The Sword of the Banshee (28 page)

The first part of the day, India watched crowds pass by the State House. No one even glanced at the delegates as they arrived; the pedestrians seemed more interested in their own personal affairs or their purchases at market than the leaders of a revolution. The morning passed without incident.

By afternoon, India was getting hungry and settled onto a bench under a chestnut tree. After eating her bread and cheese, she opened a book and pretended to read, but in reality she was scanning the streets and watching the State House door. She knew Calleigh and his men were nearby, but she could not identify them. She wondered if they too were in disguise. At the end of the day, the delegates filed out and after some brief farewells returned to their residences for the night. Again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

The weather that week was mild, and spring seemed to have arrived. Birds chattered in the trees and children ran past rolling barrel rings or playing tag. Every day, India watched and waited for the raid, reporting to Calleigh each evening, but nothing unusual occurred.

At last, on the final day of the week, something caught India’s eye. Two young men dressed in gentlemen’s clothing lingered near the State House door. They spoke to each other quietly, and several times looked over their shoulders furtively. One was tall and wiry, and the other was strongly built and dignified.

India watched them for some time. One paced back and forth while the other took snuff. They looked anxiously down the street as if they were waiting for someone. Soon, a carriage pulled up, and a third man stepped out. India noticed that he had a limp. He motioned for the driver to wait then joined the other two men.

The tall wiry man reached inside his waistcoat, as if checking for his weapon. India’s heart jumped. She knew then that she must act and act quickly. She rose from her bench and started up the brick walkway quickly, adjusting the pistol in her pocket. As they turned to look at her, she lifted her veil and smiled.

“Stop!” someone shouted behind her.

India froze.

A burly middle aged gentleman in a gray wig bolted past her toward the men and demanded, “I say gentlemen, what is your business here?”

The three appeared stunned. “I beg your pardon!” one of them replied indignantly. “We have business inside with the Congress.”

“I don’t care what your business is here. Be gone,” the man demanded with a sweep of his arm. “Post haste!”

The men exchanged looks, muttering and shaking their heads. “This is an outrage,” the man with the limp called as he walked down the steps toward the carriage.

“I have the authority to expel rascals like you!  Now go!” he barked.

The three climbed into the carriage, looking out resentfully and rode off. India looked at the man. He was standing in front of the State House with his legs spread and his arms crossed. India wondered if he was one of Calleigh’s men.

Just as she was starting to leave, the delegates began to file out of the building, their session over for the week. She was glad the watch was over. The assault had been a feeble attempt and thwarted immediately. She doubted that there would be another threat against them. She dropped the veil back over her face and turned down the street, heading back to her inn.

The streets were quiet, and she found the walk peaceful. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over everything as the vendors packed up their produce. They were tired and heading for home. India too was fatigued. The surveillance had been tedious, and the waiting had drained her. She thought back to the encounter at the State House. It was odd to be the observer this time. She usually was either involved in the raid or orchestrating the event. She mused that it was like watching a good play at the theater.

Suddenly, her smile dropped, and she stopped walking. Yes indeed, it had been like a play, she thought.
The whole encounter had been staged
.
How stupid could I have been? The whole thing had been merely a diversion to distract them from the main event.

A sick feeling twisted her stomach. India lifted her veil then her skirts, and she started to run. It was clear that a blood bath was about to occur and it was not going to be at the Pennsylvania State House, it would be while the delegates were at supper.

Calleigh had told India that the delegates often supped at the Fox and Bull Tavern on Treadwell, so she dashed down the avenue, her heart drumming in her chest. She had no idea how she would single-handedly stop the raid, but she was going to try.

The tavern was not hard to find, and she stopped outside it panting. India dropped her veil, straightened her gown, and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She lifted the latch on the door and stepped in. The innkeeper looked up quickly as if he was expecting someone, and then looked away from her.

She approached a barmaid about lodging, who seated India at a secluded table in a corner, while she readied a room. It was a discreet table suitable for a widow traveling alone. Happy to be inconspicuous, India scanned the bar room hastily. It was a tidy establishment, clean and well kept. Polished brass utensils hung from a mantel which held pewter plates and tankards. A small boy grudgingly turned a pig on a spit which sizzled and spit juices into the fire, spattering and hissing.

The crowd consisted mostly of professional gentleman, lawyers and business owners. India’s eyes followed several of them as they carried tankards into a back room and closed the door. She knew this is where the delegates would be dining.

A moment later, the street door opened. India’s stomach lurched, and she dropped the veil back over her face. Mr. Duncan Durham and the Reverend Ezekiel Archer from the Brandywine Valley stepped into the tavern. She watched them closely as they took a table by the fire. As they sat down, they nodded to two men standing by the bar and to two men sitting by the window.

India’s heart was drumming in her chest.
How can I stop this raid? I must create confusion.

The two men by the window rose and joined the other two men standing at the bar. They glanced over at Durham and Archer, who nodded as if it was time to start.

Like lightning, India was on her feet. “I know you!” she called, pointing to one of the men. She made sure her back was to Archer and Durham so they would not recognize her. “This man stole my purse today on Hyde Street. Thief!” she yelled.

Surprised, the man turned suddenly, and India feigned a fall as if he had struck her. She toppled backwards onto a table then fell onto the floor, sending dishes crashing and tankards rolling.

She heard someone roar, “You’ll not strike a woman!”

It was Quinn Calleigh. He had been hiding in a corner of the tavern. In a flash, he drove a knife between the man’s ribs and the establishment dissolved into pandemonium. Patrons watched in horror as two of the Loyalists were shot point blank by Calleigh’s men. Another Tory was bludgeoned with a bottle. As India got to her feet she saw Durham and Archer slip out the front door.

Quinn’s brother, Ian smashed a bottle of rum on the bar and lit the alcohol shouting, “Fire!” Flames swept down the bar as patrons stampeded the door, screaming and shouting. Calleigh disappeared into the back room to protect the delegates as his brother rushed India out the front door.

Chapter 26

Years of adversity gave India and Quinn similar instincts about danger; both of them had sensed simultaneously that the confrontation at the State House was staged. Their intuition had served them well; the plot to assassinate the Congress was thwarted completely.

India returned home to the Brandywine Valley that same night, yet she felt no sense of relief and no sense of completion. She was convinced that Reverend Archer and Durham had recognized Calleigh.

India unpacked and went down to the rebel camp to look for Quinn. It was late and the camp was dark. She noticed the fire had burned low, and most of the men had bedded down for the night. There was only the sound of crickets, and the fire crackling. Some were asleep and others were laying on their bedrolls with their heads resting on their arms watching the fire. Those who were awake either glanced at her or nodded a greeting.

India found Ian, and asked him why Quinn had not yet returned. “We scattered, Lady Allen,” he said sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “We did not want to travel together.”

“Was he alone?”

“As far as I know.”

“Did he have business with the Congress?”

The young man shrugged. “I don’t know.”

There was a chill in the night air, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. “Excellent work today, Ian,” she said. “Thank you and good night.”

When she arrived back at the house, she changed into her dressing gown and tried to read but found that she could not concentrate. Impatiently, India tossed the book onto the night stand and walked to the window. She rubbed her forehead, disgusted that she was worrying about Calleigh. “He is nothing more than a half-caste Irish gypsy,” she muttered with a scowl.

It had been a long time since she had gone walking, and India swung a cloak over her shoulders, stepping outside. The clear night air filled her lungs and it combed through her hair. It reminded her of the hours she spent walking the moors in Ireland a lifetime ago.

She decided to check on Phineas. He slept with the other hands in the groom’s quarters in the stable. The boy adored the horses and was with them around the clock. When he wasn’t grooming the equines, he was talking to them or riding them.

India walked past the pigeon lofts. Quinn and Phineas were experimenting with the training of carrier pigeons. Phineas loved these birds as much as he loved the horses, and they instinctively trusted him. Quinn explained to India that pigeons had been used for centuries delivering messages during wartime, and he wanted to utilize them as couriers for the Revolution.

India slid open the door of the field stone stable and lifted her lantern. It was dark and the smell of animals, fresh hay, and leather hit her nostrils.

“Well hello, Lady Allen,” said Calleigh, stepping up from the shadows. India yanked the lantern high to look at him. The golden light flooded over him, throwing the rest of the stable into darkness. His hair was tousled and his clothing disheveled.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“I had to check on my darlin's” he said, nodding toward the horses.

“Quinn, I’m worried,” said India urgently. “I believe Archer and Durham recognized you today.”

Ignoring her warning, he stepped close to her and said, “That’s the first time you have ever used my given name.”

India smelled spirits on his breath and pushed him back. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Not much,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Just enough to kill the pain.”

India saw that Quinn’s left arm was not in the sleeve of his topcoat. She stepped forward and pulled it open. His arm hung limply by his side, and his white shirt was soaked with blood. “What happened?”

“I was knifed in the scuffle today. I didn’t know it until I started for home tonight.”

“For the love of God, how could you not know?” she gasped.

Calleigh shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

“Come,” India demanded, pulling him toward the door. “We must get you up to the house.” She scanned the yard before stepping out. She wanted to be sure the servants were asleep. Snuffing the lantern, she guided Quinn up the hill and into the kitchen.

She moved around the room quickly, boiling water, gathering salves and rags for bandages as Quinn sat at the table. His eyes never left her for a moment. He watched her as if he was memorizing her face, her mannerisms and her figure. When she sat down to clean his wound, he jerked away and said, “You’ll not touch me until I have another drink.”

India pursed her lips, stood up, and poured him a whiskey. Again, he watched her closely. “You’re a fine lookin’ woman, Lady Allen.”

India felt her face flush and she said, “What am I thinking giving you more liquor?”

Quinn grinned at her mischievously as she tore his shirt sleeve up to his shoulder.  An ugly gash ran from his elbow down the length of his forearm.

India soaked a rag with a tincture and began to clean the wound. He winced and exclaimed, “Damn it, woman! You’re rough.”

“Shh!” she snapped, looking over her shoulder. “You will wake the servants.”

Quinn continued to grimace, but he allowed her to finish. India wrapped his arm with a clean bandage, sighed, and stood up. Quinn declared, “Oh, look at your gown.”

India had forgotten to put on an apron, and the skirt of her gown was stained with blood. He murmured, staring at her, “I will buy you another.”

India took his arm. “Come, we must get you to bed.”

Just as he stood up, there was banging on the front door. Startled, they looked at each other. Calleigh jerked his head, and they ducked into the sitting room, shutting the door.

“Lady Allen! Wake up!” a man shouted. Others were outside as well.

Quinn and India slipped into the secret chamber. The servants began to stir upstairs.

“Hello in there! You must wake!” the men shouted as they hammered on the door. India knew it was Durham and the other Loyalists coming to warn her that Calleigh was still alive. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her hair and started out to meet them, but Calleigh caught her wrist and whispered, “You cannot go. Look at your gown.”