The Tories marched on Concord. Dozens of Patriots and perhaps hundreds of Tories died, though my men were not among them. I did not know when I would see them again. Two days later, I asked Alice to return with me to Boston. I wanted to see how August was faring, though I felt confident he was away. I also wanted to see Margaret, to thank her. The houses were straight across the street from each other. I asked Alice to find out if Margaret was home while I headed for August’s house, where armed British Regulars stood at attention. The door stood ajar, and I saw that what had happened at my home—a search that felt more like an invasion—was in full force. Troops rumbled here and there, carrying boxes, crates, trunks overflowing with silks. They made a pile in the yard and another in the entry hall, where other soldiers rifled each box. Being small and dressed in black, it seemed I faded into the walls, for I moved about without question. In the parlor, a man in a uniform well decorated with gold braid fished through August’s aged and battered chest. Maps had been scattered across the table upon which he laid another stack of papers and rolls, causing many of those already there to fall on the floor. I heard voices overhead in loud argument that grew more so. I ran to the stair.
A man’s voice—it sounded like August—said, “You will not!”
Another swore, “I have you at last. They will not stop until every candlestick is turned over, every door opened, every pocket emptied. This house belongs to the king.”
I made my way up the staircase. Soldiers busied themselves in the library. Several of them came across the gallery with boxes and drawers from chests, their arms stacked high. I hurried until I reached the bedroom where Cullah and I had slept. A man blocked my view. His elbows stuck outward and his silk cloak draped across it. I heard the first slick sound of steel upon steel. August drew a cutlass in one hand and a curved Turkish sword in the other.
“Guard me,” shouted Wallace Spencer, as he swung to my left. His cloak fell to the floor. August was squared against three Regulars with swords drawn; he saw me but looked to his accusers. Wallace continued, “There is proof in this house. I know it. This blackguard has deviled me across the seven seas for years. Hancock has delivered to me my own goods, taken off my ships and resold them to me at ten times the price. He’s charged with smuggling even now. You will be arrested and hung next to him on the same gallows. Don’t stand there, men. Take him.”
As I watched, August looked from man to man, at the eyes of the soldiers. A sly smile spread across his face. He squinted then, as if he enjoyed the sport, and said, “Yes, fellows. ‘Take him.’ How will you have it? Decapitation? Gutting? Shall I let you live but unman you and run the giblets up a gibbet? Come for me. Here’s your chance to die like men. Is that not why you joined the army? Are you cowards to the last?” None moved.
Wallace said, “You will not leave this place alive if you murder one of His Majesty’s men. As a traitor you will hang anyway. If you make a move against these men, I will have you tortured first. Get him, you cowards.”
I opened my mouth to speak. August’s head moved side to side, warning me against it. Another soldier came brusquely through the door and all but bumped me out of his way. “Lord Spencer? The colonel wishes to speak to you downstairs. Immediately, your lordship.” Wallace turned, and as if no others remained in the room, he suddenly locked his eyes into mine. I could hear him breathing as he moved past me and out the door.
August used the diversion Wallace’s movements made to strike the sword of one of the three soldiers, sending it flying across the room. I held my hands to my mouth to keep from screaming. Another man crossed him, and with two quick strokes, my brother slashed his face and ran him through. The third put up a brave attempt as the first man regained his weapon and they both worked their swords, but even two at a time could not overcome the man they knew as the Pirate Talbot. When the men lay upon the floor, August wiped his blades on the bed linen, and as he came to me, put them back into scabbards.
He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead, whispering, “Rupert will bring the old trunk to you. Do not look for me; I will come to you.”
“Old trunk?” I asked.
“The trunk in the parlor? You remember? It was in our father’s study. It has a false bottom.”
I did not. But when he said the words they made me treasure the old trunk. “What about Anne?”
“She’s already on her way to New York to wait for me. Good-bye, Ressie. And I love you, too.” He clutched my hand and shook my wrist, as if he could think of no other embrace.