Midnight
“I’ve heard rumors that Kingston might have been involved with the arrest.”
“The only thing I know for certain is that he hated Primus.”
“Do you know why?”
“No. Primus never talked about why, only that they were best friends growing up, which surprised me, but after they settled here something changed.”
Yet another mystery, Nicholas thought. “Tell me about his daughter. I’m surprised such a beauty isn’t married.”
“There’s a strong mind beneath that lovely face and some men are put off by that. Faith’s no meek miss waiting to do a husband’s biding.”
That jibed with what Faith had revealed, but he’d wanted to hear Blythe’s take, too. “Does she follow her father’s thinking?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“That’s a cryptic answer.”
“These are cryptic times, no?”
He allowed her that, so he turned his thoughts away from Mistress Kingston and back to his father’s arrest. “Did Primus ever mention a Lady Midnight? I asked Prince about her, but he was purposefully vague, I’m thinking.”
“As I said, these are cryptic times. Some things are not to be shared.”
“Not even with the man stepping into my father’s shoes?”
She paused and gauged him closely. “Really?”
“Prince asked me this morning if I would consider it, and I gave him my reply at the church.”
“And you said yes.”
He nodded.
“Your father would approve.”
Her response gave him the answer to the question he’d sought at the beginning of their conversation. “So you did know about his secret work with the rebels?”
“Your father and I were links in a long and circuitous chain. Why are you curious about the Lady Midnight?”
“According to Artemis Clegg, she visited Primus just before the arrest, so I am anxious to speak with her. I’m hoping she can reveal the identity of whoever betrayed him.”
Blythe went silent for a few moments, and he wondered what she might be holding back. “Your thoughts?” he asked.
“I would like to know who betrayed him as well. I have made some discreet inquiries, but so far nothing tangible has come to light.”
“Has anyone else been arrested in the interim?”
“Yes, but no one with ties to the free Black community. Although we do wonder who else may be on Gage’s list.”
“Prince said that his flat is under constant watch.”
“As are many others.”
“And you?”
“I’ve seen nothing that indicates such, but it is more difficult for the British to keep watch out here in the countryside. They are too busy with all that is going on in the city.”
“Prince also said that only a few people know how to contact Lady Midnight. I assume my father was one and that possibly you are another?”
Again she studied him but finally admitted, “Yes, I am, but know this, Nicholas. I will betray you before I bring the British down on her head. Should she be exposed, she will hang, and I would not like to see that happen.”
He met her eyes and saw the quiet determination they held. “All right. I will not press you further on the matter of her identity, but will she continue to work through me?”
“There is no guarantee. She trusted your father with her life. She may not feel the same about you.”
“One last question. Why weren’t you the one to take over my father’s contacts?”
“Although we were links in the same chain, our positions on that chain were different. His information went directly into Boston. Mine flows elsewhere.”
Nicholas thought about all that he’d learned. This was a deadly game he’d signed on to play and any wrong moves could leave him with a noose around his throat. He’d have to proceed with stealth and caution. “You will let the Lady Midnight know about the new arrangement?”
“I will, and we will see how she responds.”
“Thank you for allowing me to monopolize your evening, and for being so forthright with your replies to my many questions.”
“Your father would have expected no less. So what have you been doing with your life since the war?”
He told her about the years he spent trapping and guiding and living with the Iroquois, but left out being shanghaied and his subsequent life as a smuggler. “Made a veritable fortune, but had no idea Primus would leave this life without me having a chance to wish him Godspeed.”
“I’m sure he felt the same.”
Nick’s laugh was harsh. “No need to lie to me, Blythe.”
“It’s true. You’ve no idea how pleased he was to receive your letters.”
Nick found that surprising. “But he never acknowledged them with a reply.”
“He could be stubborn, but he cherished your words and he worried when they stopped coming for a while. He’d given you up for dead until your letters started to arrive again.”
Nick had stopped writing because of the hell he’d found himself in after being impressed.
“You haven’t married?” Blythe asked.
“No. No desire to put down the roots a wife and family require.”
“And now?”
He shrugged, and Faith’s face flashed across his mind’s eye. “I could be ready with the right woman. It’s good for a man to have sons.”
“And daughters,” she reminded him sagely.
Amusement lit his tone. “And daughters. I’d like to give a reception next Saturday in order to reintroduce myself to the community. I’d be honored if you would be my hostess.”
“I’d love to. Would you like for me to prepare the guest list?”
“That would be helpful. Miss Kingston has offered to help with the food.”
“Really? And her father’s allowing it?”
“I’ve no idea what he will say, but if he’s the man I believe him to be, the price I’m offering for her services should appease him.”
She eyed him for a long moment before saying, “I’ll not have you trifling with her feelings, Nicholas.”
“I don’t trifle, Blythe. She’s a wonderful cook.”
“She is, but—”
Their eyes met.
“Never mind,” Blythe said. “I trust you will be a gentleman.”
Nick inclined his head. “Thank you.”
“I’ll include some of the area’s eligible young ladies on the guest list just in case you decide you do want a wife. Would you like to have the reception here? It may be more convenient than attempting to get your own home ready for such an event.”
Nick liked the sound of that. “That makes sense, so yes, if it isn’t an inconvenience.”
“I’d enjoy it.”
“As to the young women on the guest list. No insipid ones, please. My ideal candidate will be someone able to hold a decent conversation without having her eyes glaze over.”
She replied with a soft peal of laughter. “I will keep that in mind.”
Nicholas got to his feet and she followed.
As she walked with him to the front door, she said, “It’s been lovely chatting with you.”
“For me as well.” He paused for a moment, then pledged, “I’ll not stop looking for the person who betrayed my father.”
“I know you won’t because neither will I.”
He nodded. “Good night, Blythe.”
“Be well.”
The following morning Faith was up before dawn tossing wood on the fire in the kitchen’s big stone grate to begin the day. The room was cold as it always was at that time. Shivering, she pulled her gray shawl closer and used the poker on the logs to prod the flames higher. It would take a while for the wood to be consumed enough to cook on, so she got out her wooden dough bowl to start the biscuits. As she worked, the kitchen gradually warmed and the fire reduced some of the fat logs to the charcoal-like ash necessary to cook on. Wiping her dough-covered hands clean, she hiked up her
skirts and petticoats and tucked the hems into the waistband of her skirt, leaving her stocking-covered legs exposed. Many women died from fires started by sparks on their long skirts, and Faith had no desire to be among their number. It was indecent, yes, but a commonly accepted safety precaution practiced by every cook.
She checked the bacon frying in the skillets sitting on top of the raised gridirons near the front of the fire, then stirred the breakfast stew of meat and vegetables cooking nicely in the big iron pot hanging on the rod fixed into the back of the grate. Each portion of the big fireplace was a different temperature, and it took skill to have everything done in the same time span. Once she placed the biscuits in the Dutch oven, she put the lid on and placed it near the front of the fire. She then used a long-handled fire shovel to pile some of the charcoal on top of the lid. Now that she had everything cooking, she paused to take a breath. She heard voices coming from the main room. Curious as to who it might be at such an early hour, she stepped out to find her father conversing with a British soldier. When the conversation ended, the soldier departed.
“What did he want so early?”
“He’s a scout sent ahead by General Gage and his officers. They’ll be here in under an hour to eat. Make sure everything’s ready.”
Nodding, she went back into the kitchen.
The general and his men arrived forty minutes later and immediately headed down to the cellar room. When she had everything ready, she placed the food onto a tray and carried it down the earth-carved steps to the cellar. As she approached, she heard Gage snarl, “I’ve had enough. We will put an end to this rebel nonsense as soon as and as quickly as we can. By mid April it will be over.”
Surprised etched her face and she stopped. The ramifications of his words were enormous. Composing herself, she entered the room. All conversation ceased.
Once done with the serving, she left them as silently as she’d come. Hoping Gage might continue the conversation, she quickly went into the wood bin and was just getting herself into position when she heard behind her, “What are you doing?”
Startled, she turned and came face to face with one of the aides. “I’m getting more wood for the grates, sir,” she managed to say without stammering. Her heart was thumping against her chest.
He eyed her suspiciously. “Then get about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Under his watchful stance, Faith hastily filled her arms with some of the rough-cut wood, and after giving him a nod, moved past him and headed up the stairs. She could feel his eyes on her back, so she didn’t turn around.
Once alone in the kitchen, she waited until her galloping heart slowed and then thanked providence that he’d shown up when he had. Had it been a few moments later, she would have had a harder time explaining why she was in the room and not already gone. In the future she might have to find another way to eavesdrop, but for the present, she pondered what she’d heard. If Gage was indeed planning an imminent move against the rebels, word needed to be spread so that preparations could be made to meet the assault. She supposed she could send word to the Sons of Liberty by Charity again, although she preferred another way. Should Ingram ever find out her role, their marriage might be destroyed and Charity cast out. Although Charity had undoubtedly weighed the risks when she began her tradecraft, Faith preferred not to use her too often. She supposed she could pass on what she’d heard to Blythe and let her handle it from there. As far as Faith knew, no one had been appointed to replace Primus. She assumed the role would be filled eventually, but she had no way of knowing if it would be someone she could trust. If all else failed she could take a chance on leaving a message at the home of John Hancock. It would mean sneaking out of the house again, but Gage’s plans were important enough to take the risk.
While trying to decide on the best course of action, she added the wood in her arms to the stack by the grate. She was checking the biscuits still cooking in the Dutch oven when her father entered.
“Are they served?” he asked.
“Yes. You’d think they would offer some words of thanks for it.” She continued to be offended by their lack of manners.
“Don’t be disrespectful, child. The general shows his appreciation in other ways. Add these coins to the safe.” He placed a small leather pouch on the table and walked out.
Faith opened the bag. The pile of sovereigns inside widened her eyes. Grabbing it up, she went after him. “What is this for?”
“Bills.”
“I mean why would he pay you such a large sum?”
“For the good service, of course.”
She swore he looked evasive. “Are you certain?”
“What other reason would there be? Now go put it in the safe like I asked.”
So she did, but not without wondering why he’d looked the way he had in response to her question. Many of the homes and inns in the area had been forced to house British troops with no compensation to the owners. To the people of Boston the foisting had come to be known as one of the Intolerable Acts. The general and his aides had been taking meals at the inn for months now, but Faith never remembered them paying her father so much as a farthing, so why now? Closing the safe, she supposed her suspicions were simply a product of the times.
The sun had just risen when Nicholas breached the surface of the ice-cold creek and shook the water from his face and head. Shivering, he strode naked up the bank and quickly wrapped himself in the warmth of the thick pelt blanket before pushing his bare feet into the worn deer-hide moccasins. Looking like an Iroquois in winter, he made his way through the forest and silently covered the short distance across his fields to the house. Inside, he stood by the fire and warmed himself. Although the creek had been running with the first melting of spring, the frigid temperature was invigorating; not only did it erase the sluggish remnants of sleep, it left his thinking sharp and clear. The early morning ritual was one of the many ways he’d been changed by living inside the Iroquois Confederation. At first, their way of life had seemed strange to a young man whose entire world had consisted of his father’s farm and the surrounding environs, but the longer he lived with them, the more he saw the world through their eyes, and the more he came to appreciate their ways and beliefs.
Living the smuggler’s life had changed him as well; hardening him, making him more cynical and more apt not to care about the consequences of his actions. He’d enjoyed the danger, the meetings in back rooms, the working of a deal. He’d made friends and enemies, and enjoyed women in port cities all over the world, and now? Coming back to live in polite society had him thinking about what he wanted to do with the remainder of his life. The money he had stashed away in banks in Philadelphia, London, and Montreal made working for a living unnecessary, yet he was not the type to sit idly by until the time came to be buried next to his parents. He needed purpose; always had. It was something he’d put his mind to once the quest to avenge his father was laid to rest, but not until then.
Warmer now, Nicholas dressed and sat down to a simple meal of bark tea, strips of dried pemmican, and a skillet of eggs. He thought about the reception he and Blythe had planned. Her offer to compile a list of potential wives wasn’t something he’d dismissed out of hand, but he doubted anything would come of it. He supposed he owed it to his father to do what he could to ensure the Grey name survived, so he spent a few moments imagining himself spending the rest of his life as a farmer and married to a boring woman, and he frowned. If he did decide to marry he’d be more inclined to marry someone like Faith Kingston, whose wit and fire would at least keep him awake. With that in mind, he wondered if her father would forbid her to help with the reception. He hoped not because the more he was around her, the more she intrigued him, in spite of the fact that she wasn’t the woman for him. He was supposed to meet her today to go over the food selections. Seeing her again was something he was looking forward to. A knock at his door caught his attention.
When he opened it, he found Prince Hall standing on the thr
eshold. “Morning, Nicholas. Did you forget that we are drilling today?”
He lied, “No, but where are the others?”
“They’ll be arriving shortly.
Nick invited him in. His meeting with the beguiling Faith Kingston would have to wait.
Just as he was about to close the door, a young man driving a wagon pulled up and called out to Nicholas. “You Nick Grey?”
“Yes.”
“Got a letter for you.”
A curious Nick walked out and took the letter. He give the driver a few coins for his trouble and as the man departed, Nick opened the black ribbon holding the missive closed. What he read inside made him smile.
After informing her father that she was going to visit Blythe, but would be back in time to prepare the late afternoon meal, Faith hurried outside to their small stable to hook their old mare, Susie, to the front of the flatbed wagon. Once everything was in order, she drove away.
The sun was shining brightly out of a blue sky as she traveled down the slushy Concord Road. Although the temperature was still cold enough to need her heavy cape, the breeze held the warm promise of spring. The month of April was only two weeks away, and once spring arrived in earnest everyone could shake off the isolation forced on them since mid November. There would be outdoor gatherings at the church again. The benevolent societies could be more active in their efforts to keep the race rising through their work with children, the poor, and the elderly. There would be parades—if the British allowed them—lobster bakes, and fishing, one of her favorite pastimes. In fact, if there was time and the fates were kind, she hoped to catch a few fish for dinner later that day. After months of dried, salted, or smoked meat, something fresh caught would be a godsend.
Since she had to pass the Trotter house, she decided to stop in and pay them a visit, but no one was home, so Faith drove Susie to the next side road that led to Blythe’s. It was muddy going. Susie didn’t like the slop but Faith urged her to keep moving so that the wagon wouldn’t get stuck.
Knocks at Blythe’s door went unanswered as well. Sighing with frustration, she supposed she’d have to hold on to Gage’s words until she reached her, but she prayed the general didn’t implement his plans early. Faith reached into the pocket of her cloak and withdrew the white quartz stone she always used a signal when she needed to speak with Blythe. Placing it at the base of the front door, she climbed back up into the wagon and drove away.