Death at the Boston Tea Party Read online

  Having decided to make recompense for their meal in the way of menial tasks, John and Tom left the house.

  ‘Well, I’m going to make enquiries about having a bath now. What about you, my friend?’

  ‘No, Sorrh, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll try and find an alehouse in this God-fearing community. I prefer to bathe in the rivers and lakes.’

  ‘Um. And I prefer the water a bit warmer, Tom. So I’m off to Mrs Corey’s.’

  ‘Good luck, dear soul. Will you provide her with services?’

  The Apothecary gave the broadest of grins. ‘Well, now that all depends, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, but you’re a rogue, my man.’

  They parted company, laughing.

  John turned to Rose. ‘Do I smell, sweetheart?’

  She smiled. ‘Through your nose, yes. But you actually stink, Papa.’

  ‘Then I must attend to that at once.’

  They found several of their fellow travellers waiting outside Mrs Corey’s establishment: Lady Conway and Jake together with Lady Eawiss and an exhausted-looking Jane Hawthorne. On enquiring about Matthew and his brood they were told that all country people bathed in water hewn from a well. After several minutes of hanging about George and Tracey emerged looking quite smart, both wearing new shirts made of coarse cambric, but very clean for all that. It would seem that Mrs Corey ran a local store as well. At this news Lady Eawiss, clutching her portmanteau to her bountiful bosom, hurried inside to see what goods were up for sale. Lady Conway laughed at Jake but followed suit.

  The baths now being free, Mrs Corey appeared, a pale, smiling woman with an eye for the main chance, however it might present itself. John bowed low and requested the use of the baths for himself and his children.

  ‘And you have the money, Sir?’

  ‘Alas, Ma’am, I have none. I can merely offer you my services.’

  She giggled and twinkled. ‘That will have to be by arrangement, Sir.’

  John nodded. ‘I quite understand.’

  He felt rather a hypocrite leading her on but was desperate to wash the days of travelling rough away from his family and himself. When push came to shove he would rather chop logs, draw water or work in her garden than enter her boudoir. But, meanwhile, he glinted his eyes at her and bowed again.

  Rose took the little boys in and washed them before getting into the bath on the other side of the curtain. So it was that John helped a pale-faced Jane into the washing area, after his clean and beautiful brood had emerged and gone into the shop. The girl was so exhausted, waiting on Lady Eawiss hand and foot, that she seemed ready to drop to sleep at any second.

  Pulling the curtain firmly across to preserve her modesty, John filled his hip bath from jugs of hot water and sank down with a great chunk of soap, closing his eyes and letting the warm waves wash over him. It was then that he heard something. Quiet though it was, he detected a sound coming from Jane’s washing room. He sat bolt upright, wondering what it could be. There was a very faint noise, almost like whispered song, coming from behind the curtain. It occurred to him that Jane might have fallen asleep and could have sunk down under the water. Feeling like a peeping Tom, John drew the curtain back, only fractionally but enough for him to get a view of the other room.

  From wherever he had hidden himself Blue Wolf had secretly emerged and knelt beside the tin bath, propping Jane’s head on his shoulder. She had gone to sleep, quite deeply, and could indeed have been in danger of drowning. But it was not to this danger that Blue Wolf was giving his attention. He was washing her, every part of her, his hand lingering as he massaged her rosebud breasts, the delightful sweep of her flat stomach and even lower. And as he held her in his gentle embrace, he crooned to her some strange Indian lullaby.

  The Apothecary realized that he was looking on a scene of true love: that whatever the future held for this extraordinary couple, the man, at least, loved the girl with all his heart. He must have let out the tiniest exclamation because Blue Wolf looked up and he and John stared soundlessly at each other. In those dark, lustrous eyes John felt he could read the suffering of this proud nation who, for centuries, had roamed their vast continent as hunters and now slowly, bit by bit, were having their land taken away from them by the encroachment of the pale-skinned people who wanted to live there, who were slowly and ruthlessly killing an entire race in order to achieve their ultimate goal.

  They gazed at each other in silence for a minute or so and then John dropped his eyes and drew the curtain closed once more. He felt rather than heard Blue Wolf wake her up and the kiss that they gave one another, a deep kiss straight from their loving hearts, then the man left – God knows how he had crept in in the first place – and returned to the quiet depths of the forest.

  The more John thought about what he had just seen, the more convinced he became that he should speak of it to no one. He had witnessed the dawning of a great love, had watched Blue Wolf’s hands sweep over the girl’s creamy flesh in an act of worship. He must keep the secret held by only him.

  He made his way to the shop, bought a new shirt and hesitated over a pair of woollen breeches.

  ‘Go on, Sir,’ said Lady Eawiss. ‘I shall lend you the money.’

  It was the first decent thing the Apothecary had ever heard her say, and he looked at her rather suspiciously.

  ‘I mean it. In return you can help me find a comfortable lodging when we reach Boston.’

  ‘Do you intend to stay there, Milady?’

  She simpered – actually simpered. ‘Oh, well, that depends on how things turn out.’

  ‘Perhaps you might remarry,’ ventured John.

  ‘Of course, nobody could replace my dear husband, Sir Bevis Eawiss. But who knows. It would be a comfort in one’s old age to have a companion.’

  John said, ‘Talking of companions, how is Jane Hawthorne working out?’

  ‘A dear child, of course, but not really up to snuff when it comes to being a personal maid. Somewhat sloppy in her appearance, don’t you know.’

  ‘As are we all, Madam, having walked miles and miles through hard terrain. I’ll swear that I had so much dirt on me that I had turned quite a different colour.’

  ‘Not the colour of an Indian, I hope.’

  ‘I would not have worried too much. I think they are a fair-minded people. After all, we are trespassers on their land.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear Sir. This land belongs to the King of England.’

  ‘It is all very fine for him to sit on his throne in Britain and claim lands that he has never seen, which clearly belong to someone else.’

  She went red in the face and flared her nostrils, resembling one of the fat zephyrs that were engraved on the corners of a map.

  ‘I think you speak subversively, Sir. I think you are a traitor. I shall definitely not lend you money for a new pair of breeches.’

  The Apothecary bowed low. ‘I would not have accepted your kindness, Milady. I intend to work for anything I purchase.’

  At that moment Jane walked in, in full bloom after her bath and her meeting with Blue Wolf.

  Lady Eawiss rounded on her furiously. ‘There you are, my girl. You took your time. I thought you had drowned, so I did.’

  Jane dropped a little curtsey and looked at the floor. ‘Sorry, Milady.’

  ‘I’ve a mind to box your ears.’

  John was just about to intercede when at that moment Mistress Corey appeared, struggling with two enormous ewers of warm water. Both he and Jane went to help her and Lady Eawiss stumped out of the shop, mauve with anger. Fortunately her fury was deflected to the other bathing room where Lady Conway and Jake shared a bath in the room next to hers. How they could have both squeezed in made the rest of the party’s collective mind blench but that night over supper, which John, Tom and the children consumed with the widow Corey, whose name they discovered was Dorcas, much conversation was directed to that question.

  Dorcas Corey had offered them all accommodation for the night and
put the children – all sharing one big bed – to bed herself, their father being offered a truckle in the same room. After their departure the discussion of the size of a tin bath had added a great deal of spice to the dinner-table conversation.

  ‘I think they’re a pair of rascals, so I do,’ Tom had commented.

  ‘You mean to say that they are confidence tricksters, Mister?’

  John had interrupted. ‘Oh, come now, Thomas. Lady Conway is genuine enough. I read about her in Tatler. It concerned the fact that she was introduced to the house by old Lord Conway, who intended to marry her, but the hussy went off with the son instead.’

  ‘What a saucy thing to do. But surely that is not her husband she is with.’

  John’s love of a good gossip, something he had been deprived of for months, rose unquelled.

  ‘I am sure that Jake was a groom of her stable.’

  ‘No question of it,’ put in Tom, swigging back a glass of home-made beer. ‘He’s a boyo if ever I saw one, though a decent chap for all that.’

  ‘But sharing a bath with Milady,’ said Dorcas Corey in a shocked voice.

  ‘People have been known to enjoy that sort of thing,’ answered John, smiling at his memories.

  ‘I think it’s shocking,’ answered Dorcas, but with a grin on her face.

  Then the entire trio burst out laughing and John decided that living amongst this small community had a lot to be said for it after all.

  FIVE

  They worked for a week, repaying their hospitality. Everyone, including the beautiful Lady Conway and her so-called husband pulled their weight; even Lady Eawiss, accompanied by a great deal of sighing and complaining, did a little reluctant sewing. The two former beaux, now completely devoid of make-up and fashionable enhancement, were still speaking in the bon ton manner as they hewed logs together.

  ‘Do you know this work is quite beneath my touch, Tracey.’

  ‘But what option do we have, George? As you said we are at Point Non Plus and that’s no bamboozlement.’

  ‘I almost feel like downing tools and marrying some rich widow.’

  ‘What? Have you taken leave of what sense is left in your poor, addled brain? We have come a long way and now we must be getting near Boston. Think of it, George. Civilization. I intend to get completely bosky as soon as I get there.’

  ‘And what do you contemplate using for money?’

  ‘I shall borrow some.’

  ‘Off whom?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  At the end of the week, Blue Wolf told them to be ready as dawn broke the next day, and announced that they would be heading for Portsmouth.

  ‘Damn it, man, that’s in blasted Hampshire,’ George said loudly.

  Blue Wolf looked down his chiselled nose. ‘It is Abenaki land. But some settlers came and named it after a place in England, over a hundred years ago, when it was made into a town.’

  ‘A town!’ said Tracey Tremayne, his eyes dazzled.

  Blue Wolf made an uninterpretable sound. ‘They are at peace with my people. That is what allows them to build.’

  ‘Are there places where one can go for a drink?’ asked George.

  ‘I think there are, yes.’

  George turned to Tracey. ‘My dear infant, race you there, what ho.’

  In the event it turned out to be a longer hike than any of them had envisaged. One of Matthew’s three hearty children went down with a fever and the Indian quickly improvised a contraption made of wood and skins in which the child could be carried. But Blue Wolf was clearly uneasy about something and that night talked briefly to John before disappearing into the stealthy forest.

  ‘My friend, let me speak to you,’ said the Apothecary as he caught sight of Blue Wolf making his way into the dense woodland.

  The Indian man turned back. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Why are you leaving us?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘Is it because of Jane?’

  The beautifully muscled shoulders rose and fell. ‘Jane and I belong together. One day she will be mine.’

  ‘Then why go?’

  ‘Because of the fever of the child. We tribes of Indian people have no natural protection against your illnesses. In the past I have seen entire villages decimated by smallpox and measles, things against which we native peoples have no resistance. If the boy is carrying anything like that I must not go near him.’

  ‘So you are going?’

  ‘For the time being, yes.’

  ‘How will we find our way?’

  ‘Boston is only a few days’ walk from here. You will be able to glimpse it shortly.’

  ‘And with a sickly child and Lady Eawiss’s corns?’

  ‘Give yourselves a week. Don’t push too hard.’

  ‘So what about Jane Hawthorne? Do you intend to abandon her to her fate?’

  ‘I have told you. Her fate lies with me. If I cannot marry her then I shall live a solitary life.’

  John laughed. ‘I cannot envisage that somehow. You are a man of flesh and blood for sure. So when will you return?’

  ‘When you least expect it,’ answered Blue Wolf and, crouching down, disappeared into the forest. John could have sworn that he saw an animal – an animal with a bluish tinge about its coat – lope off and disappear into the darkness.

  During the night he gave what potions he could to bring the child’s fever down and the next morning found that the boy was breathing more easily. He also discovered that during the hours of darkness the two male beauties had disappeared into the town, having talked Lady Eawiss into giving them a loan, and were now nowhere to be seen. Lady Conway and her ragamuffin husband had also disappeared into the fleshpot of Portsmouth, and so it was a rather pathetic straggle of people who made their way towards habitation the next morning. Irish Tom, carrying James on his shoulders, led the way, with John bearing Jasper a step behind. Then Matthew, conveying the litter between himself and Nick, his elder son. His nervous daughter clung to Jane’s hand, while limping along in the rear came Lady Eawiss, clutching her portmanteau and moaning and groaning loudly, though nobody was listening to her.

  ‘So Blue Wolf has left us?’ Irish Tom said.

  ‘Only fear of disease has sent him off.’ John lowered his voice. ‘He loves Jane Hawthorne to a fierce degree.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll come back for her?’

  ‘I would lay money on it.’

  ‘Let it be hoped that that is not the case, as you haven’t got any.’

  John lowered his voice even further. ‘Do you know as he went off last night I could swear that I saw a blue wolf in the forest.’

  The Irishman crossed himself. ‘Now don’t go telling me such things, Sorrh. I won’t be able to get a wink of sleep.’

  John laughed. ‘It was only an illusion. The Indian is a real man, I assure you.’

  And the Apothecary thought back to what he had seen in the bath house, a secret that he would never tell a living soul, and smiled to himself.

  The town of Portsmouth was quite considerable, consisting of a street of white weather-boarded buildings with several squares and alleyways leading off it. It had a calm but lively atmosphere and John headed for a house which had a handwritten notice in the window saying ‘Rooms to Let’. Having obtained accommodation for himself and his family, he set out to explore, leaving the children in the fluttering hands of Lady Eawiss, who had announced that she was exhausted and had immediately booked a room and a small cupboard-like space for Jane Hawthorne. Fortunately, Jane was also there to keep an eye on the young people.

  As the Apothecary strolled along, he thought about the extraordinary paths his life had taken and the many highways he had trodden, but surely none so strange as this one. He had never, even in his most extravagant dreams, envisaged that he would be walking along the rustic street of a pioneering township in the wild and uncharted lands of Indian country, heading for Boston, a town he knew nothing about, to sell his sparkling water to a customer wh
o would by now believe him to be dead.

  A roar of voices broke into his introspection. It was the dull roar of a crowd of about twenty people. Interest piqued, the Apothecary walked in its direction. He found himself standing before a plain wooden house, much like the others except that it had a dark, crabbed appearance and a swinging sign outside that read The Castle. Without hesitation, John Rawlings stepped inside.

  His eye was immediately caught by a game for four players – probably whist – which was causing a sensation thanks to the audacity of one particular player who appeared to be trumping everyone else. He sat with his legs thrust forward, his hat hiding his face, his long dark hair pulled back and tied with a crimson ribbon. Even as John looked at him he felt a thrill of recognition, yet could not place the fellow at all.

  ‘I trump your ace,’ the card player said – and John stood in silent contemplation. And then light dawned. It was an impossibility and yet his eyes and brain told him differently. He was looking at Julian Wychwood, whom he had last seen clinging to a piece of wreckage and screaming as a current had swept him out to the sea and to certain death.

  ‘Julian?’ John asked, still unsure.

  The card player looked up then shot to his full height, over six feet tall. ‘John? John Rawlings?’

  ‘Yes, of all the taverns in all the towns! Dammit, man, how did you get here?’

  ‘The Wychwood luck. But come, let me buy you a drink and then hear all your adventures. Tell me, where are you heading?’

  ‘For Boston.’

  ‘Well, damme, so am I. But then you knew that.’

  ‘Some talk of retrieving your late mother’s fortune if I recall a conversation on the ship – if such a thing exists.’

  Wychwood raised a sleek black brow and gave one of his devilish smiles. ‘Well, that is a thing we shall no doubt learn.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed,’ John answered, and was greatly relieved when Julian shouted ‘I play no further’ and they walked into a quiet corner and sat down to hear one another’s story.

  If John’s tale of survival was amazing, Julian trumped him with all the grandeur of a professional card player. He had indeed been dragged out to sea by a wild and terrifying current but had been picked up by a canoe of Indians, who were out that far in the ocean for purposes of hiding a body of someone they had disposed of illegally.