Less Than a Gentleman

“That’s noble of you.” Richard gave him a wobbly salute that missed his brow and bounced off his nose. “Where are you going? Your wedding?”

  Matthias paused, a tent flap gripped in his hand. A pain shot through his chest. “She left me.”

  “Oh, right. She found out you were lying to her.”

  Matthias dropped the flap. “ ’Tis for the best.”

  “So you’re giving up that easily?”

  Easily? There was nothing easy about this. “What kind of life can I give her? I cannot go home with a price on my head. Everything I have done has only made matters worse. The homes on the Pee Dee were destroyed because of the escape I initiated. The British took over my house because I burned all the ferryboats. Hickman imprisoned my mother because of me. Two men have died because I led them into a trap. And you were injured. Hell, you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You were raised a Quaker. You never would have joined the army if you hadn’t been following in my footsteps.”

  “Damn you!” Richard struggled to sit up. “You think I haven’t a mind of my own? I decided to join the army. I defied my father and his beliefs. It was my decision, and you cannot steal it from me.”

  Matt stared at his cousin a moment. “Very well. It was your decision. Now lie down before you do yourself harm.”

  “Why? If I start bleeding again, will it be your fault? Do you take responsibility for the entire world?”

  “I must take responsibility for the consequences of my actions.”

  “You cannot have it all. I want my share back, dammit.” Grimacing, Richard reclined against the bare pillows. “As for our escape from the British, even if you hadn’t initiated that, the partisans would have still rescued us. It was the British who made the decision to destroy homes, not you. When you burned bridges and so forth, you were simply following orders and good ones, I might add. It was not your decision to imprison your mother. In fact, you rescued her. You’re not cursed, Matt. You’re full of shit.”

  He snorted. “That’s pithy. I’ll have it put on my gravestone.” He turned back to the tent entrance. “Get some rest.”

  “I’m not done. God willing, I’ll never be this drunk again, so you’d better listen.”

  Matthias groaned

  “You’re afraid to get married,” Richard declared.

  “Not true. I was planning to marry today.”

  “Then why did you give up?”

  “I didn’t give up. Caroline rejected me.”

  “You gave up. You didn’t go after her.”

  Matthias clenched his fists. He had wanted to go after her, but then he had told himself she was better off without a wanted man for her husband. He’d convinced himself he was backing off for her sake. Because he loved her.

  But dammit, how could he live without her? Why was he fighting for freedom if he wasn’t free to be with her? “I have to get her back.”

  “That’s more like it.” Richard took another swig of rum. “But what will happen when the war ends and you go back to being a wealthy plantation owner. And slave owner. How will Caroline like that? How will you like it?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I like. I made a vow to my grandfather that I would take care of the plantation.”

  “I know what you saw, Matthias. You wrote about it in your diary. You drew a bloody picture of it.”

  “You read my journal? Dammit, Richard. That was none of your business.”

  “I wanted to know why you were having nightmares. You would never talk about it.”

  “Shut up and rest before you start bleeding again.”

  “You hated how your grandfather treated the slaves. You hated the way your father forced the women into his bed. You hated how much it hurt your mother.”

  “Bloody hell, enough!” Matthias strode toward the cot and glared at his cousin. “All right, you want the truth? Before I met Caroline, I had planned never to marry. I was going to be the last owner. No more heirs. No more vows.”

  “For God’s sake, Matt. Why are you making yourself miserable over a vow to our grandfather when you have no respect for him?”

  Matthias paced across the small tent. “I wanted to keep my word. And I need to keep the plantation for my mother. She’s been accustomed to wealth all her life. I cannot ask her to live in poverty.”

  Richard leaned back against the pillows, frowning. “I think she would prefer to see you happily married with children than live like a queen all alone.”

  Matthias rubbed his brow. For years, he had avoided Loblolly and its responsibilities. He had tried to pretend Jacob didn’t exist. He’d tried to ignore the fact that someday he would inherit slaves. And all those years, he had been running from the truth. No wonder he was so adept at lying. He even lied to himself. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Good.” Richard handed him the canteen. “Talk to Jacob. He has some good ideas, and he wants to help. Loblolly is his home, too.”

  “All right.” Matthias swallowed some rum and handed the canteen back.

  “You’ll apologize to Caroline?”

  “I’ll get her back if I have to belly crawl through the swamp to do it.”

  “Good.” Richard gave him an ironic smile. “You’ll be a married man. Might as well get used to begging.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  After breakfast the next morning, Caroline searched the bookcase in the nursery. “Shall we find something to read?”

  “I want to read Papa’s book,” Charlotte insisted.

  “I’m sick of that book.” Edward stretched out on the floor, setting up the pewter army figures. “And I’m sick of that mean Captain Stickman.”

  “I agree with you there.” Caroline patted her pocket to make sure her knife was there. She wasn’t sure how safe it was for her and the children to remain at Loblolly. Agatha had left for fear of further violence, taking Bertram with her. Pugsley had not yet returned from Kingstree.

  Only Hickman remained. Could she handle him on her own? Perhaps she should ask Dottie to slip a sleeping potion into his next meal. Then they could tie him up.

  Thomas, or Matthias as she now tried to think of him, had promised to take them all to North Carolina, but she doubted he would return now. She would have to take care of her family herself. She groaned at the thought of Virginia traveling so soon after childbirth.

  In the bookcase, a narrow book with no title caught her eye. The journal of young Matthias Murray Thomas. She had noticed it before, but it had possessed little meaning for her then. She ran her fingers over the faded, frayed cover.

  Take the time to get acquainted, Ginny had said. What better way to understand the man she loved? Her breath hitched. God help her, she did love him.

  Sleep had been nigh impossible last night. To be close to the children, she had slept in Virginia’s bed in the nursery. Memories of the night before had invaded her thoughts and left her restless and yearning for more.

  Thomas . . . rather, Matthias had made love so passionately. Surely he loved her. And her heart didn’t care what his name was. He was simply her beloved.

  She opened the diary. The childish scrawl and lopsided signature tugged at her heart. She thumbed through the pages. The entries grew longer and more detailed as he aged. He wrote about his days with Richard and the nights they sneaked out to go fishing.

  It was a good childhood, Caroline thought until she turned a page and saw it. A hideous painting in watercolor spread over two pages. A brown alligator with a black man in its jaws. Swirls of red paint covered the entire picture. Blood in the sky, blood in the water.

  “My God.” Had Matthias actually witnessed such a horrid scene? She turned to the page after the painting.

  April 10, 1759

  Grandfather took me to the new field he is having cleared. He alw
ays tells me to be proud because it will all be mine someday. I saw the slaves. They were up to their knees in the muddy swamp. Grandpa says the swampland will make good farmland once it is drained.

  It looked like a log. It was so still. We all thought it was a log, but Micah got too close. The alligator attacked. Micah screamed and tried to escape.

  Grandpa took me away. He was so angry. He said a good slave was too expensive to lose. I looked back and the slaves were crying.

  I’m not sure I like Grandpa anymore.

  Caroline blinked back her tears. “Dear God.”

  “What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked.

  Caroline closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. “Memories.” She glanced at her niece. What dreadful memories would these children carry with them the rest of their lives? The sight of Hickman pointing a pistol at Jane? The sight of the cabin on the Pee Dee engulfed in flames?

  The door to the nursery burst open. Charlotte squeaked.

  Caroline spun about. “Oh, Betsy, you gave us a fright.”

  Betsy regarded them with a grim expression. “Pugsley is back.”

  “Already?” Caroline strode to the door. “Can you stay with the children for a little while?”

  “Yes.” Betsy lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ll keep them safe. I won’t let the redcoats hurt anyone. Not anymore.”

  Caroline nodded. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the library peephole. Silently, she slid it open.

  “Are you sure?” Hickman’s voice rasped.

  “Yes,” Pugsley answered. “The inhabitants of Kingstree said there was gunfire outside their village yesterday afternoon.”

  Hickman collapsed into the chair behind the desk. “Go on.”

  “They found two dead partisans in the road. Apparently, Tarleton and his men chased down the others.” Pugsley paced to the sideboard. “Some of the partisans survived, for they returned later to retrieve the bodies of their comrades.”

  Hickman slammed a fist down on the desk. “Damnation! How did the partisans know about Kingstree?”

  “I don’t know, but Tarleton will believe he has proof that you’re a traitor. They could be coming to arrest you.”

  Hickman surged to his feet. “But I’m innocent!”

  Pugsley returned to the desk with a glass and the decanter of brandy. “Do you need a drink?”

  Hickman ripped the decanter from Pugsley’s hand and hurled it toward the bookcase.

  Caroline jumped to the side as crystal shattered around the peephole. Shards of glass flew into the passageway. Her heart thumped wildly. It had to be a coincidence. Hickman didn’t know she was there.

  She needed to leave. A shard of glass crunched under her foot.

  “Did you hear something?” Pugsley asked.

  “Yes,” Hickman answered. “What was it?”

  Caroline gulped. Were they looking at the bookcase? The peephole was wide open. Would they see it? Could she shut it without them noticing? She reached for the knob.

  Footsteps came toward her. “Sir, look at this!” A man’s hand jabbed through the hole.

  Caroline jumped back with a gasp.

  “There’s someone back there,” Hickman growled.

  She swallowed the scream that filled her throat. Hickman would come after her. And the children.

  She scurried up the stairs to the nursery. “We must leave. Now. Grab whatever you want to take with you.”

  Ezra tossed books onto the floor, clearing the bookshelves. “A ghost. I should have listened to that boy. He kept talking about a damned ghost who could walk through walls.”

  “Aye, this explains everything.” Pugsley ran his fingers along the dark polished wood, searching for a hidden door latch. “Someone has been spying on you.”

  Ezra paused. They were wasting their time hunting for a latch. The spy had to be entering from somewhere else. “The dining room is back there. And the china cabinet.” He had seen that small room before when he had taken the crystal and smashed it. “Let’s have a look.”

  Minutes later, they were examining the china room.

  “Here, sir.” Pugsley outlined a crack in the wall with his finger. “There’s a door here.”

  Ezra probed the area for a hidden latch and found it under a chair rail. The door swung open. A passageway lay before them, littered with shards of glass. He peered through the peephole and spotted his desk. “The bastard. He’s been watching us all this time. Or she has.” Was Caroline Munro behind this?

  “We could arrest everyone in the house,” Pugsley suggested.

  “They would claim ignorance. We need proof.” Ezra noted the stairs. “Are they on the third floor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then we set fire to the grand staircase. They’ll have to use this staircase to escape.”

  Pugsley’s eyes widened. “But if they don’t know about this staircase, they could be trapped and burn to death.”

  “The price they pay for proving their innocence.” Ezra smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Pugsley. Caroline Munro will use this staircase to save the children. And we’ll be waiting outside the dining room to arrest her as a spy.”

  “I see. Excellent plan, sir.”

  “Yes.” Ezra nodded. “And the best part of it—I can clear my name with Tarleton by foisting the blame on her. Innocent or guilty, she’s going to die.”

  Caroline stuffed a pillowcase with a spare set of clothing for her and the children. In her pocket, the knife rested against her hip.

  “May I bring the tinder wheel?” Edward asked.

  “Yes,” Caroline answered, watching him jam the device into his coat pocket. “It may come in handy later.” When they were camping in the woods with no home.

  “I like it here.” Charlotte frowned, her father’s book clutched to her chest. “Will we ever come back?”

  “I don’t know. For now, we’re going to North Carolina to live with your grandmother. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Caroline gave the children an encouraging smile as they hurried down the hall.

  “What about Mama?” Charlotte asked.

  “She’ll come with us.” Caroline winced inwardly. Could a day-old baby survive such a journey?

  Betsy met them at the top of the stairs. She, too, had a bundle in her arms. “This is all I have in the world. The redcoats destroyed my home and my family.”

  Edward scowled. “I hate the redcoats. I want to join the partisans and fight with Josiah.”

  “You’re too young.” Caroline headed down the stairs. “Hurry now. Quietly.”

  “I smell smoke,” Betsy whispered behind her.

  Caroline reached the second-floor landing and gasped. Billows of smoke drifted up the stairs.

  “The house is on fire!” Betsy shouted.

  Charlotte squealed and dropped her book.

  “Wait here.” Caroline covered her mouth and nose and descended a few steps. A wall of heat stopped her. Through the smoke, she spotted the flames, devouring the base of the stairs. She scurried back up the landing.

  The terror on the children’s faces ripped at her heart. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out,” she told them to reassure herself as much as them.

  “I know!” Betsy yelled. “We’ll go down the servants’ staircase and out the back door. Hurry!” She charged up the stairs to the third floor. The children ran after her.

  Caroline glanced out the window of the second-floor landing and spotted Hickman and his foot soldier by the servants’ door. Pugsley had a musket in his hands, the bayonet gleaming in the afternoon sun. A trap. Hickman wanted them to use the secret passageway.

  “Wait!” She charged up the stairs. “Betsy, wait. We have to find another way.”

  Betsy stopped. “What other way is there?”

  “We’ll . . .” Think, Caroline
, think. “We’ll go to the balcony on the second floor. The front of the house.”

  “And what? Jump? ’Tis too far.”

  “I know where there’s a rope. Go! Go to the balcony.” Caroline passed her bundle to Edward, then ran to the room where Matthias and Jacob had rescued Jane. She gathered up the rope and darted down the stairs to the second floor.

  Waves of heat rose up from the ground floor. The smoke was so thick, she covered her mouth and hurried to the balcony. Fresh air welcomed her and she breathed in relief to see Betsy and the children waiting.

  “We’ll climb down using the rope.” She tied one end around a column.

  Betsy tossed their bundles over the balcony.

  “ ’Tis too far,” Charlotte whispered. “I’m afraid.”

  Edward pounded his fists on the balustrade. “I hate the British! I hate them. They burned our home and our cabin. And now they’re burning—”

  “Edward!” Caroline grabbed him by the shoulders. “I need you to go first. Show your sister how easy it is.”

  Edward nodded. Caroline and Betsy held him steady as he climbed over the balustrade and took hold of the rope. With his feet pressed against the column, Edward eased himself down the rope to the ground.

  Caroline knelt in front of her niece. “You see how it is done, Charlotte? ’Tis simple.”

  “I’m afraid!” Charlotte’s face paled to a deathly white. “Where’s Papa’s book? I dropped it. I don’t have Papa’s book.”

  “You don’t need it. Your Papa is fine.”

  “I want Papa’s book!”

  Caroline straightened. She could hardly fling her niece over the balcony. The heat from the house was growing stronger, like a giant oven, and they stood just outside it. How long before the floor collapsed beneath their feet?

  “Betsy, go next,” Caroline ordered. She spotted Edward running toward the river. Where on earth was he going?

  Betsy had almost reached the ground when Pugsley and Hickman rounded the corner.

  “Halt!” Pugsley leveled his musket at the servant. “Don’t move!”

  Betsy yelped and fell to the ground.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Caroline shouted from the balcony. “Do you expect us to stay in a burning house?”