Hawkins considered. “That sounds simpler than blockade running. My Zephyr can outrun anything in the Royal Navy. If the price is right, I can do this.”
Gordon smiled. “Then let’s talk about it.”
Chapter 3
Washington, DC
August 20, 1814
Callie brushed a lock of damp hair from her eyes, then dried her fingers on a towel before she returned to pinning delicate silk. Like its namesake, the rebellious General Washington, this young capital city was fresh and exciting in comparison to her Lancashire home, but the hot and humid summer had her wishing wistfully for the soft, cool summers of her childhood. She tucked another pin into the gown she was altering for Mrs. Gerard, one of her best customers. The wife of a high official in President Madison’s cabinet, Mrs. Gerard accepted a clean linen handkerchief from Sarah, Callie’s housekeeper, cook, assistant, and friend.
After murmuring thanks, Mrs. Gerard said soberly, “We’ve decided to move to our country house for the rest of the summer. It will be safer there, and we’ll get away from the heat and illness of this malaria-infested swamp.”
Washington was famous for its unhealthy climate, but not everyone had a country house to escape the summer heat. Callie said, “The Royal Navy has been plundering the Chesapeake Bay for over a year. What does Mr. Gerard think will happen now?”
“Since Napoleon’s abdication has released British Army troops to come here, the cities around the bay are in danger of land invasion. If troops are landed on the Patuxent River, they can march to Washington, Annapolis, or Baltimore.”
Similar thoughts had been keeping Callie awake at night. Luckily, her customers kept her better informed than the news sheets. “Wouldn’t Baltimore be the most likely target because of its shipping and privateers? They say the Royal Navy admirals call Baltimore ‘that nest of pirates.’ ”
“Yes, and justly so,” Mrs. Gerard agreed. “But I wish this war was over.”
“So do I!” Callie accidentally stabbed her finger with a pin. “I’ve never seen the point of it.”
Before Mrs. Gerard could reply, the door to the dress shop flew open. Callie’s fourteen-year-old stepson, Trey, his black curls rioting around his face, burst into the salon. “The British have landed over on the Patuxent!”
Everyone in the parlor froze. “Speak of the devil,” Mrs. Gerard muttered, turning pale. “And here they are.”
Callie clamped down on her fear. Trey had an enthusiastic interest in the war, but he wasn’t prone to spreading wild rumors. “Where did you hear this?”
“An army scout just brought the news to President Madison!” Trey said excitedly. “Now the scout is at a tavern telling everyone.”
She had a chilling certainty that the British would attack Washington. Baltimore was a more valuable target, but also much more difficult. Capturing the American capital would be easier, and it would crush and humiliate the fragile new republic.
The fitting session ended more quickly than usual so Mrs. Gerard could hasten home. Wanting to preserve normalcy for as long as possible, Callie said to Trey and his sister, Molly, “Shall we make a lemon ice for supper? We’ll need lemons. Run down to the market, if you would. Molly, try to keep Trey out of trouble!”
Sixteen-year-old Molly laughed. “I don’t think that’s possible, but I’ll do my best.”
The ice house Callie had had dug behind her home had proved a godsend in this climate. There had been an ice house at her English home, but not the heat that made ices so particularly wonderful here.
Callie waited until the children were gone before turning to Sarah. A handsome woman in her fifties, Sarah Adams and her husband Joshua had been house slaves at the Jamaica plantation of Callie’s husband, Matthew Newell. When Callie had fled the island with the children, she’d asked the couple if they wanted to come with her. When they said yes, she’d freed them immediately. Now Sarah and Joshua were as much family as her two stepchildren; a better family than the one she’d grown up with.
“What should we do, Miss Callista?” Sarah said. “Reckon Mrs. Gerard is right that the British soldiers will march on Baltimore?”
Callie worried her lip as she wondered how best to keep her family safe. “My instincts say they’ll head for Washington.”
“Your instincts have always been good. So what do we do now?”
Callie drew a deep breath. “Leave the city. Start packing the necessities for the children and you and Joshua so that you can be off tomorrow morning.”
“Where would we go? West into the countryside?” Sarah asked doubtfully.
“To Baltimore,” Callie said. “The city is much larger than Washington and better defended. There’s also a place for you to stay there. Mr. Newell owned a warehouse and he left it to me. The living quarters on the upper floor are rather primitive, but they’ll do until you can come home.”
Sarah frowned. “You talked about ‘us’ going. Won’t you be with us?”
Callie shook her head. “All my worldly goods are here, and if the house is destroyed, we’ll be in dire straits. Since I’m English born, I should be able to talk the British troops into sparing this house.”
Sarah gasped. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay here alone!”
“Other women will be staying in the city to protect their homes. British soldiers aren’t monsters, Sarah. They have orders not to hurt unarmed civilians. Even the horrible Admiral Cockburn, who’s been raiding up and down the bay since last year, only destroys property and militiamen, not women and children.”
“Joshua should stay with you,” Sarah said firmly.
“The children need you both.” Callie smiled as if she wasn’t half sick with fear. “Remember that Mr. Newell taught me how to use a gun, just in case. I can drive off looters if need be.”
Since Sarah’s frown didn’t abate, Callie said, “Maybe my intuition is wrong and the British Army won’t come close to Washington. Perhaps the fact that we’re preparing to evacuate will guarantee that evacuation will be unnecessary.”
Sarah snorted. “The world doesn’t work that way! I’ll start on the packing.”
After her friend left the room, Callie drifted around the high-ceilinged drawing room that she’d transformed into a fashionable salon. Most of the furnishings were secondhand, but elegant. A handsome oriental screen in one corner provided privacy for ladies to change their garments. Joshua had built shelves along one wall to hold the tools of Callie’s trade: pattern books and lengths of fabric and boxes of buttons and trimmings.
Callie skimmed her fingertips over laces and ribbons, scooped up a handful of buttons and let them trickle through her fingers. She’d worked hard to build this business and this life, and it might be swept away through no fault of her own. Life wasn’t fair, a painful fact she’d learned as a girl.
She paused at a window and gazed out at the street in front of her home. One of the principal thoroughfares of the city, it ran all the way to the Capitol, a grand building designed to show the world that the United States was a nation to be reckoned with. If the British invaded the city, they might march down this very road.
Growing up as the daughter of a baron in England, she had never imagined this life she lived. Everything that happened had been her fault, of course. If she’d been better behaved, less rebellious, her father wouldn’t have forced her into marriage with a stranger. She wouldn’t have run off with her dearest friend, and he wouldn’t have ended up dying on a prison ship on the long voyage to New South Wales.
Of all the mistakes she’d made, causing Richard’s death was the one that weighed most heavily on her. He’d been as much a rebel as Callie, and they’d had enormous fun acting out different roles, like scenes from a play. Pirates and maidens. Greek and Amazon warriors. Athena and Mars—and sometimes they’d switched roles, with her being the lord and he the lady, and they’d end up rolling around in the grass laughing until their stomachs hurt. Ah, Richard . . .
She cut off the thought, knowing how
futile her regrets were. If she hadn’t run to him for help, or accepted his suggestion that they elope together, he’d be alive now. Or at least, he wouldn’t have died as a direct result of her actions. Once he became old enough to escape his father’s control, he would have found his way to a happier life. He had strength and wit and more kindness than he showed to the world.
He should have lived to become happy. Instead, his bones rested on a distant ocean floor.
Callie had been luckier. Though she would never have chosen to marry Matthew Newell, he’d been a better husband than she’d expected. Their marriage hadn’t been a grand romance, but they had learned to be comfortable with each other. She’d mourned his death when his heart failed. Then she’d learned that she and her stepchildren were in danger, so she’d collected them and run for her life. For all of their lives.
That exhausting flight had brought her to this city, which she knew a little from her husband’s business ventures, and where her family could be safe. She’d changed their names from Newell to Audley to honor her long lost friend, and indeed they had been safe here for the last three years.
But permanent safety wasn’t guaranteed. Telling herself not to waste time on regrets, she sat down at her desk and began collecting the documents to give Sarah and Joshua when they traveled to Baltimore. She’d make duplicate copies of the papers that verified that the children and the Adamses were free. She’d send her remaining jewelry with them, so if the worst happened to her and this house, they’d have some resources with which to build a new life.
She would do anything to keep them safe—and she could only pray that her efforts would be enough.
Chapter 4
Potomac River south of Washington, DC
August 24, 1814
Hawkins’s ship Zephyr was even faster than Gordon had expected, and they sailed into war with surprising quickness. As the schooner made its way up the broad Potomac River, Gordon leaned on the railing at the ship’s bow and wished that this mission was taking place at a cooler season. He’d stripped off his coat, and his linen shirt clung to his shoulders despite the light breeze.
There must have been heavy rains upriver since the water was rough and muddy and occasionally tree trunks and other debris floated by. Luckily the Zephyr was nimble.
Gordon wondered what they would find when they reached Washington. Earlier in the afternoon, he’d heard the distant sound of cannon fire rolling between the verdant Maryland hills. Now the guns had fallen ominously silent, but small boats were crossing the wide river toward the Virginia shore. Fleeing advancing enemy troops, he guessed.
He was joined by Hawkins, who carried a spyglass in one hand. “If all goes well, which I don’t expect,” the captain said, “we could be on our way home later tonight.”
Gordon shook his head. “Even if I locate the lady and persuade her to return to England, it will take time to pack up her life. A day or two at the least.”
“If your widow has the sense God gave a sparrow, she’ll have left Washington by now,” Hawkins said pessimistically. “If that has happened, you’ll never find her.”
“True, but since I’m this close, I need to try, if only to justify all the money this mission is costing her family.”
“I can’t complain when I’m getting a good share of that money.” Hawkins raised the spyglass to survey the horizon. His voice changed. “There’s a boat in trouble up ahead. Looks like it hit a shoal or snag.”
Even without the spyglass, Gordon could see that the small boat was in serious trouble. It was dead in the water, and as he watched, it tipped over on its side, sails flapping. Most of the passengers grabbed hold of the hull, but one small figure tumbled into the water and was seized by the current.
As the child was swept downstream toward the Zephyr, female screams slashed through the heavy air. “Lizzie! Lizzie!”
Gordon swore as he calculated the odds. It didn’t look as if any of the child’s family knew how to swim, and the speed of the current would take her past the Zephyr before a dinghy could be launched. No other boats were close enough to help.
He wrenched off his boots and tossed his hat behind him, then vaulted up onto the railing. “I’d take it kindly if you’d send a small boat after us.”
“You swim well enough to do this?” Hawkins asked tersely.
“Yes.” Gordon spent a moment marking the child’s path because once he was in the water, he’d have trouble seeing her. Then he kicked off from the railing in a long, flat dive that carried him away from the ship and toward little Lizzie.
The water was pleasantly cool as he cleaved into it and set off with powerful strokes toward the child. He’d always loved swimming, and he and Callie had learned together in a Lancashire river. In later years, he’d swum in rougher seas, and once he’d swum for his life. He should be able to save one pocket-sized little girl.
The river looked very wide and dangerous now that he was in it, and the odds were about even whether or not he could reach Lizzie before her saturated clothing dragged her under forever. When he judged he was close to where the current would have brought her, he paused and kicked himself upward as hard as he could to get a better view. Where the devil was she?
There. Twenty feet or so to his right a pale, half-submerged face was on the verge of being swept past. The flailing child managed to raise her head enough to gulp air before she slipped below the surface again.
“Hold on!” he shouted, hoping a chance of rescue would encourage her to keep struggling. He threw himself through the water, knowing that if he couldn’t reach her now, she was lost.
The small head surfaced a couple of yards away and great blue eyes stared at him blindly before she sank again. Kicking furiously, he jackknifed under the surface and lunged as far forward as he could.
The water was swift and murky, so it was pure chance that his stretching fingers touched fabric. He grabbed and managed to latch on to a solid handful of her floating skirts. Then he kicked upward.
They emerged into the sunshine and Lizzie clutched Gordon, coughing up water as she locked her arms around his neck in a stranglehold. He barely managed to keep both their heads above the surface.
He scissor-kicked and paddled sideways as he secured her against his right side. She was five or six, he estimated. Old enough to know the danger she’d been in. “Don’t worry, Lizzie, you’re safe now,” he said soothingly. “Try not to choke me.”
She began to cry but had the wit to loosen her grip. As she calmed down, Gordon scanned their surroundings. The Zephyr had come about and a dinghy was heading toward them. Another of the ship’s rowboats had reached the sailboat and was taking passengers from the damaged vessel.
Hawkins himself was in the dinghy that pulled up alongside Gordon. He leaned down, arms outstretched. “Pass her to me!”
Gordon obeyed, and Lizzie was whisked out of the water, coughing and squeaking. Hawkins wrapped her in a large towel and handed her to a sailor behind him. Then he reached down and grabbed Gordon’s hand, half lifting him from the water. “Well done,” Hawkins said tersely as he hauled Gordon over the stern.
“It was a near thing.” Gordon accepted a towel and used it to blot water from his dripping hair. Looking upriver, he added, “You’re taking the sailboat in tow?”
“It might be repairable, and it goes against a sailor’s grain to let any boat die,” Hawkins explained. “Now to find out what news the passengers have of the war.”
News would be a very good thing, Gordon silently agreed as he pulled off his shirt, wrung water out of it, and dragged it on again. In this heat, it would dry quickly.
The journey back to the Zephyr was slower because they were moving against the current. As they pulled up alongside the schooner, a boy of around twelve looked over the side of the railing and shouted, “Mama, Lizzie’s all right!”
Hawkins effortlessly climbed a rope ladder to the main deck with the little girl tucked under his arm. Gordon followed and reached the deck in time to
see Lizzie and her dark-haired mother reunited in a fierce hug.
The water-soaked party from the small sailboat included a grandmotherly female, a capable black woman who behaved like a nursemaid looking after her chicks, and a boy and a girl in age between Lizzie and her big brother. They were a weary and vulnerable collection of refugees.
After assuring herself that her daughter was well, the woman handed Lizzie off to the nursemaid and turned to Gordon. “I’m Abigail Green. This is my mother-in-law, Alice Green and”—she waved at the others—“the rest of the family. I’m told that you’re Mr. Gordon. God bless and keep you for what you’ve done!”
“I’m just glad we were close enough to help,” he said. “Were you fleeing British troops? We need any news of the war you can give us.”
Mrs. Green hesitated. “You and your captain are English, aren’t you?”
“By birth,” Gordon agreed. “But we are no part of this war.”
Hawkins added, “A goodly number of my crew is American. My pilot, Landers, was born and bred in St. Michael’s, just across the bay.”
Landers, a lanky redhead, nodded confirmation. “My pa builds privateers to fight the British, ma’am.”
Reassured, Mrs. Green said, “This afternoon there was a battle a few miles east of Washington near a town called Bladensburg.” She sighed and pushed wet hair from her forehead. “Hardly a battle. They say the American militia ran like frightened chickens. The road is clear for the blasted British to march right into the city! That’s why we were heading to Virginia to stay with my family. My husband made me promise to go there if the British neared Washington.”
“That’s probably wise,” Gordon agreed. “Does your family live near the river?”
“Yes, on one of the creeks, which is why I thought it would be quickest to sail over, but . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps it would have been wiser to cross on the Long Bridge, but that’s jammed with people and wagons fleeing the city, and going that way would take us closer to the British. If we’d lost Lizzie, though . . . !”