Once she had tried to question him about her brother’s wife. Around the turn of the year, John Master had received a letter from Vanessa. In it she told him that she had received a communication from James, letting her know that he was with the Patriots, and that Weston was in New York. She did not disguise her feelings. In her bold hand, the words stood out in capitals: SHAMEFUL, TRAITOR, VILLAIN. She thanked God, at least, that her little son was in such safe and loyal hands, and hoped that the time would soon come when she and Weston should be reunited. Though when this was to be, and in what manner, she did not say.

“What is Vanessa like?” she’d asked Albion.

“Oh, a very handsome lady,” he’d answered.

“I mean her character.”

“Well …” He had seemed to hesitate. “I do not often move in such high circles, so I don’t know her well. But when we met, she was always very civil to me. She has a fine wit. She’s known for it.”

“Does she love Weston?”

“I think every mother loves her child, Miss Abigail.” He’d paused before adding, somewhat enigmatically, “But a fashionable lady cannot always spare a lot of time for her children.”

“And does she love my brother?”

“I’m sure she would not have married without love.” He’d paused again. “Though she cannot approve his becoming a rebel.”

“Why does she not come here?”

“Ah.” He had looked a little flummoxed. “She knows that Weston is safe with your father. I expect she’ll have him sent to England in due course. She probably thinks the crossing is too dangerous at present, with Patriot privateers upon the sea.”

Since Patriot privateers were no match for British convoys, this last excuse was weak. But Albion had seemed reluctant to say more, and she hadn’t pressed him.

As for news of James, the last autumn had been the most worrying time. Even moving at his usual snail’s pace, it had not taken General Howe long to drive Washington and his army across the Hudson River. Harlem Heights, White Plains, and the rebel strongholds on the river, Fort Washington and Fort Lee, all fell. Huge numbers of Patriots were killed, thousands taken prisoner. Then General Cornwallis had chased Washington south, past Princeton and over the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. “These are the times that try men’s souls,” Tom Paine had declared.

At Christmas, Washington had led a daring raid across the Delaware and struck at the British and Hessian garrisons. It was a brave gesture. Then he’d been able to dodge Cornwallis, and lead his army to camp at Morristown from where, thank God, James had managed to send a letter to let them know that he was alive. But John Master did not think much of the Patriots’ chances.

“Washington took one trick, but the British still hold all the good cards.”