Sweet Deception Regency 07 - The Divided Hearts (19 page)

“The rock fulla gold I found at the beach
and my slingshot.”

“My stars, Patrick, you must have really
been confident,” Judith said, impressed that the boy would risk so
much.

“Nate’s my friend.”

Nate pressed the boy’s shoulder then asked,
“And what exotic prize did you win from the skeptical Roger?”

“Just wait’ll you see!” Patrick beamed.
“It’s a giant turtle. And Roger says it’s ages and ages old.”

“How perfectly charming,” Judith said drily.
“Simon should be delighted at our burgeoning menagerie. You’ll have
to keep it out of Mrs. Baker’s sight. She’ll make turtle soup for
sure, in retribution for Isaac, Jacob and Clarence.”

“Honest, Judith. That wasn’t my fault,” the
boy wailed. At Nate’s questioning glance, he explained. “I only put
the frogs in the pot until I could find someplace else to keep
them. How was I to know that Mrs. Baker was planning to make soup.”
His face was crestfallen but then he grinned up at Nate. “You
shoulda heard her scream. You’d a thought scalping Indians were in
the kitchen.”

“Patrick! The food!” The redheaded Roger
shouted from across the yard and with a quick wave, Patrick shot
off.

“Zounds, m’dear,” Nate drawled. “I shall
fear to set foot inside your doorway.”

“It’s quite exciting,” Judith admitted.
“Patrick seems to be at an age where the best things are slimy,
dirty, wriggly or grotesque in some way. It makes one lift things
with a good deal of caution.”

“I had forgotten,” Nate said, laughing in
remembrance. He glanced over her shoulder and Judith turned to see
what had brought the soft look to his eyes.

Jeremy Meadville and Maggie Case walked hand
in hand, oblivious to the people around them. There was such a glow
about them that Judith’s eyes pricked and she was forced to swallow
a lump of emotion. She had seen other couples in love but had never
felt such an upsurge of wistfulness as she did now. She watched as
Maggie reached up to touch the hair ribbon still tied to Jeremy’s
arm. He, in turn, raised his hand, covering hers in a gesture full
of tenderness. Feeling much like a voyeur, Judith turned away and
her gaze fell on the furious countenance of Zeke Waters who had
also been glaring at the young couple.

“It’s all your fault, Bellingham,” Zeke
snarled.

“I say, old man,” Nate drawled. “The black
won fair and square.”

“You faked it! I know you did.” Zeke stormed
belligerently toward them until he stood a mere hand’s breadth
away.

“Faked the win? Surely you jest?” Nate’s
voice was cold with the bite of sarcasm.

“You could have ridden,” the angry man spat
between clenched teeth.

“Perhaps.” Nate’s jaw was granite, the
muscles in his cheeks under tight control. “But then, as you
yourself put it, ‘No matter the horse, it’s the rider that makes
the difference.’ ”

Judith sucked in her breath at the mask of
hatred that flashed across Zeke’s face. Without a word, the man
spun on his heel, shouldering his way through the guests. Her eyes
swung to Nate and she was amazed at the blandness of his
expression, until she caught the glint of cold anger in the blue
eyes.

“You better be careful, Nate,” Judith said,
a note of concern in her voice. “You’ve made a dangerous
enemy.”

The fury disappeared as though it had never
existed and Nate smiled a warm, tender smile down at Judith. He
reached for his quizzing glass and extended it, tapping the end of
her nose.

“One always has enemies, m’dear. It’s
friends one must be careful of.”

“I swear to you, Judith, it’s true,” Patrick
whispered, his face set in unusually grave lines. He whipped his
head around to scan the garden to be sure they could not be
overheard. “Roger Finney says he was seven feet tall. And you’ve
just got to believe Roger.”

Judith had a difficult time not grinning at
the boy’s intensity. She had been reading in the garden when
Patrick had come charging through and he had been filling her in on
the latest gossip and goings on in town. He and his ramshackle
cohort Roger, once their school lessons were over for the day,
spent most afternoons rambling through the town and the neighboring
farms. There was little that went on that the boys were not aware
of. The wharves were their particular haunts especially favored on
days when a new ship was landing. Then they were first hand with
what Patrick called “the foreign news.”

Being enterprising young men with an eye to
the main chance, the boys had discovered early days that the
information they possessed had value. Coin meant little to growing
boys with enormous appetites. Food was their medium of exchange.
They shamelessly bartered their news items for comestibles, jam
buns and cider ranking high on their list of delicacies. Other
times they traded one piece of information for another, knowing
that they could exchange this newly acquired intelligence right
along with the rest. Since Patrick’s pony had joined the
enterprise, the boys were able to broadcast their news the length
and breadth of Newport.

“I’m not doubting Roger’s words, Patrick,”
Judith argued judiciously. “I am sure, that he is describing what
he heard. But I am having a difficult time believing that Palatine
is actually seven feet tall.”

Once more Patrick squinted surreptitiously
around the garden. Secure in the knowledge that, as yet, they were
undetected, Patrick rocked forward on his toes until his face was
inches from Judith’s ear. “It’s not what he heard. He actually saw
Palatine,” the boy whispered breathlessly. “He followed his brother
to one of the meetings.”

Judith tried to cover the shock she felt at
this unwelcome information. She stared across the garden,
frightened at the thought that Patrick might become so caught up in
his hero worship of Palatine that, like Roger, he might try to
attend one of the night meetings of the patriots. At Patrick’s age
he had no idea how dangerous that could be.

“You’re not listening, Judith,” Patrick
complained, bringing Judith’s attention back to the eager boy in
front of her.

“I’m sorry, dear. I was lost inside my own
head.” Judith put both hands behind her ears and stared goggle-eyed
at the giggling boy. “I am listening very hard now,” she pronounced
primly. “Pray continue.”

Once he had controlled his laughter, the
boy’s face was once more set in a serious expression. “I was
telling you that Roger actually saw Palatine.”

“Wasn’t that dangerous?”

“Well, of course it was,” the boy said,
pulling himself manfully upright. “Roger said iffen they’d
discovered him they’d of cut out his tongue so that he could never
tell.”

“Surely not,” Judith said, making a face of
disgust.

“Anyways, his brother would have given him a
good whipping.” Patrick looked a little downcast at such a prosaic
punishment. “Roger hid behind a bush and watched all the men
gathered around Palatine. It was deep in the woods and they talked
in whispers so’s he couldn’t hear what was said. Roger said the man
was easily two heads taller than anyone else. And his brother Neddy
is almost six foot.”

“Perhaps he was standing on something,”
Judith ventured. At Patrick’s stricken expression she patted the
boy’s arm. “I’m sure he must be very tall, Patrick. After all, when
you are the commander of men, you must—um—have a great deal of
stature,” she improvised lamely.

“I never thought of that,” Patrick said, his
eyes glowing with enthusiasm. “That’s probably it, all right. Wait
until I tell Roger.”

“When did all this happen, Patrick?”

“Jest last week. Iffen I’d stayed overnight
like I was supposed to until I caught the quinsy, I coulda gone
too,” the boy finished glumly.

“Oh no, Patrick,” Judith said, her heart
jolting in her fear for the boy. “Those meetings are dangerous.
Especially now. You heard Simon last night. There’s beginning to be
more trouble in the town and these meetings have become the focus
for much of it.”

“There’s a lotta talk all right. Most say
there’ll be a war,” Patrick said. He paused, his face marked by the
awareness of the hardships of life. “If it comes, Judith, will you
have to go away?” The boy edged closer to his friend, wanting the
comfort of her presence.

“I don’t know, my dear.” She reached out a
comforting hand and massaged his shoulder, her face unhappy at the
thought that she might not see the boy every day. She had grown to
love him and knew when she returned to England she would miss him
terribly. “I hope and pray war will not come. But if it does, you
and Simon and I will decide what is best to do. In the meantime,
you mustn’t even consider going to one of those meetings. It’s much
too dangerous.”

“I guess so,” Patrick said

The doleful look in the boy’s eyes did
little to cheer Judith from her gloomy thoughts. Hastily she
changed the subject. “How’s the pony?”

“He’s resting,” Patrick answered shortly,
avoiding her eye and forcing Judith to wonder what mischief the
boys were contemplating now. “Well I better get moving. Promised
Simon I’d do some chores today.”

With a casual wave, Patrick skipped along
the path, heading for the house. The abruptness of the boy’s
departure and his evasive reply about the pony, convinced Judith
that trouble was afoot. Since the pony’s arrival, Simon and Judith
had dubbed the group,
Les Trois Provocateurs
.

Patrick had given Simon the honor of naming
the fat, tan pony. After watching the two boys and the waddling
animal, Judith’s father had suggested Mercury. He told Patrick that
it was fitting since now the pony was a conveyor of messages, but,
privately, he confided to Judith that the name was more apt than
the boy realized since Mercury was the god of connivers and
thieves.

Judith credited much of Patrick’s adaptation
to American life to the friendship between the two boys. When not
in school or busy with chores, Roger initiated Patrick into the
wonders of his adopted country. The boy from the London streets had
thrived on the novel sights and sounds. After only a few months,
Patrick was as committed to the ideals of this raw new country as
though he had been native born. And Palatine had become a symbol of
his own commitment.

Patrick had been taught to read by his
mother and now under Mrs. Finney’s tutelage, he devoured the books,
newspapers and broadsheets that were available. Both Judith and her
father had encouraged his reading, knowing it for the perfect
adjunct to his education. She could remember when she had found him
staring into space his hand repeatedly smoothing a printed
broadsheet in his lap.

“What is it, Patrick?” Judith asked.

Without a word the boy handed the sheet to
her, his soulful eyes searching her face as she read: “America is
your mother now. She will shelter you beneath the bows of her
limitless forests, feed you from the rich plenty of her fertile
earth and her night sounds will sing you to sleep.” The article
extolled the limitless possibilities for achievement in America and
reminded the people of the varied persecutions and prejudices they
had left behind in order to begin life anew. The words were simple,
yet compelling. It was a wonderful article, almost poetic in its
style, but underlying the sweetly flowing words was a message of
loyalty and commitment to America. Beneath the column of newsprint
was the symbol of a masted ship and the scrawled letter P for
Palatine. Judith’s eyes were moist as she folded the newssheet and
handed it back to Patrick.

“Palatine understands just how I feel,” the
motherless boy said. “I want to belong here, Judith.”

“I think you already do,” she answered,
smoothing back the cowlick of hair that sprang onto his forehead.
“You’ve a home here with Simon forever, you know.”

“Will you stay?” Patrick asked, his eyes
reflecting an unspoken need for her.

“I don’t know yet,” Judith said, shaking her
head. “Sometimes I think this would be wonderful place to
live.”

Since that first article, Patrick had
ferreted out every piece of information he could find on Palatine.
Not much was known, according to the boy. Most assumed that the
mysterious writer was a native of Newport. There was much
speculation as to the author, some ludicrous and others more
serious. Each of the broadsheets was eagerly awaited, secretly run
off and delivered in the night, springing up across the town at
dawn’s arrival. Then for the next day or two, Judith, along with
most of the residents of Newport, would stare at every face, hoping
to discover the identity of Palatine.

Lately she had noticed an increased tension
when Palatine’s name was mentioned. The Americans had always lauded
him as a great writer and a voice for moderation. But if what
Judith suspected were true, the man had a far more comprehensive
role. She believed that Palatine was building some sort of
organization in case war was declared.

Her own position in this heated political
climate was ambiguous to the people of Newport. Despite the fact
that she was welcomed among the patriot families, it was rare that
she was included in the heated discussions of the local hero. More
than likely the subject was changed to one less controversial.
Simon was the only one who made any attempt to enlighten her.

The English set talked more freely in her
presence, but their wild accusations and contrary reports tended to
confuse her. They excoriated the writer, fearing his words were a
threat to their way of life. She knew some of the young men in the
English set were determined to discover the identity of Palatine.
Zeke Waters was the ring leader. Since the debacle of the horse
race, Zeke had predicted that he would capture Palatine. Judith
suspected he saw this as a way to regain prestige.

Since Simon’s first mention of Palatine,
Judith found herself more and more fascinated by the man. She loved
reading the broadsheets; they made her think about so much that she
had either taken for granted or never thought to question. In fact
ever since her arrival in America, Judith had found herself
questioning her own values and principles.