Whispers from the Shadows (24 page)

“Your mother.” She paused to draw in a long breath and tilted her head back so she might look at him. “A group of men rushed by and knocked her down. She has injured her ankle. Can you bring the carriage?”

Mother, hurt? He wove her arm through his and led her toward the vehicle. “Of course. Is it bad?” It must be for Mother to admit to the need for assistance.

“She would not say for Jack's sake, but it must pain her a good deal or she never would have asked me to come for you.”

“How well you know her already.” He hurried them around a corner and signaled to Henry, who was even then emerging from a warehouse. “Where are she and Jack?”

“Ah.” Though her feet didn't slow, her face reflected a pause. “Some…I believe…a haberdasher. The one…that is…I am not sure of the direction.”

Thad pulled open the door to the carriage and helped her up. “And how did you find me if you didn't know the way?”

Eyes wide, she sat upon the cushion and untied the ribbon that had kept her bonnet from flying off. Then she shrugged in such a way that made him want to gather her close and laugh.

He settled for a smile as he climbed up behind her and pulled the door tight. “The one beside the stationer's?”

The shake of her head was decisive. No doubt she would have paid close attention had she been near her beloved paper. “No, it was near the chandler's.”

“Ah.” He opened the window enough to stick his head out into the gusting rain. “Henry, could you take us to Mortimer's Haberdashery? Mother hurt her ankle.”

Henry was even then vaulting to his place upon the box. “Sure
thing, Captain. Won't take but a few minutes.”

Settling back down, he shut out the rain and turned to Gwyneth, who had already managed to repin her hair and put her bonnet back on, much to his dismay. She offered him a tight smile. “Have I met Henry's wife yet? I cannot recall.”

“You would, if you had.” A breath of amusement slipped its way into the statement.

Gwyneth's brows lifted. “Why is that? Has she three noses?”

“Right on the first try.” Had Emmy heard him say so, she would have delivered a sound smack to the back of his head. And had her husband heard him…Henry would only laugh and tell him to say it again when she could hear. Which he would be happy to do, to see that fire of temper leap into her eyes. She had always been as fun to torment as Philly and Amelia.

Gwyneth lifted her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. Though the gleam soon dimmed to worry. “I do hope your mother isn't too hurt.”

He looked down at their interwoven fingers. When had he reached for her hand? Or had she reached for his? Hard to say, given how comfortable her fingers felt around his, as if they belonged so always. “I assume Jack stayed with her?”

She nodded, her gaze falling too to their joined hands before lifting to his face again. “Do you…” Tugging her fingers free, she cleared her throat. “Do you see your nieces and nephews much? Amelia's children, I mean? Obviously not as much as you do Jack, whom you obviously think of in much the same way.”

“Much the same, yes.” Though not exactly. A complexity he was not about to explain during a five-minute carriage ride. He leaned back and studied her. Did she ask merely to have something about which to talk? Or was she genuinely curious? “But I haven't seen Amelia and Jacob's family nearly so much as I would like since the war began.”

Her eyes went unfocused, as if seeing far beyond the carriage wall behind him. “War makes so many things uncertain. Never knowing when or where one may be needed.”

Perhaps it was her father's face she saw now, or the image of him striding away in his red coat, bound for France or wherever else he had been sent through the years. Wondering if he would return. Thad cleared his throat. “I was extraordinarily blessed to have parents who
never traveled without us for more than a week at a time. And who, even in wartime, stay close.”

Her gaze went sharp again, and teasing. “Though the same cannot be said for their son, who, I'm told, has a knack for finding adventure where a sane person would see none.”

Philly. He smiled and shook his head. “My sister exaggerates. We are at war, yet I am at home more than ever. A complete reversal of what one would expect from an adventure-seeker.”

“Because you have a purpose too important for your leaders to risk your life in battle.” A battle which seemed to be waged now across her countenance. Her inborn hatred of what he was, fighting against who she knew him to be; her liking of him pitted against her loyalty to her nation. Then as quickly as the weapons flashed through her eyes, they stilled. And she looked to that place beyond him again. “Do you know what Papa called this war?”

Quite a few words filled Thad's mind to describe it, but he didn't know the general well enough to guess at his choice. “Pointless, perhaps? Vengeful? A meaningless drain on British resources?”

She permitted a brief twitch of her lips and then schooled her features into a pleasant expression. “Foolish.” A smile half won its place, and she loosed a long breath. “I had forgotten that, but…he had been quite vocal about it being a drain on the French campaign, with which plenty agreed. But then when Napoleon surrendered and someone said something about it freeing the troops to be sent here… He always had England's best interest at heart, but he thought this war a mistake.”

His throat went dry. “He said this in public?”

She nodded.

He gripped the cushion's edge. “And now your uncle has announced they suspect an American spy murdered him, thereby turning against us any voices who would have been swayed toward your father's way of thinking.”

For a moment Gwyneth moved her mouth as if about to speak, yet no words emerged. She just stared at him, agape, a million possibilities rampaging through her eyes.

Thad slid over to the place beside her and touched her hand. She sucked in a breath and blinked as she met his gaze. “I never…I never really paused to consider his opinion on it, what with Mama…But looking back now…He wanted this war to be over. He thought it
stupid and vain. And Uncle Gates was loudly in favor of it. They debated it often. What Papa said that day, about destroying two nations with his greed…they must have been speaking of the war.”

He would have liked to smooth away the furrow in her brow, but he suspected he had a matching one in his own. “What could greed have to do with it?”

Her hand turned over under his, and her fingers found their place around his own. Given the contemplation saturating her face, he had a feeling she had no idea she had made such a move. “I am aware that men aplenty profit from war, but he is well enough positioned. His mother's estates went to him. He had no need to sully himself with trade.”

Thad pressed his lips against a smile. “What a relief. A tarnish a man could never live down.”

Her snapping gaze came his way, the smile she wore so mischievous he nearly kissed her then and there. “Not in a civilized land.”

“Uncivilized, am I? And here I thought my hospitality and civility worthy of the Prince Regent himself.”

Her laughter filled the carriage, brightened it, and seemed to bring the sun through the clouds. “Nay, it is far too temperate and well considered.”

What was he to do but lift her fingers and kiss them? “I know not how I can suffer such an insult.”

Mirth fading to a smile, she shook her head. Her gaze tangled with his. “Thad, when you told me about your…Culpers. When I considered that I was apparently on your side, I knew not how to reconcile that with who I knew Papa to be.”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles, a seal upon the kiss. “But?”

“But Papa thought this war a mark against England. He wanted it over and he wanted my uncle stopped. Somehow those two are linked. So whatever I can do, know that I will do it.”

For her father, and perhaps also for England. He nodded because in this case it would also be for them, for
his
homeland. A war like this could benefit neither nation. All it could do was wear down both until there was little left worth the fight. “Your assistance I accept most gratefully, my lady.”

As Henry pulled the team to a halt, she sent him an arched glance. “Just do not expect me to play at espionage with you, Thaddeus. I
will not do it.”

“I would never ask it.” Not, at least, until she volunteered.

He opened the door, jumped out, and reached up to help her. As his hands circled her waist, a tongue of lightning streaked across the heavens, and a peal of thunder rolled over the city, loud enough to shake the windows.

And Gwyneth, nymph that she was today, looked up at the sky with a smile. Thad put her feet upon the ground and drew her closer than he ought. “You want to play in it, don't you?”

“I have not dared since I was a child, but there is nothing in the world like it.”

He chuckled and led her toward Mortimer's. “Come, my Miranda. Let us see to Mother first, and then you can frolic in Prospero's storm.”

She took a step away and grinned at him over her shoulder. “You know Shakespeare. Impressive, for an uncivilized savage.”

Oh, was she lucky that Jack was even now pulling open the door for them, or he would have…

“Uncle Thad, Grandmama has a stained ankle.” Jack tossed himself at Thad's waist with his usual faith that he would be caught.

Thad swept the boy up. “I daresay you mean ‘sprained,' matey.”

Mother's face bore lines of distress, but her cheeks had good color, and her smile wavered only slightly. “My best guess. It is swelling and throbbing, but the pain has ebbed a great deal already. Your father will wrap it tight for me, and I shall be up and about again in a few days' time.”

Thad didn't dare argue, knowing her as well as he did. She would be up and about, even if it required a crutch. He gave Jack's back a pat. “Go to Gwyn for a few minutes. I must carry Grandmama to the carriage.”

The fidgety Mr. Mortimer shifted, drawing Thad's attention to where he stood a few feet away. “Need you any assistance, Lane?”

“With the door, if you please. I do appreciate it, Morty.” He passed Jack to Gwyneth so he would not be underfoot. As he leaned down to his mother and slid his arms around her back and under her legs, he whispered, “Are you all right, Mum?”

Her arm encircled his neck, and she offered him a reassuring smile. “I did not want to alarm Jack, though it was quite debilitating at first. It still hurts, but it really has gotten better since Gwyn went
for you.”

“Good.” He lifted her and turned toward the door. “Father is going to fret something fierce, you know.”

Mother breathed a low chuckle and tightened her grip on him as he started forward. Then she hummed. “No wonder Jack climbs you and your father as if you are trees. You have a lovely vantage point from up here.”

Leave it to her to notice such things when injured. “I think so. 'Tis why I decided to grow so tall, after all.”

“Wise of you indeed.”

Grinning, he maneuvered her carefully out the door, nodded a thanks to Mr. Mortimer, and eased his mother into the carriage door that Henry held open, battling the wind to do so. A few passersby paused to offer assistance, but he assured them he had matters well in hand.

Next he reached for Jack from Gwyneth's arms. She relinquished him with a lopsided smile. “Is there anyone in the whole city of Baltimore with whom you are not acquainted, Thad?”

He settled the boy beside Mother and then pasted a thoughtful look on his face when he turned back to her. “Possibly. Though if so, I don't know who it would be.”

“Clever, aren't you.” She accepted his proffered hand and settled inside.

Thad turned to Henry. “Sorry about the weather, old man.”

“You know I don't mind, Captain.” He nodded toward the opening. “‘Specially if it's for your saint of a mother. Now get on in so's we can get goin'.”

“Aye, aye.” He ducked and climbed in, giving himself a mental pat on the back for arranging the seating so that he had no choice but to be beside Gwyneth. Though his smile he aimed at his mother, tapping a hand upon his knee. “Allow me to be your footstool.”

It took only a few minutes for them to arrive home, for Thad to help her up to her room, and for Father to begin hovering, insisting she lie still, that she turn her foot just so, that she tell him exactly
how
it hurt, that she conjure up the names of who caused the mishap so he might devise a formula with which to torment them…

Thad shook his head and wandered to the window while Father wound a bandage round Mother's foot and ankle. Gwyneth had said something about seeing that Jack was put down for his nap, and she
must have succeeded in record time. For there she was in his backyard, circling around on the swing with her face tipped up to receive the drenching summer rain, her hair a river of burnished gold.

Oh, to be able to join her in the downpour without the fear that doing so would send her running back inside. To give the swing a twirl and hear the laughter sure to echo, to catch it again and threaten not to let go until she gave him a kiss. To chase her around the tree when she playfully escaped him. To catch hold of her, pull her close, and taste the rain upon her lips.

Thunder and turf, he had better go put himself to work. He spun toward the door—and collided with two amused, far too knowing gazes from his parents, who regarded him as if he were a child who had just, finally, learned how to add two and two. He groaned and held up his hands. “Don't look at me like that, prithee.”

Mother grasped Father's hand. Probably as much to keep him from fussing with the bandage again as because she was really so moved by the love-struck gleam she must have detected in Thad's eyes. “Come now, Thaddeus. We have been waiting thirty years to look at you like this. Do not deprive us of the joy.”