by John Jakes
VIRGIL TUNWORTH, CAPT., U.S.A. (RET.)
iv
The card fell to the floor. Hampton peered at her. “Is everything all right, madam?”
“Yes—yes—” She retrieved the card, her pulse racing. “Where’s Michael?”
“In the carriage house, I believe. He and Master Louis are repairing the broken stall.”
“Give him the card, bring him in here and tell him to wait—”
She started out, whirled back. “No, go upstairs first. Lock Mary in her room. Tell her to keep absolutely quiet, no matter what happens.” When Hampton seemed slow to comprehend, she exclaimed, “The man is her owner!”
Hampton frowned. “The name did seem slightly familiar—”
“Mary mentioned him the other night. How in God’s name he got here, I don’t know.”
In the sitting room, Captain Virgil Tunworth paced back and forth before the windows overlooking the bare trees of Madison Square. The captain was a small, spare man in his early fifties. Wisps of gray hair lay across a bald skull. He spun around when Amanda entered.
Feigning cordiality, she smiled. “Captain Tunworth—!”
She noted the sooty shoulders of his cream-colored tailcoat; a black smudge on his stand-up collar. The gaslight emphasized the white stubble on his chin; he apparently hadn’t shaved for a day or more.
The captain had served in the army for several years before taking up a more profitable career—the supervision of his family’s lands near Lexington. He still carried himself in an erect, military fashion, and affected a severe manner.
“Good evening, Mrs. de la Gura.” His glance said he hadn’t forgotten their unpleasant meeting in Virginia—and his expression quickly registered disapproval of her lavender trousers.
Still smiling, she said, “This is indeed a surprise—”
“You needn’t pretend it’s a pleasant one. You know why I’ve come.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said, drying her palm on the handkerchief she kept tucked in her sleeve. She approached the bell pull. “May I ring for a drink for you?”
“Thank you, no.” Politeness was clearly an effort. “I’m filthy and worn out from the train, so let’s conclude our business promptly.”
Amanda walked past him to the window. Saw a hack waiting under the portico, its side lamps aglow in the lowering dark.
“What business, sir?”
In a cupped tone, he replied, “You’re harboring a nigger girl who belongs to me.”
“Captain Tunworth, that—that is the most astonishing—and preposterous—accusation I’ve ever heard!”
“Astonishing, I grant you. I’m sure you weren’t expecting me. But preposterous? Hardly. You see, Mrs. de la Gura”—he stalked toward her, openly belligerent—“some whose niggers run away are content to let them go. I am not. My wench Mary was conducted to Clifton Forge last Wednesday and shipped in a packing case to this house—”
He raised a hand on which a diamond ring guttered. “Before you trap yourself with denials, allow me to finish. I know how Mary got away because I whipped one of my bucks half to death—until he told me he’d seen her conferring with Mr. Syme when my wife sent Mary and the buck to town on an errand. You certainly know who Mr. Syme is—your cousin’s fellow conspirator? After the buck confessed, we caught him.”
Suddenly Amanda felt terror. “Who caught him?”
“Why, some gentlemen who feel exactly as I do about fugitives and those who assist them. Congress has passed a law denying niggers sanctuary in the northern states—and so we’re entitled to their return. I regret to say that after Mr. Syme admitted his perfidy—following a little moral suasion with a board applied to his bare feet—he tried to escape. He couldn’t walk, let alone run. Took a pistol ball in the back. He’s dead. I’m of the opinion Syme’s wife warned your cousin, the Reverend. He’s disappeared—”
“Jephtha’s gone?” Amanda gasped. “Where?”
“To hell, I sincerely hope,” the captain replied with a tart smile. “He was interfering with the law of these United States. He conspired to rob me of my property. As I say, Mary was spirited away on Wednesday. By sundown Friday Mr. Syme had departed this earth—but not before he told us your cousin had driven Mary all the way to the Clifton Forge depot of the Virginia Central line. Some cash and some threats loosened the tongue of the express agent there. That’s how I learned the destination of the box the Reverend shipped. This morning, an hour after I got off that infernal train, I fetched the local manager of Adams Express straight out of church. I only had to remind him that abetting the escape of a slave now carries serious penalties—”
Captain Tunworth’s hand dipped into his coat and came up with a paper. “He gave me this copy of the delivery order, and that’s all there is to it. I don’t suppose the crate is still in this house. But I imagine Mary is. Return her and there’s no need for us to quarrel—or to make the incident public.”
Amanda sank down on a sofa in front of the Virginian. Jephtha a fugitive! That upset her as much as the arrival of Mary’s master. She fought to keep tension from her voice as she said, “I imagine you’re congratulating yourself on being rid of your son-in-law—”
“Woman, don’t change the subject on me. I demand—”
“The hell with your demands!” Amanda said in a scathing voice. “I want to know what’s become of my cousin!”
Tunworth shrugged. “I expect he’s hiding out somewhere in the Blue Ridge. The truth is, no one in Lexington will be grieved at his going. For almost a year he’s been suspected of being a conductor on the nigger railroad. His wife and boys want no part of him. Except for that crazy Professor Jackson at the Institute, he hasn’t a single friend in the county. And now that we’ve split up his nefarious little partnership with Mr. Syme, we’ll be happy to be quits with him. Let’s get back to the matter of my property—”
“You’re quite glib about referring to a human being as property!”
“And you’re misguided to term niggers human beings.”
“Then what are they, Captain?”
“Well—human, I suppose I’d have to grant you that. But not to the same full degree as white persons. The nigra is basically inferior in all respects.”
Amanda felt desolate. He spoke so calmly—with such an air of conviction—that she knew he’d expressed the bedrock of his belief. “And nothing will change your mind about that?”
“Nothing. If the abolitionists have their way, the next step after freedom for the niggers will be equality with whites. I can’t accept that. I never will accept it—I’d take up arms before I would obey any law that tried to coerce me into accepting it—but you’re trying to sidetrack me again, Mrs. de la Gura.”
“Because discussing your so-called property is a waste of time, sir—mine and yours.”
“You’re getting me exercised, woman—” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “You can’t deny she’s here.”
“I refuse to discuss it.”
He shook the express receipt at her. “Goddamn it, I have the evidence!”
Amanda tore the paper from his hand, ripped it in half. “That’s what I think of your trumped-up evidence! I’d be obliged if you’d leave, Captain Tunworth.”
“Not without Mary. Not without my propert—”
A peremptory knock broke the tension and whirled them both toward the door.
Michael stuck his head in. “A word with you, Mrs. A?”
She scowled. “This is not the time—”
“Very urgent. Please!”
To Tunworth she said, “You wait here, sir.” The moment the door clicked behind her, she whispered, “What in the hell is so important that—?”
“Hampton gave me the card. How did Tunworth wind up here so quickly?”
In terse sentences, Amanda repeated the essence of what Jephtha’s father-in-law had told her—including the dismal news that her cousin had fled Lexington, evidently in fear of his life.
&
nbsp; Michael shook his head. “Then you’d better give her up without a fuss.”
Amanda looked stunned. “Let him take the girl?”
“Yes. Unless you surrender his wench without a row, you may be in for serious trouble. Do you know whether he has an order from the court—?”
“He didn’t mention one. He only arrived in New York this morning.”
“Then he’ll probably have to wait for court to sit tomorrow. That’s even worse.”
“Why?”
“You know fugitive slaves are juicy newspaper copy. If Tunworth stays in the city very long, one of the anti-abolitionist sheets like the Journal of Commerce may get wind of the whole affair. If it’s true your cousin’s role in the escape is known—”
“It is. But what’s the point?”
“The name Kent could very well be smeared all over the press, along with yours. If Mr. Stovall saw it, I suspect he’d be astute enough to make a connection—”
Amanda’s face was bleak as she stared at the young Irishman. He was right. Damnably right—especially in the light of Stovall’s already-aroused suspicion.
“Furthermore, Mrs. A, I should remind you that obstructing the recapture of a fugitive slave is illegal. It’s one thing to send donations to radical lecturers, quite another to violate a federal law.”
She paced to the front door, then all the way back, her knuckles pressed against her teeth. Quite apart from the threat to her personal plans, the question of legality was inescapable. This was the very thing Bart McGill had warned her about. The moment when she would be confronted with a line, and only two choices: step back—or cross.
Wearily, she realized Bart had been right when he said it would be impossible for her not to be drawn into the slave controversy. But she’d never imagined it would happen so precipitously—or pose such disastrous consequences—
She thought of Douglass at the Bowery Theater. In the abstract, he’d said, the Fugitive Slave Act was tolerable to some people. But the frightened face of the girl Mary made it intolerable—exactly as Douglass had predicted.
She faced Michael.
“I’ll have to take the risk. With Stovall and the law.”
“Captain Tunworth is entirely in the right.”
“I know he’s in the right—according to what’s written in the statutes. But I can’t be a party to sending that child back to bondage. If Tunworth was a decent master—if he treated his slaves in a halfway humane fashion—it might be different. But when I was in Virginia, Jephtha made it abundantly clear the captain’s a cruel man. Mary said the same thing. I won’t turn her over to the likes of him.”
Michael’s smile was tinged with a curious sadness. “I had a feeling that might be your decision. Do you want me to come in with you?”
She shook her head. “I want to convey my answer to the captain myself.”
v
When she did, and asked him to leave, Virgil Tunworth exploded. “Damned if I will! You bring me Mary this instant!”
She smiled. “I told you she isn’t here, Captain.”
“And I say you’re a villainous liar!” He snatched up his broad-brimmed wool hat and stormed for the door. “I’ll root her out myself—”
Amanda caught his arm and jerked him around. Tunworth’s eyes popped; he hadn’t realized how strong she was.
“You’re not going to set foot in another room in this house without an order from the appropriate authorities.”
“Then by Christ I’ll see the Fugitive Slave Bill Commissioner in the morning! I’ll be back and I will look in every room!”
“Captain Tunworth,” she said in a low voice, “I do pray to God that when you die, someone forbids your burial in Virginia. That a state that gave freedom—and great leaders—to America should spew up the likes of you—”
“Sermonize all you wish, Mrs. de la Gura. The fact remains, the Constitution and the law of the land give me the right to reclaim my property. I will. I know the wench is on these premises—or if not, that you know her whereabouts. Mr. Syme revealed everything, you see. Everything—”
He jammed his wool hat on his balding head. His smile matched Amanda’s for coldness. “A man doesn’t lie when his bare feet are bleeding from fifty blows of a pine board. I’ll call on you again. In company with a federal marshal.”
He jerked the door open and stalked past Michael who was lounging under the gas fixture. The front door crashed behind him. In half a minute, Amanda was surrounded by Louis and the servants, all clamoring to know what had happened.
As the hack clattered away, Amanda raised her hands to stop the questions. Quickly and calmly, she explained the visitor’s identity, and the reason for his call.
Hampton, clearly alarmed, said, “We should get the girl out of here at once!”
“The steamer doesn’t sail till Tuesday evening,” Michael said.
“Remove her to another location, then. Mrs. de la Gura, the newspapers have been most explicit. The law in effect since 1850 puts all the right on that gentleman’s side—”
“The law be damned! I’m thinking about Mary. But perhaps moving her isn’t a bad idea. Michael—?”
“Won’t work, Mrs. A.”
“Why not?”
He crooked a finger and led her to one of the narrow windows flanking the front door.
“Take a look at what I spied when you were inside with the captain the second time.”
She peered out, saw a man huddled against a tree in the small park in the center of the square.
“Hell of a chilly evening to be taking the air, don’t you think?” Michael asked. “There’s another chap similarly occupied opposite the entrance to the alley. I saw both climb out of Tunworth’s hackney. That captain may be a countryman, but he’s no fool. I’ll wager he was prepared for a refusal and hired those lads from some saloon or other.”
“To keep watch.”
“Aye. You know the law says bystanders may be summoned to help recapture a slave. Or a posse comitatus can be formed—”
“So if we remove her, they’ll follow us.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then we’ll have to keep her here for the moment. But I won’t let them take her. I don’t give a damn how many orders they produce. That bald bastard helped drive Jephtha out of his own home—and now he’s turned him into a fugitive too—Michael, you examine all the locks and latches downstairs. Make sure they’re fastened. Hampton, I want someone awake and watching the front and back entrances at all times. I’ll take my turn—you will too, Louis. I’ve also got to speak with Mary. It isn’t fair to conceal what’s happened—especially since we may have unexpected visitors crashing in on us in the next day or two—”
She started for the library. “But first I think I’d better do what I forgot to do Friday night. Locate my old revolver.”
The library door closed with the sharpness of a gun firing.
Louis and the servants stared, still too stunned to react. Only Michael Boyle showed animation—lifting a hand to his mouth and rocking back on his heels as he laughed, half in admiration, half in dismay.
Chapter IX
Besieged
i
IN THE EARLY HOURS of Monday morning, the temperature climbed a few degrees above the freezing mark. Rain began to turn the last of the snow to slush. Amanda woke around five, having tossed restlessly most of the night. Her knees and elbows ached; she felt ancient.
She put on a robe and lit the gas. While the rain pelted the windows, she sat worrying about Jephtha, and pondering the dilemma created by Captain Tunworth’s arrival. When it grew light, she walked to the bedroom window that overlooked Madison Square.
Among the dripping, leafless trees of the little park stood a small kiosk with latticework sides. Inside the kiosk she glimpsed a man pacing to and fro beneath the conical roof. Whether it was the same watcher Michael had spied the preceding evening, she couldn’t say. But someone was there—
By the time she went downstairs, the se
rvants had already lit the gas to dispel the gloom. She quickly became aware of the strained atmosphere in the house. The two remaining maids, the cook and Mr. Hampton all knew the mansion was under surveillance. They went about their work with drawn looks and few words.
She had no appetite for breakfast. She went directly to the kitchen, poured herself a cup of tea and carried it into the dining room, where Michael sat in front of an untasted platter of ham and fried potatoes. As she sank into her chair and unfolded her napkin, she asked, “Did you sleep badly, Michael?”
“I didn’t sleep at all, Mrs. A. I looked in on our guest, though. She was snoring. You did tell her about Tunworth?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she evidently feels reasonably secure in this house.” He grimaced as Mr. Mayor prowled from under the table and leaped into his lap. “I think she’s the only one,” he added, stroking the cat in an absent way.
“Is Louis up?”
Michael nodded. “Polishing the woodwork on the third floor.”
“I wonder how soon the captain will be back.”
“Not before the end of the day, I should imagine. The court procedure will take time.”
“We’ve got to get Mary out of here.”
“I agree. But the two men are still on watch.”
“Then we’ll take her out right in front of them.”
He blinked. “How?”
“I’ve been thinking about a way. I want you to take the horse-car to Rose’s house. Ask her to come here in her carriage. And to wear something bright—with a shawl and a parasol or an umbrella. Also gloves—gloves are particularly important.”
He smiled. “I think I see what you’re driving at. It’s risky—but audacious enough that it just might work.”
“When you leave, use the front door. So you’ll be clearly seen.”
He nodded. “Do I have your permission for a slight detour on the way to Mrs. Ludwig’s? I think it might be prudent if I spent a short time browsing around Paradise Square. Just to see whether there’s any sign of Kathleen stirring up trouble.”