Despite Lucas’s constant reassurances, she was desperately worried about Duncan. Charles Town Harbor was splashed with sunlight and crowded with British warships on the morning of their arrival. There were also American clippers, obviously confiscated, with their sails folded and redcoats patrolling at their rails. The city itself, to Phoebe’s twentieth-century eyes, looked like a theme park, except for various real-life touches, like sweating slaves carrying barrels and cobbled streets dotted with horse dung. The Charles Town Princess tied up to a long jetty, and a contingent of British officials came out to greet the ship as her passengers began to disembark. Phoebe’s blood froze at the sight of them. Lucas might be on their side, politically at least, but they were bound to ask questions. They could not help noticing her short hair—she wished she’d thought to cover it, using a curtain or even a lace tablecloth for a mantle—and if they connected her with Duncan, she would be arrested.
