Chains (7 page)

“Lower your voices,” Lockton said with a scowl. He closed the windows with a loud
bang,
then returned to his seat.

“His Majesty's ships are very close, closer than you know. This rebellion will be smashed like glass under a heavy boot, and the King will be very grateful for our assistance.”

The mention of the King caught my ear. I studied the wide boards on the floor and listened with care.

Goldbuttons popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and talked as he chewed. “I sincerely hope you speak the truth, Elihu. These rebel committees are multiplying faster than rabbits in the spring. They've just about ground business to a halt.”

“Have they interfered with you directly?” Lockton asked.

“Every waking moment,” Goldbuttons said. “The latest bit of nonsense is a Committee to Detect Conspiracies. They've sent the hounds after us, old friend.”

“Have you written to Parliament? They need the specifics of our difficulties.”

“Parliament is as far away as the moon,” complained Inkstained.

As the other men argued about Parliament and letters of protest and counterletters and counter-counterletters, Shabbywig stabbed at the last pieces of tongue on his plate and shoved them into his mouth. He turned in his seat to look at me, held up his plate, and grunted. If I had ever done such a thing, Momma would have switched my behind for having the manners of a pig. Even Miss Mary Finch had asked with a “please” and a “thank you” when Momma served her dinner.

This is New York,
I reminded myself as I crossed the room and took the plate from his hand.
The rules are different.
I loaded his plate down with the last slices of tongue and set it in front of him before retreating to my corner.
Everything is different.

My belly growled and grumbled in its cage. The smell of the tongue and mustard and the cheese filled the room and made my mouth water. I had eaten a bowl of corn mush at sunrise and only dumplings at midday. To distract the beast in my gullet, I tried to read the names of the books on the shelves without turning my head. My eyes were as starved for words as the rest of me was for dinner.

It was hard to read from the side like that. I wanted to pull down a book, open it proper, and gobble up page after page. I wanted to stare into the faces of these men and
demand they take me home. I wanted to jump on the horse in the painting and fly over the hills. Most of all, I wanted to grab my sister by the hand and run as fast as we could until the cobblestones disappeared and there was dirt under our feet again.

“Girl,” Lockton said. “Bring us more bread, sliced thin. And some of Becky's apricot jam. I've missed the taste of that.”

I curtsied and hurried out of the room, leaving the door open a crack so I could easily open it when I came back with my hands full. Across the hall came the quiet conversation of Madam and Lady Seymour. I paused but heard no mention of Ruth.

Shhhhh …

There was fresh bread on the kitchen table, but it took a piece of time to find the crock of jam. I used one of my sharp knives to slice the loaf, set out the slices on a clean plate, and put the plate and jam on a tray. It was taking me too long to finish a simple chore. I feared the master would be angry with me, and I was angry at myself for being afraid.

I was just about to push open the library door with my foot when the master said, “Compliments of His Majesty, gentleman. There's enough money here to bribe half of the rebel army.”

I stopped and peered through the crack.

Madam's linen chest, the one that she had fussed about when we arrived, was in the middle of the library floor, the top thrown open. Underskirts and shifts were heaped on the floor beside it. Lockton reached into the chest and pulled out two handfuls of paper currency.

“Huzzah!” said Inkstained as Goldbuttons let out a low whistle.

“Do you have a man ready?” Lockton asked.

“Two,” Shabbywig answered. “One will operate out of Corby's Tavern, the other from the Highlander.”

“Good.” Lockton crossed back to his desk. I could no longer see him, but his words were clear. “Every man willing to switch sides is to be paid five guineas and two hundred acres of land. If he have a wife, an additional hundred acres. Each child of his blood garners another fifty.”

“Makes me want to marry the next lady I clap eyes on,” Goldbuttons said.

Lockton chuckled.

I gave the door a little push and it swung open. “Sir?” I asked in a hushed tone.

“Enter,” Lockton said.

I walked in. The other men did not look my way. I was invisible to them until they needed something.

“Jam,” he said with a smile. “Put it right here.”

I placed the tray in front of him and took my place again in the corner. The men spread the jam on the bread and drank their wine, discussing politics and war and armies over the stacks of money on my master's desk. The smell of apricots filled the warm room. It put me in mind of the orchards down the road from Miss Mary's place.

I kept my face still as a plaster mask, but inside my brainpan, thoughts chased round and round. By the time the men rose to leave, I knew what I had to do.

THE PEOPLE [OF NEW YORK]–WHY THE PEOPLE ARE MAGNIFICENT; IN THEIR CARRIAGES, WHICH ARE NUMEROUS, IN THEIR HOUSE FURNITURE, WHICH IS FINE, IN THEIR PRIDE AND CONCEIT, WHICH ARE INIMITABLE, IN THEIR PROFANENESS, WHICH IS INTOLERABLE, IN THE WANT OF PRINCIPLE, WHICH IS PREVALENT, AND IN THEIR TORYISM, WHICH IS INSUFFERABLE. –LETTER FROM PATRIOT COLONEL HENRY KNOX TO HIS WIFE, LUCY

Lady Seymour was the first to leave, followed soon after by the gentlemen in the library. Lockton and Madam retired upstairs, releasing Ruth for the evening and leaving me with the cleaning up. For supper we ate the remainders from the plates of Inkstained and Goldbuttons—cold tongue and brown bread. Ruth ate three bites, then laid her head down on the table.

When Becky left for the night, I held my sister's hand and walked her down the steep stairs. Our bed was a thin mattress stuffed with old corn husks in front of the potato bin. I helped her out of her skirt and removed my own.

Just before I blew out the candle I asked, “Why were you crying in the parlor today, before Becky and me came in? Did Madam hurt you?”

Her eyes puddled with tears, and she shook her head from side to side. “No foolin'.”

“Did you play or fuss? Was Madam angry with you? Did she hit you?”

She sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeves of her shift. “Shhh,” she said again.

That wretched woman beat Ruth, I just knew it. She would beat Ruth into total silence if I let her.

I kissed her tears and we knelt to pray. When we finally laid down, my fingers felt along the edge of my blanket, looking for the rip that Momma had sewed up with tiny feather stitches. She wouldn't let anyone hurt her children.

“Where's my baby?” Ruth muttered, half-asleep. She asked this every night.

“That bad man stole your doll baby,” I reminded her. “The skinny one who stole us. He took everything.”

“Everything?”

I hugged her close. “Almost everything. But I'll get it back. Don't worry. Just go to sleep.”

“I can't sleep without my baby.” There was a stubborn note in her voice.

“I'll make you another doll, I promise, but not tonight. Want me to sing to you?”

I didn't wait for an answer, but started in on an island lullaby that Momma had loved. Ruth lay quiet, her breath steady and slow. By the time the song was over, she was fast asleep.

I waited a full hour, until the clock struck eleven, then slipped out from under the blanket and put my skirt back on. I did not stuff my feet into my shoes. I'd be faster and quieter without them.

I climbed up the cellar stairs, freezing with every groan of the old wood.
If Madam or Lockton come across me, I'll say I'm on my way to the privy.
They couldn't be angry about that. A body must follow the call of nature, even in the dead of the night.

The kitchen was so dark I walked slowly, my hands feeling in front of me so I wouldn't bump into the table or knock over a pitcher on the sideboard. I paused at the back door. The sound of Lockton's snoring came from above, like faraway thunder.
I'm on my way to the privy,
I reminded myself.
No harm in that.
I carefully opened the door and stepped outside.

The night air was crisp and smelled faintly of salt. I tiptoed down the back steps and flew past the privy and around the side of the house to the gate, which hid in shadows. My heart pounded so loud I felt sure it would wake the entire street.

I had only to open the gate latch and step out.

My hand would not move.

If I opened the gate, I would be a criminal. Slaves were not allowed out after sunset without a pass from a master. Anyone who caught me could take me to the jail. If I opened the gate, a judge could order me flogged. If I opened the gate, there was no telling what punishment Madam would demand.

If I opened the gate, I might die of fright.

I leaned my head against the gate. I could not open the gate, but I had to open the gate. This house was not a safe place. I had to get us out. But there was no way to get out, no way to run away off an island, no way to run with a little girl. The secret of Madam's linen chest was the only key I held.

Watch over me, Momma.

I opened the latch, slipped out the gate, and ran.

*   *   *

I thought it would be easy. I would run straight to the shed behind Bellingham's house, tap on Curzon's window, tell him the news, and hurry home. It was nighttime, after all, and folks would be asleep.

Not in New York. Not in a city occupied by the Continental army.

At the end of the block there were soldiers on watch in front of City Hall; a dozen or so men standing around a campfire, with more dozing on the ground. One man was trying to read a letter by the firelight, another was roasting a small piece of meat at the end of a stick. Their guns were close to hand. I crept as close as I dared, but there was no way to sneak past them. I swallowed hard and turned around to head east, away from the firelight.

The next corner was dark and lonesome. I turned south, then west again, then was forced north for three blocks by loud soldiers spilling out of taverns. The crowded buildings confuddled me. I tried to be brave like Momma or Queen Esther in the Bible, but I just knew there were hobgoblins awalking in the dark, looking to steal the breath from a girl's body.

I hid when I heard voices and when a horseman galloped down the middle of the street. The horse's hooves sparked off the cobblestones and sounded like a hammer striking a forge. I chased up and down streets and alleys, sticking to the shadows and shying away from the flickering streetlamps. I ran.

Finally the street emptied out onto a wharf. I had reached one of the two rivers that sheltered New York Island, but I couldn't tell if I was looking at the East River or the North. I ventured out farther into the street. Relaxed men told loud
jokes to each other on the waterfront, a tin whistle played, and a small dog yipped. The masts of ships grew thicker to my right. That was my heading.

The shapes of the buildings and the outline of the wharves soon became familiar. There was the dock the
Hartshorn
had tied to, and there was Bellingham's building. I snuck down the alley to the shed window that Curzon described.

This was the end of my quest. I took a deep breath, said a prayer, and rapped on the glass.

Nothing happened.

I started to rap again, then stopped.
What if this is the wrong window, the wrong house? What if the person within thinks me a thief in the night or a murderess? What if—?

“Country?”

A puzzled voice called to me from the shadows of the back end of a tavern, a few buildings down. Every window in the tavern was lit up, and the air loud with the angry shouts of men deep in argument.

“Are you speaking to me?” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

“What are you doing here?” Curzon stepped out of the shadows and motioned for me to join him.

I dashed toward him, keeping to the edge of the tavern candlelight. “I have news.”

“Of Lockton?”

“And more.” I quickly told him everything I had seen and heard.

“Is the money still there?” he finally asked.

“A portion,” I said. “The gentlemen took some with them, but Lockton placed the rest back in the chest. Then I was sent to fetch more wine. The chest was gone by my return.”

He nodded gravely.

“Will this be enough to send us home?” I asked. “Can they get us on a ship tomorrow? I can have Ruth at the docks by sunup.”

He raised both of his hands. “Go home and sleep, I'll take your news to Master Bellingham. I expect the Committee will visit Lockton tomorrow. Whatever you do, don't let on that you were the informant.”

“Why not?” I asked. “How else can I claim what's mine?”

“The colonel will know who you are and how to find you. Until you hear from him, you're just the new Lockton girl.”

“But not for long,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

“Not for long,” he agreed. “Go home now.”

I hesitated. “I don't know how. I got lost coming here.”

He chuckled softly. “It's easy enough once you know the way.” He gave me the directions.

“Thank you,” I said, picking up my skirts. “Thank you for everything.”

“Go quick.” When I was halfway up the alley, he called after me. “Ho there, Country.”

“What?”

“Well done.”

THERE IS NOTHING MORE NECESSARY THAN GOOD INTELLIGENCE TO FRUSTRATE A DESIGNING ENEMY, & NOTHING REQUIRES GREATER PAINS TO OBTAIN. –LETTER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON TO ROBERT MORRIS