The Forbidden Lady (23 page)

Thursday, February 22, 1770

F
our paces from the bench to the jail bars. Quincy heaved himself to his feet and walked the four steps. If a man could die of boredom, he’d already be a lifeless corpse. He turned and faced the back wall. Ten paces from the bars to the window. He shuffled to the back wall and stood under the open window.

The window was both friend and enemy. On nights like this, he could look out at the stars and pretend he was at sea with his old stellar friends watching over him. But the comfort came at a high price. He could only tolerate the frigid air for a short while.

He ambled back to the bench and sat. He had tried bribing the guards with his silver shoe buckles or ring. They refused to let him go, but offered to take the silver in exchange for allowing him more comforts. He had asked for a candle, thinking he could use his small stash of gunpowder to escape, but that request had been refused. Johnson had ordered his other spies to stay away rather than risk exposure.

Quin sighed and leaned back against the cold, gritty wall. What to think about next? Anything but Ginny and the pain he had caused her. The cell seemed a bit smaller each day, a bit darker each night. Once again the bastard was shut away in a cold, dark room. But now he was no longer a child. He had too much to live for.

Now he was loved.

Somehow, he needed to escape before they deported him. Here he had friends and family who would help him. Once in Britain, his chances would be limited. He flipped open his ring. He could barely see the poison in the dark.

He snapped the ring shut. Better to die attempting an escape.

Sunday, February 25, 1770

“I
s she asleep?” Edward poured himself another mug of coffee.

“Aye.” Jamie tucked a blanket around his daughter where she lay on his pallet in the study. “Puir lass. She’s exhausted, trying to stay awake every night.”

Edward nodded. He felt the same way. How could he sleep, fearing that Quincy might decide in the cold of night to take the poison? Every morning he rushed to the jail to see if Quincy still lived. He beseeched his nephew to give him the ring, but Quin refused.

The hearing had taken place on Friday. The judge had marched in and announced that Quin would leave on the eighth of March to stand trial in England. The judge refused to listen to any petitions from Winkle. In a matter of minutes, Quin was doomed to die a traitor’s death.

Edward leaned back in his chair at the desk. “I’m grateful you have remained in Boston. If Quin thought Ginny was leaving with you, I’m afraid he would take the poison immediately.”

Jamie paced about the room. “Aye, we’ll stay. I tell you, this town is growing more angry each day. The funeral for the wee lad is tomorrow.”

“Aye.” Edward knew the Seider family, who would be burying twelve-year-old Christopher the next day. A gang of youths had attacked a customs employee who had retreated to his house and fired a musket at the boys. Young Christopher had died.

Edward sipped his coffee. “As tragic as it is, I think the atmosphere of violence may work to our favor.”

Jamie stopped in front of him. “Ye mean the redcoats are too occupied with the brawls in the streets.”

Edward nodded. “They may not be watching the jail so carefully.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Jamie leaned over the desk. “We have ten days before the lad goes to England.”

“I know the layout of the jail. I’ve been there every day.”

“We should do it at night. The guards will be different and no’ recognize us.”

“I agree.” Edward grabbed his penknife to sharpen a quill. “If I present Johnson with a workable plan, he might agree to it. Some of Quincy’s friends have volunteered to help.”

“How about a week from tomorrow?”

“That would be Monday, the fifth of March.” Edward reached for a blank sheet of paper. “Pull up a chair, Jamie. We have plans to make.”

“I want to be in on it.” From the pallet, Virginia heaved herself to her feet.

Jamie frowned at her. “I thought ye were sleeping.”

“Just resting a bit. I want to help.”

Edward exchanged a doubtful look with her father. “This could be dangerous.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed. “Ye should thinking of the bairn, lass. Ye’ll be risking more than yer own neck.”

“I am thinking of the baby. He needs a father.” Virginia sat at the desk, a stubborn look etched on her tired features. “I intend to rescue my husband.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

Monday, March 5, 1770

J
amie stopped the coach a block south of the jail.

Edward stepped out and helped Virginia, Mary, and Caroline dismount to the deserted street. “Everyone knows what to do?”

Caroline nodded. “I’m the lookout. I’ll be two blocks down from you and scream as loud as I can if any redcoats come.” She wrapped a knitted scarf around her neck. “I’ll be on my way. Good luck.” She dashed down the street.

Mary pulled the hood of her blue woolen cloak over her head. “You have yet to explain how I am to assist you, Edward.”

“We’ll distract the guard outside the jail.”

Mary frowned. “Yes, but how?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll see.” Edward looked at Jamie, still in the driver’s seat. “Have you heard from the boys?”

“Aye.” Jamie clucked at the restless horses. “George and Josiah have found two dozen lads who will help them torment the sentry in front of the customs house on King Street. They should be moving into place now.”

“Good.” Edward nodded. “Quin’s friends and the other Sons of Liberty are meeting with Johnson at the Bunch of Grapes Tavern. They’ll be converging on King Street soon. The redcoats will be too busy there to interfere with our plans here.”

Jamie winked at Virginia. “Ye make me proud, lass. I’ll be waiting for you.” He flicked the reins, and the coach rolled away.

Edward gave Virginia one last warning. “Wait ’til you see the coast is clear. Good luck.”

She nodded, her face pale in the moonlight. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on a bottle of rum. With a swish of woolen skirts and green woolen cape, she turned and ran to the side street to the west of the jail.

Edward grasped Mary’s hand and led her to the side street to the east of the jailhouse. At this time of night, two soldiers guarded the jail, one posted outside the door and one inside the office. Once he and Mary distracted the guard outside, Virginia would deal with the guard inside. Jamie would pick up the boys at King Street and wait for the rest of them to arrive. The coach, borrowed from Johnson, had a hidden compartment under the backseat. Quin would hide there while Jamie drove overland to Concord.

As Edward advanced onto the empty street in front of the jail, he spotted the guard standing outside. He stopped where the guard could see him and faced Mary. “Did I tell you the good news? My factor in London has located George Peeper’s little sister. He’s putting her on the next ship here.”

Mary smiled. “Edward, that’s marvelous! George will be so happy. How can I thank you?”

Edward glanced quickly at the guard. The young soldier was watching them. “Well, Mary, you could come to my bed.”

Her mouth dropped open. With a huff, she flushed bright red. “Edward Stanton, I thought you were a decent man.”

He shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that. Slap me.”

“What?”

“Slap me.” He seized her by the shoulders and ground his mouth against hers.

She wrestled free and slapped him hard.

He grimaced, rubbing his stinging cheek. “Not bad. Can you scream at me now?”

“Have you lost your senses?”

“A little louder, sweetheart.” He fell to his knees and shouted, “I cannot bear it any longer! You must marry me.”

She stepped back. “What has come over you?”

“Oh, cruel woman! Why do you torture me this way?”

“Come on, lady.” The young soldier wandered toward them a few steps. “Give the poor man what he needs.”

With a huff, Mary pivoted toward the soldier. “I will thank you to mind your own business.”

Edward cried out, “For twelve long years she has tortured me!”

The soldier grimaced as he approached. “Twelve years? Give it up, man. There are other women in the sea and more willing than this cold fish.”

Mary gasped. “How dare you!”

Edward clutched the hem of her skirt. In the distance, he spotted Virginia slipping inside the jail. “I can never give her up. I love her.”

Mary paled. She stepped back, jerking her skirt from his hands. She glanced at the soldier and back to Edward. “Ye’re just saying that because—ye doona mean it.”

“I do. I have loved you for twelve years. I named
The Forbidden Lady
after you. I did business with your husband for your sake. I have always tried to take care of you. I love you so much.”

Mary’s eyes shimmered with tears. “Oh, Edward. I never knew.”

“Marry me, please.”

“Come on, lady,” the young soldier said. “Have a heart.”

Mary laughed as the tears streamed down her face. “All right. I will marry you.”

Edward whooped as he sprang to his feet. He kissed Mary gently on the mouth.

“Congratulations.” The fresh-faced young soldier grinned.

“Thank you.” Edward smiled at him, then punched him in the jaw.

The soldier crumpled onto the street.

Mary gasped. “Did ye have to do that?”

“Yes.” Edward seized the redcoat under the arms and dragged him to the side street.

Mary followed him. “Did you mean what you said, Edward? You weren’t acting merely to distract this poor boy?”

“I meant every word.” Edward pulled a length of rope from his coat and tied the soldier’s hands and feet.

Loud voices shouted in the distance. Edward straightened to listen. “That sounds like more than a few dozen boys.”

Church bells rang out. They echoed over Boston, alerting the citizens of impending danger. People poured into the streets. They shouted, waving their arms and shaking their fists. Edward dragged the unconscious soldier out of the way of trampling feet. Mary jumped to the side to keep from being swept down the street with the sea of people surging toward the customs house.

Shouts of “Town born! Turn out!” mingled with feigned Indian war cries. Torches, held high, cast strange lurching shadows and stunk of burning pitch. Those who were empty-handed ripped planks off fences and crates, promising pain to any redcoat in their path.

Mary yelled, straining to be heard over the roar. “Is this part of the plan?”

Edward shook his head. “No.”

“I thought the bells meant there was a fire.”

“Not this time. These people are armed with sticks and bats, not fire buckets. This is a mob!”

Mary watched the people pouring past them, her eyes wide with alarm. “It will keep the redcoats busy, won’t it?”

“Yes, but these people are headed for King Street where Jamie is waiting. He’ll never be able to drive the coach through this crowd. Stay here and help Virginia. I’ll find Jamie.”

Edward lunged into the middle of the street. A wave of human bodies, electrified with excitement, accelerated toward King Street, shoving him along in its wake. There he spied a line of redcoats in front of the customs house, their muskets leveled at the crowd.

“No!” he shouted.

Musket fire rang out, followed by screams. Smoke filled the air and hovered over the street like a menacing cloud.

The crowd panicked and reversed its direction, turning on itself. More musket fire exploded. Screams fractured the air, shrill and terrified. Pushing bodies entangled and trampled each other, desperate to escape. Edward scrambled to a recessed doorway as arms and legs struck and kicked at him.

He pressed against the wooden door. The smell of gunpowder and horror-inspired sweat hung thick in the air. Screams of panic gave way to sobs of despair. What on earth had happened? Johnson had planned a mere distraction, not a full-fledged riot with gunfire.

As the smoke cleared and the crowd thinned, he peered out of the doorway. Several bodies lay in the street. Kneeling beside them, mourners cradled the dead, their cries rending the night, forever branding the fifth of March as a day of massacre.

Edward stumbled from the doorway. Americans shot down in the street by British redcoats. Was this the beginning of war?

He approached each of the dead, fearing to find Josiah or George. He spotted their overturned carriage in the distance and sprinted toward it. “Jamie?”

No one answered.

Edward peered inside the carriage. Empty. A wheel, suspended in the air, slowly turned. The horses were gone.

“Damn.” The mob had destroyed their means of escape. He headed back in the direction of the jail, searching for his missing comrades as he ran.

“V
isitors are not allowed at night, miss.” The young jailer rose from his chair.

Virginia advanced slowly. “But I came to visit with
you
.”

The young man smiled as he inspected her. “How did you get past the guard outside?”

“I told him I was yer grandmother.”

He laughed. “You don’t look like an old woman to me.”

Her gaze traveled the length of his body. “And ye don’t look like no little boy.” She sidled up to the iron brazier and lifted her skirts with one hand to warm her calves. “Ye won’t make me leave, will ye? ’Tis awful cold out there.”

His head tilted as he examined her new, improved skirt length. “Don’t you have a place to go?”

She shook her head, wide-eyed and helpless. “No, me mistress threw me out. I have no money, no bed, only a wee bottle of rum to keep me warm.” She slipped the bottle from her cloak.

“I could help you with the rum.”

She lifted her skirts a little higher. “Could ye help me find a warm bed? I’ll make it worth yer while.”

He stuck a finger in his neckcloth to loosen it. “Aye.” He looked nervously at the front door. “We’ll have to be quick.”

“Good. That’s how I like it—hard and quick.”

His eyes lit up. “Me, too.”

What a pig
. She gulped when he ripped off his coat and flung it to the floor. “Wait! I need a bed. I won’t do it on this cold stone floor.”

“Oh.” He stopped to consider. “There are cots in the prison cells.”

She shivered. “Ooh, sounds excitin’.”

“Aye.” With a grin, he reached for the key ring hanging from a peg on the wall. He inserted a key into the lock on the heavy wooden door that led to the prison cells.

Stepping behind him, Virginia raised the bottle of rum and focused on the back of his head.

He spun around suddenly.

She inspected the upside-down bottle in her hand. “Oh, look, me bottle’s half-empty.”

The look on his face indicated he suspected her mind was in a similar state. “I was going to say it is quite cold in there.”

She shrugged. “Ye know how to keep a lady warm, don’t ye?” She cursed inwardly at the missed opportunity. She had hoped to have the man unconscious before he opened the door, for fear that Quin might see her and call her by name.

The door creaked on its hinges, opening to the dark, cold corridor. The smell of dirty chamber pots assaulted her nose. She clung to the shadows. Perhaps Quin would be asleep.

The jailer picked up a lit candlestick, along with the key ring, and stepped into the corridor. “This way. We’ll use the second cell. The prisoner was released this morning, so the bench has a pallet of fresh straw.”

“Oh, me lucky day.” She heard the sound of steps shuffling through loose rushes. Quin was awake. She raised her voice so he would hear. “We ain’t been introduced. Me name’s Polly.”

The jailer bowed his head. “My pleasure.”

She grinned as she pushed back her hood. “Aye, it will be.”

“No!” Quin’s shout came from the darkness. “No!”

She jumped back, as if startled. “Here now, I thought we’d be alone. There ain’t no murderers in here, is there?”

The soldier lifted his candlestick to illuminate the corridor. “There’s only the one down there. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be dead soon enough.”

“Dammit, you’ll not do this!” Quin rattled the barred gate to his cell. “I forbid it.”

“Bossy, ain’t he?” She proceeded down the corridor. “Hush now, a girl’s got to earn a livin’.”

“Bloody hell, you won’t! Dammit.”

She glared at her raucous husband as he attempted to rip the gate from the hinges. This was the man Edward had described as uncommunicative and listless? “Some people have no manners.”

The soldier shrugged. “He’s usually very quiet.” He turned his back to her to insert a key in the gate to the second cell.

She lifted the bottle and focused on his head.

“No!” Quin yelled. “She’s dangerous!”

The soldier whipped around, finding her once more with an upside-down bottle grasped in her hand.

“Oh, look how the moonlight shines on the glass.” She peered at the soldier innocently while inwardly raging over another failed attempt.

“She’s dangerous,” Quin repeated the warning. “She has a disease.”

She gasped. “I do not.”

“She does.” Quin squeezed his face against the bars. “I slept with her, and I’ve been a lunatic ever since.”

“Aye, ye are.” She gritted her teeth. “Why are ye interfering in my business?” She gave the young soldier a pointed look. “Are we going to do this or not?”

The guard frowned. “Are you poxed?”

“No! The lunatic is jealous. Are ye ready now?”

“Aye, I have to unlock this gate.” He turned around.

She lifted the rum bottle.

“I’ll pay you for her,” Quin yelled.

The soldier swiveled around, noting with a frown the upside-down bottle in her hand.

“Oh, I forgot to take the cork out.” She lowered the bottle with a look of confusion.

Quin stuck his arm through the bars. “I have a silver ring. It is yours if I can have the girl first.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Why was he messing up her plan? “I ain’t sleepin’ with no criminal. He’ll probably murder me when he’s done.”

Quin glared back. “Don’t tempt me, wench.”

“Here, now.” The jailer cleared his throat. “I cannot accept payment for the girl if she’s not willing. I
am
a gentleman.”

Virginia tightened her grip on the bottle’s neck, looking forward to bashing the gentleman.

“Come here.” Quin gestured through the bars. “I’ll show you my ring. ’Tis quite valuable.”

The soldier advanced slowly, the key ring in one hand, the candlestick in the other.

She swung hard and smashed him on the back of the head. Rum spewed forth, splattering on the floor. Shattered glass flew in all directions. She jumped back, raising her hands to protect her face. The soldier dropped the key ring and candlestick, stumbled to the side against a cell, banged his head on an iron bar, and toppled to the floor.