she needed the companionship of her pen and paper. Now that her supply was dwindling, she cherished it even more.
In the afternoon light, she bled her heart onto the linen, pouring out all that was inside her. The compounding doubts of how much longer she could manage the plantation, of how she longed to travel somewhere—anywhere—beyond Williamsburg . . . And she wrote of how she loved Grayson. Oh, how she had loved him and still did to this day.
One day, when they found Grayson, perhaps she would give him the letters so he would know she had never forgotten him. That her heart had never loved another. Everyone talked of Seth and Lydia marrying the plantations together. No one knew—not even Grayson—how much she had cared for him. He thought of her as Seth’s younger sister, the girl who loved to dream.
They were both dreamers—not knowing or even caring a whit about how they would actually pay for a voyage around the world. He once told her he could secure her a passage to Europe or the West Indies or wherever she wanted to go, and she never doubted in his ability to do it.
She dipped her pen again and wrote how she missed him, how she anxiously awaited his return. She wrote the same thing in each letter and pretended the ending would be like the endings in many of the novels she and Mrs. Pendell exchanged. Where good triumphed over evil. Freedom triumphed over tyranny. And the man she longed for returned.
Wind beat branches against the windows of the house, and the old house creaked. She signed her letter as she always did.
Madam Knight
The woman who longed to wander.
She sprinkled pounce on the ink and let it dry before she put her letter into a box and hid it behind two books on the shelf. She never said anything specific about her friendship with Mrs. Pendell in her letters to Grayson, in case someone discovered the letters. Nor did she tell him how she was assisting the Patriots.
It would be dark within the hour, and she would check then to see if the courier had come. Thomas told her there had been whisperings about more British soldiers coming into Virginia.
It was strange that she hadn’t received a message about their arrival.
“I know you are hiding something,” Hannah whispered.
“Whatever do you mean?” Lydia said as she pulled blue thread through the white canvas sampler in her lap. Hannah had been pestering her for almost a week now about her secret. She had visited Nathan only twice in the past week, in the evenings when Hannah was preoccupied, so she wouldn’t jeopardize the life she had helped save.
In her absence, Prudence and Elisha had cared well for him, but this morning Prudence said she feared Nathan was not eating enough. Somehow Lydia would need to obtain more food for him.
“Why have you been frequenting the coach house?” Hannah asked.
Lydia looked up from her sampler. Mother might be embroidering a pillowcase nearby, but she wouldn’t whisper like Hannah. It would only make her seem guilty. “I have not been frequenting any place. I have been taking evening walks.”
Hannah tilted her head. “You never take walks.”
She shrugged. “I have decided to take up a new hobby.”
Lydia turned the sampler. The scene was emerging of the river with trees on each side. Eventually she would add Caswell Hall on the bank of her picture and then she would hang it in her bedchamber.
Father rushed into the room. “I have more news.”
“What is it?” Mother demanded of him.
“The British—” he began and then stopped to take a deep breath. “They have taken Richmond.”
The women all stared back at him.
“This is good news,” he prompted as he sat in the chair across from them.
Mother spoke first. “Why, of course it is, dear. I am glad they are close.”
Lydia swallowed hard. “What happened?”
“Governor Jefferson refused to meet their demands, so they took over the town.”
“Where is the governor?” Lydia asked.
“He fled,” Father replied. “Somehow the rebels managed to flee with a good bit of gunpowder and food supplies before the British claimed the town.”
“The British will find their stash,” Mother said confidently.
Father nodded. “I am told that Solomon’s son is among them.”
“If they are so close—” Mother placed the embroidered pillowcase on the table. “It would be beneficial to remind a British officer that we have remained loyal.”
“Indeed,” Father replied.
“But we must be cautious,” Mother continued.
There had been rumors of British soldiers carousing and wrecking the houses whe
re they lodged. Entertaining a host of soldiers might compromise their daughters’ virtue, and if they decided to cause trouble, it would leave the entire plantation in disarray.
“I believe I shall send an invitation for Reed alone.”
“Please do,” Hannah said with a clap.
Lydia didn’t clap, but neither was she opposed to the idea of a visit. She had no intention of marrying this man, but it had been so long since they’d entertained. They would all welcome the company.
Father turned toward Lady Caswell. “The servants must prepare Grayson’s room.”
She secured her needle in her pincushion. “I do not know—”
He took his wife’s hand in his. “It is time. We must provide Major Reed with hospitality meant for a loyal subject of the king.”
Lydia’s mind raced. Surely her mother wouldn’t notice the few items of clothing that had gone missing.
Mother sighed. “None of us must tell our neighbors that we are entertaining the British.”
Hannah didn’t seem to hear her. “I wonder if he is dashing.” “You are too young to be thinking such thoughts,” Father replied. “But Lydia—”
She shook her head. “I am not interested.”
Father didn’t seem to hear her. “You and Solomon’s son played well together when we visited London.”
She did not remember him; she’d played with dozens of children on their trip to England. “That does not mean we are suited for one another.”
“Once you make his acquaintance again, that will change,” Father said.
Lydia pushed the thread through her sampler again. “You and Seth will make amends when this war is over.”
“I will never make amends with that man,” Father said. “I will shoot him if he tries to step on my property.”
Mother reached for Father’s arm, resting her hand lightly on his sleeve. “Let us not talk of shooting, Charles.”
“But I want an Englishman to take over the care of Caswell Hall!”
The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries) Page 5