The Mistress of Tall Acre (19 page)

“Think nothing of it. You came well recommended. ’Twas Mrs. Hallam’s doing.”

“I’m glad you’ll be here while the general is away. He told me that I’m to come to you with any concerns or questions about his daughter.”

Had he? A quiet pride suffused Sophie at his confidence. “Lily Cate is like sunshine to me. I think you’ll find her every bit as delightful.”

“She’s at a riding lesson, the general said.”

“Most mornings, yes. She’s rather afraid of horses, but her new pony is bringing her round.” Sophie gestured to the window overlooking the east pasture. A groom led Polly by the bridle, Lily Cate atop it. “’Tis been so long since I’ve seen you. I hope you’ll come visit at Three Chimneys. I have few friends in Roan as I spent so many years in Williamsburg.”

“I’ll admit to being surprised at finding you unwed. Once you were Mrs. Hallam’s star pupil—light on your feet, first honors in everything.”

Sophie laughed. “Your recollections are rather rosy. All that seems so long ago. I’m far more interested in you and what you’ve done since finishing school.”

“What I’ve done? Precious little since ’76. Who would have imagined? There we were, poised to enter society, outfitted in London’s finest, and then the war stole away everything. Sadly, my father passed soon after my mother. I tutored and earned a little, but not enough to keep my parents’ townhouse. I have no family to speak of beyond Williamsburg.”

“I understand.” Sophie’s thoughts swung to Curtis, the long wait leeching a little more hope from her heart.

“I lost my fiancée at the battle of Brandywine.” Amity paused, taking a handkerchief from her pocket. “He served with the 1st Virginia Regiment.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Naturally the general’s been very solicitous, being a widower himself. Grief seems to bind people together.”

Though sympathy tugged at her, Sophie’s imagination made fearsome leaps. The grieving widower. A destitute governess. A motherless child. It had all the makings of a scintillating novel.

She looked to the tea table prepared for them, now no more appetizing than Tall Acre’s bricks. “I hope you’ll be very happy here,” she heard herself say. “Perhaps in time, Tall Acre will feel like home to you.”

“I think it shall.” Amity had dried her eyes and was looking around as if finding everything to her satisfaction. “The general mentioned taking Lily Cate to Alexandria for some finer clothes. I’m going to insist on stays if she’s not in them already.”

“She was in thread stays, but they weren’t a good fit. There’s a fine seamstress in Roan—”

“Oh my, Roan is so rustic. Alexandria is much better. I’m going to be fitted for riding clothes in the city as well. The general thought I might help with Lily Cate’s horsemanship. Remember our canters down Palace Green in Williamsburg?”

Sophie said nothing. She’d locked those carefree days away much as she had Anne’s diary, but Amity seemed to relish every dusty detail.

A sudden commotion at the door drew their notice. Lily Cate appeared, feather dancing atop her riding hat. She looked longingly at Sophie yet seemed noticeably shy of her new governess.

Sophie welcomed her in. “You’re just in time to meet Miss Townsend.”

Lily Cate came nearer and curtsied, eyeing the scones. “May I have one, Miss Sophie?”

“Best ask your new governess.”

Gesturing to her muddy riding habit, Amity frowned. “You’re welcome to join us once you’ve freshened up and changed clothes.”

“I fell off as I dismounted.” Brushing at a dirty sleeve, Lily Cate began backing toward the door, a hint of triumph in her eyes. “But I didn’t cry.”

Amity watched her leave, thoughtful. “She seems a charming child. I wasn’t sure what to expect given she’s been without a mother.” She raised an inquiring brow. “I’ve heard rumors the general might remarry. Word is he’s courting a woman who is very well placed.”

Sophie hid her dismay. One of the women who’d come to Tall Acre before Christmas? They’d all been of good family, of notable fortune. She prayed it wasn’t the lofty Clementine. She looked unwillingly at the open door of the Palladian room where the portrait of Anne hung, the uncontested mistress of Tall Acre. Would Anne be replaced?

Amity hurried on. “None of my concern, I suppose, but in my position ’tis sometimes wise to inquire.”

“I understand.” Being at the whim and mercy of employers was not an enviable position. Sophie’s own future was nearly as bleak. “If the general remarries, I’m sure your position as governess would remain unchanged. Lily Cate would still be in need of schooling.”

Lily Cate reappeared in time, washed and changed. “Papa wants to see you before he goes, Miss Sophie.”

“You can take my place, then.” She gestured to a chair. “’Tis a fine time for you to become acquainted with Miss Townsend.”

Excusing herself, she crossed the foyer to Seamus’s study. The door was open, his desk a shambles, but he was missing. Turning, she nearly bumped into a plump maid armed with a feather duster. Florie?

“The general’s left for the stables,” the girl said hurriedly, gesturing to a rear door tucked behind the staircase. “The weather’s taken a bitter turn, and he wants to leave as soon as possible.”

At that moment Henry entered, carrying her valise. She thanked him, struck by a sudden whim. Opening her belongings, she removed the scarf she’d knitted and passed out the back door before she could change her mind. The general was likely on his way to see his sweetheart, if Amity’s confidence rang true. Her gift would be given in friendship, nothing more.

The walk to the stables wasn’t far, and the cold filled her lungs, bracing her. Long, shadowed corridors of stalls held the earthy reek of hay and horses. Myriad stable hands were at work, cleaning tack and refilling water buckets. She barely noticed them, intent on Seamus’s tall silhouette as he led out a saddled stallion at one end. In years past she’d watched him riding from afar, often bareback and with unforgettable dash. If someone had accompanied him, she couldn’t recall. All her memories had been swallowed up by him.

She stopped a few paces away. “Lily Cate said you wanted to speak to me.”

He swung round, holding the reins in a gloved hand. “Before I go, aye.”

A groom scurried past, toting a bucket of oats. Other than that they were alone. Dust motes danced in a stray beam of light, accentuating the vibrant hue of his eyes and the fine creases at their corners. He was looking at her as if he’d forgotten what he wanted to say. Or perhaps it was the scarf in her hands. Or the fact she had on no cloak.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, his breath a cold mist. “’Tis freezing.”

She stepped toward him, holding out the gift. “You’ll be needing this for your long ride.” When he didn’t take it, she came closer than she ever had and wrapped it around his neck, tying it into a loose knot. The handsome plaid matched the blue of his cloak and would keep some of him warm, at least.

“You made it . . . for me.” He looked down at her, surprised.

She nodded. “For Christmas.”

“Which you missed,” he murmured. “A lonesome time we had at Tall Acre without the lovely Sophie Menzies present.”

Smiling, she stepped back. “I haven’t thanked you properly for the gift you sent round.”

He gave a slight shrug. “’Twas nothing.”

“I hardly call a silver tea service from Denzilow of London
nothing
.”

His sudden grin was unsettling. “You’re not still feeling like a kept woman, are you?”

“If I am, I’m a well-kept one while you, sir, have a very poor showing for all your silver.”

Chuckling, he touched the scarf. “Not anymore.”

A wind whipped past, and she crossed her arms against the cold, steeling herself against his leaving and the emptiness she felt in his wake.

He looked to his boots, contemplating the muddy straw, before his gaze locked with hers again. “I’ll be lodging at Gadsby’s Tavern in Alexandria. I don’t expect any trouble from Williamsburg as we’ve seen no more of the trespasser for a month. But if something should happen, send word to me at once.”

He was the general again. Commanding. Decisive. On the defensive. She nodded. “I’ll take fine care of Lily Cate.”

“I’ll be back by week’s end, Lord willing.” A note of lament chilled his voice. “I haven’t told Miss Townsend about the trouble. I’d rather it be kept quiet.”

“I shan’t say a word, though I can’t say the same of everyone.”

“My wee daughter, as you call her, has the gift of gab.” The look he gave her was half amused, half exasperated. “Mayhap you can help with that too.”

Turning his back, he swung himself into the saddle as another shiver of apprehension slid through her. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. But just
who
was being watched? Her? Lily Cate? Or was it Seamus himself? What if someone meant him harm? The worry in her eyes gave her away.

“You’re looking at me like I might not come back,” he said.

“Why not take an escort? A groom, at least?”

“No need.” Parting his cloak, he revealed the weapons beneath. “Despite my bad hand, I’m still a fair shot.”

Anxiety wore a hole in her. “I shall pray you there and home again.”

“If I don’t return, Lily Cate will go to my sister in Philadelphia. I’ve made out a will to that effect . . . though I’d rather she go to you.”

She savored the words, surprised at how easily he said them. As if he’d given it considerable thought. She, on the other hand, had all but forgotten he had an older sister. “Godspeed, General.”

“Aye. Till we meet again, Miss Menzies.”

He didn’t look back at her, but she continued to watch him till he was no more than a pinprick on the frozen, skeletal horizon before fading from sight.

15

A
t midnight, Sophie was ensconced in Anne’s bedchamber, having stayed up late with Amity reminiscing about their time at finishing school with a sort of awe and reverence. There’d been the gay assembly days where all of Williamsburg seemed one riotous festival, the hallowed Sabbath services at Bruton Parish Church, the charming, late-night dances at Raleigh Tavern where Martha Washington and other ladies gathered on the eve of the Revolution. Now it seemed naught but an extravagant dream. A make-believe world.

Had she really been so carefree back then? Consumed with dancing and dresses? The latest plays and diversions? How shallow she had been! She turned back to her reading. The Bible lay in her lap, open to a favorite Psalm.

O L
ORD
, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine
uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.

Her thoughts drifted to Seamus in Alexandria, then Lily Cate who slept soundly through the adjoining doorway. Amity was on the third floor. Sophie could hear muffled movements overhead as she readied for bed.

Setting the Bible aside, Sophie lay down and sank into the familiar feather mattress, strangely wide-eyed. Minutes ticked by as she counted the pleats in the high canopy overhead before moving to the intricate embroidery of the bed curtains. Had they been worked by Anne? She tried not to think of the hidden diary. Why this irresistible pull to read it?

One page.

She fought the notion. Lost. Getting up, she went to the desk. Curiosity withered to regret at the first line. Sophie felt Anne’s misery as if it seeped from her pen.

January, 1780

Seamus has finally sent a letter. From a place called Morristown. There the men are falling right and left, infected with camp fever. Disease is more fatal than any redcoat could ever be. ’Tis the worst winter possible with snow six feet deep. A soldier’s rations amount to one half pound of salt beef and a half pint of rice for a week. I imagine Seamus is nigh starving too. If he dies, I suppose he wants me to have warning. I want to tell him he has been dead to me since he first enlisted.

He asks about his daughter, begs me to write. But what can be said of a baby who is nothing but a sickly, crying little animal? Who wants to nurse night and day, so depleting me that I have given her over to Myrtilla to tend. The doctor says Lily Cate has the hysteric colic and advises laudanum, ten drops.

Riggs, the estate manager, looks askance at me. I know what he is thinking, that I have deprived him of his best spinner. But I have no heart or strength to tend to Lily Cate. Let the spinning house go to blazes! I wish I had borne Seamus a son. A son would not have caused so much trouble.

Stunned, Sophie stopped reading.
Oh Anne, could you not count your many blessings? You were warm, well fed, home safe with your wee daughter, while your husband was helping command a sickly, starving shadow of an army for eight unending years.

Snapping shut the diary, she looked toward the hearth. Should she . . . burn it? Though it wasn’t hers to dispose of, she stood poised to surrender the book to the flames, eager to watch it curl to ash, incapable of harm. If it was found, she could only imagine Seamus’s reaction. With a revulsion she felt for snakes and sordid things, she locked it up in the desk.