The Courier of Caswell Hall (9 page)

Prudence placed the brush back into the top drawer of the dressing table. “Sorrow is what one should feel when another is hurting.”

Lydia forced a smile. “We should be feeling sorrow for Seth and the other men who are fighting.”

Opening her jewelry box, Lydia chose a necklace of gold beads and held it around her throat. Prudence clasped it and then added matching earrings before she glanced over her shoulder, at the door still closed behind them. “Yesterday Joshua asked me why I’ve been visiting Elisha’s room.”

Lydia’s heart sank. A rumor like that would spread like a grass fire. It wouldn’t pay to have the servants talking about Prudence and Elisha, nor did she want to soil Prudence’s reputation by asking her to visit one of their Negroes’ rooms at night.

“Perhaps you can leave the food for Elisha to take to his room.”

“Nathan must leave soon,” Prudence said firmly.

“He is nearly healed.” Lydia examined the necklace in the looking glass. The gold color didn’t look right with her dark red dress. Or perhaps it was the dark bags under her eyes from the late night that altered her appearance.

“Did Nathan tell you his surname?”

“He did not,” she said, reaching for a string of milky pearls.

Prudence changed her necklace and earrings. “I fear you are beginning to care for him.”

“As a brother, perhaps, but no more.”

In the looking glass, she saw Prudence raise her eyebrows in question.

“There is nothing more,” she insisted.

The door to her bedchamber opened, and Prudence picked up a pot with rice powder. Hannah sauntered into the room, a smile on her face.

Lydia looked at her in the glass. “Did the major arrive?”

Hannah shook her head. “But surely he will soon.”

“I fear you will be disappointed,” Lydia said. Her sister had dressed early and spent the morning traveling from one window to another as they waited for the major.

“How could I be disappointed?” Hannah paced behind the vanity, and it wearied Lydia to watch her.

“If you do not stop moving, you shall be too tired to entertain.”

Hannah shook her head. “I could not possibly be too tired.”

“Well, you are exhausting me.”

Hannah lowered herself into the upholstered chair next to Lydia. “You are still hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”

Lydia’s eyebrows spiked. “Whatever do you mean?”

Hannah glanced at Prudence as she brushed the rice powder on Lydia’s cheeks and forehead. “Do you not think she’s hiding something?”

Prudence kept her eyes on Lydia’s neck. “You girls have hidden all sorts of things from me since you were old enough to walk.”

Hannah planted her hands on her narrow hips. “My sister has been carrying around this secret for a good week, and I intend to find out what it is.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You need an occupation, Hannah.”

“I have no problem occupying myself.” Hannah looked out the window and turned back to her. “It is you who seems to require an occupation.”

“You are talking in riddles.”

“I have seen you visiting a certain Negro.”

Prudence coughed, backing away. “With your permission, miss, I think I will take my leave.”

“Of course,” Lydia said. When the door closed, she turned toward her sister. “How dare you insinuate—”

Hannah shrugged. “It seems as if you have spent an awful lot of time near the coach house as of late.”

“I—”

“Do not be coy, Lydia. Father may be distracted by this war, but you cannot pretend with me.” Hannah paused. “What exactly are you doing over there?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“I would prefer to judge whether it is my concern.”

“You need not know everything, Hannah.”

“I disagree.” She laughed. “Knowledge is the prelude to power.”

Lydia looked out at the gray sky. If nothing else, her sister was tenacious. She wouldn’t stop until she found the source of Lydia’s interest.

With the curiosity of their servants and now her sister—and the imminent arrival of a British officer—she must determine a way for Nathan to leave the plantation right away, even if he wasn’t well enough to walk. She pressed her lips together as she stared at the river. Where was she supposed to take him? And how could she transport an injured man?

She turned her head back toward her sister. “What would you do if Seth paid us a visit?”

Hannah shrugged. “Probably fetch Father.”

“But Father would have him shot.”

“After what he has done, he deserves to be shot.”

“Hannah!”

“’Tis the truth.” Hannah pushed her floral slippers out from under her dress. “Did Seth pay you a visit?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why do you ask?”

Lydia brushed more powder under her eyes. “Right and wrong can be muddied during a war.”

“You are talking like a rebel.”

“I am doing nothing of the sort!”

“Well, you had better not let Father hear you talk about a muddied right and wrong when he is convinced there is nothing muddy about this war.”

The door to her bedchamber swung open again, and Prudence called to them. “A carriage is coming.”

Hannah clapped her hands. “Is the major inside?”

“I do not know, miss.”

She twirled. “Let us have no more talk of rebels or a war.”

They might not talk of it, but Lydia couldn’t stop thinking about how to help Nathan escape before Father or their British guest took a shot at him.

After Hannah slipped by, Prudence stopped Lydia. “Lady Caswell helped us clean Master Grayson’s room.”

Lydia groaned.

“When Major Reed leaves, she would like to have a word with you.”

Her head held high, Lydia slowly moved down the hall to the staircase. Hannah had already disappeared ahead of her, running down the steps. Her sister had little appreciation for the finer arts of the gentler sex. A lady was never supposed to rush—or at least, she should never look as if she was rushing. Mother kept hoping that experience would tame Hannah and turn her into a lady.

Lydia had her doubts.

Inside the family’s drawing room, eight wing-back chairs and two couches were arranged in small clusters. The walls were papered with mint-and-white flowers, and a tall window framed the front lawn of their house. An elegant fireplace served as the focal point of the room, adorned with blue-and-white tiles, a limestone mantel, and ornate flowers carved into the overmantel. Plaster columns rose to the ceiling on each side.

Her parents were already seated in the drawing room, and Mother directed Lydia to sit beside her. As Father argued with Hannah about her conduct while Major Reed was here, Mother whispered to her, “There are several items missing from Grayson’s room—his shoes and favorite waistcoat and the scarf I knitted for him before he left.”

Lydia suppressed her groan. It had never occurred to her that Mother might have knitted the blue-and-gray scarf.

“Can you retrieve them as you did the bowl?” Mother asked.

“I am afraid I cannot.”

Mother wove her slender fingers together before looking back at her, and Lydia could see the fear in her eyes. “I fear I will lose you too, Lydia.”

Lydia put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. How could she assure her of anything?

Hannah sauntered toward them, announcing as she walked, “I am going to look outside.”

Mother stiffened. “You may not.”

“What is the point of having a window—?”

“Hush,” Mother insisted.

“I will not hush.”

Father faced her. “Must I find a muzzle for you?”

When Joshua walked into the room, Hannah swirled toward him.

“Is he—” she started, but Lydia reached out and took her sister’s hand, squeezing it to silence her.

She stopped Hannah just in time. Several steps behind their manservant was a clean-shaven man wearing a powdered wig and a scarlet coat adorned with white lace and shiny pewter buttons. He was shorter than she thought an officer should be, standing only as tall as Father’s chin, but he held a tall hat in his hands. A black belt crossed over his chest in the shape of an
X
, and his smile was stiff, as if he hadn’t been in the practice of smiling lately.

Father greeted him before Joshua formally introduced him, and then Father introduced him to the ladies. Major Reed gave the slightest bow. “It is a pleasure to see each of you again.”

“I believe you were but fifteen or sixteen when we saw you last,” Father said.

The major nodded. “I remember your visit well. My father said I must visit you if I came to Virginia.”

Mother stood and reached for both his hands, welcoming him. “Lord Reed has been a good friend to my husband.”

The major bowed again.

Mother released his hands and pointed him toward the leather chair next to Lydia. “You must tell us all the news of London.”

“I am afraid, my dear lady, that my news is quite old. It has been six months past since I left our beloved country.”

“Please, tell us what you remember,” Mother implored.

A housemaid set a platter with the silver tea set on the round table between them. As Major Reed began regaling them with news from
Great Britain, Mother soaked it up like a sponge that had been sunning on the shore. Then she nodded toward Lydia to serve the tea. Lydia didn’t know any of the families of which he spoke, but she enjoyed hearing his stories.

As the major talked, she carefully poured tea into five cups and handed out each one. Then she offered Major Reed milk, sugar, and a biscuit. He took all three before enjoying a long sip of the tea. Then he set his cup back on his saucer.

“It has been much too long since I had the pleasure of a good cup of tea.”

Father reached for a biscuit. “We serve tea only to our most distinguished guests. If word got out that we have English tea—”

“I shall keep your secret,” Major Reed said and then picked up his cup, slowly draining it before setting it back on the saucer again. “If I might have another cup . . .”

“Most certainly,” Mother replied as she refilled his cup. Even if the Patriots didn’t have political convictions against drinking English tea, it was almost impossible to obtain. Mother refused to say where she found hers, though Lydia guessed at her supplier. She kept her mother’s secrets just as she hoped Mother would harbor hers.

Lydia sat back against the firm seat, her teacup in hand.

“Have you news from Richmond?” Father asked.

“Aye,” the major said before he took another sip. “General Arnold and our men have taken the capital under British control.”

Lydia took a deep breath, trying to make her voice sound cheery. Naive. “I have not heard of this General Arnold.”

“I do not suppose you would, with your devotion to the Crown.” Major Reed straightened the belt around his chest, and she wondered if he felt as uncomfortable in his uniform as he looked. “Benedict Arnold was a commander with the Continental Army. During his time with the rebels, he was able to garner important intelligence for the British.”

Lydia’s lower lip dropped. Father might have heard of the man, but she hadn’t heard of him until Nathan spoke his name. “How did he relay the information to the British army?”

“By hiding it in fancy letters, all written in code.”

“Code?”

Major Reed nodded, seemingly impressed with himself for bearing this knowledge. “And some of the messages were written in invisible ink. They had to use a special wash to decipher them.”

“Fascinating,” Lydia said. “How does one obtain invisible ink?”

“Invisible ink?” Hannah coughed. “Dear me, sister, you sound like you want to become a spy.”

“I want no such thing!”

“I am sure you do not.” Mother’s words were followed by a laugh that didn’t sound the least bit amused.

Father set down his cup. “I can assure you that our daughters have no interest in spying—or in politics.”

Lydia started to retort, but Father silenced her with his eyes. What was he protecting her from? Major Reed was an old family friend.

The major laughed. “At the moment, I have no interest in politics either.”

Hannah’s smile was forced. “May we please move on to a more pleasant topic?”

“Certainly,” Lydia replied, even though she wanted to hear more about the ink.

Major Reed’s smug smile reminded her of the picture Father kept of King George. “I enjoy conversing about almost any subject.”

Hannah took one of the biscuits and nibbled on it. “Was your sea crossing bearable?”

“It was tolerable except for the fierce storms we encountered halfway across the Atlantic.”

Hannah clapped her hands together. “How exciting.”

“My men and I prefer the land to sea.”

How ironic that he would be sleeping in her brother’s room. Grayson had always preferred the sea.

“How many do you command?” Mother asked.

“One hundred and twenty soldiers.”

Hannah’s eyes grew wide as she sipped her tea. “That is remarkable.”

He leaned in as if he were confiding in them. “Most days I am more nursemaid than commander.”

“Will you be nursing your troops in Richmond for long?” Lydia asked.

Slowly he turned his head, his gaze settling briefly on each one of them before he turned to the next person. Once he had examined each face, he lowered his voice. “This is the strictest confidence.”

“Of course,” Father said, and the three women nodded their heads.

“We will only be in Richmond for a few weeks.” He paused. “When our reinforcements arrive, we will be taking Williamsburg as well.”

Tears welled in Father’s eyes, and he turned away from them, wiping his cheeks with his handkerchief. A victory in Williamsburg might, in part, avenge the death of his father.

“Will they destroy the plantations?” Father asked.

“Not of those who remain loyal.”

“I have had to remain quiet, to spare the rest of my family,” Father said. “But you know where my loyalties rest.”

“Our army will keep you safe.”

Mother set her dainty cup on the saucer. “We’ve heard stories of the British stealing animals and crops for food.”

The major’s pride seemed to quell. “They are not supposed to steal, but some of our men disobey their orders.”