Surrender the Night (37 page)

“Just another block,” Noah shot over his shoulder.

Alex thanked God for this man’s help—and for Luke’s. He’d been surprised they both had agreed to accompany him on his nefarious deed. Surprised and also ashamed to accept their kindness in light of Alex’s complicity in the suffering they’d endured aboard the HMS
Undefeatable
. So many conflicting emotions roiled in his gut, he didn’t know what to feel.

Except at the moment fear seemed to dominate the others. Alex had spent the past two days holed up in Noah’s home, pacing the floor, agonizing over the mess he had caused. Now, ever since Mr. Drummond had informed Alex he had managed to lure Mr. Snyder from his house for the evening, Alex had begun to wonder if he hadn’t lost what was left of his reason.

He was a British officer in the middle of a rebel city on a mission to steal back his sword from a member of the city council. Absurd!

Considering the way his countrymen had terrorized these citizens of late, if he were caught he’d be no doubt strung up on the nearest tree. And what of Mr. Heaton and Mr. Brenin? They risked the same by helping him.

No, not for him, to help their friend Rose. Which spoke volumes as to her character. Something he could well attest to, for he would do anything to ensure her happiness.

Even if her future wasn’t with him.

Alex clenched his fists. He hoped Mr. Drummond had not invited Snyder to the farm. The thought of the depraved councilman being anywhere near Rose caused Alex’s stomach to fold in on itself. But there was nothing to be done about it.

At least not yet.

Rows of houses stood at attention on either side of the street. Slivers of light peeked from behind closed shutters and curtains, but otherwise the homes remained shrouded in darkness. Noah stopped before a modest, single-story cottage at the end of the street. The simple home gave no indication that a councilman lived within. A garden that boasted of more weeds than flowers filled the small front yard, while an iron gate that hung loose on its hinges did a pathetic job of barring entrance. No wonder the man sought after Rose’s property.

“I would have expected Mr. Snyder to live in a more stately home.”
Alex stopped beside Noah.

Luke laughed. “Indeed, the man has an uncanny ability to play the part of royalty when, in truth, he lives like a pauper.”

A group of gentlemen emerged from a house across the street, and Noah nudged Alex and Luke into the shadow of a tree beside the fence. “Truth be told, Mr. Reed,” Noah whispered, “Mr. Snyder cannot claim a very noble pedigree. In fact”—he scratched his jaw and watched as the group of men sauntered down the street and out of sight—“his father was hung for horse thievery and his grandfather for piracy.”

Alex flinched and gazed back at the house. “Upon my honor.”

“Honor has nothing to do with it.” Luke snorted and flipped the hair from his face.

“This was his father’s house.” Noah studied a passing horse. “The only thing left him after he paid his family’s debts.”

“How did he become a councilman?” Alex asked. No man so dishonored could ever hold such a prestigious office in England.

Noah shrugged. “He’s intelligent and has a way with words. And Americans don’t tend to hold a person’s parentage against them.” He gazed toward the harbor. “I suppose because so many of our ancestors came here to escape their pasts.”

Alex ran a hand through his hair. So unlike his homeland where bloodline and title were everything. Yet one more quality to admire about these Americans.

After scanning the street one last time, Noah pushed open the broken gate. The loud squeak of rusty hinges frayed Alex’s already pinched nerves as Noah led them down the dirt path to the front porch.

“How are we to get past the servants?” Alex whispered.

“There’s only one—a middle-aged spinster who runs the house.” Noah stepped over a fallen branch.

“And?” Mr. Reed raised his brows.

“Why do you think I brought Mr. Heaton?” Noah halted at the porch steps then dipped his head to the left. “This way, Mr. Reed.”

Luke winked at Alex as he proceeded up the steps. A
rap, rap, rap
echoed through the air even before Alex rounded the corner of the house.

“Mr. Heaton,” a female voice exclaimed. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Snyder is not home.”

Alex followed Noah through a sea of tall grass and weeds to a darkened window at the back. Balancing on a pile of firewood stacked along the wall, Noah pressed on the wooden frame of the window. The bottom half slipped upward.

“Ah, God is good to us, Mr. Reed. We don’t have to break the glass.” Hoisting himself up on the window frame, Noah squeezed headfirst through the opening. A thump sounded from the room, and Noah’s hand appeared in the window. “Hurry, the two of us can search much faster together.”

The opening proved a more difficult obstacle for Alex’s larger frame, but with Noah’s assistance, he soon landed on the wooden floor of what he assumed to be Mr. Snyder’s bedchamber.

“You are looking more lovely than ever, Miss Addington.” Luke’s deep flirtatious tone filtered beneath the door.

A woman’s giggle was the only reply.

Noah fumbled among the objects sitting atop a desk in the corner then struck flint to steel and lit two candles. He handed one to Alex “Hurry. We don’t have much time before Mrs. Addington sees the light beneath the door.”

Alex scanned the room, which was filled with a shabby bed and an assortment of chipped furniture. Unexpected pity welled inside him for the humble way in which the man, who put on such haughty pretensions, actually lived. How difficult it must be to keep up such airs.

“Oh, you shouldn’t say such things, Mr. Heaton.” The giddy female voice echoed down the hall. “You make an old woman blush.”

Alex scanned the room as Noah flung open the drawers of a pine dresser and sifted through the contents.

“What makes you think he’s hidden my sword in here?” Alex searched behind the volumes of books lining shelves on the far wall.

“I know this man,” Noah said. “It’s far too important for him to keep anywhere else.”

Easing open the drawers of the small oak desk perched in the corner, Alex examined the contents: foolscap, quill pens, a pocket watch, ink, a pistol, and a key.

Noah swung open the doors of a cabinet, sending an eerie creak through the room. They both halted. The tap of steps padded across the floor outside the chamber.

“Don’t you run away from me, Miss Addington.” Luke’s deep voice halted the footfalls. “If you would honor me with your charming company, I would be happy to await Mr. Snyder’s return.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck and lifted the candle over the contents of the cabinet. Only breeches, shirts, hats, stockings, and cravats stared back at him. He swung about. The candle flickered the frustration in his eyes. “Confound it all, where could he have put it?”

Alex ran a sleeve over his moist forehead, not willing to give up. His sword had to be here or all was lost.

Dropping to his knees, Noah peered beneath the bed.

“Oh no, Mrs. Addington. Please give me another moment of your time.” Luke’s sultry voice slithered through the door cracks.

“Mr. Heaton, you do make an old woman feel young again.”

The scraping sound of wood on wood jarred the silence, and Alex turned to see Noah pulling a small trunk from beneath Mr. Snyder’s bed. He yanked on the lid. “It’s locked.”

The key
. Pulling open the desk drawer, Alex retrieved the key, knelt beside Noah, and inserted it into the lock. A click sounded and the latch loosened.

Luke laughed and Mrs. Addington joined him.

“God is good.” Noah smiled.

Alex lifted the lid, wondering at the way the man always gave credit to the Almighty.

A glint of gold reflected the candlelight. Alex’s sword. Beneath it laid his tattered uniform. He grabbed the hilt in a firm grip as if it were an old friend and stood, swinging it through the air.

“Oh, here you are Mr. Snyder. Mr. Heaton has come to call on you, sir.” Mrs. Addington’s voice lost its coquettish tone.

Alex’s heart slammed into his chest. Noah’s eyes widened. He plucked up Alex’s uniform, closed the lid, locked it, then shoved it back under the bed. Alex took the key from him, slipped it into his pocket, and blew out his candle.

“What is it, Mr. Heaton? I have neither the time nor the inclination to talk with you at the moment.” Mr. Snyder’s squeaky voice ground against Alex’s nerves.

“I daresay, Mr. Snyder, if you could spare a minute, I’d like to discuss the city’s plans for a water aqueduct from the spring,” Luke said.

“At this hour?” Snyder’s tone stung with annoyance. “Go away, Mr. Heaton.”

Tucking the uniform under his arm, Noah squeezed out the window and dropped to the ground with a thud.

Alex tossed the sword to him then flung one leg over the window ledge. Bending his body, he attempted to shove it through the small opening.

But the creak of a door sounded behind him.

Entering her uncle’s makeshift hospital, Rose lifted a hand to her nose at the putrid stench. Amelia drew out her handkerchief and flapped it in the air as if she could bat away the smell. Looking up from one of his patients, Uncle Forbes squeezed the man’s arm, then stood and approached them. His brow furrowed at Amelia’s discomfiture. Handing her a bucket, he sent her out for fresh water.

He faced Rose. “Thank you for coming today, lass.”

Rose removed her hat and gloves and hung them on a peg. “My pleasure, Uncle. I’ll do what I can.” Anything to keep her mind off a certain British officer. Grabbing a stained apron from a hook, she wrapped it around her waist and tied it in the back. Her uncle’s brown eyes shifted over her as if he could read her mind.

She wished he could. She wished she had someone to talk to about Alex, someone to confide in about Mr. Snyder’s nefarious plans. But her uncle didn’t know Alex was a British naval officer. And, for his own safety, it was better that way.

“Just encourage those that are awake, lass. And see if they need anything. Dr. Wilson already tended to their wounds yesterday.” He patted his pockets and plucked out his spectacles. “Ah, there they are.” He grinned.

An hour later, Rose drew up a stool at the last man’s cot. He was asleep, though his eyelids fluttered. A nightmare perhaps. She knew all about nightmares. Across the aisle from her, Amelia read the Bible to an aged man, whom Rose’s uncle had found begging on the street, his feet eaten up with gout. Though the comforting words from the Psalms should have eased Rose’s nerves, they seemed to have the opposite effect.

Uncle Forbes pulled up a stool on the other side of Rose’s patient. “Good. He’s asleep for now. Doc said he had an infected bullet wound, but looks like his fever finally broke. Brave man, this one. He got shot protecting a settler he didn’t even know.”

Brave
. It seemed an unattainable trait to Rose.

“Lass, before I forget, your aunt and I will be traveling to Washington after the ball at the Fountain Inn.”

Fear coiled around Rose’s heart, confirming her prior assessment. “Why must you go as well?”

“Your aunt has a wagon full of supplies to deliver and can’t manage them herself. Besides, it’s been awhile since I’ve had a chance to visit with Reverend Hargrave.” He cocked his head. “Never fear, Mr. Markham has offered to stay at the house.”

Rose shook her head. “Why am I always afraid, uncle?”

From behind his spectacles, his brown eyes warmed. “Fear is not God’s plan for us, lass. In fact, His Word says ‘There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment.’”

Torment. That was exactly how Rose would describe her constant fear—tormenting. But how could she rid herself of it? After all she had endured, what normal woman wouldn’t be overcome with fear? And what did love have to do with fear? Her love for Alex had only caused more fear. “But I cannot seem to help it. Bad things keep happening to me.”

He reached across the cotton coverlet and gripped her hand. “You have been through many frightening things for one so young.”

His hand felt hard and scratchy like the bark of a tree.

“Others have as well,” Rose said. “You and Aunt Muira have suffered much. Yet you both have such courage and strength.”

He chuckled, and the lines at the corners of his mouth scrunched together, lifting his beard. “Courage? I wouldn’t call it that. I prefer to call it faith.”

Faith and courage. Love and fear. Confusion once again scrambled Rose’s thoughts. “It seems the more I love, the more afraid I become.” Rose withdrew her hand and twisted her finger around a loose curl at her neck. “When you love someone, doesn’t it make you terrified to lose them?”

“That’s not the love God is speaking of, lass.” He smiled.

“What other kind of love is there?”

“God’s love. Only His love is perfect.”

Rose rubbed her temples where a sudden ache began to form. “What does that have to do with fear?”

Uncle Forbes’s spectacles slid down his nose. “You don’t believe God loves you, do you?” His tone held a drop of sorrow.

Rose gazed at the sleeping man. His lips twitched. His eyelids flitted. So agitated even in slumber. Just like her. “The Bible says He loves me.”