Briskly she pulled on her mittens, hoping the gesture would mask the dismay she felt. Was she really so dreadfully transparent? Three days ago she’d been determined not to risk visiting her daughter for a fortnight, or at least until the situation here in town was more settled. But then, that had been before Anthony walked through that door, needing her help, needing her—
No. He had not sought her, nor had he wanted her assistance. She was the one who hadn’t been able to resist forcing her care, her concern, upon him. And he wasn’t Anthony. He was Major Sparhawk, a Tory officer cantoned in her home, an enemy she’d promised to spy upon. The sooner she remembered that and forgot everything else, the better for her, and Belinda, too.
She gave her head a little toss, trying to shake away the shameful memory. “You’ll have to make do with what we have in the cellar, Hannah, at least until the market opens again. Not that we’ll have that many guests—paying guests—at table. Still, I’ve every intention of returning to greet them all at dinner, and so you may tell them if they ask.”
But Hannah refused to let Catie change the subject. “I do wish you’d be takin’ one o’ the lads from the stable with you, mistress. The notion o’ a lady like you alone in the street with all them soldiers—well, it chills me t’ the quick. At least a pistol, mistress. Take one o’ the master’s old guns to protect yourself.”
“Oh, yes, and shoot myself for good measure. All the king’s men would quiver with terror at the sight of me with a gun, that’s for certain.” Catie smiled grimly. “This is my town, Hannah, my home, and my life, and none of it is King George’s affair. I refuse to let myself be cowed into hiding by a great pack of bullying Tories.”
Brave, patriotic words indeed, thought Catie proudly as she closed the door after her. But with each hurried step through the dark, deserted town, the bravery evaporated and the patriotic words faded into no more than an empty bluff as her heart pounded and her hands grew damp inside her mittens.
Patriot or not, she wasn’t a complete fool. She knew what she was doing was impulsive at best, sliding down the scale to out-and-out dangerous. She kept to the narrower side streets and hugged the edges of the houses and shops, where her footsteps would make less sound than on the paving stones, sometimes so close to the walls that her skirts brushed the clapboards and snagged against the bricks. Twice she heard men’s voices and a clanking of muskets that she guessed belonged to the British sentries, and both times she managed to dart through alleyways to avoid them.
By the time she finally reached the edge of town, dawn was a pale glow through the bare trees on the horizon, and Catie quickened her steps with a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of Newport. The little gossip she’d heard said that the British troops were concentrated in the town and around the harbor, and that they weren’t bothering with the more isolated farms scattered across the island.
But to be certain, she decided to leave the road and cut across the fields instead, and with her skirts bunched in one hand and the basket in the other, she climbed over the low stone wall that marked the boundary of the Arnold farm. The stubbled grass glistened with the heavy frost, crunching brittle beneath her feet as she cut out across the empty fields.
When at last she saw the smoke curling from the old stone chimney of the Pipers’ house, the sun had risen and stretched into a lemon-colored band across the pale winter sky. Catie’s fingers and toes were numb from the cold and her cheeks stung with it, but she was nearly running the final steps through the orchard, almost desperately eager to see her daughter again.
To her joy, Belinda was outside, helping Abigail Piper draw a bucket of water from the well. Catie called her name, and the little girl’s head rose at once, her face was so bright with the same excitement that Catie herself felt that she could have wept with joy. Only three days they’d been apart, but that was three days longer than they’d ever been separated before.
“Belinda, here!” she shouted, dropping the basket to the grass to wave her hands. “I’m over here!”
Without another glance at Abigail, Belinda began to run to Catie, her skirts flying high around her legs and her white linen cap falling back from her hair. She threw herself into Catie’s outstretched arms like a small, wriggling puppy, linking her arms tightly around her mother’s waist and burying her face against her breasts.
“Oh, Mama, you said you’d come, and you did!” she cried, her words tumbling over themselves with happiness. “Mrs. Piper said you wouldn’t, not for a fortnight at least, but I knew you wouldn’t leave me that long, and you didn’t! You didn’t!”
She shoved herself back, impatiently shaking her hair back from her face. “You have been feeding the cats, Mama, haven’t you?” she asked, her heart-shaped face turning serious. “You made certain the little ones got their share, too? The Pipers have cats here in the barn, but they’re so fat from mice that they pay no mind at all to the scraps I bring them.”
“Of course I feed them,” said Catie promptly. “I even give them extra to make up for their disappointment at not seeing you. Hannah scolded me for it.”
“Well, good.” Belinda beamed. “I mean to make Hannah cross at me, too, starting first thing tomorrow morning. Now I’ll go fetch my things from the house so we can leave.”
“Belinda, sweet, wait a moment.”
“Why should I?” The girl’s smile widened to show the gap where she’d lost her last baby tooth. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be home. You’ll see, Mama, I kept everything neat in the bag, all folded tidy and neat, the way you did. I wouldn’t take anything out, even though Mrs. Piper said I should, because I knew I’d only have to put it back when you came for me.”
“Oh, Belinda,” murmured Catie, her heart sinking. “We must talk.”
How could she tell her the danger wasn’t past, that she’d only come to visit? Gently she reached out and took the girl’s rough little hand, smoothing back a lock of Belinda’s hair. Her daughter’s hair was so different from Catie’s own, not fine and silvery, but thick and gold and full of sunshine.
Her father’s hair, thought Catie wretchedly. Her father’s hair, and his green eyes, with their impossibly long lashes, and the same bowed curve of his smile, too, all of it unmistakably Anthony’s. Lord, was it only her shame that made her find his mark everywhere on her daughter’s innocent face, or would others see the resemblance, too?
“I can’t take you home, lamb,” she said as gently as she could. “Not just yet, though I promise—”
“But why not, Mama?” cried Belinda, stunned enough that her voice squeaked upward. “You said it wouldn’t be long. You said I’d only have to stay here until Newport was safe again!”
“And it’s still not, Belinda, not yet,” said Catie hurriedly, hating herself for the pain she saw in her daughter’s eyes. “You’re much better off here with the Pipers, away from all the trouble in town.”
“But I don’t care, Mama,” said Belinda urgently. She was trying so hard to be brave and not cry, her fingers clutching around Catie’s. “I don’t care about the Pipers and I don’t care about the trouble. I want to go with you. I want to go home!”
Catie sighed unhappily. “I’m sorry, love, but I can’t take you just yet. You’re much safer here. The town’s too full of redcoats, hundreds and hundreds of them, plus Hessians—Germans—besides. Why, there’s even a good score of Britishers in our own house, thumping up and down the front stairs as if it’s their private parade ground.”
But Belinda scarcely heard her, her face crumpling with fear and disappointment and resentment, too, as she jerked her hand away from Catie. “You don’t care what happens to me, not really! You say you want to keep me away from the soldiers, but there’s been soldiers here, too, bunches of them, and you don’t even care!”
Catie looked at her sharply. “Soldiers here, Belinda?