The Raider Read online

  Alex leaned back on the pillows and laughed. “Jealous, Raider?” he said aloud. “You ought to be. She never talked to you like that.” He tossed the wig on the floor and settled down to sleep, a smile still on his lips.

  Chapter Twelve

  WHEN there was no sign of the Raider immediately after Admiral Westmoreland’s arrival, and the town cowed so easily at the sight of the English troops, the admiral began to relax. He enjoyed the sight of the people looking at their feet, their eyes angry but not daring to contradict him. He even began to brag. He told anyone within hearing distance that all that was needed was an iron fist.

  Thus, he was unprepared for the Raider’s next appearance.

  The townspeople were wakened at dawn by the ringing of the big bell on the end of the Montgomery house that signaled danger. The bell had once been used to warn of Indians but now heralded fires and other disasters.

  Men and woman, in various states of dress, came running from their houses. They called to each other, “What is it? What’s happened?”

  One by one, they began to see the handbills tacked onto their doors. With eyes that widened with every word they read, they gaped at the posters. The bills stated that Americans had rights, that English rule was going to come to an end. They said the English had no right to search without warrants or to house troops in American homes. There were words against the customs laws, saying Americans had the right to import and export goods without going through England.

  “Seize them!” Admiral Westmoreland bellowed, standing on the Wentworth porch, wearing his uniform jacket over his long nightshirt. After a look of disgust at Mrs. Wentworth, he tore the handbill from her hands. “Back to the kitchen where you belong, woman.”

  He turned on his heel to return to the house, but then the bell at the lighthouse on the south end of the peninsula began to ring. People stopped to look.

  There, standing precariously on the top of the lighthouse was a figure dressed in black.

  “It’s the Raider,” someone whispered and the word “Raider” seemed to spread like a typhoon throughout the crowd.

  As the town watched, he loosened a sheaf of handbills and let them float to the ground. Then he was gone.

  “After him!” the admiral shouted to his half-clad soldiers. Two men had shaving lather on their faces.

  “And seize these filthy things,” the admiral shouted, crumpling a handbill and throwing it to the ground. “Anyone found with one of these will be hanged.” With that he went back into the house and so didn’t see Mrs. Wentworth step on the wadded handbill and slide it under a flowerpot.

  That afternoon, Alex looked up from a tankard of ale in the Montgomery common room to see Jessica enter, a smile on her lips. She threw down a net of fish. She smiled even more broadly when she saw Alex.

  “Did you see him?” she breathed. “I didn’t. I couldn’t get here in time, but everyone says he was wonderful.”

  “I assume you mean the Raider?” Alex looked down at his ledger. He was trying to see just what Pitman was doing with the Montgomery books. “Damned foolish if you ask me. Now the town’ll have serious problems from the admiral.”

  “I agree,” Eleanor said as she held her hand in the oven, counting off seconds to judge its temperature. “We’ll all be punished for what he did.”

  “Yes, but did you read the handbills? I didn’t see one.” Her face fell. “He didn’t leave one on our door.”

  “First sensible thing I’ve heard,” Alex said. “Now, Jess, could you please stop interrupting me with your fairy tales of that overdressed rabble-rouser? I’m trying to add these figures.”

  Jess glared at the top of his powdered wig, then jerked the ledger around to face her. “Two hundred thirty-eight pounds and twenty-nine shillings,” she said almost immediately. She glanced up at Alex, then took his pen from him, ran her finger down the other five columns and wrote the total at the bottom of each one. She turned the ledger to face him. “Some of us can do things. Not all of us sit on our behinds and watch.”

  With that she turned and left the house, ignoring Eleanor’s demand that she return and apologize to Alex.

  But Alex’s words, unfortunately, turned out to be true. Admiral Westmoreland was enraged that the Raider would dare appear while he was in command. Three cargoes were seized immediately and put under guard. He said the shipmasters were suspected of carrying contraband, but everyone knew the three men had been in the street the morning of the Raider’s appearance and the admiral had seen them reading the Raider’s handbills.

  Two men were jailed after English soldiers appeared in the middle of the night, searched their houses, and found the illegal documents.

  But the admiral didn’t dare hang the men, because even he could see how the townspeople were reacting. The Raider had done just what Jessica had wanted him to do—he’d given the people hope.

  The admiral didn’t want to push the rabble over the edge—as he thought a double hanging might—he just wanted to let them know who was in command. He whipped a young man for impertinence when the man was heard to mutter something about “independence.”

  Jessica was returning one evening from gathering fish when she saw someone in the stocks in the town square. She almost tripped over Abigail who was hiding and sniveling in the shadows.

  “What are you doing?” Jess demanded. “I almost ran into you.”

  Abigail began to cry harder.

  With a sigh, Jess put the bag of clams down. “What’s wrong, Abby?” she asked, trying to make her voice sympathetic. “Have a fight with Ethan?”

  Abigail blew her nose, then pointed toward the stocks.

  Lately, the stocks had always been full, but now Jess’s eyes widened. “Is that…your mother?” She was aghast.

  Abby nodded and began crying again.

  Jess put her hand against a tree to steady herself. It had been amusing to see Mrs. Wentworth frying clams, but now to see that proud lady like this was not amusing. “The admiral?” she asked.

  Abby nodded. “He said her attitude wasn’t properly subservient to the English.” Her voice rose. “He dropped cigar ash on her brocade chair and she complained.” Abigail began to cry harder.

  “How long has she been in there?”

  “Four hours. She has to stay three more, in the dark.”

  “With no water, I guess.”

  Abby looked appalled. “Oh no, the admiral’s orders—” Jessica said something that made Abby’s eyes widen. “I think I agree with you,” Abby whispered, “but he said no one was to speak to her.”

  “I won’t say a word,” Jessica said firmly, then went to the public well, withdrew a dipper full of water and carried it to Mrs. Wentworth. The woman was pathetic, her eyes dull, lifeless, her neatly arranged hair scraggling.

  The woman looked up in surprise as Jess held the water to her lips.

  “Your maid is probably stealing you blind,” Jess said softly. “And I hear Mr. Wentworth is allowing the dogs in the front parlor. And Abigail and Ethan are fighting.”

  Mrs. Wentworth’s head came up as far as it could, considering the yoke about her neck. “If she thinks she can come home after the way she embarrassed me, she’d better think again. And I’ll have James’s hide. And that maid—” She broke off, a smile beginning to form on her lips. “Thank you, Jessica,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve your kindness after all the things—”

  “Ssssh,” Jess said, smoothing back Mrs. Wentworth’s hair. “You’re my best customer. Shall I bring you a cartload of oysters tomorrow?”

  “Yes, and could you get Eleanor to bake me half a dozen of those wonderful oyster loaves of hers? That is, if Sayer doesn’t mind. And I’ll need—” She stopped abruptly. “Oh, Jess, run!”

  Behind Jessica, on horseback, appearing suddenly out of an alleyway, as if he wanted to catch evildoers, was the admiral. He held Jessica where she was with his swordtip.

  “Who are you?” he roared down at her.

  “Jessica Tagg