Keys clinking, the man unlocked a heavy door and approached a small room lit by a single taper. A woman sat at a crude desk scratching her quill across paper, pausing to eye Liberty with interest even before she’d been announced.
“Lady Elisabeth, you say? Doctor Hessel is looking for you. I’ll take you to the countess straightaway. She’s just across the hall.”
Liberty thanked her, surprised to find her so young. “Are you the matron?”
“Nay, miss. I’m Septima Ward, the nurse. Mistress Galt, the matron, is occupied.”
Taking out a set of keys from her pocket, she dismissed the man who’d led Liberty to her and crossed to an opposite door, then let Liberty in before shutting it soundly and disappearing.
Liberty’s heart squeezed tight at the scene before her. Little here but one simple chair, a bed covered with a blue-and-brown coverlet, a writing desk, a pallet in one corner, and a colorless rug. She stared with horror at the iron ring in a wall. For fettered patients? A sole, barred window let in the last of daylight, and a candle sat on the wide sill. Her mother stood looking out, her lovely profile so grave Liberty dared to hope she was calmer than she’d been at the dock.
Seeing her, Mamie got up from a chair with difficulty, reminding Liberty of just how old she was. Yet her worn voice, ever faithful, was full of warmth. “Child, that you?”
Liberty could hardly speak. “’Tis me, Mamie.”
She went forward and hugged the round, linen-clad woman tight, all the while assessing the plain lines of the room through wet eyes.
“Doctor Hessel give her a bit o’ laudanum earlier today,” Mamie whispered as they drew apart. “She ain’t been herself since.”
“Mama,” Liberty called, approaching slowly.
Her mother turned toward her. Her dress, a rich peacock-blue silk, made a mockery of her surroundings. Liberty put weary arms around her, feeling her thinness beneath the elaborate gown. A bandage encased one hand. Had she injured herself when she fainted upon arrival? The sea voyage had gone hard on her. And now this . . .
She clung to her mother longer than she ever remembered doing. Mama felt so fragile, the odor of laudanum strong. How much had Hessel given her? “Mama, I’ve missed you so.” Her voice, sure and smooth for just a moment, began to crack and fade. “You’ve come home at last.”
When she stepped back the candle flickered in a draft, highlighting a single tear trailing down her mother’s wrinkled cheek. What little composure Liberty had left crumpled, and she flung her arms around her mother’s neck. “Mama, are you sad? Oh please, don’t cry.” But she was crying so hard herself the words were nearly nonsensical. “’Twill be all right . . . in time.”
Mamie came from behind, patting her back, murmuring words of comfort. The barren room seemed to echo the slightest sound. A wild, irrational fear took hold. Would someone come, perhaps at her father’s bidding, to lock them in and not let them out?
Mamie took charge, settling her mistress into a chair and bringing Liberty a handkerchief. “Child, you look all done in. If I could fetch you a cup of tea I would, but there ain’t no tea to be had here.”
Liberty settled on the edge of the bed, the thin mattress giving way to sagging rope beneath. She read a hundred questions in Mamie’s old, careworn face, but she couldn’t answer a single one. How much should she share? Hold back? She shivered despite the heat, hands in her lap, her mind empty of all but a beloved Scripture.
Whatsoever things are true . . .
With that in mind, she began slowly. “The Lord has been so good to me. He’s kept me from harm. People I would not have expected to help have been kind.” At this she almost faltered, Noble firmly in mind. “Isabeau is safely settled elsewhere. I’ve just seen Father . . .”
Silence. And then, “How is he?” Her mother’s gray eyes were fixed on Liberty, intelligent and assessing, unclouded by laudanum.
“He is safe, Mama . . . and may need to sail to England soon.” Though she could hardly recall their harsh conversation without crying, this much was true at least. She would not share her father’s coldness, his complete indifference.
“And the servants? Are they with him?”
“I don’t know. I have not seen them.”
Her mother’s eyes shone and threatened to overflow. Liberty felt an overwhelming anguish. Her mother knew. Despite her absence and removal from all the turmoil, somehow she’d sensed everything had changed, that nothing was the same or ever would be.
“I prayed for you, Daughter. Even in Bath I kept you close.”
“I felt your prayers, Mama. I believe they kept me safe.” Liberty clutched her handkerchief into a hard ball. Even Mamie’s chin was trembling, her wise, dark eyes wells of water.
“What of your betrothed? Your wedding?”
At this Liberty said with relief, “I’m not to marry, Mama. My betrothal to Miles Roth is broken.”
They fell silent, no more to be said. Mamie began helping ready Mama for bed, and Liberty realized they would have to stay the night in this fearful place. The evening sounds, some reassuring like cricket song and the sigh of the wind, masked those that were strange and frightening.
Shortly after midnight, she awoke to shouting and the rattle of chains. Stiff upon the thin pallet, she was barely aware of the easy rhythm of Mama’s breathing next to her or Mamie’s soft snoring in the corner. One would need laudanum in such a place—bottles of it. She couldn’t stay another moment.
Getting up, she rang a bell as gently as she could for the nurse, who let Liberty out.
Sitting near a broken sundial in the paleness of early morning, Liberty looked upon a patch of untouched ground fringed with daylilies. Beneath the wide brim of her straw hat her eyes burned with dull fire. She’d slept little on this stone bench after leaving Publick Hospital, kept awake more by the plan forming than the town’s night noises. And now, as if the fresh air helped clear the cobwebs from her mind, she mulled her scheme in daylight, finding it remarkably sound if scary.
She’d walked the half mile or more from Publick Hospital to the townhouse after midnight, breathing in the solitude of the Sabbath. Once alone in the townhouse garden, out of sight of the street, she sought refuge among a small army of plants once victim to the mob. Now rallying in colorful profusion, no longer keeping to their beds, they spilled over walks and crept round corners with independent abandon.
Therein lies a lesson. Perhaps the Lord was showing her how brokenness could become abundance in the days to come. ’Twas a hope worth holding on to.
Her back pressed against a warm brick wall, she dozed, cast back to Ty Mawr. It seemed a lifetime ago, as if she’d dreamed up her third-floor stay.
“Lady Elisabeth?”
A shadow passed over her. She straightened, overcome with a mad hope. Noble, here? Nay. ’Twas Doctor Hessel’s sturdy frame that loomed over her, relief sketched across his face. Disappointment made her chest tight. Try as she might, she couldn’t give a greeting.
His eyes were tired, his frock coat rumpled. “I’ve looked everywhere for you. I’m told you are no longer at Ty Mawr. I’ve sent word to your father aboard the Fowey but have yet to receive a reply.”
“I’ve been there myself to no avail. I’ve also seen Mama. She seems well enough, but her hand—’tis bandaged—”
“She hurt it when she fainted and fell. I’ve set it and will oversee its healing.”
“Given that, she’s hardly in need of Publick Hospital. Or laudanum.” Her voice held exasperation. “We must move her somewhere safe. Sane.”
He was studying her, his features contrite. “I wanted to bring her to my rooms once I saw her, but it was impossible. No other invitations were forthcoming. I could not secure her at a tavern, given threats have been made against her and your father.”
Her spirits sank as she took in the unwelcome words. ’Twas no surprise. She herself had been shunned due to her father’s unpopularity. “My only recourse was Publick Hospital. She’s resting comfort
ably there, as you know. Mamie is with her.”
She nodded, resignation giving way to grief. She tried to see circumstances in a favorable light. She well remembered the legislation enabling the hospital to be built. Her father had been its fiercest opponent. He had first called Mama lunatic then, as she was its staunchest supporter.
Though Liberty set her jaw till she feared her teeth would crack, her tears ran unhindered. She had not so much as a handkerchief in her basket. In the ensuing silence, Doctor Hessel fumbled in his waistcoat for one. She took it grudgingly. “I saw her briefly last night.”
“Then you know I took care to secure a private room for her near the matron.” His tone was apologetic. “If nothing else, she’s in a safe place. No harm can come to her.”
Safe? With so many disordered minds about? She withheld the anguished reply. The suspicion that her father was somehow behind her mother’s placement there hovered. It would suit his purposes to declare her incompetent. Was the doctor in league with him? She felt a twinge to assume Hessel guilty of that.
“You know I mean your family no harm. ’Twas a last resort and one that will, I hope, be brief.”
Looking away, she focused on the garden and followed the erratic trail of a butterfly in flight. “I appreciate your good intentions.” Her next words were so abhorrent she had to utter a hasty, silent prayer before saying them. “I’ll go see her again as soon as I can.”
He nodded and reached for her hand. The gesture was so unexpected and so uncharacteristic of him she was caught by surprise.
“I’ll do all I can to help you, Elisabeth. There’s no need to feel alone. I’m confident Providence will aid us.” He let go of her at last. “What will you do now? I cannot leave you here sitting on this bench. Where is your maid? Why are you not at Ty Mawr?”
So many questions. She had few answers save one. “I cannot rely on Mister Rynallt’s generosity any longer.”
“You cannot stay here.” She heard the rustle of paper and looked up to see him opening a fresh copy of the Gazette. “Notice of the coming auction has just been posted. Trespassers at this address are to be prosecuted.”
“I’m no trespasser,” she said softly, hurt.
“The authorities may not make that distinction. I’d hate to find you in gaol.”
It can’t be any worse than Publick Hospital, she nearly said.
Tossing aside the newspaper, he righted an overturned urn and sat beside her. “You were safer outside Williamsburg, and there I’d hoped you’d stay, if not with Rynallt, then the Carters or someone more suitable.”
Truly Ty Mawr was unsuitable in the extreme. There she was in dire danger of losing her heart.
“At least till this business with your father is sorted out,” he finished.
“I’ve been to York,” she said. “That door is closed to me.”
“York? When?”
“A few days ago.” The simple question unlocked a storehouse of hurt. “Father has washed his hands of us.”
“Please, I know how forbidding he can be. But deep down I know he cares for you—”
“Then why has he made no provision for us? I came here and turned the house upside down, thinking he might have left a few guineas—”
“You have no coin?”
She sighed, taking back some of the blame. “Perhaps he might have given me something had I not left the Fowey in such a hurry.”
He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a small pouch. “I have ample—”
“Nay, Bram.”
Their eyes locked. He looked taken aback. Never had she called him Bram. Doctor Hessel, yes. Only that. Till now. A ruddy flush stole into his face, making him look more swarthy Scot than fair Dutch. But he recovered well and was soon the good doctor again. Stoic. Professional. Concerned. “When have you last eaten?”
She looked to her lap, her days a scramble. When had she partaken of the generous meal at Jane Vobe’s? “Eating is the least of my concerns.”
“Then we’ll breakfast together—now,” he told her, returning the pouch to his waistcoat.
The prospect made her queasy. He read her refusal without her saying a word.
She peered up at him again, catching his wounded expression. “’Tis nothing more than this—I don’t want to be seen.”
“Why? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’m a Tory in a largely Patriot town. I-I want to be invisible, for a while yet.”
He nodded, taking off his hat and turning it round in his hands. She noticed it was new beaver felt, not the old cocked hat she was used to. Looking down at her wrinkled dress, dirt sullying the flounced hem, she was reminded she was in sore need of a bath and change of clothes. Her eyes drifted to the well house near the stable. Perhaps the copper tub was still there. She could see the tongue of the coach given her by Miles Roth lying in the dust before the stable’s open doors.
“I don’t want you to worry about me.” At the risk of sounding absurd, she added quietly, “Providence has given me a plan.”
He was looking at her with keen concentration—he always seemed to be looking at her lately—and she nearly squirmed at his close scrutiny. He took out his money pouch again. “I insist you take these guineas. Consider it a loan of sorts.” He pressed the coins into her palm and put on his hat. “I have patients to see for now. Where will you be staying?” One glance at the boarded-up townhouse dismissed the notion. “Not here, surely.”
“You needn’t concern yourself.” Truly, she did not want her whereabouts known, not even by him. Best keep the Raleigh secret for now.
Before he’d cleared the garden gate she was on her way to the ordinary. Once her first day’s work was done, she would see Mama again.
17
Your father and I . . .” Despite the distress in her face, Lady Stirling had recovered her eloquence. “My thought is that your father will sail to the West Indies and the sugar plantation he has there. As for myself, I am done with England and the king’s petty policies. I’ll seek asylum with the Dickinsons in Philadelphia and stay abreast of the coming conflict.”
Wealthy Quakers, the Dickinsons had one of the largest libraries in the colonies, some fifteen hundred volumes. Would Mama make herself known as one of the Daughters of Liberty? The very name that so inflamed her husband?
But Philadelphia? Not once had Liberty imagined this.
“One’s true friends are revealed in a calamity such as this.” Her mother moved about, gathering her spectacles and a book. “Apparently I have none in Williamsburg. All have closed their doors to me on account of your father’s circumstances.”
Liberty hesitated. Should she mention Noble Rynallt’s generous offer of Ty Bryn, the small house near Ty Mawr? Had she refused him prematurely? Nay. Those ties were cut. Now she wasn’t even his social equal.
“Your father has wasted no time in declaring me lunatic, and Doctor Hessel has inadvertently confirmed it by placing me in Publick Hospital.” Handing Mamie a pair of mitts to pack, Mama attempted to tie the chin ribbons of her hat till Mamie stepped in. “You must come with me, of course.”
The hospital room door was ajar, their leaving imminent. Had Mama no wish to return to the townhouse? Collect some of her belongings before—
“I shan’t return to England Street,” her mother continued. “Best leave the past in the past.”
Was she aware their former home would be seized and auctioned? Mamie cast her a worried look as if reading her thoughts. Could twenty years or better be dismissed so easily? Did Mamie sense Liberty could not go with them?
“I’ve set aside some pin money from my publications, enough for a coach to Philadelphia. And I’ve sent Doctor Hessel a note.”
“Mama, I—” She met her mother’s silver stare. “I cannot accompany you. Williamsburg is my home, come what may. I’ve just hired on with Mister Southall.”
Mamie’s mouth rounded in disbelief, her fingers making a tighter knot of Mama’s chin ribbons. “’Tis merciful your f
ather is aboard ship,” her mother said. “He’d have an apoplectic fit.”
“Which he did over your writings.”
“Indeed. Two forward-thinking females in one family are too many.” Taking a chair, she studied her daughter. “Let me guess. You are turning to lacemaking and embroidery, am I right? I’ve long thought your skills exceptional, but I never imagined you would use them in so practical a way.”
“I have you to thank, and your cottage industry here, as patron of the Williamsburg Lacemakers and such.”
“You could still go north with me and ply your needle in the city of brotherly love.” Her mother paused long enough to lift a brow. “Though it shan’t be that for long, I fear, peace-loving Quakers or no.”
“I’ve just moved into the folly of the Raleigh Tavern. The proprietor is in need of my services.”
“For all those Independence Men, no doubt.”
Liberty suppressed a smile. Few could quibble about the Raleigh’s clientele.
“Mister Southall is a God-fearing gentleman who runs a respectable establishment,” her mother conceded. “I know of the folly. ’Twas his office for a short time years ago. One could do worse living betwixt the bakery and apothecary.” Standing, she pinned Liberty with a shrewd stare. “What has become of Isabeau? Run off like the rest of the servants?”
“Thankfully, Noble Rynallt of Ty Mawr has bought her contract.” The particulars—the paperwork and payment—had eluded her till now. Would he seek her out to finalize the indenture transfer? And why did she feel a twinge of pleasure even saying his name?
“Very well.” Mama raised her splinted hand to brush away a mosquito. “Philadelphia is not far. Should you tire of your work in Williamsburg, you are always welcome to join me.” She turned toward the barred window. “The coach has come. Let us say our goodbyes privately.”