“Been at the damned tavern, haven’t you? When did it occur to you that we might go abroad again tonight?”
Black Tom stared at the floor, muttered something. He looked like a child caught in some infraction.
“Billy,” said Elizabeth, “I should think it a miracle that these men arrived in time to save us.”
“They were supposed to be watching at all times, but instead I have to cut these bastards down”-he indicated the two men on the floor- “single-handedly before they amble in. Good thing I am man enough to take on two or more at a time.”
“Well, now, it weren’t like we done nothing,” Howland protested.
Elizabeth shook her head. “You told these two to watch us? At all times?”
“Dear Lizzy, you would never believe me that this is a dangerous business. Lucky one of us was clever enough to see that our backsides were covered.” He glared at Tom and Ezra.
But Elizabeth, for her part, was far too relieved to be angry at the Bloody Revenges, late though their arrival may have been. She swept across the floor and gave each of the men a kiss on their hairy cheeks, as they in turn blushed and stammered.
“Right, well, let’s see what these sons of whores has that’s worth the taking,” Ezra Howland muttered, trying to cover his embarrassment. He knelt over the unconscious form of the smaller man, dug through the big pockets of his coat, while Black Tom retrieved the pistol and located a few coins in the pocket of the other.
“Nothing,” said Ezra. “A few rutting papers, that’s it.” Ezra was not the kind of man who could imagine a piece of paper being of any value.
“Let me see.” Billy Bird held out his hand, took the paper.
“Tom,” said Howland, “come on, then, let’s see if there’s anything down there, what we should have,” and with a jerk of his head he led Black Tom down the hall to Dunmore ’s office.
“Forgive them, Lizzy, plundering is quite in their soul. I would no more wish to try and stop it than I would try and stop a rutting bull.”
He held up the paper that Howland had handed him, angled it toward the light.
Elizabeth watched him read, watched his brows come together, his mouth form into a frown. “Son…of…a…bitch…” He let the words come out slow.
“What is it, Billy?” Elizabeth asked. “Here. Read this.” He handed the note over. Elizabeth let the light fall on the words and read.
Mr. Elephiant Jenkins The Golden Rooster Tavern Boston
Mr. Jenkins,
As you have been of Great Service to me in the past, let me Now call upon your Good Offices again to render me aid in a situation most unseemly.
There will arrive in Boston soon Two People who mean to do me most Grievous Injury by means of resurrecting such untruths from my past as they might endeavor to discover. They are a woman named Elizabeth Marlowe, aged around twenty-eight, with yellow hair and fine of feature, and most probably a man accompanying her whom you will discover. I am in no doubt that they will endeavor to Speak to the Reverend Wait Dunmore, my Father, at the Middle Street Church, and if you were to keep watch there you would discover them.
I have enclosed a bank draft to cover your expenses in an amount that I think you will find is Sufficient Payment for the task I request of you.
The last part she read out loud. “I wish that the said Elizabeth Marlowe and her companion should never leave the town of Boston, except that their immortal souls should join with their Maker in Providence. I think an accident of Drowning in the harbor the most conveniently understood demise. Your obedient, humble servant, Frederick Dunmore.”
She looked up, stunned. Along with the letter was a draft for one hundred pounds. The papers shook in her hand. “How very kind he is,” said Billy, “to wish our souls at eternal rest.”
“ ‘Aged about twenty-eight’?” Elizabeth said. “Do I look to be twenty-eight?”
“Lizzy, what a great kindness our dear Frederick has done us. Here we were, searching for incriminating papers, unable to find a one, and here he has had just the thing delivered right to us. Proof of his conspiring to see us murdered. I think we need look no further.”
And then from the dark, the click of a flintlock snapped into place. Elizabeth looked up, assumed it was one of the Revenges, but it was not.
It was the Reverend Wait Dunmore, standing in the door, just at the edge of the lantern’s reach. He looked ominous, frightening, in the deep shadows and flickering flame. He was hastily dressed, his long shirt only half tucked in, waistcoat unbuttoned, no wig to cover the bristle of hair on his head. The light of the single lantern served to deepen and accentuate the lines in his face, the heavy jowls and folds of skin around his eyes.
Dunmore held the gun out, pointed at Billy Bird’s heart. Behind him, sweating, looking nervous, the night watch fiddled with his short club.
Billy Bird sighed, shook his head, not the expression one might have expected from a man held at gunpoint. “I have been to governor’s balls that were not as well attended as our little affair tonight. Tell us, Reverend, is your church so filled with people when there is a sermon in the offing?”
“Shut your gob, you little worm,” Dunmore growled. “I shall give you until the count of five to hand over everything you stole before I shoot you. If you cooperate then I shall do no more than have you arrested. Let the High Court see you hang.”
“Arrest me? Who, the night watch there? The poor man looks as if he’ll die of fright.”
At that the night watchman stepped forward, chins waggling, and cleared his throat, and before he could speak, another flintlock snapped into position, and then another, and Billy Bird shook his head, smiled.
Standing five feet behind Dunmore and the night watchman, Black Tom and Ezra Howland stepped from the side hallway, leveled their guns at the newcomers.
“Honestly, Reverend, have you ever seen the like?” Billy was smiling. “Now, you could shoot me. Probably should. But if you do, my fellows will kill you and this poor night watchman. So there is your choice. Pull the trigger and three men die, put down the gun and no one dies.”
The options were clear, but the choice was not as obvious to the Reverend as Elizabeth might have thought it would be. He stood for five seconds, ten seconds, grim-faced, pointing the gun at Billy, looking at him with such hatred that for a moment she thought he might well throw away his own life and that of the watchman just for the chance to put a bullet through the insouciant pirate before him.
But he did not, and at length he lowered the gun, eased the flintlock down. He seemed to sag, his face, his body, the stiffness gone. He seemed suddenly much smaller.
Black Tom and Howland stepped around, guns still trained. The night watchman was holding his hands in plain sight, unwilling to be shot on suspicion that he was trying to defend himself.
“I am afraid we must tie you up. We can’t have an alarm sounded, you know,” Billy said, and Dunmore just stared, said nothing.
“Tom, pray, go find something with which we can bind all these gentlemen. There must be a rope of some sort attached to the bell.”
Tom nodded, lit a candle from the lantern, and headed off toward the base of the steeple. “Ezra, you had best shut and bolt the door. We have had quite enough visitors tonight.”
Ezra did so, and Dunmore and the night watch stepped out of his way. Then Dunmore spoke, and his voice had none of the gravel that Elizabeth had heard before, and for a moment she did not even realize it was him speaking.
“It’s not true, you know,” Wait Dunmore said.
“What? What is not true?” Billy asked. “That your son murdered an innocent old black woman? Killed her with his bare hands?”
The words were like a slap to the Reverend’s face. He frowned, shook his head slowly. “That I do not know. He might have, the poor creature. The evidence was there that he did. Had he been tried he probably would have been hanged. Never was a trial, of course, but in my heart I fear it is true.