The Courier of Caswell Hall (21 page)

Her parents insisted that Lydia and Hannah join them at the table for dinner, and Lydia watched enviously as the servants carried platters in and out of the room. She wished she could escape down to the kitchen with them. Then she glanced over at her father, at the gray that rimmed his dark hair. He’d aged much since Grayson left and even more so since the British came to Virginia. He maintained that he wanted the British staying here, and yet the strain they caused was unmistakable.

If something happened to her father, what would she and Hannah and Mother do? Mother wouldn’t want to run the plantation as Sarah had done, and Lydia couldn’t imagine doing it. Perhaps if Grayson heard of Father’s death, he would return. The men who’d killed Grandfather were no longer in Williamsburg, and those Patriots who remained no longer threatened with tar and feathers.

Two new officers walked into the room, and the other men quieted.

Major Reed’s voice was brisk. “What did you find?”

The two men stood before him, their red uniforms soiled and wet. “A storehouse of rebel supplies hidden near their shipyard on the Chickamee River.”

The
Chickahominy
, Lydia wanted to say—but it was better to let them think she wasn’t paying attention.

One of the new officers glanced over at Lord Caswell. “Perhaps we should wait to discuss this.”

Major Reed shook his head. “No one here will talk.”

Heat rose to Lydia’s cheeks, and she stared down at her hands so they wouldn’t see her face burning. The major might have meant it as a compliment—the fact that they were all Loyalists—but she felt insulted. How dare he declare what she would or wouldn’t say?

“What sort of supplies do the Yankees have at the shipyard?” Major Reed asked.

“Food and clothing and gunpowder.”

Major Reed inched closer on his seat. “How much ammunition?”

“Probably a dozen tons,” the man said. “Much more than we captured at Richmond.”

“This must be where they hid it.” The major took a long drag on one of Father’s cigars. “How many men are guarding it?”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “A pittance.”

Major Reed leaned forward. “How many, exactly, is a
pittance
?”

“Ten or fifteen at the most.”

“The precise number, lieutenant,” Major Reed clipped.

“There were fourteen of them,” the man said, but it was obvious that he didn’t know the actual number.

Major Reed pounded his fist on the table. “Details like this are critical to winning this war.”

The lieutenant took a step back. “Yes, major.”

Major Reed regained his control. “The Yankees must be preparing for the arrival of their military. We must move quickly before their men retrieve these supplies.”

“We shan’t delay,” another officer said. Several men stepped toward the door as if they were anxious to march out at any moment, but Major Reed raised his hand to stop them as he seemed to consider his next step.

Did this mean that General Washington and his men were on their way to Williamsburg? She wanted to move closer so she wouldn’t miss a single detail, but feigning indifference was the only way to gain any more information.

“We shall gather our men and go up the river on Friday night,” Major Reed said. “Before sunrise, we shall confiscate all of their supplies.”

Lydia memorized the details of the raid as Major Reed delegated them. Nathan had only asked her to act as a courier, but surely he would want to know what the British had planned.

Late that night, she transcribed the details she’d heard onto two sheets of Father’s paper. Guilt swept over her as she wrote. Part of her was convinced that she was saving her family, but in other moments, it felt as if sharing these secrets would destroy them.

If only she knew where to find Nathan, she could deliver this information to him without incriminating herself in writing. But there was no other choice.

The moon was high in the sky when she strolled out toward the orangery to deliver the letter she’d written. Then she sat in the gazebo for a spell, hoping to deter any suspicions.

If the Patriot army was indeed on its way to Williamsburg, would Seth be among them? Her heart should leap at the thought of seeing him, but she felt nothing. She hoped he was safe, for Sarah’s sake, but could no longer marry him. Not when her heart had begun to pine for another.

Her gaze wandered back toward the orangery. Was Nathan out there tonight? Perhaps he was in the trees now, watching her.

Hopefully, he would check for messages before it was too late.

The bricks on the outside of the Hammonds’ summer kitchen were blackened, but the inside made an excellent hiding place for Nathan while he worked near Williamsburg. Once he got inside, he lit a candle and read Lydia’s message twice, impressed by her attention to the necessary details.

Earlier tonight he’d left his cane here and secretly followed two of the British officers back to the Caswell home, hoping to obtain intelligence as he trailed them. He had heard the men talk of what the Caswells would feed them and then about their families back home, but not of their journey to the shipyard. Lydia, however, had been able to obtain the information he needed, and she’d delivered it well.

The Patriots had managed to sneak most of their supplies out of Richmond and hide it in an abandoned mill near the shipyards. They’d stopped building ships for their fledgling navy this winter. No matter how many ships they built, they couldn’t compete with the Royal Navy. Instead, they focused on the land battles and contracted with privateers to raid British ships and run loads of supplies for them.

There was no time for delay. The Patriots didn’t have enough soldiers nearby to defend the supplies, but Nathan could muster up enough people to transport them. He only had to determine how to move them. And where.

Nathan blew out his candle.

Perhaps they could hide the supplies somewhere on the Hammond plantation until the military arrived.

The British might have discovered where the Patriots had hidden supplies, but he hoped they didn’t know that the Continental Army was in the process of marching north from Charles Towne. The King’s Men were wreaking havoc on the east side of Virginia, and the Patriots refused to let the British ravage this colony as they had South Carolina.

He leaned back against the hard wall. Lydia had done an amazing service for them.

Seth was a blessed man indeed.

Lydia helped her mother decorate the dining table with candied flower petals, and then they began to build an elegant centerpiece with ribbons and fruit. Lydia reached for a cherry, but instead of pinning it to the pyramid, she accidentally pricked her finger.

Holding a cloth to her finger, she sat down on a chair. She’d barely slept during the night, worried that Nathan might not receive her message, worried as well that he
would
find it—and worried that the major or his men would discover her treason.

Mother held up a pear decorated with a silver ribbon. “Do you think I should use a red ribbon instead?”

Lydia glanced over. Red ribbon or silver—it seemed so trivial. And yet in spite of the foul-smelling men, in spite of the devastation, she knew her mother desperately wanted to preserve some beauty in the house.

“Aye,” she said.

Mother patted her hand. “You are distracted.”

“I feel as if I am living in a dream, Mother. As if one day all that is secure around me will collapse.”

“The major and his men might not be the best-behaved guests, but they have certainly kept us safe and will continue to do so.”

Lydia reached for a pear out of the bowl and took a bite.

Mother swatted her hand. “You must not eat the table décor.”

“If I do not, someone else will enjoy it tonight.”

“Let them enjoy it. If they remember nothing else, I want them to remember all the good things we have done for them.”

Lydia took another bite of the fruit in her hand. “What if they forget?”

“In Matthew, Jesus tells us to feed the hungry and shelter strangers in need.”

Lydia nodded her head. Those verses she remembered well.

Mother cut another piece of silver ribbon and looped it. “These men need nourishment and a place to sleep. Even if they forget our hospitality, I will know that I did right in caring for them—as you did with a stranger before the British arrived.”

“Aye.” A stranger who had become a friend.

Mother pinned the ribbon on the pyramid and then looked up at her. “Is this visitor gone?”

“He is no longer on our property.”

Mother studied her face. “What was his name?”

Lydia swallowed. She couldn’t lie to her mother. “Nathan.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose at her use of the man’s first name. “I am glad this Nathan survived.”

“I am too.” Lydia fought back the smile that welled within her as peace flooded her heart.

The formal dinner was served at the Miltons’ mansion at precisely six o’clock. Afterward, the host and hostess danced a proper minuet. At Aunt Emeline’s urging, Sarah joined the others in the country dances that followed, her feet remembering well the steps to the familiar reels and jigs.

Around ten, Sarah retreated to the side of the hall for something to drink. She wished Lydia were here to enjoy the night with her. They’d had such fun as girls, learning to dance at finishing school and then watching the dancers from behind the servants’ door in Caswell Hall. After they turned fifteen, Lydia and she joined the dancers in the festivities, but between dances, they still huddled at the sides of the room to laugh together.

Sarah stepped up to a serving bowl filled with rinds of lemons and limes swimming in rum punch. A servant handed her a cup, and as she sipped the warm drink, she recognized Victoria and Amity nearby. The women didn’t seem to notice her as they continued their discussion, their eyes focused on the enormous doorway that led into the room.

“Father said he was to arrive by nine,” Amity said.

Victoria scanned the room and then looked back at the door. “He is always late.”

“Do you think he will bring his crew with him?”

Victoria shook her head. “None of them enjoy the dances like Porter does.”

Amity fanned her face. “I do not think he really enjoys them at all. He comes to talk to the men about business.”

“But he will dance.”

Sarah took another long sip of her punch. This Porter sounded like a few of the men who had once tried to court her. They pretended to enjoy her company, but they were clearly more interested in the Hammond property than in her. When she married—if she ever married—it would be to someone who hadn’t the slightest interest in being weighed down by four thousand acres.

The women hushed suddenly, and their silence rippled across the crowd as heads turned toward the door. Sarah looked as well and saw a tall man walk in, his black hat dipped low over his eyes.

She stared at the man along with the others. His confident stride seemed familiar. His stance.

Was it possible?

Victoria and Amity laughed nervously as the man moved toward them. He removed his hat and offered Amity his hand.

Sarah’s mouth fell open, her breath catching in her throat.

She had no idea who Porter was, but one thing she did know—Grayson Caswell was in Philadelphia, about to dance with Amity Benson.

Her hand dropped, searching for the table, and she tried to steady herself. Grayson had always loved sailing, but he had been a Loyalist like his father, not a privateer.

She tucked her chin, her gaze falling to the floor as she struggled to breathe before she made a spectacle of herself by fainting.

The man she loved was back from the dead, and it seemed as if all of Philadelphia craved his attention.

As the orchestra played, she watched the man she loved dance with another woman across the floor. She had remained devoted to him for the past four years, written hundreds of letters declaring her love. She’d thought he might love her as she had him.

Oh, how foolish she had been.

The music stopped, and she thought she might be sick. All her dreams about him returning, her dreams for their future—everything she’d hoped for was gone.