Dawn on a Distant Shore (31 page)

"How could I not
be? Every newspaper is full of Lord Braxton and his charges." Elizabeth felt
slightly dizzy, and she pinched the web of skin between her thumb and first
finger until she was more sure of herself.

"I think it would
be best if you stayed out of England, after all."

He laughed. "You
and your aunt are of one mind, then. Had you not thought it strange that she
would come to New-York so suddenly?"

"Is it as bad as
all that?"

Will lifted a
shoulder. "The worst that has happened thus far is unexpected change of abode.
My friend Hardy is worse off--he has just been arrested; I expect they will
send him off to Australia."

Elizabeth felt herself
growing pale. "Transported!" She thought of Amanda and understood
Aunt Merriweather's rush to get Will away from trouble.

"Unfortunately,
the situation has gone from bad to worse and I cannot return home. I had hoped
to settle here in Canada, but even that seems improbable given recent events.
We may well make our home in Albany, or perhaps in New-York City."

"Oh, Will."
Elizabeth sat down heavily. "You have kept this from Amanda." It was
not a question, but his expression gave her an answer in any case.

"We did not see
the need to alarm her before the situation was fully known," he said.

After a long moment,
Elizabeth raised her head. "I think it most cruel of you to keep this from
her, Will. And unnecessary. She will not break under the truth, after all. But,
now. Where do you go? Back to Albany? Was all this talk of meeting in Halifax
pretense?"

"No," said
Will quietly. "We do meet in Halifax. But your aunt will sail for home,
and Amanda and I will turn back to New-York. I had thought that perhaps I could
appeal to the captain of the
Providence
for berth space. Unless you are
too disgusted with me to sail on the same ship."

"Will,"
Elizabeth said, crossly now. "Do not talk such nonsense." She got up
and brushed a hand over his shoulder. "I cannot deny that you surprise
me--the Corresponding Society! But I admire you for it, truly I do. And I shall
not mind having my family nearby. By all means, you must come along with us to
the
Providence
and speak to the captain. You do know that I will want all
the particulars of this business?"

"If you will tell
me the story of the Tory gold, Elizabeth, I will give you the details of the
London Corresponding Society. I don't doubt whose story will be more
interesting." He gave her a half-smile. "It is a relief to have this
out in the open, cousin. But now I must away to bed."

"Will we see you
tomorrow at the
Providence?
"

"You may count on
it," said Will. "I would not miss it for the world."

As tired as she
was--and it was the kind of weariness that ached deep in the bone--Elizabeth knew
that she would not rest easy until they were safely on board the
Providence
and out of Canada. She would have been glad of Runs-from-Bears' company while
she waited for the men to return, but he went off yawning to one of the side
cabins. With some irritation, Elizabeth sat down on the feather bed to see if
it would serve, and promptly fell asleep without putting up any struggle at
all.

Dreams plagued her. On
a forest path a red dog ran ahead to disappear into a vast marsh of dead trees
hung with moss like ruined bridal veils. Elizabeth called and called,
Treenie,
Treenie!,
but the dog was gone out of hearing. And then, without any
warning, she was paddling a raft as it bumped and careened down the Richelieu.
People crowded in: Tim Card wearing a necklace of stones, Hannah wrapped in a
striped blanket like the one on the bed at home, Miss Thompson who had taught
her to read so long ago in the Oakmere nursery. The raft rocked wildly and the
wood began to melt like ice under their feet.

Elizabeth struggled up
from sleep as the casement clock struck midnight, and slipped back into an
uneasy rest at the twelfth chime.

Rain, pounding and
pounding. She pulled the pillow across her face but it was still there: rain on
the river, yes. But something else, too. The sound of men moving in quick
march, heavy boots, the jangle of weapons. Moncrieff's voice at the door, now.
It was no dream.

From its spot on the
poop deck, the round-house on the
Isis
looked out over the boatyard and
docks. Elizabeth followed Moncrieff there, still fastening the buttons on her bodice,
her hair lashing around her in the wet wind. Runs-from-Bears followed her, his expression
closed and watchful. Pickering and his officers stood aside for them. There was
no time for pleasantries, given the scene spread out before them.

Redcoats everywhere.
Forbes and Sons was sealed off, and from their vantage point on the
Isis
they could see it all: the dock around the
Nancy
was surrounded, her
decks crawling with soldiers. Some part of Elizabeth's mind insisted on taking count:
a chain of twelve men at the gates; thirty-six men on foot on the dock, two officers
on horseback, and another pacing so that his cloak flared around him. Foot
soldiers carried lanterns on long poles and the light reflected on the muzzles
of their guns, brass buttons, silver spurs.

"The King's
Own," said Pickering behind her. "And the sixtieth, too, by
God."

Elizabeth rounded on
him. "You had no warning?"

"Of course
not," he said hoarsely. "None at all."

Moncrieff touched her
elbow. "Perhaps you should go below, Mrs. Bonner."

A group of the soldiers
had broken off and were headed toward them. A tall man led them, the one in the
cloak. She saw now that he wore no uniform. "Who is that?"

"Sir Guy,"
said Pickering, picking up his hat. "The governor himself. I must go and
meet him." There was a tremor in his hand that Elizabeth did not like to
see.

"He'll want to
search this ship," she said more to herself than to him.

"He wouldna
dare!" Moncrieff's tone brought Elizabeth around in surprise.

"Let him,"
said Runs-from-Bears calmly, his gaze locked on the men moving toward them.

"What?"
Moncrieff snapped. "Are ye daft, man?"

Elizabeth put her hand
on Moncrieff's forearm and felt the tension leaping there.

"Runs-from-Bears
is right," she said quickly. "If you refuse the governor, he will
know for certain what he only suspects."

"Can ye lie tae
the man's face, then? D'ye ha' any idea wha' a bluidy bastard he can be?"

Elizabeth felt all her
concentration shifting down to a fine point.
By the pricking of
my
thumbs,
she thought, and she smiled.

"I've dealt with
a bloody bastard or two in my time," she said, and turned to Bears.
"You must get word to Nathaniel and Hawkeye."

He shook his head.
"They'd have me followed."

"Lord Dorchester
requests permission to come aboard!" called a midshipman.

Elizabeth picked up
her skirts and ran with Runs-from-Bears close behind.

Hannah stood in the
middle of the cabin. In the candlelight her eyes were very large.

"Are they coming
for us?"

Elizabeth clutched the
girl to her chest, hugged her hard. Then she tilted up her chin to look
directly into her eyes. "Listen to me, Squirrel. Your father and
grandfather and Robbie are safe on another ship. There are some soldiers come
on board the
Isis
to look for them. We mustn't look frightened or
guilty. Do you understand?"

The vacant expression
in Hannah's eyes shifted away like sand, and she nodded. She went to her uncle
Runs-from-Bears, and he put a hand on her head.

"Dress now,
quickly," Elizabeth said, even as she went in search of her shoes. But it
was too late, there was a sharp rap at the door and it opened without her
bidding. The captain, with a crowd of men behind him. Elizabeth drew in a deep breath,
folded her shawl across her bodice, and drew Hannah in to her side to put an
arm around her shoulders. Now that it had come to this, she was perfectly calm.
She put her mouth to Hannah's ear. "They are only men," she whispered.
Hannah's head bobbed, but she said nothing.

"Captain
Pickering," Elizabeth said firmly. "What is the meaning of this disturbance?"

Pickering cleared his
throat, his expression woeful. "Lord Dorchester, may I present Mrs.
Bonner. And Mr. Runs-from-Bears."

He was tall, with a
high sloping forehead and a prim mouth, in his sixties or perhaps even older. The
cool gaze took in every detail of her person, from her bare feet and wrinkled
skirt to the wild flow of her hair. He was waiting for her curtsy; she could
see it in the set of his thin mouth.

Elizabeth nodded.
"Sir."

"Mrs. Bonner.
Good evening." By his voice she knew him: plummy tones polished to a sheen
in the company of great men. But not born to the very highest places, not
quite; there was Ulster Irish there just beneath the surface. He meant not to
let it show. He was a typical third son, dedicated to the army, advancing only
as quickly as his talents, good luck, and connections allowed. Elizabeth had
the sense that there was more of luck and connections here than talent, but she
might be wrong; she would reserve judgment.

She held up her head
and met his gaze while he took her measure. It did not last long. All he would
see was an Englishwoman of good birth gone to waste. Run away to marry an American
backwoodsman. To him she was at best a simpleton, at worst a whore, but Elizabeth
had cut her teeth on the disdain of men who were not her equal. She smiled
because he expected it of her. It would pacify him, and she would keep her
advantage.

"How may I be of
service at this late hour, sir?"

A restless shifting
behind him. A little man with a face like an underdone pudding cleared his
throat.

"You will give Lord
Dorchester his rank," he piped.

Elizabeth inclined her
head. "Of course. I am too long away. How may I be of service to you, my
lord?"

"We will have
your menfolk," said Sir Guy. "Tell me where they are."

Elizabeth raised a
hand, palm up. "I would ask you the same question, sir. I came to Canada
to plead their case, and found instead that they were already fled."

"They are not on
board this ship?"

"They are not,
sir. I hope that they are well on their way home."

"Then you will
consent to a search of these cabins."

Elizabeth inclined her
head. "As you wish. My lord."

His gaze the color of
claret, sweeping over the stateroom now. Hannah seemed to be invisible to him,
but Runs-from-Bears was not.

"You." He
waved a hand. "You are Mohawk?"

Bears nodded.

"A white man was
found murdered this evening in the Indian camps. A peddler but a subject of the
Crown, after all. His throat was cut. Major Johnson will look at your
weapons."

Elizabeth felt a flush
of cold all along her spine. With every bit of her willpower she controlled her
expression. Runs-from-Bears seemed neither worried nor intimidated, but simply
slipped his knife from the beaded sheath on his belt and held it out. The
governor flicked a finger in that direction and Johnson hurried forward to
examine the knife.

"No blood, my
lord."

"Ah."
Carleton tapped one prominent tooth thoughtfully. "Well, then. I would
speak to you privately in my offices. Tomorrow morning, at ten. See that you
are not late."

Runs-from-Bears said,
"I won't be late. I won't be there at all."

The governor's mouth
narrowed to a blade.

Elizabeth said,
"He cannot oblige you, my lord, because he is bound to accompany us. We
sail tomorrow for home." She willed her tone cool and her anger in check.

His gaze came back to
her with a jerk. "Do you, indeed? For England?"

She met him without
flinching. "My home is in New-York State." And then, weary of the
whole game, she asked him a direct question. "Sir, is it your intention to
arrest me?"

Hannah tensed, and
Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder gently.

"I had not
thought of it," said the governor. "But on the other hand you have
not proved especially helpful. I have it on good authority, madam, that the
escaped prisoners are indeed in Québec."

"Sir," said
Elizabeth. "As you can see, they are not here. But if my word does not
satisfy you, perhaps we should send for my cousin, Viscount Durbeyfield.
Runs-from-Bears could fetch him in just a few moments' time."

"I think
not," said Sir Guy. "The Mohawk will stay on board the
Isis
.
We have no need of your cousin the Viscount, Mrs. Bonner."

The flush of anger was
on her; she could feel it and she knew he could see it. "Are your inquiries
concluded then, sir?"

The governor shook his
head. "We are not even begun, Mrs. Bonner. But I always conduct these ...
discussions at the Château St. Louis. You needn't worry for your reputation. It
is not the gaol, but my residence. My lady wife is present."