Surrender the Night (18 page)

Alex’s chest constricted. “A friend of yours?”

“Aye, died in my arms.” Mr. Drummond stabbed a dark coal in the corner of the fireplace and flung it across the pit. “It fell to me to inform his widow.” His voice broke.

Alex shifted uncomfortably, uneasy at the man’s display of emotion. “Why you, Mr. Drummond? Why not allow family or friends to tell her? Surely your vocation doesn’t require you to perform such agonizing tasks?” At least Alex had not seen the vicars back home do much of anything save attend parties and put people to sleep with their Sunday sermons.

“Oh no, Mr. Reed, a man of God does everything he can to assist and bring comfort to those in need. We who follow in Christ’s footsteps are to be an extension of God’s love to everyone we come across.”

Alex stared into eyes misted with tears yet hard with purpose, and it struck him—the man truly believed what he said. Despite his ineloquent speech and reprehensible manners, wisdom and determination poured from him. Alex searched memories of his childhood for any moments of intimate conversation he and his father had shared, but all he found
were visions of a stiff chin bordered in satin and lace and the cold sheen of pomposity that had covered his father’s dark eyes.

Then he remembered Mr. Drummond’s sordid past, and the man’s intentions became clear. “No doubt one must perform many acts of charity to atone for past sins.” Something Alex could well understand—exchanging charity and honor for the shameful acts of a rebellious youth. But instead of trying to live up to the impossible rules of a distant God, Alex sought to make restitution by becoming an honorable naval officer.

“Atone?” Mr. Drummond scratched his stiff gray beard and smiled. “All the good deeds in the world wouldn’t make up for what I’ve done. No, I do these things out of love for my Father in heaven.”

Father
. Emotion clogged in Alex’s throat. God as Father? Absurd.

Uncomfortable with the direction of the discussion, Alex struggled to rise, leaning most of his weight on his good leg. “I cannot stay in your employ much longer, Mr. Drummond. I hope you will be able to procure a replacement soon.”

Mr. Drummond nodded, but Alex thought he saw a slight smile on the man’s lips. “I already have someone in mind, Mr. Reed.”

“Very good.” Alex said. “I’ll leave you to your rest.” Turning, he shuffled toward the door.

“Sleep well, son.” Mr. Drummond’s kind tone threatened to undo the tight bands Alex had formed over his heart.

For never had he heard those words from his own father’s lips.

CHAPTER 11

S
tanding in front of the house beside her aunt and Amelia, Rose pressed a hand over her churning stomach. The last thing she wanted to do today was take another trip into town. Especially with Mr. Reed escorting them. But she had promised her aunt on Sunday that she would visit Mrs. Pickersgill, and Rose could not go back on her word. Oh why had she made such a vow? What if someone recognized Mr. Reed? What if he came across some valuable military information to take back to his captain?

Rose squeezed her forehead as her thoughts spun a knot of fear and guilt—a knot she saw no way to untangle at the moment.

“For heaven’s sake. Where is Mr. Reed?” Aunt Muira clutched her medical satchel and shot a harried gaze toward the stable.

Rose glanced at Amelia. “I imagine he’s attempting to harness Douglas to the carriage.”

“But he’s been in there for over thirty minutes.” Aunt Muira bit her lip impatiently. “What sort of servant is he?”

Amelia giggled. “One who isn’t skilled with horse and equipage, I imagine.”

Aunt Muira cast the maid a curious gaze as Rose headed toward the stable to see if she could assist the poor man. She’d only taken
two steps when Mr. Reed appeared, wearing Samuel’s used livery and plodding forward on his crutch as he led Douglas and the carriage out from the barn. His black coat and breeches—far too small for his large frame—strained across his chest and thighs, outlining his firm muscles beneath.

Rose averted her gaze and elbowed Amelia to do the same, but the insolent woman gaped at him unabashed.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Reed.” Aunt Muira took Mr. Reed’s outstretched hand and climbed into the coach. “We thought you’d become lost.”

“Just familiarizing myself with your equipage, madam.” He turned a half-cocked smile to Rose and offered her his hand. But when she placed her still-trembling fingers into his firm ones, his look of playfulness faded into one of concern.

Snatching her hand away, she entered the carriage and sat beside her aunt as Amelia’s delicate hand lingered far too long on Mr. Reed’s before she joined them. Then leaping into the driver’s seat, Mr. Reed snapped the reins.

Per Mrs. Drummond’s directions, Alex pulled the coach to a stop before a small stone house on the corner of Pratt and Albemarle Streets. He was more than impressed by what he’d seen of the quaint little town on his way here. He’d expected to see nothing but dirt streets lined by dilapidated shops and open-air taverns inhabited by swine, both animal and human. Instead, he’d counted at least five churches, two theaters—albeit rustic theaters—several watchhouses, five inns, two libraries, three markets, two banks, and three newspaper printing offices.

Despite the war, the citizens of Baltimore scurried about their business on foot or in carriages or on horseback. Ladies and gentlemen strolled down the cobblestone streets in finery and frippery that could equal any to be seen among the
haut ton
sauntering down Bond Street—well, almost.

Alex leaped down from the driving seat, set down the step, opened the door, and held his hand out for the ladies. Though the demeaning status grated against his pride, he found being a servant an easy and
innocuous occupation—a great respite from the responsibility and hard work of an officer in His Majesty’s Navy. He briefly wondered if Captain Milford was searching for him and Garrick or had he assumed them dead or worse—deserters. But what did it matter? The issue would be resolved as soon as Alex returned with his wound as evidence of his tale of being shot in a skirmish and then cared for by a rebel farmer until Alex could make his way back to the ship.

“Wait here,” Miss McGuire said. Leaping down, she waved a gloved hand toward him and lifted her pert nose in the air. In fact, since they had begun the journey, her attitude had transformed from a humble farm girl to a pretentious chit that reminded him of certain noble ladies he’d been acquainted with back home. Yet the act was so at odds with her true nature that it appeared more adorable than annoying.

“No, no.” The ostrich feathers atop Mrs. Drummond’s gold bonnet fluttered in the breeze. “Do come in, Mr. Reed. I would like you to meet Mrs. Pickersgill.”

Alex raised a victorious brow in Miss McGuire’s direction.

A maid answered the door and ushered them inside to a sitting room, where a short, elderly lady dressed in a plain gown rose from her seat. Gray hair sprang from beneath a white mob cap fringed in lace. She gave them a wide smile as she greeted them warmly. Finally her gaze landed on Alex.

“My, my, who do we have here?” Approaching him, she took his hands. Cold, boney, yet strong fingers gripped his.

Shocked by her familiarity, Alex stiffened.

“This is Mr. Reed, our new man of work,” Mrs. Drummond said, pride lifting her tone. “Mr. Reed, Mrs. Mary Pickersgill.”

“A pleasure, madam.” Alex nodded and kissed her hand.

Mrs. Pickersgill squealed with delight. “My goodness. I haven’t heard an accent so regal since I was a little girl in Philadelphia.”

Over the elderly lady’s shoulder, Alex saw Amelia exchange a fearful glance with Miss McGuire.

“It has been my family’s curse.” Mr. Reed gave a lopsided grin, to which the elderly lady released his hands and gestured toward a maid standing by the doorway. “Dorothy, please bring everyone some cocoa.”

Mrs. Drummond tugged off her gloves and took a seat on a
cushioned oval-backed chair. “Mrs. Pickersgill is a flag maker, Mr. Reed.”

“Indeed?” But Alex could not take his eyes off Miss McGuire. Her simple walking dress of periwinkle blue brought out the sharp color of her eyes and made her skin glow. She untied the pink satin ribbon of her bonnet and drew it from her head, dislodging a few golden strands.

“She made the enormous flag that flies over Fort McHenry. Have you seen it?” Mrs. Drummond drew his gaze back to her.

Flag, indeed
. Alex grumbled silently. These colonies had no need of their own flag for soon the Union Jack would proudly wave once again above their city squares. “I have not had the pleasure.”

Mrs. Pickersgill gestured for them to sit, but Alex remained standing.

“I must say I was quite surprised when Major Armistead, General Smith, and Commodore Barney came to call on me that day to commission the ensign.” She chuckled. “In their own words, they wanted ‘a flag so large that the British would have no difficulty seeing it from a distance’!”

Alex felt the muscles in his neck tighten as the maid brought in a service tray with china cups and a steaming pot of the sweet-smelling drink.

Miss McGuire speared him with a sharp gaze and nodded for him to leave. She tossed her reticule onto a floral-printed sofa, then took her seat beside Amelia. Mrs. Pickersgill slid onto a chair to their left.

The maid poured dark liquid into each cup then scurried from the room.

“I hope you don’t mind hot cocoa, ladies. I never did favor tea.” Mrs. Pickersgill handed each of them a cup and saucer.

“Not at all.” Amelia lifted the cup to her lips. “It is my favorite too.”

Mrs. Pickersgill frowned. “Hard to come by with the blockade. I fear my supply is nearly depleted.”

Again Alex felt a thread of guilt wind through him.

“Mr. Reed, the flag Mrs. Pickersgill sewed measures thirty feet by forty-two feet.” Mrs. Drummond boasted.

“Astonishing,” Alex remarked, trying to envision the enormous flag filling the room. “How did you accomplish it?”

“I had help, sir.” Mrs. Pickersgill opened a palm toward an empty
seat in the corner, but Alex remained rooted in place. Why did these Americans insist on treating their servants as equals?

“My daughter, two nieces, and two servants assisted me, but we had to move the massive cloth to a warehouse nearby just to finish it.” She smiled. “I was happy to do it,” she waved a hand through the air. “It does present a fine ensign above the fort.”

Mrs. Drummond took a sip of hot cocoa. “Perhaps we will take you to see it later, Mr. Reed?”

“Surely a servant has no interest in flags or forts.” Miss McGuire shot into the conversation with the force of a cannon. Her cup clattered on the saucer she held, and she set both on the table. Opening the fan hanging on her wrist, she fluttered it about her face. “Perhaps you should check on the horse, Mr. Reed. We will be discussing things which could not possibly interest you.”

Mrs. Drummond’s eyebrows bent together, and she gave her niece a look of reprimand.

But Mrs. Pickersgill did not seem to notice. “Ah yes, the reason for your visit,” she added. “I am most anxious to discuss my idea for a new charity devoted to widowed ladies who have lost their husbands and cannot support themselves.”