The Patriot's Conquest (36 page)

She ruminated over the thought. Could her mother have done some nasty deed in her hatred for Jeffrey?

“Mr. Merton, stay here. I shall return.”

Minutes later, she returned, deeply shaken. She raised her gaze to meet his.

“Mother informed me she had no time to drop the cane off. William offered to do it in her stead.”

“Christopher? Lord Dunmore’s secretary?” At her nod his gaze narrowed. “Mistress Clayton, I suspect he took the cane to implicate your husband in a capital crime. He has double the reason for wanting your husband to hang. Make you a widow and rid Lord Dunmore of an arch enemy.”

“But surely there must be some way we can prove this.”

Merton scratched his chin. “If only we had an inside person at the Governor’s Palace, someone less noticeable than I.”

“But we do.” Amanda thought of Julie. “There is Julie, a scullery maid who can help us.” If only William left some proof—but he likely had! His journal.

“My ex-beau keeps a journal. He often bragged about how he recorded sweet victories in it. If he did this crime, I am certain ’tis written in this book.”

“Such a journal would be proof of your husband’s innocence,” Daniel said.

Hope rose slowly. She felt it flutter, as fragile and tenuous, yet as real as the tiny life growing inside her belly. Amanda and Daniel exchanged smiles.

“Excellent. Now may I suggest, ’tis time for you to pay a visit to this Julie to see how she fares at that household?”

Amanda slipped inside the kitchen gate of the Governor’s palace. In the scullery, Julie scrubbed a large iron pot. As Amanda beckoned, Julie wiped her hands on her apron and followed her into the kitchen garden. They walked to the far end, Amanda keeping an eye upward at the servants chattering inside the kitchen.

“Miss Amanda! How lovely to see you.”

“’Tis not a social call, Julie, but an urgent request. You know my husband will hang in but four days.”

Julie’s smile dropped. “I had heard, Miss Amanda, I am so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Amanda glanced up and lowered her voice. “I need to gain entry into Captain Christopher’s room. There is a journal I need to prove my husband’s innocence.”

Julie’s pretty round face turned pale. “Oh, Miss Amanda, I don’t know, if they catch me, I shall be sorely punished.”

“You are my last hope of saving Jeffrey.” She caught the girl’s hands in her own, hoping her pleading voice would sway her. “I would not ask if not desperate.”

Anguish tightened Julie’s expression. “You did save me from the almshouse. But why would Captain Christopher save him?”

“Not William as much as what he recorded in his journal.” Quickly she explained.

Julie’s brow furrowed. “’Tis most strange. That night, the night of the fire, I was in the kitchen, cleaning the hearth when Captain Christopher stumbled in. Startled me a good fright, he did. Him all smelling of smoke like a big ham that had been roasting on a spit for hours. He had on strange clothes, too, not a uniform, but working man’s clothes.”

Working man’s clothes. Jeffrey was seen as a working man. William was shorter than Jeffrey, but in the night’s confusion, running from a burning house, shouting words people knew Jeffrey had uttered only recently...

“Julie, did William say anything?”

“Oh, he said something all right. He had a nasty burn on his hand and wanted butter to cool it. Yelled at me to fetch it. I did so and left, he scared me so with his threats. Said I wasn’t to say anything about it.”

If William had set the fire, and came in smelling of smoke with a burn on his hand, it surely made him look guilty.

Still, Julie’s word wasn’t good enough. Even if the girl worked up enough courage to testify against William, it would not be enough to demand a new trial. She must have the written proof!

“Julie, let us go to William’s room. I must have that journal.”

Her gaze darted around the garden grounds. “Yes, Miss Amanda. I think I can sneak away.”

She led the way to the outbuilding next to the palace. The two women opened the door with great caution. Amanda glanced at the stairway. No one was about. When they reached the top of the stairs, Julie approached a closed door.

“’Tis his room,” she whispered.

Amanda jiggled the knob. Desolation stole over her. “’Tis locked.”

“No matter,” Julie offered.

Astonished, Amanda watched the girl reach beneath her cap and pull free a hairpin, then reach for the door lock.

The scullery maid gave her a sheepish look. “’Tis what I was forced to do, having been left with no income once my husband died. I fell in with a rather disreputable lot.”

“’Tis a good thing you did not fall into gaol as well,” Amanda murmured. “Though I am glad of this skill now.”

The downstairs door banged open and loud footsteps sounded upon the stairs.

Julie shoved the pin back into her hair as Amanda glanced around the hallway. She tried several doorknobs. One opened. She yanked Julie inside. It was a servant’s bedroom, probably the cook’s.

Leaving the door open a crack, Amanda watched a British officer walked past. She recognized him as William’s assistant. He opened another door and vanished inside.

As soon as his door closed, they crept downstairs. Outside, Amanda bit her lip with frustration as they slipped their shoes on. She shook her head.

“’Tis no use. There are too many people about. Julie, you must secure the key and go into William’s room and get that diary for me.”

“I’ll try. I don’t know how, but I promise I’ll try.”

“I shall try as well.” Amanda grimaced. “Perhaps even visit William myself. Maybe I can find a way to the journal.”

For the next four days, Amanda did not visit Jeffrey. Instead she spent time at the Governor’s palace. Swallowing her pride, she chased William, saying she feared the future, for who would care for her now? Nothing too overt, not batting her lashes, nor crying on his shoulder. He swallowed the bait, taking her on carriage rides, walks in the Governor’s garden. He took her everywhere, except his room.

Julie had not succeeded either. Early on the morning of Jeffrey’s hanging, Amanda stole into the kitchen to find her crying while peeling onions. She knew the onions did not cause the tears.

“I’ve failed, Miss Amanda. I couldn’t get the key. Everyone is leaving at ten for the hanging. Lord Dunmore has graciously allowed the staff to have the time off. I told cook I had no stomach to see a man hung.”

Hope rose again. If everyone, William included, left for the hanging...

She knew they’d come for Jeffrey at noon. That left two hours to search William’s room, retrieve the journal and race to the gallows.

Exactly at ten, after the staff left, she and Julie stole into William’s room. Hatpin in hand, Julie picked the lock. The process took longer than Amanda had anticipated. Searching for the journal, they tore the room apart, but found nothing.

Grief and rage filled her. Jeffrey would die. She must be calm and logical. Where would William keep such a private book? She closed her eyes, imagining all the naughty times William stole a kiss, imaging him gloating and licking his fat lips as he recorded those kisses in the book, dreaming of even sweeter victories, such as bedding her...

In frustrated rage, she stomped her foot.

A board rattled. Amanda stared at the pinewood floor. Dropping to her knees, she wrestled with a plank and lifted the board free.

“Julie, look!”

Inside a small hollow was a red leather book. Amanda grabbed it and scanned the pages. Tears of joy and relief flooded her eyes.

“It’s here!” She snapped the book shut. “I must flee. I brought Liberty with me, for he’s the fastest horse we own. I must ride hard to the gallows to save my husband!”

Julie stared. “But how can you stop a hanging? Who will listen to you?”

She smiled grimly, thinking of the pistols hidden in Liberty’s saddlebag. “I have two very special friends people will listen to. Oh aye, they will indeed listen.”

H
E HEARD THE
creaking of the death wagon before it pulled to a halt outside the gaol. They had come for him at last.

With a trembling hand, he finished penning his last words to his beloved Mandy. Four days he had waited, cursing his stubborn pride that had banished her from his side. He could not erase his love, no matter if Mandy did betray him. So he waited in hope for her sweet face to show once more. But she did not come.

George visited, bringing Jeffrey’s fiddle. When pressed, his lawyer grimly confessed that Amanda spent time with William Christopher. Seemed the whole town saw how she already sought a new husband.

His heart twisted in his chest, but his writing did not slow. He finished and scribbled his name, ruefully noting the large inkblot, like a black tear, upon the last letter. When Peter Pellam came to fetch him, he handed him the note. Pellam promised its delivery.

Jeffrey did not resist as they led him from the cell. Just yesterday, they’d come for William Pitt and John Watkins, also found guilty and sentenced to hang. Watkins offered no resistance but Pitt screamed and kicked. Jeffrey’s stomach clenched as the men dragged his cellmate away, Pitt fighting and sobbing and pleading. Not for him. Jeffrey vowed to go in dignity.

As they rode to the gallows, he sat atop a rough wood coffin, the reverend next to him. Dust eddies kicked up by the wind swirled and danced. Jeffrey smelled the pungent odor of fresh manure, the freshness of newly-mown grass.

He watched a horse crop grass with such peace, he wanted to capture that feeling, hold it tight and never let go. A leaf broke loose from an oak tree, drifted down and settled at his feet. He picked it up and thumbed its texture, feeling the veins, jagged edges and smooth surface. Lifting it to the wind, he released it. It drifted, fluttering, skittering toward the azure sky.
Heaven must be this blue.

He breathed deeply, feeling life-giving air fill his lungs. Sorrow rippled through him. No fear rode his shoulders this day, only a deep, piercing sadness he’d never walk this way again.

’Twas a fine day to die. As he inhaled the scent of delicate wild flowers and fresh earth, keen regret stabbed him. Meg would lose another she loved. Her children, whom he loved as his own, would be left without a man to guide them. He tried not to think of Amanda.

The bell atop the Capitol clanged mournfully, accompanying the creaking cart wheels in a macabre melody. Jeffrey felt an aching need to overcome this deep depression. Turning to the chaplain, he asked for his fiddle.

The chaplain glanced at the sheriff and his man riding up front. “It would do no harm, and I’ll not deny a man his last request.” He shifted off the coffin and retrieved the instrument. George Wythe had insisted the sheriff place the fiddle inside for Jeffrey wished to be buried with it.

Smiling his thanks, Jeffrey tucked the fiddle beneath his chin. Its familiar shape provided a small comfort. Bow in hand, he tried to play, but could not summon a lively tune. ’Twas as if his hand resisted, recognizing the somberness of the ride. He closed his eyes and struck up a mournful rendition of “I Once Loved a Lass.” The haunting ballad told the story of man so unhappy over his beloved wedding another man that he only wanted his grave dug to forget her.

He thought of Amanda’s lovely, haunting voice. Softly he began to sing the words. Tears burned the back of his throat. He’d had no chance to bid good-bye and confess his love. If only he’d not been so stubborn and told her to go. If only he had one last embrace, one last kiss. She was the light of his life. Now the flame had been extinguished. Only a fierce darkness was left in its place.

He opened his eyes and saw the good reverend’s cheeks stained with wetness. “’Twas quite lovely, my son. Very sad.”

“Aye,” Jeffrey agreed. “Too sad. ’Tis a sad enough occasion, do you not think? I’ll try for a merrier tune.” He summoned his strength. He’d not ride to the gallows feeling sorry for himself. These were his last moments. He wanted them to be filled with life’s little joys.

Though his fingers trembled, he struck up another tune. A wide smile split his face as he began to bellow out the words to “Nottingham Ale.” The reverend’s gaze widened, but he joined in the lusty song.