Well before seven o’clock on Saturday evening, Mina came to sit with Aunt Caroline. Though the ravages of the withdrawal from laudanum had taken a toll on her fragile health, she roused enough to ask if I knew who else would be at the dinner party.
“Edward and Emma Nichols and their parents, of course. Emma hinted that a few young officers had been invited too.”
She smiled. “Then it should be . . . enjoyable for you.”
My steps were light as I left her to go to my room to dress. After a tiring week of nursing Aunt Caroline, I looked forward to the social. Not only was it my first venture into Boston society, but I hoped it would also be an opportunity to learn something of value for the patriot army. Weren’t young officers to be there? Maybe Gideon as well.
When Alice had learned about the dinner party, she’d offered to help me dress. “I sometimes helped Mistress Lind before she took sick,” she’d told me.
I was grateful for her nimble fingers as she arranged my hair and fussed with the rose-colored robe until it draped gracefully over the lighter pink underskirt of my gown. Not satisfied, she tightened my embroidered stomacher to better show off the slimness of my waist.
Stepping to the mirror, I smiled at the results of my hair drawn into a high pompadour with ringlets framing my face. All in all, I was pleased with the outcome.
After thanking Alice, I made my way down the wide front stairs and out to the waiting carriage. A short time later, Jake stopped the carriage in front of a white, two-storied home with windows alight with candles.
Emma was waiting for me and took me into a lovely drawing room papered in deep blue and adorned with windows richly draped in floral silk. Though it wasn’t as grand as the Linds’ drawing room, the numerous unfamiliar faces made me glad for Emma’s small gloved hand on my elbow. She introduced me first to Arabelle Cole, a friend since childhood with fine gray eyes and unremarkable looks. As I dropped a curtsy and murmured my pleasure, I was aware of three red-clad officers conversing with two young ladies. But of Gideon, I saw nothing.
Before Emma could introduce me further, Edward was at my side, his smile and words welcoming. After complimenting me profusely, he introduced me to two gentlemen friends. Though they were pleasant, my main interest was in the officers, and I was grateful when Edward finally took me across the room to make their acquaintance.
Captain Russell bowed low, his manner stiff, and Captain Burns’s lean face looked as if it hadn’t had much practice at smiling. Captain Tercel was the most amiable of the three, and his sandy brows lifted in appreciation as he took my hand. Even so, there was aloofness in their manner, as if they felt themselves above the company of mere colonials.
Despite my smile, I felt their rebuff. More than that, anger shouted that they were the enemy. Had Captain Burns led soldiers to Lexington? Perhaps Captain Tercel’s teasing eyes had squinted down his musket as he’d fired at Father. It took great effort to remember that my purpose was to attract and charm, not to challenge with anger and a cold shoulder. With this thought firmly in mind, I set out to do just that.
Unfortunately, before I could say more than a dozen words, a servant announced that dinner was served. Edward put a possessive hand on my elbow and whispered, “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve set myself to partner you for dinner.”
“How could I mind when I’ve looked forward to getting to know you better?”
My words pleased him, as I’d intended, and a minute later, Edward and I followed his parents into a room dominated by a long, covered table set with snowy napkins and crystal goblets. Along with Edward’s parents, twelve young people sat down to dinner.
We had no sooner reached our places than Mr. Nichols rapped with his spoon on a goblet. “As you know, our dear friend Arabelle Cole is leaving us to live with her widowed aunt in Salem.”
Mistress Cole’s cheeks flushed as gazes turned to her.
He lifted his wine glass. “A toast of farewell to Mistress Cole. Godspeed, my dear. Know that our best wishes go with you.”
“Godspeed!” a chorus of voices echoed as we raised our glasses.
After we resumed our chairs, the servants brought in steaming bowls of chowder and flaky rolls with butter and a variety of preserves. The meal passed pleasantly, for Edward had a ready sense of humor and was bent on holding my attention. Charming as he was, I would much rather have been partnered by one of the officers.
I wasn’t displeased when the meal ended and we returned to the drawing room, where tables had been set up for games. Before we could find a table, Edward’s mother approached, Captain Burns but a step behind.
“I apologize for interrupting your time with Mistress Stowell,” she said to Edward, “but others are eager to enjoy her company . . . Captain Burns among them.”
Hearing his name, Captain Burns bowed stiffly and asked if he might have the pleasure of partnering me at a game of cribbage.
I readily accepted his invitation, smiling up at his lean face as he led me to join Arabelle Cole and Captain Tercel at the cribbage table. Counting my good luck, I sat at the table and gave the captain another smile.
“Having lived all my life away from Boston, I’ve never had opportunity to meet an officer before.” My gaze traveled over him in an admiring manner. “I must say I find it to my liking.”
For a second, Captain Burns looked as if he’d lost his power of speech, his cheeks flushing and his Adam’s apple working in his thin neck. “Why . . . why thank you.”
“You are most welcome,” I replied. “Welcome, too, for asking me to join you for a game of cribbage. Did you know ’tis one of my favorite games?”
“Mine too,” he said, his tone conveying the hope that our mutual liking for cribbage would make our time together even more agreeable.
As the pegs were laid out, Captain Tercel and Mistress Cole joined our conversation, and I continued to exert my wiles on Captain Burns, flashing him a smile when our glances met and giving him my undivided attention each time he spoke. Though part of me cried shame for doing such to a man who must seldom bask in the glow of female admiration, the rest claimed fair in a time of spying and war.
“Have you been long in Boston?” I asked after the game had commenced.
“Nigh onto a year now, and no hope to leave until this blasted rebellion is put down. No offence to you,” he hastily stammered. “Even in England, I never saw a face more lovely, but—” His Adam’s apple moved erratically.
I scarcely believed what I was doing when I fluttered my eyes at him. “Yes . . . ?” I prompted when he seemed to lose his train of thought.
“’Tis your climate that makes me want to leave. I nearly froze last winter, and now this heat—” He ran a stubby finger around his collar as if he’d like to rip it off.
I nodded sympathetically as I took my turn in the game.
This was all the encouragement the captain needed. “If it weren’t for dinner invitations like tonight, we’d be eating no better than the men in the ranks,” he confided.
I leaned toward him and murmured my dismay.
“It isn’t just the soldiers who lack,” he went on. “Our horses don’t have hay. If things don’t change soon, they’ll be nothing but skin and bones.”
“How awful!”
“Isn’t there grass for them to eat on the common?” Mistress Cole asked.
Captain Tercel shook his head. “’Tis fiercely guarded by town folk for their cows, and for once, General Gage agrees with them.”
“They say there’s plenty of hay on Noddle’s Island and hogs for the taking on Hog Island,” Captain Burns said importantly. “There’s talk of raiding both islands . . . perhaps as soon as a week, but—” Something—most likely Captain Tercel’s foot kicking him under the table—stopped Captain Burns’s tongue.
My mind whirled with what he’d said, remembering the green of Noddle’s Island sitting not far from the ferry crossing between Boston and Charles Town and Hog Island to the east—both with ready food for redcoats and horses and none but a few farmers to hold off a raid.
Captain Tercel hastily turned to Mistress Cole. “Though I’m sorry to see you leave Boston, I’m pleased that I was here tonight to wish you Godspeed.”
Quick to recover from his blunder, Captain Burns seconded the sentiment.
Flushing at their attention, Mistress Cole murmured a soft, “Thank you.”
“When do you leave for Salem?” I asked.
“Hopefully on Tuesday, though as yet, I haven’t obtained a pass for the blockade.”
“A pass?”
Captain Tercel nodded. “Since you’re recently arrived, you probably aren’t aware that a pass to leave Boston is required at the blockade. Otherwise we have no way to stop rebel sympathizers from smuggling aid to the rabble across the bay. Every care must be taken, and sometimes the passes are slow to be approved.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I thought not.” Haughtiness edged his words as he opened his snuff box and put a pinch of it to his nose.
Remembering the part I played, I smiled and gave him a look I would have despised in another woman. Trying not to think what Reverend Whipple would say if he saw me openly flirting with two redcoat officers, I lowered my lashes.
This act sent Captain Burns to recapture my attention, and the rivalry between the two men to gain a smile from me added an undercurrent of excitement as we played cards.
In Mayfield, I seldom lost at cribbage, but I lost that night. My mind was so full of charming the two captains while trying to suppress my excitement about Noddle’s and Hog Islands that it had little room for anything else. The army needed to know that a raid was forthcoming. But how could I get a message to them?
***
The answer came to me as I was taking my leave of Edward and Emma. As Edward was expressing the hope of seeing me at church on the morrow, I caught a glimpse of Arabelle Cole standing by the front door. Hadn’t she said she was leaving Boston on Tuesday? Excusing myself, I went to intercept her.
“Will you be passing through Cambridge on your way to Salem?” I asked after I’d wished her a pleasant journey.
The flame from a candle cast light and shadow across her plain features as she nodded.
“Would it be possible for you to carry a letter to my mother? She was worried about me coming to Boston, and I want to let her know of my safe arrival.”
“Does your mother live in Cambridge?” Arabelle asked.
“On a farm to the west, but friends in Cambridge will see that she receives it.”
My stomach tightened as I waited for her to answer. “I’ll be happy to, but you must make certain to have it to me before Tuesday.”
“I will,” I promised. After asking for her directions, which I quickly committed to memory, I nodded and took my leave.
During the carriage ride home, I mentally composed the letter I intended to write to Mother and the note I would add in invisible ink for Father and the army. Hopefully by Wednesday, Mr. Smyth and Father would be alerted to the redcoats’ plan to raid Noddle’s and Hog Islands.
***
As soon as I reached my room and donned my nightgown, I sat at the writing desk to compose a careful letter to my mother, one so normal and commonplace that it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. I also left enough space between the lines to pen a second letter to Father in the invisible ink he’d told me to use should the need arise.
I arrived safely in Boston and was warmly greeted by Mr. Lind, who was most grateful for my visit. Aunt Caroline’s poor health saddens me, but I feel my presence here helps and cheers her. Boston is much changed from when we visited it last—the mood is more somber, and soldiers are everywhere. But I am well received and treated kindly.
A young lady traveling to Salem has graciously agreed to leave my letter with the Smyths as she passes through Cambridge. My prayer is that all of you are kept safe and well by a loving God. May that same God continue to watch over me.
Your loving daughter,
Abigail I
I added a capital I after my name so Father would know there was another letter written with invisible ink. As I did, the memory of Father telling me about invisible or sympathetic ink filled my mind. “Lemon juice is best, but apple or other juice . . . even the juice of an onion will work. If worse comes to worst, you can even use your own spittle.”
I wrinkled my nose at the memory, glad that both apple juice and cider was in plentiful supply in the Lind household. Either should provide the results I needed, but the actual writing would have to wait until I could obtain one or the other.
***
I awoke the next morning, eager to find the juice with which to write the message to Father. Unfortunately, Aunt Caroline’s mind was of a different bent when I entered her room.
“You’ve come,” she said as soon as I entered the room. The eagerness in her voice surprised me, as did the sight of her propped up on pillows instead of lying abed. Before I could respond, she went on. “The party. Did you . . . enjoy it?”
“It was wonderful, and I enjoyed myself very much.”
“Good.” Other questions followed as I helped with her morning oblations.
I answered as best I could, though I sensed her interest wasn’t entirely engaged. Like me, something else crowded her mind. Moments later, someone knocked on the door. After Aunt Caroline slid down from the pillows, I called, “Come in.”
Alice curtseyed after opening the door. “Here’s porridge and toast for you and tea and toast for Mistress Lind when she wakes,” she said on noting Caroline’s closed eyes. When I rose to take the tray, she eagerly asked, “How was the party?”
“Very nice, thanks to you and your clever fingers. I received compliments on my hair and gown.”
Alice’s face flushed. “’Twas naught . . . though I do take pleasure in doing such.”
Though I was eager to ask her to bring me a glass of apple juice, I was also familiar with her penchant to linger and gossip. Siding with caution, I nodded to her in dismissal.
Aunt Caroline’s hand wasn’t quite steady as she took a bite of porridge, but she showed improvement over the day before. She’d just taken a second bite when another knock sounded on the door. Our eyes met, and I took the spoon from her hand and laid it on the tray.
Unlike Alice, Joseph opened the door and came inside without my bidding. “Breakfasting, I see,” he said in a cheerful voice.
His wife turned her sleepy gaze on him but didn’t speak.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not well,” she answered in a weak voice.
“But well enough for Abigail to attend church with me and Mother and Elizabeth.”
Aunt Caroline shook her head. “No.”
“Mina can stay with you as she did last night. We’ll only be gone two hours.”
She continued to shake her head, her fingers plucking nervously at the sheet. “No.”
Disappointment washed over me, for I’d hoped to see Gideon again. I was about to add my voice to that of Mr. Lind when I caught the pleading look in her eyes.
“As ill as she’s been, perhaps it would be best if I didn’t leave her again.” Swallowing my disappointment, I added, “I do thank you for thinking to ask me, however.”
Mr. Lind’s lips tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was resigned. “Very well, but I shall expect you to attend with me next week.”
“Yes,” I said, even as I wondered what the week would bring.
Aunt Caroline sighed with relief when her husband quit the room. When she started to speak, I put a finger to my lips and went to the door to listen for his retreating footsteps.
“I’m sorry to . . . keep you from meeting,” she said when I returned to my chair. “I feel stronger. There’s much . . . to tell you.”
“I have many questions,” I said, “but first you must finish your breakfast.”
In but a few minutes, the dishes were empty, and I’d returned the tray to the kitchen. As I climbed the stairs, I also carried a glass of apple juice. Nerves made me want to glance over my shoulder to see if anyone watched me. Though I chided myself for my foolishness, I felt uncommon relief when I finally gained my room and closed the door. Everything cried at me to hurry and write the letter, but I’d promised Aunt Caroline I’d be gone but a minute.
I’d scarcely taken the chair by her bed before she took a deep breath and leaned toward me. “Don’t trust Joseph. He’s evil and . . . has . . . caused a man’s death.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “He killed someone?”
“Not with his own hands . . . but he’s responsible.”
I shook my head in bewilderment. Watching her trembling lips, I realized what effort it had taken to say the damning words.
“You’ve heard of . . . Dr. Williams’s hanging?”
I nodded. Everyone in the colonies knew about the terrible incident. Charged with treason for stealing vital information from one of General Gage’s aides, he’d been hanged in Boston Common but a half year before. Only the overwhelming presence of armed troops had prevented rioting throughout Boston, and resentment over the incident had done much to rally the patriots against those same troops in the encounter at Lexington and Concord.
“Did Mr. Lind report Dr. Williams to General Gage?” I asked.
She nodded. “I don’t know the details . . . but, yes.”
“How did you find out?” Realization suddenly struck me. “That’s why he drugged you, isn’t it? To keep you from telling what you know.”
“Yes.” Anger stiffened the word.
“How did you find out?” I repeated.
“I . . . I overheard him talking . . . in the library. I thought to leave, but . . .” She paused to gather strength. “I heard a woman’s angry voice . . .” Tears filled her eyes. “’Twas Dr. Williams’s widow . . . accusing Joseph of double-crossing her husband.”
I stared, scarce knowing what to say.
“Yes,” she said when she saw my horror. “The men had purchased a shipment of smuggled ammunition . . . Dr. Williams to help the Sons of Liberty but Joseph to—” She paused and shook her head. “Joseph wanted to sell them to General Gage at a large profit. ’Twas then they quarreled and”—her voice sank to a whisper—“and Joseph planted the false evidence . . . and Dr. Williams was hanged.”
I pictured Aunt Caroline with her ear pressed against the door as she listened in disbelief to the distraught widow.
“She demanded to know where he’d hidden the arms,” my aunt finally went on. “Joseph laughed and said there were no arms . . . but ’twas a lie Dr. Williams told to hide his gambling debts.”
“What did she say to that?” I asked.
“The widow started to cry . . . and Joseph can’t abide tears. In the end, he gave her money . . . to go to relatives in Pennsylvania.”
Neither of us spoke for a minute—she to rest and me to wonder at the unsettling story I’d heard. Not only had Joseph Lind betrayed Father but Dr. Williams as well.
My aunt’s voice was low when she said, “I hid so the widow wouldn’t see me when she left, but—” She paused to clear her throat. “When I opened the library door . . . Joseph was returning a hollowed-out book to the shelf. He was so startled to see me that he dropped it and—” Her gaze shifted away as if to better picture what had happened. “Coins and papers spilled everywhere. I dropped to my knees and picked up . . . a paper that looked like a lease . . . but Joseph—” She shivered, and her words came fast. “He pounced on me and grabbed at the paper . . . shoving and hurting while I screamed that I knew what he’d done.”
“When he realized what I’d said . . . he grew very still . . . and his face turned cold and hateful. Before I could think . . . he struck me hard on the face . . . then again . . . while I screamed for help.”
The horror of what she’d told me filled the bedroom, and Aunt Caroline began to shiver as if with the ague. I reached for her hand, but she moved it away as if the touch came from her husband, not me.
“While I cried and screamed, Joseph yelled for Briggs: ‘She’s snapped . . . gone mad and insane! Help me get her up to her bedroom!’”
Aunt Caroline shuddered as she repeated his shout. Overcome from reliving the terrifying experience, she closed her eyes and turned her face into the pillow.
Anger and shock rendered me speechless while I absorbed the wrenching scene. “Perhaps you should rest,” I finally said in a voice as unsteady as hers.
“No . . . no.” Opening her eyes, she stared past me at the wall, her dark plait falling across her shoulder while I listened with tightly clasped hands.
Her voice was faltering but grew in strength with each word, as if some unseen presence helped her tell of that awful day. “I fought and called for help as Briggs and Joseph forced me upstairs. Mistress Kent rushed out with a poker, but Joseph told her the same story he’d told Briggs. Everyone believed him.”
“Not I,” I declared.
But Aunt Caroline was so caught up in those terrible moments that she ignored me, her words painting vivid mental pictures of her fighting and clawing as Briggs captured her hands in his larger ones, her words so intense that I could feel her shuddering panic as Mistress Kent sat on her legs so Joseph and Briggs could tie her to the bed and gag her.
“You know the rest,” Aunt Caroline concluded in a weak, trembling voice.
“Dr. Barnes was sent for . . . told I was raving . . . out of my mind.” Her voice choked with tears. “Then I was dosed with . . . laudanum and fell asleep.”
I took her hand between mine. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”
“So am I,” she whispered. “Sorry that I married . . . such an evil man.” She paused for a moment. “Dr. Williams birthed both of our children . . . saw them through measles and whooping cough. He even pulled Joseph . . . through a painful case of quinsy.” Her voice stilled again. “I know ’tis a sin to hate . . . but that’s what I feel. Hatred and disgust.”
I wished Reverend Whipple were here to say some comforting words about how prayer and time are great healers. Instead, I could only continue to hold her hand.
She closed her eyes and lay so still I thought she’d fallen asleep. “Joseph can’t be trusted,” she rasped. “His passion for wealth . . . has robbed him of honor. If he would move the smuggled goods to a new hiding place . . . and do what he did to Dr. Williams . . . and to me . . . who knows who he might betray . . . or harm next?”
“We must be very careful.” I didn’t have the heart to say that her husband had also betrayed Father. “You need to rest. And we must pray for guidance to outwit this vile man.”