“We didn’t mean no harm, Ma’am Greenleaf,” explained Johnny. “We just came from camp to see the girls, and walked into the taproom like—like anybody would. Then we heard Sally Rose scream she was being killed—” He broke off and stared again at the bent golden head of his adored one. Sally Rose was beginning to weep tears of embarrassment.
“I see,” replied the old lady grimly. She stood protectingly in front of her granddaughter. After a moment she seemed to come to a decision. “Well, since you’re here, you’re here. And it’s plain some male critter will have to help us. ’Tisn’t as if the girl weren’t decently covered underneath. Can you boys get her out of that contraption?”
Johnny swallowed and made inarticulate sounds.
“We can try,” said Tom. “What is it? What’s it made of?”
“It’s a pair of stays. An outlandish pair brought from New York for some Tory hussy.”
“My mother’s stays are laced together,” said Johnny, his embarrassment lessening a little. “Won’t they come off if you unlace them?”
“I cut the laces—first thing I did when I came upstairs and heard her moaning,” snapped Gran. “But these are fastened with locks at top and bottom. Come and look at them.”
Gran motioned the boys forward and they gingerly approached Sally Rose.
Tom reached out coolly and fingered the jeweled padlock.
Sally Rose sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. Johnny looked the other way.