A Daughter Rebels

by Ann Birch

  There was nothing the man could say to that statement. He could only nod agreement.

  I took the pot of water and clean cloths back to the bedchamber. Granny dipped her scissors into the boiling water and cut the cord. She smiled at me and nodded. I knew she was remembering my ineptitude at the time of Marguerite’s birthing.

  Then she bathed the babe—it was such a beautiful boy—and put it to suckle, while I washed the blood from Sarah’s body and slipped clean sheets under her.

  * * *

  An hour later, after the mother and babe had drifted into a peaceful sleep, Granny and I emerged from the bedchamber and went belowstairs to announce the good news to the two men. I hoped for a better reception this time.

  Mr. Boulton began to fumble in his waistcoat, perhaps for a coin or two. He seemed reluctant to part with his money. This made me angry. He was a wealthy man. I remembered hearing from Papa that he had spent money on a large tract of land just outside of town on which he intended to build an imposing brick house.

  “I do not wish payment for my services,” I said. “It is enough that I was able to assist and to help bring a fine new babe into the world. But I know that you will want to show your gratitude to my friend.”

  “Thank ye, sir,” Granny said, accepting the coin he gave her, and turning to me, she added, “And thanks be to ye, also. And now I must be on me way. A long day it has been.”

  * * *

  Sometime later, having shared a glass of sherry with the two men, I got up to leave. Mr. Robinson announced that he would see me home.

  Our walk this time was more leisurely. As we strolled on, my companion said, “May I call you Anne?” His voice was soft.

  “Yes.” I was too tired to comment on the sudden change in his manner from tight-fisted to friendly.

  “And I hope you will call me Beverley.”

  I was eager to seem compliant because what I really wanted to discuss was news about affairs in Niagara. I had heard some disturbing rumours. So, after a few sentences in which I was careful to insert the name Beverley into my discourse, I found it easy to swing our conversation in that direction.

  “The Americans are about to retreat from Fort George,” he said, “and that is good news. But I fear that there will be trouble. Joseph Willcocks has turned traitor and is now apparently coaching the Yankees on how to take revenge on the town of Niagara before the retreat.”

  “Joseph Willcocks is a cousin of William Willcocks?” I asked, remembering the old brute who had tried to squeeze me during a dance at Governor Gore’s residence.

  “They are cousins, yes, both odious, but Joseph is by far the worse.”

  “What kind of revenge does he have in mind?”

  “We shall soon see, and I fear it.”

  By this point, we had begun our walk down the path to the front door of my house. I could see Mama peering out through the parlour window.

  “May I see you again soon?” Mr. Robinson—Beverley—asked.

  “Yes,” I said, though I was of two minds. We had somehow drifted suddenly into a first-name friendship. But did I want to enter into a more intimate relationship with this man? Or did I want to pursue the career that I loved and which, now, seemed to have achieved a modicum of respectability? I had, after all, been present at the birthing of Mrs. D’Arcy Boulton. Mama could surely not censure my part in the delivery of a new scion of this distinguished family.

  Beverley—how strange the name still sounded in my mind— added, “You have been of immeasurable help this day. I have always admired you. Indeed, I shall never forget that dreadful day when you helped out so bravely at the garrison. There is not another woman in this town who can measure up to your standards.” He paused, cleared his throat, and added, “I hope I am not being too forward when I say that it is my greatest hope that we may someday become man and wife.”

  We were now on the front stoop. “I cannot answer you now,” I said, “but I shall consider what you have said.”

  A stupid sentence. But it was all I could manage.

  Inside the house, I threw my coat on the rack, and headed straight for the staircase. “I cannot talk now, Mama,” I said. “I’m so tired I simply have to rest for an hour or two.” I ran up the stairs into the bedchamber I shared with my sisters and slammed the door shut.

  I was tired, yes, but sleep was not in my reckoning at the moment. I had to think of how to get to Niagara. If this Willcocks scoundrel was indeed planning revenge, I had to find a way to warn my brother John and his family and to help keep them safe. I also had to give my friend Charlotte Dickson whatever assistance she might need.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “The girl has gone to Niagara? Why did you not stop her? I leave you in charge of this household, woman, and you let this happen?” As Annie’s husband spoke, he took his soup spoon and threw it at the wall of the dining-room, narrowly missing her head.

  Annie knew that all the servants would hear her husband’s outburst. She had just told him about the note Anne left for her with Lucy. Already her young granddaughters were crying, and Eliza and Mary had risen from their chairs as if to restrain him.

  “What was I to do, husband? I had no idea she had left the house until I read the note.”

  “Get that slut of a maid up here right away. I must ask her some questions.”

  Annie rose and pressed the button on the mantel. She could hear the bell ringing belowstairs. In a minute Lucy appeared in the doorway, her face pale. She seemed to sense that an interrogation was coming her way.

  “My daughter gave you a note,” William said. “We know from it that she was going to Niagara. Did she tell you how she would get there?”

  “I know nothing about her plans, sir. She merely gave me the note and I delivered it to Madam as I was instructed.”

  “What I really need to know,” William said to Annie, “is how she thought she would get to Niagara at this time in the year. There are no ships on the lake now and no proper roads. How the devil—”

  He broke off and turned again to Lucy. “How was she dressed?”

  Annie noticed the girl’s trembling hands and the blush that rose to her cheeks. “In her usual garb, sir.”

  “And what does that mean? For God’s sake, give me the details.”

  “From what I can recall, sir, she wore her heavy green redingote with cape collars. I did not really notice, sir.”

  “Get out, get out. You are as much use to me as—”

  Annie knew that “tits on a bull” would come next. But Lucy had already fled from the room, so they were all spared the phrase William had been about to dump on them.

  But now the man focused his attention on her. “I must see the note,” he said.

  “I threw it into the fire. I was upset.”

  That was a lie. She had locked it into the secret drawer of her bureau, and there it would stay for her eyes only. Her husband must not know the full contents of that letter Anne had written. In it, she said that she intended to go by horseback—yes, by horseback—to Niagara and that she was hiring someone by the name of Jacques Vallière to go with her, following some Ojibway trail or other along the lake. Who was this Vallière person and how was she to find money to hire him?

  All this must, of course, be kept a secret from her husband. It was possible that she could be successful in hiding these unpleasant facts. But what she still feared was that William would discover some of his clothes were missing from the wardrobe in his bedchamber. Anne had written she intended to dress in men’s clothing for the long ride. She said she had no thought of riding side-saddle as “women of propriety” did. She had actually underlined that phrase. “To ride as a man would is necessary,” Anne wrote, “and to that end I have donned Papa’s buckskin pantaloons, his wool claw-hammer coat with wide pleats, and I have stuffed papers inside the toes of a pair of his boots.”

  Another thought came to Annie. Anne must have been wearing her father’s clothes when she left the house. Surely Lucy must ha
ve noticed this garb. Why had she lied? Or was it possible that Anne had taken her father’s clothes in a portmanteau and dressed at this Vallière’s abode? The impropriety of it all made her tremble with rage and fright. But of one thing she was determined. Her husband must not know the full extent of Anne’s misbehaviour.

  Aloud she said, “Let us finish our meal, husband. The girls are upset, as you can see, and nothing is to be gained by further discussion of Anne’s absence. After supper you and I will retire to the parlour and see what can be done.”

  There was a great sigh from William. But Annie could see that, upset as he was, he was hungry. Food was always important to the man. “You are right,” he said. “Let us finish the meal.”

  So the Brunswick stew was placed before them and removed, with only her husband able to eat more than a mouthful. Then came the gingerbread with rum sauce, one of Eliza and Mary’s favourite desserts, but even that went largely untouched. At last her granddaughters and daughters retired to their bedchambers, and she and William moved into the parlour.

  “Now, husband, let us discuss this like rational beings. Anne has gone to Niagara—as she said in her note—to see that John and his wife and child are safe. Surely you cannot be angry with her for that wisdom.” Annie motioned him to sit in his favourite chair in front of the roaring fire that sent its warmth through the room and, she hoped, into the cold heart of his wrath.

  “It’s how she did it. Sneaking off when no one was looking. Not telling us how she planned to travel. Leaving us here to worry about her welfare. It’s all so, so. . . ” William was clearly still angry, but now he drifted off in mid-sentence while he poured himself a glass of sherry from the decanter on the Pembroke table beside his chair. That was a good sign.

  Annie made a quick decision. While he was thus distracted from his main grievances, she would tell him some good news: about what she had observed yesterday afternoon as she watched John Beverley Robinson and her daughter in intimate conversation as they came up the walk to the front door. “I think something may be developing between those two. They certainly had eyes only for each other.”

  “Well, that at least is good to hear. But what led to all this? Why was Robinson walking with her?”

  Oh my God, time for another lie! “I know only that he came to the front door today to ask for Anne’s help. His sister had an illness of some sort. I know that she spent the day at the Boultons’ residence and that she provided some excellent care for Mrs. Boulton.”

  “Hm. Hm.” William downed his sherry and poured himself a second glass. “Well, that all sounds good. But they had better settle things soon. I’m sending Robinson to England to work on further legal studies so that he can be called to the bar there. He’s been a worthy Attorney-General in these months of turmoil with the Yankees, but now he needs a leave of absence to improve his credentials.”

  Annie forced herself to make encouraging noises as William talked on and on about Robinson’s future. They had deviated from the subject of Anne’s removal to Niagara, and for these moments at least she could keep her husband’s focus from his daughter’s departure. Then, as soon as she was alone, she could summon Lucy for a private talk and find out exactly what the girl knew.

  William rose from his chair. “Bedtime,” he said. “I cannot waste more discussion this evening on my daughter’s silliness. Tomorrow we shall get to the truth of where she is and what she is doing. I shall send my clerk about the town to see if any information can be discreetly revealed to me. One thing I know, we must get her married to Robinson and out of this household at once and for all time.”

  As he moved towards the staircase, he stopped and turned to her. “It’s damned cold in this hall. And cold outside, too. Have the girl Lucy get out my wool claw-hammer coat for the morning. She can come up to my wardrobe now and see to it.”

  How in tarnation am I to cope with all this! “Not that coat, husband. It’s too short. The weather will be very cold tomorrow. I’ll have her get out your long coat with the high collar and shoulder capes. That will keep you comfortable.”

  “Very well. Just make sure that it is here on the coat rack when I need it in the morning. Good night.”

  She pressed the button that summoned Lucy. When the servant stood before her, she passed on her husband’s instructions. When Lucy came downstairs with the coat, Annie waited while she hung it on the rack. Then, when Lucy turned around, she moved close, took the girl’s hands in hers, squeezed them hard enough to hurt the slut, and said in an undertone. “And now you must tell me the truth about my daughter. I cannot tolerate your lies. Who is this man Vallière? Where did she get this horse she talked about in her note? Out with it.”

  “I know nothing about Miss Powell’s plans, ma’am. You must believe me.” She tried to pull her hands away, but Annie held them in a tight grip.

  “You are lying, girl. Tell me the truth or you leave this house tomorrow.”

  “I can say nothing more, ma’am. I have told the truth. Please. Please.” She began to cry.

  Perhaps the girl was telling the truth. What was she to do? At any rate, if she carried out her threat of dismissal, how was she to find another servant in this town?

  “Go,” she said. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. But get out of my sight tonight. I have had enough for one day.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  December, 1813

  I was now approaching Niagara or Newark as some people still called it. Black smoke rose in the clear, cold air. Over every hill and field swarmed American soldiers, each carrying a firebrand, setting alight everything in their path. It was clear now that Joseph Willocks’s revenge was well in place. Jacques Vallière and I pulled our horses to a halt on the Indian trail that ran beside the Niagara River.

  “Mon Dieu!” my guide said, “quelle horreur!”

  I did not answer. My whole body ached from the four-day ride and the struggle to communicate. Though I could still summon French phrases learned from my long-ago French nursemaid, Jacques had once been a voyageur for the Hudson’s Bay Company and spoke a French patois that was difficult to follow. But he had been indispensable. Without his knowledge of the Indian trails that led from York along the lake to Niagara, I could never have made the journey.

  Also, I had to acknowledge that without Lucy’s help I could never have been in contact with this man. Mama had gone to visit Mrs. Jarvis for tea, and I had two-and-half hours to put my plans for escape in place. It was Lucy who hired a carriage and rushed northward from our house to Marguerite Vallière’s cabin where I had once helped to deliver her infant and where she now lived with her brother Jacques. I gave Lucy some of the jewellery I had discovered in Mama’s secret drawer on the day I cleared out her bedchamber in preparation for the wounded soldiers. Two gold rings were enough to persuade Jacques Vallière to act as my guide and to furnish me with a horse that I could ride. Three gold-and-ruby bracelets were sufficient to recompense the farmhouse owners who had given us bed and board on this four-day journey.

  I was, of course, dressed in Papa’s clothes, and these people assumed I was a man. In his broken English, Jacques always introduced me as his cousin Guy, and we had shared a bed together in various farmhouses for three nights. During these hours, we both remained fully clothed, of course, and I came to appreciate his honour. I also found comfort in his knowledge of the countryside we travelled through. I hoped that my secrets would be safe with him.

  I wanted to trust Lucy as well. I knew Mama and Papa would grill her mercilessly, perhaps even threaten her with dismissal, but I felt quite sure that she would not betray me.

  Now it was time to move onwards. I signalled to Jacques, and we set off for the village. It was a blustery day and the snow drifted into our faces, bringing with it the stench of smoke. Through the storm we could see flames rise high in the air. Jacques kept muttering “mon Dieu, mon Dieu,” as we urged our bucking horses forward into the thick of the holocaust.

  Remembering the pleas
ant summer sunshine and green trees of my former visits to John, I could not believe what lay before us now. Everywhere weeping women and screaming children stood in the snow gaping at a world devoured by flames. Worse, we saw frozen bodies lying in the drifts. As we turned from the main road onto the street where my brother’s house lay, I recognized a woman called Mrs. Campbell whose husband had been a major at the fort. I called to her. She stared at me, uncomprehending. In her arms she held her small son, his face pale and his eyes glazed in death. I rode on, unable to explain who I was, unable to find a single word of succour, my tears mixing with the blowing snow.

  “Where we go?” Jacques’s voice broke through my grief.

  I rubbed my eyes with a snowy glove. “Tout à côté.” I pointed. And then . . . What had been my brother John’s house was now nothing but a pile of smoking embers. On the lawn where I had played croquet with his wife were now chairs, tables, and bedframes, all undoubtedly rescued from the burning ruins. A man stood alone, his back to the road, staring at the mess.

  I dismounted and ran towards him. He turned. It was John. He looked at me, then looked again. “Anne!”

  We embraced. “You have come, dear Anne, but . . . You look so strange. And who is this?” He gestured towards Jacques.

  I introduced my guide to him, and then I said, “I have come from York, John. I had hoped to get here in time to warn you of the Yankees’ revenge, but I am obviously too late. Oh my God, tell me, tell me, how can I help you? Where is Isabella? And little John?”

  “They are safe, my dear one. I knew something dreadful was about to happen, and I sent them to a farmhouse several miles from town where they will be looked after—” He broke off his discourse, looked over my shoulder into the distance, and ran into the road, holding his hand up to his forehead as if to improve his vision. “Oh my God! They’re going into Mrs. Dickson’s house.” He called to me, “Quick, Anne, run down the path and see if you can help the woman. She has been ill, and her husband has been taken prisoner. Go, please! Go!”