The Beloved Land (11 page)
“Gordon,” was all she could manage right then. But he seemed to understand her joy as he reached again for her hand.
Of all the departures Anne might have imagined, this had not been among them.
Harrow Hall was silent, and the last hour before the dawn was draped in a mist so thick Anne could not see the lead horses from her place by the carriage door. Only Maisy’s presence by the front doorway signaled any normality. The housekeeper twisted her apron and murmured a final plea. “At least let me light the fire and prepare a bit of nourishment.”
“We have been through this before,” Charles replied but without impatience as he scouted the darkness. “No lights, no indication of any kind that the house is awake.”
“But what of some breakfast for the poor little bairn?”
“Young John is where you deposited him on the carriage seat, wrapped in your warmest quilting and still sound asleep. He will be fed later when he awakens. You have heard the same news as the rest of us. Secrecy is our strongest weapon.” Charles called softly into the gloom. “I say, Harry!”
“Here, sir.”
“Are your outriders ready?”
“Just finishing with watering their horses, sir.”
“And the provisions?”
“Stowed as your lordship ordered.”
“Then let’s be off.”
Judith hugged the distressed housekeeper. “You are a dear woman, Maisy, and we shall all be fine.”
Anne ran back up the steps to hug Maisy a final time. “Thank you again. For everything.”
“Oh, to see you go off like this just rips my poor heart in two.” The woman was doing her best to keep from weeping as she crushed Anne to her warm bosom. “I won’t cease praying ’til I see your lovely face before me again.”
“I know you will take good care of John.” Anne whispered the words over the lump in her throat.
“Like he was my own flesh and blood.” Maisy released her and waved a sorrowful farewell to Anne’s husband. “Fare thee well, Master Thomas.”
He lifted a hand in silent response, and she buried her face in her apron and turned away.
“Come, Anne. The night is dripping wet and you mustn’t catch a chill.” Thomas helped her into the carriage by the sleeping child, and the others clambered on board. The driver gave a quiet click, and the carriage moved forward, its sounds cushioned by the night mist. Anne pushed down the window and peered behind them through the gloom and the fog. The beautiful manor that had become home to her was already out of sight. She could not allow herself to wonder when she would see it again.
Harry Day and two other footmen rode with the driver, while two villagers on horses led the way, another two behind. All carried pistols and stout staves. The carriage showed no light whatsoever. The villagers ahead of them were chosen from those who knew the roads best, for the intention was to ride hard so that by daybreak the travelers were beyond the borders of Charles’s land, beyond any who might know their identity.
Three days after the Portsmouth vessel had set sail, word came from the south of England that the night after the Dissenters’ vessel had left port, a flotilla of ships had attacked. The Dissenters had been saved by what could only be called a miracle. Just as the attackers had opened fire, four British troopships returning from the colonies had appeared from nowhere and counterattacked. The Dissenters’ ship had turned and fled back to port. They had lost a mast and much rigging, and seven passengers had been wounded by flying debris from the first cannonade, though none had perished.
Accompanying the news were rumors that one of the attacking vessels had carried English men on the captain’s foredeck. It being well known that noise carries far across open water, and no voices are louder than officers on the verge of battle, this rumor had all the elements of fact. When questioned about British guns turned on a British ship, the palace was reported to have quickly replied that pirates were drawn from every quarter and nation. They were a scourge, and the king and his prince were most grateful for the ship’s safe return. The palace spokesman, a permanent sneer in place, had finished with, “Perhaps the Dissenters would now see the error of their ways and swear fealty to their king.”
As a result of the rumors and the resulting fears, the two Plymouth vessels had set sail early, without their passengers. They had secretly docked in a small fishing harbor on the wild North Devon coast.
By first light they were midway to Bristol. They breakfasted on the move, halting only once at mid-morning to water the horses and stretch their own legs. The day turned out to be perfect for travel, for even after the sun burned away the early mist, a light northerly breeze cooled the carriage.
Anne had debated over taking John along to shipside and those final farewells. But finally she could not bear the thought of giving up any precious moments with her son, and no one chose to contradict her. She simply could not imagine herself kissing her slumbering son and stealing away. And John proved to be a delightful traveling companion for all of them. Even as the afternoon began waning, and they stopped to exchange their weary steeds for fresh ones, John’s innate curiosity and childish prattle kept their spirits high.
They watered the second set of horses at a spring-fed trough on the crest of the southern downs. Steep-sided hills rose to flat plateaus stretching as far as the eye could see. The outriders were gone now, having turned back when the teams had been changed, leaving just one who now rode on top with the others. They came to a roadside inn, and the nine of them, driver and guards and travelers together, sat at a long table in the back of the low-ceilinged room. They ate in silence, quieted by the knowledge of a long night still ahead of them. Only John and Charles appeared free of fatigue. Once they had completed their bowls of stew and cups of tea, the two resumed a game they had played on and off all day.
“All right, then,” Charles said, frowning mightily. “Here’s a test for you, my little man. Fail it and I shall be obliged to tie you to the back of the carriage and make you run along behind.”
John laughed gleefully.
“Who makes this sound—
coo, coo, coo
?” asked Uncle Charles.
“A robin!”
“No, you silly fellow, a dove. How many times must I tell you that?”
“Dove!”
“That’s it. What a brilliant lad you are.”
“Another!”
“Very well. Who says
caw, caw, caw
?”
“A robin!”
“Do you know, I am almost certain you are having me on.” Uncle Charles shook his head from side to side while John chortled again. “Do you seek to try my patience?”
“Another!”
“You haven’t answered this one yet. Who says
caw, caw, caw
?”
“Robin!”
Charles narrowed his eyes. “And who, pray tell, says
bowwow, bow-wow
?”
“Robin!”
“No, you tricky little fellow. It’s a puppy dog, as you well know. One that will come and nibble on the fingers of little boys who try to play their elders like fools. Like this, you see.” He grabbed John’s small hand and made a show of dining upon his fingers while the boy shrieked with delight. “My, my. I had no idea little fingers could be quite so delicious. Do you know, I think I shall have a few more.”
As they were leaving the inn Judith drew Anne to one side. “I fear there may be no chance once we are at the dock to say this. And I cannot let you depart without thanking you once more, from the bottom of my heart.”
Anne did not need to ask what the older woman meant. She forced herself to hold her composure and reply, “There is no doubt in my mind that this is the best course to take.”
“For all of us, save you.” Judith’s arms circled Anne in a warm embrace. “Charles and I both will shed years and worries while we attempt to keep up with John,” she added with a smile. But her expression turned serious again when she said, “Anne, we could not love him more if he were our own son.”
And then both women wept.
The difference from Boston was evident within a few moments of the three wagons’ arrival in Marble Harbor, also known as Marblehead. The village rose alongside a wellsheltered deepwater harbor. By no means as large as Boston’s port, the encircling arms still offered ideal protection from the open sea. Four large vessels occupied prominent positions about the anchorage. Gordon pointed out to Nicole the
Hannah
, a vessel that had gained its reputation as a blockaderunner.
They noticed they were surrounded by villagers relatively untouched by the war. There was little sign of deprivation here, of the desperate want so prevalent on the streets of Boston.
“Look at that woman’s gown!” Nicole said to Gordon. The lady’s yellow silk, with parasol to match, was as fashionable as any she had seen. “It might as well have come straight from London!” she marveled.
“Paris, more like, given the present state of affairs. This is a smugglers’ port. Home to any number of swift blockaderunners and privateers. They make a living of sneaking under the nose of the British.”
“Why don’t they bring their supplies down to Boston?”
“They do, for a price.” Gordon angled his hat to block the late afternoon sun. “But enough of their wares are kept close to home, as you can see.”
Gordon gestured over the rooftops to where the ships sat at anchor. “Do you see that ship anchored closest to the northern rocks? That is a British man-of-war, or I’ll eat my hat. Take note of the dark smudges about its bow. Smugglers fought hand to hand with the finest of the British fleet and captured their vessel.”
Nicole felt no need to study the ship. Her mind still held a too-vivid image of another vessel caught by night and a British blockade, wrapped by flames and the shrieks of dying men.
Gordon’s attention remained upon the ship at anchor. “The men of Marblehead did not sink her, which of course is easier than capture. They strike for profit. Which means they had to take her intact. They might be smugglers, but they are also fine seamen and warriors both.”
She shivered. “I want nothing to do with them.”
“You no doubt shall have your wish, though we could well do with more experienced hands.” He gestured to where some sailors loitered outside a tavern. “These men sail for profit, as I said. There will be precious little gain from taking us upon a voyage where speed and stealth are what we require—and all we can offer.”
As they rounded the harbor entrance Gordon stood up in the wagon. “I say, that is my ship!” he exclaimed. “They’ve repaired all sign of her capture. See the new wood along the portside? That’s as fine a bit of joinery as I’ve ever seen. Why, she might as well have been repaired in Portsmouth!”
Nicole hid her smile at his boyish excitement. Then she noticed several places where bright new wood signaled repairs, and she imagined the thunder of cannons as they crashed through the hull, the fire and terror and death. … She shook her head quickly to clear away those awful scenes.
The quayside was a spit of land extending out from the village like an arrowhead. Gordon called to an officer standing watch over a group of scurrying laborers. “I say, good sir. Could you tell me where I might find the harbormaster?”
“You are addressing him now.”
Gordon leaped lightly out of the wagon to the rocks. “Captain Gordon Goodwind at your service, sir.”
“Goodwind, as in master of yon vessel?”
“The same.”
The man growled. “You are three days late in arriving, sir.” “And well I know it. But the roads and arranging lastminute details delayed our departure. I hope I have not added to the difficulties of your job.”
“Not you, sir. Not you. But the work commissioned by the general—I declare it has almost been the death of me.”
Gordon looked over his ship. “They have done a fine piece of work on the repairs nonetheless.”
“Only because I have stood over them with musket and threats both!” He shook his head in ire. “The only way I could get cooperation was by refusing them permission to even board their own vessels until the work was under way. A more avaricious and spiteful clan I have never encountered!”
“They work for profit.”
“They work for themselves and none other!” the officer shouted, his face red with anger. “I have begged and pleaded to be freed of this posting. The war is waning and I am trapped in a backwater filled with smugglers and thieves!”
Gordon stripped off his glove and held out his hand. “I am most grateful for your work and for requiring theirs.”
“Randolf Nettleton. Forgive me, Captain. But it has been a harsh and loathsome duty your commandant laid upon me.”
“I will be writing the general a note, bringing him up-to-date concerning my departure. Perhaps you would be so kind as to deliver it in person. I could then make mention of your desires and ask his help for your transfer as a personal favor.”
“You would do that? For a perfect stranger?”
Gordon waved his hand toward the ship as he said, “I have difficulty just now seeing anything other than a job well done. The fact that you have endured much to complete this task only places me further in your debt.”
“I am quite—”