The next morning Nathaniel chose to brave the winter cold to visit the shops for some necessary items before the coffeehouse opened at noon. He found Marie in the kitchen already preparing the food and drink for the day. The kitchen was so warm he almost regretted already donning his coat that hung by the door. Marie, as she often did, wore no jacket or neck kerchief while she worked due to the kitchen's heat.

"Are you going out?" Marie asked, tucking a wisp of her dark blond hair under her cap.

"Not for very long," he replied. "I'm to pick up an order of coffee. Do you need anything?"

"More sugar," she replied. "I thought to try some sweets recipes one of the ladies in town told me of."

He nodded. "I will see to it."

"Might I join you?"

Nathaniel turned to see Henri entering the kitchen. He was dressed similarly to the night before, though he'd gone with a lighter colored shirt under his waistcoat. He was already wearing boots against the snow. His blond hair was tied back and he carried his hat under his arm.

"That is, if you're going out I'd like to accompany you," Henri stated. "At least so you can point me in the direction of a shop with blankets. If I don't find more for the bed I'm staying in I'll need to find someone to share warmth with."

Marie swatted his arm. "You beast."

"There is the establishment up the street I reminded the soldiers of," Nathaniel pointed out. "They'd warm you."

"Do they warm you?" Henri asked.

There was a note to his voice that made Nathaniel uncomfortable. "Not at all. I've heard too many stories here about that place."

"Go on then," Marie told them. "I need that sugar. Mrs. Johnson should have both blankets and sugar."

Nathaniel took his hat from the wall and slipped out the kitchen door into the yard beside the building. Henri followed him despite Nathaniel never agreeing to it, not that he objected. Snow crunched under their feet and more fell as they walked, drifting lightly down.

"I see you don't wear those confounded wigs either," Henri commented. "When Marie told me you were from a wealthy English family I expected you to be different than you seem."

Nathaniel glanced at him. "I once was expected to be an English gentleman. Then I crossed my father in a way he couldn't forgive. I've hardly had the money to buy new clothes since I arrived, and I sold my wig to pay Marie her first two months' wages. You're the better dressed one, I see."

Henri seemed uncomfortable for a moment. "I had a decent career in theater until recently. I suspect I won't be much of a gentleman very much longer. I'd be useless in any profession. I'm not certain what I'll do."

He sounded distressed enough for Nathaniel to offer, "You're welcome to stay a while. Marie can teach you what she does. There isn't much money to be made, especially if we divide the income in three, but it will be something."

"Would I truly be useful to you?" Henri asked.

"All you need do is not drink everything you serve and speak English," Nathaniel replied. "Which you and Marie both do very well."

"We learned from a young age," Henri explained. "Do you speak French?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "If I'd had a mind to listen to my tutor I would. My father wished us to learn French and Latin. I learned neither. I was a foolish boy then. Marie tries to teach me. I don't think I've the mind for it."

Henri laughed. "Perhaps you need a better teacher."

"Perhaps," Nathaniel said with a chuckle, glancing away. "I only had a mind for mathematics and nothing else."

Henri laughed again. "I must confess you are a strange man, then."

"It has served me well in business," Nathaniel assured him. "Perhaps I haven't become wealthy, but I can keep the business afloat."

"Ah, mathematics does serve business," Henri replied. "I was always more interested in literature."

Nathaniel smiled at him. "I see how a love of literature would benefit an actor."

Henri smiled as well. "A passion for the story makes the role much easier."

Nathaniel nodded. "That I'm sure."

Not many people were out on the snowy streets yet, but those who were seemed more interested in them as they passed than Nathaniel was accustomed to. The thought finally crossed his mind that they had likely heard about the incident the night before and he sighed to himself. That had been incredibly foolish of him, but he'd do it again if they handled Marie in such a way under his gaze. He'd acted without thinking of the danger, though. If the soldiers hadn't been under the control of their officers even during their leave time there could have been a very different end to the evening, he realized once more.

He didn't trust the soldiers. Many of them were rude and rough, seemingly without cause. Not all of them were cruel, but it seemed they weren't being prevented from roving the city and doing as they pleased. Though he truly saw them as men attempting the peacekeeping work they were sent to do, some of them were causing more harm than good.

He had more trust in the other people of Boston. Some were happy with the soldiers and would gladly watch him shot for defending Marie, but most of those who had been in his tavern last night, from what he usually overheard them speaking about, would have stood with him. It may have only been to spite the British and not to defend himself and Marie, but he would accept that. A defense was still a defense, no matter the reasoning behind it.

They reached Mrs. Johnson's shop before long. As they stepped through the door the heat from the hearth in the room was enough for Nathaniel to unfasten his coat. He usually couldn't leave the shop in less than a half hour, as much as Mrs. Johnson liked to gossip.

"Well if it isn't Nathaniel Hill," Mrs. Johnson said when they walked into her shop. She was an older, rather plump woman with graying hair that constantly seemed to escape her cap. "Your house is the talk of Boston. Everyone's heard how you threatened a room full of soldiers for touching your Marie."

"It wasn't so dramatic as that," he replied, decidedly uncomfortable.

"It was rather dramatic," Henri commented from where he was gazing at a set of shoe buckles.

Nathaniel ignored him. "It was nothing of consequence."

"And they say the officer didn't even confiscate your gun or have you arrested for attempting to incite a mob," Mrs. Johnson went on. "I wonder how you managed that."

She gave him an expectant look, clearly desiring to hear all about what had happened. Usually she was the one telling him all about an event, not expecting him to tell her about one. She leaned her hands on the countertop in front of her and watched him.

"I don't know," Nathaniel admitted. "It must have been to avoid violence. I'm sure you heard the story from men who weren't there in red coats."

"Of course," she replied. "I would have hated to see your house be the next place of violent unrest."

"I don't want to see that, either," Nathaniel replied. "Now, Marie sent me for sugar. And this is her brother, Henri. He's staying for a time and is in need of some things."

"I was curious where you were gathering French friends from," she declared with a laugh. She turned to Henri as he joined Nathaniel near the counter. "What can I get for you? I saw you eying the buckles."

Henri chuckled. "I truly only came for blankets, this time. I'm certain I'll be returning."

The door to the street behind them opened and someone gasped. Nathaniel turned to see a black man who'd been in his coffeehouse several times, though Nathaniel didn't know his name. The man looked rather upset about something.

"I thought that was you!" he cried. "There's a great pack of soldiers overrunning your house!"

"The devils," Nathaniel spat at the same moment Henri gasped, "Marie!"

Nathaniel had run two steps to the door before he remembered Mrs. Johnson and turned back to her, stuttering an apology.

She waved him on emphatically. "Go! Go!"

They rushed past the man at the door and turned to run to the coffeehouse. Now that many people knew what had happened the night before, the sight of him running madly through the gentle snow with a hand on his hat and coat flapping behind him certainly attracted attention. He didn't notice the people who followed them up the road. His focus was solely on what the blasted soldiers were doing to his establishment and Marie.

He saw them when they rounded the corner to his street. Four soldiers were on guard outside, one watching Marie, who was huddled against the wall with only a thin shawl on over her dress. The soldiers all had their muskets in hand. A small crowd had gathered nearby to watch and jeer at the soldiers. It grew when the people who had followed Nathaniel and Henri joined them.

Nathaniel slowed to a walk as he approached the building. "What is this about?" he demanded, though he knew exactly what was happening.

The soldiers didn't answer him, just watched him wearily. One turned and stepped inside.

"They're here for the musket," Marie said quietly to him. She was shivering.

Henri put an arm around her. "They didn't let you get your coat?"

She shook her head. "I don't dress warmly in the kitchen when I'm preparing the food for the day because it gets so damned hot in there."

Nathaniel removed his coat for her. Henri helped her put it on. It left him in his waistcoat and shirt. Though he'd chosen a warm shirt for the day, it was still cold without the coat over it. He was too agitated to care. Marie hadn't deserved to be tossed out in the cold over his deeds.

The officer from the night before stepped out the door then and his gaze found Nathaniel. "Where is it?" he questioned. His tone was no longer falsely polite, as it had been previously.

"Where is what?" Nathaniel replied. He could feel many, many eyes on him and held himself tall and defiant, drawing on his anger. He refused to even let himself shiver.

"The musket," the officer snapped. "Or do you have something else to hide?"

Nathaniel spread his arms. "Nothing. I sold the musket last night."

"You lie," the officer argued. "Where is it?"

"That I can't tell you," Nathaniel replied. "I didn't ask the man's name who bought it. I thought it would be safest not to know. I believed you would return for it."

The man stepped close to Nathaniel, close enough for Nathaniel to smell the tobacco on his hot breath. "You will tell me the truth. You threatened British soldiers with that gun and therefore it is no longer yours to possess. Give the gun over or I will arrest you as you already should have been for your threats."

"I have told you the truth," Nathaniel insisted. "If you find a musket in that house you may arrest me if you so wish. I have done nothing wrong by divesting myself of an item that will cause me trouble, or by defending my own employee in my own place of business when her virtue was being threatened."

The officer's eyes narrowed into a glare. Nathaniel was certain he was about to be arrested. Then something caught the officer's attention and he turned his gaze on the growing crowd. He took one step away from Nathaniel, then returned to the house. There were sounds of scraping and clattering from inside. Something shattered loudly from the kitchen. They were certainly doing a diligent search. Nathaniel tried not to be concerned. The hiding place was very well disguised, after all.

Someone finally stepped out of the crowd and handed Nathaniel a cloak. He recognized the man as the one who sat at the bar every night. Nathaniel thanked him but the man pulled the cloak back from his hand.

"Let me help," he offered.

Confused but unwilling to lose the offered warmth, Nathaniel bent a bit so the shorter man could sling the cloak over his shoulders.

"Did you really sell it?" the man asked softly.

Nathaniel glanced at him and experienced an odd thought that he could trust the man. Perhaps it was the openness of his gaze. "Anything to make them leave," he replied quietly. Not a real admission, but enough for the man to nod slightly and give him a tilted smile. He fastened the cloak for Nathaniel, then returned to the crowd.

Nathaniel glanced that way in time to see the man he stood next to take a single step forward. "The man said he sold the gun, why are you still holding his establishment hostage?" the stranger demanded. "Haven't you something more worthwhile to do?"

Many voices called out with similar demands. Finally, after what seemed like hours, a group of soldiers filed out of the building with the officer the last to emerge. He glanced at Nathaniel with a look of hatred. "You're free to return," he declared before leading his soldiers away.

Some of the crowd still jeered at them until they were gone, others followed them to insult them on their march back to their posts. Nathaniel looked at the people who were left around him and nodded to them, certain the idea of the crowd's retaliation was the only reason he had not been arrested then or the night before. He led Marie and Henri back inside to find the coffeehouse in complete disarray. Tables and chairs had been overturned and tossed about, as if they had tested all the boards of the floor for a loose one that could hide a musket. Even the hearth had been searched and the ashes from the night before scattered all over the floor.

Marie made her way back to the kitchen, muttering in French. Henri stood in the middle of the tavern room, gazing around him at the mess. Nathaniel paused only to take in the immediate sight, then moved swiftly to the bar, looking over his shoulder to make certain the door and shutters were closed. He crouched, broken mugs crackling under his boots, and reached up under the lip of the bar, sliding his hand up and over the extra ledge of wood only he and the former tavern owner knew was there. He let out a deep breath when he felt, in the narrow nook, the cool metal barrel of the musket.