But I digress again: After the girls were led in and arrayed against the far rail, Mistress Pimm was brought in from the separate cell, where she had been confined for the night, and placed in the dock. I stood next to her as her attorney. Then the call of "All rise" was heard, and a very grumpy Judge Thwackham, garbed in his usual judicial finery, entered the room and plunked himself down in his chair high above. He slammed down his gavel to start the proceedings and growled, "All right, be seated, the whole miserable lot of you. What's on for today, then, Mr. Cross? I count on it being some extremely annoying bother, accomplishing nothing except disturbing an honest man's digestion of his breakfast. Harrumph. Who's first?"
The Clerk of Courts, Mr. Cross, stood up and said, "Commonwealth of Massachusetts, City of Boston, against one Miranda Pimm, female, Headmistress of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls, on a charge of Aggravated Assault on a Police Officer, to wit: Constable John Wiggins."
Now that woke up the old buzzard. The Lawson Peabody? Can it be? Can it be that he had not yet heard of yesterday's riot down at the docks? Apparently so. He shook his copious jowls and glared at Mistress Pimm standing ramrod straight in the dock. He then peered incredulously at the line of girls awaiting his stern judgement at the back of his courtroom.
"What is this, then?" he growled at Mistress Pimm.
She lifted her chin, her face immobile in what I believe you Lawson Peabody girls call "the Look," and said, in a strong, clear voice, "Sir, I was apprehended in the performance of my duty in trying to protect one of my girls from brutal treatment at the hands of one of your court-appointed thugs. I should think you would applaud my action, considering that your granddaughter Caroline is one of my charges as well and I would do the same for her at any time. I saw it as my duty yesterday, and I will see it as my duty tomorrow, Sir, whether my girls and I are back in the safety of our school or remain here in your foul prison! Arrogant authority stole one of my babes yesterday, but by the God who protects the weak, by the God who protects innocent young women, by the God that smites the wicked, by that same all-seeing and loving God, they shall get no other!"
The galleries, of course, were packed, with more people cramming into the outside hall and spilling into the street, and this bit of impassioned oration brought forth a roar of approbation: "Hear, hear!" and "Huzzah, huzzah!"
The judge, who obviously had not been apprised of this entire situation, not even of his granddaughter's incarceration ( I mean, who would have had the nerve to tell the old warhorse?), turned a vivid shade of red as he cast his gimlet eye across the line of accused females arrayed below him, to pick her out. Miss Caroline, upon seeing her grandpapa's face turn from red to purple upon spotting her, lifted up her unbound right fist and shouted out, "Sic semper tyrannis!" This brought another thunderous acclamation from the crowd, a crowd that was in danger of fast becoming a howling mob.
The temper of the Court was not helped when Mademoiselle Lissette de Lise, the very elegant daughter of the French Consul, a bloodstained bandage wrapped very fashionably around her noble brow, raised her own fist and intoned with Gallic fire, "À bas la monarchie d'Angleterre! À bas le roi George! Vive la Révolution américaine! Vive l'école Law-sahn Pee-bod-dee! Vive Ja-kee Fay-bear! À les Barricades!" giving the whole affair a certain international flair. Her father, the Comte de Lise, was in attendance and was not at all pleased when she was finally brought down and subdued. There were mumbles of withdrawing the French Embassy, thereby creating a political crisis of the first order.
Judge Thwackham's main role in all this was pounding his gavel and vainly calling for "Order! Order! By God, I'll have you all whipped! Order! Order in my courtroom!"
The explosiveness of the situation was not helped when Colonel Howe burst into the proceedings, fresh from riding up from the South to reclaim his daughter, only to find her bound and gagged and on her knees in a Yankee courtroom, wearing only very damp undergarments. He threatened to call up a regiment of Virginia Regulars and start a civil war if he did not receive immediate satisfaction. He was joined in this sentiment by Amy's father, Colonel Trevelyne. We were indeed lucky that her brother and your ardent admirer, Randall Trevelyne, had been sent off on a horse-buying errand to Philadelphia, else real blood would have been spilled by that hothead, had he been at the Battle of Long Wharf, and the legal cleanup would have been much messier. And much costlier. I know that Randall will be furious to have missed it all. I do hope I am there to see his face when he receives the news.
But with cooler heads prevailing, mine not the least of them, God save the mark, things were finally sorted out and peace was restored in the City of Boston, Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
I made it a special project to gain Miss Amy's release first of the girls, she being not as battle-hardened as the others, the veterans of the Bloodhound. When I stood up in court and successfully pleaded her case and delivered her to the arms of her parents, I received a squeeze of my hand and what I took to be a very warm and heartfelt look.
All in all, it was one of the greatest days in my life so far.
I was able to bill out many hours of legal assistance to some of the most prominent families in Boston. In short, I prospered, and I made some very good contacts, you may be sure.
All is well now and all have been released. Oh, some fines (read that "bribes") will have to be paid, and some apologies (written, formal, but not spoken) will have to be made, but all will return to normal eventually.
Now let me tell you of more prosaic but equally happy things. I believe you'll be most pleased to hear that the marriage of Sylvia Rossio and Henry Hoffman will occur next week at the Church of the Holy Cross on School Street, Signore Rossio and Herr Hoffman having finally given their permission for the match. I believe both papas concluded that the two young people in question had probably already made their marriage vows to some Reverend Bedpost in a room in some wayside inn on the way up from New York to bear the news of the salvation of the girls of the Lawson Peabody, so something had better be done and the sooner the better.
But, of course, you will already know of this because you will hear it from Mr. Fletcher, who stands impatiently before me. His horse is outside, saddled, packed, and ready, and Mr. Fletcher is most anxious to be off. Again, I wish you the joy of your reunion.
I will add only that Miss Amy sends her regards. She has made arrangements for your Morning Star to be taken to Dovecote for storage until your most heartily wished-for return. She is still too unnerved to write, but wishes me to quote her: "My dearest friend: I am filled with joy at your deliverance, and with sadness at our continuing separation. How you do try me, Sister. I fear I shall expire of emotional exhaustion, but God be with you, in spite of it all."
Lieutenant James Fletcher opens his vest to stuff this letter in, and he will brook no further wait, and so I conclude by saying that I am,
Yr Most Devoted Friend,
Ezra
Chapter 5
Up in the morning and back on horse. It is the fourth day out and we have turned, at Katy's direction, from the Boston Post Road, which I know from asking our last innkeeper would have led us to New York City, a town I mean to visit someday, but not just yet. This road immediately gets narrower and rougher, but I believe my male companions are bearing up better, now that they've had some time to shake off the kinks of easy city living.
The road widens, so I pull up next to Higgins, and we ride knee to knee, each of us lost in thought. After a bit, I say, "I want to thank you again for my rescue, Higgins. It was a very fine thing."
"Thanks are not necessary, except perhaps to God. It was very lucky that the Fennel and Bean Nonesuch Players were doing Fanny, the Pride of the Regiment, so that we had the proper British uniforms for our little deception."
I consider this, then I reply, "Yes, I have had a great amount of luck in this life, and not all of it was bad. But I have enjoyed the greatest of good luck in having the love and protection of my friends."
"Well said, Miss."
"Well, I try. But what is this 'Fanny' play?"
"It was penned by Messrs. Bean and Fennel themselves. It is short on substance but high on wild plot twists, risqué antics, and outrageous theatricals. Much like your own life to date, Miss."
"Higgins, you wound me."
"I was merely making a jest, Miss."
"Hmmm..."
"One thing, though, that has me mystified. Messrs. Fennel and Bean have reported to me that you have often been offered the role of Cordelia in Lear and have always absolutely refused to do it. This strikes me as peculiar when in fact you have done other doomed her**nes—Ophelia, Lady Macduff, even Lady Macbeth, herself, once, and thought nothing of it. Why is that?"
"It's 'cause Cordelia gets hanged at the end, and the Nonesuch Players have got that grisly scene down pat, believe me—the noosing, the kicked-out chair, Cordelia's vain struggles—and I've got a thing about that ... like I still have the feeling that I'm going to end up that way. Dangling at the end of a rope."
Higgins considers this for a while, then says, "Well, considering your lifestyle, that's not an implausible fear. However, could not living, as a child, in the shadow of Newgate Prison have something to do with that fear?"
"I don't know," says I, wanting to change the subject. I turn back to Katy, behind me. "What's the chance of us finding a good inn?"
"Pretty good. There's one 'bout fifteen miles up ahead, at a fork in the road. Prolly the last one like it 'fore we hit the frontier. Then things get right meager in that way. We'll prolly be sleepin' out some. Prolly a lot."
That doesn't rile Jim Tanner, but it sure raises one of Higgins's eyebrows.
"Then I intend to enjoy my last night as a civilized human," says he, "before I turn into a red savage."
The inn, the Martin in the Maples in the town of Port Jervis, turns out to be in New York State, and seems to be snug and comfortable, and I arrange to play a set that night in return for tips. I tried to wrangle lodging, but it was no go. Damn cheap Yankees. After we were settled in, I sent Jim to try to round up an audience, but he found slim pickings out there, that's for sure. Still, we had a small crowd of about fifteen people that night, mostly horse traders and plowboys, and farmers come into the town to sell their produce, and they were jolly enough. I began with "In the Good Old Colony Times" and followed that with "Springfield Mountain"—no singing, just the fiddle—and topped it off with a Scottish dance. I told some stories and some jokes and then played some more tunes. The pennywhistle was new to many of them, they being mostly of Dutch stock, but they loved my fiddle and were astounded by my dancing. Nothing they'd ever let their daughters do, but still fun to watch. The tips made it worthwhile, and I did love getting back into performance.
It was the first time Jim had seen me do my full act, and I think he was charmed. Katy, too, shook her head and said in wonder, "If that don't just beat all," as I dipped and took my final bows.
After all is done and the place is closed, we all go to bed. An extra mattress not being available in this place, Higgins is in a chair, with feet propped up and pistols in his lap, facing the door. Katy is in bed to my right, and Jim Tanner is out with the horses. Rather reluctantly with the horses, I think. From the ardent glances he cast my way as I was performing, I think he'd rather have Higgins out in the barn and himself in here between Katy and me, but, no, that is not to be, young Jim.