Judas Flowering (36 page)

He returned three days after Christmas with the news that the British ships had crossed the bar and were anchored in the Savannah River. “They'll attack any day now. And General Howe with only six hundred and seventy men to oppose him. If I were you, ladies, I'd be packing up for a quick getaway upriver. The public records are all at Purrysburg by now and I'd feel a deal happier if you were there too. Then, if the worst should happen, you can go to Mrs Mayfield's Charleston house till happier times.”

“Leave?” Martha Purchis' voice was shrill. “You think we should leave Savannah?”

“Ma'am,” he said earnestly, “you've got to face facts. There's a whole fleet of the enemy. Two thousand men, they say. Some of them Germans who don't speak our language—some Loyalists who hate us. Think for a minute what will happen to you and the young ladies if it should come to a sack. You know what it's been like in the south. Why should it be different here?”

“Sister,” wailed Anne Mayfield. “we must go! At once … or as soon as we can pack up. He's right; we can't chance it. Now you will thank God I never sold my house in Charleston.”

“But what about this house?” Martha Purchis looked round the once-luxurious drawing-room that was beginning to show signs of wear and tear. “What will happen to it if we go?”

“I'll stay,” said Saul Gordon. “I'll look after it for you, ma'am. You can rely on me.”

Rely on him? Mercy was about to speak, when, to her relief, Abigail anticipated her. “No need, Mr Gordon. Whatever happens, I shall not go. When you talk of a sack, you forget, I think, that I am a known Loyalist. God knows I have suffered enough for it. Now, perhaps, Aunt, I can repay some of your kindness.”

“Bravely spoken.” Gordon's tone was scornful. “Do you really think, Miss Purchis, that in the heat of battle the enemy will stop to tell friend from foe? You must have heard stories enough of Loyalists killed by those brutes of Hessians who can't even speak English, still less read a protection.”

“Mr Habersham and Mr Mayfield will have made arrangements to protect us,” said Abigail. “I am sure of it. Aunt, you must see that to abandon this house is the surest way to lose it. I've a British flag upstairs. You won't mind—”

Mercy listened ruefully as they argued it out. In how many houses in Savannah, she wondered, was this same conversation going on? In the end, nothing was really decided, except that the two older ladies tottered off to pack up their possessions, “just in case,” and Saul Gordon retired to his hut in the yard in a simmering, silent rage.

“He really believed we'd go.” Abigail turned to Mercy, who had stayed silent throughout. “They none of them seem to have thought that we could hardly move Hart.”

“No.” Mercy did not intend to tell even Abigail about her plans for Hart. “I'm glad you spoke up, dear. I'll stay with you, of course. I hope it's a big Union flag.”

She put on her peasant outfit that afternoon and slipped out the back way to mingle with the anxious crowds. Bay and Broughton Streets were thronged with heavily loaded carriages, all heading westwards, and she recognised many haggard, patriot faces, peering out at the crowds. The quays, too, were a scene of intense activity, and she prayed that William had a strong guard on the boat he had ready for Hart's escape. Listening to the panicky talk of the crowd, she wondered desperately what would be for the best. In a way, Abigail's decision had made things easier for her. If Abigail stayed, so would she, and if swearing allegiance to George III would save Hart's house for him, she would do it.

“Wouldn't defend it!” She heard a voice she knew and pulled her shawl more closely round her face at sight of Colonel Elbert talking angrily to a militia officer who was also an old friend of Hart's.

“Brewton Hill—Mr Girardeau's place?” She could not remember this man's name, but he sounded as anxious as Elbert. “But it's madness! If the British have any information, and we must assume they have, it's the obvious place to land, the first practicable bluff. And the rice dam would make a good defence post for us.”

“That's what I said.” Elbert sounded both desperate and exhausted. “Howe wouldn't listen. Well”—fairly—”it's true; he's dead short of men. He's got his line on the high ground, closer to town. We must just pray God the British don't learn about Brewton Hill.”

“I'll pray God all right,” said the other officer. “But I shall send my family out of town.”

It was enough. Mercy turned and hurried home to make sure that William had a good guard on the Purchis boat, and then to find Mrs Purchis and urge that she and Anne Mayfield leave at once.

It was a fatal mistake. “So!” said Martha Purchis. “Just what Mr Gordon warned me would happen. You think Sister and I are going to leave you to make whatever kind of monkey you please out of Abigail and no doubt end up claiming this house, and for all I know Winchelsea as well, for your own. No, no, I know my duty. If you two chits decide to stay, I shall stay too, and mark my words, whatever happens will be all your fault.”

Nothing would budge her from this decision, not even the news, next day, that the British had indeed forced a landing at Brewton Hill and started up the main road to Savannah. “Oh, my poor Winchelsea,” wailed Martha Purchis. “If they're as far as Tatnall's and Governor Wright's, Winchelsea's gone.”

“I heard a rumour they were using it for a hospital,” said Saul Gordon.

“Thank God for that! Then they won't burn it!” said Mrs Purchis. And “You are very well informed, Mr Gordon,” said Mercy.

It got her a sharp look. “Well enough informed to wish you ladies were safe away from here. Mrs Purchis, once again I beseech you. For your own sake, and most particularly, for the young ladies', order out the carriage! Go west, ma'am, go west as fast as you can! I rather think today will be your last chance.”

Next day, the crowds were thinner, and there were no soldiers among them. Every man who could walk had been sent out to defend the thin line General Howe had stretched round
the town. People talked lower, too, looking carefully over their shoulders as they did so, but Mercy, inconspicuous in her homespuns and shawl, managed to pick up a crumb of information here and there. Every available labourer was at work on the defences of the three main roads into town. At the east, where the main British attack was expected, the bridges had been burnt and a trench was being dug between the swamps on either side of the main road. “But how long that will hold them is anyone's guess,” said a man with one arm in a sling. “I'm leaving tonight. If we had a soldier in charge instead of old Granny Howe, it would be something else again. Do you know what he's done?”

“No.” Mercy looked sharply at this other speaker. “What's he done, friend?”

“Given ‘Firmness' for the password and followed it by instructions as to how to retreat! I had that from a friend of mine who came slap back to get his wife out of town, and I'm doing the same. I don't like the way the wind's blowing today.” He turned away and pushed purposefully through the crowd.

Mercy was still studying the other man. He had his coat collar pulled well up around his neck and a shabby hat down over his eyes, but just the same she was almost sure she recognised him as an assistant of Johnston the printer's and an old friend of her father's. “Mr Miles?” she said now, low and tentatively.

For a moment she thought he was going to run for it, then he swung round to face her “Who calls me that?” A sharp look, but he had known her in her poorer days. “Mercy! Mercy Phillips.” He looked round quickly to make sure they were unobserved, then pressed both her hands warmly. “It's good to see you, girl. I never did get a chance to say how sorry I was …”

“No need. But I thought you were at the West Indies with Mr Johnston.”

He smiled ruefully. “So do most people, thank God. No, I've been out of town with my wife's people, lying low.” There was something wrong with his tone and she remembered that his wife came from the south of the colony.

“I hope all is well with them.” It had to be said, but she was afraid of the answer.

“Dead. She and the boys. I was away. I don't talk about it. Only this: it was the British did it. One of those marauding
bands up from St Augustine. I'm no Loyalist now. I'm on my way to our lines, to take one with me as I go.”

“Mr Miles”—she put a quick hand on his arm—”don't. Or, before you decide, listen to me.”

Twenty minutes later she was in Hart's room, mixing him his evening draft. “I'm making it a little stronger tonight,” she told him. “I think we're going to need all our wits about us tomorrow.”

“As bad as that?”

“Quite as bad. Hart, whatever happens, promise you'll never stop loving me.”

“How could I? You're part of me, Mercy. It would be to stop loving myself.”

A cold finger touched her spine, and she made herself very busy with his medicine. “Never do that.”

He pulled himself up in his bed, ready to take the medicine glass from her. “I shall like myself better when I have had my turn against the British,” he said. “Remember, Mercy, if they should take the town tomorrow, you're going to load my musket for me and then hide in the celler with the others.”

“Let's take tomorrow as it comes, my dear.” She handed him the glass into which she had poured all the laudanum Dr Flinn had given her. “For tonight, drink this, sleep well, and remember I love you with all my heart.”

He raised the glass in a silent toast. “Mercy, if we survive tomorrow, marry me the next day?”

“Yes!” She watched, wide-eyed, as he swallowed the drink in one great gulp.

“Horrid!” He smiled and handed her the glass. “What poison have you been brewing for me, Mercy, my love?”

It was almost too much for her. Should she tell him? What would he do if she did? She could not risk it. “Not I,” she said lightly. “Dr Flinn. He gave it to me specially for tonight.”

“Laudanum. A savage dose.” He gave her the ghost of a wicked smile. “I'm almost tempted to think he knows about us. Mercy, my darling, and intends to keep us respectable at all costs. Poor Dr Flinn.” He held out his hand to her. “Well, if I must sleep the sleep of the drugged, kiss me good night and come hold my hand, my darling, while I go.”

“Oh, Hart.” As she bent to kiss him, two uncontrollable tears fell on his face. “Never stop loving me.”

“Never.” And then, sleepily, “You said that before. What
is it, Mercy? What's the matter?”

“Nothing, my darling. Nothing that will not keep until morning.” She kept her voice calm, but her heart shook. The drug was working with terrifying speed. Could Dr Flinn have given her too strong a dose? Or had they misunderstood each other? She knew it was impossible and yet could not help being afraid. Ridiculous. She bent to kiss Hart once, gently, hungrily, in case it must last a lifetime, and went out to the yard to find William.

It seemed an age before the family were settled for the night. Mrs Purchis and Mrs Mayfield had changed their minds so many times that at last it was only exhaustion that sent them to bed, rather than out, into the carriage, and away through the dangerous darkness to the west. Abigail, too, looked worn with anxiety and was easily persuaded to follow them to bed. “I shall sit up with Hart for a while,” explained Mercy. “Sleep well, my dear. God knows what tomorrow will bring.”

Abigail put a distracted hand to her brow. “Mercy, it's so horrible. I don't know what to want anymore! All this time I've longed for Giles, and now, this—”

“I know.” There was no comfort to offer.

To Mercy's relief, Hart's sleep, though deep, seemed natural enough. She waited until house and streets alike were quiet at last, then went out the back to where William and Jem were waiting with a litter that had been used by Abigail's mother in her last illness. It had been William's idea. “Much less noticeable than the carriage, and besides, Madam Purchis, she might take that.”

Hart stirred a little and muttered something when the two men picked him up and carried him awkwardly through the narrow door and into the yard, but he did not wake. “Take good care of him, William.” Mercy had already handed over the money she had promised. “And, when he wakes, give him my love. Try to make him understand.”

“I'll do my best, ma'am.” Mercy suspected that William understood a good deal.

“Thank you.” They must not stay whispering here. “Now, good-bye, and good luck.” She turned back into the little, empty room, grateful for darkness to hide the tears that streamed down her face. Would Hart ever forgive her for what she had done tonight?

She cried herself to sleep in the bed still warm from Hart's
body and woke to the too-familiar sound of panicky movement in the streets. It was very early still, but when she peered cautiously out of the front window, she saw that the day's exodus had already begun. Yesterday it had been carriages, today it was handcarts, piled high with the belongings of a whole family; crying children on top and anxious women following behind. Just as well that Howe had his soldiers already in their positions. It would be difficult to move about in Savannah today.

An agitated tapping on the yard door heralded Amy. “Miss Mercy, my William's gone! I never thought I'd see the day I had to be shamed for him, but he and Jem done run in the night.” Tears tracked each other down her wrinkled brown face.

“It's all right, Amy!” Mercy took her hand and led her into Hart's room. “They took Mr Hart with them. I'm sorry William didn't tell you.” But he had been right, she thought.

“Oh, praise be! So they're all safe, William and Mr Hart, and Jem?”

“I hope so, Amy. They're going upriver, hoping to get to Charleston when Mr Hart is strong enough.”