Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon (22 page)

A knock on the door signaled an end to her reverie. “Yes?”

The words were muffled through her door. “The carriage is here and ready, my lady.”

She wished she had a large mirror so she could check her reflection. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her fan and small beaded bag, opened the door, and asked, “Did you have any trouble?”

“The alleyway is too tight for the carriage. . . .” John Jackson stopped and looked at her with astonishment.

“What is it, Jackson?”

He blinked. “My lady—well . . .”

“Yes?”

“If I had seen you like this at the beginning, I would have turned tail and headed for the hills.” He grinned crookedly and took a step back. “You—you seem like a vision out of a book of fairy tales.”

Nicole nodded her thanks and moved carefully down the stairs in her high corked heels. She turned the stairwell’s corner and found herself facing Pastor Collins and a group of seminarians, all of whom stared silently at her. Nicole took the last step and then lifted the hem of her dress to give the reverend a formal curtsy. “I remain forever indebted to you, sir. For what you have instructed me during my first visit and also for the welcome you have graced me with in these very difficult times.”

The pastor’s unkempt hair grew like a fragile silverwhite halo around his balding head. Plump cheeks beneath eyebrows that looked as though they needed trimming with garden shears, and his black garb was much the worse for wear. Yet his eyes shone with life and genuine care, leaving Nicole not only humbled but feeling inspired.

“My dear,” Pastor Collins declared, “I could not be more proud if I had raised you myself.”

Nicole had planned her wardrobe very carefully and had chosen for this night the dress she had worn for her last formal event in England. The skirt, shoulders, and sleeves were layer upon layer of crinoline and lace, each a different shade of ivory, mere traces of color removed from pure white. Her faux vest of midnight blue silk velvet accented the curve of her waist with an arrowhead of color at the front and back. Seed pearls formed the buttons, two rows, with another half dozen at each wrist and up the side of her high collar. Her only jewelry was the emerald pendant that had once belonged to Charles’s mother. Nicole reached for Pastor Collins’s hand. “Thank you, dear friend. And for your prayers. It is the prayers of you, my parents, my family, and my friends that go with me tonight. Would you be so kind as to escort me outside?”

A student held the door as the old reverend led Nicole to the waiting hired carriage. The driver scrambled down to doff his hat and say, “Your pardon, miss. I didn’t expect such as this, coming from the seminary as you are.”

“Thank you for waiting.”

Jackson held the door as Pastor Collins helped Nicole take her seat. When the driver climbed back to his perch, the pastor leaned through the open door. “You will forgive me for saying it, but you seem strangely preoccupied for a lovely young lady stepping out for a fine night with royalty.” Jackson nodded his agreement.

Nicole hesitated, then decided she would reveal to these men what she had planned. “I intend to offer the commandant my entire holdings,” she announced softly. “My land, my goods, my jewelry. Everything I have, in exchange for Gordon’s life.”

Pastor Collins gripped her hand. “My dear Nicole!”

“I have no choice.” She clenched his hand, willing herself not to shed a tear and ruin her carefully made-up face. “They will be hanging Gordon at dawn.”

“This may be only foolhardy,” Pastor Collins cautioned, his expression serious.

“The reverend is right, ma’am. It would not help your captain one whit,” John Jackson solemnly said. “You must put this out of your mind.”

“If the commandant had the slightest inkling that you are a rebel sympathizer,” the pastor explained, “he would confiscate everything you own without hesitation!”

“Lower your voice, Reverend,” Jackson cautioned.

“Forgive me.” Pastor Collins spoke more softly but held back none of the urgency. “If ever you have listened to me, Nicole, heed me now. Do not take this course.”

“I cannot simply sit by and let him hang!”

“Softly, now, softly.” Jackson scouted the road. “The night has ears.”

“What am I to do, then?” Nicole asked.

“On this matter, I can offer only prayer,” Pastor Collins replied, glancing behind him at the light spilling from the seminary’s open doorway. “There are too many others whom God has placed in my care.”

“Then pray your hardest, Reverend,” John Jackson said grimly.

Nicole’s nodded agreement was all she could manage.

Chapter 28

The commandant’s formal chambers were full of lively talk and the glitter of military power. The front staircase, reception area, and the hall leading to the banquet room were all lined with hussars in elaborate uniforms, the chin straps of their helmets cocked just below their mouths. Nicole had but a brief instant to meet the commandant and his wife in the receiving line before she was swept into the long formal gallery. There the officers regaled each other and their ladies with boasts of how they intended to make the rebel forces suffer. Sabers hanging from the officers’ belts rattled with each gesture. Brightly gowned ladies spoke of a time when all this would be behind them, after the colonists had been taught a lesson and put in their proper place.

The banquet table seemed as long as a sailing vessel and sat four dozen to a side. White-gloved hussars brought an endless array of dishes, none of which Nicole was able to more than taste. To her right was seated a cavalry officer, on her left a beribboned general from the New York regiments. The conversation was all of battles won.

Finally there came the moment when all rose and offered the final toast to the Prince of Wales. The men then retired to the smoking chamber, while the women gathered over tea and biscuits. Nicole saw the commandant’s wife moving toward her and once again wondered if she should heed or ignore the advice of John Jackson and Pastor Collins.

“My dear viscountess, forgive me for not speaking with you before, but in this crush of people, my goodness, I was trapped.”

“Of course. I understand fully.” Frantically Nicole said a silent prayer. What was she to do?

“Why, you must certainly have faced the same dilemma on countless occasions.” A large woman, the commandant’s wife had a voice no doubt accustomed to running an immense household. Her eyes were as steely gray as her hair. “When were you last in England?” she asked.

“I departed from there in November.”

“What I would give to return to civilization and put all this . . .” She swept the thought aside with an impatient wave of her fan. “Perhaps you had the opportunity to meet my father, Lord Cheswick.”

“Forgive me, I do not recall such an honor.”

“Oh, well, perhaps not. He is getting on in years and doesn’t get about as much as he used to.” She signaled a hovering waiter and commanded, “Tea and cakes for two.”

“Immediately, my lady.”

She turned back to Nicole. “Where have you managed to secure rooms, Viscountess?”

“At the hostel run by the Anglican seminary.”

The commandant’s wife looked startled. “But, but . . . is that not by the waterfront?”

“Indeed it is.” Nicole knew she should be thinking more swiftly, formulating a plan. But her mind was a jumble of frenzied thoughts with no clear path whatsoever. “I had an introduction there. And I did not find other accommodations.”

“Then we shall most certainly correct that matter, or I shall know the reason why.” She snapped her fan shut.

“Your accent, my dear viscountess, it is quite delicious. Wherever were you born?”

Before Nicole could form a proper response, the commandant’s wife was interrupted by an approaching officer. “Well, what is it?” she demanded.

“My lady, please forgive me,” the man said as he bowed to the commandant’s wife. He then turned to Nicole and asked, “Are you the Viscountess Harrow?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Your manservant is at the front door, my lady. He says it is urgent.”

Nicole thankfully rose to her feet. “Please excuse me, madame.”

She followed the officer down the great hall. Seemingly watching her progress was an endless line of glowering military portraits. Whatever John Jackson had to say, she decided then and there, she would not return to the ball afterward. Her helplessness left her almost unable to place one foot in front of the next. The dawn and Gordon’s imminent death felt but a few heartbeats away.

“Are you well, my lady?”

“Where is my manservant?”

“He awaits you by the outer portico.”

Nicole passed by the flanking guards and reentered the night. The sky was so clear the stars nearly outshone the torches along the commandant’s entryway. John Jackson stood on the bottom stair, and when she appeared in the doorway, he swept the hat from his head. But the closer she came, the farther he backed away, until they were standing between two carriages, partially blocked from view.

“My apologies, my lady, for not waiting inside,” Jackson said. “But I could not see myself surrounded by so many redcoats.”

“I understand. What is it?”

“I may have found our contact. Can you take your leave now?”

Nicole started down the lane. “Yes, I have no intention of entering that place again.”

He led her to an empty carriage near the main entrance and then opened and held the door for her. “I have bribed the driver to let me take you from here. I fear your reputation may suffer as a result. He thinks you—he believes you may be headed for an illicit assignation.”

“Never mind that. Time is slipping by us!”

“Softly, my lady. Softly.” Jackson shut her door and climbed up. Gripping the reins, he clicked the horses into motion. Nicole resisted the urge to lean out the window and tell him to race to wherever it was they were going. She had to trust him. She had no other choice. Even so, the man’s pace was maddeningly slow. She could almost hear the seconds tick away, and at far faster a pace than the plodding horses.

In a flash she learned the reason for their studied pace. As they passed a narrow lane, a figure rushed up alongside, swung open the carriage door, and leaped aboard. “Well done, my fair lassie! Well done, indeed.”

The carriage rocked precariously under the new passenger’s large frame, with a paunch that threatened to split his shirt. His leer revealed more gaps than yellow teeth. His cheeks bore a week’s stubble, and his eyes glittered. “That’s a fancy bit of fluff you’re wearing, lassie,” he said familiarly.

Nicole drew herself against the far door. “Who are you?”

“Ah now, that’s not a question you need to be asking, is it? The only question you want answering is, ‘What can I do for your fancy Gordon Goodwind?’ ”

The carriage rounded a corner and entered a silent dark square. Instantly Jackson reined in the horses, threw on the brake, and leaped to the ground. He opened the door beside Nicole. Although he didn’t step inside, his proximity gave Nicole the strength to say, “Captain Gordon Goodwind is not—.”

“Ah, so you’ll be taking this risk just because he’s of a good sort, is that it?”

“Precisely so.”

His eyes disappeared into the folds of his face. “A likely tale, that is. But I wasn’t born yesterday. Nor the day before.”

Jackson rapped out, “The lady’s reasons are her own.”

“Aye, true enough. Long as she’s willing to meet my price, she can sing whatever tune she likes.” The glittering eyes traced their way down her dress. “And my price is a high one, I can tell you that.”

“Price for what?” said Nicole sharply.

John Jackson replied, “This man claims to be the assistant messcook for the prison stockade.”

“Where did you find him?”

“In the foulest tavern this side of Blighty,” the cook laughed.

“The guard who helped us this afternoon,” Jackson explained. “He led me there. I owe him for the service.”

Without taking her eyes off the man seated opposite, Nicole removed the pouch from her purse. “Here. Pay him what you must.”

The cook’s eyes darted from Nicole to the pouch and back again. “It’ll be taking more than that for me to risk life and limb,” he said.

“You don’t even know how much it is.”

“It’s not enough, I can tell you that.” He lifted one grimy finger and pointed to the emerald pendant hanging around her neck. “That bauble there, now, and three pouches stuffed to the gullets with finest King Georgies. That should see me just fine.”

“Are you mad!” Jackson exploded.

“Aye, that may well be. Mad enough to help yon lassie slip her fancy man past a stockade guard.”

Nicole saw John Jackson stiffen with rage. “Wait. Please.” To the cook she said, “Your price is absurdly high, sir.”

“I’m no sir, lass. But I know what I want.” He jerked a thumb out the window. “I want quit of all this. I want enough to see me set up with land and a farm of my very own. And either you’re my ticket, or I’ll be walking back to join my maties and have myself another mug.”

“It is too high,” Nicole insisted, while at the same time forcing herself to remain steady and calm. “For just the one man.”

This was clearly not what the cook expected. “Eh, what’s that?”

“I agree to meet your price. But only if you bring out not just Captain Goodwind but all his men as well.”

“All—?”

“Ten sailors plus Gordon. They are set to be lashed and press-ganged. Gordon will want them to be saved from that fate.” She could hardly believe the calm she was hearing in her own voice. “Do that and I shall not pay you three sacks of sovereigns but five.”

The cook was no longer smiling. “And the bauble there?”

“This emerald pendant, yes. Five sacks of gold sovereigns plus my necklace. Do we have an agreement?”

His eyes shifted from one face to the other. “How do I know you’ll pay what you owe?”

Chapter 29

The camp had finally settled and the air grew quiet, yet Gordon remained once more awake. Other than at mealtime, there was little activity around him. Feeling perpetually worn down had more to do with his confinement than anything else—that and the weariness which comes from never being truly warm or dry or fed. Through the barred window and door, Gordon could hear groans of men wrestling with the elusiveness of sleep.