Page 44

Sara jerked her arm out of the jailer’s overfriendly grasp and bolted to the street.

She drew in a breath of the cold morning air, her fingers tightening around the letter that weighed like a brick in her grasp.

She’d wanted to tell James the truth, but that could jeopardize everything.

If her father found out, he could very well turn his back on them both and James counted on his aide.

She had to get the letter to Ballantine.

Henry emerged from a nearby alley, full of news. “Militia’s arrived from Hamilton on the steamer. Forming companies. Going to march north to meet the rebels, I heard.”

Sara chewed her lip, knowing she hadn’t much time. Her father would certainly join the defense of the city. She looked down at Henry who danced from foot to foot. A sleepless night hadn’t slowed him down. “Do you know where Thomas Ballantine lives?”

“Up on Palace Street? In one of them estates?”

Sara nodded. “You must deliver this into his hands. He could save Mr. Kinney’s life.”

Henry straightened. “Don’t you worry, Sara. I won’t let you down.”

The streets were quiet as Sara turned up Duke Street.

Too quiet. The busy traffic to and from the wharf had disappeared.

No gentlemen of business were to be seen, nor servants loaded down with packages.

Blinds were drawn in the windows of every house she passed.

The city waited, holding its breath for what would come next.

Exhaustion pulled at her, turning every step into an effort.

When she opened the kitchen door, Mrs. Hobbes took one look at her face and hustled her off to bed as soon as Sara had soothed Evie’s worries with a rosy picture of James’s prison cell and the assurance that his release was imminent.

Although she was certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep for worry, she dozed off almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

It felt as though she’d only just closed her eyes when Evie woke her.

“Henry is here,” she whispered into Sara’s ear. “He says he needs to see you.”

Sara raced down the stairs to the kitchen. Henry stood next to the fire, holding out his hand to the blaze. His fingers trembled and her heart sank. It wasn’t good news.

Henry looked up and she realized it wasn’t fear or worry that had him trembling. His eyes blazed and there were two spots of color on his cheeks that she suspected hadn’t been caused by the cold.

“That Ballantine fellow wouldn’t even read it,” he sputtered. “Took one glance and tossed it into the fire.”

Her heart sank. They were too late. Osgoode must have informed her father of her identity. Her father had decided to wash his hands of James. She’d known this might happen. Yet she’d continued blithely on, building a castle in a cloud that was bound to come tumbling down.

“Did he say anything?”

Henry’s frown grew fiercer. “He did. He said he weren’t going to read the words of a traitor like Kinney.”

“Papa’s not a traitor,” Evie said. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet since James’s arrest, but this accusation roused her spirits.

“I know that,” Henry said. “So, I says to him, How dare you talk about Mr. Kinney like that. He isn’t no traitor. ”

Sara’s eyes flew open. “You said that? To... Mr. Ballantine?” She had a fleeting image of her father being taken to task by a child from the slums and it was almost enough to make her smile.

“I did.” He crossed his arms. “Didn’t do no good, though.”

“Sara, what are we going to do now?” Evie looked at her as though she were their last hope. Maybe she was.

“You are going to get a good meal into you. And then Henry needs to sleep.” Henry started to argue but Sara swept aside his protest that he wasn’t a bit tired. “When you wake up, I’ll have our plan ready.”

The false promise made her feel slightly ill.

She met Mrs. Hobbes’s eyes over Henry’s head and the older woman came forward to take the children in charge.

Sara slipped out of the room and down the hall.

She closed the parlor door behind her, dropped into a chair, and lowered her face into her hands.

A lone tear trickled down her cheek, then another.

Soon, she could barely catch her breath for the sobs that wracked her.

A familiar wave of helpless anger washed over her, the same anger she’d felt when Papa had locked the door in her face and bade her never return.

The anger that had coursed through her when she’d placed a handful of wilted wildflowers on top of Colin’s grave.

It had happened again. She’d given her heart to a man, come to trust in his love.

Not the dreamy, giddy love of a girl. She’d come to love James with a woman’s heart, deep and true.

She’d dared to dream that she’d found a true partner in life.

That she was following a path laid out for her and guided with love.

But this path only led back to heartache.

Then she remembered the desperate prayer behind that grimy inn. The pure joy she’d felt when she’d heard James’s voice. She hadn’t been alone then.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and raised her head. Maybe she wasn’t alone now, either. Blinking away tears, she turned to see the ample form of Mrs. Hobbes beside her, her face creased with concern.

“You mustn’t carry on so.”

Sara sat up, wiping her face. “Where are the children?”

“I put Henry in the chair by the fire. Evie’s telling him a story.

I reckon they’ll both be fast asleep in five minutes.

” Mrs. Hobbes sat down beside Sara, her forehead creased in worry.

“You don’t look much better yourself.” Sara bit down hard on her bottom lip, but she was too late to stem another wave of tears.

“I suppose a good cry never did anyone any harm.” Mrs. Hobbes rubbed a comforting hand across her shoulders.

“Ballantine won’t help him,” Sara said between sobs. “And it’s my fault.” Mrs. Hobbes passed her a handkerchief. Sara took a shuddering breath and mopped her tears before she said too much.

Mrs. Hobbes gave her an approving nod. “That’s right, you dry your tears. You’ll need all your energy to figure out how to get that husband of yours back home to you.”

“I’ll go back tomorrow, see if I can see the magistrate. That’s all I can do.”

“All you can do? Are you sure?”

Sara avoided the older woman’s eyes. “What else is there?” She folded the handkerchief into a square, wondering how she could get away from the probing questions. “No one will listen to me.”

“They might not listen to you, but they’d listen to your father.”

Sara froze. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a long moment before resuming, pounding through her veins so loudly that she half expected Mrs. Hobbes to hear it. “My father?”

“It took me a while to place you, but I knew from the beginning I’d seen you before. Just couldn’t figure out where.”

Sara moved her head from side to side in a slow shake. “Impossible.”

“You’re Sally Ballantine. Leastways, that’s who you used to be.”

“I don’t use that name.” Sara tried to rise, but Mrs. Hobbes’s hand on her shoulder became insistent, pushing her back to her chair.

“Not anymore you don’t, but you did, once upon a time.

My sister worked for the Ballantines when you were just a little thing.

I used to come and visit the kitchen. Catch up on all the gossip.

Must be ten years since I last saw you. From a distance of course.

That’s why it took me so long to place you.

I knew you weren’t a laundrywoman, though, from almost the first time I laid eyes on you. ”

“I have nothing to do with my father,” Sara finally conceded. “Or, rather, he has nothing to do with me.”

“What a dustup that was, you running off with the stable boy.” Sara’s face burned, words of explanation bubbling to her lips, but Mrs. Hobbes shook her head. “It wasn’t all your fault. I always said that Thomas Ballantine was his own worst enemy.”

“It doesn’t matter who was in the right. My father won’t help James because of me.” She hung her head. “I’m a disgrace to him.”

“Time has a way of changing people. Mellowing them.”

Sara shook her head. “Not my father. He told me he never wanted to see me again.” The day was engraved in Sara’s memory.

Stephen Osgoode had somehow convinced her father that she was on the verge of eloping with Colin.

They concocted a plan between them to marry her off to Osgoode as soon as could be arranged.

She’d risen from the dining table in a passion, declaring she’d rather die.

You’ll be as good as dead to me, my girl, if you leave with that stable boy.

She left anyway, packing her bag, and escaping out a window in the middle of the night, fueled by a sense of injustice and the romance of it all. She’d had no idea of the hardship ahead of her.

“Hmpf.” Mrs. Hobbes raised her eyebrows. “Said that, did he? Wouldn’t be the first impulsive act Mr. Ballantine lived to regret.”

Sara bit her lip. The very idea of approaching her father seemed impossible just a week ago. But now that everything she’d come to care for was about to be wrenched from her hands, now that she had a little girl to think of, something shifted.

As good as dead to me. Those words had held her prisoner for so long. She took a deep breath, pushing the words away and replacing them with Evie’s voice, high and sweet. I’m lucky, aren’t I? God gave me two. Mothering this girl was the most beautiful gift she’d ever been given.

Thomas Ballantine’s repudiation still burned sharp in her heart, but her father’s rejection wasn’t God’s rejection, as much as she’d conflated the two.

She’d clung to the past instead of focusing on the little girl who brought her so much joy and the man who had taught her to love again.

They were worth fighting for. Was she brave enough to try?

A noise at the window startled James awake. He sat up, stretching the stiff muscles of his back. Through the bars of his cell, he could see two shadowy figures in the window. Then a face appeared. A face as familiar as his own.

“Evie?” he said, all the color leaving his face. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

Her pale face peered down at him in concern. He opened his mouth, but he had no words of comfort to offer her. No words at all.

“Told you,” came a voice behind her. In the next second, Henry’s dirty face joined hers in the window. “What’ve you got to say now, milady?”

Evie only stared at James, her eyes filling with tears. Oh, Lord, he had to get her away from here.

“Hey, now, you promised no waterworks.” Henry gave her a gentle shove. “Knew I shouldn’ta brought her.” His eyes met James through the window. “Sorry, guv.”

“You’ll be more than sorry when I get out of here. Shouldn’t you be cleaning out stalls right about now?”

Henry flushed and looked down. “I...”

“It’s not his fault. I told him I’d come without him if he didn’t help me.” Evie swiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. “I didn’t really believe him.”

“Does Sara know where you are?”

A flash of guilt spread over her face. “Um... not exactly.”

“She went to talk to that old mort,” Henry added helpfully. “Him what burned your note.”

“Mr. Ballantine?” James froze, his mind unable to comprehend Henry’s words. He swallowed. “He burned it?”

“Said he weren’t going to help a—” Henry broke off with a quick glace at Evie. “Sara’s gone to straighten it out.”

James ran his fingers through his hair. Nothing made sense. Ballantine knew where James’s loyalties lay. Didn’t he?

Now Sara was traipsing across the city alone when any crossroads could become a battlefield. He trained his gaze on Henry. “Henry, I need your help.”

Henry straightened. “Aye, sir.” James wouldn’t have been surprised to see him salute.

“Your first task will be to get Evie home. Then, you’re to follow Mrs. Kinney to Ballantine’s home.”

“Aye, guv.” He elbowed Evie. “C’mon, you heard him.”

Evie had a stubborn look that boded no good. “Evangeline Kinney, go home this instant. It’s not safe for you in this part of town.”

Evie dismissed his worries with a toss of her head. “I need to know what happened, Papa.”

James ground his teeth. “ I need you to get home.”

“How can I help you if I don’t know why you’re here?”

“I don’t need you to help me. I need you to stay home where you’re safe.” James forced himself to lower his voice. “I don’t want to worry about you on top of everything else.”

“What’s the point of being safe?”

“What?” James slowed his racing thoughts and tried to grasp her question. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Well, if you’re gone, there’s not much point in us staying safe at home. There won’t be anything for us there.”

“You’ll have Sara.”

“Oh, Papa.” Evie looked at him with an expression he could only call pitying. “There won’t be anything for Sara there, either. Don’t you see? You’re worth the risk.”

James stood still for a long moment as her words sank in, past all his logical objections. They lodged deep in his heart, cutting him with a pain that was half sweet. Love was courage. Love was risk. Why hadn’t he seen that before now?

A strident voice called out from the street above. “You there, get away from that window. Don’t you know those are dangerous prisoners?”

The faces disappeared and he heard Henry’s voice. “Aw, we don’t mean no harm.”

“Run along now, before I call the constable.”

Evie ducked to offer him a jaunty wave and then disappeared.

James gripped the bars of his cell. Evie and Sara were in danger. Frustration at his powerlessness rose like bile in his throat.

His hands came up to cover his face, the regret sharp and biting.

Strange, what stuck out to him now wasn’t the decisions he’d made, but what he hadn’t done.

He hadn’t confided in Sara, not really. He hadn’t called out Osgoode’s machinations or refused Ballantine’s offers, even when he knew he could do more with his life.

He’d tried to orchestrate every moment of every day and avoid any risk that might endanger his family. He thought he could keep them safe through sheer force of will. Of course, he’d never once thought the person who would need rescuing would be himself.