I had only to open the gate latch and step out.
My hand would not move.
If I opened the gate, I would be a criminal. Slaves were not allowed out after sunset without a pass from a master. Anyone who caught me could take me to the jail. If I opened the gate, a judge could order me flogged. If I opened the gate, there was no telling what punishment Madam would demand.
If I opened the gate, I might die of fright.
I leaned my head against the gate. I could not open the gate, but I had to open the gate. This house was not a safe place. I had to get us out. But there was no way to get out, no way to run away off an island, no way to run with a little girl. The secret of Madam’s linen chest was the only key I held.
Watch over me, Momma.
I opened the latch, slipped out the gate, and ran.
* * *
I thought it would be easy. I would run straight to the shed behind Bellingham’s house, tap on Curzon’s window, tell him the news, and hurry home. It was nighttime, after all, and folks would be asleep.
Not in New York. Not in a city occupied by the Continental army.
At the end of the block there were soldiers on watch in front of City Hall; a dozen or so men standing around a campfire, with more dozing on the ground. One man was trying to read a letter by the firelight, another was roasting a small piece of meat at the end of a stick. Their guns were close to hand. I crept as close as I dared, but there was no way to sneak past them. I swallowed hard and turned around to head east, away from the firelight.
The next corner was dark and lonesome. I turned south, then west again, then was forced north for three blocks by loud soldiers spilling out of taverns. The crowded buildings confuddled me. I tried to be brave like Momma or Queen Esther in the Bible, but I just knew there were hobgoblins awalking in the dark, looking to steal the breath from a girl’s body.
I hid when I heard voices and when a horseman galloped down the middle of the street. The horse’s hooves sparked off the cobblestones and sounded like a hammer striking a forge. I chased up and down streets and alleys, sticking to the shadows and shying away from the flickering streetlamps. I ran.
Finally the street emptied out onto a wharf. I had reached one of the two rivers that sheltered New York Island, but I couldn’t tell if I was looking at the East River or the North. I ventured out farther into the street. Relaxed men told loud jokes to each other on the waterfront, a tin whistle played, and a small dog yipped. The masts of ships grew thicker to my right. That was my heading.
The shapes of the buildings and the outline of the wharves soon became familiar. There was the dock the Hartshorn had tied to, and there was Bellingham’s building. I snuck down the alley to the shed window that Curzon described.
This was the end of my quest. I took a deep breath, said a prayer, and rapped on the glass.
Nothing happened.
I started to rap again, then stopped. What if this is the wrong window, the wrong house? What if the person within thinks me a thief in the night or a murderess? What if—?
“Country?”
A puzzled voice called to me from the shadows of the back end of a tavern, a few buildings down. Every window in the tavern was lit up, and the air loud with the angry shouts of men deep in argument.
“Are you speaking to me?” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“What are you doing here?” Curzon stepped out of the shadows and motioned for me to join him.
I dashed toward him, keeping to the edge of the tavern candlelight. “I have news.”
“Of Lockton?”
“And more.” I quickly told him everything I had seen and heard.
“Is the money still there?” he finally asked.
“A portion,” I said. “The gentlemen took some with them, but Lockton placed the rest back in the chest. Then I was sent to fetch more wine. The chest was gone by my return.”
He nodded gravely.
“Will this be enough to send us home?” I asked. “Can they get us on a ship tomorrow? I can have Ruth at the docks by sunup.”
He raised both of his hands. “Go home and sleep, I’ll take your news to Master Bellingham. I expect the Committee will visit Lockton tomorrow. Whatever you do, don’t let on that you were the informant.”
“Why not?” I asked. “How else can I claim what’s mine?”
“The colonel will know who you are and how to find you. Until you hear from him, you’re just the new Lockton girl.”
“But not for long,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.
“Not for long,” he agreed. “Go home now.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know how. I got lost coming here.”
He chuckled softly. “It’s easy enough once you know the way.” He gave me the directions.
“Thank you,” I said, picking up my skirts. “Thank you for everything.”
“Go quick.” When I was halfway up the alley, he called after me. “Ho there, Country.”
“What?”
“Well done.”
Chapter XI
Friday, June 7, 1776
THERE IS NOTHING MORE NECESSARY THAN GOOD INTELLIGENCE TO FRUSTRATE A DESIGNING ENEMY, & NOTHING REQUIRES GREATER PAINS TO OBTAIN. –LETTER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON TO ROBERT MORRIS
It felt like Becky shook me awake the moment I fell asleep.
“Make haste, girl,” she hissed. “You didn’t start the fire. Why are you still abed?”
“Haste” was the word of the day. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up. It did not help that Madam was in a mood.
“Girl,” she said to me as I prepared to sweep the kitchen floor, “the bedding needs to be aired.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I set the broom back in its place and went upstairs, where I stripped off the bedding, carried it outside, and pegged it to the line. Just as I finished, Madam opened the back door.
“Why are you dawdling so?” she yelled. “The floor in here is filthy, and the banister needs to be polished. And I told you to wear your shoes in my house.”
After I squeezed my feet into those small, dreadful shoes, it was back to the sweeping, and then the polishing of the banister with soft rags and beeswax scented with lemon. When I made it halfway up the stairs, Madam yelled at me for airing the bed linen on a day that threatened rain. At least she did not call for Ruth’s company. Becky had set my sister to scrubbing the back steps. Ruth hummed so loudly it put me in mind of a swarm of bees in clover.
As I gathered in the sheets, I watched the gate, waiting for the rebels to arrive to arrest the Locktons and reward me with our liberty. We would be given proper cabins on the ship, I was sure of it. No more riding in the hold with barrels of salt cod. Ruth and me would have a cabin fit for ladies, with bunks and blankets and pillows and three meals every day.
Yes, indeed, that was my future.
“Aren’t you done yet?” Becky yelled from the back door. “We have to prepare the drawing room.”
I shook away my daydreams.
The drawing room on the second floor wasn’t a room where folks sat with paints and colored chalk to draw pictures, like I’d figured. It was another parlor, three times the size of the one downstairs. We removed the sheets covering the furniture. A dozen chairs with needleworked seats were scattered around the room, organized around tables with delicate legs. A low settee stood in front of the fireplace, and a mirror framed in mahogany hung above the mantel, flanked by oil lamps fastened to the walls.
“Why this room has to be prepared is beyond me,” Becky muttered as we folded the sheets together. “No staff to speak of, the larder half-empty, the city getting ready to explode, and she wants this turned out and polished. Of all the foolish—”
A loud beating on the front door interrupted her.
“Dash it all!” Becky exclaimed as she clattered down the stairs. “Keep folding!” she called to me.
Not for love nor money. I peered out a front window.
The group of m
en clustered on the front steps did not look like angels, but they could have been in disguise. Four wore the coats, breeches, powdered wigs, and hats of merchants; one had papers tucked under his arm. Six soldiers stood behind them, all wearing uniforms but carrying long metal bars instead of guns.
Becky opened the door and the men filed inside.
I stepped out into the hall and peered down the stairs. The man with the papers under his arm had removed his hat. It was Master Bellingham.
My heart sang.
A door slammed overhead as Madam flew out of her chamber. “What is the meaning of this?”
I pressed myself against the wall so she could rush by me, then followed her down the stairs. The soldiers had split into two groups. Half went into the front parlor, and the other half into Lockton’s library. Both groups set to removing the windows, prying them out of their casings with the long bars.
“What are you doing to my windows?” Madam demanded.
Bellingham approached her. “No need to fret, ma’am. We are all called to make sacrifices.”
“Sacrifices?” Master Lockton asked as he hurried in. “This is thievery. What right have you to destroy my home?”
There was a horrific crash in the parlor as the hooks that held up the heavy draperies flew off the wall and landed on the floor. Plaster dust swirled.
Bellingham removed the papers under his arm. “You surprise me, Elihu,” he said. “I thought a Patriot such as yourself would welcome the chance to contribute to the army.”
Beads of sweat stood at the edge of Lockton’s wig. “How does that pertain to the ripping down of my house, James?”
Bellingham patted Lockton’s shoulder. “We need your lead, friend. For ammunition. Good people throughout the city are donating all the lead they own. The Provincial Congress will compensate you, of course. In due time. I’ve invoices prepared.”
Madam frowned. “How is it possible to turn windows into bullets?”
“The counterweights are made of lead, ma’am,” Bellingham explained. “And your drapery pulls.”
“This is an outrage,” Lockton fumed.
“No, Elihu,” Bellingham said. “This is war. Even our churches are making the sacrifice, delivering their bells to be recast as cannon. Surely you do not rate your home above the houses of God?”
The soldiers left the library, deposited the lead weights by the front door, and headed up to the second floor, knocking their shoulders against the paintings of the Lockton ancestors that lined the staircase.
I wanted to shout that they should search for the money in the linen chest. Instead, I shrank against the wall to let them pass.
“They haven’t restored the windows to the frames,” protested Lockton.
“Where are they going?” Madam asked.
“There are plenty of carpenters who will assist with the windows, if you don’t feel up to the task yourself, Elihu,” Bellingham said.
“Sir!” shouted a soldier upstairs. “We’ve found it!”
Bellingham dropped his manners and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. Madam and Lockton followed close on his heels. I trailed behind.
The bedchamber was a large room made small by the four-poster canopy bed that sat as high as a carriage, two massive armoires, and a half-dozen men with red faces. Madam had once again set herself on her walnut linen chest, which sat in front of the hearth.
Why was it up here?
“… of all the insults, of all the assaults on the dignity of a woman,” she said to Bellingham, “this, sir, is the lowest, the most base. I shall see to it that every leader in every land knows—”
“Madam,” Bellingham said sternly. “If you do not take your person from that chest, I shall order these soldiers to remove you.”
“You would not dare,” she said.
“Yes, he would, dear,” Lockton said. “Please, wife, let these men do their work with no further delay. There is nothing to worry about.”
He seemed to hide a message beneath those words, for Madam relaxed some and stood with grace. “If you insist, husband,” she said.
“Perhaps you would prefer to go belowstairs,” Lockton suggested. “The girl can heat some wine to calm your nerves.”
Madam shook her head. “No, dear. I shall remain by your side.”
Bellingham gave the sergeant a quick nod. The man knelt in front of the chest and opened the latch.
Deliverance! They’ll arrest them both and reward me mightily. We’ll leave this horrid place by sunset.
One corner of Lockton’s mouth turned up in a sly smile as a blushing soldier removed the shifts and underskirts. My heart skipped a beat. Why were dirty linens still in there? Becky gathered all the washing yesterday.
The soldier looked up at Bellingham. “That’s all, sir. Clear down to the bottom.”
I wanted to shout, The money is underneath the false bottom! but pressed my lips together. Bellingham knelt and checked for himself, knocking the wooden sides.
Lockton’s grin had spread to both sides of his mouth. “Would you care to inspect all of our clothing, James? Perhaps you’d send a man to root through the potatoes and parsnips in the cellar.”
He had hidden the money elsewhere, that’s why he was at ease. Bellingham rose to his feet and stood with his hands behind him. Would he turn on me, accuse me of making a false report and expose me to the Locktons?
No. He searched through his papers until he pulled out one that he handed to Lockton.
“You are summoned to the New York Provincial Congress for suspicion of aiding the enemy, Elihu. I am placing you under arrest. These soldiers will escort you.”
He nodded his head. Two soldiers grabbed Lockton by his elbows. His smile vanished.
“Wait,” Madam said. “You can’t arrest him. He’s done nothing.”
“To the contrary, ma’am,” Bellingham snapped. “He has put the lives of thousands in jeopardy.”
The men filed by me without another word. Bellingham kept his face straight ahead, but as he passed by, he cut his eyes at me. They drilled a hole right into my fear of discovery.
There was the clatter of boots on the stair treads, then boots on the marble steps outside, and then the crash of the front door slamming. They were gone.
Madam stared blankly at the empty doorway.
“Ma’am?” I asked quietly.
Her eyes turned to me, then she blinked, as if she suddenly realized who I was and where she stood.
“Don’t just stand there, girl. These linens need to be washed. I can’t think how Becky missed them. I shall speak to her about her laziness.”
And then she fainted.
Chapter XII
Friday, June 7, 1776
BY VIRTUE OF THE AUTHORITY VESTED IN US BY CERTAIN RESOLUTIONS OF THE CONGRESS OF THE COLONY OF NEW-YORK OF THE 7TH DAY OF JUNE, … DO THEREFORE SUMMON YOU TO APPEAR BEFORE US … TO SHOW CAUSE (IF YOU HAVE ANY) WHY YOU SHOULD BE CONSIDERED AS A FRIEND TO THE AMERICAN CAUSE … –SUMMONS FROM THE NEW YORK PROVINCIAL CONGRESS TO A SUSPECTED TORY
Becky sent me to fetch the Lady Seymour to help Madam get through having her husband arrested like that. The old lady lived two blocks north of Trinity Church, the one with spires that scraped the sky.
“It’s one of them old Dutch-style houses. Got a red door and a knocker looks like a heart,” Becky said. “Can’t miss it.”
The house was not far from City Hall, along a street where soldiers with heavy axes were chopping down the row of tall poplar trees. “Fortifications,” a soldier explained to a cart man. “To protect against the invasion. Any day now, they say.”
The red door made the house easy to find. I walked through a beautiful garden around to the back. Neatly trimmed boxwood hedges created a path lined with young betony plants, lavender, day lilies, and honeysuckle. Momma would have admired the roses. My fingers itched to pluck up the scraggly weeds that were crowding them, but I dared not.
I knocked at the back. The door was opened by the whitest g
irl I’d ever seen. Her skin was pale as water except for two flame-colored spots on her cheeks. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were near invisible, and her eyes a mix of pewter and blue. She wiped her hands on her apron and said something I didn’t understand.
“I’ve come for the Lady Seymour,” I explained. “Madam Lockton requires her presence.”
She frowned. “Wat wilt u?”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Een ogenblik alstublieft,” she said before she closed the door in my face.
What was an ogenblik? New York was stranger every passing day. I knocked again, but there was no answer. I was about to walk home, when I heard Lady Seymour’s voice through an open window. A moment later, the door opened, and she stood there in the kitchen.
I curtsied, proper-like. “Pardon, ma’am, but they’ve arrested the master. Madam is poorly.”
She nodded. “They’ve been hunting Loyalists all day. I told Anne it would come to this. Come inside, child. Isabel, is it not?”
The kitchen was larger than the Locktons’, with a tiled hearth and copper pots hanging on the wall. A smoke-colored cat curled itself around my ankles, its tail in the shape of a question mark.
“Please, sit down. You must be hungry.”
I perched on the edge of a chair.
Lady Seymour poured me a mug of fresh milk. My surprise at having a proper lady do so must have shown on my face.
“You could use some building up,” she said as she pushed a plate of molasses cookies to me. “Eat and tell me everything.” She turned to her servant, who stood by the hearth. “Wil je alsjeblieft even de meubels afstoffen?”
The strange girl bobbed once and left the room, the pale pink ribbons from the back of her cap trailing behind her.
“She speaks only Dutch,” Lady Seymour explained. “And shows no inclination to learn English, I’m afraid. Now, a bite, and the events.”
I chewed the cookie quickly, took a sip of milk, and recounted near everything, tho’ I neglected to mention my role as the household spy. She listened carefully as I spoke and asked plenty of questions.
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