“Why should I be meeting with that Marquise of yours?” the Sergeant had wanted to know.
“You will be told in a few minutes, my friend; be patient,” answered the Judge.
Not much interested—he thought that some social flummery was at hand—Cuff turned to the worries that beset him.
“I’ve but thirty men under me,” he grumbled, “and two or three of them sick any day of the week. Everywhere we go we’re surrounded by swarms of urchins. The urchins run ahead to warn their elders and by the time we reach a spot it’s been swept clear of weapons and ammunition. Now, if your so-called Loyalists showed more spunk—”
“Most of the islanders—many of the islanders—are actively loyal, Sergeant. Need I remind you that half a dozen of our vessels are secretly supplying General Gage and Admiral Graves, at great risk to themselves?”
“What of it? You’re giving us tuppence with one hand and picking our pocket with the other.”
Just then Aimée was announced. She entered, brisk as she always was.
“No ceremony, please. Good morning, Judge. And Sergeant Cuff, no doubt, the man I needed to see.” And, turning to Weamish, “Have you informed the Sergeant of my mission? Not yet, I hope.”
“Not yet, Marquise.”
“A mission? The foreign wench?” thought the nonplussed Sergeant, looking at Aimée in a new light.
The lady sat down, produced another, and gave it to the Sergeant. Unlike the Judge, Cuff did not leap up. He too was being informed that he must comply with any orders given him by the Marquise de Tourville. The notion of a Frenchwoman, noble or otherwise, being placed above him irked the Sergeant, but what could he do?
“Tell me, madam, what are Tom Gage’s orders.”
“You may or may not be aware, Sergeant, that the two Mayhew gentlemen are former soldiers and that one of them was a sailor.”
“I am not aware,” said Cuff; “what then?”
“Well, they are now suspected of wanting to join the Rebels as officers in their army. It is our duty, mine, yours, that of the Judge, to discover whether this is true, and to arrest them if it is.”
“And I,” Cuff cried out, shooting up from his chair, his sword hitting one of its legs, “not a week ago—damnation!—I was asking the young one to help me find—and he said he would—I’ll arrest them at once, damn my eyes! Good day!”
“You are not arresting anyone, Sergeant,” said Aimée with perfect calm. “Not until I’m vastly more confident than I am now. Pray sit down again.”
But Cuff would not sit; that little disobedience was a comfort. “I’m to twiddle my thumbs, am I,” he cried, “while your rebels bubble the King of England? The house is burning, says Alexander Cuff; don’t wait for the fire engine, man the buckets and pour!”
“What house is burning?” the Judge exclaimed. “You say this after our glorious victory at Charlestown?”
“Judge Weamish: with all due respect, you civilians are dreamers. We got trounced on the confounded hill, what d’you call it. Y’are a fool, let a soldier tell you.”
“Sir!”
“A fool! Hang the pussyfooters!” And he looked straight at
Aimée, who was now, as it happened, hugely interested.
“Sergeant Cuff, gently, gently will do it. Did we or did we not rout the Yankee mob?”
“First of all, my dear Marquise, with due respect once more, y’are a fool to talk about a mob. That mob bled us white afore they took leave of the peninsula. Y’are a friend of General Gage’s are you? Then tell him from Sergeant Cuff, he has heard of me, tell the fine gentleman he’d be wise to clear out of Boston altogether, for he’ll never set foot on another inch of Massachusetts soil. The fop hasn’t so much as a good map of the country. He pinches actresses at the playhouse while the enemy is mustering. He waits for reinforcements from England instead of peppering the rebels from cock-crow till curfew. When he does fight them, what does he do? Climbs up the confounded hill in a frontal attack, because, don’t you see, the enemy is nothing but a cowardly mob, show ’em your teeth and they’ll run. Well, they forgot to run. They chopped us into little pieces and strolled away at their own sweet leisure.”
“Is this true?” asked the dumbfounded Aimée of the Judge. “Is it then as Nicholas Mayhew suggested yesterday?”
“Aha; Nicholas Mayhew suggested, did he? He’ll suggest from the jail-house as of today, him and his uncle, who smirked at me the other day. Without further ceremony—”
“No, Sergeant, I forbid it all the same.”
“A Frenchwoman forbids Sergeant Cuff? Ha ha ha!”
Aimée stood up and went, so to speak, nose to nose with Cuff.
“In the name of Governor Gage,” she said wrathfully, “I forbid you to arrest them. Disobey me at your peril. But you deserve an explanation, my friend.”
Aimée took the Sergeant’s hand, led him gently down to his chair again, and pulled her own close to his. “The Mayhew pair, you understand, have committed no illegal act. Arresting them at this point would turn a thousand Loyalists into as many Rebels and possibly get us nothing in return, if the two men are innocent. Governor Gage is interested in winning more hearts, not in making more enemies.”
Weamish broke in. “The Colonel is one of our selectmen this year. An old, highly regarded family, with numberless influential relations, here and in Boston.”
“When these courtesies are over, Judge, your colonies will have whistled off the King for good.”
“In the meantime, Sergeant,” Aimée resumed, “you are to set your men on patrol—discreetly—along the harbor, and also at other points from which the two men may try to sail. I myself shall pursue my inquiries. My daughter will be working on Young Nick; I shall attack the uncle. Never fear. I know my business.”
“I take my leave,” said Cuff, rising again. The tone was surly.
“Don’t violate your instructions, Sergeant.”
“I shan’t touch either of the Mayhews. For the moment. Good day to you both.”
And he was gone, slamming the door.
“Bear in mind, Marquise,” said the Judge, “that our Sergeant is none too happy at having been posted by his superiors to the fringe of important events. Thoughts such as these cloud his perceptions.”
“His perceptions look sufficiently clear to me,” replied Aimée, in whose mind the Sergeant’s words concerning the action at Boston kept resonating. The Judge’s mind was running on other matters.
“Marquise,” he said, “to distract us all from the tempests that agitate the land, I have decided to offer a ball in your honor this Saturday. If you would condescend—you and Mademoiselle Madeleine—to grace the soirée, it would, I assure you—”
“Let me cut you short, my dear Judge. Not to be rude—I am utterly grateful for your delicate attentions—but I came to Nantucket with an important charge. And remember: I must not appear cordial in my connection with you. Let us talk about dancing when our work is done.”
“I defer to you, Marquise. Stern is the word for now.”
5
THAT AFTERNOON Aimée and Madeleine shared a serving of coffee and various sweet things with the uncle and nephew. An immediate sympathy made them converse almost as intimate friends. The two gentlemen had much to say about their ancestors on the island, their own previous lives, the Colonel as soldier and Nicholas as seaman,