Her heart ached as she pressed her fork into a piece of soft bread. If only there wasn’t a war. She could have invited Nathan to dinner along with the rest of their guests.
“Did you have any prisoners on your ships?” Hannah asked.
Lydia’s fork clattered once against her plate before she retrieved it. She didn’t dare look up, but she listened intently.
“We took twelve prisoners back in Newport News. And one traitor.” Lydia turned toward the officer on her left. He was a slight man with a prominent nose and greasy hair that looked as if it had been dyed black. His fork and mouth were both stuffed full of meat, but thankfully, he smelled like lye soap.
She straightened her posture, trying to exude a dignified deportment as she cut a piece of ham with her knife and fork. Mother liked to say that the best way to encourage etiquette in others was to demonstrate the proper graces.
Lydia balanced the fork in her fingers as her neighbor shoved his fork into his mouth and filled his fork again. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about grace as he spoke before he swallowed in a most undignified manner. “Not all of them made it to Richmond, though.”
The major nodded. “The traitor fell overboard before we arrived.”
“How unfortunate,” Mother said.
“I am certain his demise was immediate.”
One of the soldiers lifted his glass. “One less rebel.”
“Hear, hear.”
Lydia shivered. Nathan might be a rebel, but he also had treated her and Prudence with respect and gratitude for all they had done. “What will happen to your prisoners?”
“No one ever leaves a prison ship alive,” Major Reed replied.
“Did you have to fight in Richmond?” Father prodded.
He nodded. “More than a thousand of us marched on the capital.”
Another man laughed. “The Yankees all fled, so we burned the town.”
Lydia gasped. If only Nathan hadn’t been injured, he might have reached Richmond in time to prepare their defenses.
Major Reed turned toward her. “We didn’t want to burn it, but Governor Jefferson refused to hand over their supplies.”
She mustered a smile. She was supposed to rejoice that the Yankees in Richmond had been defeated.
Mother focused her gaze on the major. “It is unfortunate we cannot host your wives for dinner.”
The major glanced over at her in surprise. He would have to get used to her mother’s art of directing conversation away from conflict.
Her neighbor lifted his fork, smiling at her again. “Perhaps before one of these dinners, I can invite my wife.”
Surprised, Lydia glanced over at him. “Where is your wife?”
“With the other camp followers, back at Newport News.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. There was so much she didn’t know about what was happening in this war. “How many women are following your army?”
He shrugged. “A number of them, like my Gwen, came over from England, and then there are the women who do laundry, mending, and cooking, and . . . ah, other things.”
He dug a handful of dried fruit and nuts from the silver epergne before him and chewed them as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.
She turned to look across the table and found Major Reed’s gaze resting on her. “Miss Caswell is not interested in the particulars of our camp.”
“On the contrary.” She set down her fork. “I am interested in the plight of all women.”
His eyebrows arched. “I do not believe our women are in any sort of plight.”
“But the rebel women—” her neighbor said.
Several of the men laughed. “Our enemy has their women fighting for them.”
Hannah gasped. “Fighting for them?”
“I heard one of the women was even loading the cannons for them.”
Lydia stiffened at the laughter around the table. If women believed in the rebel cause, what was wrong with helping?
“Perhaps she was using the heat to bake a cake,” one of the officers said.
“It probably backfired.”
Lydia watched her mother’s lips press into a straight line. If the men didn’t change the topic soon, it wouldn’t matter who they served. They would be spending the night outside.
“Gentleman,” Father silenced them. “You are in the company of ladies now.”
The laughter quieted, and Major Reed spoke. “I would like to apologize on behalf of my men. We have only the greatest respect for our women. We would never let them fight.”
Lydia glanced across the table at him. “Why not?”
“It is our job to protect the ladies among us, not put them into battle.”
“An admirable outlook,” Hannah said.
“The war is almost won,” the major said. “And when it is, my married men will celebrate the victory with their wives.”
Mother set down her fork. “Viney has prepared trifle with goose-berry jelly and fresh cream for dessert.”
The men nodded their approval, and Lydia smiled at her mother’s artful ability to steer a conversation in any direction she saw fit. The British could only wish women like her mother would fight for them.
Father scooted back his chair. “Shall we withdraw for sherry first?”
Lydia stood as well, for some fresh air on the back portico as the men drank their sherry. One of the officers trailed her out through the great hall.
“Your manservant never returned with our blanket,” the man named Captain Moore said.
Father waited by the entrance to the drawing room. “Which man-servant are you referring to?”
“The white man with a limp.”
Father looked back at her. “Has Joshua injured himself?”
“Not to my knowledge.” She forced a most genteel smile.
“But you said—” Captain Moore started.
She gave him a curt nod. “I shall make sure one of our men brings you a new blanket.”
Captain Moore looked as if he was going to say something else, but Lydia excused herself before he spoke. Leaning over the portico, she rubbed her hands over her thin sleeves as she looked out at the dark river and prayed that Nathan was safe, wherever he was.
Chapter Twelve
The Hammonds’ plantation house glowed like a beacon above the river, its warm light beckoning Nathan forward. He crept slowly through a grove of trees beside a field, scanning both sides to make sure no one saw him before he shuffled beside the wide trunk of an oak tree.
A chorus of song drifted across the field, emerging from a row of wooden shanties. He couldn’t see any people in the sliver of moonlight, but their song was a welcome companion to him on this dark night. His was a lonely occupation now, but he’d gotten used to this strange business of sneaking through forests and behind enemy lines. When he was a child, he’d spent hours playing hide-and-seek with his many brothers and sisters on their plantation. His ability to hide well was one of the reasons he’d been appointed to work as a courier and spy.
With the British now taking the capital of Virginia along with Charles Towne, it might be years before he returned to the life of a civilian. And it was his fault the British had taken Richmond. He had known of the plot, and the British might not have taken the city if he hadn’t failed to convince Major Reed that he was a Loyalist. His plunge into the river was the only thing he could have done to deliver this message—and probably save his life.
He reached the end of the tree line, and in front of him was a maze of flank buildings. Only one of the buildings interested him—a brick dovecote—and that was forty yards or so on the other side of the main house. Somehow he had to get to it without being seen.
He eyed the wooden plantation house in front of him. A civil person would tromp up to the front entrance and knock, but all the genteel manners he’d learned at Yale College were for naught here. It wouldn’t be safe to knock. One of the servants might report him to the guests staying down at Caswell Hall.
His heart
lurched again at the thought of Lydia surrounded by those soldiers tonight. They would be fawning over her, he was certain. Even if she ignored them, they couldn’t help but be enchanted by her beauty and poise.
Nathan leaned back against a tree, groaning. He had to stop thinking about Lydia, he who was so distinguished that he’d spent last night in a corncrib alongside two barn cats.
His mother had attempted multiple times to find him a patriotic wife, but when he married—if he married—he wanted it to be for love, not for political positioning of any sort. In the meantime, he had plenty of family.
He sneaked behind a small building and watched as someone moved around the stables. He felt his pocket—the pouch was still there. The sooner he delivered this message, the sooner he could return north to wait for his next assignment.
In the darkness, he crept toward the dovecote and jostled the latch until it opened. A hundred birds seemed to squawk and clap their wings from their tiny coops. He counted the nests from where the latch had clasped the door shut.
Three across, two down.
He unbuttoned a pocket on the interior of his waistcoat and took out the pouch. Then he pulled a ribbon out of the pouch, not more than a foot long, and stuffed it into his pocket. Using his hands in the darkness, he counted the nests until he reached the designated coop. He checked for messages, and then he tucked the pouch into it, beside the nesting squab, and quickly shut the door before someone from the stable or another place came to check on the noise.
He wasn’t certain of the time, but he guessed it to be nine or ten. How often would Seth’s sister check on the dovecote?
He rarely knew the names of those who delivered messages for General Washington, but he knew about Sarah Hammond. Seth had orchestrated this contact for the general and given both him and his sister precise instructions.
Each time Nathan tied a ribbon around the iron railing, he waited to make sure Miss Hammond retrieved the letter.
No one seemed to notice him when he tied the ribbon or slid back into the shadows to watch the front door. The hours seemed to crawl by as he waited, glad to be relieved of his message. If someone caught him now, they might think him a drifter or a deserter from the army. The note was safely where he’d promised to deliver it.
He knotted the scarf Lydia had given him closer to his neck, and with the blanket wrapped around him as well, he began to drift off. When he woke, he saw a flicker of light by the main house. His heart pounded in his ears as he watched the light move like an apparition across the drive.
At the door of the dovecote, a young woman held her lantern high to open the latch on the door, and before she disappeared into the dovecote, he could see the lace collar of her gown and her pale hair—the same color as Seth’s. This must be Miss Hammond.
The birds greeted her with the same noisy welcome they had Nathan. Seconds later, she reappeared and hurried back toward the house.
He waited a bit longer and then rechecked the tiny coop. The squab was still there, but the message was gone.
Four nights after their arrival, Major Reed and his band of officers crowded into the Caswells’ parlor and huddled around Hannah as she played a British pub song on the pianoforte. With a shout, the men lifted their mugs in unison and then guzzled Father’s prized beer.
Lydia sighed. The constant revelry exhausted her, but Hannah seemed to still be enjoying the company. These men certainly enjoyed the refreshment of being at a plantation while they waited for their next orders. Lydia was beginning to wonder how Britain would win the war if her soldiers weren’t fighting.
Major Reed turned toward her. “Perhaps you might sing for us, Miss Caswell.”
“Oh, I am not much of one for singing.”
“Do not let her fool you,” Hannah said. “She sings better than any of us.”
The soldiers began clapping, cheering for her. Lydia glared at her sister, but when she glanced over to her mother, Lady Caswell responded with a slight nod. Reluctantly Lydia stepped up to the pianoforte and began to sing an old hymn—“When All Thy Mercies, O My God”—while Hannah accompanied her. The men quieted, listening to the words.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart
That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through every period of my life
Thy goodness I’ll pursue;
And after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.
The men clapped again, and when she looked up, Major Reed’s eyes were focused on her. And then he smiled.
She moved toward her parents, trying to ignore him, but she could feel the major step up beside her. Father might want her to marry a British gentleman, but this man unsettled her.
Hannah joined them, looking between her and the major. “Did my sister tell you she is betrothed?”
Lydia nearly protested but stopped herself. She might be uncertain about her future with Seth, but perhaps it was best for her if these men thought she was promised elsewhere.
“I believe it is time for you to retire,” Father said, but Hannah ignored him.
“She is planning to marry Seth Hammond.”
Major Reed looked at her father. “Who is this Seth Hammond?”
“He is the son of our neighbor.”
“But I thought—” The major hesitated, looking at her. “When are you planning to marry?”
Father cleared his throat. “She is not—”
“After the war.” She refused to look at her father. “We had planned to marry when the war was finished.”
Father shook his head. “There is no reason to talk of marriage tonight.”
Major Reed swirled his drink in the crystal tumbler. “Why does this Seth Hammond not marry you now?”
“Because he is off—” She stopped herself, afraid of what might happen if she told these soldiers about Seth.
Hannah, however, insisted on pressing the matter. “He is fighting, of course.”
“Perhaps I know him,” Major Reed said.
Lydia crossed her right hand over her chest, as if she could steady herself. “I do not believe you would.”
Hannah gave a coy smile. “That is because he is not fighting for the British.”
“Hush, Hannah,” Mother hissed.
Lydia hated the glee in her sister’s words, the deviousness in her smile. It was as if she were trying to destroy their entire family along with Seth.
The major’s eyes flashed. “He is a rebel?”
“He would not call himself a rebel,” Lydia said.
Major Reed set his tumbler on the table, directing his question to Lydia. “Do you communicate regularly with this man you are to marry?”
“Oh, no,” Lydia replied, trying to ignore the familiar ache in her heart. “I have not heard from him since he left for the army two years ago.”
“We have no communication with rebels or their cause,” Father insisted.
Hannah tilted her head. “Except with Seth’s sister.”
Father filled the major’s tumbler with more sherry. “Seth’s father and his daughter are as loyal to the Crown as our family is. And my father was murdered because of his allegiance to the king.”
Major Reed shifted his weight, leaning back against the paneled wall. “No one can be certain of another’s loyalties.”
When could they return to being neighbors again, without worrying who was on which side of this war?
Mother nudged Hannah toward the door, her lips set in a firm line. “It is time for you to retire.”
“But I wanted to play another song!”
“To your chamber,” Father commanded.
With a dramatic sigh, Hannah slouched from the room.
An officer sat down at the instrument, and as he played, Lydia heard her father change the topic to one she preferred even less than the topic of the Hammonds.
“What are your prospects for marriage?” he asked
the major.
Major Reed stole a look at her again, and she felt a wave of heat creep up her face. She quickly fanned away her embarrassment.
He turned back to Father. “I have none at the moment.”
“There are some fine young ladies on this side of the ocean who are quite devoted to our king.”
Lydia stepped toward the fireplace and shuddered, pretending she couldn’t hear their low voices over the din of singing.
Did Father really want her to marry this man? It seemed to her that Major Reed was much too pompous to be a planter. A man who didn’t love this land would probably squander it, along with the house Father had worked so hard to build.
Of course, Father was getting desperate. Most of the local men of marrying age had joined General Washington’s army, and Father was determined that neither of his daughters would marry one of them.
Her father and the major stepped closer to the fireplace.
“When do you intend to make your loyalties known?” Major Reed asked.
Father sipped his drink. “When the British have secured their win.”
The major’s eyes narrowed, his voice lowering. “Are you a coward, Lord Caswell?”
Lydia had never heard anyone imply that her father was a coward. With a quick glance toward her left, Lydia saw anger flash across Father’s face and the twitching of his left eye.
“The rebels killed my father when he made his loyalties known, and they chased away my son.” The sharp edge in her father’s voice sounded like hail pounding their slate roof. “Many of our former friends already treat my family with disdain.”
Mother moved toward him, and when she circled her gloved hand around his arm, his eye stopped twitching. Lydia admired the way her mother could diffuse her father’s fury by a simple touch—the reminder, perhaps, that he wasn’t alone.
“My husband is a survivor, Major Reed. A survivor and a protector of our family and plantation.”
Father’s tone calmed as he continued. “If I declare my loyalties now and your army is set back, the next time you come to Caswell Hall, there may be no house to host you.”
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