Here Comes a Candle (34 page)

Kate turned in a flash, to see Sarah still apparently absorbed in laying lines of forks across the table.
“
It
’
s too bad,
”
she heard, then the pistol crashed against her temple and she fell oceans down into blackness.

SIXTEEN

Her head was splitting. Where was she? Worse still, why could she not move? Hot sunshine on her face told her that dangerously much time must have passed since she plunged into unconsciousness. Calm now; don
’
t panic. She could move her head. She was lying flat on her back, hands and feet tied to a narrow bed. Yes, one of the beds in the room she had shared with Sarah.

Sarah! Where was she now? The scurrying thoughts exacerbated the pain in her head as she worked frantically against the bonds that held her. But they were like iron against her wrists and ankles. She only hurt herself. An accident! She remembered Manningham
’
s apparent rejection of the idea. Idiot, ever to have believed a word he said. Instead of killing her outright, he had left her to a lingering, helpless death in this deserted house.

Deserted? Why was she so horribly sure of this? Well, of course it stood to reason. They must have left as soon as they had tied her up. They would be safely settled in some Washington hideaway by now. Doubtless that was really what the argument had been ab
o
ut last night. Arabella would not have been pleased with the idea of moving nearer to the invading British Army. But Manningham! Was this his plan of escape? Perhaps he had already taken Arabella and Sarah across the lines. She could hear her own breathing, harsh and desperate in the stillness of the house, and made a conscious effort to calm it.

This was no time for panic t
hinking
. Manningham could not join the British Army until his exchange came through
—
So—if she could get to Washington, there was still a chance. For Sarah
’
s sake as much as her own, she must manage to get free. She made herself lie quiet for a few endless moments, resting, clearing her mind of everything but t
h
e immediate problem. Her hands were by her sides, tied to the frame of the cot bed. Her feet were tied together to its foot
.
Concentrate, then, on her hands. Put all the pressure she could bear first on one, then on the other. It hurt horribly. But slow death by starvation would not be pleasant either. And then there was Sarah.

What kind of rope would they have found in this house? Nothing very splendid from what she had seen of the other household equipment
.
She strained harder and more painfully than ever, but still with no effect. She was sobbing now, at once with pain and with rage at herself. She had thought she was fooling Manningham so finely by pretending to fall in with his blandishments—and all the time he had been one jump ahead of her. To have spent yesterday so light-heartedly in the garden with Sarah
...
folly! They should have escaped: might have been safe by now. But Jonathan had told her he intended to pay the ransom: how could she have foreseen the absurd, the tragi-comic misunderstanding between him and Manningham?

But s
h
e should have. She should have realized that neither would trust the other. If she died here alone, it would be entirely her own fault. And—Sarah? Her fault too: all her fault She who had been so grandiloquently ready to sacrifice everything for Sarah! Hot color flooded her cheeks as she remembered just what she had meant by that
“
everything.
”
Oh, he had fooled her finely, had Charles Manningham. Her hands fought furiously against the rope that held them. No use: only intolerable pain that was somehow comforting. She bit her lip and tried still harder. And—that letter from Jonathan. Did it mean that he was in Washington? Surely it must. So—if she could only get loose, get there, find him. Absurd to plan like this, as she lay here helplessly fighting despair and pain.

But better to plan than to despair. Besides, it took her mind off the agony of her hands. Five miles to Washington, Silas had said. She had worked out a rhythm now. Push, strain against the rope, count five as the pain got worse, count ten if she could make herself, then relax for the same count. And think of the clothesline where Sarah had helped her hang their washing. Old, surely, and frayed?

But perhaps there had been a new one stored somewhere in the kitchen. Don
’
t think like that. Defeatist thinking. Five miles to Washington—and no money. Throughout the journey, this had been one of the difficulties of her position. When Manningham had fetched her, so unexpectedly, from the garden at Penrose, she had had none on her. But this was defeatism too. There must surely be money somewhere in this big house. Yes, wryly, she found herself smiling: and here you lie helpless, thinking about looking for it.

It made her angry, and anger made her bear the pain to the count of fifteen, and then on up to twenty, and at twenty it happened. A tiny rending noise, the barest perceptible giving of the rope around her right hand. She gritted her teeth and went on pushing. It was easier to bear the pain now, with hope for company, but it took her an agonized half-hour or so of pushing and resting before she had her right hand free. And then it was so numb with pain and constriction that it was some time before she could use it to work fumblingly at freeing her other hand. After that, it was easy. Untying the rope that had bound her feet, she saw that it was in fact a brand-new piece and shivered at her good fortune that they had used, the older bit on her hands.

Her feet, too, were numb, but she must lose no time. She managed to crawl to the two little chests of drawers that stood side by side under the window and sat by them as she went methodically through their contents. She disliked herself as she did it, but found, at last, a purse with two dollars in it. It might not be wealth, but it was a great deal better than nothing.

She could stand now and walk, lim
p
in
g
. The five miles to Washington were going to be a long way. She took time, just the same, to make herself eat some ham and stale bread and drink a mugful of yesterday
’
s sour
milk.
The poor cow ... she could only hope that some neighbor would think of it today.

Her watch had stopped, but when she got outside she thought by the position of the sun that it must be pretty close to midday. The food had helped to ease her headache, but she was shivering all over and grateful for the heat of the sun. She shut the big front door carefully behind her and started to hobble down the driveway.

The pain in her feet eased gradually with walking and she pushed herself forward steadily, trying to map out a plan of campaign as she went. The first thing, of course, was to find Jonathan. Surely he must be in Washington, and so new a town should not have too many hotels. Or—would it? Here an alarming memory assailed her. Someone, surely, had told her that many congressmen found it too expensive to bring their families to Washington with them, preferring to live in one of its many boardinghouses. Well, nothing for it but to make the round of them.

The sun was very hot. She had stopped shivering and was sweating instead. Dust rose from the road and choked her. If she could only lie down in that patch of shade over there and rest, and rest, and rest
...
She pushed on and heard, as she did so, the sound of a carriage behind her. She turned, a disheveled
enough
figure, she knew, to hold out a pleading hand.

It was a small, shabby, one-horse chaise driven by an elderly man. For a moment she thought he was going right by, then, miraculously, he spoke to the horse and pulled it to a halt a little way past her.

“
Going into town?
”
he asked, as she limped up to him.
“
You don
’
t look just in the shape for walking.
”

“
I
’
m not.
”
Now she had time to worry about her accent.
“
If you would be so good—
”

“
Of course. Couldn
’
t leave a dog to walk in this heat, and with the damned redcoats about too. Up you get, ma
’
am,
”
he reached a bony hand down to help her up beside him.
“
You
’
re not from these parts, I reckon?
”
The question was both inevitable and, luckily, expected.

She had her answer ready.
“
No, I
’
m from Boston.
”

“
Ho! I thought as much. One of them tarnation Feds are you?
”
But his tone was as friendly as ever, merely more inquisitive.
“
Well now, ma
’
am, do you reckon those New England states of yours are really going about to secede from the Union?
”

“
I hope not.
”
Odd to realize that she really meant it.
“
But what
’
s the news today, sir? I
’
ve heard nothing.
”

“
I thought not, or you
’
d not have been walking the country roads alone. By all I hear the redcoats will be here any time now. Did you hear the explosions yesterday? That was Commodore Barney blowing up his flotilla of gunboats so they wouldn
’
t be captured. Gunboats!
”
He spat expressively.
“
Where are our frigates, that
’
s what I want to know? What
’
s Jemmy Madison been doing all this time? Barney
’
s a fine man—everyone knows that—but what use are a pack of gunboats against the British Navy? Well—we
’
ve seen. And now, what
’
s left but Washington? It stands to reason. By all reports they camped night before last at Nottingham—well now, I reckon that
’
s not more than thirty miles from the village.
”

“
Village?
”
she was puzzled.

“
Washington. Of course, you
’
re a stranger: a village in a swamp, they call it, and just about right too. Look!
”
He slowed his horse as the road emerged from trees on the crest of the ridge they had been following.
“
There!
”
He pointed with his whip.
“
There
’
s the mighty capital of these United States. I don
’
t reckon it looks much like Boston, does it?
”

It was hardly the moment to tell
him
she had never actually been into Boston. Besides, she was absorbed in the view of winding river with blue hills beyond and, this side, a scattering of houses here and there among the trees.
“
That must be the Capitol?
”
She pointed to the largest building she could see, far off to the left, white and conspicuous on its hill.

“
Yes—and not finished either! And if you look this way
”
—he gestured with his whip—
“
you might get a glimpse of the President
’
s palace through the trees. Palace they call it, but I reckon Mrs. Adams—or Dolly Madison come to that—ain
’
t found it any bed of roses. I guess Congress was plumb crazy when it voted to move down here. You can call that half-done building the Capitol—and Goose Creek the Tiber, too—but it don
’
t make the place anything better than a village in a swamp, and like to remain so. Who in their senses would live here if they could help?
”
And with this rhetorical question he whipped up his horse and started down a long slope among trees through which Kate could now see, here and there, an isolated house.

“
Oh yes,
”
he replied when she commented on this.
“
There are houses all over among the woods. Lonesomer, I reckon, than living on the frontier. Well,
”
he explained,
“
you expect to be lonesome there. But tell me, ma
’
am, where am I to set you down?
”

“
Oh!
”
She should have been ready for this.
“
Wherever suits you. I
’
m most grateful
...
”

“
No, no.
”
They had emerged from the trees on to a much broader street crowded with every possible
kind
of vehicle.
“
Just what I expected.
”
He sounded almost pleased.
“
The place is in a panic. I
’
ll not leave a Boston young lady to walk a step she don
’
t have to in a crowd like this. So, where will suit you, ma
’
am?
”

“
You
’
re very good. Well then, if it
’
s not too much trouble, could you take me to the principal hotel?
”
On their journey, Jonathan had always stayed at the best hotel in town.

“
The chief one?
”
His answer was discouraging.
“
Well, you see, ma
’
am, there
’
s so many, Washington being the kind of place it is. There
’
s Long
’
s, and Tomlinson
’
s—would it be either of those?
”
And then, as she shook her head doubtfully,
“
Well, I reckon the best thing I can do is set you down at Flood
’
s on Pennsylvania Avenue. I
’
m for the Navy Yard myself, so it won
’
t be taking me out of the way.
”