The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9)

by Irina Shapiro

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Denning,” Jocelyn said. “Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything to make your stay more comfortable.”

  “I certainly will, Mistress Sinclair,” the captain said, sitting back down and accepting a cup of tea. Jocelyn couldn’t help noticing that he had beautiful hands, his fingers long and elegant.

  “That will be all, Jocelyn,” the major said. He’d taken to addressing her by her Christian name of late, a practice Jocelyn didn’t condone. It implied an informal relationship between herself and her employer, a situation further complicated by Major Radcliffe’s request that she call him Hector, at least in private.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that,” Jocelyn had replied, scandalized. They weren’t friends. They were master and servant, Englishman and American, quarry and spy. She liked the major well enough, but she wasn’t about to permit him to take any liberties. She knew he was interested in her. He made it known in the way he sought out her company, bought her an occasional present that she wished she could refuse but had to accept in order not to offend him, and spoke to her as if she were a lady rather than the woman who washed his drawers and took out his chamber pot.

  The major noted Captain Denning’s look of appreciation, and his disapproval wasn’t lost on her. Jocelyn had no desire to get between the two men, nor did she wish for their admiration. She was passably pretty; she’d been aware of that since she was a girl of thirteen and one of her father’s friends had remarked on her budding beauty, but that didn’t mean she was there for the taking, by any man. As she left the study and made her way back to the kitchen, she resolved to keep her distance from Captain Denning, but the decision did nothing to ease her discomfort. Her instinct of self-preservation warned her that the man was going to become a problem.

  Chapter 48

  “Does your father not worry about you cohabitating with three unmarried men?” Captain Denning asked as Jocelyn set his breakfast before him the following morning. He’d risen early, eager to familiarize himself with his surroundings and get to work.

  “My father is no longer with us, and I really wouldn’t call this cohabitating,” Jocelyn replied snappishly, irritated by the inappropriateness of the question.

  “I’m very sorry about your father. What about your mother?” the captain asked, ignoring the barb.

  “She’s gone too.”

  “Have you no family? A brother to look after you?”

  “I have an older brother. He lives in Virginia,” Jocelyn replied, eager to put an end to the conversation and get on with her day.

  “I would never permit my sister to remain in New York City on her own,” Captain Denning said.

  “I don’t need his permission. We are estranged.” She was overstating the situation, but she wasn’t about to explain her relationship with Greg to a near-stranger who had no business asking her these questions.

  “Your fault, no doubt,” the captain said, giving her a teasing smile.

  “And why would you assume that?”

  “Because a man understands his duty to his family. It had to have been your decision to distance yourself from your kin.”

  Jocelyn opened her mouth to protest, but to her great irritation, Captain Denning had summarized the situation quite accurately. She had been the one roused to new heights of anger when Greg had disparaged her views and ridiculed her loyalty to the American cause the day they’d buried their father. He’d called her silly, ignorant, and childish. She’d called him a few choice names as well, not the worst of them being pigheaded, priggish, and cowardly. He’d threatened to force her to join him in Virginia, which was when she’d taken flight. She’d eventually written to him to assure him she was well and to give him the address of her lodging house, certain that he wouldn’t bother to come back for her, and he hadn’t.

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” Captain Denning said, correctly interpreting her expression.

  “I don’t need the protection of a man, Captain. I can look after myself,” she said, full of bluster.

  “Oh, I’m sure you can. You are not only beautiful, you’re spirited, like a young filly that needs breaking in.” She could tell he was teasing, but for some reason that made her even angrier with him.

  “I’m not a horse, nor do I require breaking in, as you so gallantly put it, Captain. Now, if you will excuse me.” She walked out of the dining room, shoulders squared, head held high.

  “I apologize if I’ve offended you,” the captain called after her, but she could hear the grin in his voice. He wasn’t sorry in the least. In fact, he seemed to have enjoyed their exchange and still had a smile on his face when he walked past her to get to his office.

  Staying away from Captain Denning proved harder than she’d expected. Unlike Captain Palmer, who’d remained in his office for most of the day and only came out for meals, Captain Denning was a constant presence. He stopped by the kitchen to ask for a cup of ale, stepped out into the back garden to stretch his legs just as Jocelyn was hanging out the laundry, and often sat in the parlor in the evenings, reading or just enjoying a glass of the major’s madeira. He was always scrupulously polite and respectful in front of the major, but when he got her on her own, which was a lot more often than she would have liked, there were the backhanded compliments and thinly veiled insinuations that she needed a man to look after her because she wasn’t quite as safe as she believed herself to be. Was he referring to the major? she wondered as she lay sleepless during those long, hot nights, or was there another threat she wasn’t aware of? Had he guessed at what she was doing?

  “I’d like to meet this cousin of yours,” Captain Denning said one Sunday as they walked out into the stifling August afternoon after enduring a particularly dull sermon by a visiting reverend. Thomas was to meet her in an hour at their usual place.

  “And why is that?” Jocelyn asked, affecting a playful tone to mask the twisting anxiety she felt inside.

  “Because I don’t think he’s your cousin at all,” Captain Denning replied, smiling at her with all the glee of a cat who’d caught a mouse and meant to play with it before biting its head off.

  “And who do you think he is?” Jocelyn asked coyly.

  “I think he’s your sweetheart.”

  “What if he were?”

  “I’d be jealous in the extreme,” he replied. “Do you think you might forgo seeing him one Sunday and walk out with me instead?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but I’d rather not, given that we are cohabitating,” she said, throwing his own expression back in his smug face.

  “Do you think I have less honor than some colonial hick?” he asked, clearly stung by her refusal.

  “I think I’d like to keep our association professional,” Jocelyn said, wishing the major would tear himself away from the verbose reverend and join them, which would put an end to this worrying repartee.

  “I’m not completely without charms, you know,” Captain Denning said, smiling down at her. She wondered how he managed to look so cool in his wool tunic. Her curls were limp, and there were embarrassing stains beneath her arms. The backs of her knees were moist with perspiration beneath her petticoats and the clinging cotton of her stockings, and she would have sold her soul for a cool drink.

  “I never said you were, but I would ask you to respect my decision.”

  “As you wish,” the captain said, and bowed to her stiffly. “Enjoy your afternoon, Mistress Sinclair.”

  “I will.”

  She watched as he walked away, his back straight and his red tunic like a bloody gash among the evergreens of the graveyard. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She’d hoped the major might ask for a replacement, but he seemed pleased with the captain’s work and appeared to be a lot more forthcoming with him than he had ever been with Captain Palmer. Perhaps he responded to the captain’s brash and confident manner. Captain Denning never seemed to feel the slightest embarrassment, indecision, or regret.

  H
e’s not human, Jocelyn concluded as she followed Major Radcliffe through the graveyard and toward the street. Mrs. Johnson fell into step with her. Her cheeks were red as apples, and she was perspiring freely in her black woolen gown.

  “He’s a handsome devil,” she said wistfully.

  “Who? The major?” Jocelyn asked. Mrs. Johnson was always friendly and kind, but she rarely made comments of a personal nature.

  “The major is a handsome man, to be sure, but it was Captain Denning I was referring to. Why, if I were twenty years younger, I’d not let a man like that get away.”

  Jocelyn stopped and stared at the woman, snapping her mouth shut when she realized it was hanging open.

  Mrs. Johnson laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do you think I was never young, Jocelyn?” she asked. “When I was a girl, the sight of a red tunic and beautiful eyes could always set my heart aflutter.”

  “Was your husband a soldier, Mrs. Johnson?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Indeed, he was, and I paid for it dearly,” Mrs. Johnson replied, her smile fading. “I lost my William less than two years after we were married. Didn’t even leave me a child to love.” She sighed. “Killed at the Battle of the Monongahela in fifty-five.”

  “Did you never want to remarry?” Jocelyn asked, wondering if that was an indelicate question.

  “I thought I might, in time, but my heart never let go. Every time a man showed an interest in me, I compared him to my William and found him lacking. And then, before I knew it, I was an old woman.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said.

  “So am I. Don’t miss your chance at happiness, Jocelyn. Life only gives us a handful of opportunities; seize yours when it comes your way.”

  “Are you saying Captain Denning is my opportunity?” Jocelyn asked, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken.

  “I’m saying that you’re a lovely young woman who’s got her pick of admirers. The major isn’t indifferent to you either. It’s not his way to pursue a woman aggressively, but he’s smitten with you, the poor man.”

  “How long have you worked for him?” Jocelyn asked, surprised that Mrs. Johnson seemed to know so much about the major’s feelings.

  “I’ve been with him for more than three years now. Follow him wherever he goes, and he rewards my loyalty. I’ll have a comfortable life once I’m ready to stop working.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I have a sister who lives near Philadelphia. I reckon I’ll go to her. I’m not overly fond of her husband, but I’ve got years yet. He may be good and dead by then,” Mrs. Johnson joked. Jocelyn didn’t think it was particularly funny to wish one’s sister’s husband dead, but then people became selfish in their loneliness. She could see how Mrs. Johnson might not want to share her sister.

  Perhaps Captain Denning is just lonely, Jocelyn thought as she followed Mrs. Johnson into the kitchen once they arrived back at the house. She helped herself to a cup of ale and fanned her face with an old newspaper until she finally felt a little cooler. She had no great desire to go walking with Thomas, but he’d be waiting for her, and she had a few important tidbits to share with him this week.

  Chapter 49

  “Captain Denning worries me,” Jocelyn said. She had relayed the conversation with the captain to Thomas as they strolled along the Hudson River, trying to catch a cooling breeze that never came.

  “I think he’s just an ass,” Thomas said with feeling. “He’s one of those men who think every woman should fall at their feet. Does he have any reason to suspect you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then don’t fall into his trap. He’s trying to unnerve you. It gives him a sense of power, of control. Is the major pleased with his work?”

  “He seems to be. Captain Denning is so different from Captain Palmer, though. I think he hates this position and resents being ordered to sit behind a desk. He’s a man of action, a man of blood,” Jocelyn added.

  “Joss, I know you’re an actress, but that’s pretty dramatic, even for you,” Thomas said, smiling at her. “All soldiers are men of blood. They kill because they must.”

  “But some enjoy it more than others,” Jocelyn argued.

  “True, but has he ever done anything more than make irritating comments?”

  “No,” Jocelyn admitted grudgingly.

  “Then ignore him. It’s a game he likes to play to liven up his day,” Thomas said. “If ever you feel threatened by him, just say the word, and we’ll pull you out. You’re doing great work, though. General Washington is very pleased with your contribution.”

  “He knows about me?” Jocelyn said, gaping at Thomas.

  “He likes to know who his people are and where they’re placed. He’s a great admirer of yours.”

  “You lie!” Jocelyn exclaimed, elbowing Thomas in the ribs.

  “Maybe a little. He doesn’t know your name, but he knows we have a spy in Major Radcliffe’s house and that spy is providing valuable intel. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It is,” Jocelyn said, glowing with pride. “It really is.”

  She returned to Major Radcliffe’s house feeling reenergized. Thomas was right. Captain Denning was probably bored and frustrated. Drawing up lists of supply wagons and requisitioning food and leather for boots could never be enough for a man like him. There were desk soldiers, like Captain Palmer, and battle soldiers, like Captain Denning. She couldn’t help wondering if this posting was a form of punishment for crossing one of the higher-ups. Surely any commanding officer worth his salt would see that Captain Denning was a man better suited to the field.

  Retiring to her room, Jocelyn threw open the window and pulled off her sweat-soaked garments before stretching out on the bed in her shift. Her thoughts turned to Major Radcliffe. What kind of soldier was he? She’d only ever seen him interacting with other officers, but he’d never mentioned any military action he’d participated in. Was he a desk soldier as well, someone better suited to strategizing and organizing supplies than actual combat? With him, it was hard to tell. He was mild mannered and well bred, but somehow, he’d made the rank of major. He must have distinguished himself at some point, Jocelyn decided. Or perhaps his parents had simply purchased the rank for him. Wasn’t that what the British did? They bought their sons a commission in the army, the higher the family, the higher the rank? She wasn’t sure about that, and the major’s family wasn’t titled, as far as she knew.

  Dismissing both Major Radcliffe and Captain Denning from her mind, Jocelyn considered her own situation. Mrs. Johnson’s earlier comments had struck a nerve, and now she felt compelled to examine her options. She loved acting but couldn’t see doing it for decades, as Anna Reid had. One grew weary of living that kind of life, and increasingly discouraged as the plummier parts went to younger women. Actresses like Anna, who had to be at least forty, were relegated to playing the crone or the witch, and once they were too old for those parts, they became dressers or seamstresses, doing whatever they could to earn their bread.

  Jocelyn didn’t want that for herself. Acting had been a means to an end, not an end in itself. She wanted a home of her own, and a family. She wanted love, she concluded, as the purpling shadows of twilight finally dispelled some of the scorching heat of the day. She hoped to meet a man who’d make her feel safe and loved, someone whose warm gaze would make her shiver with anticipation, someone who’d offer her a lifetime, not one night. There’d been admirers who’d come to the theater and declared their love for her, but she’d never encouraged any of them because she meant to hold on to her innocence. She wouldn’t sell herself for a good meal or a pretty trinket.

  No, she wouldn’t go back to acting, Jocelyn thought as she grew drowsy at last. All this was temporary. Someday the British would leave and then she would see to her own life, and her own future.

  Chapter 50

  “You seem very pleased with yourself this morning,” Captain Denning remarked when Jocelyn served him breakfast the following mo
rning.

  “No more than usual,” she replied casually.

  “I don’t believe that,” Captain Denning replied with a smile. “Did that cousin of yours finally come to his senses and offer to make an honest woman of you?”

  “I am an honest woman, sir,” Jocelyn bristled. “And he is my cousin.”

  “Then let me take you to supper one of these days,” Captain Denning said. He caught her by the wrist after she’d placed a plate of bacon and eggs before him. “Jocelyn, I’m sorry if I come across as brutish or insensitive. I don’t have much experience of women, to tell you the truth, at least not the kind of women that deserve respect.”

  “All women deserve respect,” Jocelyn snapped, and snatched her hand away.

  “You are right, of course. You see, I really do need a guiding hand,” the captain said, looking contrite. “My mother died when I was quite young, and I never had older sisters or aunts to instruct me. I am a novice when it comes to gently bred young ladies, and I would value your help.”

  “So you can woo some unsuspecting girl?” Jocelyn replied archly.

  “So I can woo you,” he said, his voice silky and seductive. “Teach me how to woo you.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Captain. Now, I really must get on with my duties.”

  “Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

  “Good morning,” Jocelyn said as she turned to leave the room.

  “It might have been,” the captain replied under his breath.

  “Are you all right, Jocelyn?” Mrs. Johnson asked when she returned to the kitchen. “Might you be sickening for something?”