The Raider (Montgomery/Taggert 9)

“What’s his name?” Eleanor asked Alex.

“Nicholas,” Alex said through clenched teeth, his anger making his face red and his eyes black.

Eleanor stopped, still holding Alex’s arm. “Nicholas, you are to do what I say. Get your master’s belongings and come with me. And I mean for you to do it now.”

Nick stood where he was for a moment, then gave Eleanor a lusty look up and down. He smiled just slightly and turned away to get the small bag of clothing that he’d borrowed from his cousin for Alex’s use. “Yes ma’am,” he said softly when he joined them, and walked behind them, watching the sway of Eleanor’s skirts.

* * *

“Two hundred and fifty pounds if he’s an ounce,” Jessica was laughing. She was sitting at one end of the Taggert table, Eleanor at the other end. In between were seven Taggert children in assorted sizes and ages and varying degrees of dirt. Each person had a wooden bowl full of steaming fish chowder and a wooden spoon. They were precious utensils and treated with the courtesy of fine silver. The stew was quite plain, with no seasoning to speak of, nothing but fish cooked for a long time in water. The few vegetables from last summer had been eaten and the new garden had not borne fruit yet.

“What did Sayer say?” Jessica asked, still laughing into her stew.

Eleanor gave her sister a glare. She had worked at the Montgomery house for four years now, and after Alex’s mother had died two years ago, she’d taken over as housekeeper. Marianna, the oldest of the Montgomery children, a spinster who either because of her size or her domineering manner had never had a husband, had been given the responsibility of taking care of her invalid father and the big, rambling house. But when the new customs officer, John Pitman, had arrived and begun to pursue her, Marianna had forgotten about everything else. Of course half the town had tried to explain to her that the Englishman wanted her father’s wealth, but Marianna had arrogantly refused to listen to them. It didn’t take Marianna two weeks after the wedding to realize the people were right and now she carried the burden of knowledge that she was responsible for many of Warbrooke’s problems. She turned over her household duties to Eleanor and now spent most of her time in her room completing one piece of embroidery after another. If she could not cure the disease she had caused, she planned to disassociate herself from it.

“I don’t think we should discuss this now.” Eleanor gave a meaningful look to the children who were studiously looking into their bowls of stew, but were truthfully listening so intently that their ears were beginning to wiggle.

“Mr. Montgomery said that Mrs. Montgomery had always spoiled her youngest son and that he’d warned her that something like this would happen,” Nathaniel said. “I guess he meant Mr. Alex’s clothes and how fat he is. Miss Marianna cried a lot. Eleanor, who is that man Nicholas?”

Eleanor glared at the young Taggert. “Nathaniel, how many times have I told you not to eavesdrop? And you were supposed to be taking care of Sally.”

“I went, too,” Sally said. “We hid in the—”

Nathaniel put his hand over his little sister’s mouth. “I was taking care of her, but I did want to know. Who is the man Nicholas?”

“He’s Alex’s bondsman, I assume,” Eleanor said, “and don’t you try to change the subject. I’ve told you a hundred times—”

“Isn’t there an apple pie around here somewhere?” Jessica asked. “I’ve heard all I can bear about Alexander Montgomery. He’s a fat old whale that’s been beached and he’s at last showing his true colors. Nate, tomorrow I want you to take a bag down into the cove and gather lobsters.”

“Not again,” he groaned.

“And you, Henry,” she said to the twelve-year-old, “go see if the blackberries are out yet, and you’ll have to take Sam with you. Philip and Israel, you’ll have to go with me tomorrow while I make a lumber run down the coast.”

“Lumber?” Eleanor said. “Do you think you should? The Mary Catherine can’t handle that much weight.”

Jessica stiffened her back as she always did when someone said something about her boat. It wasn’t much and maybe it was true what Jahleel Simpson had said, “The Mary Catherine can float but she sure don’t like to,” but it was her boat, the only thing her father had given her except brothers and sisters to take care of and she was proud of it. “We can sail it and, besides, we need the money. Someone has to pay for these apples.”

Eleanor looked down at her bowl that now contained a slice of apple pie. Sometimes she “borrowed” food from Sayer Montgomery’s kitchen. Not often and not very much and she always paid it back, but she felt terrible about it just the same. If Sayer or Marianna had thought of it, she was sure that they would have told her to take what leftovers she needed, but Sayer was too busy feeling sorry for himself and Marianna was too busy crying that she’d brought all the evils of the world onto the town’s shoulders when she’d married the customs officer to think of anyone else.

Two-year-old Samuel decided to wrap his sticky spoon in his sister Molly’s hair and pull. That stopped all adult conversation.

* * *

Alexander woke the next morning with a pain in his jaw from having ground his teeth all night. Even asleep he felt his anger. Standing there on the dock yesterday, worried about whether his shoulder would start bleeding again, looking out across the people and seeing the English soldiers on their lathered horses—soldiers who were obviously looking for someone—and then having to see that brat Jessica Taggert laughing at him was almost more than he could bear. How easily the townspeople had believed him to be the coward Jessica said he was. How quickly they forgot what he’d been.

He’d gone to his father’s house and already word of him had spread. Marianna had her head on her father’s bed and was crying noisily. Sayer merely looked at his son and waved his arm to dismiss Alexander, as if the sight of his youngest child disgusted him too much to speak.

Alexander was too weak from the loss of blood, too angry about what had happened on the dock to attempt to defend himself. He followed Nicholas out of the room and went to his own where he fell onto the bed.

Even the sight of Nicholas Ivanovitch, Grand Duke of Russia, carrying in his luggage didn’t cheer him. He drifted into a half sleep in which he dreamed of strangling Jessica Taggert. But then part of the dream had him making mad love to her. When had she grown so damned pretty? The horror of being taunted by a beautiful woman gave him very little peace.

Now, his head hurting, his shoulder throbbing, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Part of his brain, the tiny part that wasn’t absolutely furious, was beginning to function. Maybe the fact that they all believed his disguise was to his advantage. He’d seen what was going on in New Sussex, the way the English soldiers ruled the town. He’d heard of the atrocities committed against the Americans as they were treated like bad children. He’d even seen the prices for goods that in England sold for half as much—yet they were goods shipped on American ships.

Perhaps some of that was going on in Warbrooke.

On first wakening, he’d wanted to call Marianna and show her his wound and tell her about his being the Raider. He knew his sister would help him while he recovered, would protect him from the wrath of the English. And how he’d like to see her face when she saw that he wasn’t the fat drunkard she thought him to be! But now he realized that he’d be putting her life in danger.

He turned when a sleepy-eyed Nick came into the room and sat down he