The Courier of Caswell Hall (37 page)

Grayson, Sarah, Seth, Nathan—they had chosen freedom.

It was time for her to choose her route as well.

Before the sun began to rise, Nathan borrowed a horse from the livery, so when the first light danced on the horizon, he and his barber’s kit were already headed west toward the Hammond plantation.

He hadn’t been able to sleep much the previous night, anxious about what might have happened to Seth. All he could imagine was Seth changing his mind and returning to Lydia. Nathan could hardly blame Seth if he deserted the army to marry her, but Seth’s commander wouldn’t be as forgiving.

A small band of British soldiers were camped near the main road. Though disguised, Nathan avoided the men altogether with a detour south, hugging the bank of the river. All he had for protection was a pistol and the knife in his shaving kit, and he preferred not to use either one.

There was no movement at the Hammond plantation, and the supplies he’d hidden in the barn were gone. He glanced out at the river as a British ship sailed east toward York. Hopefully Sarah had directed Grayson and his crew to the supplies.

He stroked the black fur on the horse’s neck. Perhaps he ought to return to Williamsburg and report that Seth wasn’t at his plantation, but his mind raced. What if Seth had changed his mind about Lydia? Or decided to marry her out of obligation?

Taking the main road, he turned toward Caswell Hall. The horse trotted between the tobacco fields as he pressed toward the house. Instead of Seth or Lydia, he found the man he assumed to be Lord Caswell working the fields with one white and three Negro men.

Lord Caswell looked up with his knife in his hand. “What are you doing on my land?”

Nathan pulled back on the reins. “I am looking for Seth Hammond.”

Lord Caswell’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want with him?”

“It is personal business.”

“Take your business off my land.”

Nathan eyed the tobacco leaves at their feet. “You will lose these leaves if you do not harvest them straightaway.”

Lord Caswell hesitated, and when he spoke again, Nathan glimpsed the man’s broken heart. “I am keenly and painfully aware of all I am losing.”

Nathan dismounted. “If you can tell me where Seth is, I will work alongside you for the rest of the day.”

Lord Caswell eyed the shaving kit at Nathan’s side. “What does a barber know of harvesting tobacco?”

“My uncle is a planter.”

The man seemed to contemplate his words. “If you are a rebel, it would be detrimental to harbor you on my land.”

“On the contrary, sir, it might benefit your position.”

Lord Caswell continued to study him. “I do not think I want to know your political leanings.”

“Then I shan’t tell you.”

Lord Caswell turned and eyed the acres upon acres of unharvested tobacco. He must know that Nathan wasn’t a Loyalist, but if he didn’t pursue the truth, he wouldn’t have a moral obligation to demand Nathan stay off his property. His cash crop wouldn’t be worth any cash at all if he didn’t get it into the barn soon.

Perhaps Lord Caswell did rely more on his own kingdom than on his king.

“I am willing to work hard,” Nathan offered.

Lord Caswell leaned to clip a leaf. “As far as I know, Seth returned to Williamsburg after his sister’s funeral yesterday.”

The declaration stunned Nathan. “His sister died?’

The man nodded. “Of diabetes.”

Nathan looked toward the trees, the line between the Hammond and Caswell properties. Sarah’s death would devastate both Seth and
Lydia. No wonder Seth had lingered here. It wasn’t to see Lydia. It was to say good-bye to Sarah.

Perhaps he and Seth had passed each other on the trail this morning.

He wished he could ask the man about his son, Grayson, but he must pretend to have no knowledge of this family’s personal affairs.

“Did he leave by himself?” Nathan asked.

“Aye.”

Nathan patted his horse as relief mixed with the sadness. Lydia was still here, but how would he find her? He hesitated as a plan formed in his mind, a way to see Lydia tonight without compromising her role—or his. “Perhaps you could provide a meal as well, in exchange for my work.”

“Where do you come from?” Lord Caswell asked.

“North of here.”

“Did your uncle teach you how to harvest?”

Nathan nodded. “He did.”

“I let the leaves wilt on the ground until dusk.”

Nathan flung his cloak and scarf over his saddle before he tied the horse to a tree. Then he removed the knife from his kit before he joined Lord Caswell again. “Where would you like me to begin?”

Lord Caswell directed him to another row, and Nathan moved steadily along, cutting off the leaves that were ready to cure. As he worked, pleasant memories returned of working alongside his father before he had died.

Nathan had taken pleasure in this work of growing and harvesting first tobacco and then wheat. It was an honest way to make a living, planting seeds in the fertile land and then watching the magic begin, the water and sun transforming each seed into a healthy plant. He loved to watch things grow—but a few years after he’d gone to live with Uncle George and Aunt Martha, his uncle needed his help in overseeing the family’s business affairs.

He sliced off another leaf.

Perhaps when this war was over, he would return to what he loved—the life of a planter.

Lydia scooped a handful of water from a stream and unwrapped the cheese and meat that Mother had wrapped for her. She wouldn’t linger long in the woods, only enough time to eat before continuing to Williamsburg.

She wished she had been able to say good-bye to her father, but he had left for the fields before she dressed. His determination to provide for his family was admirable, but she couldn’t understand why his work was more important than finding her sister. Perhaps he thought it was too late to retrieve Hannah, or maybe he was relieved that she was gone.

Or perhaps—and she hated to even consider it—perhaps he thought Hannah’s choice would protect his family, so he let her go.

Lydia wouldn’t tarry in Williamsburg. She would deliver her message and then find out where Major Reed had taken her sister. If she hurried, it might not be too late to rescue her.

Something stirred in the trees, and her heart quickened as she turned. There was a flash of red among the green, and a British soldier emerged from the forest. He towered over her by a foot, and the ruddy color of his face matched his uniform.

“What are you doing out here?” the soldier demanded.

“I am traveling into Williamsburg.” She straightened her petticoat, trying not to appear as alarmed as she felt. If only Mother were here to deter them as she had before. “To visit a friend.”

“I am under orders to search all persons coming into the town.”

She sighed. “Will it take long? I would like to join my friend for tea.”

Another soldier joined him, but he continued to speak. “Where do you come from?”

“Caswell Hall. My father is Lord Caswell.”

She could see a hint of approval in his eyes. “We are familiar with it.”

Did every British soldier know of the gracious accommodations at Caswell Hall?

He opened her valise, and she cringed as he riffled through her belongings. When he picked up her sampler, examining it, she held her breath.

Then he tossed it back into her bag.

He eyed her. “I am sorry. I shall have to search you as well.”

It was what she’d feared. And what she had prepared for. “I pray you will be kind. Major Reed is a personal friend of our family’s.”

The man stepped back. “Major Dalton Reed?”

“Yes, sir.”

He studied her face. “You do not fancy the man, do you?”

She forced strength into her voice. “What business is it of yours?”

“My wife works for the household of Major and Mistress Reed.”

Her strength faded. “Major and Mistress?”

“Has he not told you of his wife?”

The world seemed to tilt. “I am afraid he has not.”

“Mistress Reed worries about him.”

The heat of anger rushed to her face. How dare Major Reed impose upon her family, suggesting that he might marry one of them! If he was already married—

Dear God, what would happen to Hannah?

She reached for the horn of the saddle and pulled herself up on the horse. “I must go.”

Neither man stopped her.

There was no time to linger. She must deliver her message and then steal her sister away from that man.

Their political views might differ, but Nathan couldn’t help but admire Lord Caswell. He had thought most British supporters to be stubborn, ill-tempered men who expected others to do their work, but Lord Caswell worked as hard as any man who loved his land.

Nathan eyed the fields one last time in the fading light before he turned toward the house. It had felt good to be working the land today alongside this man. It fit Nathan much better than office work ever did.

He stopped at the base of Caswell Hall and looked up at the three stories of brick and windows. “Did you build this?”

“My father and I.”

“It is very impressive.”

Lord Caswell motioned him up the stairs. “Perhaps. But there shan’t be any pomp and circumstance tonight.”

Nathan wasn’t the least bit concerned about pomp and circumstance, but he feared what he might do when he saw Lydia. How could he be indifferent toward her?

If he spoke first, said it was nice to meet her, surely she would join in the facade—as she did when he pretended to be her servant.

Lord Caswell instructed him to wait in the library while he changed his clothing for dinner. As he waited, Nathan examined the pictures on the wall. One was a boy—Grayson, he guessed—when he was seven or eight years of age. He had an ornery glint in his eye, as if waiting to play some sort of prank on the unsuspecting artist.

Next to him was a young girl with chestnut hair the same color as Lydia’s. Nathan didn’t recognize her, but the woman in the last portrait captured his gaze and wouldn’t let it go. Lydia sat alone in the gazebo, her strong beauty radiating from within her, and Nathan stared up at her, admiring the soft light on her hair, the fire that sparked in her lavender-blue eyes.

He backed toward the door.

What had he been thinking? Over the past two years, he’d feigned all sorts of professions and facades, but he could never hide his feelings for Lydia. Lord Caswell might have compromised his political leanings temporarily for the sake of his crop, but he would never compromise his daughter.

Nathan stole one more glance at her portrait.

“It is time for—”

He whirled at the sound of a woman’s voice.

She stopped, staring at him before she spoke again. “Why are you here?”

It was the woman who’d fed him in Elisha’s room. Prudence. “I was searching for Seth Hammond.”

Prudence clutched her hands. “You must leave. Immediately.”

“Lord Caswell has invited me.”

“But he doesn’t know who you are. You will bring trouble to our house.”

“I only want to see Lydia.”

“There is much that has happened. You do not know—”

Panic swelled in his chest. “Where is Lydia?”

Prudence shot a glance toward the door and then looked back at him. “She has gone after her sister.”

“What of her sister?”

“She—”

Lord Caswell stepped back into the library, his work clothes replaced by a black waistcoat and jacket. “Are you coming to dinner?”

Nathan nodded. “I am.”

A hundred questions brewed in his mind, but Prudence lowered her head as he walked by. If only he’d had another minute to speak with her.

Where had Lydia and her sister gone?

Lady Caswell nodded at him as he sat down in the dining chair. Her eyes were swollen and her tone was as frosty as the James River on the night he’d plunged from the ship. “My husband does not seem to recollect your name.”

Prudence was waiting in the corner, and he caught her gaze over Lady Caswell’s shoulder. Then he focused once more on Lydia’s mother. “I go by Nathan, Lady Caswell.”

“Nathan?” Something shifted in her eyes as she studied him, and her demeanor slowly changed. Not to friendliness, but at least to tolerance. “Where is it that you come from, Nathan?”