The Forbidden Lady (20 page)

Friday, February 2, 1770

“A
re all the servants gone?” Virginia asked.

“They should be.” Quin escorted her and Josiah into their old home after a month at sea. They had arrived in Boston that morning and had returned to the house to gather the belongings they had left. The owners of the house were eager to rent it out again.

Quin opened the door to the study. “Josiah, run up to the servants’ floor and make sure they’ve moved out.”

“Aye, Uncle Quin.” Josiah grinned and scampered up the stairs.

Quin turned to Virginia. “Uncle Quin?”

She smiled. “I suggested on board
The Wedded Lady
that he call me Aunt Ginny. The Uncle Quin part was his idea.”

“I’m still his master. I cannot have the boy thinking he doesn’t have to mind me.”

She sighed. “Has it occurred to you that he might mind you because he loves you? You’re his hero.”

Quin hooked a finger in his neckcloth to loosen it. “I . . . we have work to do.”

He pivoted on his heel and stalked into the study, straight for the secretaire.
Uncle Quin
. Of all the ridiculous names. He jerked open the desk drawers, searching for anything that was his. Everything that pertained to his life as a spy had long ago been burned. He stacked his books into a cloth sack.

Virginia handed him a few skeins of knitting wool rolled into balls. “Who actually owns this house?”

“The Higgenbottoms.” Quin dropped the yarn into his bag. “ ’Twas their home before Mrs. Higgenbottom decided it was too small and the furnishings too plain.”

“Oh, so Priscilla lived here as a child.”

“Aye, I suppose.” Quin spotted some movement in the hall. “Josiah, is that you?” He strode into the hall as two figures dashed for the front door.

Samuel ran out the door, and his mother shut it behind him.

“Mrs. Millstead? Why are you here?”

The cook nervously wrung her hands. “I . . . we was living upstairs to keep an eye on the place for the Higgenbottoms. We heard ye come in and thought we’d make sure ye’re weren’t no burglars.”

Quin swung the cloth sack over his shoulder. “We’re gathering our possessions. Where was Samuel going?”

“Oh, he—” She gulped and twisted her apron in her hands. “The thing is, Mr. Stanton, we ain’t been paid for this last month.”

“You should see my uncle about the matter, though I doubt you worked very hard with us gone.”

“We were waiting on his lordship ’til he left.”

“My brother left?”

“I, well, he ain’t living here.” Mrs. Millstead glanced over her shoulder at the front door.

Quin stepped toward her. “He’s still in Boston?”

“I don’t know nuthin’.” Mrs. Millstead darted past him to the back of the house. The back door slammed, echoing through the cold, empty house.

Virginia approached him, frowning. “Mrs. Millstead behaved so strangely.”

“Aye.” Quin started up the stairs to fetch the expensive clothes he had left. He paused. Something wasn’t right. “I think we should leave.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.” He yelled for Josiah to come down.

The clattering sound of horseshoes on cobblestones echoed in the street.

Quin gripped the banister. “Ginny, leave out the back. Head straight to Edward’s. I’ll find Josiah and meet you.”

Her face paled. “I don’t want to leave you.”

The front door burst open as a dozen redcoats marched in, carrying muskets. Colonel Farley entered after them.

Virginia gasped and stepped back.

Quin descended the stairs at a leisurely pace. He hoped his calm demeanor appeared genuine. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I say, dear Colonel, what a smashing surprise.” He reached the ground floor and dropped his sack on the floor. “Such a delight to see you again.” He swept his tricorne off his head and made a leg.

Lifting his chin, the colonel narrowed his eyes. “We’ve been waiting for you to return to Boston, Mr. Stanton.”

Quin set his hat back on. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you planning to rent this house next?”

“You will remain here while my men search the house.” Colonel Farley motioned to the soldiers. One soldier headed for the study, while four more bolted up the stairs.

“What a curious homecoming.” Quin brushed imaginary lint off his sleeve, feigning nonchalance while he tried to figure what these men could be looking for.

Colonel Farley grabbed the cloth bag and emptied the contents on the floor. The balls of wool unrolled across the floor.

Did they know he was a spy?
Quin forced a smile. “Ah, you caught me. I’ve been knitting naughty things.”

The colonel flung the cloth bag on the floor. “You know very well what evidence we seek.”

“I assure you, I have no idea what you seek.” Quin ambled toward Virginia. Noting her pale face, he took her hand.

The soldier who had examined the study brushed past them. Quin felt Ginny flinch and tightened his grip.

“There’s nothing in the study, sir,” the soldier reported.

The colonel nodded. “We’ll find it.”

A yell from upstairs sounded. The four soldiers bounded down the stairs, their boots pounding on the steps.

“We found it, sir.” A redcoat handed a small item to the colonel. “ ’Twas in his clothespress.”

“An emerald ring.” Colonel Farley held the piece of jewelry up to catch the light. “I believe Mrs. Ashford will be able to identify this as the one stolen from her by the Boston Burglar.”

Quin blinked, caught off guard. “You cannot possibly believe that I—”

The colonel interrupted, “I know for a fact that you were present at each place a robbery occurred.”

“So were many people.”

Colonel Farley continued, “I know that the robberies ceased for the past month you were out of town.”

Quin snorted. “That proves nothing. I’m a wealthy man. I have no reason to steal.” The so-called evidence was ludicrous. He swallowed hard when he realized what was happening. He would be in jail, unable to protect Virginia.

The colonel lifted the ring with a satisfied smile. “And the final proof—this ring found in your bedchamber. You’re under arrest, sir. The Boston Burglar has been found.”

“No!” Virginia advanced toward the officer. “Quincy is not a thief.”

Colonel Farley stared down his nose at her. “Calm yourself, madam.”

“Virginia,” Quin spoke quietly. “Take Josiah and go to my uncle.”

She spun around and stared at him. “I’ll not leave you.”

Quin gritted his teeth. “May I have a word with my wife, Colonel?”

The officer nodded. “A brief one.”

Quin grabbed her arm and pulled her across the hall. He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You’re in danger, Ginny. Get the hell out of here and go to my uncle.”

“Me?” she whispered back. “Quin, it is you they will hang.”

He squeezed her arm. “Ginny, do as I say.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Enough,” the colonel announced. “It is time, Mr. Stanton.” The soldiers surrounded him and yanked his hands behind his back to tie them.

Colonel Farley eyed him with scorn. “So much for the Boston Burglar. What have you to say for yourself now?”

Quin shrugged. “Pardon me, do you have any
Grey Mouton?”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

V
irginia stumbled back as the redcoats led her husband out the front door. She sprinted to the back door, wrenched it open, and halted.

Josiah. He was still in the house. She swiveled toward the stairs and dashed up, calling Josiah’s name. No answer. He must be on the third floor amongst the servants’ quarters.

“Josiah?” She flung open a door and froze.

Clarence Stanton stood across the room, one arm looped around Josiah’s neck, the other holding a knife to the boy’s cheek. “So kind of you to come, my dear. We’ve been waiting for you.”

She glanced at Josiah to reassure him, but the terror in his wide blue eyes filled her heart with dread.
You’re in danger.
Quin’s words echoed in her head. How had he known?

Clarence stepped toward her, dragging Josiah along. “I asked the boy to call you here, but the little wretch refused to cooperate. Lucky for him, you came anyway.”

“Let him go.”

Clarence sneered. “As you wish.” He smashed the hilt of the knife against the boy’s head, and Josiah crumbled to the floor.

“No!” She lunged forward.

Clarence seized her arm. “You’re coming with me.”

“No.” She twisted and kicked at him.

“You’ll come or I’ll kill the boy.”

She stilled. If she cooperated ’til Clarence was a distance from the house, Josiah would be safe. “Very well.”

She allowed him to escort her down the stairs. Quin had known of this danger. How?

“This way.” Clarence ushered her out the back door.

An icy gust swept a flurry of snowflakes in her face. She shivered, grateful for the chill that sharpened her senses. She recognized Quin’s coachman, tied and gagged just inside the fence.

Clarence led her through the back gate. “So kind of my brother to bring his coach.”

She noted the new driver of the carriage. Samuel Millstead. “You shouldn’t steal the coach. It belongs to Quin and Edward.”

“Actually, you’re wrong.” Clarence opened the carriage door and motioned with his knife for her to climb in. “I’ve learned some very interesting news. The coach, the ships—everything belongs to you.”

That was why he wanted her? Virginia settled in the middle of the backseat, spreading out her skirts to take up the entire space. She’d never realized how valuable she was until now.

He sat across from her and closed the door. The coach sprang forward.

She pulled her woolen cloak tightly about her shoulders and mentally reviewed the facts. Clarence had discovered she owned the business. The redcoats had arrested Quin as the Boston Burglar. Samuel Millstead had run out the door shortly before the arrival of the redcoats. Now he drove the carriage. “The Millsteads are working for you?”

Clarence shrugged. “I promised them a nice reward when this is over.”

She gazed out the window of the carriage. She could fling open the door and jump, but she should wait ’til they were farther away from Josiah. And the cobblestones would make for a hard landing. Better to wait for a mound of snow to make her leap. Meanwhile, she needed to decipher this puzzle.

Samuel must have alerted the redcoats that she and Quin were in the house. Clarence had been upstairs, waiting. He knew Quin would be arrested, so he must have known about the stolen ring in Quincy’s clothespress. He must have planted it.

Clarence smiled at her, his eyes gleaming. “You seem very calm for someone who’s been abducted.”

“I’ve been kidnapped before.”

He snorted. “That was a childish prank. This is the work of a genius.”

“A genius? I thought you were a common thief.”

His face grew pale. He tightened his grip on the knife. “You’re too clever for your own good. Fortunately, for you, I need you alive.” His lips curled into a sneer. “That is, until we’re married. Then who knows? Accidents do happen.”

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “You cannot marry me. I have a husband.”

He laughed. “Not as clever as you thought, are you? Why do you think I was willing to part with one of the rings? I had to incriminate Quincy. I don’t need to kill the bastard if the government will do it for me.”

She swallowed hard as the full extent of his plan became clear.

“I would suggest, my dear, that you keep whatever limited intelligence you have to yourself from now on. I find clever women quite unattractive.” His eyes roamed over her. “But the rest of you is pleasing enough, and you will please me, madam, whenever I wish.”

Her stomach cringed. “The law may not allow you to marry your brother’s wife.”

“If the problem arises, ’twill be easily handled. My father has only to swear in court that Quincy is not his son. He has never admitted to the bastard.”

She glanced out the window. She would have to jump soon.

“Why, look.” He followed her line of vision and peered out the window. “We have reached the gallows at the Neck. I wonder if this is where Quincy will hang?”

A gibbet swayed in the breeze, the decaying body of a criminal encased inside. White snow outlined the form like a hideous snowman. Her stomach churned.
No, never, not Quincy.

“I do hope they will construct a gibbet large enough for Quincy. I would hate to see the old boy crammed into one that was too short.” Clarence turned to her with an amused smile. “A good fit is so important, don’t you think?”

She reached for the silken cord overhead and yanked.

It happened so suddenly, she sat and gawked, her fingers still curled around the looped cord. Taken unaware, Clarence had not made a sound. He lay, slumped awkwardly on the front seat under the heavy iron bar. His knife clattered to the floor. The open trapdoor swayed with the movement of the coach.

She couldn’t afford to let Samuel Millstead know what had happened, so she would still have to jump from the moving carriage. She reached for the door and paused. When Clarence awoke, he would come after her. She needed as much time as possible.

She searched his pockets, pulled out a large handkerchief and tied it around his mouth, knotting it behind his head. A large bump on his head was swelling fast.

Recalling the hidden compartment under the backseat, she lifted the cushioned seat and looked inside. Three muskets and two knives lay inside—weapons she shouldn’t leave with the enemy. She grabbed a length of rope and tied Clarence’s hands behind his back. Hopefully, Samuel would keep driving for hours, oblivious to his employer’s dilemma. She looked out the window. Mounds of snow lined the road.

She threw the three muskets and knives out a window, tossed out Clarence’s knife, opened the door and jumped.

Snow muffled the sound of her landing, but did little to ease the shock to her body. Moaning, she lifted her head and looked around. Her body was slowly sinking into a drift of snow, the cold seeping through her clothes to settle into her bones. She rolled over onto her backside and looked at the coach in the distance. The forward movement of the coach had caused the door to shut. She had escaped without notice.

She sloshed through the knee-high snow, stepped into an unseen hole and plunged in up to her hips. Icy-hot pain shot through her ankle. She limped to the spot where the muskets and knives had landed and gathered them up. It didn’t take long to realize she couldn’t carry the extra weight all the way back.

Her stiffening limbs objected when she eased onto her knees by the gallows. She burrowed a hole in the snow close to the dead man and dropped in the weapons, keeping one knife for protection.

The gibbet creaked with a rusty scrape as a gust of frigid air blew past. She shivered, watching the snow-covered body sway before her eyes.

“I only hope you will not have company soon.”

The metal groaned in response as the gibbet slowly rotated. The dead man’s face came into view. Two hollow eye sockets stared back at her.

A wave of nausea doubled her over. She grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it to her brow.
You cannot give in.
She stood, wincing at the pain in her ankle, and hobbled down the road into Boston.

A few blocks down Orange Street, a cart stopped next to her.

“Can I offer you a ride, mistress?”

She glanced up, flexing her grip on the knife inside her woolen cloak. The young driver looked familiar. “Do I know you?”

“I work at the bookseller’s on Hanover Street. I’m delivering books today. I can take you somewhere.”

Of course. He had delivered Josiah’s books months ago. “Yes, p-please.”

He helped her onto the cart, and she gave him directions to her aunt’s south-side house, the closest place of safety. When they arrived, the youth escorted her to the door.

“Thank you so much.” She opened the door and glanced back. He was already driving away.

“Aunt Mary, Caroline!” She limped into the hall, dropping the knife to the floor.

Aunt Mary took one look at her and yelled to Caroline to fetch hot water. She ushered Virginia into the parlor and sat her on the settee by the fire.

“What has happened?” She added wood to the fire.

Virginia’s teeth chattered as she began to shake. “They arrested Quincy. Clarence k-kidnapped me.”

“My stars! You poor dear, are you all right?”

“Yes. Aunt Mary, he’s the B—B-Boston Burglar.”

“Clarence? How do you know?”

“He planted one of the rings he s-stole in Quin’s clothespress, so the redcoats would arrest Quincy instead of him.”

Caroline entered with a large pot of hot water.

“Set it in front of her,” Mary ordered. She dropped to her knees in front of Virginia to pull off her shoes. “Good Lord, lass, your ankle is swollen.”

“Aye.” Virginia cried out when her aunt plunged her feet into the hot water.

Mary dragged a wooden chair close to Virginia and set a plump pillow on it. “Prop your foot up, Ginny. Caroline, tell George to fetch Edward Stanton here, immediately. Quincy has been arrested.”

“Good Lord!” Caroline fled from the room.

Mary sat next to Virginia and took her hand. “Tell me what happened.”

Virginia settled against the cushions to retell the day’s events, then jerked up straight. “Josiah! I have to go to him. He’s hurt and all alone.”

Mary pushed her back. “You’re not going anywhere. When George returns, we’ll send him.”

Virginia had finished her story when a pounding on the front door startled her. “Can that be Edward, so soon?”

Caroline and Mary dashed to the front door. Virginia watched the parlor entrance, waiting for the visitor.

“Josiah!” She laughed when the boy threw himself on her lap and wrapped his arms around her.

“Aunt Ginny, I thought I lost you.”

“No, sweetie. Are you all right?” She examined the blood-matted cut on the side of his head. “Caroline—”

“I know.” Caroline headed for the kitchen. “More hot water.”

“How did ye get away from that scurvy bugger, Aunt Ginny?”

Virginia described her escape once more while she cleaned the cut on Josiah’s brow.

His bottom lip quivered. “I wanted to protect you, but I couldn’t. I came here, looking for help. I untied the coachman, and he ran to Edward Stanton’s house.”

Virginia blinked, fighting off tears she had no time for. “Josiah, you’re the bravest little man I know.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway as George and Edward barged in unannounced.

“Tell me everything,” Edward demanded.

Virginia sighed and retold the story while Josiah cuddled up close.

“George.” Edward passed him a few coins. “Rent a carriage and bring it here immediately.”

“Aye, sir.” George sprinted from the room.

“Do you wish me to come with you?” Virginia asked.

“Yes.” Edward cleared his throat. “Mary, I want you and Caroline to pack some clothes. Your servants, also. Your entire household will come with me.”

“What?” Mary leapt to her feet.

“I cannot keep you safe here. You must move in with me.”

Mary sputtered. “I cannot possibly live in your home. What would people think?”

Edward stepped toward her. “You don’t understand the gravity of this matter. Clarence will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

“I understand Ginny must live under your protection—”

“Mary,” Edward interrupted her. “If Clarence cannot get his hands on Ginny, he’ll come after you or Caroline or anyone else she cares about in order to lure her into his possession. You’re all in danger.”

Mary gulped. “Caroline, you will inform Edward that he may bully me into living in his house, but he cannot force me to speak to him.”

Caroline grinned. “My aunt says—”

Edward gritted his teeth. “I heard her.”

Monday, February 5, 1770

V
irginia limped into Edward’s parlor. Although her ankle had improved, she tried to keep off of it as much as possible. She surveyed the spartan room with dismay. Two plain Windsor chairs flanked the hearth, the mantelpiece above adorned with a single pewter candlestick. The walls and windows remained bare of any decoration; only a plain wooden table rested alongside one wall. Edward’s home on Prince Street had obviously been the domicile of two single men who valued work over comfort.

Her sister sat in one of the Windsor chairs in front of the fireplace.

“Caroline, where is Aunt Mary?”

“She—she’s not in her bedchamber?” Caroline’s brow furrowed as she concentrated on her knitting.

“No, I looked. Where could she be?” Virginia eased into the other wooden chair.

“Are you all right, Ginny?”

“I . . . I’m not sure.” At first Virginia had believed the recent shocking events to be responsible for her bout with nausea, but she had experienced another episode this morning. After a month at sea with Quin, she suspected this was not a nervous disorder.

“What’s the latest news about Quincy?” Caroline asked.

“Edward’s solicitor, Mr. Winkle, has requested a meeting with the judge tomorrow. They’re hoping to get the case dismissed without a trial.” Virginia sighed and gazed at the fire. “Poor Quincy. Edward told me his cell is icy cold.”

“Aye, so I heard. I’m making him a scarf and mittens.”