think I owed him an explanation, but it was easier to answer than argue. “I’m going to find Elias.”
Croucher grabbed my shoulder. “No respectable lady walks alone at night.”
I frowned, suspecting he was right. I had never ventured so far after dark. “Then come along,” I said, continuing down the stairs. Even if it was the insidious Richard Croucher, I would be grateful for the company.
—
Outside, the air was thick with fog. I pulled my shawl over my head and walked faster. Filthy men emptied soiled privies into the street—they were supposed to be dumped into the rivers, but after dark who would know? Feral cats glared at us from alleyways, their eyes shining in the moonlight. Whale-oil lamps cast dim light and bats swooped in doorways, hunting their prey. The curses of the Irish cartmen ricocheted through the streets, and the bells at St. Paul’s struck eleven as we turned onto Broadway.
“Not that way,” Croucher said, taking my elbow and leading me in a wide arc around a door filled with laughter and light. The sound of a fiddle spilled out onto the street, along with a few tipsy dancers. “Fighting Cocks Tavern,” he sheepishly explained, “but the cocks ’ere aren’t fighting, if you know what I mean.” Perhaps seeing shock in my face, he stood straighter and cleared his throat. “A lady like you should stay away.”
Croucher’s concern for my modesty was strangely sweet. He was a conundrum: gruff, crass, and childish, prone to fibbing about tracking mud up the stairs or what time he came in at night. But he was clearly lonely and eager for attention.
“Soldiers and sailors—you know the lot. Take my word: This democracy of yours is nothing special. They can rename Crown Street ‘Liberty’ and change King’s College to ‘Columbia,’ but men will be men. A city of scoundrels, adulterers, and—”
Boisterous chants came from the tavern as the door flew open and a scruffy man was tossed out into the gutter. He sat in the foul trough, lowered his head, then lay down. Moments later, another man hobbled out the door and began to pilfer through his pockets.
“—scavengers,” Croucher finished saying.
“It was kind of thee to accompany me,” I said, realizing I had not thanked him.
Croucher smiled widely, almost boyishly. “If I ’ad a wife, I’d ’ope she’d be a lady like you, not all fancy or frilly but ’ardworking and decent. Levi’s boy is lucky to live in a”—he paused, inhaling deeply before pronouncing the next word with obvious care—“home like yours.”
“Were thee an apprentice?”
“Me? Nah.” Croucher, happy to sermonize on so many topics, was mum when it came to himself. He picked up his pace and, as he did, footsteps echoed behind us. I turned to look, but no one was there.
We headed south into the mist. At the end of the island, the sidewalks were planted with shrubs and the houses were brick, with gables and balconies facing the harbor.
“Pearl Street,” Croucher said, speaking once again with authority. “Not long ago the place was paved with oyster shells.”
“Where is the meeting?” I asked.
Croucher pointed to a handsome brick mansion.
I let myself in through the open door. There was a rumble of deep voices and the dull sound of ice being cracked with a hammer. I smelled sausage, but the pleasant cooking odors were overpowered by the ripe stench of men, cigar smoke, and hops.
The men’s faces looked dull in the haze, but I easily spotted Elias seated at a small table on the far side of the bar. He was the only one wearing a broad-brimmed hat and dark overcoat. The others, Levi included, were stylishly dressed in tapered britches, topcoats, and gauzy cravats.
A man stood on wobbly legs and raised his glass high in the air. “When you swear, swear to your country,” he hollered. “When you lie, lie for love; when you steal, steal from bad company; and when you drink, drink with me!”
There was a roar of stomping feet and
Croucher grabbed my shoulder. “No respectable lady walks alone at night.”
I frowned, suspecting he was right. I had never ventured so far after dark. “Then come along,” I said, continuing down the stairs. Even if it was the insidious Richard Croucher, I would be grateful for the company.
—
Outside, the air was thick with fog. I pulled my shawl over my head and walked faster. Filthy men emptied soiled privies into the street—they were supposed to be dumped into the rivers, but after dark who would know? Feral cats glared at us from alleyways, their eyes shining in the moonlight. Whale-oil lamps cast dim light and bats swooped in doorways, hunting their prey. The curses of the Irish cartmen ricocheted through the streets, and the bells at St. Paul’s struck eleven as we turned onto Broadway.
“Not that way,” Croucher said, taking my elbow and leading me in a wide arc around a door filled with laughter and light. The sound of a fiddle spilled out onto the street, along with a few tipsy dancers. “Fighting Cocks Tavern,” he sheepishly explained, “but the cocks ’ere aren’t fighting, if you know what I mean.” Perhaps seeing shock in my face, he stood straighter and cleared his throat. “A lady like you should stay away.”
Croucher’s concern for my modesty was strangely sweet. He was a conundrum: gruff, crass, and childish, prone to fibbing about tracking mud up the stairs or what time he came in at night. But he was clearly lonely and eager for attention.
“Soldiers and sailors—you know the lot. Take my word: This democracy of yours is nothing special. They can rename Crown Street ‘Liberty’ and change King’s College to ‘Columbia,’ but men will be men. A city of scoundrels, adulterers, and—”
Boisterous chants came from the tavern as the door flew open and a scruffy man was tossed out into the gutter. He sat in the foul trough, lowered his head, then lay down. Moments later, another man hobbled out the door and began to pilfer through his pockets.
“—scavengers,” Croucher finished saying.
“It was kind of thee to accompany me,” I said, realizing I had not thanked him.
Croucher smiled widely, almost boyishly. “If I ’ad a wife, I’d ’ope she’d be a lady like you, not all fancy or frilly but ’ardworking and decent. Levi’s boy is lucky to live in a”—he paused, inhaling deeply before pronouncing the next word with obvious care—“home like yours.”
“Were thee an apprentice?”
“Me? Nah.” Croucher, happy to sermonize on so many topics, was mum when it came to himself. He picked up his pace and, as he did, footsteps echoed behind us. I turned to look, but no one was there.
We headed south into the mist. At the end of the island, the sidewalks were planted with shrubs and the houses were brick, with gables and balconies facing the harbor.
“Pearl Street,” Croucher said, speaking once again with authority. “Not long ago the place was paved with oyster shells.”
“Where is the meeting?” I asked.
Croucher pointed to a handsome brick mansion.
I let myself in through the open door. There was a rumble of deep voices and the dull sound of ice being cracked with a hammer. I smelled sausage, but the pleasant cooking odors were overpowered by the ripe stench of men, cigar smoke, and hops.
The men’s faces looked dull in the haze, but I easily spotted Elias seated at a small table on the far side of the bar. He was the only one wearing a broad-brimmed hat and dark overcoat. The others, Levi included, were stylishly dressed in tapered britches, topcoats, and gauzy cravats.
A man stood on wobbly legs and raised his glass high in the air. “When you swear, swear to your country,” he hollered. “When you lie, lie for love; when you steal, steal from bad company; and when you drink, drink with me!”
There was a roar of stomping feet and
Similar Books
