Midnight (2 page)

“I can’t say, but he’d be someone to speak with about it. Your father trusted him.” Arte peered over at the weary Nick as if trying to see what he might be thinking, then added, “You look dead on your feet. We have room if you want to sleep here tonight. Your house has to be freezing after being empty these past few months.”

“Thank you. I accept.”

“It’s good to have you back, Nick.”

Nick nodded. “Thanks for all you’ve done.”

“It’s what a man does for his friend.”

T
he following morning, Nick thanked Arte and his wife, Bekkah, for their hospitality, and after promising to stop back later, he went home, saddled his horse, and rode into Boston to visit his father’s grave.

The city of Boston was named after a town in England’s Lincolnshire County. Colonial Boston was the capital of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Following the end of the Seven Years’ War in 1763, it stood as the wealthiest and most influential city in the colonies. Its deep harbor and favorable geographic placement also made it the busiest colonial seaport; a remarkable accomplishment considering the city was founded by one man.

From his days at school, Nick knew that the man was William Blackston or Blaxton, depending on which records were consulted, and in 1625 he had lived alone on the open grassy plain known to present-day citizens as the Boston Commons. When other Europeans arrived in 1636, they purchased hundreds of acres of land from him, which no doubt surprised the native population, who’d had no idea Blackston owned the land they and their ancestors had lived on for centuries.

They city was much more built up than it had been during Nick’s youth. The winding narrow streets were now filled with a bevy of taverns, shops, and homes; some were familiar, others not. He saw soldiers everywhere. Their bloodred uniforms made them stand out like wounds against the drab earth tones worn by the citizens, and according to Arte, Gage’s troops were considered just that.

While riding Nick avoided eye contact with those he passed and skirted the soldiers as best he could. He had no desire to call attention to himself. Having spent most of his adult life among cutthroats, smugglers, pirates and other ne’er-do-wells, he prized anonymity. Copp’s Hill Burying Ground was on the north end of the city where the small but thriving free Black community had established itself.

He and his father had made yearly trips to Adeline’s grave, so Nick had little difficulty finding it. The familiar weathered headstone with its angel wings framing Adeline’s name, years of birth and death, stood next to a brand-new stone that bore Primus’s name. It was stark and devoid of ornamentation, but rose from the earth with a pride that denoted the man interred beneath. Nick’s heart tightened in his chest. Grief tinted with anger filled him in much the same way that the brisk wind of the cold spring day filled the air. Guilt plagued him as well, and again he wondered if Primus’s fate would have been different had he returned home sooner. He set the thoughts aside and said aloud, “I’m sorry, Father. Sorry for the years we spent apart. Sorry for the rift between us. Sorry that I’ll never see you again.”

The only reply was the wind. Nick looked out over the peaceful burial ground and fought to keep his emotions in check. He could not bring his father back to life but he vowed to find the person responsible for betraying him, and afterwards, maybe he could find peace.

Nick bade his parents a solemn and silent farewell, and after mounting his horse rode off to pay a visit to Prince Hall.

Nick found him at his home above the leather shop he owned, and after he introduced himself, the two men spent an hour or so discussing the events unfolding in Boston. As Artemis had said, Prince was open about his support for the rebels, mainly because he and the nation’s other Blacks, both loyalist and non, were hoping the end of slavery would be one of the issues dealt with should the colonists prevail. In the discussion concerning his father, Prince had an interesting theory.

“I’m not one to pass along rumors, or to malign the innocent, but it is said that Stuart Kingston reports what he hears to the British. General Gage and his officers meet regularly at his inn, and Kingston refuses to support the ongoing boycott of crown goods that most residents have embraced. Do you know him?”

“Yes. He and my father were enemies when I was younger.”

“I’ve only known him a few years. Vain as a peacock and as bullheaded as King George. I knew Kingston and your father didn’t get along, but to betray him? To turn him in to the British? It’s unconscionable if the rumors are true.”

Nicholas agreed and also wondered if the rumors were true.

“And I will tell you this. Even though Kingston and I are Masons and lodge brothers, I can’t bring myself to trust him.”

Nicholas was grateful for Prince’s honesty, but he was admittedly surprised to hear that his father and Kingston had continued their feuding. Nick had no idea why the two had been at odds for so many years. It was not something his father had ever discussed, but had Kingston hated him enough to turn him in to the British? “What do you know about Lady Midnight?”

Hall paused and studied Nicholas silently before asking, “Why?”

Nicholas told him what Primus had revealed to Artemis after his arrest.

“I’d not heard of her visit to him that night, nor do I know her identity.”

Nick studied him in turn. “And my being a stranger, you wouldn’t tell me if you did, would you?”

Hall smiled. “I can tell you are Primus’s son. That’s the type of pointed question he’d ask. So my response is: I’ve told you what I know.”

“An answer my father would have heartily approved of, I’m sure.” Nick found that he liked Hall.

“These are serious times. One must be careful. You are Primus’s son, and by all rights my trust in you should be strong, but the war has divided many families against each other. Even Ben Franklin’s son has been found spying on him for the crown. We’ve learned not to take anything or anyone for granted.”

“A wise policy.”

“However, Kingston is sponsoring a small feast for our newly established Masons’ lodge. Would you like to come along as my guest?”

“I would. Seeing him again might help me gauge how true the rumors might be about his involvement.”

“Good. We’ll leave shortly.”

Chapter 2

F
aith was running from pillar to post getting everything ready for the afternoon’s gathering. After her usual predawn chores, she’d spent the day cooking the hens, preparing the winter vegetables, and making the bread her father and his friends would consume at the meal. Two long trestle tables had been moved into the cellar room to accommodate the attendees. Her father and fourteen other free Black men had been initiated into the mysterious organization known as the Masons, and a reception honoring their achievement was going to be held at the inn. Early afternoon had been chosen as the time for the affair in response to the presence of the British troops. No one, not even the loyalists, wanted to travel after dark and maybe be subjected to the redcoats’ patrols. The newly commissioned Masons had been sworn in by a Masonic lodge within the British forces, and according to her father, he and his friends were the first Blacks to be inducted anywhere in the world. Although Faith didn’t care for the soldiers, not even she was able to fault them for this singular first.

Faith had no idea what being a member entailed. It was an esoteric organization that on the surface supported charitable works but underneath was filled with mysterious rituals and lore. She did know that being a Mason made her father tremendously proud, especially being one of the first men of the race to ever be accepted, and she was happy for him.

As she set out plates and cutlery, she wondered if Primus Grey would have been a part of the historic group had he lived. Her heart still grieved at his passing. Although her father had never gotten along with Primus, Faith missed him as a friend and as a presence in the community. He’d been one of the area’s most respected free Blacks, and always did his part to better conditions for people of color in and around Boston, whether they be Black, mulatto, or a member of the native tribes. Primus, and other men like Prince Hall, had regularly petitioned colonial governor Hutchinson to ban the importation of slavery, and had presented numerous other petitions directed at lifting some of the more noxious codes and restrictions aimed at the race. Granted, they’d been only moderately successful, but because of their fervent agitation, the Massachusetts Bay Colony was inching towards equality in ways other colonies like those in the South were not.

However, due to someone’s treachery, Primus had been ripped from their lives, first by the British and then by death. He’d deserved better.

Faith was awaiting the arrival of her neighbor, the widow Blythe Lawson, who made the best trifle in Boston. Blythe was a free Black woman who owned property both in and around Boston. Under the auspices of what the colonists were calling the Intolerable Acts, a cadre of British officers had taken over one of her boardinghouses, but due to the law didn’t have to pay her any compensation. She hated the British, too.

She arrived a short while later. Dressed in a voluminous cape that bore signs of the rainy day, she entered on a gust of wind lugging a large Dutch oven that Faith assumed held the luncheon’s dessert.

“Let me help you with that,” Faith said, hastily moving to assist her.

The beautiful older woman gladly turned over the burden. “I have more on the wagon.”

Faith set the oven holding the trifle in the kitchen, then went with her back out into the raw weather and returned bearing another oven and a pot of blanched winter vegetables.

Once everything was in the kitchen, she and Blythe stood in front of the big fire to warm up.

“Awful day,” Blythe declared.

Faith agreed and rubbed her hands together to try and rid them of the chill.

Once the women were thawed out, Blythe removed her cloak, and Faith said quietly, “There are three new generals arriving, along with an influx of new soldiers.”

Blythe looked up with surprise. “When?”

“By May.”

Dismay showed on Blythe’s light brown face before she calmed her features and remarked, “I’m certain someone will find that news of interest.”

“I agree.”

They said no more.

The guests began arriving at the appointed time. While she and Blythe moved about the cellar room placing platters of food on the tables, the fourteen men conversed. Stuart Kingston was in his element. He’d always enjoyed being the center of attention, and was moving through the gathering as if he were the only honoree. Even though he was attempting to take credit for being the person responsible for their induction, everyone knew that Prince Hall had been the engine.

He boasted self-importantly, “Had it not been for my close relationship with General Gage, the Masons might not have looked so favorably upon our petitions.”

Faith saw the displeasure on the faces of some of the other men at his declaration and hoped her father did, too. For all his posturing, he wasn’t well liked by his peers because he was often abrasive and unthinking. His unwavering support for the King was mirrored by other free Black loyalists, but none went so far as to publicly condemn the rebels’ cause, especially if that cause resulted in the end of slavery.

Faith saw Prince Hall enter. With Primus’s untimely death, Hall would likely inherit the mantle of leadership for their community, and she expected him to lead well. She didn’t know the man who’d entered with Hall, however, even though his face seemed somewhat familiar. Where Prince was slight and short, his companion was tall and well built. Dressed in the standard breeches, waistcoat, and snowy cravat of the day, he was extremely handsome, and the clothes looked well made, but she noted a decided coolness in his dark gaze as it slowly swept the room. When that gaze rested on hers, it stopped. For a timeless moment she felt herself ensnared, caught like prey before a hawk. When his eyes finally left hers and moved on, she exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.

From across the table, Blythe remarked quietly, “Handsome devil, isn’t he?”

“Who is he?”

“Primus’s son, Nicholas.”

Surprised, Faith turned back to view him again. She now understood why his features seemed familiar. He favored his father a great deal. “I remember him vaguely.”

“You were young when he last lived here. I’d say he’s about a decade older.”

“Primus never mentioned him, at least not to me.”

“They had a falling out when Nicholas chose to support the French during the war.”

Faith found that interesting. Also interesting was her father’s reaction. When Prince Hall introduced him, her father declared angrily, “Why would you think you’d be welcome here?”

She and Blythe shared a speaking look. Blythe sighed and shook her head.

Stuart continued, “Your father and I never shared more than two words. Neither of them friendly.”

Grey answered, “I didn’t realize your quarrel was with me also. I’ll leave.”

Apparently the censure on the faces of the other men made her father rethink his rude behavior because he said hastily, “You are correct, the rancor existed between Primus and me. Welcome to my establishment.”

Faith breathed a sigh of relief. Blythe reacted by shaking her head once more. For many years Faith had wondered about the cause of the bad blood between her father and Primus, but because her father refused to discuss the matter, the answer remained unknown. For all her father’s ire, Grey looked unmoved by the show of temper, leading her to wonder how the rest of the afternoon might play out. Knowing she had work to do, though, she left more food, and Blythe followed.

Seated beside Prince Hall at one of the tables, Nicholas silently observed the men around him while listening to their conversation. He knew only a few of them and planned to talk to them about his father’s arrest, but for the moment it was Kingston he was most interested in. The vehement reaction to his arrival should have been expected considering the long-running feud. How the two men had gone from being the best of friends upon arriving in the colonies before Nick’s birth, to anger and Kingston’s alleged betrayal, was beyond him, but apparently the bad feelings lived on even in the face of Primus’s death.

Nick remembered Kingston as being a blowhard, and that hadn’t changed, either. All the man seemed able to talk about was himself and his so-called close and personal relationship with General Gage. No one seemed impressed, especially not Nicholas.

“According to the general, the rebels will be soundly defeated. Britain has conquered far more superior opposition.” Pointing his tankard of ale for emphasis, he added smugly, “We all know what happened with the French and their savage allies.”

Nicholas’s jaw tightened. It was the savage behavior of the British that had caused him to turn his back on England and the crown.

Hall, who’d been listening silently, too, asked, “So you give the rebels no chance?”

“Mr. Hall, I know you’ve been misled to believe there is one, but seriously now. A motley band of farmers is not going to win the day.”

“Suppose they do,” asked George Middleton, one of Primus’s old friends.

“There’ll be chaos. Utter chaos. Who would govern? Hancock? Sam Adams? Esteemed men in their own minds but not in mine.”

“Surely you support gradual emancipation though?” a man seated across the table asked.

Nicholas knew that the emancipation of the colonies’ slaves was a hotly contested subject, especially in the South, where many of the men agitating for freedom from the British were in fact slaveholders.

“I am, but gradually.”

A man seated across from Nicholas remarked, “There’s been much ado over the Somerset decision. Maybe slavery will end during our lifetime.”

Some of his fellows nodded in agreement but others remained skeptical.

The decision involved a slave named Somerset, who’d petitioned the British courts to overturn his lifelong bondage. The 1772 case, known to the world as
Somerset v. Stewart
, caused a tremendous stir when Britain’s highest justice, William Lord Mansfield, ruled that slavery was not only too odious to be defended, but that the air of England was too free for a slave to breathe. As a result, Mansfield ruled in Somerset’s favor and debate continued to rage over how the ruling would be interpreted in light of all the slaves held by Englishmen. Blacks in the colonies both slave and free were following the debate closely.

“No man should be a slave,” Stuart Kingston, a former slave himself, added, and it was the one thing the man uttered that Nicholas agreed with.

The woman Nicholas had seen earlier with Blythe Lawson entered the room to replenish some of the platters. She was a comely, raven-eyed beauty. She met his eyes briefly and went about her task. He wondered who she was.

The mystery surrounding her identity was soon solved when Kingston asked her, “What’s for dessert, daughter?”

Nicholas was surprised. He remembered Kingston having a daughter but had little memory of her appearance other than that she was younger. Who knew such a toadlike man could be the father of someone so lovely?

“Trifle, courtesy of Blythe,” she offered, smiling.

“Then let’s have some.”

As she left the room, Nicholas watched her exit and found her father’s disapproving face on his when he turned back.

“She’s not for you, Mr. Grey,” Kingston stated.

“Nor am I for her, sir.”

Someone coughed as if to hide his reaction to Nick’s blunt reply.

Nick held Kingston’s glowering glare easily until the man finally turned away.

The daughter soon returned carrying a tray holding plates of trifle. While she served, her father asked Nicholas, “So what brings you back to Boston, Mr. Grey?”

“This is my home, as you well know, and I’d hoped to see my father.”

All of the men offered their condolences, and Nicholas accepted them graciously.

“Had he not been taken in by the rebels, he’d be alive today,” Kingston pointed out.

“Had he not been betrayed, he’d be alive today,” Nick countered. “But I will find the culprit.”

Kingston dropped his spoon. After retrieving it with a self-deprecating grin, he asked, “How do you know he was betrayed? The British are smart enough to know who’s aiding the rebels without a Judas.”

Hall drawled, “You’re right. Who needs a Judas when you can rely on spies and rumor?”

Kingston waved him off. “Hubris brought Primus down. Nothing more.”

“Hubris?” Nick echoed coldly. Was it his imagination, or had Kingston appeared rattled a moment ago? He searched Kingston’s face.

Faith wanted to tell her father to hush and eat his trifle. Everyone could see the danger in Grey’s hard eyes, but Stuart was too busy being right to notice. Or maybe he simply didn’t care. “Father, it’s ungodly to disparage the dead.”

“Go back to the kitchen, girl. This does not concern you.”

Tight-lipped and embarrassed, she nodded and left him to the gathering storm.

Nicholas didn’t care for the dismissive way he’d ordered his daughter out, but since he was not her champion nor had any plans to be, he returned to the topic at hand. “Kingston, whatever you may think of my father’s so-called failings, I will find the Judas and deal with him.”

“If there is one,” Kingston said. “Were I you, I’d be more concerned with my own fate. Didn’t you go over to the French during the war?”