New York - The Novel

Abigail without a word.
    And now I must give you sad news. As we stormed the redoubt, the British fought bravely, none more so than a British officer whom I only realized toward the end of the engagement, when he fell, to be Grey Albion. He was not killed, though badly wounded, and was carried by us back to our lines, along with the prisoners we took. There he was well looked after. But, sadly, his condition was such that he was not thought likely to recover. I have just returned to the camp to be told, to my great sorrow, that two days ago he died.
    Abigail read it over twice, then hurried from the room.

    By the early days of 1782, New York had resumed its usual quiet. Cornwallis was already in London. General Clinton wondered if a mass uprising of American militias might sweep into the city, but as winter turned to spring, the Patriots seemed to be sitting tight. Though whether James was right in supposing that the war would soon be over, or whether London would decide some new, bold initiative, nobody could guess.
    “We shall just have to await the king’s pleasure,” said Master wearily.
    Or the king’s displeasure, as it turned out.
    In the last election, though King George had faced opposition from many Members of Parliament who were dissatisfied with the conduct of the war, he had still managed, by the usual means of patronage, promotion and honest bribery, to secure a solid majority in his favor. It had cost him a hundred thousand pounds.
    But even in the best-organized legislatures, there comes a point where votes can no longer be bought. And when Parliament heard that York-town was lost and the whole of Cornwallis’s army taken, the king’s majority crumbled. Even Lord North, faithful to his royal brother though he was, threw in the towel. The ministry fell. The opposition were in. That spring the Patriots sent four clever men—Ben Franklin, John Jay, John Adams and Henry Laurens—to join the peace negotiations with the powers of France, Spain, the Dutch and the British, whose commissioners were gathering, in Paris.
    For Abigail, it remained a sad time. She thought often of Albion. It was lucky that she had Weston to occupy her—that was a blessing—and her father also tried to find ways of distracting her. General Clinton returned to London, but his replacement was a decent man, and the life of the British garrison continued more or less as before. There were young officers, especially from the Navy, in the city, and her father told her it would be ill-mannered not to attend their occasional parties. But she could not take much pleasure in their company.
    Occasionally, those she met aroused her curiosity. One of the king’s sons, hardly more than a boy, was serving as a midshipman on one of the vessels stationed at New York. He was a pleasant, eager young fellow, and she observed him with some interest. But he was hardly much company for her. More to her liking was a fresh-faced naval officer, only a few years older than herself, yet already a captain, whose merits, as well as his familyconnections, promised him the chance of rapid promotion. Had she not been grieving for Albion, she might have been glad of the attention of Captain Horatio Nelson.
    Master also encouraged her to be busy. As it happened, that summer, a new and interesting business opened up. For as more and more of the Tory merchants of New York concluded that they had no more future there, and prepared to ship out, whole households of goods came up for sale. Hardly a week went by when her father did not ask her to inspect a sale for him. She found china and glass, fine furniture, curtains, rugs to be had at knock-down prices. After advising her father on a few of these sales, he said to her: “I leave it all in your hands now, Abigail. Buy as you think best, and let me have an accounting.” As the months went by, she had so much inventory that the only problem was where to store it. The prices were so low that she felt almost guilty.
    By the fall season, quite a number of Patriots were returning to the city to claim their property. If they found soldiers living in their house, there were often some hard words spoken. But there was little violence. Winter passed quietly enough, and in spring came news that all hostilities between the British and the Patriots had ended. As more Patriots came into the city, and Loyalists prepared to leave, Abigail knew of a score of houses where angry Patriots had just walked in and taken over.