At first, as I walked back through the dark woods along a dimly discernible track, with the wind in the trees and the rustlings and squeakings and strange animal cries of the forest all around me, I felt elated, full of a sense of mission and success, of joy that my friendship with Antony was restored, that I had set him free as far as I was able.
Of course I knew he was not safe; and I realized his pursuers would know where he was likely to be going. It had been a mad thing to do, looked at from the point of view of common sense, and likely to lead him into danger. But he knew that. He would dare anything to be free.
It was only as I came onto the road that led towards the inhabited streets near the waterfront, into the world of counting houses and commerce, that I began to think how I would explain myself to George Bainbrigg and what might come of my actions.
I would tell him straight out, I decided. He must not be the one to find Antony gone, leaving me to confess and apologize afterwards.
The thought of telling him was daunting. And yet he knew my feelings and must surely be able to see what was so clear to me. I remembered untying the rope that bound Antony’s wrists and touching, as I did so, the calloused skin and hard ridges caused by the shackles he had worn on the slave ship. It could not be right, I thought, for any man to be confined in that way – and surely my master must acknowledge that? I believed he knew it already in his heart.
When I returned to the house it was still night. I unlocked the kitchen door and went in. Hob rose from his bed in the lobby with a small pleased woof of recognition. He padded towards me, and his wagging tail thumped my leg.
“Good dog, Hob,” I whispered. “Quiet, now.”
I took off my shoes and crept into the parlour and replaced the keys, then made my way to the stairs. These were lit by moonlight from the landing window. I climbed up, past the first-floor landing, around the next bend – and there was Kate, curled up where the turning stairs widened against the wall, wrapped in a blanket, asleep. She must have been determined to be here when I returned but had fallen asleep on the watch. I felt great tenderness for her as I looked at her small bare feet and the way she slept with her head propped awkwardly against the wall.
I knelt beside her. “Kate…”
She woke with a gasp, and I put my arms around her and hushed her. “It’s done. He is safe – for now.”
“Oh!” She sat up, pulling the blanket close. Her hair hung in loose curls over her shoulders and I felt it brushing my hands. “Jos – thy face! What happened?”
“Nothing. Don’t fear.”
“But—”
“Go back to bed,” I whispered. “We mustn’t be caught here.”
We stood up and kissed – cautiously, because my lip was painful. Then she slipped away while I hastened upstairs.
In the safety of my room I looked out of the window and tried to gauge what time of night it was. I thought dawn could not be far off. I wanted nothing more than to lie down on the bed and close my eyes, but I had a fear of falling into a deep sleep and not hearing the sounds of morning in the household. I knew I must be at the counting house as usual when my master arrived, ready to face him.
I opened my Bible, but the small print danced before my tired eyes. And when I closed them and tried to wait on the light my head drooped, and several times I slept and jerked awake. It was a relief, at last, to hear the first fragments of birdsong and to see the furniture in my room become slowly visible in the grey early morning light.
I waited till I heard Isobel stirring in the next room, then stood up and poured water from the jug into my washbowl. My face in the mirror showed a blackening bruise and my swollen lip was going to make it difficult to speak clearly. I washed myself, brushed dirt and bits of leaf from my hair and outer clothing, and put on clean linen. At first I yawned hugely, over and over again, and struggled to suppress it. But once I was ready to go downstairs I grew tense in anticipation of the trouble I would soon be in, and all tiredness vanished, leaving me sharp and alert.
Isobel and Mary were in the kitchen.
“Thou’rt early,” Isobel said. Then she saw my face. “What…?”
I invented an accident in the yard, going out to the privy in the dark. I could see she did not know whether to believe me, but she merely asked, “Will thou have some pottage?”
“Yes, please.” I tried to smile and appear normal.
“Thou’ll be hungry. Scarce had owt to eat last night, thou and Kate.”
I ignored this remark, with its implicit invitation to reveal more, and merely said, “Excellent pottage, Isobel,” and made sure to eat it all.
I swept the counting house thoroughly that morning, and made sure my master’s desk was ready – the inkwell filled, paper, sand and quills to hand. I tidied and dusted the sales area and put everything in good order. Upstairs I cleared away the evidence of Antony’s occupation, folded the blankets and stood the pallet back against the wall. Down below I heard someone come in; but it was only Zachary. I went down and greeted him, repeated my story about the privy, then sat at my desk and made up the double entries in the books for yesterday’s sales, including that of Patience to John Outram. But as I wrote, my hand trembled and I felt a fluttering in my stomach.
George Bainbrigg soon came in. I heard him go into his office, calling out good morning to me through the connecting door. He sounded in good humour, as if he had put behind him the unease that had hung over us all at supper last night.
“The buyer – Isaac Shore – could be here soon,” he said, as he came into my office. “Hast thou brought food and beer for Antony? We should give him something to eat, before—”
He stopped short at the sight of my face.
A wave of fear flooded me. “Antony is not here,” I said.
“Not here…?” His eyes opened wide in alarm. “He’s escaped? He attacked thee? Where was Zach? Why didn’t thou run and tell me at once?”
“I let him out last night. I helped him to get away.” My heart was pounding.
“Thou let him out?”
He stared at me, then strode to the door and ran upstairs as if unable to believe what I was telling him. He flung the door open, saw the empty room and came down in a fury. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thou unlocked the doors?” He sounded incredulous. “When?”
“Late last night. About midnight.”
His face turned dark. He stepped towards me and I thought that for all his godly principles he would strike me. I flinched.
“Jos,” he said, breathing heavily, struggling to control himself, “I’ll have the buyer here at any moment. Where is Antony?”
“Truly,” I said, “I don’t know. He went out, into the night.”
I would not tell him that I had guided Antony, or where I had taken him. Instead, I began to talk quickly, to steer away from that subject. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to harm thy business. But – I had to do it. Antony was heartbroken when they took Patience. I betrayed him yesterday—”
“Heartbroken! Betrayed! Thou sound like a broadside balladeer!” He turned to the door. “I’ll alert the sheriff and raise a hue and cry. He can’t have got far yet. We’ll catch him. I’ll go there now. Thou must wait here; I forbid thee to leave – is that clear? And if Isaac Shore arrives, tell him nothing until I return.”
He was gone only a few minutes, for the sheriff’s office was near by. I paced around, afraid for Antony, afraid of George Bainbrigg’s anger, and with a mounting need to justify myself to him.
When he returned he said grimly, “The hunt is on. As for thee, Josiah, I entrusted thee with my keys” – and now I felt his anger building – “with my keys, and my books, and the conduct of my business. It was thy duty to obey me and protect that business.”
“I had a higher duty to protect Antony,” I said – and felt at once that this sounded pompous and self-righteous.
“But thou hast not protected him!” He was shouting now, and I trembled before his anger. “Thou hast turned him out into a countryside he’s never seen before, where his black face will make him stand out and lead to his capture in no time. And how dost thou think the buyer will feel when he finally gets his hands on him? The lad will likely be punished – and all to satisfy thee and thy tender conscience!”
I tried to speak, but he interrupted. “I’ve no time for thee now. We’ve that order for sugar for the Boston run. Go and help Zachary bring the hogsheads out.” And then he humiliated me by calling out, “Zach! Make sure Jos is kept busy! Find him work!”
Zachary, who must have heard most of our conversation, disregarded my surly manner and involved me in manoeuvring barrels with him.
“Big trouble, eh?” he said.
I nodded. I had no idea whether he understood my actions, or approved, but his friendliness comforted me.
Soon after, the buyer arrived, and I hovered near the top of the stairs and listened to the two of them talking as they went into the office. I heard the sharp rise in Isaac Shore’s voice and knew my master had broken the news. I felt guilt then – more than I had felt at depriving him of his property – for I knew how difficult it must be for him to explain. When they emerged the other man still sounded aggrieved, while my master was trying to smooth things over, reassuring him that the matter would soon be resolved.
“He cannot have got far,” he said, as they parted. “I will send news to thee immediately when I have him back.”
Zachary had also stopped work to listen.
“I set Antony free,” I told him.
Zachary nodded. “Every man should have a chance of freedom. Took it myself, once.”
“But – thou weren’t a slave?”
“Bondsman – indentured servant. Not much different. I ran away from a bad master. Hid out in the Maryland swamps for two weeks before they caught me.”
“And…?”
“I was beaten, five years added to my term. Then he sold me. I’ve been sold on twice.”
Light dawned on me. “Thou’rt still indentured? To George Bainbrigg?”
“No.” He smiled, showing gappy teeth. “I was, but my bond ended almost a year ago. I work here for a wage now.”
I had become aware that many people in Pennsylvania kept indentured servants, but had not thought that George Bainbrigg was one of them. I must have looked shocked, for Zachary said, “He’s a good man, our master. He treated me fairly. Paid me what I was due at the end. That’s why I’ve stayed on a while. But come the fall, I plan to leave and set up on my own. Rent a plot of land. Get married.”
“Married?”
He laughed. He knew what I was thinking. “I’m not so old! I lodge with a widow, Ulla. Swedish woman. She’s got two little lads. We’ll be wed; have our own farm; children, too, God willing.”
I was astonished. I had known nothing of this, nor thought much about Zachary’s life outside the counting house.
“Antony has a girl,” I said, “the one they took away. That’s why he was so desperate. I wish they might have some hope of freedom.”
“It’s harder for them. They’re black – folk will see them as slaves, whether they’re freed or not—”
“Josiah!”
My master’s summons broke into our talk. I braced myself for trouble and went reluctantly downstairs.
He was in the office, turning over the ledgers on my desk. His expression was grim.
“Was my daughter involved in this escapade of thine?” he asked.
I hesitated, unsure what would be safest to say.
He banged his fist on the table. “Answer me, boy!”
I chose the truth. “She knew of it. I would not let her come with me, but I told her what I was going to do.”
He let out a breath. “I thought so. She was all of a twitch this morning – I wondered what was up with her. So she knew – but she didn’t tell me. She kept thy secret.”
I stood silent, waiting, afraid to say anything in case I made matters worse.
“I have allowed thee too much licence with Kate,” he said. “I thought to be tolerant. I saw there was a liking between the two of you, and it seemed natural and right to let it flourish. But thou hast encouraged her in deceit and rebellion—”
“Kate has a mind of her own!” I retorted, for his words hurt me. I had wronged him, it was true, but not in this.
“Aye, she has, I know that. But she has never been underhand with me before.”
“I love Kate,” I began, “and—”
“Josiah” – he set down the account books on the table with a small thump of finality – “I want thee out of here. I’ll take charge of these books. Thy work with them is finished.”
For a moment I did not understand. I thought he was referring to the entries I had completed that morning. But when he spoke again there was no mistaking his meaning.
“I will settle matters with thy father later. The bond … the money … I’ll deal with that. But thou must go today.”
I began to tremble. There was a hollow feeling in my stomach. I could not believe this was happening. I had expected punishment, but never dismissal.
“Please,” I said. “Please. Kate will tell thee I never sought to involve her—”
“But thou did involve her! And thou broke the terms of thy bond, and in the worst possible way. If thou had gone drinking or been slipshod or forgetful I’d have forgiven thee. But this – it was planned, deceitful; it has undermined my business and my standing as a merchant, angered my customer, caused inconvenience to him and much trouble and expense to the sheriff and officers – all of which I will be liable for.”
“I know I did wrong,” I said, “but I did not mean to harm thee, only to help Antony.”
“Antony is my property! Thou stole him. Thou crept about my house at night while I was asleep and stole my keys.” He slapped down a document on the desk. “See here, in the bond: ‘He shall do no damage to his said Master… He shall not waste the goods of his said Master… He shall faithfully serve his Master … his lawful commandments gladly do.’ In all this thou hast failed, Josiah. I cannot trust thee again. Thou will come home with me now, pack thy belongings and leave.”
Kate appeared the moment we arrived at the house. Her expression was wary. “Dad…?”
“Josiah is leaving us,” her father said.
I had asked her to be my advocate, and now she flew to my defence.
“Oh, Dad, don’t do this! Please don’t blame Jos! I would have done the same. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t let me. We both wanted Antony to be free, to find Patience.”
He grew angry with her then. “I’ve heard enough about those two! Thou had no business making friends with them – becoming that wench’s confidante. Antony will soon be caught and sold, and that will be the end of the matter.”
“But not for Jos!”
I shook my head at her, but she continued to plead. I wanted only to be gone now. I knew he would not relent.
“I’ll go and pack,” I said, and moved towards the stairs.
“Jos!” Kate made to follow me, but her father forcibly restrained her. “Come, Kate, no more of this,” he said, and steered her into the parlour with him and closed the door. The sounds of their raised voices faded as I reached the second landing.
Alone in my room, I sat down on the bed, and at last my feelings overwhelmed me. I had lost my work, I had lost Kate, I had lost the good opinion of my master – and probably all for nothing, since the news of Antony’s escape had been cried around the town and he was sure to be recaptured. And now I must go home to my family, whom I had not seen for many weeks, and instead of enjoying our reunion I must tell them of my humiliating dismissal; tell my father that once again I had failed in an apprenticeship.
Tears stung my eyes, and I sniffed and brushed them away. I had only myself to blame for what I had done, but I felt the unfairness of my master’s accusations concerning Kate. Perhaps it was true that I had influenced her, but I had refused to let her be involved in my plan. I did not feel I had ever behaved improperly towards her.
I stood up and began to pack. There was little enough to remove. I took my empty bag from the chest and in a swift, angry clearance I threw into it my few clothes, my Bible, journal and writing case. Now there was nothing left of me in the room, and Isobel could change the sheets and make it ready for whatever paragon George Bainbrigg had in mind to replace me with. The thought of that person living here, in the same house as Kate, filled me with a furious jealousy.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and tramped downstairs. As I reached the hall I heard a clatter of claws on the wooden floor and Hob appeared, wagging his tail. I knelt to pat him, and then I did briefly let a few tears fall as he licked my face and hands. “At least thou still love me,” I said. And I called out, towards the parlour door, “I am going now!”
I stood up as George Bainbrigg came out. Kate hurried to the doorway, and he allowed the two of us to say a brief, formal goodbye to each other in which our eyes did all the real talking; then he sent her back in and shooed the dog in after her.
I looked at George Bainbrigg, and thought how well I’d liked this man, how glad I’d been to work for him. He must have caught some of my feelings, for he gave me a fierce, regretful look and said, “I had such high hopes of thee. We worked well together; thou pleased me greatly. But I cannot tolerate this breach of trust.” His hand hovered above my shoulder and he said, “Go well, Josiah.”