Read Online The Courier of Caswell Hall by Melanie Dobson - Free Book Online Page B

she had no means to take a message into town.
    Leaning back against the door frame, she closed her eyes and listened to the gentle hum of Negroes singing as they worked in the washhouse. Her responsibility toward them weighed heavier on her than anything else at the plantation. The Hammonds weren’t like some families who starved or beat their Negroes. Every one of their Negroes was clothed and fed. As long as they did their work, their men and women had nothing to fear.
    The thought of selling a single one of their house servants or field slaves was heartbreaking to her, but with the storehouses nearly bare, the flour supply quickly diminishing, and now the horses gone, she might have no choice. The sale of one Negro could feed the rest of them for weeks.
    She sighed, weary from this war, weary of running a plantation where people must be bought and sold.
    Opening her eyes, she surveyed the land Father had left in her care.
    If only he would come home and resume his role of managing their plantation. If only she could travel away as well.
    But if she set sail from here, she knew that she might never return.

    Prudence tightened the laces on Lydia’s stays and helped her dress in an embroidered jacket with lace cuffs and an ivory petticoat. After brushing Lydia’s hair, Prudence separated the locks and slathered them with a fragrant pomade smelling of cardamom and honey. Then she rolled the strands over a metal rod and held the rod over a candle to create tight curls that cascaded over Lydia’s shoulders and down her back.
    The household was in an uproar, servants and family alike scrambling to prepare for their important guest. Two hours earlier, as the family ate breakfast, a courier arrived with a message from Major Reed. Not only did he intend to visit Caswell Hall, but he planned to call that very day.
    Hannah was ecstatic about entertaining a British officer and a gentleman. Lydia would have been excited as well, if she hadn’t hidden a rebel in their coach house. It was poor luck on her behalf that she’d rescued a man her father considered an enemy.
    She might only want to mend wounds, but Father would have no appreciation for her sentiments. Mother might understand—Mother
would
understand—but she would never directly oppose Father’s convictions. Lydia had no desire to become entangled in the affairs of this war. She wanted reconciliation. She wanted the colonists to respect the country where her parents were born . . . but that didn’t mean she would let a rebel starve.
    As long as she kept Major Reed away from the coach house, everything would be fine. There was no reason for the major to visit the coach house anyway, and if he happened to feel inclined to see their carriages, she would personally guide him so that he wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon their hidden guest. If he found Nathan—
    She shivered.
    “Are you cold, Miss?” Prudence asked.
    She shook her head. “It was just a chill.”
    Prudence stepped over to the fire and stirred it with the iron poker.
    “Do you remember the last time we had guests?”
    Prudence shook her head as she reached for the metal rod once more. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”
    “It was the celebration for Twelfth Night two years ago.” Lydia studied her image in the looking glass. “That was the last time I saw Seth.”
    Prudence looped another section of Lydia’s hair around the rod and held it over the candle. “We all miss Master Seth.”
    She wished she could say she missed Seth as well.
    She had been just eighteen when the colonists declared their independence, so she scarcely remembered the balls and parties her parents hosted before the war—but Hannah had only been nine when the war began. While Hannah hadn’t formally attended a ball, Lydia knew that she had spied on plenty of them from behind the servants’ door in the great hall. Father had built the door to balance the appearance of the walnut door on the other side of the fireplace, and