Sarah took time dressing for the ball that evening. After the hectic events of the day she felt a need to be quiet for a while and to relax. When she had completed her toilette, and was satisfied with the arrangement of her hair into curls high at the back of her head, she put on the white lace gown that she had worn on the fateful evening when Bryne had asked her to marry him. It floated mist-like about her as she moved to add the final touch to her appearance, putting on the necklace and eardrops of rubies and pearls which had been his wedding gift to her.
She found Robbie already asleep in the nursery when she went to kiss the children good night, but Jenny and Flora were waiting eagerly to see her. Both greeted her with squeals of delight.
“Yo’ look like a princess!” Flora exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder.
“Beautiful!” Jenny clapped with excitement.
Laughing, Sarah took a few dancing steps around the floor, making the frills of her gown waft as though with a life of their own. Bryne, on his way downstairs, paused to watch, but none of them noticed him. When Sarah turned from giving a final kiss to Robbie’s firm cheek, tucking his hands under the covers, Bryne had continued on his way.
She found him in the hall with Lucy, who was on her toes with anticipation, her gown as blue and glittering as the lake that lapped the shores of York, its color enhancing her hair and eyes, its décolletage revealing far too amply her plump little bosom.
“This is the most exciting night of my life!” Lucy declared. “I’m going to dance with all the handsomest men in the room, and you”—here she tapped Bryne on the chest with her fan—“will be insane with jealousy!”
Government House was situated in the garrison on the lakeside, a large, single-story building with a long veranda where colored lanterns hung, echoing the pastel shades of the ladies’ gowns as they passed by in the ballroom, rotating with their partners in the dancing, many of whom were the dark green- and scarlet-jacketed officers of the regiments manning the fort.
The ball was one of the most important social events of the year, not to be missed by any fortunate enough to be on the list of the invited. Sarah, entering on Bryne’s arm, was conscious of an unmistakable ripple of interest along the line of chaperones and other ladies who were not dancing. Everybody had heard that Bryne had married, and curiosity was high. Even from the floor the heads of dancing couples turned to watch as Sarah curtsied to the Lieutenant Governor.
It seemed to Sarah that the first half-hour consisted entirely of faces and names, bows and curtsies. Lucy, in fine form, flirted and fluttered, giggled and chatted, and was whisked into the dancing by one young officer and then another. Dazzled by the splendor of their uniforms, she chose to ignore completely the more soberly dressed sons of the families whom she had intended to meet.
When Sarah took the floor with Bryne she had the chance to speak a few words with him alone as they promenaded side by side. “People keep staring,” she said uneasily.
“Why not?” He held her fingers up as she dipped gracefully to pass under the arch of his arm. “You’re the sensation of the evening.” A mocking note crept into his voice. “Maybe it’s because you look so confounded virginal in that gown—more like a bride on her wedding eve than a wife.”
She pretended not to notice the taunt, but the color rose in her cheeks. “There are many glances that are … hostile.”
“That’s not surprising,” he said wryly, swinging back to face her from a turn. “This colony is on the brink of war with the nation of my birth. Already the shadows are falling. In their eyes I’m growing horns and hooves and a forked tail along with every other man with any strong ties across the boundary where even now they’re most surely loading muskets and setting the gun carriages arolling.”
A start of fear showed in her eyes. “Does the Lieutenant Governor know this?” she asked quickly, seeing that Bryne knew what he was talking about.
“Without a doubt, my dear Sarah.” He drew her closer to him than was necessary, his arm suddenly tight about her waist. “Let’s make the most of this night. It could be the last of such gracious occasions in York for a long time to come.”
But they were not destined to spend the evening in each other’s company. General Brock himself, commander of the British North American forces, asked Sarah to dance with the deepest of bows. It was the first time he had taken the floor and she was well aware of the great compliment paid to her. As the General swept her away she saw Bryne turn to partner Lucy, who was melting against him. After that she lost sight of them, and her time was taken up as other partners came forward to lead her into one dance and then another. She had difficulty in escaping as suppertime drew near, certain that Bryne would be looking for her.
A merry cotillion had come to an end, and Sarah saw that Lucy was leaving the floor on the arm of a tall, curly-haired man, who was bending his head to catch her words. It was Philip Manning!
The sweet rush of joy she had felt at the sight of him was dispelled a little as he lifted his head and gave no astonished smile at the sight of her. It was obvious that he had seen her from the floor while dancing with Lucy, who—to judge by the malicious glitter of her face—had lost no time in telling him of her marriage to Bryne.
“We meet again, Sarah,” he said as she extended her hand to him. He put it to his lips.
“I’m delighted to see you, Philip,” she said with quiet sincerity. “I wonder how long we’ve both been here this evening without seeing each other.”
“Most of the time, I believe. I’ve been deep in talk and hadn’t been paying much attention to the dancing until Miss Lucy appeared.”
“The medical officer presented us,” Lucy explained to Sarah with a catch of controlled mirth in her voice. “Naturally I had the advantage of Dr. Manning, knowing at once who he was.” She flashed him a gleeful glance. “I made quite a little joke out of insisting that he meet my guardian’s new wife after we had danced together. I’ve never seen a man so taken aback as when I pointed you out!” She withdrew, talking as she went. “I’ll leave you to tell each other all the news.” She vanished with a swirl of ribbons into the crowd.
“I must offer my felicitations on your marriage,” Philip said soberly. “You must have fallen in love very quickly.”
“Everything seems to happen quickly in this country.” She spoke with a forced lightness. “Whoever thought that you would change your mind about staying in Quebec and turn up here in York! Have you bought your house yet?”
“You received my letter then? I’ve purchased a property on Caroline Street.”
“I declare there’s an abundance of royal and loyal names on the byways of this city,” she said, smiling brightly.
His rigid expression did not change and his eyes were penetrating. “Why didn’t you leave your address at the post office as I requested? I have called daily in the hope of finding a note from you.”
She wished she could turn aside the dull shock of accusation that she heard in his voice. “Bryne and I have been away. Your letter only came into my hands upon our return home yesterday. It was a wedding trip.” Suddenly all she had to tell him welled up in her, and it was as though they were back on the deck of the Griffin. “I’ve such a tale of misadventures to tell you! I couldn’t find Will Nightingale and the children are still with me.”
“Still with you?” he echoed incredulously. “What happened?” But he looked about impatiently before she could answer. “Let’s find somewhere out of the crowd where we can talk.” He led her to a sofa in an anteroom. There she told him of how she had searched in vain while he listened attentively.
“Did you marry for the sake of the children?” His interruption had been blunt and abrupt and totally unexpected, catching her off guard.
She snapped open her fan in embarrassment. “There are many reasons for marrying,” she said quickly.
But he was not deceived, and she knew it. “How are the children?” he inquired tactfully with a change of tone.
“Jenny is well enough.” She was relieved to get away from the subject of her marriage. “But Robbie has had a little trouble with his chest now and again since he caught cold on the bateau journey. I’m told it’s due to the damp air that drifts in from the swamps around York.” Her eyes brightened on a lift of hope. “Would you be the physician to our house? I’d be thankful to know that I could call on you to come to the children whenever the need arises—as it did once before.”
“I’d be honored.”
At that moment the music in the ballroom faded away on a discord of suddenly silenced instruments. All the dancers stopped, turning to face the rostrum, others gathering in from the veranda and the anterooms. Sarah and Philip went with them, and the hushed atmosphere, the gravity of every face, forewarned her of what she was about to hear.
The Governor had stepped onto the rostrum, and he stood stolid and square against the draped flags and gay bunting, his face set in heavy lines. He waited until everyone was present before making his announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice, “it is with sorrow that I have to tell you that President Madison of the United States has issued a declaration of war against Great Britain. This confrontation between the republic and our mother country has not caught us unprepared. All attempts at invasion will be resisted and our boundary kept intact. General Brock orders all officers present to report immediately to their posts. Your carriages, ladies and gentlemen, have already been summoned. God save the King!”
In the ensuing buzz of noise the officers threaded their way swiftly through the crowd. Bryne appeared at Sarah’s side, having collected Lucy on the way.
“Let’s get out fast,” he instructed urgently. Obediently Sarah turned to go with him, throwing a farewell glance over her shoulder at Philip. He gave her a solemn nod before swarms of departing guests came between them and they were lost from each other’s sight.
In the carriage Lucy questioned Bryne about the war. He was sitting in the corner, one foot propped against the opposite seat, staring out at the passing street, where people were running with lanterns and shouting excitedly. The news had spread quickly.
“How long will it take to win it?” she probed, not seeing that he had no wish to talk.
“Nobody wins wars,” he replied bitterly. “Campaigns will be won and lost, but the end results are always the same—suffering and hardship, particularly for the innocent involved.”
“You’re talking treason,” Lucy teased dangerously.
He kept his impatience tightly in check. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
“An officer I was dancing with,” Lucy informed him complacently, “told me that reinforcements will come pouring over from England.”
Bryne did not turn his head. “British North America can count itself lucky if it gets a handful of raw recruits. Until Napoleon is defeated Britain has no troops to spare.”
Some of Lucy’s exuberance flagged a little before Bryne’s caustic tones. “Will it be bad?” she questioned fearfully.
He twisted round in his seat and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, to take the girl’s hands into his. “It will be bad. The men under arms on this side of the boundary are far outnumbered by those in the United States. All that matters to me is that you and Sarah, Flora and the children, come through unharmed. You’re to swear to me that you’ll be loyal and obedient to Sarah, whose judgment I trust implicitly.”
Lucy ignored this demand of her. “Are you going away?” she asked on rising, anxious tones, voicing the question that had sprung to Sarah’s mind.
He nodded. “For a while, but I’ll be back.”
“With the invading forces?” Sarah’s voice cut through the gloom of the carriage.
The passing lanterns made his glowering face flicker at her from the corner. “I can’t figure why you don’t come right out and call me a damned Yankee, Sarah!”
Lucy spun toward Sarah. “Don’t you dare!” she cried, her voice strident.
Sarah was silent, turning her face away, a distressed frown lying across her brow. Innately she knew that this terrible power that she and Bryne had to hurt each other could only spring from a source of feeling common to both of them, but what that might be she could not grasp.
The carriage reached the house. Bryne leaped out, shouting to Joe Tupper on the box to get a fast horse saddled, and vanished indoors. The girls followed more slowly, needing Joe to lower the carriage steps for them, fearful of tripping with their long skirts.
Sarah went straight to her room to take off the white lace gown and get into something more practical. Then, for the first time, she unlocked the dressing-room door from her side and went through to his bedchamber. He had already changed into traveling clothes and was throwing some things into a saddlebag. At the sight of her he stopped in surprise.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. “If not, I’ll get busy making a package of food ready for your journey.”
“That’s mighty thoughtful of you,” he said appreciatively. “I’ll need enough provisions to keep me fed for two days.”
“Do you have to ride so far?” There was concern in her voice. “Where—?”
He came to her, silencing her question with a little shake of his head. “Don’t ask me anything. Word was passed secretly to me this evening to make for a certain destination immediately.” He shrugged his shoulders regretfully. “I can’t say I’ll write. Letters won’t be getting through. It will be hard not knowing how you are.”
She looked stricken. “Shall I not see you again until this war is over?”
“Sure you will.” He put up his hands and gently cupped her face between them. “I’ll find some way of getting back to you as soon as I can. You sounded for a minute as if you might miss me.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“If it does”—here he shook his head at her again when she would have interrupted him—“and that possibility must be faced, you’ll be financially secure. My affairs are in order, and my banker will take care of everything.”
“Don’t talk of money!” she cried.
“You’ll have three children in your charge, as well as Lucy, who has more beauty than sense, and you’ll need money,” he insisted firmly. “You’ll also need courage if the war spills over in this area, and you’ve plenty of that, I know.” He turned away from her and went back to his packing.
She did not feel brave as she went down to the kitchen. She saw that her hands were shaking as she set about getting loaves from the bin. Lucy, weeping noisily, came from the study with some of Bryne’s favorite cigars to put with the food being packed into a leather satchel. Then she went upstairs to share Bryne’s last minutes in the house with him.
Sarah buckled the straps of the food satchel and carried it into the hall. Bryne came downstairs alone, carrying the saddlebag. There was a rifle slung across his back and pistols into the belt around his hips. A noisy hammering sounded from upstairs, accompanied by muffled shouts.
“Whatever’s that?” Sarah questioned, glancing up the flight.
Bryne grinned, his eyes twinkling, and he set down the saddlebag. “I’ve kissed Lucy goodbye and locked her in her room. She has a rapacious appetite for scenes, and I’m not having these last few moments with you interrupted by anyone else. Let her out when I’ve gone.”
She felt her mouth slip into a reciprocal smile. “Poor Lucy. You’re heartless, Bryne Garrett.”
His amusement was replaced by a look of great seriousness as he stood before her and linked his hands at the small of her back, pulling her in close to him. “There are a couple of pistols in a drawer in the dressing room, but I hope that if ever the need arises when they have to be used that I’ll be here with you.”
She let her head sink, her cheek coming to rest against his coat, and felt his hand cup the back of her head. He had been good to her in many ways. Why did war between their respective nations with all the divided loyalties involved have to add to the gulf that kept them apart?
“I must go, honey,” he said softly. So softly that she was not sure if she had heard the endearment or not. She lifted her face and saw by the deep, velvet look absorbing her that she had not been mistaken after all.
“Come back safely,” she begged.
His hard warm mouth enveloped hers. Almost without her volition her arms went about his neck and she kissed him back for all the good times they had had together. But not in love. Perhaps he sensed it, for there was a sober and withdrawn tightness to his face as they drew apart.
“Goodbye, Sarah,” he said. And was gone.