Neither Lockton nor Goldbuttons answered.
“To be hung by the neck until dead, then have your body chopped into four pieces, which are sent to the four corners of the kingdom,” the mayor continued. “Others propose we send sections of Washington’s corpse to Charleston, Philadelphia, and Boston. They want to keep the fourth bit here, to be displayed in front of City Hall.”
The room fell silent again. I could hear the ticking of the hall clock through the wall.
Lockton shook his head again. “You cannot guarantee Parliament would rule treason. It’s too dangerous.”
“If we dispose of Washington, Parliament will do whatever we ask.”
“But how can you accomplish this?” asked Goldbuttons. “The man is surrounded by an entire army.”
“We have a man in the Life Guards committed to our plan. He spends his days within two arms’ length of the general. On our signal, he will act.”
“And this is why you need the money,” Lockton said.
There was the sound of a lid being removed and the jangling of keys. Lockton took a key ring out of the blue china snuff jar on the corner of the desk. He unlocked the top drawer and removed a tall stack of currency, enough to buy a village or two.
I let my eyelids droop as if I were a’dozing.
“The risks are too high,” Goldbuttons said in a shaky voice. “If we are discovered, we are dead men.”
“Think not upon the risks, but the rewards,” suggested the mayor.
I peeked.
Lockton tugged at his collar to loosen it. “Suspicion will fall on my neck first, David. I require assurance that my role will not be betrayed.”
“You have my word on it,” the mayor said.
“Your promise is not enough, sir.” Lockton pushed a sheet of paper, a quill, and the inkstand across the desk to the mayor. “Write down the names of those who know of this plot.”
“Why?” Goldbuttons asked.
“The paper will serve as my insurance should I fall into rebel hands again. It will motivate you and our friends to do everything possible to secure my release.”
“How?” Goldbuttons was still frowning, but the mayor reached for the quill.
“If we do not come to Elihu’s aid, he will betray our names to the enemy,” the mayor said softly. “He is showing us his weakness.”
“Planning ahead is my strength,” Lockton said. “Do not forget your own name, sir.”
I closed my eyes again. The quill scratched across the paper. Goldbuttons shifted nervously in his chair.
“There,” the mayor said.
I opened my eyes the tiniest bit. Goldbuttons quickly read the paper. “A vast conspiracy, indeed.” He handed it to Lockton, who read the names and smiled.
“We are keeping good company.” He handed the money to the mayor and lifted his empty glass. “I believe this calls for a toast, gentlemen.”
I did not step forward with the wine bottle. Lockton needed to believe I was a sleepy servant, unaware of his plans.
“Sal!” he snapped.
I drew back my head and acted befuddled.
“Wine,” Lockton said.
I crossed the room and emptied the last of the wine into his glass.
Lockton frowned. “Fetch another bottle,” he said.
“Yessir.” I curtsied and left the room, pondering how I could pass this news along to Curzon.
That was when the blood-curdling screams started in the kitchen.
I dropped the bottle and ran.
Chapter XV
Saturday, June 22, 1776
AS FOR YOUNG CHILDREN LIABLE TO BE ATTACKED WITH THIS DISTEMPER, YOU MUST BEGIN WITH GIVING THEM WHOLESOM FOOD … APPLY TO THEIR HEADS A SMALL PLAISTER OF TREACLE, WHICH MUST BE RENEWED EVERY EIGHT DAYS. LET THEM ALWAYS HAVE SOME PLEASANT AND AGREEABLE SMELLS, LET THEIR COMMON DRINK BE AROMATIZED AND SWEETNED WITH A LITTLE CINNAMON, ANISE, CORIANDER, AND SUGAR. –NOEL CHOMEL AND RICHARD BRADLEY, FAMILY DICTIONARY. CONTAINING THE MOST EXPERIENCED METHODS OF IMPROVING ESTATES AND OF PRESERVING HEALTH …
It’s the Devil!”; Madam screamed as I opened the door to the kitchen.
Ruth had fallen at her feet and lay there, her body shaking violently. Peas were scattered across the floor.
What I feared the most had happened.
Madam snatched the broom from Becky’s hands and raised it over her head. “She has the Devil in her!”
“No, Madam, it’s an illness!” I cried. “An ailment, nothing more.”
Madam brought the broom down on the small, twisted body. Ruth couldn’t raise her hands to protect herself. The seizure held her fast, her arms and legs stiff and trembling, her eyes wide, but not seeing.
“Out, Devil!” Madam shouted as she again raised the broom over her head.
“No!” I threw myself on top of my sister. The broom came down on my back, once, twice, but it didn’t matter. I had to keep her safe until the storm passed.
The broom handle cracked, and Madam tossed it aside. I heard Becky yell something, then Lockton’s loud voice boomed, “Enough!”
The room quieted, except for the soft bumping of Ruth’s limbs on the floor. I looked up. Madam held a chair, prepared to throw it at us. Her husband pulled it out of her hands. Ruth’s body suddenly went limp.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lockton asked.
“She’s possessed,” Madam sputtered. “I will not have a demon-child in my house, Elihu.”
I ran my hand over Ruth’s face and spoke to her softly. Her eyelids fluttered and her mouth moved. “Come back to me, baby girl, come back, Ruth,” I whispered. “Wake up now. It’s gone, blown away. Come back, Ruth.”
She looked confused; she always did after a fit. I helped her to sit up. A little blood had soaked through the kerchief at the back of her head where it hit the floor. The wound would need some cobwebs.
Lockton sent Becky to the study with the wine. He bade Madam to sit on the chair she had nearly broke over my head, took a seat himself, and addressed me gravely.
“Your sister has the falling sickness,” he said. “Does this happen often?”
“No, sir.” Ruth wiped her tears on my sleeve.
“This is not a matter for inquiry,” Madam said. “I will not have evil in my house.”
Becky walked back in, poured cider into a chipped mug, and handed it to Ruth, who took a large mouthful.
Madam took a step backward. “The child’s curse will poison us all. I want her sold, Elihu, sold today.”
Sold?
“Wife—,” started Lockton.
“You can’t sell her!” I burst out.
“Hold your tongue, girl,” Madam commanded.
Ruth drank the last of the cider and stood up.
Lockton reached out and set his hand on her shoulder. “They are sisters, Anne. One must remember that.”
“Please, Madam,” I said. “She’s too little. She’ll be hurt.”
The room fell silent except for the plopping sound of peas falling to the bottom of a wooden bowl. Ruth was picking up the peas that she’d spilled. The sound reminded me of pebbles plunking into a deep pond.
Becky carried a mug of cider to Madam. “Look there. The little one is already back at her chores. And she did a fine job sweeping earlier.”
“How often do these fits take hold of her?” Lockton asked me. “Speak truthfully.”
“Sometimes once a day, sir, sometimes weeks will go by.”
“Once a day?” Madam’s voice rose again.
“Ho, Lockton!” the mayor called from the study.
The master studied my sister, then tugged his waistcoat over his belly. “The girl is harmless and useful,” he said. “She will work in the kitchen with Becky. That is my decision. Do not disturb me again with womanly prattle.”
The kitchen fell silent as the master walked away. When we heard the door to the study close, Madam pointed at Ruth. “Don’t let her near the milk. She’ll curdle it. And don’t get used to her presence here. E
lihu will soon see reason.”
She stalked off, leaving a sour smell in the air.
Ruth crawled under the table to pick up the peas that had rolled there. I watched her and tried to stop my hands from shaking. “What will happen to us?”
“No way of telling.” Becky pulled an eel from the basket. “It’s near impossible to hire help, what with folks running off in fear of the war.”
She cut off the eel’s head. “Long’s you two can stay out of trouble”—she grabbed the eel’s skin at the neck and pulled it all the way off—“I imagine you’re safe enough.”
I bent down to help Ruth with the peas.
Chapter XVI
Sunday, June 23, 1776
A REPORT PREVAILS HERE THAT A MOST VILE DEEP LAID PLOT WAS YESTERDAY DISCOVER’D AT NEW YORK, I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO ASSERTAIN THE PERTICULAR FACTS …, HOWEVER 40 PERSONS ARE APPREHENDED & SECUR’D, AMONG THEM IS THE MAYOR OF THE CITY. WHAT BASENESS ARE OUR ENEMIES NOT CAPABLE OF, WHO WOD WISH TO BE CONNECTED WITH A PEOPLE SO DESTITUTE OF EVERY VERTUE, GOD FORBID IT SHOD EVER BE THE FATE OF AMERICA. –LETTER OF CONGRESSIONAL DELEGATE WILLIAM WHIPPLE TO JOSHUA BRACKETT
Ruth fell asleep quick that night, my arms around her. I had washed out the blood from her kerchief and hung it to dry. There was a lump on her head, but it would go away.
Madam’s threats would not.
I slowly pulled my arm out from under my sister. She sighed and curled into a tiny ball.
I had pondered the problem all day and half the night. No matter how many times I turned it round, I found the same answer.
We had to flee the city.
I sat up and pulled the blanket over Ruth, tucking it under her feet to keep them warm.
The wings that could spirit us away were hidden in the master’s desk. I had to take the list; it would buy us our freedom. But Bellingham would not listen, not after the incident with the linen chest. I had to deliver it straight to the army.
The sound I had been waiting for broke through; the low roar of Master Lockton’s snores, starting up just as the grandfather clock chimed midnight.
I put on my skirt and made my way to the bottom of the stairs. The hour was upon me.
’Twas time to act.
The moon was my friend.
It lit up the library enough for me to make my way without stumbling into anything. The snuff jar stood on the corner of the desk. I held my breath as I lifted the lid, put my hand inside, and slowly pulled out the keys. I crouched behind the desk and examined them in the moonlight. Only one was small enough to fit into the top drawer’s lock.
I inserted the key and turned it gently to the right. There was a dull clunk. The drawer slid open a hair. I forced myself to remain still and count to twenty.
Lockton’s snores continued above, regular as waves crashing against the side of a ship.
I pulled open the drawer and peered inside. It was crowded with abandoned quills, a rusty tinder box, and a few coins and pound notes, which I was sore tempted to take. I felt through the drawer with careful fingers. What had he done with the list? Was it in his coat pocket? I reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out a black hair ribbon. Had he given it to Goldbuttons for safekeeping?
There!
From the farthest reach of the drawer I pulled out a single sheet, folded once. I held it up to the light and quickly read; it was a list of names, with the mayor’s at the bottom. He had titled it “Committee to Preserve the King’s Peace.”
I tucked the paper in my pocket, tied it tight, and slipped it under the waistband of my skirt where it could not be seen. I closed and relocked the drawer, then carefully returned the keys to their hiding place.
I tiptoed back through the house and slipped outside, quiet as a ghost.
The air was hot and dripping, as if the city were wrapped in a wool blanket just pulled from a boiling pot. I made my way along the streets seen only by cats, rats, and a slave hurrying by with a bundle on her head. Since she carried a lantern, and no doubt had a pass from her master, she was allowed to be out walking after dark.
I was not.
The woman said nothing as she passed by me but started singing the second verse of “Yankee Doodle” in a strong voice, which I thought curious indeed.
I listened close to the words. “Father and I went down to camp, Along with Captain Gooding; And there we saw the men and boys, As thick as hasty pudding….”
She was sending me a message.
I dove behind a log barricade just as two soldiers turned the corner, talking intently to each other and sweeping the street with their eyes. I said a quick prayer of thanks to the singing woman for her help.
When the echoes of the soldiers’ boots had vanished, I moved on, staying away from the lights of the sentry fires, passing under the dark shadow of King George’s statue in the Bowling Green, and hurrying to my destination.
* * *
The Battery was the fort at the southern tip of the island, with high walls and cannons that pointed over the water to discourage enemies. It was headquarters of the Patriot army in New York. Even if General Washington was elsewhere, here I could find an officer who would understand the value of the list.
I marched past the rows of tents set up on the grounds outside of the fort, trying very hard to ignore the men and boys who stared as I walked by. As I neared the gate, a sentry stepped out and blocked my way. “Do you have a pass, girl?”
I swallowed hard and tried to remember the name of the colonel who worked with Master Bellingham. Fagen, Jaden, McReadan …
“Well?” A few other soldiers drinking coffee outside of their tents had stopped talking to observe.
“Please, sir,” I said, polite and firm. “I’ve come with an urgent message for …” Regan!“For Colonel Regan, sir.”
“Tell me, and I’ll see that he gets it.”
“I cannot,” I said. “I must deliver it to him personally, sir.”
“Who’s your master?”
Telling a lie would not benefit me. “A Loyalist, sir, who would beat me bloody if he knew I was here.”
He looked me over and yawned. “Come on, then. I could do with a walk to keep me awake.”
I followed him inside, past a room of men sleeping on the floor, along a hall to a small room where a low fire smoldered in the hearth, a chair drawn up before it. The moonlight had broke free of the clouds again and lay in gray pools beneath the windows. A table stood by the door, where a heavy-set man scratched away on a piece of paper, his work lit by a half-dozen candle stubs that would soon burn out.
The soldier drew himself up to his full height. “This girl has a message, sir. Claims it must be delivered in person.”
The man lifted a hand in the air and continued with what he was writing. I tried to make out what it was, but his scribble was dreadful bad. Finally, he laid down his quill, moved his spectacles high on his nose, and peered through them at me.
“What is it?” he rasped. His voice sounded raw, like it had been run against a grater. An onion poultice was tied around his neck.
I dropped in a polite curtsy. “I have information for Colonel Regan.”
“Who sent you? Who is your master?”
“I cannot say.”
“Then who will vouch for you?”
“Ah, I vouch for myself, sir. I am new in the city and know only a boy named Curzon.”
One caterpillar eyebrow lifted above the glasses as he recognized the name. “Bellingham’s Curzon?” He coughed loudly and sprayed drops of spittle on the page. “He’s all bluster.” He dipped his quill in the ink pot and continued to write. “Take her away, sergeant. I am too busy for this.”
My escort grabbed hold of my arm. “Come now.”
I tried to break free. “Please hear me out.” I shook my arm and twisted. “They want to kill him.”
I pulled with all my might and lost my footing. Both the sergeant and me stumbled against the table. The ink bottle overturned and poured across the table and papers.
The sick man jumped up with a mighty curse and several ugly statements about my character.
“They want to kill the general!” I finally pulled free of the sergeant’s grasp. “I have proof.”
The man was concerned only with rescuing his papers from the spreading pool of ink. “Sergeant, remove this bird-wit!”
“Do not touch her.” The commanding voice came from the center of the room.
The sergeant stood at attention. The man with inky hands did too, swallowing hard and wincing at the pain in his throat. A figure rose from the high-backed chair that stood in front of the hearth. He wore the dark blue coat of an officer, with buttons and buckles that reflected the firelight. His features stayed in the shadows, but I could see a book in his left hand, his finger marking the page.
“Leave us,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said.
“As you wish, Colonel Regan, sir,” said the man whose clothes were stained blue by the papers he clutched to his chest.
When the door was pulled behind them, Colonel Regan returned to his seat. “Come here,” he told me. “Show me what you’ve brought and tell your story, but keep your voice low. The walls have ears.”
“Yes, sir.” My voice strangulated a bit.
The colonel tugged at his coat as he sat down. He was not wearing a wig as did most gentlemen. His own hair was dark, pulled back into a neat queue, and tied with string. His eyes were sunk deep into his face, with dark hollows underneath them.
“Well?” He set the book on his lap, finger still marking the place he left off reading.
I weighed my words before I spoke. “I am in a position to trade with you, sir.”
“What kind of trade?”
“My sister and I were wrongfully taken from Rhode Island. I mean to get us back there.”
“You want passage home in exchange for what you know.”
“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin a little. “Sir.”
He nodded gravely. “If your information is as useful as you think it is, I shall personally look into your case, miss.”
That was far from a berth on a swift ship, but I had little choice.
Chains Page 8
