WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT,
THAT ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL, THAT THEY
ARE ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR WITH CERTAIN
UNALIENABLE RIGHTS, THAT AMONG THESE ARE LIFE,
LIBERTY AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.
–DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE OF
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Doctor Dastuge visited Lady Seymour each morning and eve. She could nod her head yes and shake it no to his questions; yes, she knew who she was; no, she had no sensation in her feet nor her hands. She could barely chew milk-soaked bread and sip broth. Her mind had not gone soft, tho’. Her eyes blazed bright in her skull and followed me as I moved around the room, and when the doctor and Madam talked, she listened in right close. Plainly said, she was as much a prisoner in her broken body as Curzon was in his cell.
Madam’s seamstress came near as frequent as the doctor. The birthday ball gown had a scarlet red underskirt topped with a short gown of Royal Navy blue, embroidered with gold. The hairdresser and Madam spent hours consulting prints of fashionable ladies in Paris so that they could design a suitable hairstyle. I was not privy to the details, but I heard Madam talking about jewels made of paste that would sit in her curls. She also wanted a small British flag to fly atop her locks, but the hairdresser talked her out of it.
Hannah and Mary talked about the ball every waking minute. I’m sure even the Queen herself would have grown tired of hearing about it. At noon, the guns at the Battery, which the British had taken to calling Fort George, would fire a royal salute. An hour later, the warships in the harbor would blast a response. At six o’clock, the guests would arrive at the ball, with trumpets playing and drums beating a welcome. The dancing would last until midnight, when the fireworks would explode over the harbor. After that, the banquet would begin.
There was no way under heaven that Madam would survive six hours of dancing without having something to eat.
I finished reading Common Sense the night before the ball. The bookseller was right; the words were dangerous, every one of them. I ought throw it in the fire but could not bring myself to do it. Mr. Paine knew how to stir up the pot; he went right after the King and attacked the crown on his head.
I laid down one long road of a sentence in my remembery: “For all men being originally equals, no one by birth could have a right to set up his own family in perpetual preference to all others for ever.” Way I saw it, Mr. Paine was saying all people were the same, that no one deserved a crown or was born to be higher than another. That’s why America could make its own freedom.
’Twas a wonder the book did not explode into flames in my hands.
I buried it back in its hidey-hole and laid myself down to sleep.
My eyes would not close. My thoughts were churned up like muddy water, with dangerous eels thrashing through it.
If an entire nation could seek its freedom, why not a girl? And if a girl was to seek her freedom, how could she do such a fool-headed thing? Especially a girl trapped in New York? Best thing would be to break into the desk of a British commander, steal a pass and forge her name and his name on it, and act free.
And pigs were likely to fly, too.
Plus, that girl seeking freedom would have to walk.
She could walk the mile from Wall Street to the north edge of the city. But then she’d run into the guards stationed there. She’d have to sneak past them and not get shot. Then she’d have eleven miles of running to the north edge of the island. If she took the Greenwich Road or the Post Road, she’d likely be captured by one in need of a slave or in need of the reward paid for a healthy runaway. If she stuck to the woods that ran up the center of the island, she could be et by a bear or drowned in a swamp. If angels guided her safe through the woods and she made the north edge, she’d have to get past the guards watching over King’s Bridge, where New York Island touched the rest of America.
I rolled over, my back to the fire. That girl could more likely grab hold of the feet of a passing crow and bid him fly her to safety. Better yet, sprout her own wings.
The only path left was across the water. A girl like that could not swim and did not own a boat, not to mention the river currents were fast and the crossing would be noted by someone who would raise a ruckus and then the soldiers would line up like a firing squad and shoot that girl dead in the water. They wouldn’t even bury her proper, just let the water take the boat and the body and both would be consumed by sea monsters.
I fell asleep cursing them that planted the city of New York on an island.
My dawn visits up the Commons had become the most ordinary of errands. Madam never woke early enough to note my absence, and the soldierwives were so grateful to avoid the chore, they never told. Curzon had grown terrible thin and was still feverish, but his leg had healed up, and he greeted me at the window every day. After I left the prison, I’d fetch the water and head back to Wall Street, passing by the Golden Hill Tavern in case Captain Morse needed me, which he never, ever did.
So when the captain signaled me from the tavern porch the next morning, I was surprised. I had not seen him for weeks, not since the news of the rebel victory at Trenton.
“Good day, Just Sal,” he said with a sleepy smile. “How do you fare?”
“Good enough, sir,” I said. “Is something amiss?”
He winced and pulled his coat tighter. “Nothing grave, no news of battle or a prisoner exchange.”
I waited while he sought the words.
“I’m in need of a favor,” he finally said. “It’s of no worldly import, but it is a matter of honor for me.”
“Sir?”
“I must repay a debt, Just Sal. I wagered Captain William Farrar that the British would not dare hold this ridiculous birthday celebration. It’s a slap in the face to the people who are starving.”
“Yes, sir.”
He frowned and kicked at a stone poking up from the half-frozen mud. “But I’m proven wrong, aren’t I? Thousands of pounds are being wasted and so I owe my friend, Captain Farrar, a penny. A gentleman always pays his debts promptly, be they large or small.”
I was confuddled. “And you want that I should …”
He threw up his hands in frustration. “The British have confined all American officers to their lodging houses today.”
“Why?”
“They fear we might mount an insurrection while they are dancing minuets and gorging on stuffed goose. They have a point; the ball would provide the perfect cover for a surprise attack if Washington were nearby. So I am prevented from making good on my bet to William, and he is prevented from coming round to collect his due. ’Tis a small matter of honor, to be sure, but when in reduced circumstances, these things take on greater weight, don’t you think?”
Still confuddled, I nodded my head. “Yes, sir.”
“Good! Then you’ll do it!”
“Do what?”
“Take the penny to William with my salutations. It will give him a good laugh. He lives on Chapel Street, a house with red shutters on the corner of Warren. Say you’ll do it for me, Just Sal, and the next penny I earn goes into your pocket, upon my word.”
Madam would be wig-deep in preparations for the ball all day. The soldierwives would too, for they belonged to the army of servants who would work at the birthday dinner. Lady Seymour required only a warm fire and occasional help with the teacup. A walk up to Warren Street on a sunny day such as this would be most welcome.
“Happy to help, Captain,” I said.
The roar of cannon shook the kitchen just after midday and made me near jump out of my skin. I dropped the turnip I was peeling and it rolled across the floor.
“What was that?” I asked, clutching the table. “Are we under attack?”
Hannah laughed and used the poker to push the logs to the back of the hearth. “No, you goose. That’s the royal salute for Her Majesty.”
Mary pressed the hot iron against the apron on the table. “Do you figure
they might need us early?”
“The major said five o’clock,” Hannah said. “Gives us time to finish up here.”
“Will you get to see the dancing?” I asked.
“Nah,” Mary said. “They’ll be too busy running us ragged setting up the dinner. But they’ve promised to feed us good.” She picked up the apron and studied it for wrinkles. “I wish my mother could see this; me, serving at a Queen’s Birthday Ball.”
“Too bad your mother is on the other side of the globe with Her Majesty,” Hannah said.
“They’ll both be tragical late to the party.” Mary giggled.
Madam sent a note to her friend Jane Drinkwater, who agreed to bring her collection of necklaces and the latest gossip to tea. The news caused Madam to send the soldierwives pawing through the attic for a gown she had not worn yet this year. Hannah sent me to fetch more water, which I did with great pleasure and a short detour.
The houses on Warren Street were a mix; some were modest, two or three were rather grand, with arches over the windows and fancy boot scrapers by the front door. The trees and fences in the neighborhood had all been cut down for firewood. It made the corner of Warren and Chapel looked underdressed.
I went round the back of the house with the red shutters, knocked on the door, and explained my errand to a maid, who fetched Captain Farrar for me, a horse-faced man with an easy laugh.
“Good Captain Morse is indeed a gentleman,” he said as I presented him with the coin. “And you’re the girl who carries messages to his men in Bridewell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My lads are locked up in the old sugarhouse,” he said, his smile fading. “The ones still alive.” He stood there caught up in silence and his own thoughts.
I tried to think of a polite way to take my leave but could not find the proper words. The breeze came from the south and carried a salt tang with it. Although snow lay about and everyone was wrapped deep in their clothing, the appearance of the clouds made a body know deep down that spring was stirring.
“Yes, sir,” I finally said. “Begging pardon, but I must be on my way.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, his eyes still distant.
I walked down the path to Warren Street and stopped when I heard him call me. “Sal, wait there a moment!”
I stood a while longer, watching the clouds and scolding myself for mixing in with the affairs of gentlemen and their honor. Several carriages containing bundled-up ladies and serious-looking officers passed along the street, pulled by shaggy-coated horses. Most folks took no more notice of me than they would a cartman selling oysters or a vagabond from Canvastown.
Just as I set my mind to leave, Captain Farrar came back out. “Give this to Morse, please,” he said as he handed me the note. “He’ll know what to do.”
I studied the folded paper and made bold. “Another wager, sir?”
Another carriage passed on the street, the horses clip-clopping slow.
He shook his head, the laughter gone from his eyes. “No, news from headquarters. Don’t tarry with it.” He touched his fingertips to the brim of his cap.
I bobbed a curtsy and took my leave, hurrying toward the Tea Water Pump. I should have known I’d be pressed into more message carrying. These soldier types were forever scheming up one thing or another. And it put a girl like me in a rough spot, not that they ever thought about that. I didn’t ask to ferry messages across the city for some captain I didn’t know. How was that connected to my deal with Dibdin to treat Curzon proper? It wasn’t, not one bit.
The good Captains Morse and Farrar would just have to wait till it suited me for this last message to be delivered. If I didn’t get back soon, I’d be in for it.
I pushed through the backdoor to the Lockton kitchen, still fussing about selfish captains who only thought of their own skins. When Curzon got out, he’d have a debt of honor the size of a whale to me. I’d make that boy—
I set down the water buckets, removed my cloak, and hung it from a peg near the fire. I stood rubbing my hands together and warming them over the flames. As soon as I could move them, I’d boil up the water.
The door from the front hall slammed open.
“There you are.” The words came at me like shards of glass.
I turned. ’Twas Madam Lockton holding a small riding crop in her hand.
“Ma’am?”
She crossed the room and slashed the crop across my face. It hurt fierce, but I knew not to cry out.
“How dare you?” she spat.
Chapter XLIII
Saturday, January 18, 1777
THAT EVEN A FAILURE CANNOT BE MORE FATAL
THAN TO REMAIN IN OUR PRESENT SITUATION IN SHORT
SOME ENTERPRIZE MUST BE UNDERTAKEN IN OUR PRESENT
CIRCUMSTANCES OR WE MUST GIVE UP THE CAUSE …
OUR AFFAIRS ARE HASTENING FAST TO RUIN IF WE DO
NOT RETRIEVE THEM BY SOME HAPPY EVENT. DELAY
WITH US IS NOW EQUAL TO A TOTAL DEFEAT.
–COLONEL JOSEPH REED IN A LETTER TO
GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON
Please, ma’am—” I started.
“Silence!” She cracked the crop across my shoulder.
The back door opened and Hannah entered. “Oh, ’scuse me,” she said, turning to leave again.
“Stay,” Madam ordered.
Hannah let the door close and murmured, “Yes, Madam,” her eyes stealing once to me, then quickly away.
I fought the urge to run for the knife drawer.
Madam paced in front of me. “I have never in my entire life been so humiliated.” She paused and put on a mimic-face. “I saw your little black girl talking to a rebel officer on Warren Street. Do you allow your slaves to consort with the enemy?”
I could not swallow nor breathe.
She brought the crop down with a crack on the edge of the table. “Jane Drinkwater said this to me. Jane Drinkwater, the biggest gossip in New York.” Madam paced again, her hair flying loose, her manner quite unsteady. “I said no, Jane, you must be mistaken, not our Sal. Colonel Hawkins himself uses her for errands.”
She stopped suddenly. “And Jane says, ‘No, Anne, your girl was speaking to a rebel prisoner on Warren Street. It’s hard to miss the mark on her face. From my carriage I saw her take a note from his hand.’”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she slashed at me again. This time the blow opened a cut on my forehead.
“Give me that note,” Madam demanded.
“I have no note, ma’am,” I said quiet.
She held out her hand. “Liar! Give me that paper or I’ll turn you over to the British commander so fast your fool head will spin.”
Her voice shook with rage. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note.
Madam looked over to Hannah. “See? You just need to be firm with them.”
Hannah said nothing. A drop of blood rolled down the side of my face. I clutched the note in my fist.
“Give it.” Madam narrowed her eyes. “Did you hear me, girl?”
Everybody carried a little evil in them, Momma once told me. Madam Lockton had more than her share. The poison had eaten holes through her soul and made room for vermin to nest inside her.
“Girl!” Madam stamped her foot on the floor.
The evil inside of me woke and crackled like lightning. I could wrap my hands around her throat. I could brain her with a poker, thrust her face into the flames. I could beat her senseless with my fists.
I shook from the effort of holding myself still, clutching the crumpled paper. Momma said we had to fight the evil inside us by overcoming it with goodness. She said it was a hard thing to do, but it made us worthy.
I breathed deep to steady myself.
I threw the Captain’s note into the fire.
Hannah gasped. Madam shrieked and pushed me out of the way, but the paper was already alight. She dropped the crop and smacked me again in the face with her hand, as she had the day I first landed in New
York.
“You foul, bloody wench!” She reached behind her, picked up a bowl, and hurled it at me. I ducked and it crashed against the hearth.
“I will sell you!” she screamed. “I will auction you at dawn on Monday. I’ll sell your demon sister, too, to the most cruel, heartless master I can find, the Devil himself if he wants.”
She paused to catch her breath.
Ruth?
Hannah stepped forward. “I do believe there was a knock at the front door, Madam,” she said.
But she already sold Ruth.
Madam glared at her. “Then answer it, you bloody fool.”
Didn’t she?
As Hannah left, Madam brushed back her hair, gathering her dignity. I still stood by the fire, where the note had burned to fine ash. I could not think what might happen next.
Madam tugged at her short gown. “What’s that stupid look on your face?” she said with a harsh laugh. “You didn’t know I still owned her, did you?”
“Ruth?” The name escaped my mouth.
“Brat,” Madam spat. “Couldn’t find a buyer. Had to ship her down to Charleston. I shall tell the estate manager to get rid of her, toss her in the swamp. Her death will be on your head, you insolent fool.”
Hannah came back in from the hall. “The hairdresser, Madam.”
“What?” Madam wheeled about. “What did you say?”
“The hairdresser is come to prepare you for the ball. The Queen’s ball, ma’am. You must leave in a few hours.”
Madam cleared her throat and stood straighter. “Of course. You must first help me into my gown.”
Hannah nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Lock the girl in the potato bin, then come upstairs.”
The bin was more than half-filled with potatoes and smelled of damp earth and worms. There was not enough room to sit up, but lying down was like lying in a bed of rocks. I wanted to scream and pinched myself hard to fight the urge. I did not want to give Madam any satisfaction.
Overhead came the noises of footsteps as the hairdresser performed his job and left, and the colonel returned from headquarters to change into his dress uniform, and Madam sent Hannah running for this folderol and that. There was the sound of horse hooves and the roll of carriage wheels and the front door opened and then closed and the house fell quiet save for Hannah’s steps in the kitchen.
Chains Page 22
