“Thank you, Uncle.” I searched his pale blue eyes. Never had I seen anything but warmth and trust in them.

Maude was a black woman who waited for us by the first bathing house. General Henry Clinton, the British commander, had offered freedom to people enslaved by American patriots, so New York had become a haven for free blacks. Much as I detested the English for their oppressive rule, this was one thing I felt they’d done right.

Maude explained that we would enter the bathing house by the rear door; then a horse would haul the contraption into the river. We would then be free to exit from the water-facing door and bathe in perfect privacy.

“You can take houses one, two, and four,” Maude said, piping twice on houses. She had a gap between her teeth a little wider than mine that caused her to whistle as she spoke.

“Thank you, but we only need two,” I said. Lucy still looked uncertain, and I knew she’d be more comfortable with me.

“But your papa already paid for three, miss,” Maude said. People always assumed Uncle Henry was my father. “And the houses are cramped for two. You can’t mean to share?”

I turned to Charlotte. “Miss Winters, sharing bathing machines is a common practice in Wales, isn’t it?” Charlotte knew a lot, but I could pretend I did and that was even better.

Her fan froze in the air for an instant. “Yes, Miss Coates. It is indeed,” she said, playing along. “My cousin says that anyone who is fashionable does it. And we won’t need two. One will do.”

Maude shrugged her broad shoulders. “As you wish, misses.”

We climbed up the rear steps into the first hut and sat on the little bench that ran to one side, Charlotte’s hoopskirt tilting crazily as we wedged together.

“Really, Char,” I said, leaning away. “Panniers on a swim outing?”

“I could have asked you why no panniers on a swim outing, Emmie. But I didn’t.”

“What now? Do we undress?” Lucy asked.

With only one grimy window above us, the space was dark and soupy hot with the doors shut. It smelled like rotten wood and the perfume of a hundred strangers.

“Not yet.” Charlotte rummaged inside her basket and pulled out a thick green bottle. “First, spirits. Cousin Lydia wrote that it’s a necessity before bathing as it promotes a stronger constitution for taking fresh air and cold water. The glasses are buried, and I am too hot to search for them, so off we go.” She unstopped the bottle and raised it. “To King George’s health.” She drank and winced, then passed the bottle to me. “No retreat.”

“No surrender,” I replied, taking it. The strong punch brought tears to my eyes and sent Lucy into a fit of high-pitched hiccups. Soon, we were powerless to stop our giggling.

“Walk, Amber,” someone said outside. “Walk on.”