Judas Flowering (37 page)

“Does his ma know?” asked the old woman shrewdly. And then, “Miss Mercy, if they do come, the British, what should we do in the yard?”

“Hide,” said Mercy, “or run and come back when you can.” She had told no one of the secret cellar William had made; she had her own plans for it. “Don't tell anyone Mr Hart's gone, Amy, not till we have to.”

“Very good, Miss Mercy.” The old woman suddenly seized her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for saving my William, ma'am.”

“I hope I have,” said Mercy.

Half an hour later Saul Gordon arrived, insisting that he see Hart.

“I'm sorry.” Mercy barred the way. “He is not awake yet. I gave him a strong draft of laudanum last night on Dr Flinn's orders. I do not expect him to wake until noon.”

“Wise, I suppose.” Grudgingly, “Well, best put that man of his, Jem, on guard at his door so he don't get disturbed.”

Or doesn't escape, thought Mercy. “Jem's run,” she said. “Amy just told me. And William.” Luckily, Gordon had never interested himself in the servants as people and would not appreciate the significance of this combination.

“One of the other men then,” said Gordon. “I have to go out for a while. I'll be back at noon.”

As he left, Abigail appeared, looking anxious. “How's Hart this morning?” she asked.

“Still asleep.” Mercy instinctively postponed the moment of revelation.

“Good. My aunts are just getting up. Mercy, do you know what's happening?”

“No. Gordon's gone out—for news I expect. Abigail, would you stay here and see no one disturbs Hart while I go and see what I can find out?”

“It's not safe for you!”

“Oh, yes it is.” She had brought the black shawl with her from Hart's room and now wound it round her head and shoulders and dropped into an Irish brogue. “I'm only going out for the news, surely. A plain bit of an Irish girl like me will come to no harm in the crowd.”

“Good gracious!” a reluctant smile wavered across Abigail's drawn face. “I'd quite forgotten what a mimic you are! Mercy, I'm afraid for Hart. My aunts will do anything Gordon says, and I don't trust him.”

“No more do I. He's put a man on duty at the back door of Hart's room. To see he's not disturbed.'”

“Oh! I thought I heard something. Mercy, you don't think we should wake Hart and get him out the front way?”

“I'm sure Gordon has someone watching there too. We'll know better what to do when I get back with news.”

“For God's sake, be careful!”

“Believe me, I shall.”

Outside, she found that the crowds had thinned and an ominous quiet fallen on the streets. And now, from the east, somewhere beyond the Trustees' Garden, she could hear the rattle of musket fire and the occasional crump of the cannon on the bluff there. That was where General Howe had his strongest defences. Perhaps, after all, there was hope for Savannah; perhaps she had let herself panic last night. If so, she had risked Hart's life, and his love for her, for nothing. They might have been married tomorrow.

Other people had heard the action beginning and were emerging from their houses to listen, half in hope, half in fear, but none of them knew any more than she did, though all agreed that the attack from the east was a good sign. “The line's mortal thin to the south and west,” one old woman
told her. “My man said last night we were lost if General Prevost should come up from the south, but please God, the garrison's still holding down at Sunbury.” She lifted her head to listen to a fresh rattle of fire from the east. “They'll hold there,” she said. “The defences are good, my man says, and the men determined. But mortal tired. Most of them still ain't recovered from the march back from the south. But they know what they're fighting for!”

“Yes.” Mercy turned and hurried home with this moderately good news to find Abigail in fierce argument with the two older women. “He's had a sleeping draught.” She was standing against the door of Hart's room. “Mercy said he must not be disturbed.”

“‘Mercy said!'” Mrs Purchis took her up on it angrily. “I'm sick to death of hearing what Mercy says! Hart's my son, isn't he? I think I have a right to consult him about what's best for us to do. Heaven help us! The firing's getting nearer! We must decide something! Soon, it may be too late.” She turned and saw Mercy. “There you are at last. What's the news in town?”

“The British are attacking from the east, thank God. There seems a good chance our men will hold them. You know how hard they have worked on the lines there.”

“It don't sound like the east to me,” said Martha Purchis.

They looked at each other for a moment in listening silence, then, with one accord, trooped out onto the screened porch and into the neglected garden, to stand, heads up, silent, listening. The thud of a gun from the direction of the Trustees' Garden. “Oh, my poor Winchelsea,” sighed Martha Purchis.

“It's well behind the British lines by now,” said Anne Mayfield, “but thank God you're wrong, Sister. That's from the east all right.”

“That was,” said Martha Purchis, “but, listen!” This time there was no doubt about it. The roll of cannon fire was coming also from the south, from somewhere beyond the Common.

“The south road!” said Abigail. “Dear God, it must be Prevost. What shall we do? Mercy, we must wake Hart, get him away, anywhere!”

“No.” While all their heads were turned southwards, Saul Gordon had entered the garden from the servants' yard at the back. “Too late for that. The servants are run already and the carriage has lost a wheel.”

“Lost?” asked Mercy.

He ignored her, addressing himself to Martha Purchis. “Anyway, you run a greater risk taking to the roads than you will do in staying here.” He reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and handed her a paper. “Here is your protection, signed by the British General Campbell himself. Nail that on the door, fly Miss Abigail's British flag, and you'll have no trouble when they come.”

“No if?” asked Mercy.

This time he condescended to answer her. “No ‘if' at all. While Campbell has kept Howe occupied, Sir James Baird and the New York Volunteers have been taking a path from Brewton Hill through the swamp that General Howe didn't trouble to defend. That firing to the south means they have turned the rebel line and are attacking from the right.”

“Rebel?” said Abigail.

“How do you know?” asked Mercy.

“Those poor McCartney girls,” exclaimed Anne Mayfield. “They will be right on the line of attack.”

“No need to trouble yourself about them, said Saul Gordon. “They have their protection too, all right and tight. I left it there myself.”

“And where did you get these fine protections?” Mercy reached out and took the document from Mrs Purchis' limp hand. “Dated yesterday. Campbell's signature. So that's where you went. You must have been mighty useful to General Campbell, Mr Gordon.” And then, before he had time to answer. “There's no mention of Mr Purchis in this.”

“Impossible, I'm afraid,” said Saul Gordon. “A known rebel. But I have General Campbell's word for it that he will be well used. The guard who will come, very soon now, to take charge of this house will see to his arrest.” He was enjoying himself hugely, Mercy thought and then saw, with horrified amazement, what Abigail was doing. She had moved quietly, while the others were all gathered round Gordon, to pick up a small stone statue of a cherub from the terrace and was now, coolly, raising it to strike Saul Gordon from behind.

“Abigail, don't!” And then, before Gordon could turn to see what Abigail was doing. “I have news for you, Mr Gordon. Mr Purchis left last night. God knows where he is now. I certainly do not. But somewhere, I hope, where he has no need of anyone's protection.”

“Gone?” They all turned on her in amazement.

“Yes.” If only she knew to what extent the family's safety depended on Hart's arrest. Best play safe, for all their sakes. “He went last night. I don't know when.”

“Gone,” said Martha Purchis. “And did not choose to say good-bye to me!”

“Gone!” Gordon turned on Mercy. “And you lied to me when I asked for him!”

“He is my employer. And, Mr Gordon, you have not yet told us what you did for General Campbell, or how he learned of the path across the swamp. I take it you have turned your coat with a vengeance.”

“That's not a phrase I would use today, Miss Mercy.” Before they could question him further he hurried up the porch steps and disappeared into the big living room, no doubt to make sure that Hart had really escaped.

“It's true?” Abigail had quietly put down the statue before anyone but Mercy had noticed what she was doing.

“Yes. Only”—she turned to Mrs Purchis—“for God's sake, don't tell Gordon, but Hart did not go voluntarily. I drugged him with laudanum. He was fast asleep, knew nothing about it.”

“And you make him out a coward,” said his mother angrily. “He'll have a score to settle with you when he gets back, Miss Phillips.”

“No, Sister.” Surprisingly, Anne Mayfield intervened. “Miss Phillips was quite right. Don't you see? Hart's not here to be blamed. We are. We might find our protection was worthless if we were thought to have been instrumental in spiriting him away. And come to that”—turning on Mercy—“what right had you to do so without so much as consulting his mother?”

The right of a fiancée. She longed to say it, but must not, and was saved from temptation by the furious return of Saul Gordon. “He's gone all right,” he said. “Someone will pay for this. Who helped him?”

“I told you Jem and William had run,” said Mercy. “Looks like they went with him.”

“We knew nothing about it.” Martha Purchis was clutching her protection as if she was afraid Gordon would snatch it back from her. “It's not our fault.”

“I wonder,” said Gordon. “But no time for that. Listen!” The cannon were silent and the sound of musket fire much
nearer. “They're advancing,” he went on. “It won't be long now. I'd get out that Union flag if I were you, Miss Purchis. You're going to need it. I must go and look to my own house. Good luck, ladies.” And with a swift, mocking bow, he was gone.

Left alone, the four women stood for a moment in horrified silence. Then, “What shall we do?” wailed Anne Mayfield.

“We'd best do as he told us, I think,” said Abigail. “I'll get the flag; you get one of the men to nail the protection on the door, Mercy.”

But when Mercy went out to the servants' quarters, she found only Amy. “The men has run, Miss Mercy,” said the old woman. “I reckoned I'd as soon die here, if die I must. They say the British are through our lines and coming fast. You'd best hide, you ladies. My Delilah, she come back all blubbered with tears. She'd seen the British soldiers bayonetting our men while they tried to surrender. She had blood on her skirts.”

“She shouldn't have been out!”

“It happened so fast, miss. They came rushing across the Common, she said, like one of the plagues in the Bible. And Howe's soldiers running like rabbits and dropping their muskets, and off to the west fast as they could. Colonel Roberts, he's holding the enemy on the west road, they say, so's our men can escape. Lucky for us, this house ain't on the main road, but you'd best be ready, just the same.”

“Yes. Where does William keep his tools?”

It was horribly quiet in Oglethorpe Square. The other houses already had doors locked and shutters closed. All but one. At the far corner of the square, panic-stricken slaves were loading baggage into a chaise, their mistress, the wife of a militia officer, at once urging them to hurry and looking anxiously up and down the street in hopes of seeing her husband. Mercy ran across the square to her. “Mrs Reynolds, don't wait for your husband. The army's in full retreat. We've just heard. Go, quick, you and the children!”

“But he told me he'd come!” This was the only sure thing in a world of chaos.

“Perhaps he can't. Please, Mrs Reynolds, it's your last chance, and the children's.” And, as she spoke, she knew it was already too late. Feet thudded in the sand: a detachment of soldiers marched into the square. She had got so used to the American “uniform” of slouched hat, hunter's shirt,
and tattered breeches, that these men, point device in their dark green uniform, seemed almost ridiculous—toy soldiers. They certainly showed no sign of having been in battle, Had it really been so easy? Betrayed, Hart had said.

The officer gave an order, and a group of men surrounded Mrs Reynolds and began unharnessing the horse from her chaise. She screamed, once, but Mercy's eyes were for the officer. “Welcome home, Francis,” she said.

“Mercy! It's good to find you.” He looked up to where Abigail was hanging her British flag from a first-floor window. “And my wise Cousin Abigail. I am come to put a man on guard here, for all your safety.”

Once, long ago, the look he flashed for Mercy alone would have sent shivers of excitement down her spine. Incredible. She looked up at him. “Thank you, Francis. I knew we could count on you. Your mother and aunt will be grateful, too. They are indoors.”

“That's good. But I must not stay now. There are many more of our friends to be looked after. You have your protection, I'm glad to see. I am afraid things will be bad here in town for a few days. General Howe was mad not to surrender when he had the chance and save the town the horrors of a sack.” Another scream from across the square gave horrible point to his words.

“Mercy, tell them, get him to tell them to stop!” Mrs Reynolds came running across the square, a child in each hand, and at the last moment recognised Francis. “Thank God, it's you, Frank. Tell them, explain to them, I have to have the chaise. Jim's not come home. I have to go to my mother's at Purrysburg.”