Thank you to searchingforperfection and catbrown for their hard work in editing, and all of their suggestions. I appreciate all votes and comments, and I do read all the comments.
This story is a sequel to The Doctor's Daughter. Both are set during the War of 1812. Since the death of Major General Brock in the fall of 1812, neither side has scored a decisive victory. There have been minor accomplishments for both the Americans and the British, but the War Hawks in Washington are eager for more promising actions that will validate Jefferson's boasts that the conquest of Canada is "a mere matter of marching". In the spring of 1813 Major General Henry Dearborn is ordered to lead his forces in an attack on Kingston, Ontario. He considers those orders and then attacks the town of York (later known as Toronto), instead.
1
Not knowing exactly when the battle is to come is so frustrating, thought Lawrence as he stood on the beach and looked across the bay at the American warships. They were poised at the entrance to York's harbour, just as they had been since the previous evening, and the civilians and British military waited impatiently to see where the Americans would strike.
There were lanterns lit aboard the ships and he was positive that lookouts kept a careful watch for a surprise attack. He had suggested that course of action to the Major General a few hours earlier and been rebuffed. Lawrence had not expected the idea to be embraced. And dawn had broken so it was certainly too light to try such a rash action now.
Captain Lawrence Orr turned away from the small waves washing across the sand and pebbles and shook his head as he faced York. The town was lit, with every house having at least one torch, candle or lantern illuminating their locations. If the Americans chose to bombard York they would have an ample choice of targets. Such actions went against the rules of war, but many British officers half-expected the 'wild' Yankees to perform such atrocities.
He left the beach and walked along the dirt road, heading home. There was nothing left to do but wait until the Americans stirred.
As he neared his own house he realized that there was no revealing light. He smiled in acknowledgement of Abigail's foresight.
Opening the front door as quietly as he could, he heard movement in the parlour. There was a flicker of light and then the maid pulled her hand away from the candle she carried. The young woman concealed her fear well, but looked quite pale. Lawrence put a finger to his lips and then proceeded to the back of the house, where he expected to find Abigail in the kitchen.
As he entered the room he saw his wife busy with some chore and he crept up behind her. He didn't intend to scare her; he just wanted to surprise her.
"I thought you wouldn't be back until after the ships left," Abigail whispered, as she leaned back against her husband. Lawrence wrapped his arms around her. He'd never been able to determine how she always knew when he was near.
He nuzzled her cheek. "Well, Major General Sheaffe does not require his liaison to the York Militia at this time. At least not until the Americans decide exactly where they are going to attack, my dear. So I'm all yours for the next little while."
Abigail placed her arms over his. Since they had married a few months earlier, she had been pleasantly surprised to find Lawrence to be a very attentive husband. He had worried over her comfort and happiness during his transfer to York, which lay on the north side of Lake Ontario and far from her father's home on the Niagara peninsula. Although he had been quite busy with his new duties, Captain Orr had not neglected his wife.
"Sometimes...sometimes I wish we had not taken on Millie, my love."
"We could send her to bed," he suggested, raising his hands to the ties on the front of her blouse.
"Hmm." She let her head loll onto his shoulder as he nosed aside a strand of her blonde hair and then gently kissed her cheek and throat.
They stepped away from each other as they heard the maid's shoes click along the hall. The Captain glanced at his wife and smiled. "Once again we must postpone." He sighed. "I wanted you to take on a maid to help with the housework."
Abigail laughed in response. The house they had purchased was a little smaller than the home she had grown up in, but far smaller than the manor in which Lawrence had been raised. They had argued about whether Abigail would even need help tending the house and, as an obedient wife, she had acceded to her husband's wishes.
The dark-haired maid stepped into the room timidly, looking from one to the other. She curtsied and chewed her lip anxiously.
"Millie!" The girl stood at attention and stared at Abigail like a frightened rabbit. "What have I told you about biting your lip?"
"It's not lady-like, ma'am?"
"So, it would be best if you concentrated on stopping yourself from doing it, correct?"
The girl nodded. "Can I help you prepare breakfast, ma'am?"
Lawrence rolled his eyes for his wife and then took a seat at the dining table in the adjoining room. Millie was not a very good cook, as yet, and they all knew it. There were some papers scattered before him and he began to examine them carefully.
"Let's see what you've learned so far, Millie." The two women set to work and Lawrence could hear the occasional guiding whisper from his wife as she corrected and directed the inexperienced younger woman.
Shortly, a meal was set before Lawrence. He stood and waited until Abigail was seated and ready to eat her own breakfast before he sat and began his. Millie stood at the counter in the kitchen nibbling on her own food.
"I thought we had discussed the possibility of her eating with us, dear?" asked Lawrence in a whisper.
Abigail sighed. "She is a servant and mustn't get used to being too familiar with her employers, husband."
The answer was a mystery to Lawrence. At times he could not fathom this woman that he had married a mere five months earlier. She had picked Millie, a penniless near-waif, with no skills and no family, and hired her to be a maid, despite the availability of more experienced women. Millie knew nothing of cooking nor was she knowledgeable about how to keep a house clean. Lawrence had surmised that with her long dark hair and dark eyes Millie had the means to keep herself from starving, however disreputable those means might be. Abigail had talked briefly with the young woman after church one day and then had been adamant that Millie would work for them.
In response to her husband's questioning look Abigail put down her fork. "Lawrence, I'm teaching her how to make a good living."
He nodded thoughtfully and then turned his head at the sound of church bells ringing.
Millie ran from the room and the Orrs heard the door of their home slam open. Abigail gave her husband an anxious glance and then the two set about efficiently and thoroughly finishing their breakfast. Soon enough, Millie was back in the dining room, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
"Yes, Millie?" asked Lawrence.
"Sir, the American fleet is moving! They're attacking!" the girl shouted in fear and excitement.
