The Promise Read online

  Mary was already there and as soon as the server turned his back to set the tea tray down, she added a little more water to the cushion of Lady Phillips' chair. Then she quickly smoothed the lace tablecloth, moved the center candelabra back an inch, rushed to stand beside her sister at the door, and hid the small water pitcher behind her back. When the door opened, the sounds of laughter filled the room, the scant candlelight cast a variety of elongated shadows on the walls and the server went to hold the chair for Lady Phillips.

  As usual, the men remained standing until the Lady was seated, and that’s when it happened – Lady Phillips’ weight forced a loud, delicious squishing sound out of the cushion, and her Ladyship was mortified.

  By the time the sisters returned to the kitchen, they could not contain their laughter. “Did you see the server's eyes right before she sat?” Mary roared, “I tell you, never have I been so delighted. And then, Lady Phillips ran her hand beneath her and...”

  Elizabeth abruptly stopped laughing, “Oh, Sister, we have been very cruel. She'll not be able to eat a bite.”

  “She cannot, she dare not show her red hand!” When the server entered, he stopped near the doorway and seemed to be studying her again. Mary instantly changed her demeanor, “Must you always stare at me?” She grabbed a bucket and headed for the back door. “No matter, you'll not be staying long.” She yanked open the door and walked out.

  IN HER UPSTAIRS BEDCHAMBER after all the guests had gone, Lady Phillips grabbed hold of the bell rope and yanked it repeatedly. Her eyes hot with fury, she slowly filled her lungs and let out a high-pitched screech, “Elizabeth, come here! I demand you turn down the bed at once!”

  Elizabeth scrambled through the door and quickly curtsied, “Yes, Mum.” She glanced disdainfully at her idle sister, rushed to the four-poster canapé bed, and pulled back the green and yellow patchwork quilts. Candles in holders on faded yellow walls flickered above dressers, overstuffed chairs and sitting tables.

  At last, Lady Phillips let go of the bell rope and turned her glare away from Elizabeth. “What do you look at, Mary? Come away from the window this very moment!” Huffing only slightly when Mary didn't obey, she grabbed a wet rag off her dressing table. She lifted her nightshirt, twisted her body, and wiped the back of her thigh. “I will never be rid of this vile stickiness.”

  “No, Mum,” Elizabeth mumbled, smoothing the bed sheets.

  “I cannot imagine what I would have done, had Mary not brought a wet cloth to the dinner table.”

  Elizabeth held her temper, “Yes, Mum.”

  Lady Phillips threw the rag on the floor and sat down at her dressing table. “And had Mary not graced my guests with her talents at the pianoforte, I would be sitting in that chair still!”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “I was forced to sneak up the stairs in my own house. I had not enough time to wash sufficiently, so the new gown stuck to me as well.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “And now, I am much too weary to await a bath,” the Lady said, running a comb through her thinning gray hair.

  Elizabeth reached down, recovered the wet rag and laid it on a tall chest of drawers. She took a moment to glare at her sister, but Mary was still looking out the window.

  “My society was well pleased with Mary’s talents, were they not?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  Lady Phillips put down her comb and admired herself in the mirror. “She is so accomplished for a peasant girl, you know. Particularly one with such low connections. Odd she doesn’t remember where she learned it. Do you know?”

  “I do not,” Elizabeth answered. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a green sleeping bonnet and loosened the drawstrings. She spread it over the widow's head and began tucking her hair underneath.

  “Well, it is of little consequence where she learned it, I suppose.” Without warning, the widow pulled the cap off her head, held it up on one finger, and glared at Elizabeth in the mirror. “I will not hear of you sleeping late in the morning. You are expected to rise early, prepare my bath and wash the bedding. Do you understand, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth forced a smile and cautiously retrieved the cap, “Completely, Mum.” When she finished tucking the Lady’s last curl under the bonnet, she returned to the bed to fluff the pillows.

  “What do you do, Mary?” Lady Phillips demanded. “You sulk, no doubt. Your loyalty to Elizabeth does you proud, but do not imagine I am fooled. I am not inclined to believe...”

  Mary had grown accustomed to not listening and watched instead as the server mounted his black horse in the yard below. He wore darker clothing now and when the clouds covered the half moon, she could hardly see him. But when the clouds moved, there he was, sitting very still and staring up at her. “Hateful man,” she mumbled. At last, Lady Phillips' voice invaded her thoughts.

  “Mary, have you heard a word I have said?”

  Wearily, Mary looked out the window for a moment more. Then, her eyes began to brighten and in a raspy and anxious voice, she answered, “He has come.”

  “Who has come?” Lady Phillips reluctantly walked to the window and glanced out, “I see nothing. I insist you come away at once.”

  Mary slowly turned to her mistress with a look of terror on her face, “Him, Mum...in the grassland beyond the hedgerow where the branches cross.”

  Lady Phillips studied her servant's alarmed face and then hesitantly moved the drapes aside, “Where?” Just then, the clouds drifted away from the moon again and she saw it – the dark figure of a man on a horse.

  “It is the ghost of Lord Rodes, Mum,” Mary whispered.

  Elizabeth stopped fluffing the pillow, closed her eyes and let her head plop forward.

  With a jerk, Lady Phillips yanked the curtains closed and took a step away from the window, “Lord Rodes?”

  “Surely you have heard of him, Mum.”

  “Well, I...”

  “Of course you have, you being a lady of such quality. Perhaps you have forgotten?”

  The Lady lifted her head proudly before she answered, “No, I recall now. Lord Rodes of...”

  “Shrewsbury, Mum.”

  “That's right, Shrewsbury. He was...”

  “A most notorious thief.”

  “Truly? How did he die?”

  “Cut down, Mum, by the King‘s men.” As soon as the words left her lips, a split second of pain gripped Mary's heart. She quickly pushed it away.

  Hesitantly, Lady Phillips leaned forward, peeked out the window again and caught another glimpse of the horseman. “What has he to do with me?”

  Mary searched her mind for a reply and when she looked, Elizabeth was glaring at her with both hands on her hips. “Who's to say what the dead seek?” she finally said.

  Lady Phillips put a finger to her lower lip and pulled it down slightly, “Who's to say, indeed. Come away from the window, Mary. We best not excite his wrath.”

  Uriah’s horse was becoming restless, yet he stayed until all the lights were out in Lady Phillips’ manor. The melody Mary played on the pianoforte still swirled in his mind ... it was the same song she learned when they were children, and the same one she abruptly stopped playing that day fourteen years ago. Even now, he could still hear her small, pitiful voice, and see her sitting on the piano bench with tears collecting in the rims of her eyes.

  HE WAS CERTAIN HE HAD found her. Yet, it was clear she didn’t recognize him and when questioned by the guests at dinner, she claimed not to remember where she learned the song. Uriah had never considered what to do if she didn’t remember.

  THE NEXT DAY, THE SISTERS left the manor and casually strolled down the tree-lined road toward town, each carrying an empty basket and wearing a common brown frock with a plain white bonnet. A farmer worked diligently to plant his crop on a far off hillside and a horse drank from a nearby stream, but neither of these attracted the attention of the chatting sisters.

  “I have had it from Lady Phillips directly. His name is Uriah Carson and he was highl
y recommended by her particular friend in London,” Elizabeth said.

  “I was not aware she had any particular friends.”

  “The truth be known, she remembers no such acquaintance. She has also learned Mister Uriah Carson has a brother.”

  “He should have a brother. In fact, he should have forty brothers and thirty sisters, all in Lady Phillips’ employ and all mute!” Then an unpleasant thought crossed her mind, “Did she happen to say if she asked him to live on the property?”

  “She did not, but she did say she was well pleased with his service.”

  Mary relaxed and continued on down the road. “Pleased, is she? Now there's a pity.” When her sister's frock caught on a bush, Mary kept right on walking.

  Elizabeth yanked her skirt free and hurried to catch up, “Tell me true, how did you convince Lady Phillips to let us go to town? Never does she let us both leave at the same time.”

  “I promised we would each attend a reading.”

  “Oh sister, how could you? I sorely hate the readings.”

  “As do I,” Mary admitted. As soon as they crossed the bridge, she chose a short cut through the trees. “And there’s another pity. Think what fun we could have if she didn’t insist the Seer write the words precisely.”

  “Do you mean you have never changed the words?”

  Mary shoved a low tree branch aside and held it until Elizabeth passed. “Of course not!”

  “I see. Then it was the Seer who recommended her Ladyship go to the edge of the property and ring her dinner bell for three solid hours?”

  “How else was she to be rid of her departed husband's disfavor?”

  “Mary?”

  “Well...perhaps I did change the words, but ever so slightly,” she admitted, following her sister down the path between the bakery and the clothier’s shop.

  Distracted, Elizabeth rounded the corner of the bakery and walked right into a Redcoat. Before she could regain her balance, the Captain viciously shoved her away. Her body flew backward, her empty basket popped into the air and when she landed, her head hit a rock.

  “Watch where you are going!” the Captain growled.

  Stunned, Mary drew in a sharp breath. He had coarse gray hair, a ruddy complexion and a stocky build, but all she could see was his blood-red jacket. Her grip on her basket was so fierce, her fingers had turned white, and she quickly looked down at the ground.

  Elizabeth got up and slid her arm protectively around her sister. “You, Sir, are despicable!” The smell of rum on the Captain's breath further excited her anger, “You are an intolerable drunkard as well!”

  “Drunkard?” the Captain snarled. Then his lips curled into a sickening grin, “Perhaps you are tempted to join me.”

  “I do not abide the company of swine.” Elizabeth bent down, grabbed her basket and tried to move her sister around the Captain.

  The Redcoat soon blocked their path. He reached out and grabbed the back of Mary’s hair, “Perhaps this one is willing?”

  Mary’s face betrayed her terror. Just a few seconds later, the server was standing behind her and had grabbed hold of the Captain’s arm.

  Uriah’s threatening black eyes blazed and his words were ice cold, “Leave them be.”

  The Captain considered the server's much larger size for a moment then glanced around. But he saw no other Redcoats and instead noticed a second commoner of equal size standing next to Elizabeth. Reluctantly, he released Mary's hair and stepped back, “Another day, perhaps.” Then he straightened his coat and walked away.

  Caleb Carson looked a lot like his brother, with the same dark hair and eyes. As though he’d done it a million times before, he took Elizabeth's hand, wrapped it around his arm, and guided her down the wooden sidewalk. Neither of them spoke.

  Uriah grabbed Mary's elbow and followed. Soon, his grip had increased on her arm and he was nearly forcing her to run as he moved them parallel, and then in front of Caleb and Elizabeth. He rushed her past the cobbler shop, and then hurried her around the next corner and into an empty alley. Abruptly, he let go.

  He opened the door to the candle shop, leaned in and looked around. Satisfied, he rushed back and the instant Caleb brought Elizabeth around the corner, he scooped her up and quickly carried her inside.

  Only then did Mary see the blood seeping through the back of Elizabeth's bonnet and running down her neck into her frock. “Oh, Elizabeth!”

  It was a small shop with rows of shelves containing fresh candles of every shape and color, and the room held the sweet smell of bee's wax. The Candle Maker stood behind his workbench and watched as Uriah carried Elizabeth across the room and then eased her through a second doorway.

  “What have we here?” Candle Maker, Robert Findley asked. Then he too saw the blood. He waited until all four were in the back room, followed them in and quickly let down a cloth to cover the doorway.

  Uriah found a chair and gently lowered Elizabeth into it. Then he moved away and took up a position near the door.

  The back room was even more crowded with candles than the front, and Findley had to shove aside several wooden molds to make room on the table for a bowl. He reached for a pitcher and filled the bowl with clean water while Mary removed Elizabeth's bonnet. Then he grabbed a cloth, soaked it, wrung it out, and pressed it against Elizabeth's head.

  Mary's eyes flashed with anger, “He shoved her and quite on purpose.”

  “Who shoved her?” Findley asked.

  It was Caleb who answered, “Barrett.”

  “Barrett? I am not surprised?” Findley nodded for Mary to take over and then searched a drawer for another clean cloth.

  “You know this man?” asked Mary.

  “I know of him.” He found a new cloth, soaked it and replaced the one on Elizabeth's head. “We got wind of the man's ill-repute the very day he arrived. It was as though someone thought to warn us.” Findley put a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder and leaned around to look at her face. “My dear, have you any other injuries?”

  “No, but I thank you for asking.”

  Findley looked at Caleb, “Did others witness it?”

  “I think not,” Caleb answered. “The town is nearly deserted as it usually is when Barrett is around.”

  “Good.”

  Mary's anger turned to rage, “Good? The Captain should be publicly put down for this!”

  Findley removed the cloth to find the bleeding had stopped. “He has connections, Mary. He took a girl of fifteen for a ride on his horse and returned without her. Three days later, she was found dead in the woods.”

  “And they did not hang him?”

  “He abides the protection of the Butcher,” Caleb answered.

  Mary glared at Caleb, and then her shoulders drooped, “Butcher Cumberland.”

  The candle maker set the wet cloth on the table and warmly put his hands on Mary’s shoulders, “No one must know about this unfortunate business. People will be in uproar if they hear and should Barrett be put down, Cumberland will vent his revenge on the whole village.” The shop's front door opened and the Candle Maker excused himself.

  Caleb nodded politely to Mary and then looked at her sister, “After dark, my brother and I will bring a wagon and take you home.”

  “Thank you,” said Elizabeth.

  Mockingly, Uriah looked Mary square in the eye and curtly bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, Miss Jackson.” Then he followed his brother out the door.

  “Horrid man, he tricked us!”

  “Sister, I...” Elizabeth stopped and brought her hands up to rub her temples.

  “Does it hurt awfully?”

  “A little, but sister, the server’s brother is quite handsome. He has a glorious smile and...”

  “You are the most exasperating sister in the whole world. Can you think of nothing but handsome men?”

  Suddenly, Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath, “Oh sister, what are we to tell Lady Phillips?”

  Mary thought for a moment. She watched M
ister Findley return, rinse out the cloth, and take another look at Elizabeth's injury. Finally, she grinned, “I will tell her I pushed you off a cliff.”

  “Oh, Mary.” Elizabeth tried to giggled and then winced in pain.

  “Tell her she fell. I will attest to it,” the Candle Maker said.

  “Thank you, Mister Findley. And would you kindly thank both Mister Carsons for us?” said Mary.

  “No need, my dear, you can thank them yourself when they take Elizabeth home. It is not out of their way, the Carsons have taken the Twyman place.”

  Elizabeth smiled, “The Twyman place? But that is the property next to us.”

  Mary rolled her eyes, “Oh...splendid.”

  CHAPTER 2

  For as long as Caleb Carson could remember, his elder brother had been close at hand. They were orphans, living with strangers, sharing a bedchamber, and spending most of their free time together. Then on Caleb's nineteenth birthday, Uriah announced the two of them would begin life anew in a small village in the north. Caleb was delighted. But when Uriah returned to his position in London, the hours of their first separation seemed endless. At last, the day of his return had arrived and Caleb went to the small village, tended his marketing and waited by the cobbler shop. By sunset, the brothers were reunited and rode side-by-side back to the Twyman place – the first real home Caleb could remember.

  “I have been away nearly a fortnight and you have nothing to report, save your lack of employment?” Uriah asked, allowing his horse a leisurely gait.

  Seated on his dapple-gray, Caleb grinned, “Shall I tell you of Sweet Katie?”

  “Please do.”

  “She has red hair and the greenest eyes I have yet to see.”

  “You fancy her then?”

  “Fancy her? She's fifty if she's a day, but were she younger, I would fancy her greatly. She claims a right acquaintance with Bonny Prince Charlie.”