“Yes, ma’am,” he said apologetically. “I should have said, straight out. Only I never thought …”
“It’s all right,” Bree said. Her hands were damp, and she picked up a relatively clean rag to dry them, then folded the note carefully and tucked it into her pocket. Her heart was slowing and her brain was starting to work again.
“Mrs. Brumby … Angelina … I need to go with this gentleman. Just for a few hours,” she added quickly, seeing anxiety bloom again in Angelina’s big brown eyes. “It’s a request from my husband; something urgent that I have to do for him. But I’ll come back as quickly as ever I can. Do you think perhaps … the children?” She looked apologetically at Henrike, but the housekeeper nodded vigorously.
“Ja, I vill mind them. I—” The clank of the brass door knocker interrupted her, and she turned sharply. “Ach! Mein Gott!” She moved off with determination, muttering something under her breath that Brianna couldn’t interpret but assumed to be along the lines of “If it isn’t one damned thing it’s another …”
“I’ll have Cook pack you some food. And will Mrs. MacKenzie need a horse?” Angelina turned sharply to the young soldier, who blushed.
“I’ve brought a good riding mule for the lady, ma’am,” he said. “It’s—it’s not a great distance to the—to the camp.”
“The camp?” Angelina said blankly, interrupted in her mental preparations. “To the … American camp? Sure you don’t mean behind the siege lines?”
Well, this could get sticky …
“It’s a matter of friendship, Angelina,” Bree said firmly. “My husband is a minister; he knows a lot of people on both sides of this war, and it’s a friend of his, a surgeon named Dr. Wallace, who asked for me to come.”
“Dr. Wallace … oh! You don’t mean the Dr. Wallace, who operated on the governor?” Angelina was round-eyed by this time, alarmed but excited by the sense of emergency.
“I … possibly,” Brianna said, taken aback. “I haven’t met him yet. I’m sure that—”
“I wish to speak with Mrs. MacKenzie,” a deep male voice said from somewhere down the corridor. “My friend wishes to engage her for a portrait. Lord John Grey recommended that we call upon her—a mutual acquaintance. Please inform her that I have brought a letter of introduction, and—”
“Mein Gott,” Brianna said under her breath. John Grey? What on earth—
The gentleman—his voice was English, educated—was encountering resistance from Henrike. Brianna was already picking up pencils, charcoal sticks, shuffling together a box of things she might need to make the image of a dead man. There wasn’t time …
“Angelina,” she said, over her shoulder. “Could you maybe tell this man that I’ve been called away on an urgent errand? He can come back tomorrow—or … or maybe the next day,” she added doubtfully. No telling how long it might take.
“Of course!” Angelina headed purposefully for the hall, and Brianna closed her eyes and tried to think. The kids, first. At least she could tell them that Daddy was coming to see them soon. Then … what on earth to wear for a commission of this sort? It would have to be her rough painting gown, for riding a mule and whatever the conditions might be in a siege camp … Would they have trenches? she wondered.
The voices in the hallway had risen and there were more of them. Angelina and Henrike were arguing with what sounded like two men now, both of whom seemed set upon seeing Mrs. MacKenzie, come hell or high water.
There wasn’t time for this. Impatient, she stepped out into the hall, intending to send the visitors on their way. The morning sun flooded in through the open front door, silhouetting what seemed like a mob of shadow-people, black bodies, faceless heads, limbs outlined in sparking light as they moved. It was one of those sudden, beautiful sights that happen without warning, and she paused for a single heartbeat to fix it in her mind. Then one of the taller figures moved, turning, and she saw in outline the same long, straight nose, the same high brow that her fingers had drawn so recently.
“Wait!” she said. She had no memory of striding down the hall but was suddenly face-to-face with him and there was no more obscuring shadow, but morning sun lighting a shockingly familiar pair of blue and slanted eyes fixed on hers.
“Bloody hell,” he said, completely startled. “It’s you!”
“YOUR BROTHER?” ANGELINA was excited beyond all bearing. “And you didn’t know he was here, nor he you? How amazing!”
“Yes,” Bree said. “Yes … amazing.” In a daze, she extended a tentative hand toward him. William blinked once, grasped the hand, and bowed over it, kissing it lightly. The feel of his breath on her turpentine-chilled hand raised the hairs on her forearm, and she tightened her fingers on his. He straightened up but didn’t pull away; his fingers turned and covered hers.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, and she could see—and feel—his eyes searching her face, just the way she was searching his.
“Oh, not at all,” she said, meaning quite the opposite. He caught that, smiled a little, and let go of her hand. “I—did you say that Lord John sent you?”
“Yes, he did, the conniving old sod. Er … begging your pardon, ma’am.” He took his gaze off her for a moment, turning toward the other gentleman. This was a tall, very broad young man of mixed blood, with a remarkable cap of close-cropped tight curls of a soft reddish brown.
“Allow me to present my friend, Mr. John Cinnamon,” William said. Angelina and Henrike curtsied immediately in a bloom of skirts. Mr. Cinnamon looked quite horrified, but after a quick glance at William, he bowed deeply and murmured, “Your most obedient servant … ma’am. And … er … ma’am.”
“Er … ma’am? Mrs. MacKenzie?” Lieutenant Hanson, quite eclipsed by William and Mr. Cinnamon, who were each a good foot taller than he was, struggled manfully to regain Brianna’s attention. “We must be going, ma’am, or we shan’t arrive in time for you to … er … do it.” He cleared his throat.
“And who are you, may I ask?” William was frowning at the lieutenant’s blue-and-buff uniform. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Bree cleared her own throat, loudly.
“Lieutenant Hanson came to fetch me for an urgent commission,” she said. “I—he’s right. We need to leave, as soon as I’ve packed my things and changed clothes. Told the children. Will you … come with me, back to my studio? We can talk while I put things together.”
BY UNSPOKEN CONSENSUS, William came alone, leaving his friend and Lieutenant Hanson to the tender mercies of Angelina and Henrike, who were already twittering about cakes, coffee, and perhaps slices of cold ham …
Brianna’s stomach gurgled at the thought of ham sandwiches, but she suppressed it for the moment and turned to William. My brother.
“I wanted to tell you,” she said at once, closing the door and standing with her back against it. “When we first met. Do you remember? On the quay in Wilmington. Roger—my husband—was with me, and Jem and Mandy. That was—I wanted you to meet them, see them, even if you didn’t know we were … yours.”