Previously...
Mrs. Stamford clucked over Captain Holmes' supposed perfidy, insisting that Molly lie down and rest. When Molly protested, tried to offer her assistance in any necessary household chores to show her gratitude for their willingness to take her in, Reverend Stamford took her hands in his. With a kindly smile he said, "Please, my dear, you've had a very trying time. Rest, recover yourself for a bit, then join us if you like."
Molly bowed her head, unable to protest further despite her near desperate desire to defend Sherlock's honour. How could she cherish the thought of her freedom when it was being purchased with not only that good man's reputation, but possibly his life? As she lay down obediently on the bed (belonging to two of the Stamford daughters), the words from one of Aesop's tales came to her mind, and she turned her face to the pillow to stifle her sudden sobs.
Have you ever made a wish and got what you wanted, only for the reality to fall far short of the expectation?
Molly lifted herself from the bed, dashing the tears from her eyes. "Enough self-pity," she scolded herself. "Are you some foolish maid from a poem, languishing because her lover had deserted her?"
No, she told herself firmly as she splashed cold water on her face from the basin atop the commode, she was nothing of the sort! Until her imprisonment she'd been actively involved in the rebellion, and had lost none of her passion for the cause of freedom - even if, she thought wryly, a very different kind of passion had temporarily possessed her.
Resolutely she turned her thoughts away from anything to do with Captain Sherlock Holmes. He'd made his feelings very clear, clear enough for even the most love-sick child to understand, and it was no good sighing and crying over what might have been. And what could there have been between them, after all? What little affection he bore her would wither and die were he forced to take her to wife, and besides, how could she marry one of the hated Redcoats and still consider herself a patriot?.
No, twas better for all concerned that she simply accept her unexpected offer of freedom, and put all thoughts of Captain Holmes and his warm caresses far, far behind her.
As she made her way downstairs, she heard a knocking at the front door. Stamford's maid answered it, and Molly's heart sank a little as she caught sight of Billy Wiggins standing there, with her trunk at his feet. The maid curtsied and left, and Molly's heart felt as if it had plummeted into her boots as Wiggins somewhat diffidently informed her that 'The Captain' said she was free to go - presumably because he'd heard from Colonel Moran. "Free to go," she repeated numbly. "Is, is that all he said?" Oh, she sounded forlorn even to her own ears, and certainly to Billy's, judging by his uneasy expression.
"He, um, he did say one other thing, but I'm not sure if I should -"
"Just say it, Billy, please."
His face pinkened and he spoke in a rush. "The captain, 'e said, well, 'e said you was to leave with, um, 'utmost haste'. His words exactly."
"Oh."
Molly could find nothing else to say, her heart feeling as if it were shattering in her chest. Had their night together truly meant so little to him, that he could dismiss her so coldly? Or was it simply concern for her safety, or fear that Colonel Moran might change his mind?
Billy's red face had gone from pink to red, and he burst out, "Beggin' your pardon, missus, but he's dead wrong about sendin' you off like that, and that's a fact! You've always been very kind to me, and 'e was 'appy with you, I'd swear to that on a stack of bibles, I would! This fightin' with Doctor Watson's got 'im all in a tizzy, that's what I think." And he gave a defiant nod.
Molly blinked moisture from her eyes at this wholly unexpected - and quite touching - affirmation. She thanked Wiggins, pressed a few coins into his hands despite his protests - "for your troubles, and for all the kindness you've always shown me" - and allowed him to bring the small trunk inside the front door but no farther.
After he'd left, still grumbling a bit about the coins (but not, she noted with a brief burst of humour, actually trying to return them to her), she regarded her small trunk with something approaching loathing. She longed to kick it, to ball up her fists and smash it to pieces, to scream and cry and storm about, but did nothing of the sort. After all, she'd been raised better than that, even if her beloved Aunt Martha wasn't quite the bastion of propriety one's guardian ought to be, she thought fondly.
Thinking of her aunt, remembering that soon they should be reunited, helped settle Molly's temper. As she awaited Doctor Watson's arrival - for surely he would receive the same confirmation of her release that Captain Holmes obviously had - she asked Mrs. Stamford if she might borrow some paper and a quill and ink with which to pen a note, and was ushered to the small room Reverend Stamford used as his study.
She sat herself at the desk, grateful for the other woman's unquestioning assistance, smiling her thanks as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. When Molly was quite alone, she took up the quill, dipped it into the ink, and then hesitated a long moment before beginning to write.
A few minutes later she finished. While the ink dried she read the missive over not once but several times, wanting to be certain that it said what she wanted it to say. Then she nodded in quiet satisfaction, pulled out a new sheet of paper, dipped the quill in the ink, and began a second letter. She read that one over as carefully as the first, set it aside, and began her third and final missive.
When all three were written and the ink had dried, she folded and sealed them. On the outside of each she wrote a name: One to Reverend Stamford - thanking him for his hospitality - one to Doctor John Watson - imploring him to reconsider his decision to confront Sherlock on the duelling grounds - and one to Captain Holmes himself.
After a moment's consideration, she penned a fourth letter, addressed to Colonel Moran, thanking him for allowing her to return home. She felt a complete hypocrite, but her father had always counselled her not to burn bridges needlessly, and so, not for the first time, she obediently heeded his sound advice.
Once finished, and having satisfied herself that she'd written nothing incriminating in the letters she'd written for Doctor Watson and Captain Holmes - nothing that would give away the nature of their duplicity - she handed them to Mistress Stamford, asking that they be delivered after Doctor Watson had returned from escorting her to Baxton, which she expected would be very soon now. "For he went directly to Colonel Moran's to request permission to do so," Molly explained, quite needlessly considering both the Stamfords had been in attendance when John had left her with them. But she was suffering now from considerable nervousness; it was all she could do not to begin pacing the front hall.
When the knock finally came at the door, Molly had to stop herself from rushing to open it, instead fidgeting as genteely as possible off to one side while Lucy, the Stamford's girl of all work, opened it. Only when she stepped back to allow Doctor Watson entrance did Molly allow herself to step forward. "Have you spoken to Colonel Moran?"
He gave her a curt nod. "I've been given leave to escort you home today, that your presence might not be a distraction on the morrow," he said.
That he was alluding to the morning duel he'd instigated Molly had no doubts. "If that's what the Colonel wishes," was all she murmured, though it took all her strength not to beg John not to go through with it. Her reputation was already so heavily tarnished in this garrison town that no amount of polish could ever make it shine again; why, then, was he so stubbornly insistent on defending her honour? Foolish, mule-headed man!
She made her farewells, thanking the Stamfords for their hospitality, short-lived though it had turned out to be, and also for the use of pen and paper. Mistress Stamford promised to deliver the messages, glancing briefly at John as he spoke with her husband, as if questioning whether Molly might want to hand him the letter she'd written for him. Molly shook her head and the other woman simply dipped her head in an understanding nod before embracing Molly and telling her that in this house, at least, she was always welcome.
Tears stung the corners of Molly's eyes as Reverend Stamford's oldest son courteously helped her onto horseback. Tears born not of sorrow or anger, but in gratitude for the many small kindnesses the Stamfords had shown her this day.
John and their escort of two young soldiers waited as she said her final goodbyes. As they finally started on their journey, Molly felt watching eyes upon her , and turned her head to see Sergeant Moriarty watching avidly. She gave him a frosty stare; with an insolent smile he tipped his hat toward her, gesturing with his other hand as if aiming a pistol at her before slipping out of sight.
She shivered. The gesture was threatening, to be sure, but it was more likely he was taunting her with a reminder of the upcoming duel. In which case it wasn't herself she should be worrying about, but Sherlock.
With that thought in mind, Molly tried several times to broach the subject of the duel with John, but he refused to be drawn in. No matter how carefully Molly attempted to introduce the subject of the rift between the two friends and no matter in how low a voice she spoke so as not to be overheard by their escort. Frustrated by his refusal to speak on the matter, she finally stopped trying, and they made the bulk of the journey in silence.
Upon arrival in Baxton, he delivered her directly to her relieved Aunt Martha's doorstep. "I must have your word, Miss Hooper, that you shall not return," he said sternly, after accepting her aunt's profuse thanks, and refusing more than a sip of water for himself and his men before embarking upon their return journey. "That was one of the conditions Colonel Moran set upon you, that you not return under any circumstances. Should you do so, there is nothing that will convince him of your innocence, and I would not put it past the man to have you hanged as a spy without anything so inconvenient as a trial first."
Molly swallowed and nodded. "Be careful," she cautioned him, beseeching him with her eyes to understand that she meant not only on his return journey, but on the morrow as well. "And please, John, consider what I've told you."
As he had on the ride, he cut her off. Not rudely, but quite definitely. "Good day, Miss Hooper, Mistress Hudson," was all he said, bowing stiffly to both her and her aunt.
The two women watched the three soldiers ride off, Aunt Martha's arm laid comfortingly around Molly's waist. "He seems a good enough man," she said once the three horses had clattered out of sight. "But I don't suppose it's him you'll be missing, my girl."
Molly turned to her in surprise, and her aunt gave her a knowing smile. "Oh my dear, I've seen enough lasses in love - and been one myself, once upon a time! - to know the look when I see it. Such desolation on your face can only speak of a broken heart. So come inside and tell me all about Captain Holmes, and how he managed to gain your affection despite being one of the hated Redcoats a good patriot such as yourself should properly despise. Especially after compromising your virtue as he has," she added tartly, as Molly gave a guilty start. "Oh yes, I can very well guess what passed between you. Not simply sighs and stolen kisses, or I'm a Hessian!"
Leading Molly inside, she closed the door firmly behind them, sat her down on the sofa (imported from France by her late husband), and set about fixing the tea things while Molly poured her heart out to her.
End note: Um, yeah, the duel is totally definitely going to happen. Next chapter. I promise. I just had to get Molly home first and my muse wouldn't let me just write "John showed up and took Molly home". Plus Aunt Martha had a few things to say! Thanks for reading and for your reviews. They are all appreciated.