Crystal Passion

by Jo Goodman

  A few weeks later Ashley reflected on Salem's words at a small dinner party with the Marches. The gathering was ostensibly held to celebrate the arrival of the British troops a week earlier, but the topic of conversation absorbing everyone was that Congress had drawn up an official Declaration of Independence. Of course the present company believed Congress had acted without enough debate. Ashley was in awe of Salem's ability to hold his tongue in the matter. It couldn't have been easy for him since he felt no small measure of pride in his friendship with the author of the piece.

  "You did very well this evening," Ashley murmured as she lay her head against his shoulder on the ride home. "I had little hope we would discuss anything but the Declaration. Even when we left you men to your port and politics, Susan and her cousin wanted to talk about it. It didn't seem fair we had to leave you at all."

  Salem gave her a gentle squeeze. "I know it must have pained you, but I suspect your chat with the women was more fruitful than my after dinner conversation."

  "Susan fretted over the fact that Howe has set up headquarters on Staten Island. She wishes he were closer to home. I told her that his ten thousand men would be able to protect her, and she nicely corrected my figures."

  "How many troops?"

  "Twenty to thirty thousand. And it came from her husband who talked to someone on Howe's staff about supplying meat to the men. As I understand there will be German mercenaries to compliment the British squadrons, and the general's own brother, Richard, Admiral Viscount Howe will have command of the fleet."

  "Black Dick." Salem whistled through his teeth. "Parliament clearly wants to crush our rebellion before it gathers more force."

  "Is it possible?"

  "Sweet, anything is possible. I will get word to Washington of the potential strength of Howe's forces. It will help him prepare for battle, and perhaps once the size of the enemy is known more militia will join, at least for this fight. You did well this evening. Susan's husband was particularly tight-lipped."

  "He doesn't suspect anything, does he?"

  "No." He ruffled her hair. "He was just feeling that secrecy made his discussion with Howe's aides more important Yet he had the need to confide in someone."

  "It is distressing to learn things in such a manner. Susan was so proud of her husband's part in assisting Howe."

  "I know. I dislike nothing about Susan and Henry except their allegiance to the crown."

  They fell into a companionable silence, listening to the rhythmic cadence of the horse's hooves on the cobblestones. It was a balmy summer evening, cloudless and bright with stars, a sleepy, romantic sort of night that encouraged lovers to make the most of the privacy of their conveyance.

  Salem plucked the pins from Ashley's hair and dropped them to the floor of the carriage. "What say you we drive awhile before going home?" he murmured against her mouth.

  "I'd like that," she answered softly.

  Salem called up to the driver and asked him to take his time about seeing them to their door. The driver grinned to himself when Salem shut the communicating panel between the coach and the box and pulled the blinds. It seemed the young master had lovin' on his mind. That called for a lazy ride to the Bowling Green and back.

  "He knows, Salem," Ashley chided.

  "He suspects. And you look so fine this night that I'll wager he wonders how I kept my hands off you on the way to the Marches."

  "I wondered that myself."

  "Strength of character," he said humbly, eyes lowered penitently while taking in the creamy expanse of Ashley's bosom.

  She playfully planted her fist in his stomach. "You are ever the rogue, Jerusalem McClellan. And I delight in your mischief." She lifted her cherry lips for a kiss.

  Salem delivered the expected buss promptly. Ashley's sweet response only deterred him from his purpose but a moment. Soon his fingers were loosing the laces of her bodice and slipping beneath the soft linen of her chemise to fondle her breasts. She caught fire at his caress and boldly pressed against him. She undid the buttons of his waistcoat and tugged at his shirt, pulling it up until her hands had access to his hard chest and back. She placed small kisses on his jaw, his neck, the base of his throat while her nimble fingers raked his abdomen in a caress that sent a shiver through him. Her hands went lower and through his taut satin breeches she could feel his heated arousal. She cupped him, unhappy with the barrier that prevented her from stroking him fully.

  Her dissatisfaction with the present arrangement communicated itself to Salem. He lifted her skirts and slid her undergarments down to her knees, then picked her up and had her straddle his lap. Her gown spilled about them, hiding Salem's hands as he warmly fondled her thighs and urged her to settle against him. Ashley's surprise gave way to pleasure as she understood what her husband was about. Reaching under her skirt she groped for the buttons to his breeches.

  Lost to all but each other in the intensity of their loveplay, neither heard the noisy celebration taking place on the Green. Indeed neither knew they had reached the Bowling Green until the carriage halted. Ashley's fingers stiffened immediately on Salem's waistband.

  "Why have we stopped?" she whispered, frustrated.

  "I haven't a clue, love. But George is going to rue this interruption. Let me have a peek out the window." He moved the blind an inch to see outside, and the revelry on the lawn chilled his blood and effectively cooled his desire. "Ashley, you'll have to let me up. There could be trouble."

  His voice was so strained that Ashley nearly leaped from his lap and frantically righted her clothing. She looked askance at Salem and saw he was doing the same. "What is it? What's going on out there?"

  He snapped up the blind to let her see while he slid open the panel to talk to his driver. "Can you get through the crowd, George?"

  "Ah can't see how. There's people everywhere."

  "Then turn around. I don't want to be caught in this thing."

  "Ah'll try, suh."

  Salem slammed the panel shut and moved beside Ashley, viewing the scene in front of them with a mixture of happiness and fear. The Green was lit with bonfires, and some people carried torches as they paraded around the gilded lead statue of the king. Their strident voices raised merry taunts questioning the man's birthright. No Loyalists here, Salem thought. These were Colonial patriots. No, according to Congress they were no longer Colonials but Americans. And from the looks of the crowd they were bent on mischief. Salem had no desire to be in the middle of the mayhem lest it turn on them, but he could see that George was having difficulty moving the coach.

  "What are they about, Salem?"

  "I suspect they have just learned of the Declaration and are showing their approval."

  "Look!" She pointed to the statue of the king mounted on horseback. "Did you see? They've harnessed the horse!"

  "And the king's crown," Salem noted grimly. "I think they mean to topple the statue. Ashley, we have to get out of here. These men and women are not our friends while we play at being Tories. When the statue falls they will look elsewhere for their fun, and I would rather they did not use us."

  "Perhaps you could help George guide the horse through the merrymakers."

  "You won't be afraid if I leave you alone?"

  "No. I'll be fine."

  Salem gave her a fleeting kiss and hopped out of the carriage. While he worked at parting the crowd, which seemed more like a mob once he was among them, Ashley watched the activity on the Green with fascination. She realized with one corner of her mind that Salem was making slow progress. She had to shift to the other side of the coach to see the men heaving more ropes about the king's gilded robe and pulling for all they were worth. The statue tilted then righted itself. The process was repeated several times before the momentum gathered enough force to topple it. Ashley jerked back as the king thudded to the lawn. It was a most ignoble demise, she thought a little sadly as a loud cheer swelled up from the crowd. The people closest to where the king had fallen remained occupied with their trop
hy, but those on the edge of the crowd where Salem was trying to thread the carriage through were already looking for another symbol of their sovereign to topple.

  It was then the crest on the McClellan coach attracted their attention. The gilt leaves and lion were ostentatious and out of place among these simple folk, the driver's livery too fine, the horse a prime bit of blood. Upon sighting Salem it took only one raised voice accusing the owner of being a Tory to rally the mob.

  Ashley felt a trickle of perspiration slide down her temple as the press of people advanced on the carriage. She scanned the assemblage for a friendly face and could find none. Their smiles were mockeries of that greeting, their voices jeering and most often crude. Each face seemed like every other, not quite sober with the responsibility of their newly declared liberty.

  Ashley did not know what it was that caught her eye, perhaps the yellow braid on his battered hat or the stretch of material across his great belly. But she did see him and terror washed over her. She blinked to be certain it was Flannigan's cherubic face among the mass. Yes, it was Nigel's hireling, and for a moment she was certain he was as surprised as she. Then he seemed to catch himself and nodded pleasandy to her, tipping his tricorn with the silver knob of his cane. Ashley's stomach lurched at the polite gesture.

  The Irishman's presence did what even the crowd had been unable to do. Ashley panicked. Her palms, clammy from her fear, slipped on the door handle. Swearing under her breath, she used her shoulder to batter the door. Through none of her effort it swung open and she pitched forward. She would have fallen to the street if Salem hadn't caught her. Her glad cry was swallowed in the shouts of the angry crowd.

  "Tory!"

  "Loyalist bastard!"

  "Get yourself gone 'fore we find the tar and feathers!"

  Salem's hands tightened on Ashley's waist. "Let's go, Ashley. They only want the coach. If we tarry they'll want us, too."

  The stark terror in her eyes scored his heart. He gripped her hand tightly and pulled her away from the crowd. He closed his mind to the foul names they called him. It was far more difficult to hear the abuse they heaped upon Ashley.

  She called to him when they cleared the throng to slow his pace. "Salem! I cannot go so fast."

  Salem glanced over his shoulder and saw no one paying their flight any mind and stopped to allow Ashley to rest, supporting her while she leaned heavily against him. He could feel her trembling in his arms and her heart beating as wildly as his own. George found them a few minutes later at the far edge of the Green. They were standing in the flickering shadow of a bonfire, clasped in one another's arms.

  In silence the three of them watched the carriage being overturned and torched. Sickened at the destruction they turned away and began the long trek home.

  Chapter 13

  "Here. Drink this." Salem handed Ashley a small snifter of warmed brandy.

  She was about to refuse the offering, but the determined set of Salem's jaw said it would come to naught. She accepted the brandy and raised the goblet to her lips, warming her hands on the crystal bowl. Sipping her drink dutifully, she watched Salem turn back the covers on their bed and turn down the lamps. Ashley made no effort to move from her chair but settled herself more comfortably within its arms and straightened the satiny folds of her robe around her bare legs.

  When Salem disappeared into the dressing room she closed her eyes and reviewed the evening's events. Without fail Flannigan's face appeared in the threatening mob. There could be no mistaking the fleshy cheeks and chin, the obscenely ingratiating smile as he recognized her. In spite of the stillness of this summer night an occasional shiver rippled down her spine.

  Salem chose one of those moments to come out of the dressing room. "You're still trembling," he said, concern clouding his features. "Shall I pour you another brandy?"

  "No. I need a clear head. Please, sit down. There is something I want to discuss with you."

  Salem sat opposite her but he could not relax. His muscles ached with tension as he silently berated himself for exposing Ashley to this evening's danger. The question arose in his mind over and over: Should he send her and their child back to the relative safety of the landing? "What is it, darling?"

  Ashley knew why she was afraid to broach the subject of Flannigan with her husband. It occurred to her that Salem would want her out of New York immediately, and it was not what she desired at all. She plunged in. "I recognized someone tonight in the crowd on the Bowling Green."

  "Never say Smith was with the rabble," he joked. It fell flat.

  "Would that it had been him." She sighed. "Salem, it was Mr. Flannigan that I saw."

  Stunned, Salem said nothing for several moments. "You must be mistaken."

  "I am not. He was there. I would not forget his face."

  "I cannot believe it."

  "Nor could I at first. But nevertheless it is true. I don't know what he was doing on the Green. I don't believe it had anything to do with me. I'm certain he was surprised to see me there. We spied one another at almost the same moment. There was no chance to turn away."

  "He is the reason you were so frightened when I pulled you from the carriage," Salem said, gritting his teeth.

  "He surely added to my fear. He seemed so menacing. It is difficult to describe, because he looks harmless. I don't quite understand it myself. He tipped his hat with the knob of his cane. There is something vaguely threatening about the gesture, though I scarce know what it is."

  Salem felt himself in need of a drink. He poured a generous portion of brandy and remained standing by the window, swirling the liquor in the goblet. "If he was truly surprised to see you, then it seems safe to assume he thought you had been delivered to the Arbus. What would Flannigan be doing in New York?"

  "I recall he said he had business in the north, but I haven't a clue to its nature."

  Salem took a large swallow of his drink. "Ashley, you realize you can't possibly remain here. Now that he knows you are still in this country he will try to abduct you again. I think it would be better for you to go back to the landing until I can deal with Flannigan."

  Ashley's worst fears were realized. Tears brightened her eyes. "No." she said, getting to her feet. "I won't go. My place is here, with you." She set her snifter firmly on the small walnut end table and walked over to him, clutching the sleeve of his robe. "Don't send me away. There is no guarantee that I will be any safer at the landing. I wasn't before."

  He flinched at the memory her words released. "Ashley, be reasonable. It will not be forever. Let me have Flannigan found and—brought to justice," he finished lamely. My justice, he vowed to himself. "When that is accomplished you can return."

  "I won't have it," she said, shaking her head. "I feel safer with you than away from you."

  "But I cannot be with you day in and day out."

  "Then hire someone to protect me until Flannigan is jailed."

  Salem did not bother to correct Ashley's notion that the Irishman would see the inside of a prison. "I don't know. There are so few people that I would trust with your safety. "

  Ashley sensed he was weakening. "Think on it, love. You don't have to make a decision tonight. I have no worry that the man is going to steal me away from your arms."

  Salem set aside his drink and sheltered Ashley in his embrace. His cheek rested on the top of her head. "If only you could stay here forever, I would have no fears. If I decide you will stay I only hope that I will not be punished for my selfishness in wanting you with me. But if I decide that you go, there will be no gainsaying me. Am I understood?"

  "Yes, I understand." I am not agreeing, she said under her breath, but I do understand.

  "Did you say something?"

  "Only that I trust you to do the right thing."

  "Hmm. I wonder." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Off to bed while I turn back these wicks."

  Soon after Ashley slid beneath the cool sheets Salem slipped in beside her. They lay on their backs, fingertips barely t
ouching, staring through the darkness at the ceiling.

  Ashley spoke first, revealing a secret thought that had plagued her since the incident on the Green. "D'you know there was a moment when those people were approaching the carriage that I wanted to deny being a Tory. I did not like being the object of their scorn because they thought our loyalties were different. I confess I came very close to shouting it was all a ruse on your part."

  "What kept you silent?"

  "I did not think I would be believed." She turned on her side, placing her small hand on his chest. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say I did not speak because I could not betray your mission, but in truth I merely thought my words would fall on deaf ears."

  "And it bothers you now, that you did the right thing for the wrong reason?"

  "Yes. I fear that I am not to be trusted after all."

  Salem placed his hand over hers, pressing her warm palm to his heart. "Would it help you to know that the same thought occurred to me? And that I remained silent for exactly the same reason? If I thought the crowd would have listened I would have shouted the truth to them. Your safety was of paramount importance to me."

  Rather than reassure Ashley, Salem's words distressed her. "Then perhaps it would be better if I went away. I do not want my presence to compromise you."

  "I know, love. I will give the matter all the consideration it deserves. For now, I would rather we did not dwell on it. Here, come closer and tell me what you think of the Benningtons inviting us to their fête."

  "I think the entire affair is absurd," she said frankly, fitting her head in the curve of his shoulder. "I wonder if Mrs. Bennington is quite right in her upperworks. To hear her talk one would think it is a privilege to quarter members of General Howe's staff."

  "It is an honor for her. It provides her with a sense of security and gives her an opportunity to court the favor of men in power. I pity poor John. I think he has no idea how his wife cuckolds him with the officers."