The Courier of Caswell Hall (20 page)

As he climbed into the boat, his heart twisted within him. He hated having to ask her to risk her life. She’d already risked so much when she rescued him. In another time, if she wasn’t promised to another man, he would request to court her. A decade ago it wouldn’t have mattered if her father was a Tory. A decade ago they all respected the king.

He should avoid her and this place, but his uncle needed him to do this job. He must focus on his task and be grateful for someone who could take his messages into Williamsburg. Lydia Caswell might be beautiful, but what mattered was that he trusted her to do this job.

He stayed a moment longer and then paddled into the night. He would sleep near the shipyards tonight and travel north tomorrow by horseback to await his next assignment.

A carriage driver shouted at Sarah, and she hopped back onto the sidewalk. Her heart pounded as a horse rushed by her. It seemed a lifetime ago that she would step out of her house and hear the sounds of crickets. There were no crickets in Philadelphia, but it seemed as if everyone here was a Patriot.

Her aunt’s three-story brick home was inviting and immaculate. With the exception of English tea, they lacked no other comforts. Even so, Sarah couldn’t stay inside the narrow house for long, especially on a beautiful spring day like this. While she missed the promise of the James River to take her far away, here in Philadelphia she felt safe, and she loved the busyness of the city. Everyone seemed to have an important occupation, and she was intrigued by it all.

Aunt Emeline didn’t have many books in her small library, but this new adventure had calmed Sarah’s need to escape. The British had taken much from her, but she’d shackled the hope of freedom to her heart. No matter what happened, they couldn’t take that from her. This spring, she had stitched coats for the soldiers alongside dozens of other Daughters of Liberty, but she longed to do something more than make coats.

Aunt Emeline reminded her regularly that they were doing an invaluable service for their soldiers—and she knew her aunt was right—but when she had delivered her letters, she was impacting the outcome of the war.

If General Washington would only allow her to fight on the battlefield beside her brother, she would take up her gun and never look back. When she looked back now, all she saw were the burning walls of their plantation.

She missed their piece of the river, and she missed Morah and Thomas and the other Negroes on the plantation. After managing a household, it was hard to live under another’s constant direction. And yet she was grateful for a home.

People conducted business in this town as they did in Williamsburg, as if there was no war outside. Now that the British no longer occupied these buildings, the people of Philadelphia pressed for freedom. Most of the workingmen had joined the ranks of Washington’s army, leaving the women to work in the shops and manage the town. Those with husbands who remained at home kept busy with sewing jackets and knitting socks for soldiers before the winter.

One day perhaps Sarah would have a business as well, though she didn’t foresee herself being content for long inside a shop.

The spring air had parched her throat, and she turned back toward the house for a glass of water. As she opened the back door, she heard the voices of several women talking with her aunt. She sighed. Her days, it seemed, were an endless display of socializing and stitching. Thankfully Aunt Emeline seemed to understand her need to escape on some afternoons.

Sarah paused at the door to the drawing room, listening.

“He’s been gone for almost three months,” one of the women said. She recognized the voice of Mrs. Benson, a sprightly woman who seemed to know everyone in Philadelphia along with their business.

Mrs. Benson’s daughter, Amity, spoke in a loud whisper. “I heard he’s supposed to return by the month’s end.”

Sarah smiled. Amity was at least five years older than her and still unmarried. They must be discussing the visit of a bachelor, a novelty these days.

“Perhaps he will be back in time for the Miltons’ ball.”

Ball?
Good heavens. Aunt Emeline would want her to attend, but Sarah hadn’t danced since 1776. She sighed. Even though she enjoyed the bustle of the city’s busyness, she wasn’t fond of the social gatherings her aunt insisted upon. During a war, Aunt Emeline thought, it was good to keep oneself occupied—but distractions like these only seemed to weary Sarah.

Even though she was Emeline Hammond’s great-niece, the women in Philadelphia still didn’t trust her. Nor did they really know her. When she first arrived in the city, Sarah quickly learned that her running the
plantation in her father’s absence embarrassed Aunt Emeline. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem to embarrass her aunt in the least that John Hammond worked for the Crown.

Louisa came upon her eavesdropping on the women just then, and Sarah quickly handed the maid her parasol before stepping into the parlor. Mrs. Benson and Amity and another unmarried woman named Victoria Pittman greeted her as she took a chair by the tray of tarts and lemonade. The women sat in awkward silence, as if they were unsure what to say now that she was here.

Amity shifted on the settee beside her mother. With her auburn hair and lovely fair skin, she had probably had suitors lining up outside her door before the war.

“Who is coming to the dance?” Sarah asked as she lifted a glass of lemonade.

Mrs. Benson patted her hand. “No one you would know.”

Sarah guzzled the sweet drink.

Aunt Emeline changed the topic. “How was your stroll?”

“Quite pleasant, thank you.”

“We shall go up to Chestnut Hill soon to escape the summer heat,” Aunt Emeline said. “Do you like to dance, Sarah?”

“I do, but I am not particularly fond of crowds.”

Victoria’s pleasant smile reminded her of Lydia’s. “You will have a marvelous time.”

Sarah smiled back at her. “Are there any men left in Philadelphia to dance with?”

“Aye, but all of the gentlemen are married.”

Sarah reached for a tart. “I am not seeking a husband.”

Victoria’s smile turned sympathetic. “Of course not.”

Mrs. Benson eyed the tart in Sarah’s hand. “It is a good thing you are not.”

Sarah held the woman’s gaze as she took a bite of the tart. Then she looked above the woman’s head to Louisa, standing in the back, and lifted her empty glass. “Would you fetch me some more lemonade?”

“Certainly,” Louisa said.

“Gracious,” Mrs. Benson said, eyeing the glass as Louisa took it. “Did you guzzle your entire glass?”

Sarah shrugged. “I am always thirsty after I walk.”

Mrs. Benson tilted forward. “I have heard rumors of your frolicking through town.”

Sarah couldn’t stop her laughter at the woman’s words, as if her walks had caused some sort of disturbance in Philadelphia. “I do not believe that touring the city in the daylight is considered frolicking.”

“It is if you do not have an escort.”

“Then perhaps I shall have to marry after all, so I have a handsome escort.”

Mrs. Benson sat back in her chair, looking properly offended.

When the women left, Aunt Emeline settled back into her chair. “Do not mind them. They do not know what to say to you.”

Mrs. Benson knew exactly what to say, but Sarah didn’t wish to air her offense since Aunt Emeline was her friend. “Victoria and Amity do not trust me yet.”

“The young women are overwrought,” Aunt Emeline said. “One of our privateers is due back in town soon.”

“I am sure it will be good to have the supplies.”

“Oh, it is not because of the supplies he brings. He is a fine-looking gentleman, and the unmarried ladies are smitten with him.”

“They are enamored of a pirate?” She’d imagined privateers to be unshaven, burly men lacking any sort of social grace.

Aunt Emeline shook her head. “His name is Porter, and he is no pirate. He steals only from the British, and he takes supplies for the war and for our women.”

“And this Porter shall come to the ball?”

“There is a rumor that he will attend. If so, all the ladies will be swooning.”

Let them swoon. The only man she wanted to see was the one who had disappeared.

Darkness settled around Lydia like a heavy mantle as she pretended to stroll down the path to the river. She wished for a light, but she didn’t dare even take a candle with her to the orangery. It was one thing to enjoy the view of the river from the gazebo, but quite another to be sneaking outside at midnight to find a hidden letter.

It had been two nights since Nathan found her at the gazebo. Even though she wanted to retrieve his message, she had resisted until tonight. Tomorrow they would attend services in Williamsburg.

Goose bumps pricked her arms again, and she drew her shawl tight around her arms. She rarely spoke to Mrs. Pendell on Sunday mornings. Father usually escorted them in and out of services before they had a chance to speak with anyone. How was she going to talk to Mrs. Pendell without raising suspicions?

When Lydia reached the orangery, she counted the bricks with her hands and moved the loose brick out. Just as Nathan had said, a sealed letter was set inside, and she quickly stuffed it under her shawl before replacing the brick. Then she rushed back through the gardens and climbed the steps to the security of her chamber.

After hiding the letter under her window cushion, she collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Sleep was fitful that night as she dreamed about Nathan, letters, and fire.

Prudence helped her dress in the morning, and then she filled an embroidered reticule with scented powder and slipped the letter inside. Mother always took a sweet bag filled with potpourri to church to ward off the variety of smells that clung to the air, but Lydia never carried one.

None of her family members questioned her about the reticule when she stepped into the coach, and she clutched it in her lap along with her prayer book on their drive to church and through the entire service. If the British stopped them, they would have to pry it out of her fingers.

Mrs. Pendell sat in the boxed pew to the left of the Caswell family’s pew. Lydia couldn’t focus on the music from the organ above or the words of the rector before her, not even when he prayed for peace.

She fidgeted with her sweet bag through the service until Mother nudged her. Then she pushed her toes against the tops of her brocade slippers. How was she supposed to deliver this message to her mother’s friend?

Instead of having to seek out Mrs. Pendell after service, the woman found Lydia and enveloped her in a tight hug. As Mrs. Pendell released her, Lydia slipped the bag into her hand.

Mrs. Pendell moved to embrace Lady Caswell, and when Lydia looked back, Mrs. Pendell held the bag to her side as if nothing was amiss.

It was official.

The daughter of Lord and Lady Caswell had betrayed their king.

The British officers returned to Caswell Hall on a warm day in July. Rumors abounded about their plundering across Virginia and the other colonies, and although Lydia wondered of their plans, she didn’t dare ask. She needed to appear as oblivious as possible to the affairs of this war.

Major Reed greeted her with a smile. She cringed at his friendliness and even more at the friendliness she must feign in return.

“We shall have men arriving throughout the day,” the major informed her father.

“Of course.”

“There is much for us to discuss.”

As the men arrived, Lydia helped the servants prepare their rooms. They had no idea how many would turn up, but Mother feared that if they didn’t provide the officers with places to sleep, they might opt to take the family’s rooms.

The men came by foot, horse, and wagon. A good thirty of them. Major Reed said the officers had been staying in homes across the region, some hosts more willing to have them than others. Part of her was glad that Sarah was in Philadelphia. At least she didn’t have a horde of soldiers overtaking her house with no husband or father to protect her.

Viney and her staff rushed to prepare a large meal for the officers, and it seemed to Lydia as if they were preparing their great hall for a celebration. Except this was no special occasion. The men didn’t bathe this time, and they smelled like animals that had rolled in ashes after a fire, smoke clinging to their uniforms. Instead of lingering over the meal, the officers devoured every morsel served to them and slurped cup after cup of Mother’s prized tea.