The Sword of the Banshee (38 page)

Quinn looked up from eating, his spoon in mid-air, as if waking from a dream. “The British deliberately stripped the land and the farms around Philadelphia before they occupied the city to reduce us to this. What little food there is, the farmers hide for themselves. They too are starving. If there is any surplus, they sell it to the British for gold. Continental currency is worthless.”

“Can nothing be brought in by the Congress?”

“They are a disorganized mess,” Quinn said, pulling a plate of latkes over as Mrs. Singer poured ale in a tankard for him. “If I had a potato for every committee they have, I could feed the army.”

“How many men are at Valley Forge?”

“Twelve thousand, but many have deserted or died. Disease has taken its toll; typhoid, the flux, and small pox.”

Calleigh sighed and slumped back in his chair, his belly at last full. “Can you help us? We need food and tools to build shelters. We are most desperate, anything will help.” He paused to catch his breath. He was weak. “But Mrs. Singer, before you and Malachi agree, you must know such a delivery will be dangerous.”

“I speak for Malachi,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Ya, we will help. There is no question. Now,” she said sternly. “I get water for a bath and fresh clothing. You stay as long as you like.”

“My thanks, but I can stay only one night. Tomorrow I see Mrs. Ashton. We will have her leak information that Washington’s troops have obtained ample supplies and are back to full strength. The General has instructed me to say we are forty thousand strong,” He chuckled cynically. “If only it were true.”

Mrs. Singer dried her hands on a towel and said, “Not a month ago we gave Lady Allen and the boy shelter.”

Quinn looked at her sharply. “They were here less than a month ago?”

“Ya, with Mrs. Dupuis of Pegg’s Run. They were hiding from that dreadful husband of hers. There had been trouble, and she was leaving with Lady Allen. There were delays to their voyage, and they stayed in hiding with us several weeks. Malachi saw them safely on board the ship for Charleston.”

Quinn, slumped back in his chair again, sighed and closed his eyes, grateful for some good news at last.

*           *            *

India looked at the quayside of Charleston. It closely resembled the docks of Philadelphia; it was busy, dirty and dangerous. It was lined with deteriorating warehouses leaning precariously on their foundations; sailors loitered in doorways, picking their teeth or smoking, and seagulls picked at refuse. A man without legs sat on a barrel playing a fiddle. The aroma of fresh bread wafted from a baker’s cart punctuated with the odor of decaying fish and vomit. It was a wharf like any other in the New World with one exception; the port of Charleston was the largest point of entry for the slave trade in the American Colonies. The predominant cargo of the port was human.

Africans filed off the ships in heavy iron chains, their bodies slick with sweat and grime, their ragged clothing hanging on their cadaverous frames. Burly white men armed with whips and bludgeons stood guard and barked orders, their thick arms crossed over their broad chests as they glared at the captives. Dandies sitting in carriages eyed the human cargo as they lined up, appraising each one for purchase as they headed toward the auction block.

Phineas stood watching with his mouth agape. India grabbed his arm and pulled him away. When they found a quiet spot, she reached into her pocket and read the note Ian had given her from Maxwell the day she left the Valley. It was a cordial letter from the General, written from a gentleman to a lady. He told India that they should wait at the quayside where the Hennessey twins of Charleston would escort them home. The pair would meet them at the docks and they would be under their protection the whole time they were in South Carolina. Maxwell informed India that the Hennesseys were, in his estimation, the most dangerous yet capable patriots in the entire Continental Army.

“What do these men look like?” Lucretia asked, dropping the hood of her traveling cloak and looking around.

India frowned and shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

Phineas was growing bored and sat down on the dock, taking a toy top out of his pack. He had received it that morning from a sailor on board ship, and he was learning how to use it.

India and Lucretia watched him try unsuccessfully to spin the top as the crowd on the quay marched past. Suddenly, an older woman stepped up to the boy. Her dress was disheveled, and her gray hair tangled and wild. She was accompanied by five canines of different shapes and sizes that proceeded to jump all over Phineas. The dogs licked his face affectionately and crowded him for attention. He laughed and hugged them.

Paying no attention, the old woman clapped her hands and exclaimed, “A peg top!” She dropped to her knees and picked up the toy, quickly wrapping the string around it. Then, with the snap of her wrist, she sent the top spinning and whirring in tight circles across the dock.

“How did you do that?” Phineas cried, as the dogs kissed his face.

The woman did not answer him, but mumbled instead, “My, my, my, quite pleased, quite pleased indeed.”

Then as if she had just remembered something, she stood up abruptly, looked at India and announced, “How do you do, Lady Allen. My name is Penelope Hennessey.”

India and Lucretia’s jaws dropped simultaneously.

Before they could respond, the woman turned to Phineas and drawled, “Do you like fritters? We call them hush puppies here in Charleston. My sister is at home making some right now. Let’s you and I go home.”

She grabbed Phineas’ hand, and they started down the quay toward an open carriage waiting on the cobblestone street. Thunderstruck, Lucretia and India exchanged looks and followed. A rickety carriage called a landau was waiting nearby, driven by an elderly black man in shabby livery. Penelope Hennessey climbed in and sat on one side with Phineas as Lucretia and India sat down in the opposite seat. The driver swung the door shut, pulled himself laboriously onto the driver’s seat, and snapped the reins. India put her head back and sighed. The breeze from the open carriage felt refreshing after the stifling sea voyage.

“We are so excited that you are here!” Penelope said to Phineas as they rolled through town. “I have so much to show you.”

She turned to Lucretia and declared, “And my sister, Prudence said
you
were coming. She could feel it.”

Lucretia’s eyebrows shot up. India turned and looked at her, but Lucretia shook her head and shrugged.

“Oh, there is the auction block--” Penelope exclaimed her with her voice sounding ominous. She pointed at the slaves lining up before a wooden platform. “But don’t look! We
always
look the other way when we pass it. We don’t like it. Prudence freed all our darkies years ago. The spirits told her it was the right thing to do.”

They rolled past rows of shops and residences in downtown Charleston. They were built in the Georgian style, straight and symmetrical with Greco-Roman facades and lined with brick walkways. Although the architecture was similar to Philadelphia, the landscape was quite different in South Carolina. Palmetto trees were everywhere as well as magnolias and cypress dripping with Spanish moss. The surroundings were lush and thick with humidity, even though it was December.

At last, India’s curiosity was too much for her. She was anxious to get on with her new assignment and meet the Hennessey men. “Mrs. Hennessey, will your husband be--”

“No, no,” corrected Penelope. “Neither my sister or I are married.”

India stared at her a moment, nonplussed. “You mean--are you--?” and she hesitated a moment, trying to find her voice. She asked doubtfully, “Miss Hennessey, are you even acquainted with General Maxwell?”

“General Maxwell? Of course, of course, a lovely man,” she drawled with a far-away look in her eyes.

India looked at Lucretia then leaned back in her seat and stared at the landscape. She decided to wait and see if Prudence Hennessey had more coherent information for her.

The driver followed a road out of town along a river. The setting sun cast a golden glow on the rippling water traveling out to the sea. Miss Hennessey informed them that this was the Ashley River. The waterway was lined with rice and indigo plantations, palatial estates which, in some ways, reminded India of the large properties of Ireland, worked here by African slaves instead of Irish tenants.

The sun had set when they reached the Hennessey plantation, and it was almost dark. When they turned up the long driveway, lined with oaks, cypress, and azaleas, they saw a large shadowy structure with several candles winking in the windows.

As they approached, it became apparent that the home had been, at one time, a grand residence, but now, it was sadly neglected and deteriorated. The wood siding was in need of paint and the landscape was overgrown and thick with Spanish moss. The front steps were sagging, and the outbuildings were caved in and rotting. Crooked mullioned French doors lined the lower level topped by a shabby balcony which was supported by white pillars. The gallery wrapped around the entire house. The home had been a
grand dame
once, but now it was a monument to faded glory.

Miss Hennessey leaned forward. “Welcome to our home,” she said proudly.

India smiled, but it faded when she saw Prudence Hennessey waving from the front steps. She was identical to Penelope in every way, except she wore the hooded robe of a diviner.

Penelope stood up before the carriage stopped and called to her sister, “They are here! And they are even more than we expected!”

Lucretia leaned over to India and mumbled, “So are they.”

*           *            *

After introductions, Prudence Hennessey gave India and Lucretia a tour of the grand old house. Phineas went outside to the kitchen with Penelope and the dogs. Prudence explained that when her grandparents built the home many years ago, they had the kitchen placed in a different building to keep the main house cool.

“Everyone does it this way here,” she drawled, pushing her wispy white hair off her forehead. “The summers are unbearably hot in the Carolinas.”

Prudence explained that the estate had, at one time, been a thriving indigo plantation. She would glide from room to room, her green robe trailing behind her, sweeping her arms out dramatically as she explained the furnishings and use of each chamber. It was apparent she loved the home dearly.

The house was as neglected inside as out. Every room was dark and musty. Heavy drapes, thick with dust, covered the windows. The furniture, of high quality at one time, was now covered with debris from the crumbling ceilings and mouse droppings. Gilded mirrors, which had once reflected gracious ladies in elegant gowns and white-wigged gentlemen in velvet suits, were now useless wall hangings.

Prudence chattered the entire time, sharing details about each room and the history behind everything. “You will notice the architecture has a French influence. My grandmother was French. A great deal of them settled in Charleston, you know.”

They came to the last room on the main floor which was, by far, the most grand of all. It was the ballroom and the largest and most elegant room of the house. Yet because of neglect, it too was decaying and it had a melancholy, ghostly atmosphere. Although the furniture was covered to preserve the upholstery, the coverlets were yellow with age. The room was dark and smelled of mildew and rotting floorboards. Cobwebs drooped from the ceiling, catching in India’s hair.

Prudence didn’t seem to notice. “Every Christmas Eve when we were children, my parents would have the darkies move all the furniture against the walls, and we would host a ball for everyone. It was the social event of the season,” she said with her eyes glazing over. She pointed up to a crystal and gold chandelier, crisscrossed with spider webs. “They would lower this, decorate it with ivy and magnolias then set the bayberry candles ablaze. After that, Papa would throw the Yule log on the fire signaling the opening the ball and the musicians would begin to play.”

Prudence stared for a long time, lost in her memories while India and Lucretia brushed cobwebs aside. Suddenly, she jerked back to reality and looked at them. “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she drawled. “It
does
seem like yesterday, and I
do
miss them all so very much.” She wiped a tear from her eye and started down the hall.

“This is a large estate, Miss Hennessey,” Lucretia said. “Do you and your sister have any help?”

“Oh yes! We have Tobias. He maintains the home and gardens. He is our most faithful servant. Didn’t you notice him? He is there,” and she pointed to a dark corner of the hall by the front door. An emaciated old black man on a stool was leaning back against the wall, fast asleep with his mouth open.

Lucretia looked at India, stifling a smile.

“Now,” ordered Prudence. “Upstairs you two. You must be exhausted.” Prudence showed them to their rooms encouraging Lucretia to join her later for a salt and rose petal reading.

Although India’s bedchamber was as dusty and neglected as the other rooms, she was grateful to see that the ceiling, wainscoting and floors were in passable condition. She decided to clean it first thing in the morning. Examining the green duvet on the large bed, she was relieved to see that the bedding was fresh. Next she pulled back the drapes which showered her with dust. Brushing her shoulders, she started to sneeze. Quickly she threw open the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. The gallery wrapped entirely around the house with each bedchamber having access through French doors. India walked along the railing and gazed out across the lawns, heavy with mist in the moonlight. The trees had a mysterious and eerie presence, draped in Spanish moss with gnarly roots bulging out of the ground. A small lake on the property reflected moonlight, and she spied a white arbor, covered in vines near the shore with a stone seat underneath. Barely visible in the distance was the Ashley River.