Whispers from the Shadows (10 page)

He smoothed out the missive, tucked it into his pocket in case it contained any information that would aid him in his search, and then reached for the one from Mrs. Fairchild too. When he found his lady, she would appreciate the connection to her parents.

He pivoted to face Gates, who was raising the paneling back into its place under the seat. “It seems we have a voyage for which to pack. I trust with your connections that you can attain us passage to Maryland?”

The older man straightened and smoothed his great coat back into place. “There is a supply ship sailing to the Chesapeake with tomorrow's tide. Meet me at the Black Cauldron Inn at dawn.”

Eight

G
wyneth stood immobile upon the step, shielding her eyes against the merciless sun overhead. Midday. But
which
day? The same one she had seen briefly at the
secretaire
after her night of drawing? The next? The next week? She could remember only snatches after Thad smoothed back her hair. Voices echoing, a gentle touch that felt like Mama. The familiar clucking of Mrs. Wesley.

The nightmares. Cruel and dark, with vicious teeth and hurtful
words.

She shuddered, wishing for a shawl to wrap around herself in spite of the heat that hung heavy and damp.

A bath had done wonders for Gwyneth's mental clarity, but she hadn't wanted to ask Rosie what day it was. Not when the woman already looked at her as if she might shatter with one wrong move. No, better to find those answers herself without alarming anyone.

Hanging from one of the tree's limbs was a swing, no doubt there for Captain Arnaud's little boy. What was his name? She strolled along the path toward the large maple. Jack, that was it.

Jack surely wouldn't mind if she borrowed his toy for a few minutes since he was nowhere in sight. She brushed a few stray twigs and leaves from the wooden seat, mindful of the fact that her dress was her usual white muslin, easily soiled. Sitting down, she squeezed her eyes shut.

She ought to be in black. These last weeks ought to have been spent agonizing over whether to expend the cost on a specially made mourning gown or to dye an old one and broaden the hem. She ought to have been surrounded by the uncles and aunts who would be grieving her father, perhaps disappearing to Fairmonte for a respite with Papa's brother and his family.

But thoughts of uncles sent a shiver up her spine and made her throat close off. She had thought them so close, her father and Uncle Gates. He was the one who most often visited, whose wife had seemed the most affected by Mama's passing. And with no children of his own…

A sob heaved up and was caught. She swallowed it down. He did not care for them as she had thought. Not her, perhaps not even Mama. Certainly not Papa…

“Papa. Oh, Papa. I love you so.”

The wind snatched her whisper and took it over the roof, over the city. Perhaps all the way up to heaven.

With one toe on the ground, her hands wrapped around the rough rope, she gave herself a little push. She closed her eyes as the air caressed her hot cheeks and pretended she was a child again at Grandpapa's country house. That the whiff of roses was Mama strolling her way.

“Oh, good. You are awake.”

The voice, feminine and melodic, brought her eyes open. Only
when she spotted the strikingly beautiful woman coming through the back gate did she recognize it as belonging to Philly. Though dressed more casually than when in the library, she looked no less lovely now in simple pale yellow. And absent that panic in her eyes that came from a bubbling beaker.

Gwyneth offered a smile and put her foot down to stop herself so she might stand to greet the newcomer properly.

Philly waved her on. “No need to halt for my sake. I often sneak back here myself.” She leaned against the maple, not seeming the slightest bit concerned for how the rough bark might affect her fine dress. “Have you settled in?”

The very word seemed foreign. Her world had begun rocking long before she stepped foot on the
Scribe
, and she didn't anticipate it settling any time soon. How could it, when her anchors were gone? Her smile no doubt went feeble. “Everyone has been very welcoming.”

“Ah.” The way the woman blinked gave Gwyneth the impression that she heard far more than her answer. She raised her arm and took a book from the basket dangling from it. “I brought you something.”

Gwyneth reached for it. From the wear on the binding, it seemed to be a well-loved tome. “
Charlotte Temple
. Why was I expecting some scientific treatise?”

Philly laughed. And no dainty society laugh for her, nay. She tossed her head back and let it come from deep within. “I learned long ago not to foist those on unsuspecting guests. Have you read Mrs. Rowson's work?”

“I have not. A cautionary tale, correct?”

Philly laughed again. “If you ask those who enjoy it, yes. If you ask its critics, it is naught but a seduction novel.”

Chuckling, Gwyneth flipped open the cover and then drew in a startled breath at the familiar script on the endpaper. Mama's hand, wishing Philly a felicitous birthday. “I did not realize…”

“Mmm.” Philly moved behind her and gripped the ropes of the swing. She pulled Gwyneth back and let her go. “Strange, is it not, to consider how people from such different places can be connected? Both my parents came from largely Loyalist families, and my uncle inherited an estate in England after serving in the British army during the Revolution. We have been working to reconcile the rift all my life, yet here we are at war again.”

Gwyneth traced a finger over the inscription, its ink faded to brown. She scarcely noticed the gentle forward-and-back motion of the swing. “I had forgotten that. But it is how my father came to know your parents, is it not? In New York.”

“Indeed. Mama and your father…” Philly cleared her throat.

Half a smile found its way onto her lips. “I know the story. He was courting her until your father won her away, but they remained friends, all of them, even when it came out that your parents were Patriots.”

“They say it is a testament to your father's noble heart.”

Gwyneth's eyes shut again as she felt the earth sway. “I miss him.”

“I imagine.” Soft hands settled on her back when she swung back and pushed her forward again. “I miss my parents when I do not see them often, and Annapolis is near enough that I can visit them whenever I please. It must be much worse for you, being an ocean away.”

An eternity away. Gwyneth gripped the book until her knuckles ached. “And you have your brother here. That is surely a comfort.”

Philly chuckled. “For most of the last decade he was at sea far more than he was home. A regular swashbuckler was our Thad, able to find adventure where a sane person would see none.”

An image took shape behind her eyes of Thaddeus Lane with his boots planted on a ship's deck, his hands gripping the wheel, an adventurous smile upon his lips. Strange how quickly the picture formed, and how it made her fingers itch for a pencil.

She flexed them, and the cloth cover of the book stole her attention again, reminding her of her mother. Papa had not been a sailor, but he too had been gone frequently on campaign. The separations had never been easy. “How long was he married?”

Perhaps it was too personal a question, but she would rather ask it of his sister than of him.

Philly sighed and gave her another soft push. “Only eight months, and he did not leave her side during it except for a week now and then on a quick run up the coast. Peggy was dying already when they wed. It was, in fact, largely
why
they wed, so he could care for her. She had no one else and no income.”

A noble act…and yet so very sad. “They obviously had no children, then.”

Philly cleared her throat. “She was with child when she died. 'Tis a topic still quite sore, so we avoid mentioning it.”

“Did it happen recently?”

“Two years ago.” A blustery sigh sounded from behind her. “It was a difficult time all round. Alain was thought to be dead, we lost Peggy, one of Reggie's cousins was impressed, stolen right from the Virginia shore, I lost another babe…and then the war.”

Gwyneth nodded. Two years ago had been difficult for them too, what with Mama's sickness coming upon her and Papa still in France.

“But there was good too. Grandmama Caro finally agreed to come live with me and Reggie.”

The smile was so bright in Philly's voice that Gwyneth felt her lips tug upward in response. “You are close with your grandmother?”

“Very. I ought to have been named after her, but when Papa told her their intentions, she insisted they name me after my mother's grandmother instead, in an attempt to heal the relationship there.” Something in her voice as she said it…

“Did it work?”

Philly emitted an unamused laugh. “Not a whit. Grandmother Phillippa never would have anything to do with us. But we tried.”

A hum filled Gwyneth's throat. Her family had had its breaks too, but the biggest rifts had already been healed by the time she was born.

Her eyes became unfocused, her vision doubled, and she had to clutch at the rope to keep from toppling off the swing. Perhaps her grandparents' separation
hadn't
been the biggest rift. There was obviously hidden strife between Papa and Uncle Gates. Hidden, vicious strife. Devouring hatred.

“Speaking of Grandmama Caro, she mentioned a craving for an apple pie, and I have already used the last of my apples. I thought perhaps Thad has some stashed in the cellar.”

Gwyneth drew in a long breath and blinked until her vision returned to normal. Apples. Pie. Normal, everyday life. Strange how it could continue on an upside-down world. “Your brother is out, and Rosie mentioned needing to run a few errands as well. I am not certain if she has left yet.”

Philly chuckled. “That man is never at home when I come by.”

Gwyneth frowned and fastened her gaze upon the swaying house, searching her mind for more information on where Thad had gone.
All she came up with was the question of how she even knew he was out. To be sure, she hadn't seen him since she rose an hour ago, but she had come straight from her room to the garden. She hadn't searched for him. Still, she was certain he was away. As certain as she was of anything else these days.

“Well, I will see if I can catch Rosie. Or else I shall check the cellar myself.”

Philly stepped away from the swing, and Gwyneth let her toes drag until she slowed to a halt. Perhaps she would read
Charlotte Temple
for a while. Or, better still, get out her paints. She had wanted to paint, hadn't she? Something niggled in the back of her mind. Something particular. Something…perhaps a more complete version of something she had already sketched?

She stood, her brows pulled down. What had she even sketched? And what was wrong with her, that she could not remember something so basic? She recalled the pencil in her hands and that intense concentration Mama had called her muse. The crick in her neck from being too long hunched over the desk. That burning need to join line to curve and shade to light. And the startling realization that night had passed and morning had come along with Thad.

His fingers on her forehead, brushing through her hair.

Her cheeks burned. His image filled her mind's eye. Those yellow-topaz eyes, looking at her with the same focus she gave her art.

Did he really distrust her? Think her so ignoble that she could be here to spy?

“Are you all right, Gwyneth?” Opening her eyes, she saw that Philly had walked to the door but stood in the threshold, waiting. “You look flushed. Perhaps you ought to avoid the midday sun until you have acclimated to the heat.”

The mere mention of it made her realize how heavy and humid the air hung. Yet the thought of going back inside… She had scarcely seen the sun for two months, being always closeted below deck on the
Scribe
under the fearful watch of the Wesleys.

But she needed a bite to eat, or at least something to drink. She could take it by an open window, perhaps, and enjoy both sunshine and breeze. She smiled at Philly and followed her in.

Mrs. Lane emerged from the library when she heard them enter. She embraced her daughter and then grasped Gwyneth's hand. “Up
already? I had hoped you would rest more than a few hours.”

No lost day, then. Gwyneth smiled and realized it must have been Mrs. Lane who helped her up to bed that morning. Hers was the touch that felt like Mama's. “I suspect it will take some time to adjust. But I feel better than I did on the ships. Clearer.” Mostly.

“Good.” Mrs. Lane looked as though she would say more, but the sound of the front door interrupted her.

Thad charged around the corner, so fast that they surely would have collided had Mrs. Lane not pulled them to the side. “Thaddeus! Did I not teach you against running in the house?”

He grinned and doffed his hat. “You always said no running in
your
house. This one is mine.”

Laughter sparkled in her eyes, though her lips remained straight. “But I am in its halls and in danger of being bowled over. Have a care.”

“Yes, Mother. Sorry, Mother.” Looking as though he would rather laugh than play the part of meek son, he nevertheless leaned over to plant a kiss on his mother's cheek. Then he turned his probing gaze on Gwyneth and frowned. “Shouldn't you be sleeping?”

“She is not an owl, Thad.” Philly turned toward the kitchen. “Have you any apples for Grandmama Caro?”

Thad pursed his lips, his gaze still on Gwyneth. “You were asleep when I left an hour ago, at least. You had to have gotten five hours.”

He had left only an hour ago? That was when she had awoken. Perhaps she had heard him leave and that was what roused her. It would account for that insistence in the back of her mind that he was not at home.