Freedom's Light

  Olive’s flush deepened. “It was said she is your and Captain Meredith’s by-blow, but I told the silly wags it was not true. There was not even time for her to belong to the captain. You only met him eight months ago.”

  Hannah squeezed her hand, grateful for her defense. “We must put it behind us now. I care not what wicked tongues say. All that matters now is my daughter and my lighthouse.”

  “And the captain?”

  Tears burned Hannah’s throat. “I leave him in God’s hands.”

  Galen sipped tea from the fragile teacup and smiled at Molly who perched on the sofa across from him. Her beautiful face was alert with interest since he’d stated his business of searching out spies in the city.

  “You say you have information to give me?”

  “Mayhap it is nothing, but I have heard whispers that Samuel Rivers might be a spy for the colonials.”

  “I have heard nothing of such rumors, but mayhap it would be intriguing if I found such information true. I dislike Samuel’s associate Birch Meredith most heartily. Could the good captain be a spy as well?”

  Galen kept his expression calm and shrugged. “I know not, mistress, but it would seem a possibility. Mayhap you can uncover more than I.”

  Her smile held triumph. “Believe you me, if such a matter exists, I shall discover. I thank you much for bringing me this information, Major.”

  “Of course. I am always at the service of the Crown and you, milady.”

  The thought of seeing Meredith eliminated from Hannah’s presence brought him great joy.

  CHAPTER 25

  Birch held the spyglass to his eye and scanned the placid sea. Nothing. He longed for the sight of a white sail on the horizon, not that it would do him any good in this becalmed ocean. The British had grown canny, and he seldom saw an unescorted ship. They usually sailed in groups of three or more, and he had to watch them helplessly as they sailed past.

  He sighed and put the spyglass down. He looked with longing toward the west. How was Hannah getting along with Charlotte? Several times over the past four months he’d almost set sail for Gurnet Point but had managed to restrain himself. What good would it do? Hannah had made her decision perfectly clear. Her God was more important to her than he was.

  “Cap’n.”

  He turned at the sound of Riley’s voice. His first mate wore a worried frown. “What is it?”

  “The mast has a crack in it, sir. We’re only ten miles from New York. Shall we put in there and have it checked out?”

  Birch frowned and stared at the mast above his head. “How serious?”

  “Bad enough I would hate to test it in a gale.”

  Birch nodded. “Very well, put in at New York.” He hated to waste the time, but he would regret it if an early nor’easter blew in and toppled his sail. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to check in with Rivers.

  The September breeze teased strands of his hair from the ribbon at the nape of his neck, and he retied it. He leaned against the railing and stared in the direction of the city. Was Montgomery still there? He scowled. Someday he would pay for Charles’s death. Someday soon. Birch had only agreed to stay justice for the sake of his country. Once they had shaken off Britain’s shackles, he would make Montgomery pay.

  Two hours later the ship glided into the harbor and dropped anchor. When they went ashore, Riley went to have the ship looked over while Birch pressed through the teeming throng and headed to Rivers’s office. He’d forgotten how much he hated this city. The people, the noise, and dirt. It all made him long for the clean, salty wind in his face. A festival was in full swing, and revelers crowded the streets.

  The office was deserted when he arrived, though it was only four in the afternoon. Dust and sand littered the floor, and the room had a musty, closed-up odor. The desks were still in place, and he pushed the door to Samuel’s office open. He stopped and gaped a moment. Papers littered the floor, filing cabinets lay strewn about like blocks, and the desk had been upended.

  Alarmed, Birch left the office and headed for Samuel’s home. He had a sinking feeling that Samuel’s true identity had been discovered. When he arrived at the house, he was relieved to see it looked inhabited. He knocked on the door. Hopefully, Samuel was home at this time of day.

  The door swung open, and he stared into Molly Vicar’s face. He took an involuntary step back. What was she doing in Samuel’s house?

  Her eyes widened when she saw him, then a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. A touch of malice glittered in her gaze. “Captain Meredith, we meet again. Please, come in.” She stepped aside and motioned him in.

  “Where is Samuel Rivers?” He didn’t trust the gleam in her eyes, but he had to find out about Samuel.

  “Let us not argue on the steps for the neighbors’ enjoyment. Come to the parlor, and I shall explain what has become of Samuel Rivers.”

  Her dark eyes mocked him, and his sense of unease deepened. He wanted to turn around and escape from her presence. His throat tight with apprehension, he inclined his head in agreement and followed her to the parlor. She paused outside the parlor door a moment. “Go on in. I need to give my butler some instructions.”

  The parlor looked very different from when Samuel had lived here, more feminine and fashionable with silk wallpaper and floral rugs. Molly soon joined him.

  Dressed in a green silk gown, she looked as though she were about to depart for a party, but she sat on the sofa and arranged the folds of her dress about her. “I did not think to have the pleasure of seeing you again, Captain,” she drawled. She rang a small silver bell on the table for the maid. “We shall have some tea and get reacquainted.”

  He bit back the sharp words on the tip of his tongue. He would get further by being pleasant.

  She leaned back against the sofa and smiled at him seductively. “How good is your memory, Captain?”

  “Very good.” She was enjoying herself entirely too much. Birch leaned against the fireplace mantel and tried to act unconcerned.

  “Then doubtless you remember what I told you the last time we met.”

  The maid brought a tray of tea and cookies and set it on the table. Molly leaned forward and poured two cups of tea. “Sugar?”

  “No, thank you.” He took the cup. He well remembered the last thing she told him. What did that have to do with Samuel?

  She took a delicate sip of tea. “I told you I’d make a formidable enemy, did I not?”

  “So you said.”

  She chuckled. “You sound as though you did not believe me. You will find I never exaggerate, Captain.” She picked up a cookie and took a bite.

  Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall, and the parlor door shuddered with the pounding of a fist on the other side. Molly’s smile deepened as the door flew open and four British soldiers burst into the room.

  Birch resisted the impulse to bolt from the room. He must not act guilty.

  “Is this the traitor Galen Wright told us about, Mistress Vicar?” A young lieutenant with sandy-blond hair and hazel eyes toyed with his saber as though he would like nothing more than to run Birch through with it.

  Molly stood. “This is the man, Lieutenant.” She turned to Birch. “You see, Captain, knowing of your relationship with Samuel, I had Galen investigate and found him to be a rebel spy. I know that does not mean you are also a spy, but Galen thought it likely. With a bit of persuasion, Samuel confessed your role in the recent loss of five of our British ships, and we hanged him. Your body will soon join his. Take him, Lieutenant.”

  Birch jumped forward and overturned the table. The first two soldiers stumbled into it, and he grappled with the third for several moments before tossing him into the path of the fourth soldier who had hurried forward to assist.

  “Take him!” Molly screamed. “I shall have you hanged if you let him get away!”

  Birch ran out the door with the soldiers hastily recovering their balance and following closely on his heels. One snatched at his jacket just as he reached the s
treet, but he jerked loose and melted into the throng. For once he was glad of the crowds.

  He rounded a corner and paused in a dark alley to catch his breath. He heard their shouts and darted his gaze around for a place to hide. A discarded crate had been tossed beside the doorway of a brick building. He knelt behind it and drew his sword. He heard the men run past, and then their voices faded in the distance.

  He rose with caution and peered around the corner. No sign of the soldiers. What should he do now? He didn’t dare go back to the ship. Soldiers had likely been dispatched there as soon as Molly had summoned them. He hoped his men got wind of the news and didn’t try to return to the ship either. New York was firmly in the grasp of the British. With Samuel gone, he had no choice but to find Washington’s camp and tell him what had happened.

  He waited in the alley until dark, then slipped into the crowds and made his way to a livery. No horses were available, so he gathered supplies and information until nearly midnight, then stole a horse outside the British headquarters. He had a long way to ride. Washington was at Philadelphia defending the capital from the British.

  He pushed his horse as hard as he dared. Even so, it was three days of hard riding before he came to the outskirts of the Continental Army’s camp along Brandywine Creek, twenty-six miles from Philadelphia. He was stopped by a sentry, then taken to General Washington.

  “Captain Meredith!” Weariness lined Washington’s face, but he stood and shook Birch’s hand. “I hope you bring good news.”

  Birch slumped in the canvas chair the general indicated. “I fear not, General. Samuel Rivers is dead, hung as a spy, and my cover is blown as well.” He still found it hard to believe. If only his mast had not cracked, he would still be at sea.

  Washington was silent a moment. “He was a good man. What of his family?”

  Birch shook his head. “Gone. I assume they found refuge somewhere.”

  Washington expelled a heavy sigh. “Get some rest, Captain. We will discuss your next assignment on the morrow.”

  Birch nodded and trudged through the camp. He passed a peddler woman who looked at him strangely. Did he look as bad as he felt? He unsaddled his horse and pitched his tent under a towering evergreen tree. After crawling inside, he was asleep within moments.

  “Birch.”

  The hushed whisper penetrated his mind. Was he dreaming? Moonlight streamed through the open flap of the tent and illuminated the figure huddled near his head. He sat upright and fumbled for his saber. He opened his mouth to shout for help.

  “Birch, ’tis me, Lydia.”

  Lydia? His groping stilled, and he stared at her in the moonlight. This old hag? He narrowed his eyes. What trick was this?

  Seeing the disbelief in his eyes, she pulled the wig off her head and revealed her golden hair. The color of her smooth skin had been altered somehow; it seemed dark and coarse. She moved closer. “Truly, Captain, ’tis Lydia.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask the same of you,” she said with a toss of her hair.

  That was the old Lydia. She never did like being questioned. She had to be a spy. That was the only explanation. “Where is Galen?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I know not,” she whispered. “I tried to find him, but he left orders no one was to tell me where he had gone.” She took his hand. “Mayhap you could find out for me.”

  “Forget him, Lydia. He is a bounder.”

  Her shoulders shook as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I wish I could. I try, Birch, but I cannot stop any more than I can no longer breathe.” She coughed, a fierce, convulsive spasm that left her gasping for breath.

  “You are sick, Lydia. Let me fetch the doctor.” He rose, but she put her hand on his arm.

  “He would see beyond my disguise.” She coughed again, then took his hand. “I want Hannah. My child and I need her.”

  His fingers tightened on hers. “You have a child?”

  She smiled. “Not yet, but soon.” She took his hand and guided it to her stomach. “Galen’s son.”

  He felt a movement and jerked his hand away.

  “Can you help me get home to Hannah?” She hesitated and dropped her eyes. “You owe her that much for the pain of the lashing she endured on your behalf.”

  He stared at her. “Lashing?”

  “Ten lashes for bastardy with you. Her back was laid open.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut at the awful image her words summoned. He clenched his fists. Someday the men who had done this to Hannah would pay. “Is she all right?”

  “She will be once she has me safely home. You know she would want you to help me. I know I wasn’t always kind to you, Captain, and you have no reason to help me. But for Hannah’s sake, I ask it anyway.”

  She was sick and pregnant. He should turn her in to Washington, but she was Hannah’s sister. If he whisked her out of here, she could do no more harm. He told himself it was only for that reason that he would go back to Gurnet Point, but he couldn’t still the sudden leap of his heart at the thought of seeing Hannah again. “Are you able to travel? It is a long trip.”

  “I will do what I must. Then when I am with Hannah again, you will find Galen and tell him he has a son.”

  The bounder. Did he know she was pregnant? Was that the reason he had cast her off?

  Lydia saw the question in his gaze and dropped her eyes. “He will want me and the babe when he knows the child is a boy. No man would refuse to claim his son.”

  The desperate hope in her voice broke through Birch’s resistance. She was deceiving herself. “You’ve been spying for Galen, have you not?”

  She stared back at him. “Not for Galen, but yes, I’ve been reporting Washington’s troop movements to the British as any good citizen would. Thanks to my work, several spies have been hung.”

  Even now she failed to see her own corruption. His lips twisted and he stepped back. “I’ll take you.”

  Lydia clasped her hands together. “Thank you, Captain. I shall be ready to leave on the morrow.” She pressed his hand again, then slipped back into the night.

  Birch lay back down when she was gone, but it was a long time before he slept. His sleep was fitful, plagued by dreams he couldn’t remember when he woke. He sighed at the bugle call and dragged himself up from his pallet. He felt as though he’d just lain down. He should tell Washington about Lydia, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hurt Hannah any more. He’d get Lydia away.

  He obtained permission from the general to take a few weeks’ leave for personal business. The general was hesitant to let him go, but since Birch had never enlisted in the army, he had every right to do so. He assured Washington he would return as soon as he was able. Birch rounded up some supplies and waited for Lydia by the creek.

  She came rattling down the track on a cart pulled by a swaybacked mule. Even though he knew it was she, this dirty, unkempt peddler bore no trace of her true identity. She smiled at him, and he swung onto his horse and led the way north.

  They talked little as they traveled. The mule was so wayward, it took all her concentration to keep him from stopping and investigating the tasty tufts of grass on the side of the road. Birch was too tired to make conversation, though he was determined to find out how she came to be spying in the enemy camp. Duty demanded he turn her in, but love for Hannah stilled his tongue. At least he would stop her spying by removing her from camp.

  They stopped for the night in a glen beside a clear stream. He tethered the horse and helped her down from the cart. Her face was drawn with fatigue, and she rubbed her back. “Sit and rest. I shall care for the animals.”

  She nodded and knelt beside the water. “Do you suppose I could have a bath?” she asked wistfully. “The fleas nearly drive me mad. I have a tin tub in the cart.”

  “I’ll build a fire for hot water.” He could do with a bath himself. Then he wanted to have a talk with her. He had to see if she had discovered any information that would be damaging to the re
volution. If so, he had to keep her from giving it to the British.

  While he set up camp, she heated several kettles of water and filled the washtub. She paused several times and rubbed her lower back. This trip would be hard on her. He set up a tent around the tub, and she smiled at him.

  “You go first,” she said. “I would hate for you to get any of these fleas.”

  “You bathe. I’ll use the stream.”

  She looked more like herself after the bath. Her wig was gone, and her golden hair was clean and shining. Some of the darkness had disappeared from her skin as well.

  He handed her a tin plate of beans and hard bread. “I need some answers, Lydia.”

  Her eyes darkened. “I have told you everything.”

  “What were you doing in the camp?”

  “The same as you, obviously. We’re two of a kind.” She smirked. “Gathering information.”

  “How did you come to be there? I would have thought you would have stayed in New York with your friends.” She looked away, but not before he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

  “I had no friends,” she said softly. “An acquaintance arranged for me to become a peddler, and I thought I might as well do something useful for England. Besides, I hoped Galen would hear of my heroism and forgive me.”

  “And do you have any new information he would be proud of?” Birch desperately hoped not.

  “Only the latest troop movements.” Her eyes gleamed. “The information is vital. We shall surely pass a British unit on our way, and I can tell them. Washington plans a surprise attack on Howe’s troops near Philadelphia on October fourth. He thinks he can retake the capital. If they heed my warning, we may yet see him hang in this year of the hangman.”

  Birch’s heart sank. He must keep her from being suspicious or she would surely find a way to deliver the information herself. “I will find a loyal courier to pass the news to. Wait here.” He strode off in the direction of camp. He would stay gone long enough to allay her fears. There was no way he would allow that information to get in the hands of the British.