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Back The Ninth Daughter
Chapters (37)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-one
  25. Twenty-two
  26. Twenty-three
  27. Twenty-four
  28. Twenty-five
  29. Twenty-six
  30. Twenty-seven
  31. Twenty-eight
  32. Twenty-nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-one
  35. Thirty-two
  36. Thirty-three
  37. Thirty-four

When the party reached Fish Street—still surrounded by a loose ring of Revere’s North End boys, to keep off unscheduled demonstrations of disapproval against Royal power and red uniforms—Lieutenant Coldstone signed the grim-faced little private to watch the yard gate, while he, Muldoon, and Abigail entered the shop. Nehemiah Tillet came around the counter smiling. “What can I do—?” before it dawned on him how extraordinary the presence of any British officer must be in Boston at this particular time.

The next moment he saw Abigail behind the Lieutenant, and his face blenched a little in the gray light of the shop.

“An allegation has been laid against you that you are unlawfully keeping a woman—who is herself wanted for questioning in the murder that took place here on the night of the twenty-fourth—prisoner under lock and key in this house.” Coldstone laid a paper on the counter. “Here is a warrant from the Provost Marshal, to search your house and ascertain the truth.”

“It isn’t true!” gasped Tillet. “She’s my daughter—my niece, I mean—she isn’t right in the head! We keep her locked up for her own protection—”

“Shut up, Tillet!” His wife appeared in the doorway, face even less attractive than usual due to its mottled flush of rage. She stabbed a furious finger at Abigail. “That slattern would say anything to disgrace us, before our church and before our friends! Bringing soldiers here, in broad daylight, to turn all our neighbors against us! She has always been jealous of this household, and worked as a go-between to ruin the marriage of an honest woman! Her accusation is ridiculous!”

“The question is not about her relations with your family,” responded Coldstone evenly, “nor whether her accusation is ridiculous, but whether it is true.” The two prentice-boys, Queenie, and the scullery maid had assembled in the doorway behind her, and Abigail saw the glance that went among the three youngsters. Queenie was staring at her, her big hands working and unmantled hatred in her eyes.

“Hap,” snapped Mrs. Tillet to the younger boy, “you go now, at once, to Mr. Goss the magistrate over at Went-worth’s Wharf and bring him here.” She turned furiously back to Coldstone. “My sister-in-law’s husband is the magistrate of this ward, sir! We’ll see if your warrant stands up to his authority!”

“By all means send for him, m’am.” Coldstone stepped aside from the doorway. “Yet this warrant has the King’s authority, and save for your messenger boy, none of the household shall stir from my presence until I have seen that attic.”