All this dissolved into a flurry of movement. The nearer of the oxen collided with the trunk of a tree. A horse reared and a Hessian officer tumbled from its saddle. The dog scrambled into the darkness of the shop behind him, its tail between its legs. A plump middle-aged woman fainted. Her maid tried to support her but her mistresss weight was too heavy for her, and they both fell to the ground.
The sounds were slower to return. They came in scraps and fragments, muffled at first, and accompanied by a ringing in my ears. Townley yelped, Christ! A window shattered across the street. Shouts and screams filled the air. Horses neighed. Oxen bellowed.
Several soldiers stumbled down the road at a trot towards Fort George. The middle-aged woman woke up and went into violent hysterics, pummelling the poor maid without mercy. Townley touched my sleeve and pointed over the roofline of the houses on the other side of the street. A feathery column of black smoke was rising into the sky.
The French fleet? I said, and my voice sounded muffled and remote.
There would have been some warning if they were that close inshore. I think one of the ammunition ships must have blown up.
By accident?
God knows. Townley dabbed his face with a scented handkerchief. First the fire, now this. Look at that damned smoke its like a black plume at a funeral. Either its cursed ill luck or we have enemies within.
My windows! cried the plump woman, suddenly emerging from her hysterics. Quick, girl, what are you about? Help me up, we must go home.
The Hessian officer scrambled to his feet and stumbled after his bolting horse, leaving a stream of German oaths behind him. The shopkeeper, a perruquier in apron and shirtsleeves with a face as pale as his own powder, appeared in his doorway with the dog cowering at his heels as though it had been given one whipping and feared another.
Townley and I walked quickly down Broadway toward Fort George. But there was nothing to be learned at Headquarters, either about the explosion or about the unfortunate Pickett.
I scribbled a note to Mr Rampton and enclosed with it the letters I had earlier written to Lizzie and Augusta. Townley showed me to the Post Room and introduced me to the head clerk who guarded the mails. The letters would go out in the lead-weighted Government mailbags by the first packet that sailed for home.
Though God knows when that will be, the official observed. What with the rebels within and the French fleet without.
We might as well have our dinner now, Townley said afterwards. Nothing else can be done at present until this fuss and bother die down.
As we were leaving, one of Mr Townleys servants approached him with the news that the fever had claimed the life of his clerk in the early hours of the morning.
The poor fellow, Townley said. Troubles never come singly, do they? It is this damned heat it encourages every kind of pestilence. I must send something to his widow.
We walked slowly towards the Common. Townley knew of a little inn in King George Street nothing to look at from the outside, he told me, but the cook was from Milan and could do quite exceptional things with the meanest materials. I had already learned that Mr Townley thought a great deal about his meals and how they were prepared.
The excitement had ebbed away from the city. The broken glass had been swept up. The shops were as busy as ever.
Its as if nothing had happened, I said.
That is the nature of war, sir, Townley said. Terrors succeed terrors, but one cannot be apprehensive all the time. These exceptional alarms are much less of an inconvenience than something more mundane like the death of my unfortunate clerk, for example. In life he was sadly imperfect, but in death he will be sorely missed. A mass of tedious business must inevitably fall on my own shoulders.
I wonder. I hesitated, but only for a moment. I think I told you, I met an American on the voyage. He worked as a lawyers clerk in London, and even knows something of the American Department. I believe he is in want of a position.
A happy coincidence. Indeed I even congratulated myself on this turn of events at a stroke, I thought, I might be able to oblige a new acquaintance while discharging a debt I owed to an older one.
Really? Mr Townley said. How very interesting.
Chapter Ten
After dinner, I returned to Warren Street. I found the ladies of the house in the drawing room. Mrs Arabella was at a table by the window with a copy of the Royal American Gazette spread out before her. Old Mrs Wintour was sitting in front of the empty fireplace.
I bowed in turn to them and wished them good afternoon. The old lady nodded graciously to me. But she said nothing and in a moment began to stare fixedly at the fireback as if trying to commit its sooty surface to memory.
Mrs Arabella beckoned me towards her. For the first time I saw her by daylight. Her face was oval, the complexion pale and unblemished, the lips full and the eyes brown. Her hair was partly concealed beneath her cap, but what I could see of it was lustrous and so dark as to be almost black.
Pray do not mention the explosion or yesterdays fire, sir, she said in low voice. Nor Mr Picketts death. Mrs Wintour finds subjects of that nature disagreeable.
I nodded. Major Marryot was a bear in a red coat yet she clearly had him in thrall. Mr Townley spoke of her with a strange mixture of delicacy and wariness. Even Noak, as dry and dull as a ledger, knew her charms by reputation: Once seen, never forgotten.
Now, seeing Mrs Arabella in the glare of natural light from the window, I was frankly disappointed. She was well enough but her face lacked the classical proportions and high-bred refinement of Augustas; her figure would not have been considered à la mode in London, and her cotton dress seemed positively dowdy. The Americans, I thought, perhaps judged a ladys personal attractions by lower standards than we did.
I had, on Mr Ramptons advice, brought the Wintours some small presents from London lace for the ladies, chosen by Augusta, a volume of sermons for the Judge and several pounds of tea for them all. When I presented the gifts, Mrs Wintour became quite animated.
Im sure my son will enjoy the sermons too, when he comes home, she said in a voice like rustling paper. His attention has always been turned towards spiritual matters even as a little boy. I remember when we went to church: he listened so attentively to the sermons.
Mrs Arabella wiped her fingers, inky from the fresh newsprint, on her handkerchief. She thanked me for the gifts but said she would not examine the lace until her hands were clean.
Mrs Wintour patted the sofa on which she sat. Come and tell me how dear Mr Rampton does, Mr Savill. It must be nearly twenty years since we saw him. And you are married to his niece, Miss Augusta, I hear?
Mr Rampton does very well, thank you, maam. Now he is under secretary of the American Department, Lord George Germain entrusts a great deal of business to him.
And you, sir? My husband tells me that Mr Rampton speaks most highly of you.
He is kindness itself, maam. This was not entirely true. Mr Rampton had opposed Augustas marriage to me, a mere junior clerk.
He is kindness itself, maam. This was not entirely true. Mr Rampton had opposed Augustas marriage to me, a mere junior clerk.
And do you have the consolation of children? You must pardon an old ladys curiosity, Mr Savill.
A daughter, maam Elizabeth.
How fortunate you are. I always wished for a daughter. When my son comes home, he and Bella will have one, possibly two. It will be as good as having them myself. She smiled at me. It will be delightful, will it not? I dare say they will live at Mount George for much of the year the air is healthier for children.
The mention of Lizzie reminded me of the crying child I had heard or thought I had heard as I was going to sleep. I was about to ask whether there was a child in the house when the conversation shifted direction and the old lady began to ask me about which London clergymen were at present esteemed for their preaching.
Mama, Mrs Arabella said. You should not plague Mr Savill with questions. I am sure he is weary.
Mrs Wintour looked bewildered. Ah yes do forgive me, Mr Savill, I run on, sometimes. My son tells me I must have been born chattering. Have you met my son John, sir?
Ive not had that pleasure, maam.
You will meet him soon, Im sure. He will make everything right when he comes home, and then I shall have my little granddaughters.
You are tired, maam, said Mrs Arabella, rising from her chair. Should you not rest for a while? I shall ring the bell for Miriam.
Miriam came, and the old woman rose obediently and hobbled out of the room, clinging with two thin hands to the servants arm. The maid looked without hesitation to Mrs Arabella for her orders, though in this case few words passed between them, only a look of intelligence. This situation, I thought, had happened before, and more than once.
Mrs Arabella sat down again. The Judge tells me that Mr Pickett has been found dead in Canvas Town. Was he murdered?
That was plain-speaking indeed. He is certainly dead, maam, and in all probability murdered. I tried not to think of the fly settling on the ragged wound in Picketts neck.
What was the motive?
The affair is still a mystery. I apprehend that Major Marryot thinks Mr Pickett was a gambling man, and that may have had something to do with it. But I hope I do not distress you. I understand he was an acquaintance.
I did not know him at all well, sir. Besides, we have grown used to hearing of horrors.
I understand he has a sister. Do you know anything of her?
No. I was not aware he had any family at all. I met him only once before and very briefly. I think he had had a few dealings with my father, but purely in the way of business.
She said nothing further on the subject. A silence fell, and it was not altogether comfortable.
I I understand your husband, madam, is expected home? I said. Do you know when he will come?
She stared at me with heavy-lidded eyes. He has been missing since Saratoga. I thought you must know.
Why yes Mr Rampton said as much. But from what Mrs Wintour said, I inferred
Mrs Wintour desires his return so strongly that she believes he must come. I am not so sanguine, and nor is the Judge. But we do not contradict her.
No, indeed.
You would be doing us all a kindness if you would humour her in this as well.
Of course.
The Battle of Saratoga had been ten months ago. If there had been no news of Captain Wintour since then, the odds must be against his having survived.
You have heard nothing at all of him? I said after a moment.
No. We fear the worst. We hear so many reports of atrocities.
Anger had brought colour to her face, and she looked almost beautiful. There was a fire about her when her passions were roused. I murmured a platitude about the horrors of war, particularly civil war.
Why does Lord George not advise the King to bring an end to this folly? she burst out.
Madam, I wish I knew, and then I should tell you. But Lord George does not open his mind to me.
Of course not. Mrs Arabellas eyelids closed, as though she wished to blot out the sight of me. You are only a clerk.
Chapter Eleven
The following day, Wednesday, Mr Townley arrived in Warren Street as I was in the act of leaving the house.
Mr Savill, sir, he cried from across the street. This is well met. Have you heard the news?
No, sir. What news?
I thought the Major might have sent a man over to you. No matter I am here instead. It appears that someone laid information late last night, and a man has been taken up for poor Mr Picketts murder.
On what grounds?
Oh, they have plenty of evidence they have not charged the fellow yet, but I do not think there can be much doubt about it. We must not linger he is to be interrogated at ten oclock, and it wants but twenty minutes of that now. They are holding him at Van Cortlandts Sugar House at the corner of Trinity churchyard. And we are to meet your shipboard acquaintance there what is his name? Note? Slope? Poke?
Noak, sir. I had written to him yesterday afternoon and told him he might call on Mr Townley. It is good of you to spare the time to see him.
I have seen him already he seems capable enough. And theres something to be said for a man who knows a little of the wider world. I have decided to give him a trial for a day or two.
Thats most obliging, sir I hope he answers.
We shall soon begin to discover whether he does or not. He can keep a record this morning.
As we walked along, Townley asked if I was perfectly satisfied with my lodging; if not he would look about for somewhere else that might suit me.
I told him not to trouble himself for I liked it very well and added, By the way, I had some conversation with the Wintour ladies yesterday evening.
They are in good health, I hope? How did they strike you?
I had not realized that Mrs Arabellas husband is missing rather than dead.
It is most unfortunate, Townley said. No one has seen Captain Wintour since Saratoga, though there was a report of his being wounded. It leaves them all in a species of limbo Mrs Arabella in particular. They do not know whether to mourn a son and husband or to pray for his happy return.
Mrs Wintour seems in no doubt that it should be the latter.
Alas, sir as you may already have observed, Mrs Wintours sufferings have taken their toll on the poor ladys rational faculties. Townley pointed with his stick. We are nearly there see? That is Van Cortlandts.
The main sugar house was situated on a corner where two streets met. It was a big, brick-faced structure five storeys high and as ugly as a barn. An annex stood to one side. The establishment overlooked a yard enclosed by a wall. The buildings barred windows were deeply recessed and well above the height of a man. They accentuated rather than relieved the monolithic blankness of the façade.
This place is for prisoners of war, he murmured in my ear. Marryots man shouldnt be here at all, but the Provost is full.