They played games in the evening. Chess, draughts, backgammon, dominoes … if Hal or someone else was there for supper, they played whist or brag, and all three men smiled to see Amaranthus light up in the fire of competition; she was a cutthroat cardplayer and played chess like a cat, her changeable eyes fixed on the board as though the chessmen were mice, an imaginary tail gently waving to and fro behind her shoulder, until she pounced and showed her white teeth.

Still, the sense of merely passing time was slightly oppressive. The whole city was pervaded by a similar atmosphere, though the sense of suspended activity had a deep and urgent reason. With the French ships gone and Lincoln and the Americans retreated to Charles Town, Savannah had gone about picking up the pieces: houses broken by cannon had been repaired as quickly as possible, but with the spring had come fresh paint, and the bright pinks, yellows, and blues of the city bloomed anew.

The abatis and redoubts outside the city remained, though the winter storms and high tides had eroded the farthest defenses. The remnants of the American camp had all but disappeared by now, salvaged by slaves and apprentices.

But if the thought of Benjamin in New Jersey lay under Amaranthus’s outward composure, the thought of Charles Town was openly and constantly in the minds of the Savannah garrison.

Dispatches came frequently, with news from New York and Rhode Island, where Sir Henry Clinton was staging his troops for a voyage. Hal being who he was, and John being not only his brother but also his lieutenant colonel, the household was well aware of General Clinton’s intent to attack Charles Town as soon as the weather allowed of such an adventure.

All through April, dispatches had arrived by ship and by rider, in an increasing flurry of excitement and intensity. As the siege progressed Uncle Hal strode to and fro outside his house, unable to bear confinement but not wanting to leave lest any news arrive in his momentary absence.

“It’s highly unlikely that we’ll need to move more men to Charles Town,” Lord John had told William, who had just likened his uncle to a pregnant cat on the verge of delivering kittens. “Clinton’s got plenty of men and artillery, he’s got Cornwallis, and whatever its other faults, the British army does know how to conduct a siege. Still, if—or rather when—the city falls, we might be summoned, and if so, it will be in an almighty hurry. But chances are, we’ll just be left here cooling our heels,” he added warningly, seeing the eager look on William’s face. He paused thoughtfully, though, looking at his son.

“Would you think of taking up a commission, should that happen?” he asked.