Rebel In Boston Ch 03

After Backus was killed, they sent me back into Boston a few more times, but the last trip before the British up and left is the one I remember best. For all I know, it may be a turning point in the Revolution, but that is another story entirely. It was late February or early March, in the midst of a thaw, and I had by then made some useful contacts of my own as well as continuing to check with the colonel's friends. One of my favorite and most useful sources of information was Madam Barry's bordello on Duke Street. It was a tall, frame structure with steep steps up to the front door. I always came in the back and made my way to the cellar where the madam had provided me a substantial old couch and a rickety table and set of chairs. Her "ladies," as she called them, could be a font of wonderful tales, rumors, and first-class information as well as not- so-innocent pleasure.

I was kissing a young whore who called herself July when she sighed, "They's leavin'."

I yanked my face out of her neck and whispered, "Who's going where?"

"Corny, Howe and them, they's all leaving, every one," she said, pulling her clothes together and shaking her sweaty curls loose. She had done me to a fare-thee-well some time before.

"Where are they going?" I asked, helping her with her quilted petticoat. She had demanded my tongue's attentions as her reward for tolerating a most vigorous swiving under me that left her sore and hurt, so she said.

"Don' know. New Scotland mean anyfing t'you?"

I shook my head between her soft breasts. "When?"

"Fortnight, this feller said. Tole me he'd miss me, `e did." She grinned at me. "Are you leavin' too? You gonna miss me?" she asked as I stood.

"You going with them?" I asked, slapping her open hand aside. I had seldom paid for sex since I was a boy back in Frederick.

She shook her head. "Some of the girls are, them what had regulars among the gentry and such, men that ain't as stingy as you."

"My, my," I said. "and who might know more?"

"I dunno," she sniffed, "Maybe that snooty Miz Singleton. You know `er? She's a real King-lover, that `un. I `eard `em talking `bout her."

I knew who she was, the handsome hostess of one of Boston's best-known salons, perhaps the most flamboyantly dressed woman in New England, a reputed courtesan with many wealthy lovers, a good friend of Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne although some insisted she was only his well-paid harlot, and wife of a notorious rake and libertine who was in the process, so they said, of dying of the so- called French disease. The tall, dark-haired woman of perhaps twenty-five or thirty was an American, Rhode Island born I was told, and reputedly came from a poor, cod-fishing family. She climbed the bedroom ladder of success rung by rung on her shapely back and wide posterior, married into wealth and station, rising in the loyal ranks out of a career as a serving girl and cheap jade in a seafront tavern. If she had a weakness, said her many enemies, it was for over-sized jewels and slim young men.

"Who do you know over there?" I asked the young one as she pulled up her knit stockings.

"Just her maid, thas' all, her very own personal and private maid," she answered proudly.

"Her name?" I asked, holding up a shiny shilling.

"Duchess, they calls her," she said, snatching the coin and making it disappear like a magician. "She's black as tar. Tell `er July sen'cha. She might help." The girl hurried off to earn her meals with her trained coney, and I went out in the twilight to seek information, my physical needs more than satisfied.

At the back of the Singleton's rented manse, a home that I had been told once belonged to some branch of the Adam's family although I'm not sure which Adams, I asked for Duchess. A short girl with an Irish brogue and ringlets at her ears told me to wait and in a minute or two a very dark, angular young woman appeared, wearing a frilly cap and looking curious.

"Dottie said there was a giant asking for me," she said, her speech soft and careful.

"July sent me," I told her and watched her reaction. She raised an eyebrow a quarter inch and the corner of her mouth even less.

"And," she said, hitting the "d" hard and studying me as if she planned on taking me apart.

"She heard the British were planning on leaving soon."

"Well?" said the black woman.

"Might you or your mistress know about that?"

"She might, come in, mind your head," Duchess said with a knowing smile. "I'd guess you don't live around here." She led me into a small library and waved at a fragile-looking chair. "Be right back," she said, disappearing.

I paced the narrow room, looking at book titles and framed engravings, and when the pocket door slid open, I turned. There stood a striking woman, her hair piled so high that it made her as tall as I was. She wore a dark green velvet robe trimmed in soft gray fur, fox probably, which she held together at her narrow waist in a relaxed manner. She had wide shoulders and ample hips, long legs and an upright carriage. She held her chin high and there was some mischief in her gaze or perhaps it was assessment.

"Who are you?" she asked, closing the door soundlessly behind her, changing hands at her middle as she did.

I told her my name, said I was from Maryland, was in Washington's army, and had worked with Colonel Backus. I showed her his ring.

"Well?" she said, cocking her head slightly to the side. She was wearing make-up, what we called paint in those days, that highlighted her eyes and cheekbones; her lips were rouged and her eyelids tinted. "It is true. We are leaving, all of us." She sat on a small, gilt chair and crossed her long legs, flipping her robe's furry hem across to cover her knees. Other than her soft slippers and her dark stockings, she was, as far as I could tell, completely bare under her silken gown.

"When?" I asked, seating myself and trying not to let my rising desire show. I crossed my legs too. She exuded vibrant femaleness, in other words, she smelled like sex. The idea rose in my mind unbidden.

"I don't know, soon I think. I cannot talk to you here." She took a deep breath and made an odd face, almost disgust. "I shouldn't talk to you at all. Where are you staying or are you going back tonight? The colonel was a fine man but always in a hurry; may he rest in peace."

"I can wait for you, wait another day. I'm at Madam Barry's on Duke. You know the place?" I was tempted to tell her I would wait until hell froze over for her.

She nodded and smiled. "I have a soiree here almost at once. Some may already have arrived. I will come later, much later, with Duchess and a driver. I owe Backus that much."

"Come around back, down the cellar steps. I'll leave a lantern in the side yard and one in the doorway."

She nodded and stood. I put my hands gently on her velvet hips and she lifted her chin, not bothering to hold her heavy gown together. Her eyes were gray. I kissed her briefly and was surprised to find the tip of her tongue in my mouth as she drew away, displaying the deep cleft between her upright breasts , the puff of her belly and the shadowed paradise beneath it.

"It will be late," she said and turned with a swish of her fur- trimmed wrap and left, striding through the doorway, taking long steps, swinging her arms, her gown billowing out at the sides. I caught just a brief reflection of her lean, pink body as she passed an ornate, convex mirror on the wall. It was enough to startle my cock into rigid attention.

I spent the day making my usual rounds, avoid the small but annoying patrols and chatting up various founts of sometimes-useful information. Then, after a decent late meal, I dragged myself back to my digs and napped a bit, hoping the lovely woman was as good as her word.

The bell in the nearby church had clanged twice before she and her dark maid came though the basement door, bundled in heavy cloaks, both of them smiling as though they had just shared a good jest. I quickly roused myself, put aside my bayonet, and tried to look alert.

"Ah, he's awake," the woman said, dismissing the maid with a wave. "Tell Jim to return at five." She tossed back her hood and swirled out of her long, dark cape, handing it to me. I laid it aside on my couch, and she walked into my arms. I kissed her gently, and she kissed me firmly and ground her lush, silk-covered and stay- bound body into me. She tasted of wine. It was a fine, warm body that undulated in my arms and breathed desire. My big hands were busy while our mouths and tongues tangled and merged.

"Damn," she said softly, pushing me away. She was wearing a very fancy gown which seemed to have two diaphanous handkerchiefs for a top, pocket hoops that flared out her ornate overskirt and a striped petticoat made of dozens of yards of rustling silk. There were strings of small pearls roped through her dark hair, and she also had dangling pearl ear bobs and a strand of larger, dark and rather misshapen pearls at her throat. Her skin was perfect, nearly translucent, flawless, faintly fuzzy.

We sat on my makeshift bed, and I poured her some corn whisky which was all I had. She sniffed it and then drank it down in a gulp.

"It's true," she said, wiping the back of her hand across her soft mouth while I pawed her. "They are leaving; we are, all of us who are loyal. Soon. In the middle of the month is the best guess; there's something about tides and that fort out there, William is it?

"Oh," she almost chuckled, "but they will be back, that brave bunch, they will be back and hundreds more with them, whole new regiments. They sacked Gates. The Howe brothers are in command, Horny Billy and Black Dick, and they will be back. They mean to crush you, grind you under. Hang Adams, both of them if they catch them, Hancock, that French tinker, all the leaders." She worked on the snaps at the side of her gaudy stomacher, sprung it loose and flung it away into the dark. "Ah, I can breathe," she sighed.

I bent, held her small breast and kissed her. She smiled and stood with her back to me doffing her huge overskirt and strange, basket-shaped hoops. I undid her stay strings, and she let the small garment slide over her hips and stepped from it, kicking it aside. I never saw a woman so careless with obviously expensive clothes. Then she got out of her huge, slick, pleated petticoat, which stood by itself when she set it aside, and pirouetted before me in her delicate shift . "I feel much better," she said, tossing away the gay kerchiefs tucked into her bosom, kicking off her silver-buckled slippers and standing on her toes like a dancer. My flickering candle cast black shadows that moved across her body and face. My heart raced and my member strained.

"Will you go with them?" I asked, taking her hand and pulling her onto my lap. She put her arms about my neck and nodded, Her skin felt cold and prickled. Her mouth was warm and soft. There was no heat except for our bodies in my basement hideaway. I cannot remember the month, but it was still winter and it was cold.

"I must," she sobbed. "Take me. Please. We've just a few hours. You talk too much."

I stripped out of my boots and britches in record time, helped her slide under her cape and the worn quilt on my couch and edged in beside her, stripling eager and main mast hard. The bed had barely room for one my size, but we soon solved that problem, and the woman lay heaving under me, hips pumping up and down, legs kicking wildly, head raised on the couch's soft curve, fingers clawing into my shirt as I held my weight from her and rogered her steadily and firmly, grunting with effort, bending my back to the thrilling task. Her mouth gaped, but she climaxed with just a soft sound like a breeze, shuddering and barely pausing as I increased the pace of my lunging and probing, nearing my peak deep in her wondrously throbbing quim.

She locked her long legs about me, released her arms to press her elbows on the wooden frame, bent her back and took it, groaning under me as I came, teeth clenched, arms fully extended on the couch's sides, smiling down at her. She shook beneath me as I filled her until she overflowed.

I collapsed and pulled her along side, most of her body atop mine. We lay quietly our heads raised on the couch's uplifted end, enjoying the feel of each other, getting our breath back, hoping for more.

"I needed that," she sighed. "Haven't had a real man for six weeks, and then that Mayfair fop I laid with spent most of the time looking in my mirror while he served me. But you, sir, you are a bull, a prize bull."

"Why must you leave?" I asked after I kissed her eyes, ears and neck.

"I must, if I want to live," she whispered, a chuckle deep in her throat as her hand stroked my chest. "They'd, I don't know, the people here, they'd cut off my nose and ears, might hang me. I deserve it." She sniffed and let her hand roam through my tangled hair down my belly and groin and then to my flaccid member, teasing it back to life, scratching its undeside lightly.

"Your husband?" I asked, petting her back. She helped me skin out of my shirt and then gnawed at my mouth and kissed my nipples. The cold air washed over us, and I pulled her cape atop my shoulders.

"Partly, it's expected," she said, "but I've entertained them all, Gage, the military governor, Clinton, the generals, admirals, all of them."

"Pity," I said, kissing her and sucking her mouth, drawing her tongue into mine, pulling her shift to her heaving hips.

"Yes, your friend Madam Barry, you know that's her real name by the way, she might take me in, put me to work, but no one else would have any use for me."

"Did you know the colonel?" I pulled the lacy shift over her head, and it hung from one of her arms until she dropped it behind us.

"Backus?" she asked, my aching stones rolling through her fingers.

I nodded, bending to lick her hard nipples. They were small and pointed. I sucked them briefly.

"Yes, I loved him. He was wonderful, the last man that really satisfied me fully," she said, and I thought she was going to cry, but instead she rose, climbed up my scared body, swung a leg across mine, and while I held up my swelling member, she carefully absorbed it and let it grow and stretch within her, a very pleasant experience that lasted for a some time while she stayed poised above me, breasts and dark hair dangling in my face. Then she lowered herself and we began again with my goal a hundred strokes before I came. I heard the church clock chime three before we stopped, having lost count somewhere in the forties, and I went to visit the privy wrapped in her cloak, leaving her panting and only partly covered on the cot, one knee raised and her arm across her face.

"I've never made love on such a small bed," she said, welcoming me back beside her. I kissed her and then we assumed the spoon position with me behind in order to rest for a spell. I pulled her cape across us both and snuggled in.

"You could come with me, join the patriots," I said to her hair, my hand cupping her breast.

She giggled and shook under my exploring fingers. "I like my life. I'm a wastrel, you big fool. I enjoy good wine, fine food, interesting company, music and dancing, jewelry and gifts, all the rest. And men, big men especially."

We lay quietly, breathing together.

"It's too late for me," she said. "I've made my bed. But, but, when the time comes, when we are in New York . . ."

"What?" I said, more loudly than I had meant to.

"Oh yes," she said, "and they will welcome us, the Dutchies. Wait and see."

I caressed her, slid my hand down her soft belly and explored her soggy slit. She covered my hand, encouraging my kneading. I hardened and pushed my way into her from the back. She groaned and quivered as I entered again, a fierce and tireless ram.

"I can do the cause more good staying where I am," she said, heaving steadily. "My god, that's good. Deeper, deeper, go on. Oh there, right there." She squealed and shook, lubricating the way once more with a sudden gush of fluid.

Eventually I got her up on her knees with her head down on the foot of the couch and enjoyed her, leaning atop her back until we both were spent. Somewhere in there the clock struck four. We rested, intertwined, she licked me back to life and I slid my spit- annointed rod into her again while she lay spread beneath me, arched up on the top of the couch. Her final orgasm shook us both, and I squelched her brief scream with my mouth. When we could stand, I helped her dress, stealing kisses from time to time, and when Duchess came in the grey of dawn, the woman hugged me, said, "You'll do," and went back to her other life.

I reported what I had learned, but I am not sure I was believed. Then I went back several more times, but failed in repeated attempts to contact the Singleton woman. The British stayed warm and cozy while some men took on duties I forutnately avoided, hauling huge cannon across ide-covered lackes and rivers all the way from Fort Ticonderoga tot he heights of Dorchester which overlooked the teeming city.

My officers expressed surpise when the British fleet sailed out of sight in mid-March carrying off not only the army and marines but hundreds of civilians as well. I went into the town, hardly recognizing it in daylight, enjoyed the celebrating, got drunk as a lord and well laid a number of times. I found the Singleton's looted home empty but Madam Barry's doing a thriving business. Then we were ordered south, toward New York, which the staff had decided would be the next target of our enemies. I was not surprised.