Chapter 11

Araminta Hartsfield was a kindly soul, if somewhat inclined to go off on tangents about people whom Matthew and Amanda didn't know and later learned had been dead for many years. She never rose before eleven o'clock, but spent the morning hours reading and writing her letters in bed while she consumed several pots of tea and plates of buttered toast. Dinner was served at two in the afternoon, supper, which was a simple meal of soup or stew, was served at seven, and promptly at nine she said good night and went to her room, from which loud snoring could be heard within half an hour.

Even when she was awake and downstairs, she was usually in the library where she was researching and writing a history of hers and Molly Thornton's shared ancestors, some of whom had come to Pennsylvania before 1700. She was so absentminded that Matthew or Amanda had to remind her at least once a day who they were and why they were in her house, but once they answered the question, she always said,

"Oh, yes, of course, dear Cousin Molly said you would be coming. You are very welcome, my dears."

"She's the perfect chaperone," Matthew commented on Thursday afternoon while they were out for a walk after midday dinner, he in his new second best uniform coat and

the caped greatcoat he'd bought to wear over it, she in one of her half-mourning gowns, her woolen cape, and her bonnet. "She doesn't know who we are half the time, we never see her except at meals, and yet she's there to make sure that your reputation is safe. Molly Thornton is a genius."

"Yes, she is. We leave tomorrow," she said. "It's been a very restful two days, but I know you want to get back to work, even limited duty."

"Yes, and there's only so much time you can spend 'observing modern treatment methods' in the army hospital here."

"Well, thanks to Dr. Notson's colleague, I did see the hospital and tour some of the wards with him, so it wasn't a complete lie."

"And by the time we get back, Colonel Thornton might have some news for us about who shot at us Monday night."

They went back to the house because it was getting colder. As usual, Araminta was working in the library, but there was a good fire in the front parlor, so they settled there. They'd only been back about ten minutes when Sarah, the maid, brought in a telegram that had just arrived. "This just came for you, Major Davis," she said.

"Thank you, Sarah." She bobbed a curtsey and left the room; Matthew used his penknife to slit open the envelope and take out the flimsy sheet of paper inside. "It's from the colonel. 'Remain in place until further notice. Letter follows'," he read aloud.

"Does he mean stay in this house or just stay in Philadelphia?" Amanda wondered.

"I'm not sure until we get the letter, but I'm going to err on the side of caution and assume it means we don't go out at all."

"Yes, that's probably wise. At any rate, the letter will probably get here tomorrow. We'll know more then."

'Yes." Matthew sat down in the chair he favored, but he was only there for a few seconds before he got up again and paced to the fireplace.

"Matthew?" she said gently.

"Hmmm?"

"You're going to wear a path in the carpet if you don't stop pacing," she chided. "I know you hate sitting idle, but the Colonel's orders were very clear. Come and sit down again."

He sat down, picked up the day's newspaper, which he'd already read from front to back, and put it down again. She continued to stitch the leaves and flowers she was embroidering for Lucy Blair's wedding petticoat, her needle and silk flashing in and out of the fine lawn fabric as it caught the glow from the fire.

"Women have it easy," he said. "There's always something you can do with your hands. Either you're darning socks, or you're embroidering something, or you're sewing on buttons, or tatting lace, or…."

"I get your point, Matthew. This can wait. Would you like to play chess?"

"I need to do something besides sit, and that's mainly just sitting."

"Very well, then, suppose we go and explore the attics? I realize they're not our attics, but we've been given the run of the house, and there's sure to be something interesting up there."

"Fine. I'll do anything that gets me moving again."

"I'll go tell Mrs. Hartsfield where we're going, then."

Cousin Araminta, when informed of their plans, merely said, "Of course, my dear Mrs. Bishop. While you're there, could you look for a large trunk with the initials 'S.E. N.' on the lid in hobnails? It belonged to Captain Samuel Newell, and there are some things there that could be of use to me in my research. He was dear Molly's great-grandfather, born in 1712."

"When we find it, shall we have it brought down?"

"Oh, yes, please."

With a definite mission in mind, Matthew was much less restive. They found the trunk fairly easily, had the servants take it down to the library, and went back to exploring the attic. Amanda opened one trunk and took out a gown that would have been the height of fashion more than a hundred years before. "My stars, Matthew, look at this fabric! It's silk brocade, and it must have been imported from England or France, and at very considerable expense. There's a note pinned to the lining of the bodice that says… oh, my."

"What?"

"This gown danced with Colonel George Washington of the Virginia Militia in 1754."

"Did it? All by itself? Well, I can see how it could stand up by itself, given enough petticoats, but I'm not sure about dancing."

She burst into giggles. "Oh, you know what I meant, you absurd man!"

"Yes, but it made you laugh, didn't it? It's going to be all right, Amanda Miranda. Colonel Thornton will catch whoever is threatening us and we can go back to living our lives again."

"Yes. Oh, there's a diary in here. Maybe it will say something about the dance with Colonel Washington."

"Let's take it downstairs and find out."