The Courier of Caswell Hall (5 page)

Sitting down on the stool, she spooned the broth into the man’s mouth as she had the medicine. His eyes opened and closed as he ate the soup, but they never focused on her.

What if she hadn’t gone walking last night? What if she had ignored this man’s groan?

He wouldn’t have survived the night and probably not the hour, in the condition he was in. It was a cruel war, this meaningless plunder of so much life. Thousands were dying, and for what? A proper cup of English tea?

All of it seemed meaningless to her, as King Solomon said in his book. It was like chasing after the wind.

His head tossed again on the pillow, and she set the soup bowl and spoon beside the basin. Where had this man come from? He didn’t look like a rebel, at least not like the cruel men who’d tortured her grandfather. In fact, he reminded her a bit of her brother, Grayson.

Mother had yet to part with any of Grayson’s clothing or personal effects. Perhaps she could find some newer clothes for him to wear from her brother’s closet.

Lydia picked up the bowl and spooned more soup into the man’s mouth.

Often she wondered where Seth was. And how he was. While Sarah received letters from him, she herself hadn’t received one letter since Seth departed two years go. Or if she had, Father had confiscated them. The day Seth left to join the Continental Army, Father ceased to talk about the man he’d once thought would manage Caswell Hall.

If Seth was wounded on the field, she hoped someone would care for him. It didn’t matter to her the political leanings of the person who helped him. She hoped his rescuer wouldn’t see a soldier but a man who needed compassion. A man with a future ahead of him, no matter who won this war.

Her parents’ conversation from last night replayed in her mind, and she clenched her hands together. How could they presume to marry her to a man she didn’t know? She and Seth might have departed on bitter terms, but when the war ended, surely he and her father would put aside their political differences. And if they didn’t—

She might not marry Seth, but she would never marry a stranger. If Seth and Father couldn’t reconcile, there would be no wedding for her. And no marriage.

She leaned her head back against the bare wood, the sun warming her face through the window. As her eyelids began to droop, she propped up her chin with her hands. She would rest here for a few moments, just in case he awoke.

No matter what happened, she wouldn’t regret what she’d done.

A loud
bang
jolted Nathan from his sleep. His eyes flew open and he scanned the surroundings.

There was a small fireplace to his right, bare wood walls, a basin by the window. Sitting beside him was a young woman, her eyes on the door. And there was another lady, a middle-aged woman, wearing a gray housedress and a white cap. Her breath came in heaves as she shut the door. “You must leave, Miss Lydia.”

The woman beside him—Miss Lydia—hopped to her feet. “Are they home?”

The woman by the door nodded. “They’re scouring the house for you.”

His head pounding, he closed his eyes.

Where was he?

Until he knew whether he was in a safe place, he’d feign sleep.

“Viney will tell them she fed me,” Lydia said.

“She told Lady Caswell you took your soup bowl with you.”

The younger woman groaned.

“Elisha or I will check back on him. You must stay away from here.”

He heard the shuffling of feet and then the shutting of the door. The room grew silent, leaving him alone in a room filled with the oddest mix of smells—chicken soup and horse manure and—he sniffed again—the faintest scent of flowers.

Opening his eyes, he clutched his fists and then curled his toes. His left foot and calf burned, but thank God, he was still alive. He never thought he’d survive the initial impact of the water, and certainly not the temperature of it. But it was much better to die in the river than at the hands of the British.

He shivered under the blankets. He might be forced into acts of valor for the sake of his country, but in his heart there was little courage.

He remembered hitting the icy water off the side of the
Defiance
, but the memories after the plunge were blurry. He’d been cold, colder than he’d ever been in his life, and he’d struggled for air even as his lungs froze within him. Death seemed imminent. It was time, he’d thought, to meet his Savior.

The next thing he remembered was a woman’s voice.

He looked at the beveled glass on the window. Perhaps it was the same woman who had been sitting beside him moments ago.

He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but there was no strength left within him.

How long had he been in this room?

His pulse raced. After taking that fall, it was a miracle he was still here. The British, he hoped, thought he had perished in the river.

Now he must deliver his message before it was too late.

A dozen people crowded into Mrs. Hester Zeigler’s formal parlor. The narrow room was papered with a pale red-and-white-striped design from London and smelled like cinnamon and cloves. Most people stood, conversing pleasantly with one another about the weather and such, but Sarah waited for the dinner meal on the settee, her leather-bound copy of
Gulliver’s Travels
clutched in her lap. She always brought a book to these weekly meals, and this one was a particular favorite among Tories.

While she tolerated Mrs. Zeigler’s company, she disliked these weekly Sunday gatherings immensely. Sarah suspected the woman invited her after services because she entertained notions of a future with Commodore Hammond when he returned from the West Indies.

The late Mr. Zeigler had been a good friend of Lord Dunmore’s before the governor abandoned the palace and the town. Even as the political tide in Williamsburg shifted to support the Patriots, Mrs. Zeigler remained influential as a hostess and organizer of women. It seemed that everyone in Williamsburg, of either political persuasion, wanted to be included on the list when she held a party at her fine house. Lord Dunmore attended her gatherings when he was governor, and Governor Thomas Jefferson and his wife attended them until last year, when the colony moved the capital and the governor from Williamsburg to Richmond.

Lately, Mrs. Zeigler seemed to entertain only those who supported the King’s Men, and now it appeared she wanted to marry one again as well.

Even though Sarah could never imagine her father married to the widow Zeigler, it was most important for Sarah to spend time among the British sympathizers. So she attended these dinners each week without fail.

While Morah helped the other maids in the kitchen each Sunday, Sarah endured all sorts of meaningless talk from people who thought her father had lost his mind. No decent man, Mrs. Houser once said, would leave his daughter in charge of four thousand acres—as if Sarah would single-handedly ruin all her father and grandfather had built. She knew they doubted her ability, and even worse, she doubted it herself.

No one seemed to be whispering about her this afternoon. Information had begun to trickle in about the Continental Army fighting against the British occupancy in Charles Towne. Sarah listened intently—and silently—to Mr. Pendell, a professor at the College of William & Mary, as he shared the information he’d gleaned.

“I heard they were trying to take back South Carolina,” he said.

Mrs. Pendell fanned her face. “At least Washington’s men aren’t here.”

The town doctor—Dr. Cooper—stepped forward, a black hat secured in his hands. “I wouldn’t be so certain. I’ve heard Washington and his men might be leaving New York.”

Mr. Houser put his hand on the edge of the settee, leaning toward the others in their discussion. “It is about time our men showed the rebels in Virginia that the king is serious.”

Dr. Cooper lifted his glass. “Long live King George.”

“Hush,” one of the women said, nodding toward the kitchen. “Not all the ears are sympathetic.”

All the people in the room were Tories, also known as Loyalists. Or at least they claimed to be. It was impossible to know who was stalwart in their convictions and who would turn if Patriots took the town. With her father off fighting with the King’s Men and her brother fighting against them, the people of Williamsburg weren’t quite sure what to think about Sarah.

She never offered her opinion, and Mr. Pendell’s wife offered hers sparingly. It was best for both of them to remain as indifferent as possible to this war.

“My dear Sarah,” Mrs. Pendell said, both her arms outstretched as she approached her. She was a large woman who laughed easily and loved books almost as much as Sarah did.

After embracing Sarah, Mrs. Pendell handed over
The Old English Baron
, a novel she’d borrowed from Sarah’s library three weeks ago.

“Did you enjoy it?” Sarah asked, perhaps a bit too loudly.

“Very much,” Mrs. Pendell replied, eyeing the book in Sarah’s lap. “Have you brought me something else to read this week?”

Sarah handed her
Gulliver’s Travels
. “I fear you won’t find much of interest in this one.”

“Perhaps next week,” Mrs. Pendell said before she tucked the book under her arm and turned to greet another guest.

Everyone in Williamsburg seemed to know the Pendells, but Sarah hadn’t known Mrs. Pendell well until a year ago, when Seth informed Sarah that she and Mrs. Pendell were destined to become close friends. Thankfully she enjoyed the woman’s company, and Mrs. Pendell seemed to enjoy hers.

“Did you hear what happened to Benedict Arnold?” Dr. Cooper asked. When no one replied, he continued. “He was feeding information to the British, and when he was discovered, he ran off to the British army. Now he’s an officer.”

“I care not if a traitor is for the British or the rebels,” Mr. Pendell declared. “Any traitor should be hanged.”

Sarah swallowed and glanced up at Mrs. Pendell in spite of herself. The woman’s smile remained frozen as she nodded in earnest beside her husband.

They might have to rely on deception to do their work, but they were helping deliver information to those who needed it. Information that would save lives, Sarah reminded herself. Besides, they were only conduits, so the British wouldn’t discover who among them was gathering information for the Patriots. Sarah didn’t even know what the letters contained, nor to whom Mrs. Pendell delivered, but she was ready to assist in the fight for freedom however she was needed.

Sunshine poured through the dining-room windows, across the long white-cloaked table, as her father studied Lydia’s face. His powdered wig,
which he still wore from church that morning, matched the color of the tablecloth, and he looked as distinguished as any member of the House of Burgesses. Father lifted his silver goblet and took a long sip of his Madeira wine before he spoke. “You have made quite a speedy recovery.”

She pushed a bite of salted ham with her fork, mixing the ham with her sweet potatoes. “Aye.”

He tilted his head, and the beads of sweat on his brow glistened in the light. “Dr. Cooper would be amazed.”

“I did not sleep well last night,” she said. “The fatigue overpowered me.”

“Perhaps you should have remained in bed all day.”

Lydia glanced across the table at her mother, who was sitting with perfect posture to Father’s right. Mother dabbed the edges of her lips with her napkin before she spoke. “There is no reason to interrogate her, my dear. We should just be grateful to the Good Lord that she is well again.”

Hannah raised her glass and winked at her. “Hear, hear.”

Lydia clenched her heavy silver fork. When she’d hurried back from Elisha’s room, she had seen Hannah’s face in an upstairs window of the manor house. And she’d seen her sister lift her hand in a mock greeting. She knew she must protect this stranger, but she hated being trapped inside this cauldron of deception. Even more, she hated that her sister knew she had been outside the house instead of in the library. If Hannah managed to keep her secret, she would make Lydia pay dearly for it.

Father cut a piece of ham and lifted it. “Your mother said you had fallen asleep.”