Touch the Sun (44 page)

* * *

Bramble and Wong stood side by side, blinking back tears as they watched Meagan cross the garden on her way to the stable.

"She some lady!" the little butler sniffed, too emotional to mind the fact that she was wearing his suit.

"'Tis truth ye speak. The goings-on of the pair of them were Satan's work, but I believe the girl was misled."

"She love Missa Lion!" Wong protested. Bramble's face grew longer with skepticism, but for once she refrained from arguing the point. The two of them watched Meagan disappear into the stable, then returned to their rooms to prepare to walk to Market Street. General Washington was just the thing to keep them from noticing how gray and colorless the house suddenly seemed.

Meagan carried only a tiny deerskin trunk, small enough to fit easily under the chaise's seat. She had packed two dresses, two bedgowns, her original mauve pelisse, and the books Lion had given her. On her left hand she wore the ruby ring.

Heaven was prancing in her stall, unnerved not only by the chorus of church bells which had begun chiming around the city but also by the absence of Hellfire from her side.

"Sweetheart," Meagan soothed, laying her cheek against Heaven's glossy neck, "you and I are going for a little trip together. In a minute, a nice boy will arrive with a chaise, and he'll hitch you up to it—"

"Not today he won't," a deep voice announced from behind her. As she spun around, someone snapped a cloth over her eyes with such force that her neck seemed to crack. In quick succession, she was blindfolded, gagged, and bound, then hoisted off the ground and carried away by two rough pairs of hands.

"Shouldn't we take her trunk?" asked one gravelly voice.

The other man, who had spoken earlier, laughed in a way that sent chills up Meagan's spine.

"Where she's goin', she won't be needin' it"

Part 4

And there the lion's ruddy eyes,

Shall flow with tears of gold...

—William Blake

"Night," from
Songs of Innocence
(1789)

Chapter 37

The muslin strip that covered Meagan's eyes was gauzy enough that she eventually was able to discern the images of her captors. The coach they shared was huge and heavy; it smelled disgusting and couldn't have been more uncomfortable.

After wrapping her in a foul woolen cape, the two men had carried Meagan around the back of the stables to the spot on Fifth Street where the black coach waited. In the distance, the cannon were booming, church bells rang, and the hum of cheering and applause could be heard. Twenty thousand people swelled up Washington's route to City Tavern, but Fifth Street was deserted.

Meagan was most terrified by the restraints; her inability to fight back, or even see and talk, left her paralyzed with panic. Her brazen courage before any foe was her best weapon. Time and time again she had proven that attitude and strength of presence could triumph over size or even numbers.

But now she was powerless.

The coach had rumbled out of town; Meagan could feel the character of the road change and smell the greenery. After only a mile or so, they stopped. She remained motionless, listening to the men talk, and gradually they seemed to forget she was alive or capable of understanding them.

The first light of hope blinked in the darkness of her brain as she realized how totally dim-witted both men were. The one who was apparently in charge had a manner and voice tone that suggested shrewdness, but this proved to be an illusion. The two of them talked as if they were incapable of constructing any plan of action.

It seemed that they were waiting for further instructions from someone in charge. This person, referred to as B, was past due, and the later it got the more confused they became about what they would do if B did not arrive.

A few more minutes passed. Shrewd-voice suggested that the other man probably had the time wrong. Gravelly-voice somehow managed to whine in denial, and Meagan thought that she would probably be highly amused under different circumstances.

There was a sharp rap at the coach door, followed by a scuffle as her inept captors outdid each other in their efforts to get out first. Meagan strained her ears, but it seemed that they had moved off for the conference.

She knew it was Marcus. The question was: what purpose did this serve? Would he blackmail Lion? There were a number of possibilities along that line, involving Lion's money or political plans or both. Or was Marcus after more serious revenge? If he knew what she and Lion had actually shared, he may have guessed a way to wound Lion enough to make up for all the times in the past when he had tried and failed.

* * *

Gravel and Shrewd, as Meagan had dubbed them in her mind, were both quite fat and smelled bad. Through her muslin blindfold, she could not discern any more than their shapes, except to notice how clumsy they were.

The roads were badly rutted so that whenever a particularly gaping hole appeared in the distance, the driver would shout, "Now, folks, to the left!" or the right, as the situation demanded.

Meagan could sense the stealthy approach of twilight and knew that it was time she did something. So far, she had made no move to struggle or attract attention of any kind, so she hoped they thought her a limp and docile female. With luck, they would also believe it took just these few hours for such a fragile flower to reach her breaking point.

Her captors were snorting with laughter as they made plans to spend their payment for this night's work. Meagan was almost ready to go into her act when she heard a cork squeal and pop from a bottle, followed by the sound of liquid splashing against glass as the coach thundered along the road.

She remained quiet, listening to them swill what smelled like bad whisky. Gravel hiccupped and launched into another of his many confusing brainstorms for spending the money. He was sitting next to her, across from Shrewd, and Meagan decided there was a better way to slip into her role. Holding her breath to keep from gagging, she put her head on his shoulder. He stiffened and went silent. She could almost feel them staring at one another; she whimpered. The cork slid back into the bottle.

"Hey! What's wrong with you?" Gravel demanded, apparently afraid to touch her or remove her head.

Meagan began to cry, almost silently at first, working her way up to pitiful sobs.

"Maybe she's hurt?" Gravel wondered in total confusion.

"Hurt? She's been sittin' right here for hours. How'd she get hurt?"

"How should I know? Lookit her! She's as little as—as a little girl, almost. All tied up—"

"Some little girl!" Shrewd retorted nastily, reaching over to grip one of Meagan's breasts and giving it a painful twist. She fell in the other direction, pretending to go faint.

"Hey! What's wrong with you?" Gravel accused the other man.

"What's wrong with
you?
Whatta you care if she's hurt? She's gonna be dead pretty soon anyway! Let's have some fun with her!"

Meagan felt hands pulling at Wong's black coat; the first button was torn off. Then, the seat heaved beside her, followed by the thud of a blow, and the coach lurched forward as a body fell. Fingers closed around her waist and arm; gratefully she recognized Gravel's repulsive odor. He fumbled with her blindfold and gag until they were off, and Meagan rewarded him with a smile that lit up the darkness.

Shrewd was slumped sideways on the opposite seat. Blood trickled from his nose, and he lay so motionless as to appear dead if not for his labored breathing. Meagan looked away, searching her defender's face as he concentrated on untying her wrists and ankles. Even in the dark, she could see his bulbous nose and the heavy folds of fat that encircled his tiny eyes and mouth. His skin was shiny with grime; his clothes looked as if they had not been off since the first cold day last autumn.

"Thank you, sir," she murmured in a weak, frightened voice.

"I don't like to see a little girl like you treated bad," he growled. "There's nothin' worse."

"But—he said you were going to kill me...?"

Gravel looked up, pained. "Oh, no, ma'am! Not me! He promised I wouldn't have to do anything. I wasn't even gonna watch! I was—"

"But you would let him?" Meagan pressed softly. Her hands were free and she began to rub them.

"All that money! That's all. I just wanted to get drunk enough—maybe I'd forget. I'd never have another chance to get money like that. All I had to do was help him take you so you wouldn't get away. You know, like a guard—" His gravelly voice was whining again.

"Don't feel bad," Meagan soothed. "There's a way you can get your money without killing me at all, more than what you were promised. I'll give you this ring!" She spread her fingers under a moonbeam to display the ruby ring. Her only sure chance of success was to play on his greed. "Tell me, how were you to kill me?"

Gravel swallowed several times. His face was covered with beads of sweat. "We—he—was supposed to drown you in the Delaware up by Trenton, so somebody'd find you on the way up to New York town."

"A pleasant surprise for someone," Meagan observed grimly. "Well, I have a better idea. I will give you my ring and you may also keep my horse—"

When she paused to gulp at the thought of handing over Heaven, Gravel interrupted, "We was gonna keep her anyway. Uh—B wants the horse back as part of the proof."

"Oh, he does, does he? Well, if that's all the proof he demands—"

"That, and you floatin' in the river!"

Meagan made a face. "This B of yours is not as clever as I thought if he believes a drowning victim just lies in the same spot of the river waiting to be discovered! My disappearance can easily be explained. I've been swept away into the ocean!"

Gravel was squinting his raisin eyes, obviously in awe of Meagan and conveniently not noticing what a radical change she had undergone in just a minute or two.

"Now," she was saying, "I want you to leave me here. You just drive on to the Delaware then, or turn around now, and when your friend wakes up you can say he slept through it all."

"But you couldn't. What'd you do without a horse? At night—"

Meagan's eyes gleamed enigmatically in the darkness. "Don't worry about me. I am very good at adapting!"

"He'll never believe me. He knows I couldn't—"

"Just tell him you got courage from the bottle. Or I made you mad. Besides, why should he care as long as he gets his money? He'd never believe a frail little thing like me could last out here all night anyway."

Gravel was leaning forward to shout to the driver, but at Meagan's last words, he looked back over his beefy shoulder. "I don't believe you can either! I think you're mad! But, then, it's your life..."

She grinned. "Well said, sir."

* * *

The evening was well advanced. Luminous silver clouds drifted back and forth across the moon as showers of fireworks lit up the sky in a last gasp of celebration. Usually the streets were quiet by ten o'clock, but tonight there was still activity, as if the people realized that this was a holiday which could never be repeated.

Lion was walking home from Mansion House, having sent Joshua on alone with the post-chariot. He was keenly impatient to see Meagan and deliver the news which would change both their lives, but he felt the need to be alone with his thoughts first, to reflect on the day's events and their meanings.

The banquet at City Tavern had been lavish, the atmosphere saturated with gaiety. Fourteen toasts were drunk, each one larger and more enthusiastic than the last. Lion and Priscilla sat next to the Binghams, and he was amazed to find his attitude toward the two women quite altered. Priscilla drank a great deal and, now that she felt no further need to play games or roles with him, became relaxed. She was as trite and childish as ever, but Lion found himself reacting to her tolerantly, rather like an older brother.

After her third glass of wine, Priscilla drew Anne into the conversation. She had already told her, briefly, of her plans to marry Marcus. A heated quarrel had ensued, interrupted almost immediately by William's entrance into the room. Since that incident, the two women had exchanged only the briefest civilities, but now Priscilla proceeded to pour out all her feelings and reasons for her decision. Lion provided cool, quiet support, and eventually Anne was making peace with them both. She had only wanted the best for Priscilla, she insisted, and everything she had done or said was motivated by that desire.