Pattie came in with coffee, but Coldstone shook his head. “I will not stay, Mrs. Adams,” he said, rising and taking up cloak and hat. “At the risk of sounding ungentlemanly, I fear you are still far from well, and will not further trespass. And, I must still visit Griffin’s Wharf, and see what damage was done.”

“None, I hear.” There was a note of slightly triumphant malice in Rebecca’s voice. “Not so much as a hatch cover broken. They were, I understand, quite well-mannered Indians.” His face a mask, the British officer bowed over her hand, and over Abigail’s in turn. “Nevertheless,” he said, “the Governor has sent a complaint to Parliament. I fear there will be hell to pay.”

Abigail said, “There always is.”