But the Masters were her family now really, though she didn’t say it, and she told him she wanted to go uptown all the same. So with no good grace, Sean escorted her. The approach to Gramercy Park had to be cautious, and as they came to Irving Place it was obvious that there had been trouble there. Broken glass and debris littered the whole area. Sean had heard that Twenty-first Street, on the north side of the square, was barricaded. When they reached the quiet square from its western side, they found their way barred by a patrol, not of rioters, but of residents of Gramercy Park, well armed with pistols and muskets. These men didn’t know Sean, but one of them did recognize Mary. And after insisting that she part from her brother at the patrol point, he personally took her to the door of the Masters’ house and roused them. Sean waited until he knew she was safely in.

Mrs. Master herself came from her room at once. In the kitchen she made her drink some hot chocolate.

“Now you must go straight to bed, Mary,” she insisted, “and you can tell me all about your adventures in the morning.”

But Mary didn’t tell her adventures in the morning. Whether it was the heat, the shock of what she’d just seen, or some other cause, during that night she began to feel feverish. The next morning, she was shivering and burning up. Mrs. Master herself nursed her, making her drink liquids and placing cool compresses on her head. “Don’t talk now, Mary,” she said, when Mary tried to thank her. “We’re just glad you’re safely home.”

So Mary was not aware of the burnings and killings that continued all over the city that day. She did not know that Brooklyn, too, had erupted into violence on the waterfront where she’d been, or that there had been killings down most of the East River. Only after her fever had broken, and she awoke feeling hungry on Thursday morning, did she learn that the troops had arrived at last, that they were scattering the rioters with fusillades, and that Gramercy Park itself was now being protected with howitzers.

The terrible Draft Riots of 1863 were ending.

It was noon when the parlormaid came into her room with a bowl of soup, and sat beside her bed and began to talk. Did she know what had taken place in her absence, the girl wanted to know, how Mr. Master had gone missing, and then Mrs. Master too, and how she’d tried to save the orphanage and nearly been killed, and been rescued by Mr. Master and Madame Restell the abortionist. This astonishing news, at least, made Mary sit up in bed.

“So did anything happen to you?” asked the parlormaid.

“Me?” said Mary. “Oh, no. Nothing much, I suppose.”

Moonlight Sonata

1871