The Last Refuge

EIGHTEEN

‘I want some toothpaste! Can you hear me, Founding Father? A fringed stick dipped in lemon juice and salt is simply not going to cut it.’

Hannah Ives

Wednesday dawned sunny and unseasonably warm. For the first time in three days, I was able to get out of bed, get dressed – with Amy’s help, to my great relief – and join the family for breakfast.

Melody leapt to her feet when I entered the dining room, fairly bounced across the carpet and smothered me with a hug. ‘Mrs Ives! You’re all well!’

My stomach muscles were still sore from two days of vomiting, and I tried not to wince as I untangled myself from her embrace. I smiled, looked into her emerald eyes and tapped her on the chin with my index finger. ‘Thank you. I’m glad to be back, too, Melody.’

Melody grabbed my hand and led me around the table to my customary chair. She dragged it out from the table and helped scoot it back in after I sat down.

Gabe glanced up from his porridge. ‘We’re going to see the burning of the Peggy Stewart today, Mrs Ives. It’s a big ship with a lot of tea on it.’

I helped myself to a soft boiled egg. ‘Are you, now?’

‘Are you coming, too?’ Melody asked as she reclaimed her own seat.

Jack looked up from his paper, another facsimile of the Maryland Gazette. ‘Now, Melody, don’t you overtax Mrs Ives. Remember, she’s been ill.’

‘I feel very well, thank you, Mr Donovan. And I’m very much looking forward to the burning of the Peggy Stewart. The last time I saw a boat go up in flames, it was in Cambridge, Maryland.’ I winked at Melody. ‘It wasn’t exactly planned.’

I had captured Gabe’s attention, too. ‘What happened to it?’

‘Gas fumes had built up in the engine compartment. When the captain turned the key to start the engine, there was a spark. Kaboom! Fortunately, he was able to jump overboard.’

Gabe turned to his father, eyes wide. ‘Are they going to burn a real boat?’

‘I don’t know, son. Do you, Mrs Ives?’

I whacked the top off my egg with the edge of my knife. ‘I have absolutely no idea, having been out of the loop for a couple of days, but LynxE isn’t particularly tight-fisted with their dollars – can you imagine how much they had to pay to get David Morse to play George Washington? So it’ll probably be quite a production.’

‘What shall I wear, Mrs Ives?’ Melody wanted to know.

‘The dress you wore to church on Sunday would suit, I should think. The pink one with all the bows?’

‘And you should wear your blue, Mrs Ives. The one with the ruffles running down the front and the tiny seed pearls. I think that’s so beautiful!’

‘Why, thank you.’ I leaned closer and whispered, ‘Shall we leave our wigs at home, then?’

‘Oh, yes, please, Mrs Ives. It itches like crazy.’

‘We’ll save them for the ball.’ I salted my egg and dug in, not realizing how hungry I was until I was scraping the inside of the shell and looking around for another one. Jack passed me the biscuits with ham when I asked for them, and I was happily munching away when Alex said, ‘Women often think that men aren’t particularly interested in fashion, Miss Donovan, but may I suggest that I’m the exception? For the outing today, I’ll be wearing a pale blue suit with silver braid and I’ll have a matching blue cockade on my hat.’ While Melody stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, he continued. ‘And I’m honored to say, that Miss Amy Cornell has agreed to accompany me.’

‘Cool!’ Melody cooed.

My mouth was half ajar, too, thinking, too much, too soon, Amy. You’re treading on dangerous ground. What if Drew…? I pushed the thought away. ‘Are you coming, too, Michael?’ I asked instead.

‘Indeed I am. I imagine the whole household will be there.’ He waved a fork. ‘Founding Father says.’

Jack took a sip of coffee. ‘Mrs Ives,’ he said. ‘Normally I would have consulted you first, but since you were, uh, indisposed, I told the servants they could have the day off.’

‘Perfectly appropriate, Mr Donovan,’ I said. ‘From noon on?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I’ll speak to Karen, then, about laying out a cold buffet this evening.’

‘I already took the liberty.’ He stood, laid his napkin on the table. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have some accounts to take care of.’

One by one, they left the table, leaving me to savor my coffee alone. I can’t say that I minded.

Later, following a trip to the privy, I finally had a chance to check the wall where I’d left the message in the bottle for Paul all those days ago.

To my delight, the bottle was gone.

It seemed like the entire state of Maryland had turned up for the burning of the Peggy Stewart, which had taken place exactly two-hundred-thirty-eight years before. For the Patriot House residents, on the other hand, yesterday was today: October 19, 1774.

We gathered in the hallway – chatting and giggling in anticipation – and left the house together just as the long case clock was striking two. Jack Donovan, Patriot, in the lead, looked resplendent (I admitted reluctantly) in his black wool suit, wearing a tricorn hat over his powdered wig and carrying a cane. I scooted along behind, followed by Melody who did her best to mind her little brother while at the same time curtseying and waving to the crowds like a royal bride.

Alex strolled alongside Amy, Michael (I was pleased to see) escorted French, Jeffrey strutted on bravely alone, poor thing, followed by Karen and her son, Dex, who kept running ahead, wild with excitement, so she had to keep herding him back.

We proceeded en masse toward the harbor, along streets thronged with people, both residents and tourists, many of whom had turned up wearing colonial costumes. By now, it was no secret what was going on at Patriot House. Gawkers often gathered on the street outside the house, cameras at the ready. We were used to it.

Cameras were out in force – Derek and Chad had been supplemented by two additional cameramen from LynxE – and the boys in black had competition from the networks, too. As we pushed through the crowds in V-formation, Jack still in the lead, I caught sight of television crews from WBAL in Baltimore as well as WRC and WJLA in Washington, D.C. Maryland Public TV caught up with us at the corner of Dock Street and Randall, and no matter where we were, cell phone cameras recorded our every move.

The area around the Market House and City Dock had been cordoned off using the same portable chain link fencing used for the two annual boat shows – sailing and power – that had concluded the previous two weekends respectively. Only appropriately-costumed spectators were allowed inside.

As we marched down City Dock, costumed vendors dressed especially for the occasion popped up everywhere, roaming the streets and handing out stick candy to the crowds. I watched as a pair of pint-sized Davy Crockets grabbed more than their share of the sweet, then offered pieces to Gabe and Dex as we paraded by. (An offer they couldn’t refuse!)

‘Where are we going to stand?’ Gabe asked me as he ripped the waxed paper off his candy and stuck the end in his mouth.

‘On the dock, I think, over there,’ I said, pointing in the direction of the Harbor Queen tour boat where a white canopy at water’s edge was decked with bunting decorated with the familiar LynxE logo.

‘Oh, goody. Maybe I can sit down. My feet are killing me,’ Melody complained.

But there were no chairs, only shade. Being under the canopy afforded a bit of relief from the crowds pressing in around us, however, while at the same time putting us on display.

Once we were under the canopy, Amy, wearing the peach dress I had given her, sidled up to me. ‘Just checking to see how you’re feeling, Mrs Ives. You OK?’

‘I’m fine, Amy, honestly. A little tired maybe, but I’m not going to upchuck all over the mayor.’ I pointed with my gloved hand to a young man dressed in white breeches and a black, gold-buttoned frock coat who was making a beeline for Jack Donovan from across the quay.

‘That’s the mayor? How old is he? Fifteen?’

I giggled. ‘I think he’s thirty-eight.’ I poked her in the stays with my elbow. ‘Shhh. We’re about to be introduced.’

The mayor extended his hand. ‘On behalf of the citizens of Annapolis, let me welcome you to our city. I’m Josh Cohen.’

The arrival of the mayor must have been the signal to start the show. Almost immediately, a large wooden rowboat set off from the dock, manned by two oarsmen. The vessel’s passengers included three men in full patriot regalia, carrying torches.

‘Those actors are representing Anthony Stewart, the owner of the vessel, and the brothers Joseph and James Williams, the merchants who ordered the tea,’ I heard Michael tell the children.

Melody tugged on my sleeve. ‘Mr Rainey says that Anthony Stewart named the boat after his daughter. It must have sucked to have to burn it down.’ A few minutes later, I heard her say, ‘Father, if you had a boat, would you name it after me?’

Jack laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I think Melody would be a lovely name for a boat.’

The city couldn’t burn an actual two-masted sailing ship, of course, especially not an antique one, so they’d duded up a barge with poles and second-hand sails, decked it with flags and banners, and moored it in the middle of Annapolis harbor just off the Naval Academy sea wall.

As the rowboat neared the Peggy Stewart, the crowd on shore began waving and shouting. My preparations for a sunny day out had included a fringed parasol, so I held it aloft and shouted ‘Huzzah,’ along with everyone else.

When the rowboat pulled alongside, ‘Stewart’ and the ‘Williams brothers’ tossed their torches into the replica. There was a flare-up as the accelerant ignited. The crowd went wild. Higher and higher rose the flames, licking at the ropes, gobbling up the sails. You’d have thought it was Army-Navy game day in Annapolis the way the crowd roared.

The rowboat returned to the dock and the trio of arsonists climbed out. Jack Donovan sauntered over to greet them, shaking their hands, clapping them on the back in a job-well-done sort of way. Then the four men wandered off together, presumably to lift a pint at Middleton’s, pursued by one of the auxiliary LynxE cameramen.

As the flames consuming the Peggy Stewart replica began to die down, the crowd gradually lost interest and began to wander. I’d thought I’d lost track of Amy and Alex, and then I spotted Amy, standing with French next to a fellow in a makeshift colonial costume who was trying to chat her up, but Amy appeared to be staring at the burning ship, pretending not to listen. I decided to bail her out, so I gathered up Melody and Gabe, ducked out from under the canopy and traipsed over to join them. By the time I got there, however, the pesky individual had moved on.

For our day out, Founding Father had issued us vouchers, redeemable for treats at the Market House and other local business. I reached into my pocket and pulled out three of mine, facsimiles of Maryland colonial currency in two-dollar denominations. I handed them to French. ‘Why don’t you take Melody and Gabe over to Storm Brothers and buy them some ice cream?’

‘Where’s Alex?’ I asked Amy after they had gone.

‘He’s off with Michael, buying a beer. They’re supposed to be fetching me the eighteenth-century version of a Sprite, but it’s been a while, so I think they must have meant beers, plural.’

‘Alex certainly looked handsome today,’ I commented as we watched one of the charred masts snap and topple into the water.

‘Hubba hubba,’ Amy said. ‘Don’t you think it’s totally unfair how guys are born with the gorgeous fringed eyelashes?’

‘Totally.’

‘There you are!’ said a familiar voice behind us. Michael, carrying a can of Sprite in one hand and a bottle of Sam Adams lager in the other. ‘Sorry, Hannah,’ he said, handing the Sprite to Amy. ‘I should have asked if you wanted anything. Sip of my beer?’ He tipped the bottle my way.

I screwed up my face. ‘No, thank you. Stomach still delicate.’

Amy popped the top on her soda after fumbling a bit because of her gloves. She took a grateful sip, then said, ‘Where’s Alex got to?’

Michael shrugged. ‘He got waylaid by a guy who wanted to talk about Patriot House. I think he was angling for an introduction to you.’ He nudged Amy’s arm.

Amy tossed her head and made an elaborate show of rolling her eyes. ‘Sure he wasn’t a reporter?’ she asked.

‘Gosh,’ Michael said. ‘I bet you’re right. Alex better mind his Ps and Qs.’

Watching rivulets of condensation drip down Michael’s beer bottle made me desperately thirsty. ‘Take care of Amy, will you? I’m going to get something to drink. Non-alcoholic,’ I added.

I flipped open my parasol, held it over my head and began weaving through the crowd in the direction of Starbucks. As I passed Aromi d’Italia, I thought I caught sight of Alex’s distinctive blue suit over by the harbor master’s office. As Michael had said, Alex appeared to be talking to someone. I made a left turn and headed in their direction, but just as I got within hailing distance, his companion wandered away. ‘Alex!’ I called, waving my parasol to attract his attention.

‘Hannah?’ Alex glanced quickly over his shoulder, then back at me.

‘Who were you talking to?’ I asked.

‘Some tourist from Raleigh, up for the day.’

‘Ah. Michael was worried that he might be a reporter.’

Alex flushed. ‘Shit, Hannah. I know better than that. I’m not itching to get canned. Besides, I need the money.’

‘Amy’s been wondering where you got to.’ I smiled, looped my arm through his. ‘Shall we?’

Alex covered my hand where it rested on his arm. ‘I’m very fond of Amy,’ he confided. ‘As you are no doubt aware.’

‘A person would have to be blind not to notice,’ I teased. ‘No wife or girlfriend at home, I suppose?’

‘Do I seem like a rogue to you, Mrs Ives?’

‘Not at all, Mr Mueller.’

We’d reached the boardwalk when Alex said, ‘I had a fiancé until six months ago. She dumped me for a motivational speaker from Des Moines. Seems there’s more money in the touchy-feely biz than in music.’

‘Motivation, schmotivation.’ I squeezed his arm. ‘I’d rather listen to you play the violin any day.’ I looked up, smiled. ‘How long have you been studying?’

‘Since I was five. Mom bought me one of those teeny-tiny violins and took me to a woman who taught the Suzuki method.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘Suzuki believed that children who hear fine music from the day of their birth and learn to play it, develop discipline, endurance, and sensitivity, as well as a beautiful heart.’

That certainly described Alex, I thought, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

‘And the dancing?’

He shrugged. ‘Just a hobby.’

As we neared the place where I’d last seen Michael and Amy, I was suddenly distracted by a handsome chap wearing a dark green suit with gold buttons. His khaki breeches fit his slender frame to perfection. He’d topped off his ensemble with a powdered wig and a tricorn hat, and as we approached him along the boardwalk, he removed his hat and bowed deeply.

‘Paul!’ I grinned up at Alex. ‘Sorry, Mr Mueller, but I know this gentleman.’

Alex released my arm, doffed his hat and bowed deeply. ‘Later, alligator.’

My heart raced as I closed the distance between me and my husband. Paul gathered me in, crushing me and hundreds of yards of fine silk fabric to his own equally well-costumed chest. I flipped the parasol so it shielded us from Chad’s Steadicam and planted a kiss on my husband’s lips. He returned it hungrily.

‘Watch it, bub, or I’ll roger you right here,’ I whispered, my lips close to his ear.

‘Is that a promise?’ he murmured into my hair. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Hannah. Jud told me you’d been ill.’

‘He shouldn’t have worried you, Paul. I’m fine. Really. A touch of the flu. No big deal.’

‘Thank God.’ He kissed me again, then said, ‘I got your message.’

‘Both of them?’ I knew about the bottle-mail, but wasn’t sure about the email.

‘Both. You should take up calligraphy. That note was a work of art.’

‘For a beginner,’ I said, leaning back so I could look him in the eyes. ‘Amy’s back now, thank goodness. Problem solved.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘So she’s no longer in any danger?’

‘She and her husband talked it out. I think she’s safe, at least until Drew figures out that she’s not going to go along with his plan. But that won’t happen, if it happens at all, until Amy leaves Patriot House. Till then?’ I shrugged. ‘What could be safer than a house full of people where cameras are rolling practically twenty-four seven?’ I looped my arm through his, and urged him along the sidewalk back toward the water: Mr and Mrs Colonial Annapolis on an afternoon stroll.

‘What about the fugitive, Drew Whats-his-name?’

‘Cornell. Outside of Amy and Drew, nobody knows that Drew is alive except you and me, and Amy doesn’t know about you.’

‘Don’t you think you should turn him in?’

‘I’ve never laid eyes on him, Paul. He’s like a phantom. But then, that’s what SEALs are trained to be. Shadows. Besides, who would believe me? I have no proof. The only proof would be the man himself, or his body, and Drew Cornell is making himself scarce.’

‘Amy?’

‘Maybe, although I think she figures Drew is entitled to the money after the hell he’s been through.’

The sun beat down hotly on my bonnet. I shifted the parasol to better shade my face, then reached for my fan. ‘Is it hot, or is it just me?’

A look of concern crossed his face. ‘Is it too soon for you to be out? We don’t need any relapses here.’

I smiled up at him. ‘I was on my way to Starbucks when I was – how shall I say? – interrupted.’

‘How about some water?’ Paul reached inside his coat and came out holding a bottle of Deer Park spring water. He twisted off the cap and handed the bottle to me.

I took an unladylike swig. ‘Ooooh, that tastes good,’ I said, dabbing at my lips with the back of my gloved hand. With the parasol and the fan, the bottle would require three hands, so I gave it back to him. ‘Where did you get that fabulous costume, Paul?’

‘I borrowed it from the Masqueraders’ costume room,’ he said. ‘School for Scandal opens in a couple of weeks. I think this outfit properly belongs to Sir Benjamin Backbite, but it fit, and the director is a colleague of mine, so there you have it.’

‘Is some midshipman running around the stage in his skivvies?’

Paul laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it back in plenty of time for the dress rehearsal.’

As the flames of the burning vessel died down, the wind fanned the embers, sending sparks spiraling up into the sky. Spectators began to drift away, to the bars, to the restaurants and to the souvenir vendors that were waiting to separate them from their money.

‘Walk me home, will you, Paul?’ I suddenly felt drained, weary. Maybe I had ventured out a little too soon.

‘Do we need to get permission from Founding Father first?’ he asked, taking my arm.

I shook my head. ‘We’ve been surprisingly free to wander today, although they have beefed up their film crew.’ I pointed my parasol at Chad. ‘Exhibit A, or maybe B. Maybe he’ll get tired of following us. Find other fish to fry.’

A few minutes later we did, in fact, lose Chad. I had steered Paul purposefully toward the canopy where I’d last seen Karen and Dex. There, in the space the VIPs had vacated, we found Gabe and Dex kneeling on the ground, playing a game of marbles. Irresistibly cute and quintessentially mediagenic. One look at the kids and Chad was a goner.

Paul escorted me up Prince George Street where we stopped at the Paca House gate. A security guard dressed in the red and white uniform of the Maryland Militia was guarding the door. ‘Your house, I believe, madam. Mine is just up the street.’ He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Of course I am, Paul. It was only the flu. I just need a little rest. Probably tried to overdo it.’ I touched his cheek.

‘Will you email me again?’

I whipped off my hat and shook out my curls. ‘Can’t. Amy’s iPhone went AWOL.’

‘Ah, that explains why you didn’t answer. But I did leave you a message in the bottle.’

‘You did? When?’

‘Just before climbing into this get-up and going downtown to meet you.’

‘What did it say?’

‘Aside from arranging to communicate with you through the proprietors of Maryland Table at the Market House, not much. Just a little something of my own. I call it “Heart Foam.” I shall not publish it,’ he said, quoting from a favorite Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, Patience.

‘I set everything up with Maryland Table just like you asked in your note,’ Paul continued. ‘Kyle was happy to cooperate.’ He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a tiny blue notebook decorated with white stars. Strapped to it with a rubber band was a ballpoint pen about three inches long. He pressed them into my hand. ‘Here, make it easy on yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, tucking the notebook into my pocket. ‘And you can do another something for me in the not-so-according-to-my-contract department.’

‘What would that be?’

‘Go to CVS or Walgreens and buy some lipstick, eyeliner and blush. As small as they come. Then go to the travel section where they’ve got those sample-sized bottles of shampoo? Get a couple of those. Oh, and deodorant. And toothpaste…’

Paul held up a hand, palm out. ‘Whoa. I’m going to have to take notes.’

I grinned. ‘It doesn’t really matter. Wrap them up in brown paper and string, and leave them with Kyle at the market.’

‘Got it, but what for?’

‘If I need to get a message to you, and I can’t get to the market, I’ll send Melody. It’s just a little incentive for the wee lassie. Am I brilliant, or what?’

He stroked my cheek with the back of his index finger. ‘I miss you, Hannah Ives.’

‘And I miss you, too.’

‘Aside from the flu, are you having fun yet?’

‘I think so. But I’ll be glad when it’s over, and I can sit on the sofa with you and watch the whole thing from the other side of the camera.’

He kissed me sweetly on the mouth, then said, ‘It’s a date.’

With one eye on the guard, I asked, ‘Do you want to come in for a minute?’

‘Tempting, but I’ve got a department head meeting in thirty minutes. I could attend in all my sartorial splendor, but I think I’d better shower and change.’

‘Shower? Hot water, too? My God, you do know how to torture a gal.’ I planted a kiss on his cheek, then turned and scampered up the stairs. When I reached the front door, I wheeled about and waved.

Paul swooped off his hat, placed it against his chest and bowed deeply. I laughed out loud. It was all too Georgette Heyer for words.