The French pastor met me at his door with a cordial welcome. I laid my case before him without reservation, telling him how I had joined in with the weaker party in the street attack that morning, and how I had encountered Van Volkenberg in the tavern.
“It is a bad business,” he said. “I wish it had not happened. What can be done? Let me see. What can be done?” He was thoughtful for a few moments. “We must go to the Earl. He is a fine gentleman and a kind man. He sets great value on the city officers. Yes, he will do what he can for you. You say that some of the men were killed?”
“I was told as much by the tavern keeper, and, in truth, I guess there were. It was very stirring for a time. I think the sheriff was also killed.”
“It’s a bad business, as I said. Van Volkenberg and his Red Band will ruin the city yet. I must speak of your case to Lady Marmaduke as well as to the governor. She is very popular with the people and stands as leader of our countrymen here, for all she is an Englishwoman.”
“I have already seen her,” said I. “And I heard them speak of her at the coffee-house as the black Lady Marmaduke.”
The minister smiled. “There are two meanings to that. She has black eyes and a dark skin; and Lady Marmaduke is a black enemy to the patroon and his band of soldiers. Ay, she’s the black lady sure enough. But what was your message to the patroon that he cut short before you had the chance to deliver it?”
This question reminded me that I should be thinking of something else besides my own selfish needs.
“I had hoped to inquire of him some way to find my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. I have some hope that she is in the province of New York.”