By the fall season, quite a number of Patriots were returning to the city to claim their property. If they found soldiers living in their house, there were often some hard words spoken. But there was little violence. Winter passed quietly enough, and in spring came news that all hostilities between the British and the Patriots had ended. As more Patriots came into the city, and Loyalists prepared to leave, Abigail knew of a score of houses where angry Patriots had just walked in and taken over. Meanwhile, the Patriot Governor Clinton of New York was still eagerly dispossessing as many Loyalists as he could.

It was at this time that James appeared. He still had duties to perform with Washington, he explained, but he could stay with them two days. Weston was overjoyed, and the family passed some happy hours together. James and his father quickly agreed that Master should make over the house and other city property to him, so that they could not be confiscated as Loyalist possessions, and this was speedily done with a lawyer.

On the second afternoon, the family were walking together on Broadway when they encountered Charlie White. Their greeting was friendly enough, but they could see that Charlie was looking a little glum.

“Anything you need, Charlie?” Master inquired.

“Not unless you’ve got a house,” said Charlie sadly. “Mine was burned down.”

“Come round tomorrow,” said Master quietly, “and we’ll see if something can be arranged.”

The next day Charlie owned a house in Maiden Lane. And Abigail saw to it that the house was well furnished, and had better china and glass in it than Charlie ever dreamed of.

If Abigail had silently grieved for Grey Albion for many months, the pain gradually began to subside. She had to reflect that many had lost fathers and husbands. It was a tiny incident that caused her to realize that her own wound was healing. It was occasioned that summer by another visit from James. He came, this time, with a friend.

“Allow me to present my comrade-in-arms from the French Army, the Count de Chablis.”

The young Frenchman was a delightful person. He was as beautifully turned out as a new pin, and he seemed delighted with New York, and indeed, by all the world around him. His English was not good, but understandable. And by the end of the day, she had to confess, she was entirely charmed.

“Your friend is so agreeable, it’s hard to imagine him fighting,” she remarked to James, when they were alone.

“It’s just his aristocratic manner,” he replied. “Lafayette is rather the same. Chablis is actually brave as a lion.”

They stayed two days and, by the end of that time, she found herself rather regretting that the count was soon to leave for France.