“You can tell them you needed privacy, that you were bathing.” Matthias eyed the roasted beef, stewed mushrooms, beefsteak pie, beets, carrots, bread slathered with butter, and baked plum pudding. “I see my mother is feeding the redcoats well.”
“Yes, sir. Your mama told me to treat them as honored guests.” Dottie poured him a mug of ale, then eased into a chair with a tired groan. “Working me to death. At least Miss Munro has promised to help us tomorrow.”
He gulped down some ale, relieved to hear Caroline would be cooking instead of spying.
The kitchen door jiggled against the barrel as someone tried to open it.
“Damn.” Matthias stood.
Dottie slid his plate in front of Betsy. “Go to my room. We’ll tell you when it is safe to come out.”
Matthias closed himself in Dottie’s room and looked about. No door for an escape, but the window was big enough to climb through. He listened to the sounds—the barrel being moved, voices, then the barrel being shoved back.
Dottie called to him, “ ’Tis safe. Come out.”
He opened the door and froze. The hell it was safe.
Seated in the spot he had just vacated was Jacob, his father’s illegitimate son. All his life Matthias had known there was another. Another son a few months older than himself. The servants whispered about the other one, though never in his mother’s presence.
And in all those years, he had never been in the same room with the other one. It had been an unspoken agreement between his parents. Keep the mistress and bastard out of sight, so Mother could pretend they didn’t exist.
“Jacob’s come for his supper.” Dottie set a plate in front of the stranger. “Come and finish your food, Matt.”
He hesitated, frowning. “No thanks.”
“Go on.” Dottie pointed to the bench. “Sit and eat.”
The other one rose. He picked up his plate and a lit lantern he’d brought with him. “I can take this back to my house. Thank you, Dottie.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. ’Tis over a mile away.” Dottie glared at the two men. “You’re eating here, Jacob. And so are you, Matt. This is my kitchen, and you’ll do as I say.”
Jacob set his plate and lantern on the table. Still standing, he scowled at his food. Betsy poured him a mug of ale.
He was a tall man, Matthias noted, as tall as himself, and apparently intelligent. When Father had been captured in Charles Town, Mother had allowed Jacob to take over the business of running the plantation. It had embarrassed her to ask him, but with no one else available, she’d had no choice.
Dottie moved Matt’s plate across from Jacob. “Are you coming?”
“Aye.” Matthias approached the table.
Without glancing up, Jacob took a seat and began his dinner.
Matthias sat and bit into his beefsteak pie.
“That’s better.” Dottie settled in her chair at the head of the table.
Matthias ate quietly. He speared the carrots with his fork, avoiding the beets. As he chewed, he noticed Jacob shoveling his beets to the side. He didn’t like them, either? No matter. Probably half the population of South Carolina hated beets.
Dottie propped her feet up on a stool. “Matt has come to spy on the redcoats.”
Matthias flung his fork on the table. “Dammit, Dottie. Why don’t you announce it in a Charles Town newspaper?”
“Jacob can be trusted.” Dottie glanced at the other man. “Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jacob sliced his roast beef with a knife. “Don’t you worry about getting caught?”
Matthias picked up his fork. “No. I’ll be fine.”
They ate in silence for a while.
Betsy refilled their mugs. “Seems to me the safest way to spy on the redcoats is from the servant passageway.”
Matthias nodded. “That’s what I plan to do. I can listen at the peepholes.”
Jacob drank some ale. “Those peepholes are small. Your range of vision will be limited.”
Matthias shrugged. “I can see well enough.”
“I have a device that can see around corners.”
Matthias paused with a bite of roasted beef halfway to his mouth. “How?”
“It uses magnifying lenses and mirrors. Father and I designed it. We call it a corner telescope.”
Matthias lowered his fork. Father and I. So Jacob shared Father’s interest in mechanical devices. Matthias had always been interested in living things—plants, animals, and people. The lure of metal or glass had never made sense to him. But apparently it did to Jacob.
“In fact,” Jacob continued, “I have several items that might interest you. Would you care to see them?”
Matthias hated to admit it, but a tool that enabled him to see around corners could come in handy.
“I guess you don’t.” Jacob said when Matthias remain silent.
“He does,” Dottie announced. “Don’t mind him. He’s been in a sour mood of late. I need to give him another restorative.”
Matthias glared at her. “I am not sour.”
“You look a little powdery to me.” Betsy swiped at his arm. “Is this flour?”
“I slept in the mill last night.”
“No wonder you’re so grouchy.” Dottie nodded at him with a knowing look. “You need a good night’s sleep.”
“I am not grouchy,” Matthias growled.
“I have a spare bed,” Jacob offered. “The one I slept in as a child. I use the room as a workshop now, but you’re welcome to sleep there.”
Dottie raised a square, plump hand. “There, you see. ’Tis all settled.”
“It is not,” Matthias protested. “I accepted this mission knowing full well what will happen to me if I’m caught. I will not involve anyone else.”
Jacob set down his fork and knife. “I can make my own decisions.”
For the first time, Matthias made eye contact with the other one. He was momentarily taken aback by the sharp intelligence in Jacob’s brown eyes. “I work alone.”
Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Do you find the prospect of living with a slave offensive?”
“Enough.” Dottie gave them each a stern look. “Matt, you need a safe place to stay. Your brother has been—”
“He’s not my bro—” Matthias stopped himself.
A reddish hue spread across Jacob’s face. He scraped back his chair and stood. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
Matthias gritted his teeth. “I have no right to endanger you.”
Jacob’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “You have no right to enslave me, either, but does that stop you?”
“That’s enough.” Dottie scowled at them. “You don’t have to solve the problems of the world. You only have to sleep in the same house without killing each other. Can you do that?”
Matthias shrugged. “I can.” What choice did he really have? He stood and faced the other one. “Can you?”
Jacob’s jaw moved as if he were grinding his teeth. “Yes.” He grabbed his lantern and strode to the door. With his free arm, he scooted the barrel out of the way.
Matthias edged to the side of the door. “Wait ’til the guard passes.”
“You can wait. I have no reason to hide. See you at my house.” Jacob sauntered across the garden at a leisurely pace.
Matthias watched him walk away. Father must have given him those clothes. Jacob was well dressed, his long black hair pulled back and braided in a queue.
“Here.” Dottie offered him a jug and a parcel wrapped in cotton.
“What is this?”
“Rum and cake. The two of you hardly ate. I figure you’ll be hungry again soon.”
Matthias accepted the items. When the guard passed, he dashed across the garden to the cover of trees. Then he snaked through the woods to the path by the river. T
he air, thick and muggy, was filled with the irritating whine of locusts.
He spotted Jacob’s lantern ahead of him. Damn his luck. He’d have to share a house with the living proof of his father’s unfaithfulness and his mother’s humiliation.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jacob stopped and waited for Matthias to catch up. “What do you have there?”
“Cake and rum,” Matthias muttered.
“Ah. Dottie thinks we need to be drunk to survive the night?” Jacob climbed the steps to his house.
Matthias was familiar with the whitewashed exterior of the house. He’d seen it before when visiting the mill, but he’d never been inside. A part of him was curious—this was the location of his father’s other life. Another part felt guilty. His mother would cringe if she knew he was here.
The interior was surprisingly normal, as if a real family had lived there, although he supposed Jacob had been living alone after the death of his mother.
Matthias deposited the jug and cake on a pinewood table. “Have the redcoats been here?”
“They came to the front door, looked inside, then left. Apparently, they don’t think a slave has anything worth stealing.” Still holding the lantern, Jacob opened a door on the right. “I’ll show you the workroom.”
Inside, Matthias scanned the crowded room. Tables lined the walls, covered with metal, wire, glass, and tools. A narrow bed, squeezed between two tables, jutted out into the center of the room. It was the two stools, sitting side by side, that caught Matt’s attention. Jacob and Father must have worked on projects together.
Jacob shoved some tools aside to set the lantern down. “I know it appears a mess.” He grabbed a few books off the bed and set them underneath. “But the sheets are clean.”
Matthias eyed the books. “How did you learn to read?”
“Father taught me. And he let me borrow books from his library.”
Matthias gritted his teeth. Father had hired a tutor for him and then sent him to college. He recalled his father’s parting words—I have done my duty. See that you do yours.
Father had done his duty, marrying the heiress Jane Murray and having a son. But this—Matthias looked about the workroom—this was where Father had lived.
He cleared his throat. “Where is the telescope?”
“Here.” Jacob passed him a short metal object.
It looked like a normal telescope except that the wider end curved into a ninety-degree angle. Matthias tugged on the smaller end, and the telescope lengthened in three stages of decreasing circumference. He strode to the open doorway and peered through the lens. Not only could he see around the corner, but objects were magnified.
“This is excellent.” He snapped the telescope back into its shorter size. “Do you mind if I borrow it?”
“No. Help yourself to anything here that looks like it might be useful.” Jacob selected another item. “This lantern is equipped with shutters on all four sides. Each side can be opened or shut.”
“That sounds promising.” Matthias tried the lever on one of the shutters. “I like this. I can direct the light downward if I wish.”
“Yes. Of course if you leave all the shutters closed for too long, the flame inside will die out,” Jacob said. “If you need another machine, describe what you want to do, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Why are you helping me? Are you a patriot like . . . my father?”
Jacob snorted. “I like to solve problems with machines. ’Tis not patriotism, merely intellectual curiosity.”
“You don’t care who wins the war?”
“Why should I?” Jacob walked toward the door. “Your freedom won’t mean a damned thing to the slaves, will it?”
“I understand your dislike of your condition, but—”
“Dislike?” Jacob thumped two pewter mugs on the table. “You don’t understand at all.”
“No, I don’t.” Matthias approached the table. “How can you care about my father when he’s the one who owns you?”
Jacob’s eyes glimmered with strong emotion. “I grew up loving him. But I was a young child and didn’t know I was a slave. Then afterward—I don’t know. Part of me misses him terribly. Another part wishes he’ll rot in prison.” He sighed. “Love and hate at the same time. You must think I’m strange.”
Matthias swallowed hard. “No, not really.” All these years he had thought he was alone in his feelings. He had craved his father’s attention, wanting more than anything for his father to be proud of him. At the same time, he had detested his father for betraying his mother. And he’d hated the way his father had mistreated the slaves.
He unwrapped the cake Dottie had given them. “I wonder if this is any good.”
“Let’s try it.” Jacob fetched a knife and two saucers. Then he pulled the cork from the jug and sloshed some rum into a mug.
“None for me.” Matthias sat at the table. “I need my wits about me tonight.”
“You plan to spy?” Jacob handed him a jug of cider.
“Yes.” Matthias filled his mug. “I should make it clear. I don’t want anyone in the Great House to know I’m here.”
Jacob cut two pieces of cake. “Not even your mother?”
“Especially her. Knowledge about me could be dangerous. The British have posted a reward for my capture.”
With a grimace, Jacob sat across from him. “I have to say it strikes me as ironic. A slave owner who is willing to die for freedom.”
“I don’t own you. My father does.”
“Our father.” Jacob reached for a piece of cake just as Matthias did.
Their eyes met briefly before they each grabbed a piece. They ate in silence.
Caroline gripped the candlestick tighter and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. It was time to spy.
She entered the secret passageway from the third floor and shut the door behind her. On her way downstairs, she noted with pride how clean the passageway was. She stopped in front of the library peephole and grasped the small knob in her hand. Wait. The light from her candle might be visible through the hole.
She blew it out and placed the candlestick holder on the floor. With the corridor pitch black, she skimmed her fingers up the door to the knob. Thanks to her earlier coating of grease, the peephole glided open without a sound. She peered inside.
Captain Hickman was seated at the desk, a glass of liquor in his thin hand. A candle on the desk illuminated the scene.
“You wished to see me?” Jane spoke from beyond Caroline’s view.
“Come in, Mrs. Thomas.” Hickman motioned to the settee across from the desk. “Please sit down.”
Caroline wrinkled her nose. How kind of the captain to offer Jane a seat in her own house. Jane wandered into view and perched on the edge of the settee.
Hickman sipped from his glass. “How long do you expect your husband to be away on business?”
Jane’s mouth tightened. “Quite some time, I’m afraid.”
“You are correct. Before my arrival here, I took the liberty of checking the records in Charles Town. It seems your husband is one of our prisoners.”
Jane clutched her hands together. “Was there a reason you wished to see me, Captain?”
“Yes, Mrs. Thomas. I believe, given the circumstances, that you and I should become friends.”
Remaining silent, Jane watched the redcoat with wary eyes.
Hickman rose to his feet. “Excellent brandy you have here.” He wandered out of Caroline’s view and returned with a decanter and empty glass. “Would you care for some?”
Jane hesitated before answering. “Yes. Thank you.”
He poured her a small portion. “I hear your husband is quite ill. Dysentery, don’t you know. Quite common amongst prisoners.” He offered her the glass.
She accepted it, using both hands
to hold the glass steady.
The captain leaned on the edge of the desk. “I could arrange for your husband to receive medical attention, perhaps even be moved to more comfortable accommodations.”
“I would appreciate that.” Jane took a small sip.
“I was hoping you would. I was preparing to write the request when it occurred to me how helpful you could be.”
Jane paled. “In what way?”
“Information. There’s a criminal on the loose, wanted for treason and murder. I’m sure you would like to see justice done. Wouldn’t you, Mrs. Thomas?”
“Who is he?” Jane whispered.
Hickman grasped a stack of papers and thumbed through it. “I have the handbill here somewhere. Ah, here it is. The man’s name is— Well, isn’t this interesting?” He dangled the handbill in front of Jane’s face. “Matthias Murray Thomas.”
Jane gasped. Her hand shook, spilling brandy on her skirt. Caroline covered her mouth to keep from making a noise.
“A shame to spill such good brandy.” Hickman dropped the handbill on his desk. “Is it a good likeness?”
Jane set her glass down on a nearby table. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Come now, Mrs. Thomas. You must know something about the man. No doubt you are related.”
Jane remained silent, her hands clutched together.
Hickman glowered at her. “Your husband will probably die if I forget to send the request.”
“I understand.” Jane stood and strode toward the door.
“Don’t be a fool, Mrs. Thomas. I’m offering to help your husband. If you don’t help me, I will find the information elsewhere.”
“Then that is what you will have to do.” The door swung shut, signaling Jane’s departure.
Hickman sat with a huff, and Caroline glared at his back. No doubt he had enjoyed tormenting Jane.
Poor Jane. She could save her husband by turning in her only son? It was too cruel. Caroline was tempted to march into the library and clonk the captain on the head with her candlestick.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.” Hickman tucked the handbill about Matthias Murray Thomas under his stack of papers.