The Secrets Of Catie Hazard. Miranda Jarrett

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ even after her husband paid back the debt, Gabriel had remained involved with the business as a silent partner. After Ben’s death, Catie had come to regard Gabriel as a friend, as well, a trusted and powerful business advisor who helped make certain she could keep the tavern in her name. With his support, she’d been able to prosper where most other widows would have foundered and failed.

      But she’d gained more than mere bookkeeping from the Sparhawks. Through the example of the old captain’s wife, Mariah, Catie had learned to speak and act like the gentry, and to match her manners and clothing to theirs. Soon more and more of the tavern’s customers had been gentry, as well, drawn by curiosity and the Sparhawks’ recommendations and won by Catie’s hospitality.

      Yet not once in all that time had either Gabriel or Mariah mentioned a nephew named Anthony, and Catie had secretly rejoiced. It made perfect sense: Anthony had chosen to be a soldier, and soldier’s lives were notoriously short.

      But not, it seemed, short enough. What were the phenomenal odds that Anthony Sparhawk’s regiment would be among those sent to subdue the American colonies, and then, even more unlikely, one of the three sent to invade Newport? Before this, the island had been considered impregnable, protected by nature and defended by the fort on Goat Island, and no one had seriously thought the British would even attempt to take the best harbor in New England.

      But dare they had, and, worse yet, they’d succeeded, and now here she was, with Anthony Sparhawk beneath her roof. Once before, he’d come close to ruining her life, and now—Lord, he could bring her whole careful world crashing down around her.

      With trembling fingers Catie unfastened the locket from her bodice and opened it. Inside one half lay curled a wisp of her daughter’s silvery baby hair, tied with a red thread, while on the other was the portrait Catie had had painted of Belinda two years ago, on her fifth birthday. The artist had perfectly captured the little girl’s serious smile and the wide green eyes that looked upon the world with a wisdom beyond her years.

      So much like her mother, everyone said, the very image of Catie. Ben had always laughed and said what a blessing it was that his darling Belinda hadn’t favored her father instead.

      But Belinda did favor her father, thought Catie miserably. Lord help them both, she did, more than anyone could ever have dreamed possible.

      “Mrs. Hazard, there be—Oh, forgive me, mistress, but the door was open.” Self-consciously Hannah ducked her head, giving Catie time to compose herself. Hannah had worked for Ben Hazard long before he hired and then wed Catie, and the older woman’s cookery was one of the main reasons that he had prospered.

      “No harm done, Hannah,” said Catie as she dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron and forced herself to smile. “’Twas my fault, leaving the door ajar like that. With all these wretched Britishers underfoot, I’ll have to change my ways, won’t I?”

      “Yes, ma’am,” said Hannah with obvious relief. Though she was at least thirty years Catie’s senior, Catie was the mistress, and mistresses were supposed to be the strong ones that everyone else depended upon.

      But where, thought Catie unhappily, was she supposed to turn for comfort?

      “Yes, indeed, Hannah,” she said, closing the locket with a soft click to repin it to her bodice. “There are many things that must change, whether we wish them to or not.”

      Hannah’s glance followed the locket. “You’re fretting over your little girl, aren’t you?” she said sympathetically. “I’m sure Miss Belinda’s worrying over you, as well. But you did right to send her away, mistress. A house full o’ rough men’s no place for a sweet angel like Miss Belinda.”

      Catie nodded, her smile tight. It wasn’t the score of rough men under her roof that she feared so much as the one very polished major. When two nights ago, at the first news of the invasion, she sent Belinda from Newport to stay with a married couple she knew near Nantasket, she’d had no idea how wise a precaution it would prove to be.

      She rose briskly, determined to put aside her own worries. “Now, Hannah, I want you to make sure that you keep the cellar locked, and that you leave nothing—nothing—unattended in the kitchen as long as we must house these particular guests,” she warned. “While that puppy of a lieutenant assured me his men will receive daily rations from their quartermaster, I don’t believe for a minute they’ll be able to resist trying to steal a taste of your cooking.”

      “Don’t know a man what can, mistress,” said Hannah proudly. “But any of them lobsterbacks come creepin’ into my kitchen, an’ they’ll answer to my cleaver.”

      “We should have had you and your cleaver on the beach at Weaver’s Cove instead of that fool militia,” said Catie wryly, only half jesting. Certainly she and Hannah would have made a better show of defending their home. “Now, as for supper—”

      “Beggin’ your pardon, mistress,” Hannah interrupted, “but Cap’n Jon’s still waitin’ downstairs at the back door. That’s why I came up here, to tell you.”

      “Captain Sparhawk’s here? Now?” Without waiting for an answer, Catie gathered her skirts and hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen. Jon Sparhawk was known to be a brave man, a daring man, but he was tempting fate to come to Hazard’s when it was so full of British soldiers.

      Yet when she reached the kitchen, the room was empty, Hannah’s pie crust sitting half-crimped in its pan on the table, the back door closed and latched. Puzzled, Catie went to bolt the door. Perhaps Jon Sparhawk had left to avoid one of the British guards, or perhaps, more likely, he’d simply realized how foolish it was for him to come to the tavern now.

      The man’s hand closed over Catie’s mouth before she could scream, his other arm locking around her waist to drag her back from the door and window beside it. Frantically Catie plunged against him, struggling to break free, but the man only tightened his grip further, pinning her arms against her sides. He was so much bigger than she was, so much stronger, and, terrified, she instinctively seized the one defense left to her: as hard as she could, she bit the palm of his hand.

      With a yowl of pain, the man released her. Stumbling forward, Catie grabbed the rolling pin from the table and wheeled round to face him.

      “For God’s sake, Catie, did you have to bite me?” demanded Jon Sparhawk indignantly as he cradled his wounded hand.

      “Did you have to scare me out of my wits?” Catie glared at him, the rolling pin still in her hand. In all the time she’d known Jon, he’d never dared treat her this way, and she didn’t like it, not at all. “With everything else that’s happening in this town, I certainly don’t need you creeping about my house playing footpad!”

      “I’m not ‘playing’ at anything, Catie. No one in Newport is.” He scowled down at the bright red marks Catie’s teeth had left in his hand. “I didn’t want you to scream and raise a fuss, that was all. Did you know your yard is full of those British bastards?”

      “They’re in my yard, my attic, and my best bedchambers,” said Catie with disgust. She tossed the rolling pin back on the table, dipped a rag in the water bucket and held it out to Jon for his hand. “They’re probably under the very bedsteads, as well, if I cared to look. How else would I know your cousin is one of them?”

      Jon looked up sharply. “Then it is Anthony?”

      “Of course it is,” said Catie, praying she’d be able to keep her voice even. Though she СКАЧАТЬ