Midnight

by Beverly Jenkins

  “For what purpose?”

  “To see what I could see.”

  “But you saw me instead.”

  Nicholas delayed his response in order to study her small face. In the now rising moon, her skin looked soft as brown velvet, and her lips, although tightly set, couldn’t hide their well-formed lushness. Her nostrils appeared to be flaring and the black eyes assessing him so fearlessly were like a thunderstorm throwing lightning. He didn’t know whether to smile or be afraid.

  “Why were you watching the inn?”

  “For answers to my father’s death.”

  “And you think you will find them here?” Her skepticism was plain.

  “Our fathers were enemies. One was a loyalist, the other a supporter of the rebels. Were our roles reversed, where would you begin?”

  “Elsewhere. Especially on such insignificant evidence.”

  “You’ve a tart tongue.

  “Honed from debating nonsense with men like you, Mr. Grey.” And she stormed away.

  Nicholas watched the subtle swing of her cape as she marched ahead. Drawn by her sassiness and the mystery she presented, he propelled his stallion forward to catch up to her.

  Once he and his horse were in pace beside her, she asked stonily, “Don’t you have a better place to be, Mr. Grey?”

  “I’m content.”

  “I’m not, so be on your way.”

  “And leave you out here on the road alone? I’m a better gentleman than that.”

  “Anyone spying on me and my father is no gentleman at all, sir.”

  “I admit to many failings.”

  “Go away.”

  Nick smiled. “And probably miss out on the most interesting encounter I’ve had in some time? I think not. I’ll be escorting you home.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “View it as my penance for spying on you and your father.”

  He saw the sharp look she shot his way, and the pleasure he was deriving from this late night meeting increased. “Why isn’t a beautiful woman like you married?”

  “Do you always ask such rude questions?”

  “Yes.”

  Faith stopped. “Are you bedeviling me on purpose because of your feelings about my father?”

  “No, Miss Kingston, I’m bedeviling you because I find you quite interesting. Not many women can give as good as they get.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You should take that as a compliment.”

  She walked off again.

  Once he was beside her again, he said, “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m not married because I chose not to be,” she responded without breaking stride.

  “None of the males here measure up?”

  “No, I’m the one lacking. I’m educated and opinionated. Men don’t care for those qualities in a wife.”

  Nick pondered that. It was true that many men were drawn to simpering, simpleminded women. He’d never been one who was, however. “You could be rid of me quicker were you to join me on Hades’ back and let us carry you home.”

  “No thank you. And what kind of name is that for a horse.”

  “It’s where I found him.”

  “In Hades?” she asked skeptically.

  “Yes. He was in the hold of a ship that had been set afire. We’ve been together since.”

  “And this ship was where?”

  “Off the coast of Bengal.”

  “Bengal? India?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Taking part in a mutiny along with hundreds of others impressed by the King’s navy.”

  That made Faith stop and search his face in the moonlight. She’d heard horrible stories about men being impressed. When the British Navy ran short of sailors, the captains ofttimes had men abducted to fill the rolls. They took them from the docks, taverns, and in some cases right off the streets. The unethical policy added more fuel to the incendiary atmosphere between the colonial citizens and the crown. “I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

  “No need to apologize. You didn’t shanghai me. It was a way to see the world, even though I had no choice in the matter.”

  Faith began to see him in a new light. She’d called him worldly this afternoon and realized she’d been correct. “I have never traveled beyond Massachusetts. What’s the world like?” she asked softly.

  “Vicious and unfair, but filled with vistas so beautiful and wondrous your heart breaks trying to take it all in.”

  He met her eyes. Feeling something she couldn’t name slide into her soul from within the depths of his gaze, Faith turned from him. “I must get home.”

  They covered the remaining distance in silence but Faith was very aware of his presence at her side.

  They finally reached the inn. “Good night, Mr. Grey.”

  “Same to you, Miss Kingston.”

  “I would appreciate it if you would not tell my father about this.”

  “You have my word.”

  She held his eyes for a long moment, wondering about who he really was inside, then hurried towards the back of the inn. To learn that he was on a witch hunt targeting her father was almost as appalling as learning that he’d seen her sneak out of the house. Even if he didn’t know the truth behind her errand, the idea that he’d been watching her and had trailed her was alarming. That he might do it again gave her yet one more thing to worry about besides the patrols of British soldiers, being unmasked as Lady Midnight, and being brought to trial and hanged for treason. Out of necessity she’d have to keep the startling encounter to herself. Revealing it to her father would not only add to his dislike of the Grey name but shed a suspicious light on her own actions, because he’d know the midnight trip for eggs had been unnecessary. So Grey’s lurking would have to remain a secret, and any further contact with him had to be kept at a minimum. Not that she minded, because now that she knew his true colors, she planned to avoid him, but she also needed to find out as much about him as she discreetly could. The first rule of war was to know the enemy. Opening the shutters, she climbed back in.

  Nicholas waited until she disappeared inside before he and Hades rode for home. Once there he climbed the stairs to his bedroom to settle in for the rest of the night. Since returning from New York, Nick kept expecting to see his father walk in, and he wondered how long it would be before the expectation faded. Days, weeks, years, never? Even now, as he sat in his fire-lit bedroom, he kept listening for Primus’s footsteps on the stairs, only to remind himself that he’d never hear them again. The loss was still keen. After leaving the Masons’ luncheon, he’d gone to visit some of his father’s old friends. The few he’d been able to find expressed their condolences, and all were of a mind that Stuart Kingston was the Judas he sought, but how to prove it was the question. Thinking of Kingston brought back the encounter with his daughter. What a gorgeous and fiery beauty she was, but as her father so rudely pointed out, Faith wasn’t for him. The facts that she was Kingston’s daughter and that she was more than likely a virgin were two marks against her. Nick preferred his women experienced enough to expect nothing more than the pleasure he could bring in bed, and virgins, especially virgins of good family, would want more.

  Faith aside, what he needed now was someone who’d heard or seen Stuart Kingston betray his father. Primus wouldn’t want Nick to confront the man with only rumors at his back. He needed facts, which meant he had to find Lady Midnight in order to get to the truth.

  With that in mind, Nicholas decided to reestablish himself in the community. He’d go to gatherings, rallies, and maybe even church if need be. Every smuggler knew that the more innocently one acted, the more information one could obtain.

  Nicholas spent the next few days establishing his father’s home as his own. Having to pack up his father’s things was more emotional than he’d imagined. Touching his hunting rifle brought back memories as had boxing up the clothing he’d planned to donate
to the local charities. For a while he had to walk away and sit outside until the sadness became more manageable. Thanks to Artemis’s foresight, the large house with its orchards and open fields hadn’t been lost. Although he’d repaid Artemis for the land, the two decided the deed would remain in Arte’s name until the times were safe enough to transfer it without raising British ire. As Arte said on the night of Nick’s return, the homes, businesses, and lands of traitors had not fared well. In fact, the print shop Primus had owned had been confiscated and recently sold to a loyalist.

  The next morning, Nick was out in back of the house chopping wood when he noticed Prince Hall riding up. They hadn’t seen each other since the Masons’ luncheon.

  Prince pulled his mount to a halt and stepped out of his saddle. “Best of mornings, Nicholas.”

  Nick put down his axe and wiped his face on the sleeve of his hide shirt. “To you as well. Did you come to help me chop wood?”

  Prince smiled. “No, but I’d like to speak with you about something if I may?”

  Nick surveyed him for a moment, wondering what this might be about. “Let’s speak inside.”

  They went in, and as he warmed himself in front of the parlor’s fire, Prince took a seat in one of the upholstered chairs. He glanced around at the furnishings and at the painting over Nick’s head. “Your mother was a beautiful woman.”

  Nick’s attention moved up to the stiffly posed woman in blue. In spite of the unsmiling face there was a sparkle in her brown eyes. “That she was. Died giving me birth. I often wondered how it might have been had she lived. Probably a lot less arguing between Primus and myself.”

  Silence crept into the room and echoed through the house.

  Prince said, “It’s hard knowing he’ll never stand where you are again.” He quieted then as if thinking back on his friend, and then grinned. “He told the foulest jokes about the King any of us had ever heard. Left us rolling on the floorboards more times than I can count.”

  Nick chuckled. “He was one of a kind.”

  Prince nodded agreement, then sobered. “People will miss him immensely.”

  Nick found it hard to accept the fact that his father was dead. At the time of their acrimonious parting during the height of the Seven Years’ War, it never occurred to him that they wouldn’t see each other again, argue again, hunt again. The guilt of not having reconciled with his father continued to plague him. “You wanted to speak with me?”

  “Yes, on behalf of the Sons of Liberty.”

  “Why?”

  “The cause needs men with your war experience. We may not be able to beat the British head-on, but if the minutemen can be taught to fight like the Indians, tree to tree, and on the run, we’d stand a chance.”

  Nick turned back to the flames oscillating in the grate.

  “We’ve already begun to drill and many of the trainers are excellent, but there are not enough of them to go around.”

  “Are men of color being allowed to drill as well?”

  “In some units, yes, in others, no. You’d be helping your race.”

  “Guilt won’t buy me.”

  “But principle might. This is our fight, too. The hypocrisy inherent in the rebels demanding freedom from the crown while they themselves own slaves is not lost upon any of us. The whole concept is ludicrous, but the Sons of Liberty and the Provincial Congress are being pressured by fair-minded men both here and in England to secure that freedom for everyone.”

  Nick heartily agreed with him about the hypocrisy.

  “And we wish to fight because this is our country, too. We helped build the colonies just as they have, only we’ve done it with no reward. If Jefferson and his Virginians didn’t own slaves they wouldn’t have the luxury of riding around the countryside bellowing for freedom. They’d be home behind a plow.”

  Nick looked his way. “You have been around my father, haven’t you?”

  Prince’s eyes smoldered even as he smiled. “And besides, we’ve fought in all their other wars. Why should this one be any different? Maybe one day the scales will be balanced and we’ll measure up.”

  Nick nodded in understanding. He’d faced some of that prejudice during the war by both the British and the French, but found the tribes didn’t care about a man’s skin as long as he fought as fiercely as they. The only color they cared about was the color of their freedom. “How many men do you envision?”

  “Fifteen, twenty, no more.”

  “Do they have their own weapons?”

  “Most do not.”

  Nick asked drolly, “Then of what use will they be on the battlefield?”

  Prince sighed. “The Provincial Congress has said that each minuteman will be issued a musket, a bayonet, a cartridge box, and thirty-six rounds of ammunition. We’ve been promised the same.”

  “Do you believe the promise will be kept?”

  “A portion of me does. A portion does not. There’s been much debate as to whether men of color, especially the captives, should be allowed to bear arms—slave uprisings and all.”

  Nick shook his head at the wrongheaded thinking of the colonists. “If I agree, I’ll make certain you have the weapons you need.”

  Prince stared.

  Nick didn’t say more, instead he asked, “What follows? Where will we drill?”

  Prince was still studying him as if wanting to know more but then replied, “We’re secluded enough out here on your land. As long as we’re not firing the guns we should be safe from prying British eyes.”

  Nick weighed that. “Anything else besides drilling?”

  “Yes. The Sons would like for you to pick up your father’s standard on the intelligence side as well. What is siphoned to you, you would send on to me just as he did.”

  “Why can’t you fill his role?”

  “My residence like many others inside the city is watched day and night by the British. It is harder for them to know what is happening out here in the countryside. Being outside the city is one of the reasons Primus was able to be successful for as long as he was. He did most of his contact work here rather than his shop in town.” Prince added, “There is also the connection to the Lady Midnight.”

  Nick turned and faced Prince. “The carrot,” he stated.

  Prince gave him a half smile. “It can be viewed as such, yes. She contacted one of the Sons directly a few days back about Gage bringing in more soldiers. She’s done it before. He has no idea how she accomplishes it, but the information she sends is always very valuable.”

  “And you don’t know who she is?”

  “No. I knew of her from your father, but he never shared her true name.”

  “Is that what you’re after?”

  He shook his head. “We don’t need to know her identity. We just wish for her to continue relaying what she knows.”

  “How do you know that she will?”

  “We don’t.”

  At least he was honest, Nick thought. The idea that the Lady Midnight might be able to give him answers he was seeking about his father’s arrest was tempting enough to make him want to say yes to Prince, but this was too serious an endeavor to agree without more thought. “How soon do you need my reply?”

  “As quickly as possible.”

  Nicholas asked, “And how will she know that I’ve replaced my father?”

  “I have the means, but the question remains, will she work with anyone other than Primus?”

  He found this turn of the tale interesting, “So someone does knows her true identity, and how to reach her?”

  “Yes. Maybe more than one. We, meaning the Sons, just don’t know. I assume her circle of contacts to be quite small. For her to be able to give us such pertinent and timely news says she has to be close to the British higher-ups. Guarding her identity is no doubt a necessity.”

  Lady Midnight. Nick thought about the midnight sojourn of Faith Kingston. She and her father were staunch loyalists, so it made little sense that she’d be a rebel spy. Primus and the W
idow Lawson had been friends for many years. Could Blythe be Lady Midnight?

  Prince’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Later this afternoon, there will be a fund-raiser at the Friends’ church if you care to attend.”

  “For guns?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, for a man named Octavius Freeman wanting to purchase his wife’s freedom. The great Phillis Wheatley is supposed to make an appearance.”

  “The poetess?”

  “Yes. Are you familiar with her writings?”

  “Probably not as well as most, but I do know of her.”

  “Then come along as my guest. A good percentage of the free population is bound to attend and you can make the acquaintance of some of the minutemen of color.”

  “I’ll think about it. Would you write down the name of the church and the address?”

  Prince did, and then stood. He held out his hand. “Thank you for listening.”

  Nick gave him a firm shake in response and walked with him back outdoors.

  Prince mounted. He offered a nod of farewell and rode off in the direction of the road. Nick hefted his axe and went back to work.

  Chapter 4

  When Faith and her father reached the church for the fund-raiser, they carried in the food Faith had spent most of the morning preparing. Once everything was unloaded, he drove the wagon to the adjacent field to park while she hurried inside.

  In the kitchen a small group of women were already at work. Blythe Lawson was quartering her roasted hens, while others saw to breads, vegetables, cakes, and trifles.

  “Afternoon, everyone,” Faith called out. Heads rose. Most greeted her with smiles, but there were also a few sniffs. Eva Potts was one who sniffed. In some Black loyalist households, Faith was a pariah. Not only was she unmarried, she was well-read and handled her father’s ledgers. In a time and place where a woman was supposed to be seen and not heard, some considered Faith loud as cannon fire.

  Charity Trotter was working beside Blythe. Faith made her way over to where they were. “Where’s the baby?”

  “My mother has him.”