The Patriot's Conquest (32 page)

Daniel sighed. “Then send your rider to him straight away. Beg him to stop short of Williamsburg. I fear for all of us should he stomp toward the palace, and find cannons staring in his face.”

“Nay, ’tis not safe to send my rider. ’Tis a task for me alone. Pat takes the river route, I’m certain. I’ll leave directly.”

The other man considered. “Meet me tomorrow night at the river by the old mill at eleven. I leave for North Carolina that night, but I must know all is well before I do so.”

“’Tis not safe for us to meet in person. If you are caught...”

Daniel waved a hand impatiently. “We must meet and in the dark. No one will see us. We shall be safe enough.”

His unease grew. Daniel was a member of the governor’s council. His position carried the most importance. Of the three men in the tight little trio of covert activities, Jeffrey was the most expendable.

“I’ll be at the river tomorrow night, at eleven.”

Glancing up, he became aware his last sentence must have been overheard, for the loud chatter had died down. Some men looked his way, seemingly curious as to why the two were sharing a table. Jeffrey could see the questions working the men’s minds. Why was a member of the Governor’s council sitting with a rebel blacksmith? His turmoil increased when he saw William Christopher had taken a chair nearby. Christopher stared blankly at his tankard.

He had to deflect suspicion away from Daniel and himself. Jeffrey raised his voice. “I’ll be on the river tomorrow through the night, frogging. Hobby I like to do by myself. I want to purchase Rebecca and get her settled with her family before then. Will you not sell her to me?”

“I am leaving on the morrow to visit my daughter in North Carolina. If I am inclined, I might consider selling her when I return. But not to you.”

Still, they were too civil. Jeffrey raised his voice and banged the table. “Dammit Merton, I’ve offered you a gentleman’s price for that slave! Will you not then take the deal? ’Tis good money, sterling!”

Daniel’s smooth features wrinkled into an ugly mask of haughty disdain. “Sell her to you, Clayton? Why I only invited you here to gauge how much she’d fetch on open market, for if you are willing to pay that much for her, so will others. Others who will not buy her and set her free!”

“’Tis my business what I do with my slaves,” he countered, feeling his face flush, working his anger up, praying the ruse would work.

“Your business is not your own, for freeing your slaves goes against every principle of every planter in this colony. You are a radical and will incline others to revolt by your zealotry!”

Jeffrey rose, gripping the table. He shook a tight fist at Daniel. “Damn you to hell, Merton. I’ll see you burn in hell. Maybe I’ll even put you there myself!”

He tossed a shilling on the table. Stomped away, satisfied by the shocked looks of dismay on the other men around him. Even Christopher’s mouth hung open. No one could dare think now that they’d discussed treason. Jeffrey hid a grin as he strode out of the Raleigh.

He’d done it again.

Yesterday after she’d seen him in town, Jeffrey had stopped by the farmhouse, explaining that an emergency called him away and he would not be back until late. Amanda had told herself ’twas an emergency. She had even turned toward him when he finally arrived home, making love with great eagerness.

But tonight...

Once again, he left her alone. Second night in a row. He’d promised he’d be home, but not until shortly after midnight.

Amanda fretted. Where was Jeffrey? Well past midnight now, he’d failed to show up when promised. By the Almighty, she expected him to honor his word! She gnawed her lower lip, considering. Perhaps he was in town. She had to find out.

She hitched up the wagon, lit the lantern and drove off. Before she arrived in town, she smelled a harsh, acrid stench as if hundreds of chimney fires were alight. Fear kicked in. Flicking the reins, she drove the horses harder.

Before she even turned down Duke of Gloucester Street, she could see the orange glow. Sunset had descended in the midst of town. Amanda’s fear intensified. Shouting people ran through the streets. The clamor grew as the bell atop the Capitol clanged forth. Before she reached the Raleigh, smoke drifted toward her and she coughed violently. Now she could see the Merton house and it was on fire. Tongues of flames spread to the adjoining house and a warehouse and were lapping with greedy intensity at Shield’s Ordinary tavern. A line of men stretched down the street, passing buckets back and forth. Their efforts to douse the fire with water and sand proved fruitless.

She halted the team at the crowd’s edge, tying them to a hitching post. Eyes watering from the smoke, Amanda ran toward the blaze, shuddering at the ominous crackling and snapping as the fire devoured property. Dozens of people milled about, all with the same stricken looks. A smoke-stained mother clutched her infant frantically to her breast. The child wailed. Amanda recognized her as the owner of one of the houses now burning.

“Mistress Jane, what happened? Is your family safe?” Amanda shouted. She turned her head, coughing as wind kicked up a volley of smoke. The fire’s heat licked at her skin with tongues of searing warmth.

But the woman did not answer, sobbing hysterically and staring wide-eyed at her burning house.

“Aye, they’re all safe, but their home is not!”

Amanda turned to the portly gentleman who had spoken. Relief swept through her. “And the other people?”

“All out. Evacuated the tavern as well.”

She craned her neck, straining to see over the milling throng. The town’s fire engine was nowhere in sight. It could easily douse the blaze.

“Where’s the fire engine? Why do they not use it?”

He snorted. “Disabled. Someone took a hammer to it and smashed the casing. Probably the same culprit who set this blaze.”

Despite the intense heat, a chill skittered down her spine. “Someone set the fire?”

“Aye, ’tis arson. May God damn his soul to Hell!”

The wind shifted suddenly, sending a flurry of sparks drifting east. “The Capitol,” someone screamed. “Get a bucket, for the fire will spread there!”

Several men raced to the Capitol with buckets. Smoke stung her eyes, making them water fiercely. Her heart kicked in fear. Where was Jeffrey? Was he valiantly assisting?

Half the men concentrated on dousing the tavern, now blazing, for the other three buildings were hopelessly engulfed. Miraculously the wind shifted again, away from the Capitol. Someone near her began murmuring the Lord’s Prayer.

Finally it seemed as if the men had managed to save the tavern, but half the building was badly damaged. Amanda stared into the glow as the three other buildings taken by the fire fell into themselves. She heard the woman sobbing and the murmurs of someone trying to console her. Her entire body shook with emotion. Where was Jeffrey? Was he safe?

Now that the danger had passed, people began talking excitedly. Amid the loud, angry voices, Amanda caught a few words.

“Clayton,” one said. “’Twas him. Matthew Smith saw him running from Merton’s house. He shouted ‘Burn in Hell, Merton!”

Fear crystallized, shattered into tiny shards. Jeffrey? They thought her husband responsible? Her head whipped around as the murmurings grew louder, voices agreeing. Amanda opened her mouth to protest. Then she closed it, well aware the crowd’s virulent anger could turn to violence. Remembering the heated citizens who’d marched on her cousin’s palace after the magazine incident, she eased away before anyone saw her and remembered she was Jeffrey’s wife.

“Amanda,” a voice hissed urgently. “Come with me!” She recognized George Wythe and pushed her way through the throng to reach him.

When they reached her wagon, he gripped her shoulders and spoke in a low tone. “’Tis an ill wind blowing against Jeffrey now. I dared not risk seeing you there any longer, in case they demanded to know of you where your husband was.’

“George,” Amanda said slowly, “where is Jeffrey?”

The good solicitor wrinkled his brow. “I had hoped you could provide that information. He’s not at home?”

She shook her head, dismay growing. “I rode into town alone to find him. He’s been gone these past few hours. He did not tell me where he was going. I had hoped to find him here somewhere, perhaps at the Raleigh.”

“Dear Lord,” he murmured, raking a hand through his thinning hair. Amanda became aware of how hastily he had fled the house, for the stately lawyer had neglected to wear his wig. “It looks quite ill for Jeffrey. At least four people claimed they saw him run from Merton’s house.”

“But George, ’tis ludicrous! Why, Jeffrey would no more burn down a man’s house than his own! You know what happened to him in Boston. He loathes arson.”

“Aye, but tell that to them,” George answered grimly, nodding toward the angry crowd.

Questions without answers raced through her mind, but only one stood out starkly. Where was Jeffrey?

A while later, she arrived home, exhausted, upset and smelling like smoke. Amanda unhitched the team and settled the horses into their stalls. As she emerged from the barn, galloping hoof beats halted her. She lifted the lantern higher and watched as her husband pulled up short.

His brow furrowed as he dismounted. “Amanda, what are you doing out here at this late hour?”

Jeffrey took the lantern from her as he led a frothing Liberty into the barn.

“I could well ask the same of you. Where were you?”

His face was haggard, his body fraught with tension. Sweat plastered the white shirt firmly to his upper body. His waistcoat looked dirty and rumpled. Was that smoke she smelled upon his person? She could not tell, over the stench of her own clothing.

“I told you, I had business.”

She followed on his heels, watching over the top of the stall as he relieved Liberty of bit, saddle and bridle. Jeffrey rubbed down the horse then began brushing him.

“Business such as setting fires in town?”

The brush paused in mid-stroke. He stared. “What are you talking about?” For the first time, he looked over her soot-drenched appearance. “What happened? Why is your dress covered in ashes? And you smell like smoke.”

“’Tis so because I was in town, witnessing the fire. The one you are accused of setting.”

“What fire?” he demanded.

“Daniel Merton’s house, plus the Palmer house, and a warehouse. Shield’s Ordinary was badly damaged, but the bucket brigade saved it. The Capitol as well, for the wind shifted away from it. Thank the Lord no one was injured and all survived.”

“Almighty God,” he said, lowering the brush. “Daniel’s home? The Palmer’s? And you think I did this horrid deed?”

“Not me,” she said evenly. “Others. Ones who say they saw you running from Daniel’s house. The entire town is talking of nothing else. And they are quite furious as well.”

She watched him closely. Amanda knew Jeffrey well enough now to know when he hid something. But his reaction now, his mouth drawing downward in apparent shock, his eyes widening in disbelief, seemed real. Either that or he was a consummate actor. And Jeffrey was far too honest for such drama.

“Mandy,” he began. He set down the brush. “I was nowhere near town. I did not set this fire. If people say I did, they are wrong. Or someone else is trying to blame me for their own crime.”

Amanda stepped forward, taking his hands into hers. “I believe you, Jeffrey.”

She did. But would anyone else?

Sleep proved impossible. Jeffrey had set the cauldron to heat water and filled the tub. Together they bathed, then made love, trying to forget the approaching dawn and the trouble it would bring.

Now as she lay in her husband’s arms, dozens of questions demanded answers. Jeffrey claimed he was innocent. She believed him. But where had he been all night? He’d told her he could not tell her. Not yet.

He stirred restlessly, then sat up, glancing at the rising sun. She blinked with a growing feeling of dread.

“Helios approaches the horizon with his great chariot, banishing the night,” Jeffrey murmured.

“If only we could banish him from the sky, for then you’d stay safe with me,” she said, shivering.

He embraced her. “Fear not, Mandy. If the sheriff’s men come for me today...”