Laurie Alice Eakes - [Midwives 01]

by Lady in the Mist

  “That’s between you and God.” She left then.

  He heard her say a few words to his family, then the door closed. The hammer of rain against the window masked the sound of her footfalls.

  She shouldn’t be out in this weather, getting drenched because of him. She should have stayed. But she wanted away from him, from his lying tongue, his dishonesty, his betrayal of his faith.

  “Jesus, what have I done?” He flung one arm over his eyes. “I just want this nightmare to be over. I want to settle with Tabbie and have a comfortable life now.”

  But he had betrayed her trust—again. Worse, he had plotted to harm another human being. In that, he had turned his back on the faith he so wanted to be good at. He could never help Tabitha want to go to church, not because it was expected of her in the small town, but to worship a God she believed in and trusted. If he talked to her about God now, she would laugh in his face. Her brushing away the answered prayer for him told him that he had helped shatter her faith, and his current actions didn’t make matters any better.

  “Dear Jesus, can you ever forgive me?”

  His crime, his sin, seemed too much for even God’s grace to handle. Raleigh knew what the chaplain aboard the ship had told him, but he couldn’t imagine that the godly man dreamed of anyone being so depraved as to deliberately want to harm another person.

  Yet the chaplain was aboard a man-of-war. He dealt with men who wanted to harm the enemy every day. And Dominick Cherrett was the enemy. England and America weren’t officially at war, but Great Britain had been taking actions that would lead to war if not stopped.

  Reconciling his actions with his faith didn’t seem possible. He needed forgiveness, and he didn’t know how to ask for it if he had no intention of repenting—yet.

  “Lord, I didn’t intend to get myself into this fix. If the British hadn’t impressed me . . .”

  No, he couldn’t blame the English captain, who was following orders. Raleigh had been born in Canada, even if he had come to his father’s Virginia home a mere six months later. And they hadn’t made him desert and get caught again. He’d worked his way into a position of trust on the word of the chaplain, then broken that trust.

  As he’d broken Tabitha’s trust in him.

  The Navy could have hanged him for deserting. At the least, he should have been flogged. But his captain had been merciful and cunning. Or maybe just cunning and ambitious. Raleigh justified his actions with the excuse that his father needed him at home. If this was the only way he could get free of the Navy, he could leave for the West. But he figured that discovering the identity of his puppet master, his spy master, was faster and less harmful to others.

  But he’d made a mess of it, outright accusing Cherrett. He still thought it possible. Raleigh couldn’t deny that Cherrett had been out in the night, skulking around the shed. An innocent man would have been tucked up in his bed with a storm brewing. Raleigh needed to discover what Dominick Cherrett had been up to. Proving he was a treacherous blaggard might be the only way that Raleigh could destroy the regard in which Tabitha held the man.

  Finding the identity of the traitor might be the only way to regain her trust and regard for him, Raleigh Trower—the man who had let her down too many times.

  Dominick didn’t know the expression “to cool one’s heels” was literal. But after four hours in the cold confines of his bedchamber at the top of the house, avoiding a place where the wind forced rain through the tiny window, chilling one’s heels seemed a more appropriate commentary on his state.

  He was a prisoner. Wilkins had made certain of that. He had dragged Dominick to the house and presented him to Mayor Kendall, whom Wilkins had just left.

  Which didn’t account for Wilkins lurking in the alley behind the house.

  Dominick spent much of his time pondering that inconsistency—and other matters like Raleigh Trower’s intention to destroy Dominick and Tabitha’s belief that Dominick had struck down her beau.

  He flexed his bruised finger. He wished he had been the one to strike Trower. The man wanted him punished, wanted him set up to take the blame for a crime he hadn’t committed.

  When he had committed so many for which he had gone unpunished.

  Dominick thought perhaps he should have laughed at the irony. He held his head in his hands as he perched on the edge of his narrow bed, and felt the burden of the past six months pressing down on him like a roof beam. The parson had talked about forgiving seven times seventy. Dominick needed more than four hundred and ninety forgivenesses. An infinite number couldn’t redeem him, and now he was unlikely to redeem himself.

  “I am too much a sinner for even your grace, God,” he murmured into the darkness of predawn.

  The skin on his back tightened, preparing already for the bite of the lash. Sickness knotted his middle. Not again. He couldn’t endure that again. He’d rather hang or end up weeding tobacco twelve hours a day.

  He doubted the former would be his fate. He hadn’t run away, after all. And he could get used to the back-breaking field labor.

  But he’d never see Tabitha again.

  If Kendall exercised his right to whip Dominick, would she come to tend his wounds? Or would she refuse because she thought he had harmed another man?

  It shouldn’t matter. He’d already lost her to Trower. The man had abandoned her, but lifelong ties mattered. He had a family to love her, and his freedom.

  Dominick’s family would despise her, and he wasn’t a free man until he completed his mission. Away from the coast, he would never succeed. In four years, Tabitha would be wed to Raleigh and likely a mother. Besides that, Dominick’s family would never accept her, would find further reason to reject him—too many of those reasons justifiable.

  He wasn’t supposed to fall in love. Yet he had. He loved her, adored her, wanted to see her face when he woke and before he went to sleep. He ached for the soothing lightness of her touch and the sound of her melodious voice.

  But he had rejected God, all for the sake of having his own way. Not having Tabitha in his life was simply one more consequence of his actions.

  And other consequences were coming. Above the drum of rain on the roof, he heard the tread of feet on the narrow staircase to his attic room. Footfalls too heavy to belong to one of the twins, too light to belong to Kendall. Unless the mayor had sent up the man who kept up the garden and horses and other outdoor chores, Dominick would find Letty on the other side of his door when it opened. He braced himself for the lash of her tongue.

  The key grated in the lock. Dominick rose, bantering words forming on his tongue.

  The handle turned. The door swung in. Letty’s tall, narrow frame filled the doorway.

  “I told you that you were going to get caught,” were the first words from her mouth. “I hope you’ve got a strong back. Kendall doesn’t take lightly to his servants disobeying him.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t.” Dominick rolled his shoulders. “Will you, hmm, say a prayer for me?”

  “My dear boy, I say a lot of prayers for you.” Letty’s sharp features softened. “There’s something wrong with you being here. You were never cut out to be a servant.”

  “Call it penance.” He took a step toward her, toward the clearer air of the stairwell. “And speaking of penance, what is my next one to be?”

  “I don’t know. Mayor Kendall just sent me up to fetch you down to the study.”

  “Without restraint?” Dominick raised one brow. “Isn’t he afraid I’ll knock you down and run?”

  “He said you have too much honor.”

  That made Dominick laugh, a hollow bark of mirth. “If I had honor, Letty, I wouldn’t be here. But there’s enough left for me to stay.”

  He couldn’t even hope for redemption if he fled.

  “And we mustn’t keep the mayor waiting.” He kissed Letty’s cheek and edged past her to descend the steps at a decorous pace.

  She followed close behind. Her breath rasped in and out of her nos
e, as though she suffered from a head cold or she’d been crying. When they reached the ground floor and illumination from curtains drawn back allowed as much light from the gray sky as from the candles, Dominick noted Letty’s red-rimmed eyes.

  She had been crying.

  “Not for me,” he said.

  “For your soul,” Letty responded. She patted his shoulder and turned toward the kitchen. “Go on in. He’s waiting for you.”

  Dominick hesitated, drinking in the aroma of coffee and frying bacon, then knocked on the door to the study. “Mayor Kendall?”

  “Come in.” The voice resonated through the wood.

  Dominick entered, his legs not quite as sturdy as he wished. Once inside the door, he stopped, gazing across the square of carpet to the big desk and the man who sat behind it.

  Kendall’s eyes appeared sunken, the flesh around them bruised. His complexion was pale, and he didn’t smile or blink or look directly at Dominick. “Close the door,” he said.

  Dominick did so, then leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You don’t fool me with that casual stance, lad.” Harshness edged Kendall’s tone. “Your eyes give you away. You’re nervous and you have every right to be.”

  “No casual stance intended, sir. I didn’t think I could walk any further.”

  One corner of Kendall’s mouth twitched. “Impertinent to the last, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. No disrespect intended.”

  “This morning.”

  “Sir?” Dominick made himself straighten. A lock of hair fell over his ear, and he realized he should have retied his queue. “I never intend to be disrespectful.”

  “Or get caught at it, at any rate.” Kendall’s lips thinned.

  Dominick kept his own lips closed.

  “Come sit down before you fall down.” Kendall gestured to a chair by the fire. “It’s cold for June this morning.”

  The kindness lent Dominick some comfort, and he crossed the room on steadier legs. Once around the chair with its high back, he saw the tray on the low table at the hearth. Two cups resided atop the silver, and steam puffed from the coffeepot.

  “Help yourself and pour me a cup,” Kendall directed as he rose from behind the desk and took the other seat before the fire.

  For the first time since running into Wilkins outside the garden gate, Dominick’s back muscles ceased twitching. Without spilling a drop, he poured coffee and the right amount of milk into Kendall’s cup first and then his own. As much as he longed to feel the warmth of the china between his fingers, he waited for the mayor to lift his mug before taking up the delicate crockery and cradling it like a precious gift.

  When a man was chilled, tired, and worried, it was.

  “Now”—Kendall leaned back against the brown velvet of his chair—“tell me why you were wandering about in the middle of the night, against my express orders.”

  “I like walking in the rain?” Dominick offered.

  “Mr. Cherrett, I’m giving you an opportunity to defend your actions, instead of exercising my right to flay the skin off your back. Give me the courtesy of the truth.”

  “But, sir . . .” Dominick stared at the brown liquid in his cup. “Sir, there’s a lady involved.”

  “How involved?” The coldness of Kendall’s voice should have frozen the raindrops on the window. “You are not in a position to wed, so if you’ve compromised a young woman—”

  “No, no, sir, nothing like that.” Dominick’s ears felt hot. “I’m not that depraved. She’s far too good for me and has feelings for another man. But I don’t trust him and wished to . . . well, spy on him is the only way to say it.”

  His words rang with complete sincerity, as he knew they would. They were, as far as they went, the truth, if not the whole truth.

  “Is that a fact?” Kendall glared at him.

  Dominick met his gaze without flinching or wavering.

  Kendall gave a brisk nod. “So what did you hope to learn by spying on him? Is he playing her false and you wanted to expose him?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Again, Dominick spoke the truth, even if it wasn’t quite the truth Kendall meant in his question. Trower wasn’t cheating on Tabitha with another female; he was simply behaving in a manner unworthy of a man she would marry.

  “Did you fight with this man?”

  “No, sir.”

  That would mean even more trouble if he had, or if Kendall doubted him.

  He suddenly wished he held the coffee in his left hand, with his right hand dangling over the side of the chair. But he held his cup in his right, the bruised knuckle glowing purple in the light.

  “You have a bruised knuckle,” Kendall pointed out, “and you had blood on you when you came in.”

  “I did, sir, but not from fighting. I know better.”

  “That’s not what I understood from the captain of the ship that brought you to America.”

  Dominick shuddered. “My circumstances in England were much different. I was a free man there.”

  “And you are little more than a slave here.” Kendall leaned forward and his tone harshened again. “Not only that, Cherrett, you are English at a time when few Americans trust the English, especially around here. If I hear that one man disappeared last night, I will have little choice but to presume you were the culprit and have you treated accordingly. Some men would likely circumvent the law and hang you.”

  “I’m not involved with stealing Americans for the British Navy, sir.”

  “And who would believe that? You’re caught out in the middle of the night and have blood on your clothes. That’s condemnatory behavior right then and there.”

  Even the coffee’s heat failed to stave off the chill now.

  Dominick nodded. “I know, sir.”

  “What you don’t know is that Harlan Wilkins wishes to be mayor instead of me. The fact that my bondsman was out and about in the middle of the night is a weapon he can use against me.”

  “I thought you two were friends.” The coffee he’d consumed turned to a whirlpool in his belly.

  “Of course we are.” Kendall grimaced. “As much as two rivals can be. It’s too small a town not to be friends. And if my bondsman is found to be an English spy, my political future ends right here.”

  The man had been good to Dominick, barring the uniform and powdered hair. He wanted to reassure Kendall that he had nothing to fear, but he couldn’t be certain Kendall wouldn’t see through his protestations.

  “I expect the one of us who finds this spy,” Kendall said, “will win the next election. If it’s me, I’ll have no difficulty getting the senate seat in three years.”

  Dominick set down his coffee cup. “So what will you do to me, sir?”

  “Lock you in your room every night and revoke your permission to attend the Midsummer Festival.” The answer emerged so quickly, the mayor must have had it planned. “And if you get out again, I will have you whipped in the town square as an example to other redemptioners. Do you understand?”

  Dominick nodded. He couldn’t speak. His stomach churned, and he tasted bile.

  “Then go get yourself some breakfast and rest.” Kendall stood. “After that, please pack my bags for at least a week of travel.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dominick shot to his feet. “This is a sudden journey.”

  “Some unexpected business has raised its head.” Kendall smiled, but it wasn’t directed at Dominick, and it wasn’t pleasant. “And don’t think you can take advantage of my absence to break my rules again. Letty is more than capable of keeping you under her thumb.”

  “Yes, sir, she is.” Dominick edged to the door.

  “And Cherrett,” Kendall called after him, “be more discreet with Tabitha. She’s a dear girl who doesn’t deserve to have lost as much as she has. Leave her alone to resume her betrothal to Raleigh Trower.”

  Dominick froze, staring.

  Kendall laughed, head thrown back. “Don’t lo
ok so surprised. It’s my duty to know what goes on in my town.”

  Then why didn’t he know who would betray America by selling her young men to the enemy?

  The answer was obvious, sickening, making Dominick feel as though he’d been hit as hard as Trower had been. He should have thought of it, of the ambition that would make Kendall need money. He’d been blinded by the man’s kindness to him and the high regard in which everyone held him.

  Even now, as he retreated to the kitchen, his back intact, Dominick dismissed the new idea as preposterous. Kendall wanted to run his country, not destroy it. Should war come, a war that would surely destroy the United States of America as a nation, Kendall would hold no power. On the contrary, he might be in danger as a leader of a conquered nation.

  Unless he held friends in high places. High British places.

  Dominick staggered to a chair and dropped into it like a stone tumbling off of a cliff. He speared his fingers through his hair, dislodging it further. He needed rest before his brainbox exploded with more ridiculous notions.

  “I’ll fix your hair for you.” Dinah slipped up behind him and gathered his hair into her hands. “Oooh, it’s soft.”

  “Stop that.” Dominick jerked upright, dislodging her fingers with a painful yank on his scalp. “I’m in enough trouble without Kendall thinking I’m trying to ruin his kitchen maid.”

  “I just never knew a man’s hair could be so soft.” Dinah gazed at him with big, limpid eyes.

  “You, missy,” Dominick scolded, “need to pay more attention to your Bible. Modest behavior is a virtue.”

  “And since when do you refer to Scripture?” Letty stomped in the back door, her apron full of eggs.

  “Perhaps this morning’s work has given me my faith back.” He spoke with flippancy yet felt an odd tug at his heart, as though he wasn’t being entirely facetious.

  God had spared him a flogging. Yet without the freedom to move around at night or get to his rendezvous on June 21, the same night as the fete, he was likely to serve out his indenture without redemption at the end.

  Unless the evidence he sought lay under his very roof.