Rebel Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  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.”

  “Good. I would suggest you keep them from all other American ports, also. This outrage isn’t localized. Question your men when they come back from New York and Philadelphia. Why should England tax us and not themselves? It
’s not as if England is helping the colonies in any way. Your soldiers are here to keep us in line, not to protect us.”

  Alex looked scandalized. Then his expression grew harsh, and a cold wind blew through her heart.

  “You are talking anarchy and rebellion. The colonies would not exist without England. I hope you’re not involved in this. Reports will already be traveling back to London. If the riots continue, troops will be called, and the leaders will be imprisoned. I’d hate to be the one responsible for seeing you behind bars.”

  Evelyn gave him a bleak look and pushed aside the rest of her food. “Are you a spy, then? You needn’t worry about me. I’ve been an outcast since our names were linked, and rightly so, it appears. I didn’t think it of you.”

  Alex took his time replying. “I am no spy, but I cannot go back to my cousin and not report what is happening here. It affects our shipping business. And your Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson has already asked for my aid. He seems to think you might be able to tell me more. From what have you been outcast because of me, Evelyn?”

  “Never mind. In a few weeks you will have your reports and be gone. I can survive another few weeks.” She folded her napkin and placed it in the basket, then stood up. “Thank you for the luncheon. I must go back to work now.”

  Alex rose but did not try to stay her. In a few weeks, none of this would be any of his concern. She was sorry there could not be more trust between them.

  “I believe we have an invitation to attend a function at your uncle’s tonight,” he said. “Shall I come by at the usual time?”

  She wanted to beg off. Life would be much simpler if she could just go back to the way she had been before Alex strode off that wretched ship and into her life. But her uncle would not accept her refusal, especially after last night. He would want full attendance and all the pomp he could muster to prove he was unaffected by the mob’s activities.

  She nodded acquiescence and walked off, leaving Alex to repack the hamper by himself. She had needed this reminder of their political differences. She had been in danger of once more losing herself in the dark need of his eyes. Lud, but what a fool she was to think she was the one he needed.

  Chapter 8

  Only a week and a half later Evelyn was again doubting her ability to cope with a newly solicitous Alex. She mistrusted this new, more attentive man, but she could not help enjoying his ability to cajole her into a better mood or lend a sympathetic ear. Instead of constantly barraging her with suggestive words, seductive touches, and taunting looks, the damnable cad behaved the part of the gentleman.

  Jacob continued slipping away at night and returning with the exciting arguments he heard at the Sons of Liberty meetings. Evelyn kept any mention of this organization from Alex, but she did her best to repeat their debates to him. Perhaps Parliament would listen if one of their own would speak in the colonists’ defense.

  On the night of the twenty-sixth of August, they had no engagements, and Evelyn sighed with relief as she walked home in the sultry heat. She would go home and soak in cool water and put on her thinnest shift and curl up in the east window with a book in hopes of a breeze. She needed a break from her uncle’s society requiring heavy gowns and hoops and crowds of sweating people in smelly wigs in stifling rooms.

  Even the memory of last night’s heated discussion with Alex in the garden did not appeal. Her heart had not been in the argument but on his lips so close to hers. It was insufferable to think she was being reduced to a mindless rag by a man who would undoubtedly turn her in for treason if he thought she deserved it.

  Not that anything they were contemplating could be considered treasonous, she told herself sharply. The patriots supported the king. It was Parliament that was being unreasonable. If they had adequate representation in Parliament, perhaps then things would return to normal. There would be no need for protests or acts of defiance to make themselves heard. That’s all anyone wanted.

  But when Evelyn reached the State House on King Street and saw the stacks of firewood and trash gathered by bands of small boys and other less-than-respectable characters, she suffered the pangs of doubt. People like that didn’t act together on impulse.

  She hurried home in time to catch Jacob before he escaped out the back gate. She caught him by the collar. “What do you know of the bonfire on King Street?”

  “Bonfire? It’s not dark yet! They can’t have started the bonfire.”

  That answered any question about the extent of her brother’s involvement, and Evelyn gave a ragged sigh. “What are they planning, Jacob? What is the bonfire for?”

  “They’re just going to protest a bit and then maybe march by Judge Story’s house. It’s the Admiralty Court that’s causing half our problems, ain’t it, Evelyn? We’ll let him know he can’t go searching our houses whenever he pleases. Has Alex found those smugglers yet?”

  “The smugglers are breaking the law, Jacob, and marching on William Story won’t stop him from sending criminals to jail. If the mob will be out tonight, you’d better stay home. They can get ugly when they’re drinking. You don’t want Mama to worry, do you?”

  “I just want to help for a while. I’ll be back by dark, don’t worry. I gave my word I’d be there. You wouldn’t want me to break my word, would you?”

  No, Evelyn couldn’t ask him to do that anymore than she could let the matter go unattended. There were those in the community who had vowed to take arms against the rioters if they struck again. She had no desire to take up sides between her family and her friends.

  In a few hurried words, Evelyn explained what was happening to her mother and ran upstairs to change her clothes. So much for a cooling bath and relaxing evening. She pulled on the old pair of breeches and shirt she wore at the warehouse. Rather than don the heavy coat, she found a leather jerkin of her father’s and hoped it would serve as sufficient disguise in the darkness. Tucking her hair into an old hat, she waited impatiently for dusk.

  The anonymity of a mob made it easy to blend in as dark fell and the bonfire was lit. Evelyn recognized a few faces in the glow of the flames, but mostly they were the ruffians who roared and thundered through the streets at night and disappeared into the back alleys in day, not the respectable merchants she knew. She didn’t like the feel of this eerie scene at all.

  The cacophony of conch shells, whistles, and drums silenced when Mcintosh, the leader of the South End mob, rose to make a drunken speech against tyranny. The grandiose phrases were not at all what the man would have said for himself, and Evelyn suspected the manipulative hand of Sam Adams behind this discourse.

  When the local “tyrants” were mentioned, however, she gasped at the names on this list of targets. Quietly, she slipped away, praying Jacob had the sense to do the same. It didn’t take much imagination to know what would follow next. Her uncle, the custom inspector, had to be warned.

  Judge Story might not be the only one to receive unwelcome visitors this night.

  Her uncle’s house was well lit, but the insolent maid tried to make Evelyn stand on the doorstep while she went in search of her employer. Evelyn ignored the command to wait and walked in, calling to her aunt from the front hall. She realized she must look a fright, but her aunt and uncle had to be warned.

  “Evelyn, what the deuce are you about like that? By Jove—”

  She interrupted before her uncle’s tirade could continue. “There’s a mob at the State House, and they’re working up to another riot. You and Judge Story are on their list tonight. There doesn’t seem to be anybody in control, and they’re growing ugly already.” She turned to her frightened aunt. “Aunt Matilda, why don’t you and Frances gather a few things and come back to the house with me? You don’t want to be here when they arrive.”

  “They wouldn’t dare come here! The governor will call out the militia! You are just courting trouble, Evelyn. Why your father didn’t—”

  “The governor is hiding on Castle Island, Uncle George, too afraid of the mob to show his face. If y
ou will excuse me. . . .” Impatiently Evelyn hurried after her aunt to help her pack.

  As it was, they’d run out of time. While they packed the more precious ornaments and valuables in satchels, Evelyn heard the cacophony of whistles and drums and the voices of hundreds approaching. Matilda glanced out the upstairs window and paled with fright.

  “They’re here! What do we do now? My word, they have torches! There must be thousands. Evelyn, we can’t go out there. Just look at them!”

  Below, the narrow street was crammed with pale faces in the flare of torchlight. Voices carried but the words were indistinct. For her lady aunt’s sake, Evelyn was grateful for that.

  A stone crashed through a lower window, and the mob pressed against the picket fence in front. Evelyn ran to check the back windows. Already, men were filtering between the houses and down alleys to reach the vulnerable kitchen entrance. Not carried away yet by the power of the mob, these individuals milled harmlessly, swigging from jugs, shouting curses, and greeting each other as if this were a social occasion. There would be no easy escape.

  From this height, she could see the lights of the wharf and harbor, and her heart leapt in hope. She feared it would be dangerous to smuggle her aunt and cousin out of here on her own, but with a little protection . . .

  She turned back to her aunt. “Put on old clothes and shoes you can run in. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Ignoring her aunt’s cries of protest, Evelyn ran down the back stairs and slipped out the French side doors. Cutting through the hedge, she avoided the attention of the mob. In jerkin and breeches, she blended in, and she escaped down a side street without notice.

  The night was humid and hot, and the cries of the mob carried on the still air. She knew decent citizens would have bolted their doors and doused their lights as if this were a Pope’s Day riot. In the morning, they would come out to survey the damage and all would go on as it had before. They just hadn’t realized yet that these riots were not the same as the holiday.