As for this Negro conspiracy, he didn’t believe a word of it. He knew every tavern keeper in the city, and the fellow accused was the biggest villain of them all. It was entirely possible that he’d started some fires, and he might have got a gang of discontented slaves and others working for him. But beyond that, John Master believed nothing. The prostitute would say anything if you paid her. As for the slaves who’d started naming people when the fire was put to their feet, their testimony was worthless. People would say anything under torture. He’d seen the city recorder eagerly taking down the names they screamed out, and felt only disgust. Everyone knew about the Salem Witch Trials up in Massachusetts, the previous century. In his opinion, that was where this sort of thing led—to endless accusations, executions and tragic absurdity. He just hoped it would be over soon.

Thank God that tonight he had happier things he could think about.

When he’d first told his father he wanted to marry Mercy Brewster, Dirk Master had been astonished.

“The Quaker girl? Are you sure? In heaven’s name, why?”

As for his mother, she had looked very doubtful.

“I don’t think, Johnny, you will make each other happy.”

But John Master knew his own mind, and his parents were wrong. Entirely wrong.

“In fact, she’s not a Quaker,” he’d told them. He’d supposed she must be, when they first met. After all, her family was recently arrived from Philadelphia, and she addressed people as “thee” and “thou.” But before long, he had learned that though her father had been a Quaker once, he had been read out of the meeting for marrying a member of the Anglican Church. He was a member of no congregation now. But though he let his Anglican wife take their children to that church, he insisted that at home, the family use most of the Quaker customs that he loved.

“Thee is talking to a Quaker in all but name,” Mercy had told John with a smile. “Philadelphia has many mixed families like ours. We never let ideas disturb us too much, down there.”

The first thing John had noticed was that this Quaker girl paid no attention to his looks. Most girls did. Since he had become more successful, his earlier awkwardness with young women of his own class had disappeared. When he entered a room, most female eyes were upon him. Sometimes when young women met him, they blushed. But Mercy Brewster didn’t. She just looked him calmly in the eye and spoke to him naturally.

She seemed to have no particular sense of her own looks, either. She was just an ordinary girl, somewhat short, with curly hair parted in the middle, and brown eyes set wide apart. She was matter-of-fact, at peace with herself. He had never met anyone like this before.