“But surely, ma’am, I shouldn’t—”
Anna stopped before she said something foolish, like,I shouldn’t be trusted with anything connected to Martha Washington while British officers are drinking tea below stairs.
Mrs. Pembroke’s eyebrows rose. “You shouldn’t what?”
Anna swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t keep something so valuable.”
“Nonsense. The valuable things in this house are often safest with those no one bothers to notice. That would be you, dear.”
Anna’s hand tightened around the locket.
Mrs. Pembroke returned to her embroidery as if she’d said nothing unusual. “You will stitch a small pocket in the lining of my brown cloak. The one with the worn hem. Is that understood?”
Anna gave her a quick nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Use sturdy thread and make it neat, but not so neat that it draws attention. I want no cleverness. Cleverness is often the ruin of good sewing.”
Anna blinked a few times, trying to gather her thoughts. “A pocket, ma’am?”
“Yes, a plain one. Big enough for the locket and nothing more.”
“For your cloak?”
Mrs. Pembroke rolled her eyes. “Yes, for my cloak, child. Thatiswhat I said.”
Anna looked at the closed locket in her hand. “Will you be wearing the cloak tomorrow?”
Mrs. Pembroke pulled her needle through the silk. “I may. Then again, I may lend it or decide brown makes me look bilious and burn the thing in the yard.”
Anna’s head snapped up.
Mrs. Pembroke didn’t so much as wink in her direction.
“Um, I see,” Anna said, though she didn’t see at all. What was Mrs. Pembroke up to?
“You don’t see,” Mrs. Pembroke replied, “but you’re sensible enough not to ask questions. That is one of your better qualities, Anna dear.”
Anna’s face warmed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t thank me. It encourages sentiment, and sentiment leads to weeping. I haven’t the patience for tears today.” She stopped sewing and looked Anna in the eyes. “Captain Whitby has stolen much of my good humor.” She glanced toward the window. “Along with my peace, my parlor, and half my garden.” Her narrowed gaze shifted to the vase on the mantel. “And especially my petunias.”
Anna pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Mrs. Pembroke’s eyes flashed. “A woman’s household is not a battlefield simply because men in uniforms decide to make it one.”
Anna said nothing, her gaze glued to the empty vase.
Mrs. Pembroke’s expression softened a little. “Thank goodness some things, Anna, are safer when they look sentimental.”
Anna’s heart began to pound. The locket suddenly felt warmer in her palm. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, her voice small.
Mrs. Pembroke gave her a curt nod. “Now take the cloak from the cedar press and work in the small sewing room, not the kitchen. Mercy talks when she’s nervous, and Mrs. Fenwick hears everything when she pretends not to. Elias is to know nothing of this unless I tell him myself.”
Anna’s jaw went slack. She snapped her mouth shut.
Mrs. Pembroke eyed her, needle poised midair. “Is there a difficulty?”
She gave her a quick shake of her head. “No, ma’am.”
