The smile left Jacob’s face, and he watched Alex warily as
they left the inn for the stable. “I was just trying to help.” He glanced
around to see that they were alone and whispered, “The crates are down there. I
saw them.”
Alex threw the boy up on his miserable nag and climbed onto
his own horse, waiting until they were clear of the stable before replying. “Would
it have helped if you got your fool head shot off? As it is, if the man has any
brains at all, he’ll move the crates tonight. We have to work together, not all
go our separate ways, if we wish to accomplish anything.”
“That’s what they said at the meeting the other night,”
Jacob informed him gloomily, “but I don’t see nobody getting much done.”
“What meeting?” Alex demanded.
Realizing he’d said too much, Jacob shook his head. “I’m
sorry. Is Mama truly scared? I thought I’d be back before she got up.”
“Your whole family is scared, including your sister. I ought
to thrash you just for that. From now on, if you have any bright ideas, take
them to me or Evelyn before you act.”
Jacob yawned hugely and nodded. “I knew you were a right
one, Mr. Hampton. I told them so, but nobody would believe me. You ain’t no
Tory, are you? The smugglers are. I’ll make them understand so they won’t be
mad at Evelyn anymore.”
The boy was rambling, half-asleep and still in shock. Alex
didn’t know how much sense to make of his words. Since most of the colonists
were Whigs, he could almost wager the smugglers were too, but what politics had
to do with anything eluded him. “Tory” seemed to be an epithet with more
meaning than he applied to it. And who was this “they” who were angry at
Evelyn? Was there some other reason besides overwork that was causing the
sleepless shadows under her eyes?
Vowing to find out more, Alex almost missed Jacob’s nodding
forward over his saddle. Just in time, he grabbed the boy’s shirt before he
could slide off. Too sleepy to protest, Jacob allowed himself to be removed
from his horse. He snuggled into Alex’s arms and nodded off again. Alex made
him comfortable in the saddle, and leading the livery nag, started the long
ride home. His friends in London were never going to believe this.
***
When Alex rode up with Jacob safely tucked in his arms, Evelyn
flew out the door with her mother close on her heels. Mrs. Wellington led Jacob
away, scolding while examining him for injuries at the same time.
Half-dressed, filthy, and looking exhausted, Alex wasn’t the
idle dandy Evelyn had first met. She owed him much for returning Jacob. Wiping
away tears of relief, she laid a hand on Alex’s bridle. “Won’t you come in? I’ll
have Molly bring you some tea and breakfast. You must be starved.”
He shook his head curtly. “We ate. He’ll tell you about it
when he wakes up. I better go make myself respectable.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. Presentable, yes.
Respectable, never,” she said with a grin. “Come down or my mother will never
forgive you for making her appear ungrateful. She’ll remember you’re here in a
moment.”
Swinging down, Alex landed in front of her with a dangerous
glitter in his eyes. “Do you wish to show me your gratitude too?”
“I would if I thought there were any way to do it and still
keep my respectability. As it is, you will have to be satisfied with this.”
Resting her hands on his chest, Evelyn stood on her toes and kissed his bristly
cheek. He smelled of horse sweat and ale, and the masculine scents went
straight to her head. When he caught her hands and held them against his shirt,
she was grateful for his steadiness.
“Did you think doing that in public would keep it
respectable?”
The dark glimmer of his eyes held her enthralled. Not a hint
of a smile cracked his hard features, but she heard his pleasure in the low
rumble of his voice. With a wide grin, she gave him back his own. “No, I
figured your stink would accomplish that. I’ll get no closer.”
He growled and she shrieked in mock terror, and when Amanda
Wellington came down the stairs a minute later, she was nearly bowled over as
the two charged through the front room like a couple of yearlings.
Unable to breach the Sons of Liberty meetings now that
they had moved to all-male taverns, Evelyn was as much in the dark as the rest
of the populace on the morning of the fourteenth of August. The effigies
appearing in the spreading branches of the elm just off Newbury brought people
running.
“If they intended to declare rebellion, that’s a good way to
do it,” she mused to her mother, who had accompanied her to see what the talk
was about.
“What do they mean by hanging Andrew Oliver?” her mother
asked in puzzlement. “Surely the patriots do not mean to actually hang the man?”
The stamp-tax collector was one of Uncle George’s closest
cronies. Evelyn understood her mother’s concern. “Surely the patriots don’t
mean to resort to murder,” she said reassuringly.
But if they did, would they stop at Oliver? There were too
many hated names on people’s tongues these days, her uncle’s among them. The
threat of violence smoked the air.
Evelyn sent her mother home, then hurried toward the
warehouse. Alex met her before she reached the wharf.
“What is going on?” he demanded. “The whole damned town’s on
holiday.”
How could she explain? He knew nothing of the patriots,
cared less about their problems. Wordlessly, she turned and led him toward the
Liberty Tree.
He frowned at the throng gathering beneath the spreading
branches. Evelyn tried to see the mob through his eyes. These weren’t riotous
noisemakers like those she’d heard often tore up the streets of London. This
was a holiday crowd of respectable people. True, there were those who were
drinking. And angry voices lifted in argument as always. But for the most part
the crowd merely seemed triumphant to have their opinions stated.
Recognizing a friend of the governor’s, Evelyn signaled him.
After the introductions, Alex asked, “Why is nothing being
done to disperse this mob? Isn’t it potentially dangerous?”
The man shrugged. “Aye, it is, and the governor sent the
sheriff to stop it. See that man over there?” He pointed to a plainly-dressed
gentleman leaning against a fence on the outskirts of the mob. “That’s the
sheriff. I’m sure he’d appreciate any suggestions on how to make them all go
home.”
Alex scanned the burgeoning mob of thousands and returned his
gaze to the single man standing alone on the outskirts.
“The sheriff has a few deputies,” Evelyn explained, “but
what could a few men do against a mob of this size?”
Alex caught her arm and steered her toward a side street. “I
assume the tax collector has been informed and is taking the proper
precautions?”
“He would be a fool if he hasn’t. Did you see the big man
back there, the one wearing the blue-and-gold uniform and carrying a cane?”
“The one passing the bottle? I saw him. Rough-looking brute.”
“That’s Ebenezer Mcintosh, leader of the South End mob. If
that gang breaks loose tonight, Mr. Oliver had best be safely out of the
county.” There was more to this story than the peaceful holiday mob. Evelyn
would rather not explain, but she feared there would be no way out of it if
Alex focused his perceptive mind on the subject.
“What the deuce is the South End mob and how much do you
know of what’s going on out here?” he demanded.
“If you’ve never seen our Pope’s Day riots, I cannot explain
the South End mob to you,” she said with a sigh. “If what I believe will happen
comes true, you’ll see it for yourself. Unfortunately, I suspect they’ll find
other targets for their violence tonight instead of the usual wagonload of
dummies.” Evelyn shrugged in defeat. “I do not know more than that. Just stay
off the streets tonight. No Englishman will be safe.”
***
Alex remembered her words later that evening. From the inn
window, he watched the glare of torches marching toward the new customs office.
Once there, the mob demolished the building stick by stick. Their protest
against the new tax was not just drunken fury, but organized in a manner that
he’d never seen before.
The next morning he listened over breakfast to the
description of the mob’s procession through the State House with Oliver’s
effigy in a coffin. A riot had ensued that resulted in the lieutenant governor
being stoned as he tried to halt the mob.
Rumors whispered that the royal governor had already fled to
the island fort in the harbor. Uneasy with the escalating demonstrations, Alex hurried
toward the warehouse. Evelyn knew more of events than she was telling.
Thinking of her glorious hair, slender curves, and
delightful kisses, he could easily excuse her from all doubts. But remembering
her sharp tongue, quick wit, and the accuracy of her predictions, he felt his
temper rise. She’d hidden the depth of this rebellion from him.
Evelyn looked up in surprise and wiped her ink-stained hands
on her apron when he entered. Today, she wore a simple brown cotton dress and merely
a length of ribbon to loop her hair out of her face. And he still longed to
reach over the counter and kiss her stubborn lips into compliance.
“To what do I owe this honor, Mr. Hampton?” she inquired.
“The name is Alex, and I believe I have every right to ask
my fiancée to have lunch with me. Close up this place for an hour. It’s time to
eat.”
“I have an apple and some cheese in my desk, Mr. Hampton.
There is too much to be done to dally over lovers’ luncheons.” She glanced
nervously to the warehouse behind her.
Alex translated that look easily enough. They were alone for
a change. “Jacob and Benjamin left for lunch?” he asked genially, coming around
the counter. “I had thought to be polite and take you to a public place, but if
you insist on being alone, I will be happy to oblige. The flour sacks in back
should make a comfortable resting place, don’t you agree?”
There was passion in the fullness of her lips, and he would
dearly like to see warm invitation in her violet eyes. The skeptical look he
encountered instead warned of what he already knew— this was not the usual
light-headed female to be fooled and played with.
He caught her by the waist and lifted her against him before
she could make any decision to escape. Spreading kisses along her jaw and down
the side of her neck, Alex taunted her with her helplessness. She balanced her
hands against his chest and kept her face buried against his wide shoulder.
She smelled of ink and lavender sachet and he could feel her
heart pounding beneath her bodice. The monster in him wanted more.
“Alex, don’t,” she whispered. “You have no right.”
With her slender warmth pressed against him, he could have
argued that point. The way she fitted so neatly into his arms, felt so right
against him, and stirred longings he had once thought buried told him he had
every right to hold her. She belonged in his arms, but that courted madness.
Setting her in front of him but not releasing her waist,
Alex studied her flushed face. “You grant me that right every time you look at
me like that, but one of us has to be sensible. Take off your apron, and I’ll
help you lock up.”
The tavern kitchen had packed a basket, and they spread the
contents on the stone bench in the enclosed yard of the old church. Anyone
could walk by, so they were in public, but no one did, and that left them
private beneath the overhanging branches of trees and shrubs.
“What did you wish to speak to me about? Have you found the
smugglers?” Evelyn spread a napkin over her skirt and broke off a corner of a
sandwich of crusty bread, beef, and cheese.
“I know where the brandy was taken, but I still don’t know
the owners of the companies who purchased it. Apparently they are registered
elsewhere or not at all. I have men searching records in New York and
Philadelphia, but it will be a week or two more before they can report to me.
The court cannot very well convict a piece of paper. We need the men behind
those invoices. Can I not just want to see you without having some reason?”
Evelyn sipped the warm ale Alex offered and eyed him dubiously.
“No. If nothing else, you are bored and have found no one else to seduce. Since
I cannot believe that even you practice seduction in the middle of the day, I
surmise you have something else in mind.”
“Have I?” One dark brow lifted as he drank his ale. “I have
no aversion to making love in daylight. If you show any inclination to be
seduced, I’ll oblige without any qualms whatsoever.”
Evelyn tore into her sandwich, not deigning to reply. He
wanted something. She didn’t intend to make it easy for him.
Alex shrugged. “Lovemaking would be a pleasant way to spend
the afternoon, but if you’re not interested, we can move on to other things.
Such as how you knew that peaceful mob would attack Oliver’s home last night.
Why didn’t they just indulge in the usual brawling and stone-throwing?”
“Anyone with an ounce of common sense could have figured
that out. Of what interest is it to you?” Puzzled by this choice of subjects,
Evelyn ate more slowly and watched his face for clues.
“No self-respecting mob parades in such orderly fashion as
they did through the State House without some preparation. Someone
planned
that demonstration. I think it
got out of hand later, but perhaps that was their intent. And I think you know
more about it than you’re telling. Are we going to be subject to more of these
demonstrations or were they satisfied with Oliver’s resignation?”
Evelyn shrugged. “They’ll not be satisfied until the Stamp
Act is repealed, if that’s what you’re asking. You can go back and tell your
noble cousin to come out against it or the safety of the crown’s officials here
will be in jeopardy until they do. Is that what you want to hear?”
“What I want to hear is the truth. I have a lot of time and
money invested in this shipping venture. If it’s going to become dangerous for
my ships and men to enter this port, I’ll have to order them elsewhere.”