right to do what he pleased.
Alex leaned back against the seat and looked out the window while Nick continued to tell him that he couldn’t do what he’d done. While Nick was talking, Alex saw an English soldier grab a young girl’s arm and pull her behind a building.
“Stop here,” Alex said.
Nick, who had seen what Alex had, refused to have the driver stop the carriage and when Alex tried to get out anyway, Nick pushed him forcefully against the seat. Alex grabbed his head in pain.
“They’re only peasants,” Nick said, his voice full of disbelief.
“But they are my peasants,” Alex whispered.
“Ah, yes, now I begin to understand. But there are always more peasants. They breed rapidly.”
Alex didn’t bother to answer Nick’s absurdities. His head was hurting as much from what he’d seen as from the blow he’d received. He’d heard rumors of horrors that were going on in America, but he hadn’t really believed them. In England there was talk of the ungrateful Colonists, how they were like delinquent children who needed a firm hand to rule them. He’d even seen American ships being unloaded and inspected before they could return to America. But, somehow, he hadn’t really believed what he’d heard.
He lay quietly against the padded seat and didn’t bother to look out the window again.
They arrived at a large house on the outskirts of town and Nick jumped out, leaving Alex to find his own way. He was obviously very angry with his friend and had no intention of helping him further.
Alex climbed out and followed Nick’s valet into a room where a bathtub full of hot water was waiting.
Alex stripped and washed, the hot water helping his sore head. But with the clearing away of pain, he began to wonder about his sister’s letter. He’d dismissed it as the emotional reaction of a woman, but now he wondered if what was going on here was what she meant when she had said that Warbrooke needed help. Elias had said that Josiah’s ship had been taken because he was suspected of selling contraband. If the soldiers felt so superior that they could attack a harmless seaman on the street and molest a young girl without fear of punishment, what were the officers, the men in power, capable of?
“I see you’re still thinking of what happened today,” Nick said as he entered the room. “What do you expect when you walk about the wharf dressed as you are?”
“A man has a right to dress how he wants and he should be safe.”
“That is the doctrine of all peasants,” Nick said with a sigh. He motioned to a servant to begin unpacking his many bags and trunks. “Tonight you may wear my cousin’s clothes and tomorrow we will see that you are dressed properly. Then you may travel to your father’s home without fear.”
As usual, Nick made it a command rather than a suggestion. He had been giving orders all his life and they had been obeyed.
After Nick left, Alex dismissed the servant who held one of Nick’s monogrammed bath towels ready, took the towel and wrapped it about the lower half of his body. It was dark outside now, but the lamplighter had lit the lamps and Alex could see the soldiers roaming about the streets. They were quartered with the citizens and came and went at their leisure. Not far away he heard raucous laughter and the sound of glass breaking.
These men were afraid of nothing. They had the protection of the King of England on their side. If someone fought them, as Alex had today, they had every right to hang him. They were English and the Americans were English, too—but the Americans were considered to be a savage, ignorant lot that had to be disciplined.
Turning away from the window in disgust, Alex glanced at the half-open trunk of Nick’s. There was a black shirt lying across the top.
What if someone gave them some of their own terror back? he thought. What if a man, dressed in black, came out of the night and let these arrogant soldiers know that they couldn’t hurt the Colonists without fear of punishment?
He rummaged in Nick’s trunk until he found a pair of black breeches.
“May I ask what you are doing?” Nick asked from the doorway. “If it is jewels you are looking for, I can assure you they are safely hidden.”
“Be quiet, Nick, and help me find a black handkerchief.”
Nick walked across the room and put his hand on Alex’s arm. “I want to know what you are doing.”
“I just thought that I might give those Englishmen something to worry about. A black ghost coming out of the night perhaps.”
“Ah, yes, I am beginning to see.” Nick’s eyes began to shine. This was an idea that appealed to his Russian blood. He opened a second trunk. “Did I ever tell you about my cousin who rode his horse down the steps of our country house? The horse broke both its front legs of course, but it was a magnificent moment.”
Alex looked up from the shirt he was holding. “What happened to your cousin?”
“He died. All the good ones die young. Another time he was drunk and decided to ride his horse out of a second story window. Both he and the horse died. He was a good man.”
Alex kept his comments about Nick’s cousin to himself as he pulled on the tight black breeches. Nick was shorter and heavier than he was, but Alex’s legs were thick from years of fighting for balance on board ships so the breeches, made to be snug, were like skin on Alex. The shirt, cut full in the arms and gathered across the bodice, flowed above the breeches.
“And these,” Nick said, holding up tall, knee-high boots. “And here is a handkerchief.” He opened the door. “Bring me a black plume!” he bellowed down the hallway.