Stranger in Williamsburg Read online

  That wasn’t the way Nate had described it to Pa, Sarah recalled. “The Revolution is in the hearts of the people!” he had said. “Only God could stop it now, and He fights on our side!” But Sarah said nothing. She really didn’t know enough about it to argue.

  “I tell you, ma petite, I hate this war!” Gabrielle burst out. “The taverns are nothing but hotbeds of intrigue, of secret plans and whispered threats. And there are no more carefree parties and entertainments, only occasions to gather and talk more war! I do wish sometimes, cherie, that I had gone back to England with Governor Dunmore’s family, and then back to France, where I belong!”

  “Couldn’t you still go?” Sarah asked. “It might be hard to get a ship to England these days, but surely there are some to France.” She held her breath, knowing her heart would break if Gabrielle left Williamsburg, but she couldn’t stand to see her so unhappy.

  “Non, cherie, I cannot,” she answered. “I…I have work to do here. Then, perhaps, when this awful war is over, I will go home.”

  Sarah let out her breath in relief. “I will go back to Kentucky someday, too,” she said. Maybe Gabrielle would be in Williamsburg as long as she was, she thought happily. But could her milliner’s shop be so important that she must stay here when she obviously wanted to leave?

  The tutor stood up. “Enough of this idle chatter,” she said briskly. “Here are the assignments I have written out for you to complete before our next evening session. And I will see you and your cousins tomorrow afternoon.”

  Gabrielle walked Sarah to the door, and Sarah could feel her watching until she had turned the corner onto Nicholson Street. When she glanced back, Gabrielle was walking quickly in the other direction, toward Christiana Campbell’s Tavern.

  Sarah walked slowly toward the Armstrong house, thinking of Gabrielle’s words. What did she mean by her reference to “the chicken coop”? Almost everybody in Williamsburg had a chicken coop, and she had never heard anyone say they didn’t like Gabrielle.

  Oh, well, she thought as she saw Megan sitting on the front stoop, waiting for her, sometimes I just don’t understand Gabrielle.

  “I hate your evening lessons!” Megan blurted as she met Sarah at the gate. “I don’t have anybody to play with when you go to the tootler’s.” Her mouth drew down into a pout.

  Sarah gave the little girl a hug. “Go ask Aunt Charity if you can walk with me now, Meggie,” she suggested. “We’ll go down on the Green and catch fireflies.”

  As she waited, Sarah leaned on the gate, relishing the tangy fragrance of lavender and lemon balm from the flower beds behind the fence, mingled with the scent of wood smoke from the dying supper fires along Nicholson Street. The sun had painted the western horizon a deep rose color, and, in the east, she could see the faint outline of a pale slice of moon, accompanied by the evening star. Then somewhere, off beyond the town’s limits, a whippoorwill called.

  Sarah’s thoughts flew back to the night she, Luke, and Pa had gone to take honey from a bee tree Luke had found in the forest. Suddenly Indians had surrounded them, calling to each other with the borrowed voices of whippoorwills. Since then, the plaintive cry always filled Sarah with dread. She was glad for Megan’s company when the little girl rejoined her.

  They set off down the street in search of fireflies, Megan skipping every other step in her delight at being allowed to go.

  “Sarah, will you be here with me always?” she asked suddenly, taking hold of her hand. “I’ve been thinking. If I missed you so much while you were just down the street at the tootler’s, what would I do if you went away completely? You’re my special friend!”

  Sarah stopped and turned to face her. “Do you hear that whippoorwill, Meggie?” she asked. “There used to be a little brown whippoorwill that sat in the tree outside my bedroom window in Miller’s Forks. I listened for his cry every evening, and it seemed he was telling me secrets no one else could understand. I thought of him as my very special friend, and I grieved over having to leave him when we moved to Kentucky. But you know what?” She swung the little girl’s hand between them as they began to walk again.

  “What?” Megan asked breathlessly.

  “I found another whippoorwill just as special when we got to our new home.” She thought it best not to mention the Indians.

  Megan surprised her with her insight. “I’d never find another special friend like you, Sarah!” she insisted. “And if you went back to Kentucky, I think I would just curl up and die like that old woolly worm over there on that mounting block!”

  Sarah followed the little girl’s pointing finger to where a fuzzy, brown and gold worm lay curled into a ball in the ledge of the block the Peyton Randolph family used to mount their horses.

  “You would not curl up and die, Megan Armstrong!” Sarah said. “You would go on growing up to be a beautiful young lady, and someday you would come visit me and stay as long as you liked.”

  “Could I really, Sarah? Could I visit you in Kentucky? Do you think Ma would let me?” She stopped at the corner of the street to look up into Sarah’s eyes. “Do you really think I will grow up to be beautiful like you, Sarah?”

  Sarah laughed. “Meggie, you will be much more beautiful than I will ever be. In fact, I think you’re beautiful right now, with those big brown eyes like Uncle Ethan’s and that curly hair like Aunt Charity’s. My mother has that curly hair, too and I never had a natural curl in my life! That’s why I wear braids so much. They put a wave in my stick-straight hair.”

  Megan threw both arms round Sarah’s waist and squeezed hard. “I love you, Sarah,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too, Meggie,” Sarah answered, her mind going back to Gabrielle’s sad comment that “those who keep the chicken coop” loved her about as much as they did the fox. What could she have meant?

  “Oh, Sarah, look at all the fireflies! Hurry! Let’s catch some before their lights burn out!”

  Chuckling, Sarah joined her little cousin in a mad chase after the tiny flashing lights.

  Then the militia, in their buff-colored uniforms trimmed in red and blue, came marching down the street, smartly keeping time to the cadence of the drums. For a few moments, the two girls stood at the corner, watching the militia drill on the Palace Green.

  Sarah was surprised to see among them a familiar face. How long would it be before he, too, marched off to war, and John Greenhow’s store would be minus one friendly, freckle-faced clerk?

  This awful war has caused so many good things to end, Sarah thought sadly as she and Megan retraced their steps to the Armstrong house. How many more changes would it bring to their lives before it was over? How long before her brother, Nathan, could come home again? Or would he come home? Would he fall dead somewhere on some far-off battlefield? And Uncle Ethan? How long would it be before he could be home with his family all the time, instead of making short visits every few weeks?

  And what on earth had Gabrielle meant by “those who keep the chicken coop”?

  Chapter 9

  Sarah pushed against the latch of the blue door, but it did not open. She jiggled the latch. It appeared to be locked, but she had never known Gabrielle to lock her door. Of course, it was nearly past the hours of keeping shop.

  “Who’s there?” The voice came from behind the door; it was Gabrielle’s.

  “Gabrielle, it’s me, Sarah. You told me to come back to study this evening. Remember?” She heard the latch slide back, and the door opened slightly.

  “Come in, quickly!” Gabrielle commanded, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside. She pushed the door closed behind her, and slid the latch into place.

  Alarm shot through Sarah. “What’s wrong, Gabrielle? You never lock your door!”

  Gabrielle laughed shakily. “But of course, I do, cherie! You have not been here so late before. It is not good for a young woman to leave her door unlatched at night, not in a town full of rowdy soldiers.”

  Sarah had to agree that the town had been full of militiamen lat
ely. They seemed to drill up and down the streets and on the Palace Green all the time. Even now, in the distance, she could hear the steady beat of their drums and the shrill piping of the flutes.

  “I need to ask a favor of you, Cherie,” Gabrielle said seriously. “A very important favor.”

  “Of course, Gabrielle. You know I will do anything I can for you.” The words echoed through her memory from the day she had overheard the tutor talking with her cousin.

  “My cousin, Alistair, is here again. But alas, someone has spread a nasty story about him so that he cannot come safely to my house. Nor can I be seen with him anywhere, for my own safety.”

  Sarah did not see what this cousin of Gabrielle’s had to do with her. She did not like the Englishman with the cold, pale eyes.

  “I’m sorry your cousin cannot visit you, Mademoiselle,” she said, using one of the new terms they had learned. “But I do not see what that has to do with my lessons this evening. You did want me to come, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, oui, Cherie, of course I did!” she answered quickly. “But I plan to let you go a little early tonight. And when you leave here, I need you to carry a message from me to Alistair.”

  “A message?” Sarah repeated, frowning. Then a feeling of dread came over her. “Gabrielle, you know I would do anything for you, but your cousin is British, and I cannot do anything to aid the British against my uncle and my brother. Please don’t ask me!”

  “Cherie, he is English, oui. But Alistair is a kind, gentle man who fights for no cause. He came to pick up a list of things I need so he could have them shipped to me from Paris. I cannot miss this chance to stock my shelves, Sarah. This awful war makes it so hard to get what I need.” She sighed. “And now he has been caught in the middle of this desperate situation and been branded the espion—the spy!”

  Sarah caught her breath at the ugly word.

  “I assure you, Cherie, it is a lie! Alistair is no more a spy than…than I am! And I cannot let him go without a word from me to show him that I know he is innocent, that I care!” She studied Sarah’s expression, then added, “And, as I said, I need the supplies he can send me.”

  Sarah said nothing. She did not know what to say.

  “Ah, well, if you do not trust me, I will have to find some other way,” Gabrielle said sadly. “But you are about the only real friend I have here, and I….” Sarah was horrified to see her cover her eyes with both hands and begin to sob pitifully, her shoulders shaking under the soft pink silk of her dress.

  “Don’t cry, Gabrielle!” she blurted. “I will help you!” Sarah reached out hesitantly to pat her on the shoulder.

  The woman turned and caught her in a quick embrace. “Oh, merci, Cherie! I knew I could count on you!” She stepped back, smiling now, and Sarah was relieved to see no hint of tears in the bright, dark eyes.

  After Sarah had spent an hour conjugating Latin verbs, Gabrielle interrupted her work. “It is time, Cherie. The evening fades, and Madame Armstrong will want you home before dark.” She shoved a small note, sealed with blue sealing wax, into Sarah’s apron pocket.

  A pang of doubt shot through Sarah, but she pushed it aside. Gabrielle had said he was innocent. What could it hurt to slip the man a list of supplies she needed for her shop? She had a hard time meeting the competition in Williamsburg as it was.

  Gabrielle placed a manicured finger across her lips. “Not a word to anybody, m’amie. It would not do for either of us to be known as associates of my cousin, Alistair, the infamous British spy!” She laughed in the old way, and hugged Sarah. “Be careful, Cherie. I am sure the niece of the Patriot Ethan Armstrong is in no danger from the militiamen. But discretion, as they say, is the better part of valor, is it not?”

  “But where am I to find your cousin, Gabrielle?” Sarah asked, puzzled at the lack of directions.

  Gabrielle gave her a little push toward the front door.”Oh, he will find you, Cherie. Just walk down into the palace gardens, down by the end of the canal. But be careful, and remember, not a word to anyone! I will see you and the Armstrong cousins tomorrow—our contented old tabby cat and our little alley cat, oui?”

  Hesitantly, Sarah opened the door.

  “Oh, wait, Cherie!” Gabrielle exclaimed. “I almost forgot! My tabby cat has a new litter of kittens. Would you like one? They are adorable, but I simply cannot keep them all.” She led Sarah over to the hearth, where the old mother cat lay purring in a basket, with four soft bundles of fur asleep around her.

  Sarah forced her thoughts away from spies and notes, and tried to concentrate on the kittens. She hadn’t had a cat since she’d had to leave Tiger behind with her best friend, Martha Hutchinson, when they had moved to Kentucky. She had cried for days every time she thought of him.

  One of the kittens looked a lot like Tiger, and she reached out to stroke its tiny head with one finger. Would Aunt Charity let her have it?

  Then she had an idea. Megan was lonely these days, and a kitten might be just what she needed to fill the hours while she, Tabitha, and Abigail were with their tutor, or their “tootler,” as Meggie said. She knew her aunt did not encourage pets, but perhaps she would see the advantage of having a cat around to catch mice when they came in from the fields, seeking a winter home in the Armstrong pantry. She could certainly point that out to her, anyway.

  “I’ll have to ask Aunt Charity,” she said.

  “Very well,” Gabrielle said. “I am sure she will understand how badly you want it! Now, go quickly and complete our errand!” she urged.

  As she turned to leave the stoop, Sarah heard the door shut behind her and the latch slide into place. Was there reason for Gabrielle to be so afraid? She hurried down Waller Street and up Nicholson to the Palace Green, where the militiamen were drilling in the fading light. Of course, Hester had taken to locking the doors at night, now, too, with all the strangers roaming around Williamsburg.

  Quickly, Sarah slipped inside the palace gates, and made her way through the sculptured shrubbery. As she was passing the maze, a hand reached out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her inside the dark, leafy tunnel. Before she could loose the scream in her throat, a hand covered her mouth.

  “Do not scream, Sarah,” he breathed in her ear. “It is Alistair.” He removed his hand from her mouth.

  “You nearly scared me to death!” she hissed. “Let me go!”

  “Calm down, little American spitfire,” he ordered, “or I shall be obliged to calm you down.”

  Sarah tried to glare at him, but she knew her efforts were wasted in the dark maze.

  “That’s better,” he said, finally letting go of her wrist. “Now, you have something for me, my dear? Something from my cousin?”

  She fumbled in her apron pocket and pulled out Gabrielle’s note. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Now show me the way out. I can’t breathe in here!”

  He took the paper and stuffed it inside his right stocking. Then he held aside a branch and motioned for her to go before him. Suddenly, just beside the entrance, he froze. Sarah, too, heard the footsteps, then voices.

  “He surely would not come here, Governor,” a man’s voice said.

  “He might, Tom. He’s a bold one. And extremely clever. He would think, just as you said, that we would not expect him to come here, so what better place to hide? Especially in that infernal maze! I can’t find my way through it in broad daylight!”

  Sarah held her breath. Were they looking for Alistair? She turned toward him in panic, but he had vanished like a shadow, without a sound. What if they caught her here? Would they suspect her of contacting him, or would they assume she was just out for her usual walk in the lower gardens? And should she wait here in the maze, hoping they wouldn’t find her, or should she step out boldly, as though she had no hidden purpose? Marcus had promised to speak to the governor for her.

  Swallowing her terror, she was ready to take her chances on Marcus’s influence with Governor Henry when he said, “We will never find him in the dark
, Tom. The man is like a shadow, gliding here and there through the night, never seen. But in a day or so, our armies will feel his evil influence in the knowledge the British have of our secret plans for some new offensive, of our hidden stores of supplies, of our strengths and weaknesses. The man is uncanny!”

  “That’s why he is known as the ‘Demon Devon!’” the other answered. “I say he has help right here in Williamsburg, Governor. How else would he manage to elude our militia as he comes and goes so freely, gathering his deadly information? It seems the very walls have ears!”

  “Or that our secrets are carried to him on the wind, an ill wind, indeed, Tom,” the governor added.

  The voices were moving away, and Sarah let out her breath. Were they referring to Alistair? Had she, after all, unwittingly aided a British spy in her desire to help her beloved tutor? And, if Alistair was the “Demon Devon” the governor and his companion sought, did Gabrielle know? Surely she did not, for Sarah was convinced that her tutor and friend would not put her in the position of assisting the British against her own family.

  She waited for what seemed like an eternity, then slipped out of the maze and through the ballroom gardens to the gates, and outside the palace grounds.

  As she crossed the Green, she heard the gates clang shut behind her, and the lock turn. Then she began to run down Nicholson Street, to the safety of the Armstrong house.

  As she went through the gate and into the house, she prayed her evening’s adventure would not show in her eyes. She surely would have to face Aunt Charity’s displeasure that she was arriving home after dark. As Hester Starkey had pointed out on several occasions, her aunt would have questions, and Sarah knew she had better have answers!

  Perhaps she could distract her—as she had another day with the news that she had found a tutor—with the idea of a kitten for Meggie.