Stranger in Williamsburg Page 7

  Chapter 10

  The days slid quickly toward autumn, and wild blue farewell-to-summers replaced the white daisies and golden black-eyed Susans along the lanes. The big oaks around town had not yet started to change color, but the maple leaves were showing a tinge of orange, and the crisp scent of the turning season was in the air as Sarah and her cousins made their daily trips to the tutor’s.

  Sarah had dreaded going back to Gabrielle’s alone for her evening sessions after her meeting in the palace gardens with the Englishman. But once Gabrielle had been assured that the secret mission had been accomplished and Alistair had slipped away safely, she never mentioned it again. Sarah was greatly relieved.

  Not that she lacked courage. She was, after all, as Gabrielle said, “the brave Kentuckian.” She had been frightened, of course, when Alistair pulled her into the maze, and when they had nearly been discovered there by Governor Henry and his companion. But it was not fear that prompted her dread of being asked to carry another message past the militiamen. It was that nagging doubt that, no matter what Gabrielle said, by aiding the Englishman, she would be harming the American cause so dear to her brother’s and uncle’s hearts.

  As the weeks passed, though, and Sarah was not asked to undertake another such mission, she began to relax and enjoy again her evening sessions with Gabrielle. Surely Gabrielle was exactly what she seemed—a pleasant, interesting, well-read, well-traveled teacher, giving her pupils all she could to enlarge their narrow horizons. She was the kind of teacher Sarah vowed she would be someday.

  A few weeks later, with Aunt Charity’s blessing, Sarah carried the little striped kitten home to Megan, who, in response to Sarah’s story about her own cat named Tiger, promptly named the kitten Tiger, too. From then on it became almost impossible to get Meggie to come into the house, where the immaculate Aunt Charity would allow no cat to enter.

  Then, overnight it seemed, the frost painted every tree in Williamsburg, and all but the hardiest flowers along the lanes and in the gardens turned brown and drooped on their stems. The wind in the Armstrongs’ cedar tree murmured restlessly, warning of winter.

  Sarah had less time to spend in the palace gardens now, with the days growing shorter and her evenings taken up by the extra Latin, history, and literature lessons, but she went whenever she could. There, amid the scent of dying vegetation, the evergreens were as green as ever, and purple ageratum and the small pink, white, and wine globes of amaranth still brightened the beds down by the maze.

  Sometimes she saw Marcus, busy raking fallen leaves and removing dead flowers from the gardens. Once she saw him loading a wheelbarrow with broken bricks he had replaced in a wall. He always waved and called, “How you been, Miss Sarah? And all your folks? Have you all heard from the colonel?”

  And she would reply that all was well with the Armstrong household, but, no, they had not heard from her uncle. They assumed he was all right.

  In late September, Sarah slipped off alone one day after their afternoon lessons to buy some nonpareils with the last of Nate’s coins. When she purchased the candy, the clerk at Greenhow’s store handed her a travel-stained letter.

  “It was left off here by a man who came to seek help for the Kentucky settlers. They say the Indians are being paid by the British to take their scalps!” he explained.

  With shaking hands, Sarah pried off the sealing wax and opened the letter. It was dated “12th August,” and in it, Ma wrote that they were all fine; they missed her terribly; and they all sent their love. She asked her to pass on regards to the Armstrongs from the Moores, and explained that she could not write more because the man who would carry the letter to Williamsburg was ready to leave. She had not known she would have this opportunity to send a letter until they had arrived at the fort that day, seeking protection from increased summer Indian raids.

  Sarah felt tears sting her eyes as she refolded the letter. Ma’s words had brought her so close! How she longed to see her, all of them! But at least they were alive and well back in August.

  A few days later, Sarah’s Uncle Ethan came home, spent the night, and was gone before she and her cousins had arisen the next day. Aunt Charity said he had come into their rooms and stood watching them sleep for a few moments. He had asked her to give them all his love—“You, too, Sarah,” she said—and to assure them that he would see them next time he was home, which, God willing, would not be too many weeks away.

  Then, the broadsides posted in front of the Raleigh Tavern and Christiana Campbell’s reported the heart-breaking news that 15,000 red-coated British soldiers had landed at Chesapeake Bay.

  The redcoats occupied Philadelphia, and the Continental Congress fled to York, Pennsylvania. Shortly thereafter, General Washington’s forces met defeat in the Battle of Germantown, but the Patriots won the second Battle of Freeman’s Farm. Sarah prayed that Nate was safe.

  Talk of the war was everywhere she went. Even walking down Duke of Gloucester Street or shopping n Greenhow’s store, Sarah overheard the stories. It seemed the British had knowledge of every plan the Patriots designed. They discovered stores of arms and supplies. They were prepared for every attack.

  The rector of Bruton Parish Church even remarked one Sunday, “The British espionage system is very efficient and extremely well-informed. Governor Henry says our plans are carried to them on the wind!” He had paused to lean over the pulpit and glower down at the congregation. “But it is no wind that carries our secrets, my children,” he said sternly, “and until we catch the spies among us, we cannot hope to win battles, much less this war!”

  Then, one day in late October as they were returning from Gabrielle’s, Sarah looked up to see a man walking up the Armstrongs’ front walk.

  Abigail gasped and grabbed Tabitha’s arm. “Tabby, is that Pa?”

  Tabitha narrowed her eyes to see better through the autumn haze. “Why, I believe it is, ‘Gail!” she answered, and they ran to meet him.

  Sarah was almost as glad to have her uncle home as his daughters were to see their father. The one time since she had been there that he had come home for a few days’ rest and to get supplies, the house had been lively and happy, with even Aunt Charity in a happy mood. And there had been delicious desserts with every meal. It turned out that sour old Hester had a light touch with tempting sweets.

  Now, as she came through the gate and saw Uncle Ethan gather his daughters to him in one big hug, Sarah was filled with longing for her own father, with his teasing Irish eyes and words.

  “Where have you been this time, Pa?” she heard Abigail ask.

  “Oh, here and about,” Uncle Ethan answered evasively. “Good afternoon, Sarah,” he said. “And how are you liking Williamsburg and the Armstrong household by now? Are you happy here, child?”

  Sarah looked up into his kind, brown eyes, and saw real concern for her well-being. A rush of warmth spread through her. “I’m fine, Uncle Ethan,” she answered. “And I’m glad you’re home!”

  “So am I!” he agreed, with a grin that stretched his generous mouth nearly from ear to ear. “So am I!”

  “We have a new tutor, Pa!” Abigail interrupted excitedly. Then she and Tabitha both began to talk at once.

  He held up both hands. “Whoa, there!” he ordered, laughing. “I don’t want to hear anything about such serious things as tutors until I’ve stowed this knapsack in the study, freshened up a bit, and put away some of your ma’s and grumpy old Hester’s good cooking!”

  He put an arm around each of his daughters and drew them toward the door, looking back to wink at Sarah. “I haven’t had a really good meal since I left here. I do believe all they know how to cook up north is meat and potatoes, always the same way!”

  Sarah’s feeling of loneliness grew all through supper as she listened to Abigail, Tabitha, and Megan chatter to their father of all they had been doing since they last saw him.

  “The cat’s got your tongue, Sarah!” Megan leaned over to whisper in Sarah’s ear, as the two older girl
s vied for their father’s attention.

  “I can’t get a word in edgeways, Megan!” she whispered back, attempting to hide her loneliness. She knew the Armstrongs did not mean to exclude her. They were just excited to see their pa, as she would be to see hers, if she could.

  “Me, neither!” Megan agreed. She sighed and went back to pushing squash and beans around on her plate.

  Finally, Aunt Charity stood up and announced, “We will have our coffee and apple pie in the parlor, Hester. Girls, you may join us, since it is your father’s first night home. Abigail, perhaps you could play one of your new pieces for us on the harpsichord.”

  Delighted at being the center of attention, Abigail sat down at the musical instrument and began to sort through sheet music.

  Sarah watched as her uncle and aunt seated themselves side by side on one of the brocade love seats, and Tabitha dropped onto a stool in front of them. Little Megan crawled up into her father’s lap and snuggled against him. Sarah saw Uncle Ethan take Aunt Charity’s hand in one of his. Then he rested the other one on Tabitha’s shoulder, and she looked back at them with a contented smile as Abigail began to play a lilting tune.

  A pang of loneliness shot through Sarah. She pictured Ma bustling around the fireplace, while Pa played his dulcimer, and Luke sat whittling an animal that had little Jamie dancing around the room in his impatience to add it to his farm. She could almost see the flickering firelight playing over the dear faces, hear the tinkling sound of the plucked dulcimer strings, smell the pungent odor of cedar shavings. She blinked away tears.

  Her uncle went over and threw open the back window. “I declare, Charity, it’s only October and you’ve got such a fire going we could roast a goose in here!” He stood by the window, fanning himself with one of the draperies, as Hester served pieces of apple pie on small flowered plates.

  “Now, ladies,” he said, sitting back down with his pie and accepting from Aunt Charity a cup of fresh coffee laced with cream, “let’s hear about this new tutor of yours. Are you learning a lot?”

  “Oh, Pa, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Tabitha began. “And she serves tea so elegantly, and....”

  “She smells so good, and she wears clothes made in the latest fashion from Paris, France!” Abigail interrupted.

  “By the way, speaking of France, I hear that General Burgoyne’s surrender at Saratoga has encouraged the French to come openly into the war, after all these months of supporting us in secret!” Uncle Ethan reported. “But back to your tutor. And I’m more interested in who she is and what she is teaching you, than I am in her clothes and perfume. Sarah, you haven’t commented. What do you have to say about this wonder tutor?”

  “Her name is Gabrielle Gordon,” she began, “and she knows French and Latin, and she is very interested in you, Uncle Ethan.”

  Sarah saw the light in her uncle’s eyes darken, as he looked quizzically at his wife. “Gabrielle Gordon, did you say?” he asked.

  Sarah nodded, for some reason feeling a chill settle over her in spite of the stuffy warmth of the room.

  “Miss Gordon runs a new millinery shop down on Waller Street, Ethan,” Aunt Charity explained. “She seems intelligent, and very charming.

  “I’ve no doubt she is!” he exclaimed. And, again, a chill struck Sarah. There was something alarming in her uncle’s look and tone of voice. “I’d like to speak with you alone, my dear,” he said gravely to Aunt Charity.

  “Leave us, girls,” Aunt Charity ordered immediately, a frown creasing her forehead and a troubled look in her blue eyes. “You may go to your rooms. We will see you in the morning.”

  Sarah felt her heart sink. Something was terribly wrong, and it obviously concerned Gabrielle!

  Chapter 11

  Tabitha paused with one foot on the stairs and her hand on the bannister. “Coming up?” she asked. “We could play a game of....”

  “We’ll be up in a minute, Tabby,” Abigail said loudly, “as soon as we get a drink of water.”

  When Tabitha turned and went on upstairs, Abigail placed one finger over her lips, grabbed Sarah’s arm, and pulled her toward the kitchen and out the back door. She let go of her then, motioning for her to follow as she crept across the yard to sit under the open parlor window.

  Sarah followed, uncomfortable with the idea of eavesdropping on Aunt Charity’s and Uncle Ethan’s private conversation, but anxious to hear what her uncle had to say about Gabrielle.

  “...spends most of her evenings in Christiana Campbell’s Tavern listening to the men talk about the Revolution,” he was saying as Sarah dropped silently beside Abigail. His words were as clear as though they were still in the room. “We’ve suspected her for a while, but she’s very clever. We haven’t been able to catch her passing on what she hears to her British contact, whoever it is. Most likely it’s the infamous Demon Devon who eludes our every trap! If only I could get my hands on him!”

  “But, Ethan, she’s so gracious, so genteel, so....”

  “So treacherous, Charity,” he finished for her. “You heard Sarah say she’s interested in me. I’m telling you, she only tutors our children to gain information about my activities and the action of the colonial army. She’s a Tory, Charity, a Loyalist of the King of England! She has caused untold damage to our efforts, and she would see me hanged by the British in a heartbeat!”

  Sarah gasped, inhaling the horsey scent of boxwood. She turned to find her own shock mirrored in Abigail’s wide blue eyes. Her mind whirled dizzily. Surely Uncle Ethan was mistaken! Gabrielle couldn’t be a spy!

  It was true that she spent many evenings at the tavern next door, and what was it she had said the first time Sarah met her, about the English and French blood warring in her veins? Had the cool English blood of the Gordons won out then? Were her seemingly innocent questions about the Armstrong household and its master not so innocent after all?

  “But she hasn’t been here long, Ethan. Can she have caused so much damage in so short a time?”

  “Charity, someone here in Williamsburg knows every move we make before we hardly know we’re going to make it! And, until recently, our leaders were able to discuss their plans at Christiana Campbell’s or the Raleigh. Now, the British are waiting for us everywhere we go. They destroy or confiscate our supplies. They fortify in advance the places we plan to attack. They know where to intercept our marches.”

  No! Sarah thought. It can’t be true! Gabrielle was her friend. Sometimes it seemed she was the only friend Sarah had here in Williamsburg. She simply could not be a British spy, seeking to harm Uncle Ethan! Then Sarah recalled Gabrielle’s British cousin, and the accusations that he was a spy. What if her uncle’s words were true?

  Her thoughts flew to Nathan. Would Gabrielle hang him, too, with her pretty words and charming smile? Would she pass on secrets that would enable the British army to capture or kill her brother?

  Suddenly, Sarah’s heart contracted painfully. Who was the man she had met in the palace gardens? Was he Gabrielle’s cousin, as she said, unwelcome now because he was British? Or was he the one to whom she passed on information about Patriot plans?

  Sarah felt her face, then her body flush hotly. Had she aided the British cause by meeting this man in the gardens? And that list of supplies she had delivered to him? Was it something else besides an order for milliner’s goods, after all? She had not seen the list. The sealed papers could have been anything!

  Would Uncle Ethan consider her a spy, also, for the unwitting part she had played in Gabrielle’s scheme? But it could not be true! It just couldn’t!

  Sarah felt Abigail’s hand on her shoulder, pushing her back into the bushes, just as her uncle came over to stand by the open window.

  “The gardens are still lovely, my dear,” he said. “You’ve managed well in my absence. The cattle brought a good price, and the quality of the sheep’s wool from the summer shearing was excellent.” There was a silence, then he said, “I’m sorry you’ve had to do so much al
one, but you know how important my work is. Once this war is over, I promise to make it up to you, God willing.”

  “Oh, Ethan,” Sarah heard Aunt Charity say in a tearful voice she’d never heard her use before, “I’m so sorry for the mess I’ve made with the girls’ tutor!”

  “There’s little harm done, Charity,” he assured her. “We will simply tell Miss Gordon her services are no longer needed, and that will put an end to the whole affair. I just wish I could catch her at her unholy game!”

  The voices moved away, and Abigail grabbed her arm. “We’ve got to get upstairs and into bed before they come to look in on us!” she hissed. “Hurry! Up the back stairs!”

  Sarah sank back against the rough brick wall of the house. She knew her legs were too weak to hold her up, but she had to see Gabrielle. She had to know if what her uncle said was true.

  “I’ve got to find out if it’s true, Abigail!” she whispered.

  “Of course, it’s true, Sarah!” Abigail whispered back indignantly. “Do you think Pa would lie?”

  “No, I’m sure he wouldn’t. But he could be mistaken.”

  “My father is never mistaken,” Abigail insisted. “Even those times I wish otherwise.”

  “Well, then, maybe there’s some explanation Gabrielle can give us. Please cover for me, ‘Gail. I will be back in a few minutes,” Sarah said. She looked back to see Abigail going in the back door as she ran around the house.

  Nicholson Street was dark under a black sky without moon or stars. Sarah couldn’t see anything at all. She wished for her cloak as she hurried down the street to where it joined Waller. The wind was chilly, and a fine mist of rain had begun to fall. In the distance, she could hear the tramp of boots as a military group marched in time.

  Sarah knew Aunt Charity would have a conniption if she knew she was out here alone on this dark street, with soldiers—and spies?—all over town. But she had to see Gabrielle, question her. Warn her? If Gabrielle were being falsely accused, as she claimed her cousin had been, Sarah knew she had to help her somehow.