Embrace of the Enemy (Winds of Betrayal) (18 page)

“The fault lies with many, Mrs. Corbett, including myself. I’m afraid. Too slow in getting her out,” he sighed. “But I don’t want the same to happen here. We need to hurry.”

She looked at him questioningly. “You feel we’re in danger?”

He didn’t waste time with niceties. “Yes. I’m afraid so. The source gave what we consider reliable information,” he said. “Gannon is preparing to take Catherine and the child away and dispose of all others in his path. And I feel you’ll soon find, if you stay, preparation to evacuate to the city may become necessary. If the British come, military rule is harsh, especially one with Patriotic connections such as yours.”

“I don’t know if we can. Catherine…I don’t know,” Lydia started. Her mind raced.

“There isn’t another option here, ma’am. Many reasons I could give you, but you’ll be leaving with Catherine and the babe, I can assure you.”

“Oh, Mr. Lanson, it’s not little William nor I, whom would have trouble leaving. It’s Catherine,” Lydia remarked with a tone that indicated an aversion to the lady. “I don’t wish to speak ill of my own family, but if she wishes to stay my advice would be to leave her.”

* * * *

Lanson watched from his seat as Catherine made a grand entrance down the spiral staircase. Upon word a visitor had come it had taken her over an hour to prepare. Lanson sat as patiently as he could. Lydia had already requested to begin packing, as light as possible, which in itself could be an issue with Catherine he understood.

An aggravation grew within him
while he sat. The woman sitting across from him could easily relay the news to Catherine. He could now be helping make ready for departure, but Lydia held firm that the responsibility lay upon him to tell Catherine.

He
stood when Catherine entered the drawing room and made her way over to the high-backed armchair. Seating herself, as would royalty, her beautiful blonde hair flowed along her shoulders giving her an anguished look.

Lydia sat across from Lanson with a
knowing look. Her words in the garden reflected in her eyes.
No one has suffered as has Catherine. Her poor father banished to New York. Her husband out in the wilderness bound to be shot. Pray, how can one be so tortured? Woe is poor Catherine.

Lydia
made her face. For a brief second, Lanson fought the impulse to laugh. Instead he greeted Catherine with a smile. Before a word could be spoken, the young babe came wobbling in, taking unsteady steps with Mary close behind.

“Ma-ma, Ma-ma,” the little one uttered, smiling
with proud of his accomplishment. The problem lay in the direction he traveled. He stretched his arms to Lydia, who bent down and brought him up upon her lap.

Catherine sighed as if it took all her energy. “My pain I can’t describe. My own child doesn’t even know his mother.”

“Babies call everyone Mama or Papa, Catherine. He knows you’re his mother,” Lydia said, impatiently without looking over at her.

Lanson sensed the tension between the two. Ignoring it, he turned to Catherine. “Mrs. Corbett, you may remember I have visited your husband before.”

“You’ve news of Jonathan. He’s coming home?” Her face lit up upon the mention of his name.

“No, no, Mrs. Corbett. I’ve come to take you to
Williamsburg or wherever we deem safe for you and your family,” he replied.

A look of panic flooded Catherine’s face. “Leave? I could never do such!”

“I’m sorry. Mrs. Corbett, but you have no choice. Dr. Corbett wants you and your child safe. There’s a distinct possibility that the British have plans to invade. He wouldn’t want you to stay,” he said, not mentioning her father.

Indignant,
Catherine stood. “I can’t leave without first corresponding with my father. The British aren’t a problem to me, sir! My father will well look after me.”

“Mrs. Corbett, your husband is concerned for your safety. Is that not enough reason to leave? If you excuse me, your father is a wanted man whom I’m confident Jonathan would feel better if you were well away from him and went to
Williamsburg,” Lanson tried to reason. He glanced over at Lydia now well understanding why she deemed it best for him to utter the request to withdraw back to Williamsburg.

“Don’t talk
about my father in that manner! He was falsely accused. Everyone was jealous of him. If not for that horrible sister of Jonathan’s, my father would still be by my side. Her betrayal of my father led to all my misery, but he’ll make her pay for that betrayal. She’ll rue the day she spoke ill of my father!” Catherine screamed. Her hair flying around her face; her eyes wild. The baby started screaming.

Mary needed no prodding to exit quickly
with the confused baby. The room fell silent. Lydia’s eyes flashed with anger. Her chest heaved as she stepped toward Catherine and grabbed her shoulders. “Repeat what you said. What do you know aobut Hannah?”

Catherine shoved Lydia back. “You don’t know everything. I have had it with the way you look down on me.” Venomous hatred spewed forth.  “I’m the mistress of this house. You don’t know your place.”

“What place is that, Catherine? Waiting upon your every selfish whim. Catering to your every word. Taking care of a child you have had absolutely no interest in, only your poor selfish needs.”

Catherine lunged at
Lydia, slapping her across the face. Lydia jerked Catherine’s hair. Catherine leaned forward causing both to fall upon the floor. Lanson separated the two and helped both to their feet. Lydia’s face scratched; both in a state of disarray, dresses rumpled, hair disarranged.

Standing in-between the two with
outstretched hands, he turned to Catherine. Breathing heavy, she jerked back away from Lanson.

“I’m afraid I have to concur with Mrs. Corbett. What have you done?”

Her eyes scanned over Lanson. “Who are you to question me? I told my father what I heard you tell Jonathan before he left. It was Hannah, wasn’t it, that said my father was a traitor?”

“Catherine
, no! How could you?” Lydia managed to utter astonished. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

From behind them all a voice emerged. “Dear sister,
I believe it would have been better to have remained silent, but I see you have been unable to do so.”

Lanson pivoted around, only to find himself staring down the end of a
pistol. Stephen stood along side of two armed associates. He shook his head at the sight and gestured to Lanson and Lydia. “Have a seat. You won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

The two associates patted Lanson down, taking his flintlock and knife he concealed within his boot. They pushed him back down against
Lydia.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you take Catherine or the child, my friends. Father is already much out of sorts,” Stephen said. He stared momentarily at the two. A moment of uncertainty passed in the man’s eyes. 

“They were scaring me, Stephen,” Catherine cried.

“Scaring you? Wait until Jonathan finds out what you have done?”
Lydia shouted at Catherine.

A befuddled look passed over Catherine. “Why would Jonathan be upset I am with Father? He knows Father will look after me until he comes for me. Jonathan loves me.”

“Will he? When he discovers you betrayed his beloved sister? How could you do such to your husband, who already suffered from your father’s hand? You do realize he caused Jonathan’s father’s death and my husband, his brother? We opened our home to you. No, dear Catherine. Love you? Jonathan will hate the ground upon which you walk,” Lydia’s eyes blazed with anger.

“Shut her up, Stephen. Jonathan will understand. He always understands. He loves me,” Catherine rambled.

“Ha!” Lydia forced a laugh. “You’re obviously not right in the head if you ever think Jonathan will ever love you again.”

“Shut up! You lie! Lie,” Catherine cried. Stephen had to restrain her from physically attacking
Lydia once more. He gestured to the men to take the two. “Throw them in the cellar for now. We need time to decide the right course of action.”

Roughly, they grabbed the pair. From the corner of his eyes, Lanson saw Stephen comfort Catherine, who cried in lamentation.

“Jonathan won’t be mad with me, will he Stephen?”

“Of course not, Catherine. He loves you,” he replied to his sister attempting to soothe her, but his eyes told a different story.

* * * *

The cellar door opened wide and the pair
was thrown down the stairs. Lanson, first, followed by Lydia who fell into him. The door closed soundly. They heard a lock and were left within the darkness.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Corbett?” Lanson asked
. He attempted to stand, blindly searching for her hand to help her up.

“No, I’m not,”
Lydia said. Her feet could feel the cold damp of the dirt floor beneath them. “What are we to do?”

He said nothing
while he searched the confines, fumbling in the darkness. He moved around the small area and came back empty handed. “There’s not another way out except through the door, I’m afraid,” he stated simply taking a seat beside Lydia on the cellar steps.

“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”
Lydia said more as a statement than a question.

“I believe they’ll try.”

“Catherine is mad, you know. There’s not a clear thought in her head. At one time I believe I was jealous of her. She kept complaining of her problems in which I would have loved to switch with her. Her husband and child are very much alive. She doesn’t even know what true suffering is, but she doesn’t have a grasp on reality. My patience for her ran quite thin after Jonathan left.”

“I can see that her thinking isn’t sensible. What could have pushed her to become that way?”

“Although since I’ve known her, she has always had a selfish streak within her, I don’t believe it was nearly as bad as after the birth of William. In truth, she seemed a different person. She’s right about one thing, though. Jonathan does love her. I feel for Jonathan. Will he ever know what they’ve done?” she asked.

“Mrs. Corbett,” Lanson began.

“Lydia, please,” she interrupted.

“And mine is Peter. I don’t believe he’ll have time to comprehend the situation. They’ll arrange his demise, also, if we don’t get out of here.”

“Why? Catherine is attached to Jonathan as she is to her father.”

“When they confiscated Gannon’s property, they gave it to Jonathan, which in turn would go to his son upon his death. Jonathan is a wealthy man, as you know. Gannon has already managed to steal Hannah’s inheritance.”

“He never did,” Lydia exclaimed, but comprehension dawned upon her. “Gabriel knew, didn’t he? Don’t answer. Of course he did, and that was why Jonathan hates him so now. I would have never believed. I thought Gabriel well infatuated with Hannah. They grew up together, the three of them. And he left her there in New York! That would be why he wouldn’t even look my way when we encountered each other shortly after he married. Oh, the coward!”

“I believe money was one motivation,” Lanson said, not concerned with that issue at the moment. He rubbed his forehead. His head pounded with his mind upon Gannon. Hannah would have had much to make her nervous when Gannon appeared. Gannon knew well and he let her know. He was certain he pressed for her arrest. He turned back to
Lydia. “I’m sorry to have thrown you in the mist of this, Lydia. You don’t deserve this.”

“Don’t worry about me, Peter. I’m not afraid of death,” she said simply.

“You’re young and have much in front of you,” he responded softly.

“No, I haven’t felt that way since I laid my Emily within the ground. After the news of William, I clung to the hope of the child, but she too was called away. I have endured, Mr…, Peter, but not lived,” her voice trailed off.

“I disagree with you. I have seen you with the small one.”

She chose not to continue the course of the conversation for the pain lay still within her. She diverted it into another direction. “Don’t you have any family of your own?”

“No, I never felt the push. Too busy. I have a sister in Baltimore who has quite a brood. I do get to see her occasionally. Her husband serves within the Continental army.”

Hours passed and Lanson soon lost track. He sat thinking of the defensive he could use.
Lydia leaned against him. It had been a long time since he had held a woman.  

A sound, a small noise, disturbed the quiet. Again it came. A scratching noise from the door, a meek voice called to those within. “Mistress Corbett? Mistress Corbett?”

“Mary! Mary, thank God,” Lydia cried. “Can you get us out?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. They done gone, but I ain’t for sure how long. It’s locked. They sent eve’body away. One man don gone an’ took your horse, Mister. They told me to stay with Billy.

“One said, ‘Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. She’s a dumb black wench.’ I said to myself, I did. I show ‘em, I will. As soon as ‘em left, I locked Mistress Catherine’s door. She’s lyin down ‘cause I don’t want her out bothering Mister Billy, you know. But now I don’t know what to do. I don’t.”