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WHEN THE SHADOWS LENGTHENED that afternoon, Betsy, weary of stitching on Miss Olsen’s ball gown, decided to stretch her limbs by walking down to the wharf to see if Joseph’s ship was still in the harbor. Because he had not yet returned to collect his mending, Betsy was growing a trifle worried. The cool breeze off the water made the walk all the more pleasant. A few horse-drawn wagons lumbered along the cobbles and from somewhere Betsy heard the call of peddlers reluctant to give up whilst they still had something left on their carts to sell.
“Fresh wegtables, ratish, vaterkress, lettis, und peas!”
Her lips pursed. Yesterday she might have smiled at the farmer’s quaint German accent. Today it sent shivers up her spine. She hoped Sarah had managed to put aside her worries over the German soldiers and rest a spell this afternoon.
“Good day, Miz Ross!” A woman sweeping her doorstep hailed Betsy. “I saw ye steppin’ out th’ other night. Looked pretty as a picture, ye did!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Burton.” Betsy paused.
“Quite a fine carriage yer young man come for ye in. Too fine for the likes o’ me!” With a laugh, the woman returned to her sweeping.
Betsy smiled at her youngsters, a flaxen-haired boy and girl, playing nearby. A pang of regret stabbed her. She and John had dreamt of having children one day. Now, she wondered if she would ever marry again and be blessed with little ones of her own.
Pushing down painful memories of the promising life she’d once had with John, she crossed Front Street and approached the wharf. Despite the late hour, the quay still teemed with activity. As on the night she and Toby were here, dozens of multi-sailed ships fought for space in the harbor. Ranged in close to one another, she wondered what kept the sails and rigging from becoming entangled. The snapping of sails, the thud of wood against wood, and the ever-present pounding of waves against the pier assaulted her ears while the pungent stench of horse dung, fish, and brine made her want to pinch her nostrils together.
She kept to the far side of the wharf as she watched burly sailors heft chests and kegs from the dock onto waiting wagons. Whinnying horses stamped their hooves as seamen hurled heavy containers over their backs. Lifting her gaze above the din and confusion, Betsy scanned the waterfront for . . . what? Now that she was here, she hadn’t a clue how to differentiate one ship from another. Joseph’s bark would likely not have a banner stretched across the mast proclaiming it the “Swallow”. Thinking perhaps the name of the ship was inscribed somewhere along the bow, she moved from her place of refuge across the cobbled thoroughfare to the pier. And instantly halted.
Ten yards ahead she spotted Joseph speaking with . . . François! Her stomach muscles tightened. What could they be discussing? Ducking her head, she hurried away and in minutes found herself back on Front Street. Perhaps she’d stop at Joseph’s aunt’s home instead. If need be, she could even deliver Joseph’s mended clothing and the flag there. In minutes, she reached the widow Ashburn’s lovely home shaded by tall oak trees.
An elderly housekeeper confirmed that Mrs. Ashburn was indeed at home and directed Betsy into a drawing room facing the shady side of the house. Glancing about, Betsy recalled the many times she’d been here with Joseph back when he was courting her. Virtually nothing had changed. The same pictures graced the walls, the same sofas and chairs sat about the chamber; the same cushions placed at intervals upon them.
When Mrs. Ashburn, a wiry woman of some sixty years with graying hair entered the room leaning upon a cane, Betsy was pleased to see that, minus the cane, she, too, looked exactly the same as she had half a decade earlier.
Mrs. Ashburn expressed delight that Betsy had called and after they warmly embraced, both took seats on a sofa overlooking the portico. In a casual manner, Betsy asked after Joseph and Mrs. Ashburn said she hadn’t seen her nephew in several days and didn’t know whether or not he was even in the city. Betsy was still vastly annoyed over spotting Joseph speaking with François. What were the men talking about? What was Joseph keeping from her?
“How fares your husband, dear?”
Upon hearing the unexpected question, a rush of moisture sprang to Betsy’s eyes. “M-my husband passed away in January, Mrs. Ashburn.”
“I am so sorry, my dear. I had not heard. Winter was especially deadly this year. I assume it was the influenza.”
“No.” Betsy shook her head. “John died of injuries he received in a warehouse explosion. Perhaps you did not hear.” But Joseph knew of it.
Mrs. Ashburn’s brow furrowed. “Might you be referring to the explosion that occurred the night of that dreadful blizzard?”
Betsy’s head jerked up. “Yes. John’s friend said the warehouse simply burst into flames. John had been on guard duty that day and Tom Hull was coming to take his turn.”
“I do recall hearing of it.” Mrs. Ashburn nodded thoughtfully. “What did the authorities make of it?”
“Nothing,” Betsy replied sharply. “So far as I know, it was declared an accident. No one ever came to ask John what happened that night.”
“Hmmm.”
Betsy’s eyes remained glued to the older woman’s face. Did she know something about the explosion? Had Joseph not told Betsy everything he knew about it?
“I recall Pete, my man-of-all-work, mentioning something peculiar about that night. Pete insisted on returning home that evening rather than staying the night here. Said his grandson was ill. At any rate, the next morning, Pete said that on his way home, the snow was blowing so hard he stopped in at Mr. Rockaway’s Pub for a quick nip. Pete said a young fellow in the tavern seemed quite agitated, kept peering out the window, couldn’t seem to sit still. Pete said that when a lull came in the snowfall, he rose to leave, as did the young man. But once outdoors, the fellow seemed confused, asked Pete which way to Dock Street, said the blizzard had him turned around. Pete noticed the fellow was carrying a package, which he said he needed to deliver that night. When the Watch came along, Pete said the pair of them walked off together. He assumed the Watch had offered to show the fellow the way to Dock Street.”
Betsy’s nerves tensed. “Might I please speak with Pete, Mrs. Ashburn?”
The woman’s gray head shook. “Pete succumbed to influenza a few days later. Poor soul. His illness came on so quickly and he went so suddenly. I warned him not to go out that night.”
“What of his grandson? Perhaps he might recall what his grandfather said about the man with the package. His height, the color of his hair, anything.”
“Pete’s grandson marched off to war within a week of his grandfather’s passing. Haven’t heard a word from the boy since. I am so sorry, dear.”
“I never believed the explosion was an accident.” Betsy’s breath grew ragged. “I am certain that fire was set a-purpose.”
“What of the night watchman? Pete said the two of them walked off together. Perhaps the Watch could tell you . . . ”
“His frozen body was found floating in the river the next morning.”
“Oh, my, goodness,” Mrs. Ashburn gasped. “To be sure, it does sound quite suspicious. Pete may have actually spoken with the man responsible for the explosion.”
“And, ultimately John’s death,” Betsy exclaimed. “I never believed the warehouse could simply burst into flames on its own. Pete said the man was carrying a package?”
Of a sudden, the bell on the front door jangled and before the summons was answered, both women heard the door open and then close. In seconds, Joseph strode into the room, a cheery grin on his face. “My two favorite women in the same place.”
A mix of emotions churned within Betsy. “Hello, Joseph.”
“Where have you been keeping yourself, young man?” his aunt wanted to know, although a smile softened her wrinkled countenance.
“I just came from your shop, Betsy. Went to retrieve my uniforms and flag. I expect you have ‘em ready by now, eh?”
“Yes.” She choked back the questions burning in her mind.
Mrs. Ashburn’s smile traveled from her nephew to Betsy. “It’s good to see the pair of you together again.”
The threesome fell to discussing other things and before long Mrs. Ashburn summoned the housekeeper to inform her there would be three for dinner that night.
Soon after the meal, Joseph and Betsy took their leave, but not before Betsy promised Mrs. Ashburn she would call again soon.
“Seeing you lifted my aunt’s spirits considerably,” Joseph remarked as the two of them advanced to the flagway. “Makes me glad I was out of pocket. Aunt Ashburn has missed you.”
“I will indeed call again. I feel as if I no longer have a mother and I am quite fond of your aunt.”
Lamps on the street corners and a silvery slice of moon cast shadows on the cobbled street. When Joseph asked Betsy how she fared, she coolly told him about her lucrative new commission from the Loyalist ladies. She also told him what his aunt had just said regarding the warehouse explosion.
“I had no idea Aunt Ashburn knew anything of it,” Joseph marveled. “But, then, I never asked. So, I take it you’ve not seen the Frenchman.”
Unable to contain her upset a second longer, Betsy exploded. “No, I have not. But you have! I saw you talking to François earlier, Joseph. What were you talking about?”
He exhaled. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“I thought I could trust you, Joseph. What were you and François . . .?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Well, as you can clearly see, that you are keeping something from me does upset me.”
He held up both hands as if to forestall further assaults. “Very well, then. My first mate, MacGregor said the Frenchie had approached him wanting to know where we were headed. The Frenchie said he’d give us a fair price for any weapons we managed to confiscate from the British.”
“François asked about weapons? Why? What did you say? Surely you did not strike a bargain with . . . ”
“Hell, no! I told him . . . well, I’d rather not repeat what I told him, but I don’t believe he’ll be approaching another member of my crew again.” Joseph took her arm and they continued to walk, although in silence.
Betsy longed to believe him. “Will you be bringing back weapons?” she asked gently.
“That’s my plan. Word is two British barks are en route from England loaded with supplies for the army. I intend to take ‘em on”
“But there are two ships!” Betsy cried.
“There’ll be two of us.” Joseph grinned. “A friend of mine has also fitted out his ship. Between us, the Brits don’t stand a chance.”
“Oh, Joseph, do be careful.” Betsy suddenly realized those were the last words she’d spoken to John before he left home that fateful day.
Upon reaching her doorstep, Betsy unlocked the door and Joseph followed her inside. She did not want to believe he was lying to her. She lit a candle and upon reaching the parlor, set it down and went straightaway to fetch the scarlet coats and flag. She’d known Joseph more than half her life and he’d always been truthful with her. If she had not fallen in love with John Ross and married him, she’d likely be wed to Joseph now. She had no reason not to trust him.
“I found a bit of gold braid in my cupboard and added it to one of the coats.” She held it up for him to see. “From a distance, it might appear the wearer has attained quite an impressive rank.”
Joseph laughed. “Looking out for my welfare, eh, lass?”
Betsy smiled and when Joseph reached to catch her about the waist and pull her close, she hesitated only slightly. She so wanted to trust him.
Gazing warmly down into her shuttered eyes, Joseph dipped his head and without a word, settled his lips upon hers. The kiss was gentle. Although Betsy fought the warm feelings stirring within her, at length, she relaxed and twined both arms up around his neck. For a long moment, they stood thusly together while nearby the shadows cast by the candlelight danced upon the painted yellow wall.
“Promise me you’ll be careful, too, Betsy. I’ve no right to say it, but I wish you’d leave off seeing the Frenchman altogether. I don’t want him, or any other man save me, coming around.”
Betsy laid her head upon the seaman’s strong chest. “If my association with François continues it will simply be to learn whatever I can that will expose John’s killer.”
“I wish you could let that go. Nothing you learn now will bring John, or Toby, back.”
She gazed into his worried hazel eyes. “What I learned from your aunt today makes me more determined than ever to uncover the truth. The warehouse explosion was not an accident, Joseph. Someone set that fire a-purpose. The same someone who killed my husband.”
Exhaling a resigned breath, Joseph drew away, and instead, took her hand. Together, they walked through the darkened house to the door. Lamplight filtering through the shop window illuminated his rugged features as he bent again to kiss her cheek. “When I return, love, perhaps I can help you find the answers you seek.”
“Promise me you will return, Joseph.” She patted the bundle he carried, the flag wrapped around the scarlet coats so as to make them less visible. “And that’s an order, Captain.”
“Hey, matey, from the looks of my uniform, I far outrank you.”
They both laughed. As he skipped down the steps, Betsy stood in the doorway to watch him saunter off down the street. She did trust Joseph and she did not regret allowing him to kiss her tonight. In her heart, she also did not believe John would fault her for the small stirrings of warmth she was beginning to feel for another man.
* * *
MUCH, MUCH LATER THAT night, lingering fears at the back of Betsy’s mind worked their way to the surface; fears about how very quickly Joseph had appeared at her door the night the intruder held a knife to her throat. And that it was he who’d pointed out the secret compartment in the little box. Odd in itself was that Joseph had suddenly appeared at her door at all, after so many years away.
No, she chided herself. She was being silly. If Joseph had wanted the box or what was inside it, she would have willingly given it to him the first time he came to see her. He wouldn’t have had to break into her home or threaten her. It was François she must be wary of, not Joseph. If she were to learn anything about spying, or subterfuge, or sabotage, it would come from François.
However, as she was drifting off to sleep, another question rose to the surface of her mind.
Why did François now suddenly wish to purchase weapons?