Anna crossed to the table, lifted the cloak, and drew out the locket. The silver lay against her palm, beautiful and dangerous, and far too important for a maid’s pocket.
She returned to the chair and forced herself to finish the hidden seam. Whatever Nathaniel Reed was, British courier or something far more complicated, she couldn’t afford to be careless around him. Not with the locket, and certainly not with her heart.
For some annoying reason, it fluttered every time he talked.
Four
By the following morning, Anna decided she disliked Nathaniel Reed. It was a sensible decision. Practical, wise, and entirely necessary.
Unfortunately, disliking a man didn’t prevent a person from thinking about him. She discovered this while scrubbing the breakfast dishes, folding the napkins, fetching fresh water, and helping Mrs. Fenwick argue with a stubborn pot that had scorched porridge clinging to the bottom.
Nathaniel Reed had no business occupying her mind during any of those tasks.
He was a British courier, as far as anyone could tell. He carried Captain Whitby’s messages, came and went with too much freedom, and spoke in calm warnings that made her feel as though he saw more than he ought to. It was downright unsettling. That alone was enough reason to dislike him.
The fact that he made her fight against smiling while Mrs. Pembroke threatened to turn him into a coat stand was beside the point.
“Anna,” Mrs. Fenwick said, “you’ve folded that napkin twice. What has gotten into you?”
Anna looked at the napkin, unfolded it, and refolded it into a shape no respectable table had ever seen. “Sorry.”
Mercy peeked around the pantry door. “Are we all apologizing today? Because if we are, I should like to begin with the custard.”
Mrs. Fenwick narrowed her eyes. “Mercy, child, what did you do to the custard?”
Mercy bit her lower lip and hunched her shoulders. “Nothing permanent.”
Mrs. Fenwick closed her eyes. “That is not the comfort you think it is, child.”
Anna set the napkin aside before she could ruin it further. “I’ll take these to the dining room.”
“You do that,” Mrs. Fenwick said, “and if Captain Whitby asks whether there is more ham, tell him no.”
“But there is more ham,” Mercy said.
“There is more ham for supper,” Mrs. Fenwick corrected. “Therefore, there is no more ham for Captain Whitby.”
Mercy nodded, still hunching her shoulders. “A sound military strategy, Mrs. Fenwick.”
The housekeeper pointed a spoon at her. “Do not mock me, girl. I’ve kept this household fed through occupation, shortages, officers, and Mrs. Pembroke’s outrageous opinions. General Washington himself could not ask more of a woman.”
Anna took the basket of napkins and left before she laughed and drew too much attention, not to mention questions she couldn’t answer.
The house was quieter than usual. Ever since Captain Whitby’s arrival, quiet had become scarce. It also meant someone might be listening, or about to appear where they had no business being.
Anna reached the dining room and laid the fresh napkins beside each place setting. The officers hadn’t left the parlor,which gave her a few moments alone. She worked quickly, smoothing the cloth and making certain every fold lay even.
Voices sounded in the hall. Anna kept her hands moving.
Captain Whitby entered first, followed by Lieutenant Rothborne and another officer she’d seen only once. She still hadn’t caught his name. He had a pinched mouth, pale hair, and the general look of a man who’d been disappointed by every meal placed before him.
Nathaniel Reed came in last.
Anna tightened her grip around a napkin. As usual, he looked at ease.
Why that irritated her, she didn’t know. A man who worked around British officers should look uneasy now and then, if only to prove he understood the danger of them. Instead, Mr. Reed entered with his hat in one hand and a folded leather case beneath his arm. His expression was, of course, polite, attentive, and entirely unreadable.
“Ah, Reed,” Captain Whitby said. “I’ve several errands for you, my boy.”
