The maddening order came down from fleet commander Nicolls: movements on and off ship were to be strictly regulated. Sir Bernard returned to the Elias, Sir William and her uncle to the Martin, but Mercia was confined to the Redemption, prevented from interrogating Nicholas’s contact Jerrard or from going ashore to locate the agent Pietersen. After three days of worrying he might flee, she lost patience. The cannons had not fired on the town, the troops had not invaded, and the Dutch were equally intransient. When Nicolls came on board to review the state of the ship, Sir William and Sir Bernard imparting their experience of the vessel in his wake, she seized on the chance to intercept. Nicolls agreed to talk – once he was finished with his task.
She observed him concluding his inspection from her station at the stern. Dressed to intimidate in gleaming helmet and breastplate, he peered into everything, running his hand over rails and ropes, asking brief questions of Captain Morley, nodding curtly with each response. Behind him followed Sir Bernard, in turn pursued by Sir William: the pecking order, comprised of strutting cocks. The inspection over, Nicolls dismissed them and strode directly towards her. She could see Sir Bernard following him with his eyes, irritated at being abandoned for a woman, and an impertinent one at that.
Colonel Richard Nicolls was a man with natural authority. What he told people to do they invariably did, not surprising from a man hand-picked by the Duke of York to be the first British Governor of the town across the bay. He marched in a perfectly straight line, deviating only to avoid an open hatch or a coiled rope, not moving for any man – they all gave way for him. Despite his armour he bounded up the ladder to the stern, where he removed his helmet and bowed. He stood straight and tall, his face expressionless, his demeanour demanding brevity and intelligence.
‘You wished to speak with me, Mrs Blakewood.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And from what I have been told, I certainly want to speak with you. Sir William tells me his wife is dead, that your man tried to save her when she fell overboard.’ He roved his eyes across her face. ‘What happened?’
She held his gaze unblinking. ‘It is of that tragedy that I wished to speak. But I am afraid it is worse than you fear. I think she was pushed.’
He frowned. ‘Pushed?’
She persevered despite his evident doubt. ‘We were right to suspect that the man who contrived to steal the Oxford Section would sail with the fleet. Someone on board persuaded Lady Calde to write a note designed to scare me from my purpose. But then it seems her suspicion of him deepened. I think he killed her to protect his identity.’
A brief shadow of disgust fled across Nicolls’ face, but the inherent seriousness returned at once. ‘You have proof of this?’
‘Her journal.’ She sighed. ‘There is no mention of a name. But I am certain I saw someone running from her as she fell.’ She let her hood, already loose, slip back in the breeze. ‘Colonel, now we have arrived, I must locate the agent Pietersen and discover the name of this man who has betrayed the King. I must ask your permission to go ashore.’
Nicolls clicked his tongue. ‘A fiery sentiment. But even if you are right that this man is amongst us, all these here are in the Duke’s trust. I cannot simply question them, nor will I risk your safety.’ His left eye narrowed slightly; she could sense his mind working on a course of action. ‘Yet I do not want to involve anyone else. That companion of yours – Keyte. He has been a soldier?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled, appealing to Nicolls’ traditional views. ‘Nathan provides the strength, and I the finesse. Which I think is called for in this affair.’
Nicolls stared at her. ‘The King spoke true when he called you an impressive woman.’ He gripped his helmet to his side. ‘Very well, Mrs Blakewood. Although it is against my inclination, you and Keyte may pursue this matter, but after we have taken the town.’
‘Colonel, I fear that may be too late. Could I not row to shore in secret?’
He shook his head. ‘It is too dangerous.’
‘But if Pietersen flees,’ she persisted, ‘or is killed during an attack?’ She swept her hand out at the harbour. ‘You have boats rowing between the ships and the soldiers on the Long Island shore. What if whoever is behind this takes the opportunity to sneak into the town to warn him? Colonel, if the Oxford Section has come to America, Pietersen brought it. If I do not go now, we may lose our best chance to save the paintings for the King.’
Nicolls drummed his fingers on the rail. ‘By heaven, this is a distraction from the Duke’s business, but you have kindled his brother’s passion, Mrs Blakewood. You know one of those pictures is a portrait of his family, painted when he was just a boy?’ His forehead wrinkled the tiniest amount. ‘He seems to want that more than the town itself.’
It was hard not to know: The Royal Family of Stuart was encircled in deep black ink at the head of the King’s list. She pushed a ringlet back into place. ‘So I may take a boat?’
Finally Nicolls smiled. ‘You are a brave one. Somewhat unnatural, but brave.’ He ran his tongue round his upper lip, thinking. ‘I have dispatched another demand of surrender to Governor Stuyvesant. The obstinate fool returned my first because I had neglected to sign it.’ He looked out towards the fort. ‘I am minded to send someone to discuss terms in person. Maybe Winthrop. He knows better than I how these butter-boxes think. Perhaps you can go with him.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Butter-boxes?’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘’Tis what the sailors on the Guinea have been calling the Dutchmen. Because they are spreading themselves all over the globe.’
She laughed. ‘The crew here call them Froglanders.’
‘After their wet homelands, I suppose. Very well. If Stuyvesant has not replied by tomorrow I may send for you. You are right, ’tis time for action.’
He marched back down the ship. Mercia watched him go, impressed.
Pleased with her conversation, Mercia returned to her cabin to find Nathan crouched on the floor playing Daniel at draughts. She looked at the board. Nathan had an obvious winning move, but he made a different play instead. She squeezed his shoulder.
‘We may finally be getting off this ship. Colonel Nicolls might send me over tomorrow.’
Daniel looked up. ‘To Mad Hatton? Can I come?’
‘Manhattan, Daniel, and not just yet. The soldiers will make it safe and then you can go.’
He pulled a face, but Nathan tickled him in the stomach and he laughed. ‘Your move,’ said Nathan, getting up. ‘Think about it carefully while I speak with your mamma.’ Taking Mercia to one side, he lowered his voice. ‘Is he seriously sending you there before we’ve even invaded?’
She shrugged. ‘He sees the sense of not waiting for Pietersen to flee. He wants you to come with me, clearly.’
‘But how will we avoid the townsfolk wondering—’
Impatient, she interrupted his question. ‘You said yourself there are plenty of English in these parts. We will claim to be fugitives who fled to America when the King returned to his throne. We are worried by his fleet’s arrival and have come into town for news.’
‘I see you have thought this through.’
‘Of course.’ She glanced at her son shuffling around the draughts board, pondering his move. ‘Did you find out about Lady Markstone?’
‘Yes. The captain finally got permission for her to leave the ship. But Danny won’t like it.’
‘He won’t have a choice. I want him away with her as soon as possible, well behind those troops lined up on Long Island. ’Tis only for a few days, until this is over.’ She smiled as Daniel made a happy cry, leaping several of Nathan’s pieces in one move. ‘He is getting good at that. Let us hope I am as effective in New Amsterdam.’
There was a knock on the door. They turned to see Nicholas on the threshold, his expression subdued.
‘I’m sorry to come in,’ he said, his eyes flitting downwards. ‘But I wanted to tell you … I’ve agreed to join the soldiery for the invasion.’ He fiddled with his sleeve. ‘Or rather Sir William has just pressed me. I would have argued, as I did before, but I thought it might be best.’
‘I understand,’ said Mercia.
‘If there is cause, I will fight.’ He looked up, attempting a weak smile. ‘And perhaps I can listen for anything that might reveal your enemy.’
Nathan folded his arms. ‘Anything you don’t already know.’
Nicholas looked at him. ‘I know you don’t trust me, but I swear on my daughter’s life I know no more than I’ve said. If I get to the Martin, I’ll try to get some answers.’
‘That is a point,’ Nathan acknowledged. ‘Mercia, why didn’t you tell Nicolls about this Jerrard?’
She sighed. ‘Because, Nathan, if Nicolls arrested him and secured a confession, it would be he who uncovered the nobleman and the paintings and the King would be beholden to me for nothing. I have not come all this way merely for his benefit, have I?’ She turned to Nicholas. ‘Our enemy will not be pleased you have confessed your part in this. Be careful a rogue musket shot is not fired your way.’
‘I’d best find a good helmet, then.’ Nicholas arched his eyebrow, but although her lips twitched she refused to allow herself to react. Instead she inclined her head, and he left.
It did not take long for the summons to come. The following day a soldier arrived with a terse message: Come with this man, you depart at noon.
She watched as Nathan swung on a flimsy rope ladder, dropping into a small boat waiting alongside the ship. Placing one foot over the side to follow him, she stopped to look at the deck of the Redemption, her home for the past three months. More than anything she felt an intense excitement, but her eagerness was mingled with the nerves of anticipation. Still, it was with enthusiasm that she began to descend.
As she lowered herself down the ladder, Daniel appeared directly above, shouting farewell. She paused, her head level with his scuffed shoes.
‘Goodbye again, Danny. I promise it won’t be long.’
He bent to kiss the topknot of her hair, triggering a swell of love inside her – love, and a great responsibility. If she failed here, she could lose Halescott for her family for ever.
She resumed her clumsy descent, gripping on to each rung, spray splashing her face as she approached the bottom. Her brown woollen dress bunched up more with each step: she was no longer in her mourning clothes for fear they might attract attention. As she jumped the last foot into the boat, a gust of wind nearly toppled her into the water, but Nathan caught her, a suppressed smirk on his face.
‘I hope he will be safe,’ she said, waving at Daniel as they were rowed away. Beside him Lady Markstone was pointing out the boat, encouraging him to wave back.
‘He will,’ said Nathan. ‘They will leave as soon as she is ready.’
‘Good. There are snakes about.’ As they glided across the harbour, she saw her uncle and Sir William on the Martin, watching them depart.
The short trip brought them directly to the Guinea, its nineteen formidable starboard cannons pointing straight to shore. The ship was massive, able to ferry five times the cargo of the Redemption. Hundreds of soldiers were awaiting the invasion order on board. But there was no time for a tour: not two minutes after Mercia had embarrassed herself clambering up another rope ladder to the huge main deck, Nicolls appeared in his military regalia. Next to him walked a grey-haired man of around sixty years of age, his clothing somewhat more restrained. In spite of the day’s heat, he wore a dark frock coat over a buttoned waistcoat, a white cravat encircling his neck. A group of similarly dressed followers trailed a reverent distance behind.
‘Governor Winthrop, this is Mercia Blakewood,’ Nicolls introduced. ‘As I explained, she is on the King’s business and is to be allowed wide discretion. Mrs Blakewood, Governor Winthrop has joined us from the Connecticut colony.’
The governor bowed so low he revealed the worn top of his black hat. ‘I have met you before, Mrs Blakewood.’
It was news to Mercia. ‘Then I must apologise, for I do not recall it.’
Winthrop smiled. ‘You will not. It was in the thirties, when you were merely a babe. I stopped at your father’s manor house in – Halescott, is it? I had been at Broughton Castle to discuss the founding of the Saybrook colony with Lord Saye and Sele.’
‘Indeed?’ Mercia nodded. ‘Broughton is not far from Halescott. I have been there myself.’
‘I was told your father was a man of learning, interested in certain pursuits I too enjoy. He showed you off in a cradle crying away, very proud.’ His smile faded. ‘I am sorry for his death.’ He glanced at her mourning ring. ‘He was a quick-witted and understanding man.’
‘Thank you, Governor. I am glad you were able to know him.’
Winthrop studied her from over his long nose. ‘You yourself are a woman of some learning, I hear.’
The comment pleased her. ‘I like understanding things. It gives meaning to God’s world.’
‘Then perhaps you would care to visit me in Hartford when your business here is done. I have some remarkable instruments I think you would admire that reveal the very heavens.’
Nicolls cleared his throat. ‘This is a charming and unexpected reunion, but there are important matters at hand.’ He held out a piece of paper to Winthrop. ‘Here is the letter with my terms. Try to make him see reason.’
Winthrop grasped the paper. ‘It will depend how the townsfolk think. Stuyvesant is proud. He will not easily give in.’
‘Then convince him.’ Nicolls’ eyes burnt into Winthrop’s. ‘The King is relying on you.’
A stiff silence fell as Winthrop held the colonel’s gaze. Then he bowed. Turning away, he indicated to Mercia that she should descend again to the boat. She nodded to Nicolls and followed Nathan back down the precarious ladder, the small vessel rocking as she eased herself in. Nathan removed his hat to lie down alongside her, the two of them hiding beneath a pile of blankets thrown down from the ship. The boat moved off, the oars plying the choppy water, each stroke heightening the anticipation she felt.
‘Hold up the white sheet,’ she heard Winthrop say. A few minutes later the boat jolted to a halt, banging against a hard structure on their left. She rolled lightly against Nathan.
‘We come to talk,’ shouted Winthrop. ‘Fetch the governor.’
For a time Mercia could only hear anxious breathing and the lapping of water, but soon she made out the rhythmic sound of men marching in jangling armour, the metallic noise growing louder until it ceased close to the boat. One of their number broke off from the rest, his footsteps alternately sounding a dull clunk and a peculiar thud.
‘Governor Winthrop.’ The man spoke English in a thick Dutch accent. ‘I trust you have come to explain that these ships are merely resting in my harbour.’
‘Governor Stuyvesant. It is a pleasure to see you again. May we talk?’
‘I think we should.’
‘I will leave one man here with the boat, if that is allowable.’
‘It is.’
One by one Winthrop’s group disembarked, shaking the boat, but Mercia stayed as still as she could, Nathan gripping the blankets tightly around them. With much muttering on both sides, the men on the shore walked off, their footsteps gradually fading away.
‘Mrs Blakewood,’ whispered a voice, evidently the man left behind. ‘There are two guards nearby. I will distract them, then I suggest you move quickly into the town.’
The boat rocked again as the unseen man climbed out. ‘Beautiful day,’ he said a few seconds later, this time more distant. ‘Is it always like this here?’ A curt reply came in Dutch. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Let me teach you some English.’
Mercia peered from under the blanket, squinting as bright sunlight assaulted her eyes. The boat was stationed at a pier, moored beside a three-runged ladder that led to a dusty waterfront. To her right, the man had his arms around the two guards, keeping them faced away from the boat. In the other direction a stone bridge led across a canal to a side street: if they moved quickly, they should be able to slip into town unnoticed. Signalling to Nathan, she wriggled out of the blankets and ascended the short ladder, alert for witnesses to their subterfuge, but the few people about did not seem to notice. They hurried over the bridge into the side street where she stopped, leaning against a brick wall.
‘Nathan!’ she exclaimed. ‘We are on land! American land!’
‘I know. I hardly dare believe it.’ He balanced himself against the wall. ‘But three months at sea. My legs are about to give way.’
She laughed before realising she felt unsteady herself. They spent the next few minutes reacquainting their legs with a ground that did not continuously sway. It was a strange feeling, and for a time she felt nauseous, but the sensation quickly passed.
‘Shall we explore?’ she said when they were ready.
‘After you.’ Nathan gestured in front with his hat. ‘New Amsterdam awaits.’
Tall houses rose up on either side as they made their way down the shadowed street. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from a doorway where a man in a broad-brimmed hat stood staring at them, but they put their heads down and walked on.
‘I just thought,’ whispered Nathan. ‘Will anyone here speak English?’
‘That is where this will help.’ Mercia stopped, surreptitiously pulling the corner of a notebook from her pockets. ‘I compiled a list of the Dutch words Captain Morley knows. There are not many, but it may help. I call it my phrase book.’
‘Most ingenious.’
‘I have my moments.’
They came into a large, open space dotted with scurrying townsfolk. The presence of the fleet was clearly having an impact. People were hurrying across the square, talking on its corners or else ducking down the adjoining streets to the safety of their homes. Some looked suspiciously at the two strangers in their midst, but for the moment nobody stopped them: New Amsterdam was a thriving trading post, with new arrivals all the time. Directly in front loomed the low-rise fort Mercia had seen from the ship. Several heavy British guns were currently trained on it: she was thankful Nicolls was not about to fire while Winthrop was trying to negotiate the town’s surrender.
‘Let us make a quick circuit,’ she suggested. ‘This town is so small we should be able to walk it in an hour.’
But it took even less time than that. Skirting right at the base of the fort, they immediately came to a very wide street that led up to a wooden palisade at the edge of the settlement, clearly designed to repel a land-based attack from the north, but, thought Mercia wryly, rather useless against a maritime invasion from the harbour. The wall stretched the breadth of the settlement, standing twice Nathan’s height and oozing with soldiers, but they were not once challenged as they walked alongside it, the soldiers intent on their own chatter.
Reaching the end of the palisade they turned south, the broad east river between Manhattan and Long Island flowing by on their left. Passing houses and storefronts they walked purposefully in front of a large, guarded building before once more meeting the canal where they had come ashore. The man from their boat noticed them pass, but he pretended not to know them. They crossed the same stone bridge, this time keeping to the waterfront, before rounding a promontory to curve back north and so arrive beneath two windmills turning behind the fort. Back in the marketplace the church clock within the fort complex showed only three-quarters of an hour had passed.
‘Well, if we cannot find Pietersen here, we will never be able to find him anywhere,’ said Nathan. ‘This place is barely larger than Halescott.’
‘Do not forget there are other Dutch villages further upriver. He may yet flee.’
‘So where do we start?’
‘The best place to seek out information,’ she smiled. ‘The tavern, of course.’