New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [118]
The protests against the Stamp Act had worked. The new prime minister, Lord North, had removed Townshend’s taxes—except, just to save his face, the tax on tea. And that was just the moment, in Charlie’s opinion, for the Sons of Liberty to continue the fight. But influenced by the old guard like John Master, the city authorities had turned against them. The statue of King George had been set up on Bowling Green. Everyone said, “God save the king.” There was a tough new English governor called Tryon now, and more British troops under General Gage. It was back to business as usual. Why, Montayne had even told the Liberty Boys not to meet in his tavern any more.
Well, to hell with Montayne. The boys had got their own meeting place now. Hampden Hall they called it, after the hero who’d stood up to the tyrant Charles I in the English Parliament. As for John Master and his crowd, and Tryon, and General Gage—let them remember what happened to King Charles. It might be quiet on the streets, but Sears and the Sons of Liberty had a large faction in the Assembly, now, who listened to them. “Change will come,” Charlie would say grimly to his friends, over a drink in the tavern. “And when it does …”
Not this winter, though. Last year, there had been a collapse of credit in London. Soon all the colonies were suffering—and that was before this terrible winter hit. The poorest were starving. The city authorities were doing their best to feed them, but it was hard to keep pace.
Charlie had just got to the southern end of the Common, where it met Broadway, when he saw the woman and her daughter coming out of the dingy old Poor House.
The woman paused for a moment, glancing anxiously up at the darkening sky. By the look of it, she’d been in the Poor House longer than she realized, and the darkness had taken her by surprise. Then she took off her shawl and wrapped it round her daughter, for the wind was starting to bite.
The street was nearly empty. He drew level. She looked up.
“Are you going down Broadway?” She had no idea who he was. He didn’t answer. “Would you take us down Broadway? I’d be glad to pay. With my daughter, here …”
She was right, of course. In the last few months, with the times being so hard, the streets had become unsafe. Women he knew had taken to selling their bodies for extra cash. He knew men who’d been robbed. The woman and her daughter shouldn’t be walking home alone when it was getting dark.
“How d’you know I won’t rob you?” he muttered through his scarf.
She looked up, only able to see his eyes. Her face was kind.
“You would not harm us, sir, I am sure.”
“You’d better get up,” Charlie grunted. He indicated the space on the seat beside him, then nodded to the back of the cart. “The young lady can sit on the sack.”
He turned the horse’s head down Broadway.
So this was the wife of John Master. He’d recognized her at once, of course, though she didn’t know him. And she thought he wouldn’t harm her. Well, I dare say I wouldn’t, he thought, once I’d burned your house down.
As they started down Broadway, he gave her a sharp look.
“You don’t look as if you belong in the Poor House,” he remarked in a less than friendly tone.
“I go there each day,” she said simply.
“What do you do there?”
“If we have them to spare, we take a load of provisions up there in our cart. Sometimes blankets, other things. We give them money to buy food.” She glanced back at the sack of flour. “We do what we can.”
“You take your daughter?”
“Yes. She should know what kind of city we live in. There’s much for any good Christian to do.”
They were just coming level with Trinity Church. He glanced at it with dislike.
“Would that be a Trinity Christian?”
“Any Christian I should hope. My father was a Quaker.”
Charlie knew that too, but he said nothing.
“My daughter talks to the old ones,” she continued quietly. “They like to talk to a child. It comforts them.” She glanced at him. “Have you been in the Poor House?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“There are many children in there, and some