Authors: Beverly Jenkins
“Vicious and unfair, but filled with vistas so beautiful and wondrous your heart breaks trying to take it all in.”
He met her eyes. Feeling something she couldn’t name slide into her soul from within the depths of his gaze, Faith turned from him. “I must get home.”
They covered the remaining distance in silence but Faith was very aware of his presence at her side.
They finally reached the inn. “Good night, Mr. Grey.”
“Same to you, Miss Kingston.”
“I would appreciate it if you would not tell my father about this.”
“You have my word.”
She held his eyes for a long moment, wondering about who he really was inside, then hurried towards the back of the inn. To learn that he was on a witch hunt targeting her father was almost as appalling as learning that he’d seen her sneak out of the house. Even if he didn’t know the truth behind her errand, the idea that he’d been watching her and had trailed her was alarming. That he might do it again gave her yet one more thing to worry about besides the patrols of British soldiers, being unmasked as Lady Midnight, and being brought to trial and hanged for treason. Out of necessity she’d have to keep the startling encounter to herself. Revealing it to her father would not only add to his dislike of the Grey name but shed a suspicious light on her own actions, because he’d know the midnight trip for eggs had been unnecessary. So Grey’s lurking would have to remain a secret, and any further contact with him had to be kept at a minimum. Not that she minded, because now that she knew his true colors, she planned to avoid him, but she also needed to find out as much about him as she discreetly could. The first rule of war was to know the enemy. Opening the shutters, she climbed back in.
N
icholas waited until she disappeared inside before he and Hades rode for home. Once there he climbed the stairs to his bedroom to settle in for the rest of the night. Since returning from New York, Nick kept expecting to see his father walk in, and he wondered how long it would be before the expectation faded. Days, weeks, years, never? Even now, as he sat in his fire-lit bedroom, he kept listening for Primus’s footsteps on the stairs, only to remind himself that he’d never hear them again. The loss was still keen. After leaving the Masons’ luncheon, he’d gone to visit some of his father’s old friends. The few he’d been able to find expressed their condolences, and all were of a mind that Stuart Kingston was the Judas he sought, but how to prove it was the question. Thinking of Kingston brought back the encounter with his daughter. What a gorgeous and fiery beauty she was, but as her father so rudely pointed out, Faith wasn’t for him. The facts that she was Kingston’s daughter and that she was more than likely a virgin were two marks against her. Nick preferred his women experienced enough to expect nothing more than the pleasure he could bring in bed, and virgins, especially virgins of good family, would want more.
Faith aside, what he needed now was someone who’d heard or seen Stuart Kingston betray his father. Primus wouldn’t want Nick to confront the man with only rumors at his back. He needed facts, which meant he had to find Lady Midnight in order to get to the truth.
With that in mind, Nicholas decided to reestablish himself in the community. He’d go to gatherings, rallies, and maybe even church if need be. Every smuggler knew that the more innocently one acted, the more information one could obtain.
Nicholas spent the next few days establishing his father’s home as his own. Having to pack up his father’s things was more emotional than he’d imagined. Touching his hunting rifle brought back memories as had boxing up the clothing he’d planned to donate to the local charities. For a while he had to walk away and sit outside until the sadness became more manageable. Thanks to Artemis’s foresight, the large house with its orchards and open fields hadn’t been lost. Although he’d repaid Artemis for the land, the two decided the deed would remain in Arte’s name until the times were safe enough to transfer it without raising British ire. As Arte said on the night of Nick’s return, the homes, businesses, and lands of traitors had not fared well. In fact, the print shop Primus had owned had been confiscated and recently sold to a loyalist.
The next morning, Nick was out in back of the house chopping wood when he noticed Prince Hall riding up. They hadn’t seen each other since the Masons’ luncheon.
Prince pulled his mount to a halt and stepped out of his saddle. “Best of mornings, Nicholas.”
Nick put down his axe and wiped his face on the sleeve of his hide shirt. “To you as well. Did you come to help me chop wood?”
Prince smiled. “No, but I’d like to speak with you about something if I may?”
Nick surveyed him for a moment, wondering what this might be about. “Let’s speak inside.”
They went in, and as he warmed himself in front of the parlor’s fire, Prince took a seat in one of the upholstered chairs. He glanced around at the furnishings and at the painting over Nick’s head. “Your mother was a beautiful woman.”
Nick’s attention moved up to the stiffly posed woman in blue. In spite of the unsmiling face there was a sparkle in her brown eyes. “That she was. Died giving me birth. I often wondered how it might have been had she lived. Probably a lot less arguing between Primus and myself.”
Silence crept into the room and echoed through the house.
Prince said, “It’s hard knowing he’ll never stand where you are again.” He quieted then as if thinking back on his friend, and then grinned. “He told the foulest jokes about the King any of us had ever heard. Left us rolling on the floorboards more times than I can count.”
Nick chuckled. “He was one of a kind.”
Prince nodded agreement, then sobered. “People will miss him immensely.”
Nick found it hard to accept the fact that his father was dead. At the time of their acrimonious parting during the height of the Seven Years’ War, it never occurred to him that they wouldn’t see each other again, argue again, hunt again. The guilt of not having reconciled with his father continued to plague him. “You wanted to speak with me?”
“Yes, on behalf of the Sons of Liberty.”
“Why?”
“The cause needs men with your war experience. We may not be able to beat the British head-on, but if the minutemen can be taught to fight like the Indians, tree to tree, and on the run, we’d stand a chance.”
Nick turned back to the flames oscillating in the grate.
“We’ve already begun to drill and many of the trainers are excellent, but there are not enough of them to go around.”
“Are men of color being allowed to drill as well?”
“In some units, yes, in others, no. You’d be helping your race.”
“Guilt won’t buy me.”
“But principle might. This is our fight, too. The hypocrisy inherent in the rebels demanding freedom from the crown while they themselves own slaves is not lost upon any of us. The whole concept is ludicrous, but the Sons of Liberty and the Provincial Congress are being pressured by fair-minded men both here and in England to secure that freedom for everyone.”
Nick heartily agreed with him about the hypocrisy.
“And we wish to fight because this is our country, too. We helped build the colonies just as they have, only we’ve done it with no reward. If Jefferson and his Virginians didn’t own slaves they wouldn’t have the luxury of riding around the countryside bellowing for freedom. They’d be home behind a plow.”
Nick looked his way. “You have been around my father, haven’t you?”
Prince’s eyes smoldered even as he smiled. “And besides, we’ve fought in all their other wars. Why should this one be any different? Maybe one day the scales will be balanced and we’ll measure up.”
Nick nodded in understanding. He’d faced some of that prejudice during the war by both the British and the French, but found the tribes didn’t care about a man’s skin as long as he fought as fiercely as they. The only color they cared about was the color of
their
freedom. “How many men do you envision?”
“Fifteen, twenty, no more.”
“Do they have their own weapons?”
“Most do not.”
Nick asked drolly, “Then of what use will they be on the battlefield?”
Prince sighed. “The Provincial Congress has said that each minuteman will be issued a musket, a bayonet, a cartridge box, and thirty-six rounds of ammunition. We’ve been promised the same.”
“Do you believe the promise will be kept?”
“A portion of me does. A portion does not. There’s been much debate as to whether men of color, especially the captives, should be allowed to bear arms—slave uprisings and all.”
Nick shook his head at the wrongheaded thinking of the colonists. “If I agree, I’ll make certain you have the weapons you need.”
Prince stared.
Nick didn’t say more, instead he asked, “What follows? Where will we drill?”
Prince was still studying him as if wanting to know more but then replied, “We’re secluded enough out here on your land. As long as we’re not firing the guns we should be safe from prying British eyes.”
Nick weighed that. “Anything else besides drilling?”
“Yes. The Sons would like for you to pick up your father’s standard on the intelligence side as well. What is siphoned to you, you would send on to me just as he did.”
“Why can’t you fill his role?”
“My residence like many others inside the city is watched day and night by the British. It is harder for them to know what is happening out here in the countryside. Being outside the city is one of the reasons Primus was able to be successful for as long as he was. He did most of his contact work here rather than his shop in town.” Prince added, “There is also the connection to the Lady Midnight.”
Nick turned and faced Prince. “The carrot,” he stated.
Prince gave him a half smile. “It can be viewed as such, yes. She contacted one of the Sons directly a few days back about Gage bringing in more soldiers. She’s done it before. He has no idea how she accomplishes it, but the information she sends is always very valuable.”
“And you don’t know who she is?”
“No. I knew of her from your father, but he never shared her true name.”
“Is that what you’re after?”
He shook his head. “We don’t need to know her identity. We just wish for her to continue relaying what she knows.”
“How do you know that she will?”
“We don’t.”
At least he was honest, Nick thought. The idea that the Lady Midnight might be able to give him answers he was seeking about his father’s arrest was tempting enough to make him want to say yes to Prince, but this was too serious an endeavor to agree without more thought. “How soon do you need my reply?”
“As quickly as possible.”
Nicholas asked, “And how will she know that I’ve replaced my father?”
“I have the means, but the question remains, will she work with anyone other than Primus?”
He found this turn of the tale interesting, “So someone does knows her true identity, and how to reach her?”
“Yes. Maybe more than one. We, meaning the Sons, just don’t know. I assume her circle of contacts to be quite small. For her to be able to give us such pertinent and timely news says she has to be close to the British higher-ups. Guarding her identity is no doubt a necessity.”
Lady Midnight. Nick thought about the midnight sojourn of Faith Kingston. She and her father were staunch loyalists, so it made little sense that she’d be a rebel spy. Primus and the Widow Lawson had been friends for many years. Could Blythe be Lady Midnight?
Prince’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Later this afternoon, there will be a fund-raiser at the Friends’ church if you care to attend.”
“For guns?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, for a man named Octavius Freeman wanting to purchase his wife’s freedom. The great Phillis Wheatley is supposed to make an appearance.”
“The poetess?”
“Yes. Are you familiar with her writings?”
“Probably not as well as most, but I do know of her.”
“Then come along as my guest. A good percentage of the free population is bound to attend and you can make the acquaintance of some of the minutemen of color.”
“I’ll think about it. Would you write down the name of the church and the address?”
Prince did, and then stood. He held out his hand. “Thank you for listening.”
Nick gave him a firm shake in response and walked with him back outdoors.
Prince mounted. He offered a nod of farewell and rode off in the direction of the road. Nick hefted his axe and went back to work.
W
hen Faith and her father reached the church for the fund-raiser, they carried in the food Faith had spent most of the morning preparing. Once everything was unloaded, he drove the wagon to the adjacent field to park while she hurried inside.
In the kitchen a small group of women were already at work. Blythe Lawson was quartering her roasted hens, while others saw to breads, vegetables, cakes, and trifles.
“Afternoon, everyone,” Faith called out. Heads rose. Most greeted her with smiles, but there were also a few sniffs. Eva Potts was one who sniffed. In some Black loyalist households, Faith was a pariah. Not only was she unmarried, she was well-read and handled her father’s ledgers. In a time and place where a woman was supposed to be seen and not heard, some considered Faith loud as cannon fire.
Charity Trotter was working beside Blythe. Faith made her way over to where they were. “Where’s the baby?”
“My mother has him.”
“Is all well?”
Charity nodded and smiled. “All’s well.”
It was their way of communicating about the letter Faith had put in her care. Charity’s affirmative response meant the letter had reached its target. Pleased, Faith jumped in to help with the work. Her contribution to the buffet was a large kettle of baked beans, fresh biscuits, and a large apple charlotte.
When the women were done, they left the food warming and went to join the affair.
Many of the area’s free Black population were milling around the room greeting and talking to each other, and Faith was pleased by the turnout. Although women were not allowed to speak from the podium to
promiscuous
audiences, as mixed-gender gatherings like these were termed, the free women of Boston and its surrounding towns had shown up in great numbers. They were laundresses, maids, seamstresses, and cooks, and like Faith they’d come to support Mr. Freeman’s quest to free his wife, Letty, from bondage.
A small percentage of the community had been free for generations, but a majority of the people in the room had at some point in their lives been slaves, or as it was more politely termed in the northeastern colonies,
servants for life
. Some had been allowed to purchase their freedom, while others had been legally freed by Quaker owners at the age of eighteen, per the custom of many of the Friends. A few men and women had been freed for meritorious service or given their freedom upon the death of their owners, but many had come to freedom by wit and guile as runaways.
Although everyone in attendance knew the value of freedom, the community was divided over the future direction of the colonies. Her father and his Tory friends supported the King, while many of the younger men, led by Prince Hall, were rebels and minutemen. She just hoped both sides remained civil, and placed Mr. Freeman and poor Letty’s plight above politics. The last thing needed would be a heated argument or fisticuffs.
She saw her father approaching with Will Case, and she very much wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. To Faith, Will with his tall, sticklike frame resembled a praying mantis. Because of his successful soap-making business, many mothers in the area were constantly throwing their daughters in the middle-aged bachelor’s path, but he kept stepping over them in a quest to secure Faith’s hand. However, he was as boring as he was pompous, and she wanted nothing to do with him.
“Ah, here you are,” her father said brightly. He’d worn his best coat and breeches for the occasion and she thought the cravat around his throat made him appear very distinguished. She, however, was wearing the same mended gown she always wore for special occasions. “Is everything ready for the repast?” he asked.
“Yes, Father.” She turned to his companion. “Good afternoon, Will.”
“Faith,” he intoned, bowing at the waist. “How are you.” His nasally voice always made him sound like he’d smelled sour milk.
“I am well, and you, sir?”
“As well as a loyalist can be in these trying times.”
She smiled woodenly. “It is a struggle.” Almost as much as her struggle to show an interest in his welfare, she thought.
He continued, “I was just telling your father that I’ve recently signed a contract with some prominent customers in London. That’s quite a feather in my cap, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would indeed.”
“The British Army is showing an interest as well. Should the negotiations prove successful, I stand to become one of the wealthiest men in Boston, Black or White.”
“Then I’m sure you will share some of your blessings with Mr. Freeman this afternoon. His need is very dire, wouldn’t you say?”
By the startled look on his light brown face she could tell that he’d had no intentions what-so-ever, but she’d known that from the beginning. She’d had enough. Giving him a curtsy and a smile that she hoped didn’t appear too forced, she said, “I should go and see if Blythe needs my help with anything. It’s been a pleasure hearing about your successes.”
Faith didn’t have to look back to know that her father was displeased by her hasty exit, but she had no intention of spending her time listening to Will go on and on about himself. She found Blythe talking with Ingram and Charity. “Rescue me, please.”
“From what?” Charity asked with a laugh.
“William Case.”
Ingram smiled. “Still trying to win you, is he?”
“I’ve explained to both him and Father that the race is lost, but they seem to be deaf.”
Blythe said, “You could do worse, I suppose. He owns his own business and is quite successful.”
“I’m aware of his accomplishments because that’s all he talks about.”
Ingram nodded. “I have to agree, he is quite self-centered. But you should be married, Faith.”
“You sound like Father.”
He turned to his wife. “Charity, don’t you think it’s high time she married?”
“It’ll be high time when she says it is.”
“Thank you,” Faith said of her friend’s support.
Blythe added, “He feigned an interest in me some years back, but only as a ruse to get his hands on my property. I told him plainly that were I to marry him, I’d sign all I owned over to the church and shoot myself within a week. He stopped coming around.”
They laughed at the dry remark. Faith looked around the gathering. Some of the race’s White supporters were in the room now, too. Many of Boston’s radical thinkers not only supported events like this one, but often gave as generously as they could. “So do you believe Phillis Wheatley will really be here?” she asked her friends.
Blythe replied, “I hear she’s under the weather again. She’s always been sickly, even when she was a child. We’ll have to wait and see.”
As a way to boost attendance, the sponsors of this event had let it be known that the great poetess might attend and read from a few of her works. Although Faith preferred the ribald plays and poems of the Bard, she enjoyed Miss Wheatley’s poetry. As everyone across the colonies knew, Phillis had been only seven years of age when she was captured in western Africa and brought to Boston and sold to the wealthy tailor John Wheatley and his wife, Susannah. In the years since, she’d written many lines of poetry and held the honor of being one of the first women of the race to have her words published. She’d recently returned to Boston from a trip to London, where according to the newspapers she’d received many accolades while being squired around by one of her biggest sponsors, Selina Shirley, Countess of Huntingdon. Rumor had it that the Wheatleys had given her her freedom but Faith had no idea if the rumors were based on fact.
Blythe said, “Ah. Prince Hall has arrived, along with Nicholas.”
Faith turned and saw Hall at the entrance shaking hands and greeting those nearby. However, Nicholas Grey’s eyes were directed her way. Having that intense gaze burn her from across the room made her heart race. After offering her an almost imperceptible nod, he turned his attention to the man Hall was introducing him to. Shaken, she glanced her father’s way, hoping he’d been too occupied by his conversation to notice the silent exchange, but his terse eyes told all.
“Who is he?” Charity asked.
Ingram must have seen the contact, too, because he met Faith’s eyes with a frown reminiscent of her father’s.
Blythe explained.
Charity, who’d grown up in Lexington, responded with surprise in her voice. “That’s Primus’s son?” Her eye still on him, she asked her husband, “Did you and Faith know him when you were younger?”
Ingram was studying him, too. “No, he was nearly a decade older than we were so I didn’t know him well. Did you, Faith?”
She shook her head negatively. “No.”
Ingram added, “He supposedly he went over to the French during the war.”
Faith wondered how Primus had felt about his son fighting for the supposed enemy.
Charity’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Was it my imagination or was he looking directly at you, Faith?”
Before Faith could form an answer, the commanding sound of Prince Hall’s voice rang out. “My friends! Let us begin.”
Standing beside him was Octavius Freeman, a brown-skinned man of average height.
Prince introduced him to the crowd. The applause that followed seemed to embarrass Freeman. He nodded shyly as he acknowledged their support.
Prince intoned, “Through ingenuity and hard work, Mr. Freeman has already amassed twenty of the eighty pounds his wife’s owners have set as the price. We know that many of you have given to his cause before, but if you have even an extra coin to spare, please place it in the basket circulating the room.”
When Nicholas Grey walked out to where the men stood, the crowd quieted. Faith caught the raised eyebrow Charity shot her way. A quick glance over at her father showed his tightly set lips. She wondered if he knew what Primus’s son was about to do or say.
With all eyes on him, he began, “Please excuse my interruption, but I’d like to offer Mr. Freeman the sixty pounds that he needs.”
While Prince and Freeman stared at him with shock, Grey reached into his coat and withdrew a small drawstring pouch. He handed it to Freeman, who took it with wide eyes.
Grey then said quietly, “May you and your wife have a long life.”
Wild applause erupted. Prince was shaking Grey’s hand as if he might break it off at the wrist. Her father appeared to be stunned, and beside him, Will Case looked both skeptical and irritated. Faith didn’t know what to think but found the gesture outstanding. Sixty pounds was an incredible amount of money to simply hand to a stranger. She wanted to believe that Primus was somewhere up above smiling down in response to the extraordinary gift.
Prince shouted for the crowd’s attention. Freeman seemed unable to look away from the pouch in his hand. By the distance in Grey’s manner it was hard to determine if he was pleased with the results of his charitable gesture or not.
As the crowd quieted, Prince said to them, “I’ve been told that due to poor health, Miss Wheatley wouldn’t be able to join us this afternoon, but I had no idea that in her stead we’d witness something equally as moving. Ladies and gentlemen, this generous man is Nicholas Grey, son of the late Primus Grey.”
Surprised gasps came just before yet another round of applause. Grey bowed gallantly and Faith heard some of the women nearby sigh aloud in response. She wondered if he was aware of how many eligible young ladies the community had. His splendid features and obvious wealth were sure to have their mothers eyeing him speculatively.
Prince then announced, “Well, I suppose, there’s no need for any speechmaking this afternoon, is there?”
Everyone laughingly agreed.
“Then let’s ask the ladies to set out the food and we’ll celebrate Mr. Freeman’s good fortune instead.”
As the crowd descended upon the men to offer their congratulations, Charity whispered to Faith, “Nicholas Grey is very nice to look at, isn’t he?”
Faith shook her head in amusement and wondered what Ingram might say if he knew his wife was eyeing Primus’s son like a lollipop. “We’re needed in the kitchen.”
As the buffet line formed and began to move, Blythe, who always headed up the women workers at such events, handed Faith a tray that held three plates piled high with offerings from the buffet. “Take this over to Prince, Nicholas, and Mr. Freeman. The way they’re being mobbed, the food will be gone by the time they manage to get over here to the table.”
Faith could see a large group of people waiting their turn to speak to the men and she agreed. Making her way through the crowd, she finally reached them and politely interrupted. “Mr. Hall, Blythe sent you food.”
Prince excused himself from the man he was talking with and took the tray. “Thank you, Miss Kingston, and thank the Widow Lawson for her foresight.”
Behind her, Faith could feel Grey’s presence as well as she could her own breathing. Grabbing hold of herself, she turned to face him.
“Miss Kingston. How are you?”
“I’m well, Mr. Grey.”
“Thank you for the food,” he said.
Looking into his eyes was like looking into flames. “You’re welcome.” She read a muted sort of amusement in his manner but she had no idea what it might stem from. “That was a very generous gift.”