“I don’t understand.”
Edward leaned closer. “Johnson recruited Quin to work for him.”
“You mean—”
“Aye.” Edward nodded. “Johnson is the man in charge for the Boston area.”
“Oh, I never knew.”
“You weren’t supposed to.” Edward greeted the waitress who approached them.
“Good evenin’. Me name’s Sukey. What can I get for you?”
“Hot chocolate and coffee,” Edward ordered.
Sukey inspected Virginia. “I remember you, miss. This is a different man ye have now. Did ye give up on the other one?”
Virginia shook her head. “No, I have not.”
Sukey narrowed her eyes. “Good.” She strode toward the kitchen.
Virginia removed a crumpled handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her nose. “Any news about Clarence?”
“No.” Edward had hurried to the Higgenbottoms’ house the day before, hoping to catch his nephew. “Clarence took off with Quin’s carriage. No one knows where he is. He must be lying low, waiting for Quin to be deported.”
“What do you think he’ll do next?”
Edward shrugged. He feared Clarence hadn’t given up his hopes of acquiring Stanton Shipping through Virginia, but he didn’t want to cause her more worry at this time. He was saved from answering her when Mr. Johnson entered the coffeehouse.
The short man, dressed in brown wool, sat across from them at the table. “Good evening, Edward. Mrs. Stanton.” He nodded his head to each of them.
Edward leaned forward. “Is there anything you can tell us?”
“Nothing new. They want Quin to stand trial in England.”
Edward shook his head. “We cannot allow that. We should rescue Quin when the British move him to the transport ship.”
Johnson studied his clasped hands on the table. “Quin and I rescued the other two men that way. The British will be prepared for something like that. Such a plan cannot work twice.”
Edward searched his mind for other ideas. “We have to do something.”
Johnson spread his hands on the table’s surface. “It is already done.”
“Then you have a plan?” Virginia asked.
“All I can say is Quincy has the means to escape the execution.”
“What do you mean?” Edward asked. “He has no weapons.”
Johnson drummed his fingers on the wooden surface. “There is nothing I can do without endangering more of my men.”
“Then don’t use them. Ginny’s father and I will do whatever is necessary.” Edward heard Virginia gasp and turned to her. “What’s wrong?”
She grabbed Edward’s left hand. “You have no ring. I thought Quin’s ring was from the Freemasons, but then you would wear one, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
She pointed at Johnson’s left hand. “He has a ring just like Quincy’s.”
Johnson raised his eyebrows. “You’re an observant woman, Mrs. Stanton.” He flicked open the top of the ring to reveal a fine white powder. “All my men wear one of these, myself included, just in case.” He snapped the lid into place.
Virginia muffled a sob with her handkerchief.
Edward stared aghast at the ring. “I don’t believe it.”
Johnson clasped his hands together. “Quin accepted the ring.”
Edward leapt to his feet. “That is your solution? Poison?”
Johnson looked about. “Calm yourself, Edward.”
Edward sat, gripping the edge of the table. “I will not accept this. Neither will Quin.”
Johnson shrugged. “He agreed to wear it.”
“Damnation.” Edward hit his fist on the table. “That was before he was married and expecting a child.”
Johnson glanced at Virginia. “A child?”
She nodded her head and wiped her eyes with the crumpled handkerchief.
They remained silent as Sukey approached with a tray. She placed the coffee and chocolate in front of Edward and Virginia. With a glare at Johnson, she clunked a mug of coffee in front of him. “Ye didn’t place an order, so I brought you whatever I felt like.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Sometimes I like to play God and make decisions affecting other people’s lives.” She marched off in a huff.
Johnson watched her departing figure, his expression grim.
Edward wrapped an arm around Virginia’s shoulders. “We will not accept this.”
Johnson stood, reached in his brown wool coat and tossed a few coins on the table. “Quincy knows what to do.” He swiveled on his heel and strode out the door.
Thursday, February 22, 1770
Four paces from the bench to the jail bars. Quincy heaved himself to his feet and walked the four steps. If a man could die of boredom, he’d already be a lifeless corpse. He turned and faced the back wall. Ten paces from the bars to the window. He shuffled to the back wall and stood under the open window.
The window was both friend and enemy. On nights like this, he could look out at the stars and pretend he was at sea with his old stellar friends watching over him. But the comfort came at a high price. He could only tolerate the frigid air for a short while.
He ambled back to the bench and sat. He had tried bribing the guards with his silver shoe buckles or ring. They refused to let him go, but offered to take the silver in exchange for allowing him more comforts. He had asked for a candle, thinking he could use his small stash of gunpowder to escape, but that request had been refused. Johnson had ordered his other spies to stay away rather than risk exposure.
Quin sighed and leaned back against the cold, gritty wall. What to think about next? Anything but Ginny and the pain he had caused her. The cell seemed a bit smaller each day, a bit darker each night. Once again the bastard was shut away in a cold, dark room. But now he was no longer a child. He had too much to live for.
Now he was loved.
Somehow, he needed to escape before they deported him. Here he had friends and family who would help him. Once in Britain, his chances would be limited. He flipped open his ring. He could barely see the poison in the dark.
He snapped the ring shut. Better to die attempting an escape.
Sunday, February 25, 1770
“Is she asleep?” Edward poured himself another mug of coffee.
“Aye.” Jamie tucked a blanket around his daughter where she lay on his pallet in the study. “Puir lass. She’s exhausted, trying to stay awake every night.”
Edward nodded. He felt the same way. How could he sleep, fearing that Quincy might decide in the cold of night to take the poison? Every morning he rushed to the jail to see if Quincy still lived. He beseeched his nephew to give him the ring, but Quin refused.
The hearing had taken place on Friday. The judge had marched in and announced that Quin would leave on the eighth of March to stand trial in England. The judge refused to listen to any petitions from Winkle. In a matter of minutes, Quin was doomed to die a traitor’s death.
Edward leaned back in his chair at the desk. “I’m grateful you have remained in Boston. If Quin thought Ginny was leaving with you, I’m afraid he would take the poison immediately.”
Jamie paced about the room. “Aye, we’ll stay. I tell you, this town is growing more angry each day. The funeral for the wee lad is tomorrow.”
“Aye.” Edward knew the Seider family, who would be burying twelve-year-old Christopher the next day. A gang of youths had attacked a customs employee who had retreated to his house and fired a musket at the boys. Young Christopher had died.
Edward sipped his coffee. “As tragic as it is, I think the atmosphere of violence may work to our favor.”
Jamie stopped in front of him. “Ye mean the redcoats are too occupied with the brawls in the streets.”
Edward nodded. “They may not be watch
ing the jail so carefully.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Jamie leaned over the desk. “We have ten days before the lad goes to England.”
“I know the layout of the jail. I’ve been there every day.”
“We should do it at night. The guards will be different and no’ recognize us.”
“I agree.” Edward grabbed his penknife to sharpen a quill. “If I present Johnson with a workable plan, he might agree to it. Some of Quincy’s friends have volunteered to help.”
“How about a week from tomorrow?”
“That would be Monday, the fifth of March.” Edward reached for a blank sheet of paper. “Pull up a chair, Jamie. We have plans to make.”
“I want to be in on it.” From the pallet, Virginia heaved herself to her feet.
Jamie frowned at her. “I thought ye were sleeping.”
“Just resting a bit. I want to help.”
Edward exchanged a doubtful look with her father. “This could be dangerous.”
“Aye,” Jamie agreed. “Ye should thinking of the bairn, lass. Ye’ll be risking more than yer own neck.”
“I am thinking of the baby. He needs a father.” Virginia sat at the desk, a stubborn look etched on her tired features. “I intend to rescue my husband.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Monday, March 5, 1770
Jamie stopped the coach a block south of the jail.
Edward stepped out and helped Virginia, Mary, and Caroline dismount to the deserted street. “Everyone knows what to do?”
Caroline nodded. “I’m the lookout. I’ll be two blocks down from you and scream as loud as I can if any redcoats come.” She wrapped a knitted scarf around her neck. “I’ll be on my way. Good luck.” She dashed down the street.
Mary pulled the hood of her blue woolen cloak over her head. “You have yet to explain how I am to assist you, Edward.”
“We’ll distract the guard outside the jail.”
Mary frowned. “Yes, but how?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll see.” Edward looked at Jamie, still in the driver’s seat. “Have you heard from the boys?”
“Aye.” Jamie clucked at the restless horses. “George and Josiah have found two dozen lads who will help them torment the sentry in front of the customs house on King Street. They should be moving into place now.”
“Good.” Edward nodded. “Quin’s friends and the other Sons of Liberty are meeting with Johnson at the Bunch of Grapes Tavern. They’ll be converging on King Street soon. The redcoats will be too busy there to interfere with our plans here.”
Jamie winked at Virginia. “Ye make me proud, lass. I’ll be waiting for you.” He flicked the reins, and the coach rolled away.
Edward gave Virginia one last warning. “Wait ’til you see the coast is clear. Good luck.”
She nodded, her face pale in the moonlight. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on a bottle of rum. With a swish of woolen skirts and green woolen cape, she turned and ran to the side street to the west of the jail.
Edward grasped Mary’s hand and led her to the side street to the east of the jailhouse. At this time of night, two soldiers guarded the jail, one posted outside the door and one inside the office. Once he and Mary distracted the guard outside, Virginia would deal with the guard inside. Jamie would pick up the boys at King Street and wait for the rest of them to arrive. The coach, borrowed from Johnson, had a hidden compartment under the backseat. Quin would hide there while Jamie drove overland to Concord.
As Edward advanced onto the empty street in front of the jail, he spotted the guard standing outside. He stopped where the guard could see him and faced Mary. “Did I tell you the good news? My factor in London has located George Peeper’s little sister. He’s putting her on the next ship here.”
Mary smiled. “Edward, that’s marvelous! George will be so happy. How can I thank you?”
Edward glanced quickly at the guard. The young soldier was watching them. “Well, Mary, you could come to my bed.”
Her mouth dropped open. With a huff, she flushed bright red. “Edward Stanton, I thought you were a decent man.”
He shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that. Slap me.”
“What?”
“Slap me.” He seized her by the shoulders and ground his mouth against hers.
She wrestled free and slapped him hard.
He grimaced, rubbing his stinging cheek. “Not bad. Can you scream at me now?”
“Have you lost your senses?”
“A little louder, sweetheart.” He fell to his knees and shouted, “I cannot bear it any longer! You must marry me.”
She stepped back. “What has come over you?”
“Oh, cruel woman! Why do you torture me this way?”
“Come on, lady.” The young soldier wandered toward them a few steps. “Give the poor man what he needs.”
With a huff, Mary pivoted toward the soldier. “I will thank you to mind your own business.”
Edward cried out, “For twelve long years she has tortured me!”
The soldier grimaced as he approached. “Twelve years? Give it up, man. There are other women in the sea and more willing than this cold fish.”
Mary gasped. “How dare you!”
Edward clutched the hem of her skirt. In the distance, he spotted Virginia slipping inside the jail. “I can never give her up. I love her.”
Mary paled. She stepped back, jerking her skirt from his hands. She glanced at the soldier and back to Edward. “Ye’re just saying that because—ye doona mean it.”
“I do. I have loved you for twelve years. I named The Forbidden Lady after you. I did business with your husband for your sake. I have always tried to take care of you. I love you so much.”
Mary’s eyes shimmered with tears. “Oh, Edward. I never knew.”
“Marry me, please.”
“Come on, lady,” the young soldier said. “Have a heart.”
Mary laughed as the tears streamed down her face. “All right. I will marry you.”
Edward whooped as he sprang to his feet. He kissed Mary gently on the mouth.
“Congratulations.” The fresh-faced young soldier grinned.
“Thank you.” Edward smiled at him, then punched him in the jaw.
The soldier crumpled onto the street.
Mary gasped. “Did ye have to do that?”
“Yes.” Edward seized the redcoat under the arms and dragged him to the side street.
Mary followed him. “Did you mean what you said, Edward? You weren’t acting merely to distract this poor boy?”
“I meant every word.” Edward pulled a length of rope from his coat and tied the soldier’s hands and feet.
Loud voices shouted in the distance. Edward straightened to listen. “That sounds like more than a few dozen boys.”
Church bells rang out. They echoed over Boston, alerting the citizens of impending danger. People poured into the streets. They shouted, waving their arms and shaking their fists. Edward dragged the unconscious soldier out of the way of trampling feet. Mary jumped to the side to keep from being swept down the street with the sea of people surging toward the customs house.
Shouts of “Town born! Turn out!” mingled with feigned Indian war cries. Torches, held high, cast strange lurching shadows and stunk of burning pitch. Those who were empty-handed ripped planks off fences and crates, promising pain to any redcoat in their path.
Mary yelled, straining to be heard over the roar. “Is this part of the plan?”
Edward shook his head. “No.”
“I thought the bells meant there was a fire.”
“Not this time. These people are armed with sticks and bats, not fire buckets. This is a mob!”
Mary watched the people pouring past them, her eyes wide with alar
m. “It will keep the redcoats busy, won’t it?”
“Yes, but these people are headed for King Street where Jamie is waiting. He’ll never be able to drive the coach through this crowd. Stay here and help Virginia. I’ll find Jamie.”
Edward lunged into the middle of the street. A wave of human bodies, electrified with excitement, accelerated toward King Street, shoving him along in its wake. There he spied a line of redcoats in front of the customs house, their muskets leveled at the crowd.
“No!” he shouted.
Musket fire rang out, followed by screams. Smoke filled the air and hovered over the street like a menacing cloud.
The crowd panicked and reversed its direction, turning on itself. More musket fire exploded. Screams fractured the air, shrill and terrified. Pushing bodies entangled and trampled each other, desperate to escape. Edward scrambled to a recessed doorway as arms and legs struck and kicked at him.
He pressed against the wooden door. The smell of gunpowder and horror-inspired sweat hung thick in the air. Screams of panic gave way to sobs of despair. What on earth had happened? Johnson had planned a mere distraction, not a full-fledged riot with gunfire.
As the smoke cleared and the crowd thinned, he peered out of the doorway. Several bodies lay in the street. Kneeling beside them, mourners cradled the dead, their cries rending the night, forever branding the fifth of March as a day of massacre.
Edward stumbled from the doorway. Americans shot down in the street by British redcoats. Was this the beginning of war?
He approached each of the dead, fearing to find Josiah or George. He spotted their overturned carriage in the distance and sprinted toward it. “Jamie?”
No one answered.
Edward peered inside the carriage. Empty. A wheel, suspended in the air, slowly turned. The horses were gone.
“Damn.” The mob had destroyed their means of escape. He headed back in the direction of the jail, searching for his missing comrades as he ran.
“Visitors are not allowed at night, miss.” The young jailer rose from his chair.
Virginia advanced slowly. “But I came to visit with you.”