New York - The Novel

There was nothing she could do but wait and see.
    So she was quite nervous in the evening when she heard him ask her father for a private audience alone. The two men went into the library, closed the door and remained there, speaking in low voices, for some time. When Albion came out, he looked serious, but said nothing. When she asked her father if Grey had raised the matter of the illegal shipments he only replied: “Don’t ask.”
    And as no complaints seemed to be raised against her father in the days that followed, she assumed that the issue had been resolved.

    Soon afterward, Albion resumed his duties. General Clinton used him on his staff now, and he was busier than ever. Perhaps it was just that he was preoccupied, but it seemed to Abigail that Albion, having thanked her for her care so gracefully, was putting a tiny distance between them now. And although she knew it was unfair, she could not help a feeling of irritation.
    The mood in the house was somewhat somber too. News came that the Patriot governor had taken away Master’s farms. Anticipated though this was, it was a blow to them all.
    The news from across the ocean was worse.
    “It seems,” Albion told them, “that all Europe is taking the chance to strike at Britain’s empire now. France has persuaded Spain to join them. The French and Spanish fleets are in the English Channel, and it’s fully expected they’ll attack Gibraltar. The Spanish will surely move against us in Florida. The Dutch are against us, too, and as for the Germans and Russians, they’re standing by, happy to watch us lose.” To add insult to injury, the American privateer, John Paul Jones, using ships supplied by France, had the cheek to raid the coasts of Britain herself.
    A new contingent of British troops arrived. “But half of them are diseased,” Albion reported. “Now we have to keep them from infecting the others.” Abigail hardly saw him in the two weeks after that.

    It was early in October when, finding her in the parlor one evening, Grey Albion modestly announced: “Some of the other officers and I are going to a ball, Miss Abigail. I wondered whether we might have the honor of your company in our party.” The Garrison Assemblies, as they were known, usually took place twice a month in the big assembly room at the City Tavern on Broadway, and her father had taken her to some of these. The invitation coming directly from him, though, she was taken by surprise, and hesitated. “I should perhaps warn you,” he added quickly, “that this ball might not be to your taste.”
    “Oh? How so?”
    “It is what they call an Ethiopian Ball.” And Abigail stared at him in surprise.
    The last six months had seen one other development in New York. It had begun when General Clinton, looking for ways to undermine the Patriots, had proclaimed that any Negroes serving with the Patriot forces, if they deserted to New York City, might live there as free men and follow any trade or occupation that they chose. The response had been greater than he had expected—so great that he’d confessed to Master, “We may have to limit the tide.”
    It had certainly enraged the Patriots. Long Island Patriots had already suffered when runaway slaves had told British raiding parties where to find their hidden valuables. Just across from Staten Island, in Monmouth County, a brigade under the daring black officer, Colonel Tye, had been terrorizing the Patriot forces. “These cursed British are stirring up slave revolts yet again,” they protested. In the city, however, the results had been interesting. “I’ve found a carpenter and a warehouseman I needed,” Master had announced with satisfaction. “And we got some welcome new troops,” Albion had reported. An extra barracks had been set up for them on Broadway.
    But perhaps the most unusual development had been in the city’s social life. For it remained a curious feature of the empire that while Britain led the world in trading slaves, and used huge numbers on the sugar plantations, slaves were now hardly known in Britain itself. To Albion and other young bloods like him, the free blacks of New York seemed a delightful curiosity. So they set up dances, with black bands playing the fiddle and the banjo. And to make it more intriguing, theyopened these dances to the black people too. It was all great fun, they thought, and rather exotic.
    “I am not sure your father would approve.”
    It was true that some Tory Loyalists