“Come have a drink with us, darlin’,” a handsome young soldier beckoned as she passed the bar. “Got a face like a thundercloud, yer man. We’ll show ye a better time,” he joked. His friend winked at her, and she couldn’t help smiling. They were just having a bit of fun.
“Do you know that man?” Derek asked, his narrowed gaze fixed on the soldier who’d invited her for a drink.
“No. He was just being cheeky.”
“Let’s get some food. I’m famished.”
“What’s good here?” Jocelyn asked.
“Roast beef and potatoes and turkey with chestnut stuffing. They serve it with cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes.”
“That sounds good,” Jocelyn said, suddenly ravenous.
She didn’t protest too loudly when Derek ordered two slices of apple pie and cups of strong coffee. By the time they finished their meal, Jocelyn felt pleasantly full and considerably less agitated. Derek escorted her from the tavern, tossed a coin to the boy who’d been looking after the cart and horse, and helped her up onto the bench. The wind had picked up since they’d arrived in New York, and fat drops of rain fell from a now-leaden sky. Jocelyn pulled up the hood of her cloak, but the wind blew it off, tearing at the flimsy linen cap and whipping her hair around her face. Derek grabbed for his tricorn, which was about to fly off, and jammed it forcibly on his head before pulling up the collar of his coat.
“We’ll have to stay the night if the weather doesn’t improve,” he said grimly.
“What? Why?”
“The ferry can capsize in such strong wind, and it’s not exactly pleasant traveling weather,” Derek pointed out.
“But where would we stay?” Jocelyn asked.
“I have friends who live just off Water Street.”
Jocelyn felt a twinge of panic. She had no wish to stay in New York. The place made her nervous, and how safe would she be with Derek’s friends?
“Jocelyn, my friend’s wife is a kind and respectable woman. She’ll act as chaperone, if that’s what worries you.”
Jocelyn tried to pull up her hood again, more to hide her embarrassment than to keep out the rain. She was being ridiculous. She had been sharing a house with Derek and Ben for weeks. How would this be any different?
“Whatever you think is best, Derek,” she cried over the wind.
“Let’s get out of this rain,” he said. The wind and rain precluded further conversation, so they drove in silence until they arrived at Derek’s friend’s house nearly an hour later.
Chapter 34
“Please come in,” Fran Cox said, ushering Jocelyn into the parlor. It was cozy and warm, a merry fire burning in the grate and thick curtains drawn to keep out the draft. “Get that wet cloak off and make yourself comfortable.”
Jocelyn turned to look for Derek, but he’d disappeared somewhere between the front door and the parlor, leaving her alone with their hostess.
“Jim and Derek went to see to the horse and cart,” Fran explained as she draped the cloak over her arm. “Would you like some tea? You must be chilled to the bone after that wet ride.”
Jocelyn nodded. “Yes, thank you. Tea would be wonderful.”
Fran left the room to hang up the cloak and make the tea while Jocelyn held out her hands and feet to the fire, enjoying the lovely warmth that spread through her body. It had begun to rain in earnest soon after they left the tavern, the weather halting the already slow-moving traffic along Queen Street. By the time they’d finally made it to the Cox’s door, both Jocelyn and Derek had been wet and shivering from the cold wind gusting off the East River. Despite her misgivings, Jocelyn was glad of the shelter and the offer of a bed for the night.
“Are you all right?” Derek asked as he followed Jim Cox into the room. He’d taken off his sodden coat and hat, but his face was still ruddy with cold, and his hair was damp where it had been exposed to the lashing rain.
“Yes. Fran is making tea,” Jocelyn said.
“Splendid,” Jim said, rubbing his hands together. “There’s something I’d like to show you in the meantime,” he said to Derek, and the two men disappeared again.
Jocelyn leaned back in the chair and stared into the flames. The Coxes seemed like a nice couple. They were in their mid-twenties and had that lived-in look some people achieved once they settled into married life. Jim’s fair hair was already thinning at the front, his face still tanned from the summer months, when he’d obviously spent much time outdoors. He was thin and wiry and had the nervous energy of someone who was always moving about. Fran was short and plump, her nose and cheeks sprinkled with freckles, and her eyes a warm brown. She was about eight months gone with child, her belly swelling beneath the brown skirts of her somber gown.
“Here we are, then,” she said as she bustled into the room, bearing a tea tray. “Where have Jim and Derek got to?” she asked, looking around.
“Jim said he had something to show Derek,” Jocelyn said.
“Oh, that would be his new acquisition. He’s mad for maps, my Jim,” she said affectionately as she poured the tea. “Sugar and milk?”
“Yes, please. What sort of maps?” Jocelyn asked.
“Local maps and maps of the colonies. He loves to compare the earlier versions to the more recent ones and note all the new towns and landmarks that’ve sprung up over the years.”
“How do you know Derek?” Jocelyn asked. She was curious about Derek’s life, since he’d shared so little of himself.
“I grew up in Milford. Didn’t Derek tell you? I was sweet on Derek when I was a girl,” Fran confessed with an embarrassed giggle, “but when Jim walked into town, I just knew.”
“What was he doing there?” Jocelyn asked. Milford wasn’t the type of place people just walked into. It was too small and out of the way to be much of a draw for businessmen or visitors.
“It was the maps he was after. My father used to be a sea captain in his younger days and had some old maps. He’d met Jim while in New York and had invited him to visit. Jim was more than happy to pay for the maps, but Father gave them to him as a gift. He had no use for them, and he liked the man. I did too,” Fran added. “What about you? Where are you from?”
“Born and bred in New York City. My father used to teach philosophy at King’s College,” Jocelyn said without thinking. She felt a jolt of excitement as she realized that the words had come from somewhere deep inside her mind, an unbidden memory of her past swimming to the surface when she’d least expected it.
“And your mother?” Fran asked.
“Died when I was fifteen. I have a brother in Virginia,” Jocelyn said, the words tumbling out like marbles from a bag.
“Oh? And what does he do?” Fran asked. She sipped her tea delicately, her left hand on her belly.
“He teaches at the College of William and Mary,” Jocelyn replied, happiness pumping through her veins. “In Williamsburg,” she added. Gregory Sinclair, her brain supplied helpfully. Greg.
Jocelyn crashed back to earth, her joy at recalling something of her past quickly replaced by dismay. If her brother’s name was Sinclair, as her father’s had been, she now recalled, that meant she wasn’t married. There was no husband who was either grieving for her or resting at the bottom of the sea. She was alone, unmarried, and pregnant. This revelation seemed to settle over her shoulders like a mantle of marble, pushing her deeper into the chair, her breath catching in her throat.
“Are you all right, Jocelyn?” Fran asked, all concern. “You look unwell.”
“I’m fine. Really,” Jocelyn lied. “I’m just tired. It’s been a wearying day.”
“I’m sure it has. It’s quite a distance from Milford to New York. Jim and I never attempt to go there and back in one day.”
“Do you go to Milford often?” Jocelyn asked, eager to shift the conversation to anything but her past.
“Several times a year, to visit my parents. You might know them. John and Anne Garrett.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Jocelyn sa
id. “I’ve met them at church. Lovely people. And you have a sister, I believe.”
“That’s right. Felicia. Do you know her?”
“We’ve met,” Jocelyn said. Felicia Painter was one of the women who’d laid out the victims of the shipwreck. She was kind, and one of the less judgmental matrons of Milford, who seemed to regard Jocelyn with suspicion.
“Do tell her we’ve met,” Fran said. “I miss her sorely, especially now.” Fran’s gaze slid to her belly. Felicia had to be the older sister, Jocelyn decided, since she already had three children, all boys.
“Is this your first?”
“Yes. I’m a little nervous, truth be told. I wish my mother and sister were nearby. It’s nice to have other women to talk to, to ask questions. I don’t have many friends hereabouts.”
Jocelyn’s hand went to her own belly, but she instantly moved it up to the bodice of Lydia’s cast-off gown, adjusting the plain cotton tucker even though it was in place. She wished she had someone to talk to as well, someone who wouldn’t think badly of her.
“Ah, here they are. So, what did you think of Jim’s newest acquisition?” Fran asked, smiling up at Derek.
“It’s very eh…detailed,” Derek replied with a roll of his eyes, making Fran laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not the enthusiast Jim is. Is there any tea left?”
“Of course. Come and join us.”
The men pulled up two chairs and sat down, Derek moving as close to the fireplace as he could without setting his boots aflame.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you to it while I see to supper,” Fran said, rising to her feet with obvious reluctance.
“Can I help?” Jocelyn offered.
“You’re a guest,” Fran protested. “You just rest. You look done in, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Derek turned to look at her, his eyes brimming with concern. “Would you like to lie down before supper?”
“No. I’m fine here,” Jocelyn lied. She was exhausted, and she would have liked a few minutes of solitude to gather her thoughts. Everything she had come to believe had suddenly shifted, her perception of life before the shipwreck taking on a whole new light. She had been an actress, and since she now recalled that her father had passed away five years ago and her brother currently lived in Virginia, she must have lived alone or with the man who’d fathered her child. And since she wasn’t married, the man must have been her lover.
Jocelyn couldn’t explain how she knew, but she now felt certain that he hadn’t been with her on the doomed ship. She’d been alone, she suddenly recalled with unflinching clarity. And she had been going to Virginia, to Greg. She had been running away, but from what?
Chapter 35
November 1777
Long Island
The rain had stopped sometime during the night, leaving behind a brilliant blue sky. A pleasant breeze moved stealthily through the flaming canopy of autumn leaves and had made the crossing a little more bearable, since the prison ships had been downwind this time. The cart swayed from side to side, the wheels squelching in the mud as Derek drove down a well-traveled road that bypassed some of the larger towns and settlements on southern Long Island. Fran Cox had given them breakfast and had even prepared a bundle of food for the trip, insisting they would get hungry well before reaching home, but the thought of food made Jocelyn ill, the hours stretching before them until they reached Milford a test of endurance.
Derek had been right in thinking that bringing her to New York would jog her memory. Little by little, starting with the information she’d shared with Fran, tiny bits had begun to swim to the surface: childhood memories, cherished moments with her mother, happy hours spent reading in her father’s study, and later, the desolation of losing her parents, the falling out with Greg, and the gesture of defiance that had led her to the theater. But at the end of the parade of images, that quaint and often heartbreaking collection of experiences that had made up her life, came the truths her mind had tried so valiantly to suppress.
She’d spent a sleepless night in the Cox’s tiny spare room, tormented by a relentless stream of images, her heart hammering against her ribs as the memories came hard and fast, the events that had driven her to board the Peregrine on the afternoon of October nineteenth more visceral than she could have imagined. She’d broken out in a cold sweat as she lay in the dark, shivering and weeping, not only because she now recalled everything, but because she was terrified of what was to come. The revelations of last night had changed everything, and she was glad of Milford’s remoteness and the sanctuary it offered to someone who needed to disappear. And now that she knew she had no loving husband who’d be grieving her passing or desperately searching for her, she had to make use of the opportunities fate had chosen to offer her. She needed protection for herself and her child. She needed a man.
“Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?” Derek asked after his attempts at conversation fell flat when Jocelyn barely managed to offer more than monosyllabic answers.
“What makes you think anything is troubling me?”
“If you have to ask that, you’re not as good an actress as I imagined,” Derek said, only half-teasing. He looked worried, his gaze searching her face anxiously. “What is it, Jocelyn? What have you remembered?”
Jocelyn was about to deny that she’d remembered anything of significance. Some part of her wanted to hold on to her secrets, to build a wall that would keep anyone from getting in, but she couldn’t get through this alone. Not after what had happened yesterday at the tavern. But she couldn’t tell Derek about that. Not yet.
“You were right,” she said at last. “Seeing familiar things helped me remember.”
Derek watched her silently, waiting for her to speak. She sucked in a shuddering breath. She’d tell him what was safe to share, play for his sympathy.
“I grew up in New York City. My father was one of the first tutors to join the staff of King’s College when it opened. He taught philosophy.” Jocelyn looked down at her lap, trying desperately not to cry. Now that she remembered her father, she felt like she’d just lost him all over again, her grief as all-consuming as it had been when he passed. “He died five years ago,” she choked out.
Derek reached out and placed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. And your mother?” he asked gently.
“Two years before him.”
“Have you no one?”
“I have an older brother. He lives in Williamsburg, Virginia.”
“Is that where you were going?” Derek asked softly.
Jocelyn nodded, unable to speak. She’d been running away, going to the only person who’d be willing to help her, protect her, but she’d only made it as far as Long Island before the storm that had seemingly come out of nowhere put an end to her journey.
“Was there anyone traveling with you?” Derek asked, too polite to ask outright about the father of her child.
“No,” Jocelyn whispered. “I was traveling alone.”
That was why she hadn’t recognized any of the people she’d seen laid out in the church. She hadn’t known them, having only just come aboard a few hours before. Some of the passengers had introduced themselves and had struck up a conversation, but Jocelyn had kept apart, wanting only to stay invisible for as long as she could for fear of being recognized.
“What about your theater friends?” Derek asked. “Is there anyone you’d like to contact?”
“They’re gone,” Jocelyn said quietly. “After the theater closed, they waited for a while, hoping the British might change their minds and reopen the theater, but when that didn’t happen, the troupe took their act on the road.”
“But you didn’t go with them,” Derek said, still watching her.
“No, I remained in New York.”
“Why?”
She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. Maybe not ever, so she improvised. “Anna, that was the only other woman in the troupe, had decided not to go. She lived with another woman, down
by the Battery—her partner,” Jocelyn said, hoping Derek would take her meaning. “Had I gone, I would have been the only woman among eight men.”
“Had any of them ever behaved inappropriately toward you?” Derek asked, probably assuming she’d had a failed affair with one of the other actors.
“No, but being on the road, sometimes sleeping rough or having to share rooms in a tavern…” She let the sentence trail off, allowing Derek to form his own conclusions.
“I understand. So, what did you do?”
“I found employment as a maidservant. I’d looked after my father and brother since I was a girl. My mother was often ill, so the running of the household fell mostly to me. Housework didn’t frighten me.”
“Why did you not go to your brother after your father died?”
“Greg can be a bit…” Jocelyn bit her lip as she tried to come up with the right word. “Autocratic, I suppose,” she finally said. “He’d try to control everything I did. I had grown accustomed to my freedom.”
She could see that Derek wanted to ask more questions, such as why her brother had permitted her to remain on her own in New York, or whom she’d lived with while working as an actress. She supposed he might have wanted to know if she’d had a partner and had lived with him in sin, but he didn’t ask.
“Jocelyn, you’re welcome to stay with us, but if you still wish to join your brother, I can arrange passage to Virginia.”
Had she not been with child, she might have asked him to do just that, but Greg would not make life easy for her once her condition became obvious. Of course, she could lie and tell him she’d been wed and her husband had gone down with the ship. He’d believe it too. His imagination didn’t stretch to the type of life she’d led or to the terrible events that had forced her to flee. She had a bit of time before her pregnancy began to show in earnest. She’d stay with the Wilders through the winter and then decide what to do come spring. She might not have to leave, Jocelyn reasoned, if another alternative presented itself.
The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9) Page 15