The Messenger (38 page)

Over supper that evening, with everyone seated at the table, Father announced that he would be taking our family back to our house.

Ezekiel promptly burst into tears. “I want to stay with cousin!” He and young Edward had formed a fast friendship.

Mother took him away from the table. We could hear the echoes of his cries as they went up the stair. “I don’t want to go! I want to stay!”

I felt like crying as well, though for a completely different reason. I knew I had to stay—if Uncle Edward would let me—even as I truly wanted to go. I hadn’t known when we left the house that I wouldn’t be returning. I hadn’t appreciated just how many of my hopes and dreams were tied to that place.

But old things must pass away. I only hoped that new things would not be long delayed in coming, and that they would prove even half as dear as those things I was leaving behind.

Uncle Edward cleared his throat. “You’ve convinced your colonel to leave, then?”

“I demanded an interview with General Howe’s replacement himself. I told him how untenable the situation had become. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. And we thank thee for thy generous hospitality.”

Uncle lifted a glass in Father’s direction.

I would have preferred to have spoken to Father in private, but he was arranging the transition in public. I needed to make my wishes known now, before everyone dispersed for the evening. “I would prefer to stay here. If Uncle Edward would have me.”

Aunt Rebekah sent an eloquent look my way. “Of course you may stay. Of course she can, can’t she, Edward? She and Polly are of an age.”

Uncle didn’t seem to know what to make of my request. Father didn’t respond. Only Sally spoke. “But thee can’t, Hannah!”

I wished I could return to our house just so I could share my life with her again. I had missed her these past months. My little sister of ten years had grown into a girl who seemed a stranger.

“Hannah can take the spare room.” Aunt Rebekah addressed Father, making it sound as if everything had been decided. “We’ll move her things in just as soon as Doll and Jenny move your things out.” She turned around to address Davy. “You’ll take care of everything, won’t you?”

He bowed.

Aunt Rebekah beamed a radiant smile at Father. “There. It’s all decided, then!” She turned toward me. “We’re delighted to have you stay.”

Father looked none too happy about it.

“Aren’t we delighted?”

“Yes. Of course. Delighted.” Uncle Edward raised his glass in my direction and then took another drink from it.

We lingered just long enough for Mother to rejoin us. As we broke up, Aunt Rebekah drew me near. “It will all be fine. Everything will work out. You will see.”

I couldn’t see anything at all. There seemed to be no clear way ahead. But I had thrown myself on their mercy, and she had caught me. I would just have to trust that what she said was true. I only wished she could blot that terrible, accusatory look from my Father’s eyes and the pain from Sally’s voice.

Mother caught my arm as I walked from the room. “Thee are staying? But . . . why?”

“I’ve left the Meeting. Thee know I have.”

“But thee can’t have meant what thee said.”

“I meant every word.”

Sally joined us. “Thee can’t stay, Hannah!”

I took her face between my hands and kissed her cheek. My own sweet sister. “I will miss thee.”

“Hannah!” Mother’s voice was strident. “Why?” Her question was so pleading, so plaintive that I had no choice but to answer.

“Because of Robert. He was there, in that jail, and I was the only one who went to visit him. I was the only one who went to visit any of them.”

Mother clutched my arm. “How is he?”

He’s dead! Oh, how I wanted to say it. I wanted to weep with the knowledge of it. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Too many lives depended still upon my silence. So I patted her arm, disengaged myself from them both, and walked up the stair. When I got to Polly’s room, I collapsed on my bed and wept for all that I had given up.

Jeremiah

I spent the morning of the Meschianza carting wine from the tavern. Bartholomew helped me by loading the cart and then handling the reins. Once we got to the estate, he carried the crates inside. The fine, elegant mansion of Joseph Wharton had been repainted and redecorated. One of the outer walls had also been knocked out so that a salon could be attached to house all the guests at supper.

Everything that had been begged and borrowed from the city’s elite had been arranged in a display of magnificent gaudiness. Dozens of mirrors had been positioned to reflect the winking lights of hundreds of candles. Flowers and ribbons and shrubberies had been woven in suspension about the room. Several dozen slaves, adorned in costumes and fettered with silver necklaces and bracelets, milled about in preparation for service.

It was an utter disgrace.

Once the bottles had been delivered, we hastened from that place. Bartholomew amused himself among the throngs crowding the wharf while I used a glass to survey the land out toward Germantown. Somewhere over there, tonight, General Washington would create his disturbance.

I prayed that it would last long enough for the prisoners to escape.

That afternoon, three galleys festooned with pennants and filled with officers made their way downriver. They were followed by barges carrying the military bands, and cheered by spectators filling every kind of ship that had business upon the river. Bands played. Flags fluttered. When the procession reached Wharton’s mansion, it was greeted by a seventeen-gun salute.

It was a veritable festival of foolishness. A carnival of idiocy.

That the British army should cavort and caper and frolic in full view of a city they had methodically destroyed! There was no growing thing left within the city’s limits. No fences and very few shutters. The city smelled like a latrine and looked far worse. That they had insisted on such a celebration was a testament to their complete arrogance and total disregard. If the citizens of Philadelphia had not realized it before, I hoped they would realize it now. I suspected that once the British left, the citizens would cheer the patriots’ return.

Although . . . a thought that had begun to worry at me raised its head again. What would happen once the patriots returned? They’d be set on retribution, that was certain. And they would especially target people like me. People who had seemed to embrace the Loyalist cause.

It was hardly a secret that my tavern had become a den for soldiers. And it was widely known that I was a personal friend of John Lindley. What wasn’t known at all was my part in the soon-to-take-place escape. And tonight, once it was over, there would be none to vouch for my true loyalties. I could very well end up with a noose around my neck after all. And for no good reason but that I had played my part too well.

I tugged at my cravat and then stepped outside to take some air.

As the crowd disembarked at the pier, grenadiers formed two lines with a file of light horses behind them. It was through this assembly that the guests walked up from the river toward a lawn lined with troops and prepared for an exhibition of chivalry.

A herald and three trumpeters announced two different groups of knights who, after paying homage to General Howe and his brother, challenged each other to a joust. Lances were brandished. Shields were displayed. Salutes were passed around like cards. They came at each other with spears and pistols and swords and then finally called the tournament in a draw.

With great relief everyone repaired to the ballroom and there was much dancing, interrupted by an impressive display of fireworks, which was followed by more dancing. At midnight the salon was opened to cries of delight and general awe.

John was resplendent in his knight’s costume of white satin with silver fringe and a pink-and-white sword belt fastened with silver lacing and large pink bows. His white satin hat was decked with red, white, and black plumes. And on his arm was . . . not Polly Pennington.

It wasn’t until after the supping was over that I was able to address him. He was holding a glass of wine, staring glumly into its plum-colored depths.

“That isn’t the lovely Miss Pennington you’re escorting this evening.”

“No. Miss Pennington’s father thought the costumes far too scandalous. Apparently. My maiden is the rather dim and chinless Miss Brewster. I am doomed to be forever surrounded by graceless women.”

I couldn’t help but grin.

“You needn’t look so cheerful about it.”

“Our colonial maidens didn’t appreciate being dressed as Turks?”

“I rather thought they look like they’re enjoying themselves.”

I glanced around the room. In my opinion they looked as if they thought they
ought
be enjoying themselves. But there were telltale signs. Hands frequently lifted to adjust the position of a turban. Fingers tugging up sleeves made of slippery satin. Smiles that weren’t quite so wide as they might have been.

“You’re without your usual companion as well.” He had turned a bleary eye in my direction. “Miss Sunderland.”

Hannah. She ought to have been here by my side. I shrugged. “She doesn’t attend parties. She doesn’t dance. She only wears plain clothes.”

John raised his glass. “To the colonies and their maidens.”

I drunk heartily to that toast.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

He squinted at me. “What’s that?”

“Have you changed your mind about your wealthy Brunhilda?”

He took a long swallow. “Don’t recall her to me. Some things are best not brought to mind.”

“You’re still going through with it, then?”

“With the marriage? Of course I am. I’d be a fool not to!”

“Even when you’ve fallen in love with Miss Pennington?”

At the mention of her name, his eyes had gone soft. But then he blinked. And when he turned back to me, all traces of sentiment were gone. “I must be strong. And I must not be governed by sentiment. I’ve got the cause to uphold.”

“Cause?”

“The cause of my advancement. It takes a fortune these days to hold any position at all in the army.”

“So you’re choosing . . . ?”

“No choice about it. I’m a completely loyal man. Entirely devoted to my own interests.”

“And Miss Pennington?”

“I told her a tale about my family forcing me into marriage. She felt quite sorry for me by the time I was done. Besides, I’m sure she’ll receive dozens of proposals. From men more worthy of her hand than I.” He saluted me with his glass. Downed it in one long swallow and then lurched off to affix himself to Miss Brewster’s side.

Over at one of the tables, John André was delighting the officers with his tales of capture at the hands of General Montgomery up in Canada. Of just how backward and uncivilized the colonials were. And at one of the other tables, an officer had convinced one of the Meschianza’s maidens to dance for him like some Turkish girl.

I walked past and somehow managed to spill my entire glass of wine on him.

He pushed to his feet, blustering, while the girl backed away. I hoped she had the good sense to keep on going.

At the foot of a table, clenching a wineglass in his fist, sat a lone officer. A colonel. He was staring out a window into the darkness of the night. I sat down next to him.

He flicked a glance at me and then went back to staring out the window.

“Party not to your taste?”

He turned, propped an elbow on the table, and leaned toward me. “I told General Howe this was a mistake.”

It was. A monumental mistake.

“If I were a rebel, this would be the perfect night for an attack. Half these fools came up here on barges. I’ll bet there’s not a dozen horses for the officers, and all our infantry is back in the city. If Mr. Washington were a smart man, he could capture us all. This night. And he wouldn’t need but fifty men in order to do it.” He took a long swallow from his glass.

“What did the general say?”

“Said if they hadn’t the courage to attack us this spring, then they wouldn’t have the sense to attack us now. And besides, Washington is a gentleman. Can you imagine that? A colonial a gentleman? In any case, the party was being thrown in his honor and how could he forbid his own men to attend?”

The fool didn’t even realize he’d insulted me.

Long about one o’clock there seemed to come some change in the mood of the party. A pause in the general conversation. In the distance a series of explosions could be heard. And then, several minutes later, a staccato of drums. At tables across the salon the officers were eyeing Howe, but the general seemed oblivious to pedestrian concerns. Or thoughts of war.

Voices gradually picked up and laughter began again. But several minutes later, a soldier entered the room. Spying General Howe, he went over and bent to speak into his ear. The general jerked away. Turned to look out the window. Gestured violently for the soldier to come closer. As General Howe questioned the soldier, conversation began to wither around them. Officers pushed away from the table, leaving chairs upturned in their wake.

“That’s musket fire, isn’t it?” The officer I’d been speaking with took another sip of wine.

“Sounds like it.” I left him to follow the crowds wandering out onto the lawn. They were staring off toward where I’d trained my glass that afternoon.

One of the maidens beside me shivered. Tugged at the coat of her escort. “What is it?”

“Hmmm? Oh. I’m sure it’s just part of the festivities. The soldiers in the city wouldn’t want General Howe to leave without adding their farewells.”

The girl broke into dimples. “How kind!”

I lifted my glass and drank to the escape of the prisoners. Godspeed. To each and every one of them.