Stranger in Williamsburg Page 9

  From the corner of her eye, she could see Alistair feverishly copying something from one of Uncle Ethan’s papers. She swallowed the sick feeling that rose in her throat.

  “I’ve got to get back, Gabrielle,” she finally managed to say. “I’ve got to get the papers back before....”

  Gabrielle patted her hand. “He will soon be finished. Drink your chocolate. Then go into my bedroom, take off your wet dress, and wrap up in the warm robe you will find there. By the time you are ready to leave, your dress will be dry.”

  I am ready to leave now, Sarah thought miserably, but she did as Gabrielle asked. When she came back to the fire, wrapped in a warm, yellow robe, her dress and apron were hanging from the mantel.

  “Before you know it, cherie, Alistair will be finished,” Gabrielle assured her, “and you will have the papers back where they belong. Tomorrow, my cousin will be gone. You and your cousins can come for your lessons as usual, and you can forget this night ever happened.”

  She pulled a stool over near Sarah and dropped gracefully on it. “How is our Tiger kitten?” she asked. “Does little Megan like him as much as you thought she would?”

  “He’s fine, and Meggie loves him,” Sarah answered shortly. Gabrielle need not think she could be so easily distracted.

  “I can see you are angry with me, ma petite, and I am sorry,” she said then. “I certainly would not have asked you to come back out on such a night if it had not been extremely important.”

  Sarah stared at her in disbelief. Did she really think the problem with her being here was a little discomfort from the weather?

  “Mademoiselle, it is not the weather that concerns me. It is....”

  The tutor reached over and patted her hand again. “I know, cherie,” she said comfortingly. “I know. But there is no harm done. You will see. And your help means so much to Alistair and me.”

  Sarah leaned her head back against a wing of the chair. Fighting nausea and a drowsiness induced by warmth and her long day, she concentrated on the colors in the fire. Her thoughts went back to the night Luke had said they reminded him of Indian war paint. She wished all she had to fear around here were Indians! At least they had known where the danger lay out in the wilderness. Here, she did not know whom she could trust.

  Was Gabrielle her best friend, or her worst enemy? Was she all she seemed, or was Uncle Ethan right? His words still rang in her head, “She would see me hanged by the British in a heartbeat!”

  Would she? Sarah looked straight into the dark eyes, wanting to ask her point blank if the ugly accusations were true. Did she sit night after night in Christiana Campbell’s or the Raleigh gathering information for the British, as Uncle Ethan said? Was Alistair her “kind and gentle” cousin, caught in a trap of unfair circumstances? Or was he the Demon Devon her uncle sought?

  Sarah couldn’t ask any of those questions, though, not with Alistair right here in the room with them. She pulled the robe more closely around her and tucked her bare feet up under it in the big chair. The next thing she knew, she awoke there, with one foot asleep under her. How long had she slept? The clock on the mantel said ten minutes until two o’clock—in the morning! The urgency of the situation returned to her.

  I don’t even know Alistair’s last name! she thought suddenly. For all she knew, it might be Devon. He might be the Demon Devon the colonial army sought to capture and hang. Oh, she had to get those papers back and get out of here!

  “Give me my dress, Gabrielle. I have to go, now!” she said.

  To her surprise, Alistair stood up, folded the papers, and handed them to her. “Thank you very much, Miss Armstrong,” he said with a smirk of a grin and a slight bow. “I am forever in your debt!”

  “Moore,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Sarah Moore, not Armstrong!” But why did it matter? She had shamed both names beyond repair. I probably should call myself ‘Sarah Foolish’ or ‘Sarah Traitor,’ she thought, as she returned to the bedroom. She pulled on her dry, wrinkled clothes, and tucked the papers back into her apron pocket. The cloak was still damp, but she put it on, along with her shoes and stockings.

  Gabrielle walked her to the door. “Not a word, cherie, to anybody!” she cautioned. “And I will see you this afternoon.”

  Sarah hurried up Nicholson Street, wondering what might be hidden by the darkness all around her. If the Demon Devon was Alistair, she knew where he was. But if he wasn’t, the British spy could be crouched behind that wall, waiting to pounce on her and take her uncle’s papers. Or he might be lying in wait in the gardens behind that fence.

  She heard a movement behind her and stopped to listen. But she could hear only the pounding of her own heart. She turned and peered into the darkness, but the blackness was complete. She couldn’t even see the outlines of the houses along the street.

  Turning to go on, she bumped into someone, and let out a small scream.

  “Who goes there?” a voice cried, and she heard the rattle of a musket.

  “It’s Sarah Moore,” she cried out, “Ethan Armstrong’s niece.” Her voice sounded as small and scared as she felt.

  The militiaman peered closely into her face. “And what are you doing out at such an hour on a night like this?”

  She recognized his voice. It was the young clerk who waited on her sometimes in John Greenhow’s store. Her mind raced. What could she say? She could feel the papers burning a guilty hole in her pocket.

  “I...I was at my tutor’s, and I got sick and fell asleep by the fire. It was two o’clock before I knew it. If my aunt is awake, she will be frantic with worry. I must get home immediately!” So far, she thought in relief, she had not told a lie.

  “Well, miss, we’ve posted sentries all around the town tonight. There’s a notorious British spy on the loose. It’s rumored he’s in Williamsburg, so I’ll just see you to your door. It wouldn’t do for me to let anything happen to the niece of Colonel Armstrong, now would it?” He chuckled softly, and taking her by the upper arm, led her briskly down the street.

  Colonel Armstrong would make sure “something happened” to me, if he knew what I’ve done, she thought miserably.

  “Good night, miss,” the sentry said at the gate. “And see you don’t go gadding about Williamsburg in the middle of the night again. Leastways, not while this war’s going on!”

  “Good night!” she whispered, as she slipped inside the gate and up the walk. She could hear his quiet footsteps going back down Nicholson Street as she eased the front door open and went inside.

  Hanging her cloak on a peg of the coatrack, she removed her shoes and stockings and set them in the brass tray under it. Then she padded on icy feet to the study. She opened the door, entered the room, and closed the door behind her.

  Then she gasped, as a man arose from the chair behind the desk.

  Chapter 14

  “Sarah, where have you been?” Uncle Ethan demanded from the darkness. Her heart seemed to drop to her feet. “Do you realize that the infamous Demon Devon is creeping around Williamsburg tonight, and that he’d as soon kill a child as a soldier if she got in his way? Do you realize there is a war on and times are not as they once were?”

  He fell silent as he lit the candle, and she searched her mind for answers to his unanswerable questions. She had not lied to the sentry, and she knew she could not lie to her uncle, no matter what the consequences. But what if her telling the truth would be responsible for Gabrielle’s death? Could she endanger her friend?

  Again, the thought came to her: What if his suspicions were right, and Gabrielle was not her friend after all? What if she really was a British spy who had used a trusting young admirer for her own evil purpose?

  Outside, the rain lashed at the windows, and Sarah could hear the cedar tree moaning in anguish. In the distance, thunder growled, but the atmosphere here in the study was even more threatening as she faced the man who had been so good to her, and whom she felt she had wronged tonight.

  “There are papers missing f
rom my pouch, Sarah. Do you know anything about this?” His voice was hard, unyielding.

  She met his stare for a moment, then dropped her gaze to the top of the desk where the empty pouch lay. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked them away. She felt awful! He had been so kind to her, so caring. And now she had done this terrible thing, and there was no way around it. She might as well confess her crime and take her punishment.

  Sarah reached into her apron pocket and drew out the papers. She held them out to him silently, flinching at the shock that crossed his face. His warm brown eyes grew as cold and hard as Alistair’s pale blue ones. She could see his jaw quiver as he tried to control his anger.

  He put both hands on the desk and leaned on them, as though he had suddenly become too weary to stand without support. “Why, Sarah?” She could see the pain in his face, and looked away, unable to bear it. “We have tried to be good to you, to offer you a home and every opportunity here in Williamsburg. And now you have betrayed my trust. Why, Sarah?” he asked again.

  She stared at the desk, unable to meet his eyes, knowing he was right. She had betrayed his trust. It had seemed so right at the time! Even Marcus had encouraged her. Now it all seemed so ugly, so inexcusable. Tears welled up and spilled over. She couldn’t stop them, so she let them fall. There was no more use in trying to wipe them away than there was in trying to wipe out this horrible thing she had done.

  “Well, we can get to the why later,” her uncle said. “Sarah, I know these papers mean nothing to you, but they are very important to our cause, and they are vital to those who would oppose it. Who asked you to get them? Who has seen them?”

  Still, she cold not speak. Her gaze seemed glued to the offending pouch on the desk. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks and dropped of her chin. She wanted to answer him, but she had no words.

  He walked around the desk, took her by the arm, led her to a high-backed leather chair, and sat her down in it. Leaning over her, he said slowly and clearly, “Sarah, I have to know who has seen these papers. Many lives may depend upon it. I have to know what I need to do to counter the harm you have done.”

  Sarah covered her eyes with both hands and began to sob. “I...I thought I was saving lives!” she mumbled through her hands. “I thought their lives depended upon seeing some old map and papers they said you carried in that pouch. They said it wouldn’t hurt you, that you need never know!”

  “Thank God the storm woke me!” he said fervently. “Thank God that I came down here to study those plans, and found the papers missing! Maybe there’s still time to repair some of the damage before it’s too late!”

  Sarah felt his hands removing hers from her eyes. “Look at me, Sarah!” he commanded. “Who told you all these things? You must tell me!” He shook her arms, emphasizing the urgency. “Don’t you understand, Sarah, that my life and the lives of whole companies of soldiers depend upon your help now? Those papers contain the plans for our next offensive and information about our stores of arms and supplies.”

  Sarah jumped up and threw both arms around his waist, sobbing wildly. “Oh, Uncle Ethan, I am so sorry! I wouldn’t hurt you for anything! I am so sorry!” she babbled.

  He sighed. “I believe you are, child. But, if so, you must help me now. Who asked you to get the papers?”

  “She said her cousin was in danger just because he is British, and....”

  “We are all British, or were until a year ago,” he said bitterly.

  “She said all he needed was a look at the map you carried to plan his escape to the James River where a boat was waiting for him,” Sarah went on, unable to stop the flow of words now that the dam had broken. “She said all he needed was a look at the map and the other papers with it, and he would be gone. Then I could return your papers, with no harm done and no one the wiser. She said her own life was in danger if Alistair were caught in her house. I’m so sorry, Uncle Ethan!” she repeated. “It seemed so right when she was pleading with me! Now, it seems to terribly wrong!”

  “Alistair Devon,” he almost whispered. “The Demon Devon. I knew he had to be the one! Sarah, the man is uncanny. He has slipped out of traps it seemed impossible for any human to elude. That’s why he’s known as a demon.” He studied her intently. “And his contact is Gabrielle Gordon, or you would not have cooperated with them.”

  She nodded miserably. “I thought she was my friend, Uncle Ethan, and I wanted to help her!” The tears spilled over again.

  “She used your friendship, child, your blind adoration, to gain her own ends. She is as diabolical as her so-called ‘cousin.’ But we will discuss that later. Now there is no time to lose! I must try to stop Devon from escaping Williamsburg. I must keep the information in those papers from getting into the hands of the British generals. I pray it is not too late, already. We have posted sentries all around town tonight, but he has eluded them before.”

  He left the room, then came back. “Sarah, do not leave this house until I return, no matter what. Do you understand me? Can I trust you now?”

  She nodded. “I understand, Uncle Ethan. I will obey you.” She ran to throw her arms around his waist again. “Oh, please be careful! He has such cold, pale eyes! I am afraid for you!”

  Gently, he removed her arms. “I will be careful.” He smiled grimly. “Thank you for the warning. Now, remember, stay here until I return. And if I am not back by morning, tell Charity what has happened.” With that, he was gone. She heard the front door shut firmly behind him.

  Sarah ran to the front window. It was raining harder, and the thunder seemed closer. In a flash of lightning, she briefly saw her uncle, wrapped in a dark cloak, heading down Nicholson Street. Then the night was dark again. She stared into the blackness, her tears flowing as freely as the rain that poured down as though it never intended to stop.

  Out back, she could hear the cedar tree’s frantic moaning and whispering, urging her to some action. “Ooooh, rush! Ohhh, rush!” it seemed to say. But she had no idea what she could do now to help, and Uncle Ethan had ordered her not to leave.

  “Please, God, protect Uncle Ethan,” she prayed fervently. “I know I don’t deserve Your help, but You know he is a good man. And if anything happens to him, it will be my fault!”

  Sobs overtook her again. She flung herself down on the rug before the unlit hearth, letting the storm of remorse sweep over her, as the rainstorm swept over Williamsburg and the deadly game of hide-and-seek being played within it.

  Chapter 15

  Sarah awoke cold and stiff on the rug before the unlit fireplace. Once she had emptied herself of tears, she must have fallen asleep.

  She went to the window and looked out. A drizzling rain still fell, and the dark sky matched her feelings. Where was Uncle Ethan? Had he come back to the house while she slept?

  She walked barefoot into the hallway. Her shoes and stockings still sat under the coatrack, but Uncle Ethan’s cloak was missing. He had not returned. Was he still out hunting Demon Devon? Was he lying dead in some ditch or woods, where he had tried to stop the Englishman’s escape? What would she do if she had to tell Aunt Charity—and Tabitha, Abigail, and Megan—that he was missing because of her foolish actions? What would she do if she had to bear the guilt of knowing she had caused her uncle’s death?

  Miserably, she crept up the stairs and into Abigail’s room. She discarded her still damp and wrinkled clothing and slipped on her nightgown. She eased into bed beside Abigail, who slept deeply, her arms and legs in wild abandon over and under the covers.

  Sarah felt her bones sink wearily into the soft featherbed, but her mind was too keyed up for sleep. Where was Uncle Ethan? Why didn’t he come home?

  Suddenly, a new thought struck her. What would they do with Gabrielle? Uncle Ethan had said they would hang Alistair Devon. Would they hang her, too?

  Sarah swallowed hard. Her feelings about Gabrielle were so confused. She longed to go back to the time before Alistair had come to Williamsburg, when the patchwork hours of the long
summer days had been stitched together with the sturdy, dependable thread of learning and conversation and sweet companionship.

  Or so she had thought at the time. But the thread had been rotten all along, woven of lies and treachery. There was no patch that could mend the raveled, gaping hole that the last few hours had torn in her relationship with Gabrielle. She could never forgive her for betraying their friendship, for using her like a pawn in a deadly game of chess.

  Sarah turned over on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow, but there were no tears left to fall. She had not slept again at all when, at about what should have been dawn if the sun had planned to shine that day, she heard the front door open and shut softly. Then she heard her uncle’s weary tread on the stairs.

  She wanted to jump out of bed and see with her own eyes that he was all right, to question him about the fate of Devon and Gabrielle. But she didn’t dare. She pretended to sleep as he stopped in the doorway. She supposed he wanted to see if she had obeyed his orders. Then she heard him move on down the hall and enter the room he shared with Aunt Charity.

  Still unable to sleep, Sarah laid quietly beside Abigail until she heard Hester bustling around in the kitchen. She got up then, washed at the basin, and slipped into the old brown hand-me-down dress Abigail had given her. She tied on her Sunday apron, hoping Aunt Charity wouldn’t notice. Her gray dress and everyday apron were beyond wearing until she had a chance to launder them.

  Taking dry stockings from the drawer, she padded downstairs to put on the still damp shoes she had left in the tray under the coatrack.

  Hester looked up with the smirk she used for a smile as Sarah entered the kitchen. Silently, she handed her a bowl of eggs to prepare for scrambling. Sarah took them, glad of something to occupy her hands, if not her mind.

  Aunt Charity joined them, as Hester motioned for Sarah to pour the beaten egg and milk mixture into the hot iron skillet.