“Even spinsters have reputations to preserve, young woman.”
“Pooh on reputations.”
Portia felt her ears burn from the embarrassment, recalling how close they had come to one of those treasured moments last night. With the mirror over the bed and shackles on the walls of that tavern room, she had been just another willing victim of the womanizing rogue.
She walked to the window for some air. “You do not know what you are saying. But now, at least, I understand why Mary was so upset this morning when she found me in Mr. Pennington’s office without a chaperon.”
“You went to his place of business?” Bella sprang to her feet, clearly excited.
“I did. To thank him for his kindness and generosity last night,” Portia lied. “I never thought being alone for a few minutes with the man would be considered scandalous. Mary was profoundly upset when she found me there.”
“What was she doing there?”
“To thank him on my behalf, I should think.”
“Did she bring a chaperon?” Bella asked mischievously.
“No. But there was no need. She is a married woman.”
“Portia, you told me yourself that you consider yourself past the age of finding a husband.” Bella argued, joining her at the window. “I believe ‘twas no less appropriate for her to go there alone than ‘twas for you. But you’re not saying she asked you to leave because of that?”
Portia shrugged and walked back to a chair. “It does not matter how it happened or who said what. We have been coming to this for some time. As the parson’s name becomes better known in Boston, Mary elevates the level of propriety in the household. My impulsive nature would forever remain a liability to his advancement. ‘Twas only fair to the family that I should go my separate way.”
“But that is a cowardly way of dealing with things,” Bella replied. “True, there is impulsiveness and spontaneity in you, but that is the Portia everyone knows and loves. And Mrs. Higgins’ rigidity is also no secret. Despite the difference in you natures, though, you two have been friends—like sisters, almost—for so many years. A family talks things out, sorts out their problems. You cannot allow those bonds to break simply because of some misunderstanding or petty quarrel.”
Portia sat down on the chair. She could not tell Bella, but her own true family bonds were at the center of the dispute. “Wrong or right, we are resigned to our decisions. I know Mary will do a wonderful job of tutoring the children herself. If she chooses, she can easily find an excellent replacement for me. I’m certain that Parson Higgins, busy as he is, will hardly notice any change in the household at all.”
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Bella came over and sat across from her. “I am not talking about positions or responsibilities or tutoring. How shall Walter and Ann manage without you? How will you feel about being out in the world alone?”
“I shall miss Walter and Ann terribly. I miss them already. But that is not a choice I have. They have a mother, and that is the most important relationship in the world.” Portia shook her head at her friend when Bella began to interrupt. “I shall do fine. I already have a room. And soon hope to have a position. I am certain that in time I will be received by the family again, but Mary and I need this separation to change the nature of our relationship. We are only a few years apart. ‘Tis time she stopped playing at being my mother, worrying about everything I do, trying to make all my decisions for me. ‘Tis time I tried out my own wings. I might fall and bruise myself at first, but that is the way of the world, and I must find my own way.”
“But why must everything happen so quickly? Why not take your time, approach this in smaller steps?”
Portia shook her head. “The die is cast.”
“I am worried about you,” Bella said gently.
“Please don’t be.” She smiled as confidently as she could. “If I succeed in surviving on my own, I shall gain Mary’s respect. This will bring us back together again, but as friends. Things might just work out for the better, anyway.”
Portia believed in everything she just said. From the day she had joined the Higgins household, there had been some confusion over exactly what place Portia occupied. She was not treated like a servant, nor was she truly family. Mary had taken it on herself to look after her, to watch and control her, as if Portia were not able to make sound decisions for herself. This control had thwarted the efforts of the few potential suitors who had shown interest in her years ago. All were honorable working men, but Mary had quickly rejected their advances and run them off. Matters of marriage, matters of the heart, were not to be entrusted in those afflicted by youthful impulses. Though Portia had not been truly interested in any of them, she had been allowed no say in the matter. She didn’t regret any of that now, for her loyalty always lay with the family. Obeying Mary’s wishes had been engrained in all of them.
Interestingly, the nearly fatal blow to the Higgins security had not been dealt to them by Portia, but by Mary’s younger sister Ellie. And the damage was indeed severe.
Still, Portia was not willing to pay for Ellie’s mistakes with her own life. There were no real connection between them, and if Mary could not keep them separate in her mind, that was her loss.
All that aside, Portia knew that, in finding Helena, she had found her future.
“Will you at least allow me to help you?”
Bella’s question drew Portia out of her thoughts.
“Why not you come and stay with us? I know mother and father would be delighted to—”
“I truly appreciate the offer, but no.” Portia shook her head. “The living arrangements above the apothecary suits me perfectly. I have a clean room and the use of a sitting room. I can take my meals with them if I choose, as well. But there is sir advanceing else…”
“What? What ? Anything!”
Portia ignored the guilty feeling that struck her for using her friend like this, but she reminded herself she had no other choices. “I have heard rumors that there may be a position available in Admiral Middleton’s household, a position for someone fluent in French. A woman…possibly a companion for the Admiral’s daughter…someone who could read poetry to her.”
“Do you mean they are looking for someone to sit with Mad Helena? Do you think ‘twould be safe?”
Portia forced down the immediate impulse to defend her mother’s state-of-mind. She knew now that nothing was amiss with her. “I should think so. And it might be the perfect position, as I am certain it would not require the commitment of long hours. At the same time, it should pay my expenses.”
“And you know that Mary would approve of it.”
Portia nodded. “Of course, the position might be simply a rumor. I could be building up my hopes for nothing.”
“There is one way to find out.” Bella patted her on the knee. “I shall send a message to Captain Turner and tell him to inquire about it the next time that he goes to Copp’s Hill, which I am sure will be today or tomorrow. I believe his duties require him to go there almost everyday.”
A devilish smile bloomed on the young woman’s face.
“What are you thinking?” Portia asked.
“I’m thinking my cousin would be thrilled if there is such a position available. Just think of the situation. He goes there everyday. He can accompany you there, and then he can stop and visit with you at the mansion any time he desires. And then, he could also escort you back.”
“Oh, my heavens.” The prospect was frightening enough to give Portia second thoughts about seeking Captain Turner’s assistance.
“Just leave it to me,” Bella assured her, taking hold of Portia’s hands. “Even if what you heard is nothing more than a rumor, ‘tis quite possible that Captain Turner’s interest in you could open the door to some position there.”
CHAPTER 10
MacHeath had been waiting for an hour when the burly red haired man arrived at the Anchor Tavern. It was just after ten. Entering, newcomer took a quick look about him and th
en walked directly to the dark corner table where MacHeath sat alone. The place was busy for so late an hour, and one of the tar-covered seamen was leading the dozen or so customers in a rousing chantey. Soon, though, the tradesmen and apprentices would go home to their beds. Then only the seamen and tides men would remain to carouse for another hour or two.
MacHeath was wearing clothing like that of a wharf worker. The wide brim of his battered hat was pulled low, shadowing his face. When a server approached to put a tankard of ale before the red haired man, MacHeath looked out the small window beside him at the cobbled street leading from Griffin’s Wharf. The harbor was dark, the moon hidden by a bnkarf clouds.
“How did it go?” he asked when the server moved away.
“The cargo is clear o’ the ship. The lads are taking it across to the Back Bay now. They’ve plenty o’ time before the tide runs out. We’ll have the shipment out o’ Boston by the mornin’.”
“Pass on my regrets for having it a day late, Ebenezer.”
“A day or two late makes no difference, so long as we get them. The lads in the countryside are ready for them.” The burly man leaned on an elbow. “With them customs gits watchin’ close along the Charles and searchin’ of every new ship in the harbor, ye are aboot the last who dares to smuggle cargo o’ this sort to us. Our mutual friend sends his thanks for what yer doing. Says yer money is coming the usual way.”
“I’m not worried about that, my friend.” MacHeath looked out the window at the moonless street again. A single wagon slowly rolled by, carrying two dark figures. “The next ship is coming from the Caribbean in a week or two. I shall send you word directly when I know what they’ve brought for you.”
Ebenezer Mackintosh, right hand man to Sam Adams, nodded and downed the tankard. Without another word, he stood and went out of the tavern. MacHeath waited until he was gone before throwing a couple of coins on the table. Tossing a salute to the tavern keeper, he made his way out the back door.
It was pitch black in the back alley, but MacHeath knew his way and moved quickly through a warren of the vile smelling lanes and passageways. When he was a half dozen buildings away from the Anchor, he emerged onto a narrow street coming up from the harbor. At the corner, a carter sat smoking a pipe in his wagon, obviously waiting for someone.
As MacHeath began to cross the road to an alley on the other side, he spotted a small company of soldiers making their way along the harbor’s edge. If he was not mistaken, they were heading for the Anchor Tavern itself. Moving swiftly, he took advantage of the darkness to slip across and into the alley. Houses lined the narrow lane that he knew led through to the next street.
Halfway along, though, he turned as the sound of soldiers at the end of the alley took him by surprise. Pushing himself up against a doorway, MacHeath was stunned as the door opened and a woman stepped out, gasping as she collided with him.
His hand immediately covered the woman’s mouth and he closed the door, pushing her into the hollow of the doorway. The deep shadow hid them from the two soldiers peering into the alley from the street. He was relieved when, after her initial shock, she did not put up a fight, remaining still until the redcoats moved on.
His heart gave a violent lurch, though, when he finally looked into her face. The thin shawl that she had used to cover her hair had fallen down to her shoulders. Familiar eyes were staring up at him. He immediately let go of her mouth.
“Mr. Pennington,” Portia whispered. She looked at his hat and rough attire. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you, Miss Edwards.”
“I was making an urgent delivery of medicine for Dr. Crease. There is a sick child upstairs. She has high fever and a very bad cough. ‘Twas too late for my landlord to send after his own clerk, and he needed someone to explain the way of using the medicine, as well. So he asked me to bring ie.”
“Did you come here on foot?” he asked suspiciously.
“Of course not. Dr. Crease hired a cart to bring me here and take me back. The driver is waiting at the end of the block.” She motioned back where he’d come from.
Pierce recalled the cart and driver.
“But what about you, sir? Are those soldiers searching for you? What are you doing dressed like this? And where are you going?”
He placed his hand over her mouth again, but this time much more gently. Her lips were soft, and her eyes opened wide as they looked up into his face.
“So many questions. Far more than I was allowed to ask after you made my groom chase you through the Admiral’s gardens.”
She pushed his hand away. “I have a reasonable explanation for that.”
“And for climbing trees like a monkey?”
“Of course.”
“As I have reasons for being here.”
They looked at the end of the alley where soldiers, some carrying torches, were running down the hill toward the harbor…and the tavern.
“I am grateful to you for keeping my secret today at the Admiral’s house.” Portia’s voice lowered to a whisper. “You can expect the same from me now. But I believe you should go now, for I have a sick feeling that those soldiers might mistake you for someone else that they’re looking for.”
His thumb caressed her cheek once, and then he walked away.
*****
Portia stood in the alleyway for a long moment. Her eyes strained as she peered into the darkness after him. Her mind and body were slow to recover from the astonishment of finding him here. Whatever effect Pennington had on her system before, the condition was worsening. This new mystery about the man only added to the allure.
When she reached the corner by the docks, the cart was waiting. There was a great deal of activity, though, by the tavern a few doors up. There had been singing coming from the taproom when they’d passed by it earlier. Portia could just make out an anchor painted on the weathered signboard above the door. She gestured to the driver and then took a few steps toward the commotion. On the cobbled street, soldiers were lined up, bayonets fixed, as angry customers were led out.
Portia pulled her shawl over her head and hurried down the street.
“Miss Edwards.”
Captain Turner’s voice surprised her just as she climbed up onto the cart. She hid her frown and waited as the officer approached.
“What in heaven’s name brings you here?”
In as few words as possible she explained her changed situation and her delivery tonight. “So now, if you will forgive me, Captain, Dr. and Mrs. Crease will surely be worried if I do not return immediately.”
“Of course, of course…I know about the problems you face at present. You see, I had dinner with my cousins this evening. I must say, however, that there is much that I do not understand.”
“Perhaps this is not the time, Captain,” she said, gesturing toward the tavern, where a rather loud tavern keeper was being led out.
“Exactly right, of course. I shall arrange for an escort at once.”
“That shouldn’t be necessary.” She nodded confidently at the older man who was holding the reins. “Mr. Jeremy here did an excellent job of bringing me, and I am certain he will do just as well taking me back.”
Ignoring what she said, Turner called to one of the junior officers to take two soldiers and escort the cart back to School Street.
Only to put an end to the discussion, she said nothing more in protest, but watched the activity as she waited for her escort. Whatever or whoever Turner’s men were looking for at the Anchor Tavern, they had obviously not found it. Shouted commands sent torch-bearing soldiers off to search the neighboring houses and alleyways.
The image of Pierce dressed in the clothing of a wharf worker would not leave her. She found herself worrying that he was the one that these soldiers were after.
“Some of the local tradesmen making trouble again?” she asked hesitantly.
“Tradesmen? No, indeed, my pet.” Turner shouted more orders at one of his officers about taking
a few of the men from the tavern to the Castle for questioning. He turned back to her. “But we almost had him. We still might.”
The Castle, located on an island in Boston Harbor, was the fortress where the main body of the British garrison was quartered. Portia took advantage of Turner trying to do two things at the same time.
“Had whom, Captain?”
“MacHeath.” He whispered the name like a curse. “We received word that he was here.”
Portia’s blood ran cold. The stories she had heard for the past year of the mysterious rogue who was said to smuggle everything from cannons to Dutch tea, flaunting his transgressions at red-faced British officials filled her mind. No one knew where he came from or who he was. Those who sided with Mr. Adams and the rebellious citizens regarded him as a hero, a phoenix that had risen from the ashes of their dashed hopes after the Boston Massacre and was fighting for them. But those who believed in the authority of the King and Parliament considered him a pirate, a thief, and cowardly shadow. There was a hefty bounty on his head.
Of course, there were many—like the Higgins family—who preferred to think of the notorious MacHeath simply as a myth. It was easier that way when one did not wish to take a stance about the problems one way or the other.
Having arrived in Boston when she did, Portia could not help but see around her the spirit of unrest. She had attended some of the town meetings. She had heard Sam Adams and James Otis and Mr. Quincy and the other leaders of North and South End Caucuses speak. She had listened to stories of the atrocities being wrought on the colonies by the occupying army. She had come to agree that Bostonians had the right to govern themselves.
Naturally, Portia’s opinions on these matters were bound to create problems. Her open expression of her viewven caused an incident with a church elder’s wife, and Mary had drawn the line. Because of her husband’s position, she had demanded that Portia no longer discuss politics, even within the family.
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