New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [86]
“He nearly lost the ship twice, sir,” he confessed.
“Well, you’d better stick with me for the moment,” said John Master. “You can act as my slave until something better turns up.”
“I’m free, sir,” Hudson reminded him.
“You want to come with me or not?” asked his benefactor.
And seeing that he had nowhere else to go, Hudson accepted the offer. At least he’d be safe for a while.
Mercy Brewster was rather surprised when John arrived with a new slave. It only took a few moments for him to explain what had happened, after which Hudson was sent down to the kitchen.
“My guess is he’s telling the truth,” John said when Hudson was out of earshot. “If not, I’ve made a horrible mistake.” He smiled. “I’m afraid I lied, Mercy. You won’t approve of that.”
“But you lied to save him from being wrongly arrested. You may even have saved his life.”
“I suppose so. I couldn’t leave the poor fellow like that.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I see you couldn’t.”
“Hope you don’t mind me bringing him here.”
“Oh no,” she said, a little breathlessly, “I don’t mind at all.” She looked at him for a long moment, and decided. Yes, he was kind. He could not have done such a thing, if he were not kind. And then, with her heart secretly in a terrible flutter, she asked: “Was there something you wished to say to me, John?”
Montayne’s Tavern
1758
IT WAS GUY Fawkes Night, and they were burning the Pope in New York.
In England, the Fifth of November was an important day. A century and a half had passed since Catholic Guy Fawkes had tried to blow up the Protestant Parliament, and they’d been burning his effigy on bonfires on that day ever since. Indeed, it being the same season, the celebrations had pretty much taken over the ancient rites of Halloween. And Guy Fawkes Night had come to New York, too. But by and by, the New Yorkers had decided to improve on the old English model and get to the heart of the matter. So they carried an effigy of the Pope himself through the streets, and burned him on a great bonfire in the evening, and everybody celebrated. At least, pretty much everybody. The Catholics in the town may have objected; but there weren’t too many of them, and they had the sense to keep quiet.
When John Master saw Charlie White through the crowd on Broadway that evening, he waved and smiled. And Charlie nodded, but he didn’t smile. And John realized it was years since they’d spoken. So he started toward him.
And maybe John Master felt a tad awkward when he said, “It’s good to see you, Charlie.” And he almost said, “I was thinking about you the other day,” but he didn’t because it would have been a damn lie, and they both knew it. Then fortunately he realized that they were right outside Montayne’s Tavern, so he said, “Let’s have a drink.” Like it was old times.
Old times. Charlie remembered old times, all right. Those had been the days, when he and John Master had been boys together.
Happy times mostly. Fishing in the river. Walking up Broadway arm in arm. Sleeping out in the woods, and thinking they heard a bear. Taking a boat out to Governor’s Island and spending all day there, when John was supposed to be at school. Getting into mischief in the town. Once or twice John had let him come in one of his father’s longboats to run the molasses in from the French vessels at night. And John’s father had given Charlie a handsome tip, to keep quiet about it, though Charlie would rather have died than breathe a word.
He’d been almost one of the family. That was friendship.
As John had got older, they’d gone to the taverns too. But Charlie couldn’t get drunk the way John did, because he had to work. So John mostly got drunk with the sailors, and Charlie got him home afterward.
When John had turned away from all that, and started to work, he hadn’t seen so much of Charlie, and Charlie had understood. He doesn’t want to see me, Charlie thought, because I remind him of what he’s trying to get away from. I remind him of what he used to be. He understood it, but he was still hurt. They’d see each other from