The Messenger (37 page)

Hannah

After drying my eyes on Jeremiah’s coat, I left King’s Arms. By the time I reached Pennington House I was walking normally once more, though I was sure my legs would ache for the week to come. Davy must have been waiting for me. He opened the door before I had even stepped onto the porch. I could see Doll standing right behind him, gesturing at me.

Mother was passing through the front hall as I entered. “There thee are, Hannah! Thee look just as tired as I feel. Doll said thee’d gone in search of a letter from our Friends in London.”

I shot a glance toward Doll.

She stared back at me, daring me to say anything different. I might have, had it not been guaranteed to plunge us both into deep trouble.

Mother sighed. “I spent the whole day trying to track it myself, without success. Where did thee find it?”

“I didn’t. I never saw it.”

“Well. That’s discouraging. A whole day wasted! Perhaps we’ll find out at Meeting who has it.” Her smile was bright, though it wobbled a bit at the corners.

“Perhaps thee will.” I had no intention of attending.

I was not allowed to leave the Meeting as easily as that, however. The elders came to Pennington House the next afternoon to reason with me. But as much as my father tried to explain away my words, I corrected him at every opportunity. And by the end of their visit, only a very hopeful soul would have thought my words anything but sincere, my heart anything but compromised.

Upon departing, one of them lingered. “Thee must know that if this is how thee feel and what thee believe, then we must disown thee.”

“I know it.”

Father was looking anxiously between myself and him. “She does not know what she’s saying.”

“Her words have the feeling of conviction behind them. And thee must remember that those who have been persuaded from the truth may not be called Friends.”

I hoped that would be the end of it, but I was mistaken. On first day,
Sunday
, my parents brought a guest home with them for dinner. My uncle was none too pleased and I was quite surprised. I nodded as he greeted me. “Jeremiah Jones. I had not expected to have the pleasure of thy company at Pennington House.” A smile to rival his own played at my lips.

“I’m here to impress upon you the error of your ways.”

A thing I never would have expected.

“Any sensible person such as myself—a sincere admirer of the Society of Friends—will tell you that you’ve been overcome by pride.”

“Pride?”

He slid a glance toward my father, who was trying to explain to Uncle the reason for Jeremiah’s visit. “And stubbornness.” He leaned closer. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d left?”

“I would have told thee on fourth day, but thee had no time to listen. And after . . . well.” I shrugged.

He was close enough that I could catch the scents of leather and rum that hung about him. “At least I won’t have to attend those Meetings anymore in order to see you. I’ve received from John two invitations to the Meschianza tomorrow. You must come with me.”

“I can’t.” And I wouldn’t have wanted to after seeing what those officers expected Polly to wear.

“If you’re in attendance, then no one can question your involvement.”

“I cannot come. I promised my father that no meetings would be arranged between us.”

“What does it matter now? All will be over tomorrow night. For better or for worse. For once, can’t you just be defiant?”

I smiled. I could not help myself. “ ’Tis all I’ve been since I met thee.”

“Why can’t you just—”

I laid my hand against his cheek. I did not care who saw me.

He stilled, though his eyes yet blazed.

“I gave my word. And even though I’ve left the Meeting, my word must be true or it becomes nothing at all.”

“But it’s the best way—the only way—to save yourself.”

“ ’Twas never about myself, Jeremiah.”

“Then—dash it all!” His voice had gone hoarse with emotion. “Let it be about me. ’Tis the only way to save me. Because if they suspect you—”

“If they suspect me, then God will grant me courage to face them. Of that I have no doubt.” I had to believe that was true.

“You don’t know what they do to traitors.”

“I know what they do to prisoners. And it cannot be much worse.”

“But—”

“Hush thee now.”

“I’m not some child. And I can’t just let you give yourself away.”

“ ’Tis not up to thee, Jeremiah.”

“Then give me some hope.” He eyed my father and then took my hand in his and squeezed it. “For us.”

Hope. He was asking for hope in a world gone mad. What was there to hope for? Robert was dead. The tunnel might not even be finished. The prisoners were more likely to be captured than to make it to patriot lines. And yet . . . this escape was about people, not causes. And now, Jeremiah and I were just the same. We were two people unattached to causes who had only each other to care for.

“Please, Hannah. I need to know that afterward I’ll still be able to see you. I do not want our partnership to end.”

Partnership. There was something, some hidden place inside my heart, that thrilled to hear his words. But I did not dare to think on them too much, not before the escape was accomplished. If there had been danger in our actions before, the next evening they would increase threefold. Unless every man of the prisoners in Robert’s cell and the ones next to it escaped, I had great reason to fear that my role would eventually be revealed.

The next morning, the day of the Meschianza, Polly was up with the sun. She sent Jenny in a dozen different directions at once and then began a loud lament about slaves never wanting to work.

“That is not true, cousin! Were I to give thee twelve different things to accomplish and no time in which to accomplish them, I would bemoan thy slothfulness as well.”

“I did not—”

“Thee will never be ready in time if thee don’t allow Jenny to complete the tasks already given her.”

Polly flounced over to a chair and sulked while Jenny continued with the preparations. By dinnertime I could bear the tension in the room no longer. I stayed in the parlor to pass the time until the major came to collect Polly. It seemed every member of the household had that same idea. When Polly finally descended the stair, we were all of us attendant upon her together. And a great silence fell upon us all as we beheld her in the costume.

“I cannot be silent any longer!” I jumped as Father roared at my side. “This is an outrage! Completely decadent and immodest. I have tolerated disrespect and impertinence. I have lived in a household given over to frivolity, and I have added to the burden of those enslaved. But this cannot be borne! A daughter of this city should not be paraded around by those blackguards as if she were some infidel!”

Polly had gone white, though her eyes glittered with rage.

Uncle was looking at her as if he had never seen her before.

Aunt had put a hand to her mouth.

“I think, perhaps . . .” Uncle looked as if he did not know what to think at all.

“Father!” Polly went to him, hands clasped at her chest. “You cannot fail to send me now. Not after I accepted the invitation and was given the gown. Not on the day of the fete.”

“I find I must agree, for once, with your uncle, Polly. You will take that . . . that . . . drape off at once. It will be returned to Major Lindley along with your regrets. This has gone on long enough. I will not have my daughter known across the city as a strumpet.”

“You can’t do this to me!”

“ ’Tis not me that’s done anything. ’Tis that major and his whole dashed army. You’ve him to thank for this spectacle.”

She stamped her foot. “You’ve ruined my life! No one will ever invite me anywhere again!”

Uncle was unmoved.

“I hate you!” She tripped up the stair, her white satin shimmering and spangles glinting, the feathers and tassels on her turban bobbing in time with her steps.

Mother patted me on the arm and then nodded toward the stair. I didn’t know what I could do for Polly, what comfort I could offer, but I did as I was commanded.

She was sobbing into her pillows as I entered the bedroom.

“Thee will spoil the gown if thee keep crying so.”

She turned a tear-streaked face toward me. “I can’t get it off.”

“Stand. I’ll help thee.”

As she stood, that dreadful turban slid toward her ear. I started first with that, disengaging it from her hair and then her hair from the feathers and tassels. Next, I started on the gown, or tried to. “Perhaps I should ask Jenny to come.”

“No.” She cast her arms about her chest as if to hide herself from view.

“Then thee must help me. How did thee get thyself into this?” I could not quite remember how Jenny and I had helped her into it before.

“I don’t know. I just slipped it on. It came so easy . . .”

“I don’t know how to aid thee.”

“Just tear it off. I don’t want it anymore!”

I couldn’t bring myself to remind her that some other girl probably would. There was certain to be one; Major Lindley was not the kind of man who would attend the event of the season alone.

“Just get it off. And then send it away.” She stood still and quiet for the moments it took me to relieve her of the garment. And then she sighed as she pulled on a short gown over her petticoats. “He’s leaving, you know. They all are soon.”

I said nothing.

“It’s not as if he doesn’t want me. He’s been ordered to New York. To the city. And it’s no place for a woman to be.”

“I can’t imagine it would be any better than here.”

“I wanted him to fancy me.”

“He did fancy thee.” It had been plain enough for all to see.

“He fancied me enough to flirt with me, but not enough to marry me.”

“Did he ever speak to thee of . . . ? There’s a girl in London, apparently.”

“He says she’s an old, ugly termagant that his family is forcing him to marry.”

I could not see how anyone thousands of miles away from here could force a man armed with a musket to do anything he did not want to do, but I could tell that such thoughts would not be appreciated.

She climbed up onto her bed. “Perhaps . . . if the British leave . . . do you think the rebels will come?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Maybe they’ll have balls too. And keep the theater open.”

“And perhaps they’ll free the prisoners and put the State House and Penn House back to rights.”

Polly did not hear what I had said. Eyes wide open I could tell she had already set her heart to dreaming.