The Sword of the Banshee (27 page)

India smiled at him. The blue of her eyes so distracted the young man that he did not notice Phineas slip behind him to the warehouse door. She edged a little closer, asking the guard questions as Phineas emptied rodents into the warehouse.

Suddenly, the valise slipped from Phineas’ grip and mice tumbled out everywhere onto the ramp, scurrying toward the sentry’s feet. India’s eyes widened when she saw the creatures flooding toward the guard. Just as the sentry was about to look down, there was the report of a firearm from the street behind them. He turned abruptly and looked up the alley. The rodents scampered past his boots, out onto the quay.

The sound of a mob resounded from Chilton Street. “What’s going on?” the sentry mumbled. He was too busy craning his neck to notice India and Phineas leave.

As they hurried away, India made big eyes at Phineas, and he grinned back at her nervously. When they reached Chilton Street, it was apparent that a lynching was taking place. A crowd had formed in front of a private dwelling where two men on the steps, stripped of their clothing with their hands and feet bound.

“Bloody loyalists be damned!” roared a blacksmith with his fist in the air. The mob cheered. He was accompanied by two other men standing nearby with a barrel that was steaming and a large burlap bag.

“What is it, Miss?” Phineas asked, jumping up and down trying to see beyond the crowd.

“Never mind,” said India. She knew there was about to be a tar and feathering, a harmless act of humiliation and punishment popular in the English Colonies.

One of the captives, an elderly gentleman, looked directly at the crowd with the haughty air of an aristocrat while the other man, a bald portly gentleman, kept his eyes lowered, determined not to challenge the jeering spectators. The citizens of Philadelphia jostled and pushed to get a closer look. “Pour it! Pour it!” they all chanted.

“Douse the Loyalist bastards!” someone roared.

The blacksmith and one of the other men lifted the steaming barrel of tar over the head and shoulders of the captives. The crowd cheered as the men let out blood curdling screams.

“They boiled it extra hot this time!” someone cried with approval.

The men fell to their knees, writhing in agony. They twisted and struggled, crying for mercy as the scalding hot, sticky mass melted their skin. Next they were showered with a bag of feathers as the crowd guffawed. Afterward they were carted to a nearby hog pen and rolled in fresh dung.

India gaped in horror at the grotesque display. She had heard of this as a form of humiliation, never realizing this was unabashed torture.

At last when the elderly gentlemen fell into a swoon, India turned on her heel in disgust. “Come, Phineas,” she snapped, grabbing the boy’s hand. “I can countenance no more.”

She felt nauseated and rubbed her forehead. She was worried.
Why
am I so affected by this display? I have seen violence before.

After changing into simpler clothing, they started for Pegg’s Run. India gathered her threadbare shawl closely around her shoulders as Phineas followed in the rear. He had to run every few steps to keep up with her quick step tonight. She seemed oblivious to everything around her. Walking blindly in the twilight, she still could see the Loyalists writhing in pain. She smelled the scalding tar, heard them sobbing for mercy, and felt the energy of the mob around her, thirsty for blood and revenge. India’s heart started to pound as the rage surged within her.
I have seen enough war for six lifetimes. I am sick to death of it! I have witnessed enough evil to populate Hades. Enough! Enough!
She stopped so abruptly that Phineas ran into her.

By the time they turned onto Pegg’s Run, it was dark. The neighborhood smelled of smoke, feces, and stale spirits. Phineas once again took the lead to Lucretia Dupuis’ tent. Several fires lined the streets as the inhabitants tried to warm themselves. Children clothed in rags cooked sausages, watching Phineas suspiciously as if he might try to snatch their supper.

Sailors and soldiers poured onto the streets headed for taverns as whores called seductively to potential customers from doorways and windows. “How about some slap and tickle, boys?”

India’s stomach felt as if it were about to turn inside out. By the time they arrived at the Diviner’s tent, she was light headed and weak. When they entered the dimly lit enclosure, Madame Dupuis’ jumped up said to India, “You are ill.”

India groped around for a stool as Lucretia held her elbow. Easing herself down, she murmured breathlessly, “Thank you.”

Phineas sat crossed legged by the dog watching India apprehensively. The low drape of the ceiling, the darkness, and the firelight were soothing to India, and she felt her heartbeat began to slow. Madame Dupuis opened several jars scooping out dried herbs and put them into a teapot. Removing a kettle from the fire, she poured hot water over the concoction then opened a basket putting biscuits onto a plate.

India wiped the perspiration from her forehead and looked at the woman. Madame Dupuis had a gold braided chain around her head holding back the light brown hair which framed her face. She was wearing the dark robe again which was adorned with Celtic symbols.

Madame Dupuis poured a cup of tea, handed it to India and said, “This will calm you and settle your stomach.”

India had forgotten that she had one blue eye and one green eye. She stared at her. Lucretia smiled and said smoothly, “You too have unusual eyes, Lady Allen.”

India looked away and began to sip her tea. Phineas ate a biscuit then stretched out beside the big yellow dog and began talking to the animal as it thumped its tail. India placed her cup down and looked at the fire, rubbing her forehead. Madame Dupuis watched her closely.

“I cannot seem to quiet the whirlpool within me,” said India. “For the first time in a long time, people—events affect me, and my reactions boil over before I can stop them.”

Lucretia shook her head and cautioned, “Lady Allen, this is a dangerous path for a leader.”

“It is indeed,” agreed India, running her hands up and down her arms as if she had grown suddenly cold.

Lucretia sighed and looked away. They turned and watched the fire. A log collapsed, sending sparks flying which roused India from her reverie. She looked over at Phineas. He had fallen asleep with his head resting on the dog.

“I do not often talk with other women,” India said, breaking the silence. “They seem to be so warm and full of life. That has never been the case with me.”

“You are not like other women. You are about to embark on a journey you cannot avoid, but I assure you, you will prevail.”

India looked up at Madame Dupuis. Her voice was different. Gone was the trance-like detachment of the psychic. This time her voice had the warmth of a friend.

Chapter 25

India left Phineas sleeping in the tent while she went to meet with Oliver Dupuis. As she walked down the dark alley, she wondered what was so important that Lucretia’s husband would speak only to her. India knew she was near The Red Unicorn when raucous laughter and the sound of a fiddle reached her ears. There were British regulars everywhere outside the tavern. They were in the alleys and doorways and on the steps of the tavern.

When India stepped inside the tavern she saw them lining the bar and occupying all the tables, smoking, playing cards and singing. Several soldiers brushed past her, arm and arm with molls, on their way upstairs to conduct business. The Red Unicorn was indeed a popular tavern with the British. What a perfect setting for intelligence gathering, India thought, pleased with Calleigh’s choice.

She scanned the bar room. The air was blue with smoke and the lights were low. India pulled her shawl up over her hair and wound her way through the crowd. No one took notice of her as she approached the bar to inquire about Oliver Dupuis. The burly bartender jerked his head toward the hearth where a pale, sickly looking man sat alone staring at the fire. India narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him. He was dressed in a dirty topcoat, threadbare breeches, and a tricorne hat. He wore darkened spectacles, and his greasy hair was tied back in a queue.

As she approached him, he did not look at her but said in a nasal voice, “Good evening, Lady Allen.”

India realized then that he was blind. Nevertheless she was surprised that he recognized her by her footsteps. She sat down on the edge of a chair by him. Dupuis sat with his legs crossed and his arms outstretched resting on the knob of a black cane.

“Would you care for a drink?” he offered, staring straight ahead.

“No thank you, Mr. Dupuis. I understand you have some information for me.”

“Well, well,” he said. “You certainly waste no time, Lady Allen. I will share it when I am ready. I made it clear to Mr. Calleigh that I have reservations about dealing with a woman. In my world, men take charge of women.”

India glared at him and said, “Mr. Dupuis, you are correct about one thing. I waste no time. I am a very busy woman. Now what is so important that I have to make a special trip to see you?”

“You seem anxious, Lady Allen. Please relax. I assure you, I do not bite.”

India looked around the room, taking a deep breath and struggling to keep her composure. “Mr. Dupuis. You seem to think that because you are blind, you have a sixth sense about people, but please, leave the divination to your wife. Either relay the information to me, or I will be on my way.”

Dupuis’ nostrils flared. He itched to backhand this high and mighty female, but he feared Calleigh’s reprisal. “Very well,” he said in an oily tone. “We will play it your way.”

He shifted in his chair and lowered his voice. “Several of my ladies have gathered information about a group of Loyalists who are planning a raid on the Continental Congress. Their intention is to eliminate, in one sweep, all the leaders of the rebellion.”

India blinked in disbelief. “The British Army is not behind this?”

“No, it appears to be a small but highly organized band of Tories.”

India was thunderstruck. This was indeed vital information. “What day will they hit? The Congress convenes for months on end.”

“There is talk that it will be the first week.”

“In May,” India said, slumping back in her chair and sighing. Dupuis reached toward her and said insincerely, “If this is too much for you, Lady Allen--”

India snatched her hand away from him and stood up abruptly. “Thank you, Mr. Dupuis. I will take it from here.”

*           *            *

The next morning, India and Phineas returned home to the Brandywine Valley. Upon arrival, she rode directly to Calleigh’s camp. It was in a wooded glen in a remote location on Alden Quincy’s land. The men slept there under the stars and cooked their meals over an open fire. Occasionally, India would send supper down to them prepared by her housekeeper, Mrs. Schumacher.

Quinn stood for a long time staring at the river, considering the news India had just relayed to him. The sun was setting in front of him throwing him into the shadows. He said at last, “The Congress convenes in just a few weeks.”

“Can they be warned? Guarded in some way?” India asked.

Quinn chuckled and shook his head. With his arms crossed, he turned around to face her. “These men are not only independent, but they are fearless. If they had any reservations, they would not be leading this rebellion. They will be impossible to protect. They are reckless and indiscreet.”

He put his fist to his lips and paced along the shore. He stopped and said, “Notify all your people. Tell them to work their marks as discreetly as possible for information. This Loyalist group must be identified and destroyed.”

That afternoon, India sent messages to all of her contacts including a message to the actress, Camille Ashton. She coded information into a theatrical script asking the woman if any of her customers were likely to be in any militant Loyalist organizations. Mrs. Ashton replied immediately, identifying three men as possible candidates. Quinn put them under immediate surveillance.

The first week of May, India visited contacts in Philadelphia trying to gather intelligence for Calleigh and his sharpshooters who followed a few days later. Their mission would be to protect the Congress when they convened.

“It was no surprise. When I met with the members of the Congress, they ignored my warnings,” Calleigh said to India one evening in a secluded tavern off of Stewart Street. She could see his jaw tighten with frustration. “They are reckless fools--all of them.”

India rubbed her forehead. “If only there was more time to identify and take out the organization. I have no accurate numbers on them yet or even definite identities. All we can do now is to wait for the raid.”

“Just as we feared,” he replied.

Quinn sighed as the bar maid set down their supper. When she left, he said, “Tomorrow is day one of the Continental Congress. If our intelligence is correct, the Loyalists will strike within the week.”

The following morning, India set out for the Pennsylvania State House, a dignified red brick building topped with a white bell tower. She was dressed as a wealthy widow in a black gown with a hat cocked smartly on her head and a dark veil. The disguise was perfect to hide behind as she observed the general public.