Chapter Fifteen

It was dusk when Aaron and Gabriel walked down the straight gravel drive of their father’s estate, Linwood, leading their weary horses. Each man was by then lost in his own thoughts, and they walked silently side by side under the canopy of plane trees. The yapped greeting of their mother’s terriers pulled them from their reveries, and they saw as they approached the stately mansion the three little dogs running to greet them.

The barking had alerted the hostler, and he soon appeared to take the horses.

“It was a long day for them,” Gabriel called to the man as he led the beasts away. “See that they have a rubdown and extra grain.”

“I will indeed, sir.”

Aaron smiled. If there was one lesson their father had taught them, it was to provide excellent care to horses. “Not only do these creatures do your bidding and carry you about,” he had often heard his father say, “but they have a great deal of intelligence. I’ve known many a man stupider than a good carriage horse.”

The brothers entered the house, both with the desire for a good thorough washing. Before they could mount the stairs to their chambers, however, the butler appeared.

“Letters for you, sir. Master said you were to be given them immediately when you arrived home.”

“Thank you.” Aaron continued upstairs, perusing the envelopes as he walked. The letters were from Hannah, Corey, and Mr. Carne. He decided to open Hannah’s first.

Throwing his hat and riding crop on his bed, Aaron tore open the envelope.

Dear Captain Clarke,

I don’t want to alarm you, but duty requires I inform you of an incident that transpired yesterday.

You remember I told you of Lord Earling, the man I ran away to avoid marrying. I regret to say he came unannounced to your home and without my permission, entered. I was alone, and he beset himself upon me in a most dishonorable manner.

Fortunately, I escaped and ran to Corey and Clara, who took care of me admirably. We informed Sheriff Madison, but he said to my shock that there was little he could do.

I hope you’re having a prosperous voyage. The boys send their love to you.

Pray don’t worry. We’re all well, and I’m sure Earling will not return.

With all good wishes,

Hannah

Breathing quickly, Aaron tore open Corey’s letter. It was dated the same day and gave the same news. With a foreboding of evil and a beating heart, Aaron seized Mr. Carne’s letter. It was dated two weeks after the others and read as follows:

Dear Sir:

A serious matter has occurred and requires you to return here as quick as can be. Miss Hannah Winstead has been taken to the village lockup. The sheriff believes she killed a man called Lord Earling, but the truth is he beset her in a heinous manner. The devil’s own chit, Miss Maria Compton, is a witness against Miss Winstead, and I believe she be lying for her own wicked purposes.

Pray come, sir. The county prosecutor has called for a jury trial, and it be likely the sentence will be hanging.

Your servant, sir,

Seamus Carne

The shock of the news made Aaron immobile for a few seconds while a thousand horrible thoughts raced through his mind. Then, horror turning into action, he seized the bell cord and yanked it hard. In the few seconds before a maidservant knocked on the door, he threw some clothing willy-nilly into a valise.

“Come in!” he called.

The maidservant stared at his stricken face, her own face turning pale with apprehension.

“Lilith, I must depart for America immediately. Have Reginald harness horses to my father’s carriage with all speed. Then tell the butler to summon my father and mother and Mr. Gabriel to the drawing room. Hurry!”

In ten minutes Aaron was off, leaving his family in a state of agitation and worry. Gabriel had vowed to go with him, but Aaron refused.

“No,” he had stated immediately. “You’re needed here, Gabe. Pray stay until I send you word. When I’ve familiarized myself with the situation, I’ll write you.”

His parents had added their blessings and hopes, and with a final embrace to both of them, he had hurried from the house and leapt into the carriage.

Hannah, dear Hannah, he thought, as the carriage raced down the lane, driven by the hostler’s son. Dear Hannah…he had failed to protect her. How little thought he had given to the danger she might have been in from a man like Earling. And Maria…how Aaron regretted the letter he had so hastily sent her. In his foolish flirtation, he had angered her, and now Hannah must pay the price.

In his stupidity, he had hurt the woman he loved. His startled mind reeled at the sudden acknowledgement of what he had not known a half hour ago. He loved Hannah Winstead!

He vowed to save her life, whatever the cost to his own.

****

The following three weeks of travel nearly drove Aaron mad with frustration and anxiety. A thousand times he calculated the number of weeks that would have passed since Carne had sent his letter and tormented himself with speculations that a trial and execution could conceivably take place before he reached America.

But then he would rally and attempt to be hopeful. The hanging of a young woman was a rare thing and not entered into lightly in either England or America. And what possible proof could be presented? Maria’s lies? He shuddered to think of how convincing they could be! But the Carnes would be zealously counteracting every lie and doing all that could be done to help Hannah. He must rely on their diligence and care.

He had left his ship in England and taken a mail packet, the fastest transportation. But the vessel seemed to crawl sluggishly through the dark sea, and each day of pacing the deck, with nothing to do but imagine the most horrible scenes, left Aaron drained and exhausted. He could neither eat nor sleep, and by the time the ship neared harbor in Providence, his mind was a seething mass of images that had lost all coherence.

As he tossed in his bunk at night, visions of Hannah whirled through his brain. He saw her huddled in the barn in London where he had found her, running about the lawn at River’s Edge, brushing her pony, strolling along the river. He felt tears on his cheeks as he pictured her holding the children, comforting them when they were sad, reading to them, and playing with them. Dear God, he prayed, do not let this precious light be extinguished!

When had he fallen in love with her? When he had come upon her making mud pies with the children? When he had seen her dancing with Whetherton in her daring black gown? When she ran out the kitchen door in her bare feet to gather snow in her hands?

He didn’t know. Try as he might, he couldn’t determine the precise moment when friendship had turned to love. Nor could he feel certain she might ever love him in return. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was to preserve her from the maw of false accusation. He gritted his teeth and vowed once again to save her, as the ship sailed on, too slowly, toward America.

On a hot sultry morning in late August, the mail packet threw down anchor in the mouth of the Providence River to await the ingoing tide. Aaron had already made a plan for this eventuality. In his cabin, he hastily wrapped money and a few personal items in oilcloth and strapped the package to his waist with twine. Throwing off all his clothing except trousers and a cotton shirt, he walked on deck and approached the first mate.

Seizing the man by the arm, Aaron said in a low voice, “I’m going to swim in to shore. Don’t send a boat after me.”

Before the startled mate could reply, Aaron stepped onto the bowsprit and dove into the cold water of the Atlantic. When he emerged from his deep dive, he waved to the staring man, turned about to get his bearings, and began swimming in strong confident strokes.

It was a long swim, but he knew he could do it. He forced himself to stroke one hundred times, then rest, one hundred times, then rest. The outgoing tide was stronger than he had reckoned, but during his rests he looked back toward the ship and saw it was gradually receding. Once he reached the mouth of the river, he would cut directly to shore.

He frightened two fishermen when he crawled onto the rocky bank of the Providence River, and a woman gathering water in a bucket screamed and fell down. In his exhaustion, Aaron couldn’t help her rise, but the fishermen quickly regained their wits and helped both of them.

Aaron lay on the rocks, breathing hard, while the fishermen stood over him. He could not answer questions for he had not breath to speak, but when he could speak, his gasped words were, “Need horse immediately. Will pay whatever you ask.”

One of the men darted off while the other helped Aaron sit up and peel away his soaked shirt. The man gave him his own striped jersey and, when Aaron attempted to pay, refused the money.

Within fifteen minutes, the other man returned with a saddled horse, and Aaron paid handsomely for it. With a rapid shake of the hand to both men and a bow to the staring woman, he leapt onto the steed and cantered away.

Aaron knew the horse could not cover the fifty-mile distance from Providence to Mystic without rest, but he was nearly halfway to his journey’s end when he finally had to leave the exhausted animal at an inn in Kingston and hire a carriage. By then it was growing dark, but the equipage had sturdy lanterns, and the driver knew the road well. Within three hours of leaving the inn, they came to the crossroad leading to Stonington, and Aaron knew he was within a few miles of home.

The moon was high when they reached River’s Edge. The carriage clattered up the drive, with the coachman urging on the spent horses. Before Aaron could fly into the house, Corey ran out of it. Aaron seized him by the arm and looked directly into his face.

“Tell me!” he demanded. “Tell me if I’m too late!”

“No!” Corey cried. “You’re not too late! Go inside, Da is there. I’ll see to the carriage and driver.”

The relief of learning that Hannah lived made him reel, and for a few moments he could do nothing but fall against the doorframe and breathe his fervent thanks to God. Then rousing himself, he entered his house.

The first person he saw was Mrs. Carne, who hurried from the kitchen to greet him. Seeing the state he was in—disheveled, shivering, and with no luggage of any kind about him—she called to Alberta to prepare a hot bath.

Aaron seized her hand in a gesture of friendship and gratitude. “What news?” he demanded.

“Go into the parlor,” she responded. “I’ll send Seamus and bring hot tea.”

Aaron obeyed, and Seamus Carne was soon with him. The sight of his friend’s broad kindly face reassured him, and his spirits became calmer. Katie appeared with a quilt to warm him, and he gratefully wrapped it about his shoulders.

Mr. Carne sat down without ceremony.

“Sir, the county prosecutor convened a trial. We spoke as witnesses—Corey, Clara, and me—but it did little good. The Compton woman swore she saw Miss Winstead leaving the inn at the time of the murder.”

“Good God, Carne. Are you saying they convicted her?”

“No, sir. The jury has not made its decision.”

“Thank God for that! But Hannah…how is she faring? Have you been able to visit her?”

“Aye, one of us goes each day. Madison lets us in between noon and three. You can see her yourself tomorrow, but be warned—she is not well.”

“Have you found legal counsel to assist you?”

“We have. That young Brockton fellow. He said…”

“What did he say?”

Carne rubbed his face, looking, Aaron thought, old and exhausted and totally unlike the vigorous farmer he had known for seven years. “He said we must be ready for the worst because it seemed to him the jury believed the Compton woman.”

“I don’t understand!” Aaron cried in frustration. “Could none of you provide an alibi for Hannah?”

“Sir, we could not on the day in question. After the blackguard Earling accosted Miss Winstead, as Corey wrote you, she stayed inside for several days. But she went out on the day Sheriff Madison says the man was stabbed.”

“Where did she go?”

“She said she was bound for Miss Middleburg’s, but as she neared the house, she saw Miss Middleburg exit with her mother, so she turned and walked back toward town. It being a fine day, she strolled along the harbor, but no one remembers seeing her.”

“And what did Miss Middleburg say?”

“She said she and her mother did go out to make calls. But when the county prosecutor pressed her, she admitted it would be strange for Hannah to turn away, for she often made calls with them.”

“What did Hannah say to that?”

“She said she turned on impulse because she didn’t want to be confined to a parlor on such a warm day.”

“Good lord, it’s all speculation and innuendo! Tell me, what exactly did Maria say?”

“Sir, she testified she was passing the north side of the inn and saw Miss Winstead exit from a side door, and when she spoke to her, Miss Winstead didn’t answer. Miss Compton claimed she was wearing a large cloak wrapped tight about her.”

“A large cloak! A fine bit of imagining on the part of Miss Compton, indeed! Did the sheriff locate this alleged cloak?”

“No, sir. Mrs. Carne had a bloody fit, pray excuse my language, sir, when the sheriff’s men searched the house. Sure an’ they found nothing because there was nothing to find.” Carne paused, considering his next words. “There was one witness who might have helped Mr. Brockton’s defense…if the jury had believed his story.”

“What witness, Carne?”

“Jared Brooks.”

“The half-witted boy? What had he to do with it?”

“He said on the day Miss Compton supposedly saw Hannah, she couldn’t have seen her because she, Maria, was on board the Bonnie Reel.”

Aaron sighed. “He’s a good boy, Jared Brooks, and I’ve never known the lad to lie, but…”

“Aye, but who would take his word over Miss Compton’s?”

Aaron nodded. “And no doubt Whetherton denied she was on board. There would be no advantage to him in sullying a woman’s reputation and angering a man like Compton.”

“Aye, sir, that’s exactly what occurred.”

They were both silent. Carne rose to take leave. “Liars, both of them, the Compton woman and Whetherton. Miss Winstead is as innocent as an angel; I’d stake my life to it.”

“And would I,” Aaron agreed.

There was little to be done at such a late hour, and though Aaron was convinced sleep would be impossible, his exhaustion proved otherwise. Waking in the morning to a clear bright day, he felt more hopeful, and his mood improved. Surely no one in his right mind would think Hannah capable of murder. The jury would acquit her, and she would soon be home and on her way to recovering from her ordeal.

Aven and Andrew were surprised to find Captain Clarke had returned. Some time must necessarily be spent with them, but only a little. Clara took them outside to frolic on the lawn after breakfast, and Aaron was soon mounted and on his way to the home of solicitor Oliver Brockton.

Mr. Brockton was a pale, thin young man, and Aaron recalled meeting him briefly at the village ball. When they had settled in Brockton’s untidy office, they faced each other silently.

Brockton finally spoke. “Did you have some specific questions, Captain Clarke?”

“Questions?” Aaron repeated, his emotions suddenly congealing into anger. “One question only, sir! Why have you not managed to stop this absurd prosecution of my governess?”

Brockton raised his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I did all I could. The county prosecutor had a witness, as I am sure you know.”

“Yes…yes,” Aaron stated flatly, his anger gone as quickly as it had arisen.

“I had hoped,” continued Brockton, “you called today to explain to me exactly why this Compton woman would lie about Miss Winstead’s whereabouts.”

“What makes you think I would know the answer to that?”

Brockton smiled, his thin lips drawing back over small white teeth. “Pray excuse my bluntness, Captain. Everyone in the village knew of your flirtation with Miss Compton. And now Miss Compton is doing her best to see your governess hang. Your affairs are not my concern, but if I’m to defend Miss Winstead, I must have full information.”

Aaron stood and paced back and forth in the cramped, airless office.

“I flirted with her,” he finally replied. “I’m guilty as charged. But I didn’t propose marriage to her and then renege on my promise.”

“Go on,” replied Brockton.

“I found,” Aaron continued, attempting to choose his words carefully, “I had been…mistaken…in my interest in Miss Compton. My attentions to her ceased immediately after my realization of that self-knowledge.”

“And you told her of your changed feelings?”

“No. She wrote me at my father’s house in England. She claimed I had raised expectations in…herself. She accused me of being a heartless flirt…and…”

“And…?”

“She accused me of conducting an immoral relationship with my governess.”

“Ah! That explains it all!”

“How can you say so?” Aaron exclaimed, reseating himself and staring across the paper-strewn desk. “Maria Compton becomes angry at me and bears false witness against Hannah? Why would she take out her wrath against an innocent girl?”

Brockton smiled again. “Have you never heard the phrase ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?”

Aaron buried his face in his hands. Brockton could see tears in his eyes when next he looked up.

“I have brought this on her,” he whispered. “I’ve brought tragedy into the life of a sweet guileless girl. I’ll never forgive myself, never.”

Brockton shuffled papers. “Pray don’t accuse yourself so bitterly. You couldn’t have foreseen this eventuality. You must cease self-recrimination and assist me in saving the young lady.”

“You’ve some hope for an acquittal, then?” Aaron asked quickly.

Brockton sighed. “Hope for an acquittal? No. I have only one hope.”

“And that is?”

“That you’ll be able to convince Miss Compton to recant her absurd story, and that I can delay the execution of Miss Winstead long enough for you to accomplish it. Then we will petition for a new trial.”