The Courier of Caswell Hall (23 page)

“I want to hear your stories,” she said.

“I have all day, if you want to listen. And tomorrow.” He placed his hand at the small of her back, directing her toward a seat. “What would you like to know?”

“Where have you been, Grayson?” she asked.

He started at the beginning.

Lydia walked toward the washhouse on Saturday morning to retrieve fresh linens for herself and her parents. She’d never been inside the washhouse, but one of their maidservants had run away during the chaos of the officers’ latest arrival, and it had been this maid’s job to retrieve linens for the main house.

After Elisha left, they had lost five more slaves, including two who did not return from their work in the fields just last night. Neither Father nor the overseer had located those two men, and Lydia doubted they ever would. Until Father could purchase more Negroes, she and Hannah would be required to help with their work.

When she opened the door to the washhouse, steam poured over her and she gasped at the blast of heat. Two Negro women looked up at her in surprise with sweat dripping off their faces, as they scrubbed clothes on a board in wooden tubs filled with boiling water. Clothes and linens were hung on lines around them, and they lay in piles near the tubs.

She’d never felt so out of place in her life. “I—I need some bed linens.”

The women stared at her.

Lydia pointed at one of the presses where the folded blankets set. “Shall I take one from there?”

The younger woman, who was probably around Hannah’s age, ran toward the press. “I will fetch them for you.”

She retrieved two sets and brought them to Lydia. “Would you like me to carry them?”

“What is your name?” Lydia asked.

“Deborah.” She said with a curtsy. “It’s a Christian name.”

“Hush,” the other woman commanded.

Deborah bowed her head. “I’m sorry for my impertinence.”

“You needn’t be,” Lydia said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I can carry those, ma’am,” Deborah said.

Lydia shook her head and smiled. “I will do it.”

Deborah held the door open for Lydia as she scooted back outside with her arms full. How did these women stay in the washhouse all day in this heat, standing over boiling cauldrons of wash water? It was a wonder they hadn’t fainted away on the ground.

Lydia looked down at the clean linens in her hands. Every night she slept on sheets like these without even thinking about the women who had washed them. She thought she was being kind to Deborah, volunteering to carry the sheets for her, but it occurred to her suddenly that it probably would have been a much greater kindness to allow Deborah to escape to the coolness of the house.

Sighing, she turned to go back to the washhouse. This new world of hers was difficult to navigate.

Someone whispered her name from behind the smokehouse, and she whirled on her feet, dropping the clean linens on the ground. Bending over, she scrambled to pick them up and balled them in her hands.

“Who is there?” she asked.

“It is I.”

Her heart leaped. What was Nathan doing, visiting her in the daylight? If someone found out that she knew him—

His presence risked both of their lives.

She looked both ways, but there was no one on the drive. She could keep walking, pretending that she hadn’t heard him. Or she could speak to him quickly so he would leave.

The sooner he was off Caswell property, the better it would be for both of them.

She slipped behind the smokehouse and caught her breath when she saw him. After he’d recovered, she had seen him only in the darkness.
Now his green eyes glistened in the light, and his face was shaven clean. His sandy-brown hair was tied back with her yellow ribbon, and in his gaze, she saw a strength that unnerved her.

Had he been this handsome when he lay on Elisha’s bed? If so, she hadn’t noticed. He certainly wore his health well.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I must speak with you,” he whispered.

“I go to the gazebo every night.”

“They have set up a guard around your property after dusk. One of your friends has begun shadowing you to the gazebo.”

Goose bumps bristled her arms. She’d been sitting out there alone with one of the officers near her. Thank God she hadn’t gone back to the orangery to deliver a message.

“They are not my friends,” she said.

He nodded. “Neither are they friends to your father.”

She thought of the major’s anger when he’d discovered the Patriots had moved their supplies. Even though her father knew nothing of her treason, Major Reed would still punish him if Nathan was discovered on the property.

She pressed her fingers against his arm, urging him away. “They mustn’t find you here—”

He glanced over her shoulder and then leaned close to her ear. She shivered in spite of the heat. “Take a stroll into the kitchen gardens after dusk. I shall meet you by the river.”

The clip-clopping of horses startled her, and she looked behind her.

“Go,” she hissed, but when she turned back to Nathan, he was already gone.

Her heart racing, she stepped back onto the drive, the soiled sheets cascading from her arms. The rider stopped his horse beside her, and she scrambled to pick up the sheets. She didn’t recognize the man, but he looked like a British messenger.

He examined her and the muddy sheets in her hands. “What happened to your linens?”

She sighed. “You startled me.”

“I am looking for Major Reed.”

She nodded toward Caswell Hall. “He should be in the main house.”

The rider prompted the horse forward, leaving her in his dust.

With the dirty linens bunched in her arms, she turned back to the washhouse. Her intention had been to help, but now she’d created even more work for these women.

This time she would ask Deborah to help her bring clean linens back to the house.

Shadows from the bell tower above the Pennsylvania State House stretched long across Chestnut Street. The bell had rung five years ago when their nation declared independence, and it continued to ring when the Continental Congress met in hopes of securing their proposed freedom.

Carriages clattered beside Sarah and Grayson, and the aroma of sweet pastries drifted from the door of a bakery as they skirted through the rows of shops, taverns, and narrow brick homes that overlooked Philadelphia’s busy streets.

Aunt Emeline had sent Louisa to chaperone them this afternoon, but Grayson never checked to see if she remained behind them. If he could pretend the older woman wasn’t following them, Sarah could pretend as well.

With Grayson at her side, Sarah couldn’t stop smiling. In her great-aunt’s parlor, he had described the night his grandfather was killed in Williamsburg, how the men had threatened to kill Grayson as well. When he told his mother, Lady Caswell not only begged him to flee but helped him to do so. She elicited his promise that he would tell no one he was leaving, for she feared the news might somehow leak to those who wanted him dead. And now there were many more who sought his life.

Grayson and Seth had already been discussing in secret the ideas that had been brewing then in Philadelphia and Boston. They both knew how critical it was to stifle their passions for the safety of themselves and their families. Grayson said his grandfather felt he must speak up
for the king before the colonists lost their control, and he felt compelled to protect his grandfather by standing beside him. But then his grandfather’s speech ignited a tirade of colonists who were tired of the mandates placed on them by supporters of the Crown.

Sarah was surprised to learn that Grayson had sympathized with the Patriots for so long, but she was even more surprised to discover that Lady Caswell knew of Grayson’s departure. Her admiration for Grayson’s mother swelled at how she helped her son leave in the night and then harbored this secret to protect him. Sarah couldn’t imagine, though, what Lord and Lady Caswell would say if they learned that their only son was assisting the Americans. She admired Grayson as well, for protecting those he loved.

Cobblestone winded down to the Delaware River, and they ceased to talk of the past and laughed together at the names of Philadelphia’s streets—Cedar, Chestnut, Walnut, and Spruce. It sounded as if they lived in a forest instead of a city.

Those passing by stared at them. In a city with few men under the age of forty, Grayson and his crew were novelties. And today he had chosen to walk with her.

As they came upon the river, the stench from the docks swelled in the summer heat.

“There is my ship,” he said, pointing at the long wooden ship with two masts rising tall from the deck.

“What is her name?”

His gaze remained on the boat. Instead of answering her question, he said, “She has been all over the Caribbean and up and down the Atlantic.”

She smiled at the pride in his voice. If only she could have gone with him. “How did you secure your own ship?”

He looked back at her. “When I first left the plantation, I did not know where to go. A man in York asked me if I wanted to sail with him, and I agreed. We overtook two British frigates on that trip and sold the supplies to the Patriots. I worked a year for him and made enough money to purchase my own ship.”

“I never expected—” she started. “A pirate, Grayson?”

He bristled. “A privateer. I aid the Patriots by relieving the enemy of their goods, and then I transport the supplies to our soldiers.”

“You steal the supplies they are bringing to their own men.”

He tugged on the hem of his jacket. “I am not suited for soldiering.”

“I wish I were.”

He laughed and then stopped and looked down at her. “I have missed you, Sarah.”

She swallowed. “I was not sure whether to miss you or not.”

“If only we were on the same side—”

Perhaps soon she would tell him that she wanted freedom for their country as well. Freedom to speak what she believed. Freedom to worship in a way she saw fit. But she stayed quiet. If she spoke now, he might think her aim was only to impress him.

“I leave for sea again in the morning,” he said.

The familiar sadness returned to her. “I had hoped you might stay longer.”

“If you see my family, I beg of you not to tell them what I am doing.”

“Can I tell them you are safe?”

“Only my mother—and only if you do not tell her my new name.” He paused. “If my enemies found my family, they might harm them in order to stop me.”

Sarah understood and admired him for it.

He pulled her to the side, in an alley. A rat skirted by her feet, and she jumped away from it. Louisa must be near, but Sarah didn’t care. She was alone with the man her heart longed for.

“Remember when we were but children and I would visit Seth in the evenings?”

“I do,” she said. “I would slip into the parlor and help myself to the snacks the servants brought you.”

A nervous smile replaced his confident gaze. “I was not really coming to visit Seth.”

She tilted her head, studying his face. “Nor was I particularly interested in the snacks.”

His smile grew. “I cannot leave again without telling you how I feel.” He took both her hands and her fingers trembled in his. “I do not want you to keep slipping in and out of my life. I want you to stay.”

“I would like to stay,” she whispered above the noise outside. A wagon rolled by the alleyway, clattering on the cobblestones.

“I did not want harm to come to you either—I still do not—but my biggest regret these past four years was leaving you.”

Her heart swelled. Perhaps Grayson did love her as she loved him. He hadn’t wanted to leave her.

He pulled her closer to him and leaned his head down. “I do not want any more regrets, Sarah.”

“Nor do I.”

Heat flushed her cheeks as his lips drew close to hers. Then she heard a scuffling noise behind her, and she turned. Louisa appeared in the alley, her hands on her hips. “Miss Emeline told me to keep my eyes on you. How am I supposed to watch you when you keep hiding away like this?”

Grayson groaned. “I was about to kiss her, Louisa.”

The older woman swatted him. “Get back on the street.”