meat in a brown broth thick with onion, carrot, beans, and potatoes. Other than the Baroness, who seemed to approach her bowl with the same trepidation Anne was feeling, everyone else seemed to relish the dish. Anne screwed up her courage and took a taste, surprised by the flavor. “It is
delicious
…” she assured the Baroness. “The taste of it puts me in mind of something…”
“Much like frogs’ legs, I think,” General Burgoyne offered.
“Exactly,” Anne agreed, though she’d never in her life consumed a frog leg.
“Is it true, Mrs. Merrick,” Lucy Lennox chirped between spoonfuls, “that you hunted down and killed this very snake with your own two hands?”
“I fear the tale is growing in the telling.” Anne laughed. “There was no hunt. My maid and I simply reacted as anyone might when faced with sharing a campsite with a venomous pest.”
“To enlighten the diners,” Lennox piped in. “It should be noted that the ‘pest’ Mrs. Merrick faced was almost five feet in length and, in girth, the thickness of my forearm.”
Geoffrey added, “My native scout claims it is one of the largest timber rattlers he’s ever seen…” And with that preamble, he launched into an animated recounting of the adventure. “… and then Miss Sally Tucker replied,” Pepperell concluded, putting on an exaggerated brogue,
“
A’d sooner eat ma weight in coo patties, than nibble on th’ meanest morsel of tha’ poisonous viper…”
Laughing along with the company, Simon Fraser clapped his hands together. “Now I recollect! You were the proprietress of the Crown and Quill, Mrs. Merrick, were you not?”
Anne forced a calm smile.
Careful.
“The Crown and Quill, sir?” Geoffrey asked.
“A tea shop in New York town. A Scots lass by the name of Sally Tucker was at work there, producing the finest scones this side of the Hebrides…”
Undone by his recollection, Anne chose her words with care. “Sally is with me still, sir, baking her scones, bannock, and shortbread for the camp. She suffers no difficulty in selling her wares. I shall have her deliver a batch to you in the morning.”
Fraser lifted his glass. “Grand!”
Geoffrey Pepperell shifted back in his chair. “So you own a tea shop in New York?”
“Actually, I own a printshop in New York.” Anne’s heart beat as fast and furious as the drum call to assemble. She took a slow sip of champagne and gathered her wits. Jack had advised it was best to keep to the truth as much as possible when put to any question—especially a question she’d rather not answer.
“You see, I come from a printing family—trained to set type and mix ink since I was a small girl. As is common in our trade, I was married off to a printer, bringing my skills to benefit his business. When Mr. Merrick died of the pox five years ago, I inherited Merrick’s Press and Stationery.”
“And the tea shop?” Pepperell persisted.
“The tea shop is merely an offshoot enterprise wrought by the rebellion. When the Sons of Liberty took control of the city, rebel mobs ran rampant and Loyalists were persecuted—some tarred and feathered. Those Loyalists who did not leave of their own accord were being run out of town. As Merrick’s had always catered to a Loyal clientele, my shop was stormed by a mob who ruined my press and stole my types. I did not cotton to the notion of being forced to leave my wherewithal, so, digging in our heels, Sally and I took to selling coffee and scones in order to survive.” Anne put on her best smile. “As you can imagine, we did not actually serve any tea until General Howe regained control of the city.”
Lennox held his glass high. “To India tea and the restoration of civilization!”
Everyone laughed and touched glasses.
“I visited New York with Mr. Loescher this winter past.” Fanny held her glass out and one of the waiters stepped forward to renew her supply. “It is a dirty, smelly place.”
“The city has seen better
delicious
…” she assured the Baroness. “The taste of it puts me in mind of something…”
“Much like frogs’ legs, I think,” General Burgoyne offered.
“Exactly,” Anne agreed, though she’d never in her life consumed a frog leg.
“Is it true, Mrs. Merrick,” Lucy Lennox chirped between spoonfuls, “that you hunted down and killed this very snake with your own two hands?”
“I fear the tale is growing in the telling.” Anne laughed. “There was no hunt. My maid and I simply reacted as anyone might when faced with sharing a campsite with a venomous pest.”
“To enlighten the diners,” Lennox piped in. “It should be noted that the ‘pest’ Mrs. Merrick faced was almost five feet in length and, in girth, the thickness of my forearm.”
Geoffrey added, “My native scout claims it is one of the largest timber rattlers he’s ever seen…” And with that preamble, he launched into an animated recounting of the adventure. “… and then Miss Sally Tucker replied,” Pepperell concluded, putting on an exaggerated brogue,
“
A’d sooner eat ma weight in coo patties, than nibble on th’ meanest morsel of tha’ poisonous viper…”
Laughing along with the company, Simon Fraser clapped his hands together. “Now I recollect! You were the proprietress of the Crown and Quill, Mrs. Merrick, were you not?”
Anne forced a calm smile.
Careful.
“The Crown and Quill, sir?” Geoffrey asked.
“A tea shop in New York town. A Scots lass by the name of Sally Tucker was at work there, producing the finest scones this side of the Hebrides…”
Undone by his recollection, Anne chose her words with care. “Sally is with me still, sir, baking her scones, bannock, and shortbread for the camp. She suffers no difficulty in selling her wares. I shall have her deliver a batch to you in the morning.”
Fraser lifted his glass. “Grand!”
Geoffrey Pepperell shifted back in his chair. “So you own a tea shop in New York?”
“Actually, I own a printshop in New York.” Anne’s heart beat as fast and furious as the drum call to assemble. She took a slow sip of champagne and gathered her wits. Jack had advised it was best to keep to the truth as much as possible when put to any question—especially a question she’d rather not answer.
“You see, I come from a printing family—trained to set type and mix ink since I was a small girl. As is common in our trade, I was married off to a printer, bringing my skills to benefit his business. When Mr. Merrick died of the pox five years ago, I inherited Merrick’s Press and Stationery.”
“And the tea shop?” Pepperell persisted.
“The tea shop is merely an offshoot enterprise wrought by the rebellion. When the Sons of Liberty took control of the city, rebel mobs ran rampant and Loyalists were persecuted—some tarred and feathered. Those Loyalists who did not leave of their own accord were being run out of town. As Merrick’s had always catered to a Loyal clientele, my shop was stormed by a mob who ruined my press and stole my types. I did not cotton to the notion of being forced to leave my wherewithal, so, digging in our heels, Sally and I took to selling coffee and scones in order to survive.” Anne put on her best smile. “As you can imagine, we did not actually serve any tea until General Howe regained control of the city.”
Lennox held his glass high. “To India tea and the restoration of civilization!”
Everyone laughed and touched glasses.
“I visited New York with Mr. Loescher this winter past.” Fanny held her glass out and one of the waiters stepped forward to renew her supply. “It is a dirty, smelly place.”
“The city has seen better
Similar Books
