A seagull screeched as it vaulted off the jetty, flying free unlike Sally Hemings who had been born a slave. The tall sailing ship masts formed a forest inside Greenland Dock. Captain Ramsay said a hundred vessels moored here, mostly whalers. Sally wrinkled up her nose at the smell of boiling blubber. But she preferred it to the stench of the nearby River Thames, where human waste and offal mixed with other less pleasant things.

“Stand there,” said Mrs. Adams. “Don’t move! Be quiet!”

Sally cringed and tightened her grip on Polly’s hand. Mrs. Adams didn’t mean to be harsh, but her patience now wore thin. As wife of the first United States Minister to the Kingdom of Great Britain, she was a very important and busy woman. Sally only had to hold Polly’s hand and prevent her wandering off. The two girls had stayed with the Adams family in London for a whole month before commencing the final leg of their journey to Paris where Sally’s master, Polly’s father, lived.

The two girls made a mismatched pair: Sally a teenaged negress dressed in plain colonial dress; Polly a much younger white girl clad in fashionable Parisian silks. But Polly understood that any other negress would be dressed in old rags and family cast-offs. Fortunately her master treated his human property with far more kindness than most slave owners. Mrs. Adams glowered at Sally then stormed toward Ramsay.

“Oh, she is quite a child,” complained Mrs. Adams.

Ramsey shared a sympathetic look with her. “Abigail, you are so right.”

Mrs. Adams sighed. “Yet, she is fond of Polly and has a good nature.”

He glared at Sally. “What use is a good nature? I have heard of your sympathy toward negroes, but she will be of little service. You should allow me to return her to Virginia.”

Sally trembled. Polly glanced up and frowned. Sally didn’t wish to spend one minute more in the company of the good Captain Ramsey. Ramsey sniggered as Mrs. Adams listed Sally’s deficiencies.

“Why, look at Polly. She is only nine years old, yet five weeks at sea have made her as rough as a little sailor. Sally wants more care than the child in her charge, and is wholly incapable of looking after Polly without a superior to direct her. It is difficult to believe she is James’ sister. He is such a capable young man.”

Mr. John Adams descended a gangplank from the French merchant ship upon which they had booked passage. Sally liked this plump man, a decade older than his wife. Although a powerful man, he never condescended.

“I’ve spoken to Mr. Jones,” he said. “He still insists Sally come onboard.”

Ramsey’s shoulders slumped. Mrs. Adams sighed. Sally let out a breath of relief.

“Why, that man is in want of sensible female direction,” said Mrs. Adams.

“Never mind, dear.” Mr. Adams smiled.

Sally wondered about the identity of this mysterious Mr. Jones. He’d travelled from Paris aboard the Maria Josepha but hadn’t disembarked. Perhaps he was a high ranking employee of the Hotel de Langoque on the Champs-Élysées, where her master lived. Her master currently served as the first United States Minister to the Kingdom of France.

Mrs. Adams threaded an arm through her husband’s and they proceeded toward the gangplank. Sally followed hand-in-hand with Polly. Thankfully, Ramsey didn’t follow. Instead he turned toward London town. Within yards, two filthy urchins ran up to him, begging coppers: a girl and boy, both younger than Polly. Ramsey attempted to kick the nearest. The beggars cursed him and ran off.

“Those children need help, not a kick,” muttered Mrs. Adams, shaking her head. “The British government should act: provide accommodation and education.”

Mr. and Mrs. Adams, Polly and Sally boarded the ship. The wooden deck dropped an inch then rose again; Sally’s stomach turned. She hated ships and hadn’t wanted to cross the ocean. Isabel should’ve been Polly’s nursemaid-companion. But when a letter arrived which requested Polly travel to Paris, Isabel had been with child so unable to make the trip.

At least in Paris, Sally would be reunited with her older brother. She hadn’t seen James in months. He was training to be a chef. Their master treated his slaves exceptionally well, believing they had the same right to education as freemen. As he prepared to leave Virginia, James had expressed delight at this wonderful opportunity to travel and learn a new language. Sally didn’t share his enthusiasm.

Mrs. Adam’s shrill voice cut into Sally’s thoughts. “Miss Wollstonecraft is the most remarkable lady I ever did meet. Why, her thoughts on the education of daughters are a revelation. I wish my own dear Mama could have met her when I was a child.”

“Ah,” replied Mr. Adams. “I suspect your parents’ omission was my manumission.”

Sally didn’t like Miss Wollstonecraft; a monster lurked within those deep, dark-brown eyes. Mrs. Adams claimed Miss Wollstonecraft was a literary genius, but Sally couldn’t read. The day white folk taught a negress to read, they would invite a negro to lead their nation. Sally smiled at this absurd idea.

All around her, bare-footed sailors bustled. Voices she couldn’t comprehend bellowed commands. Men scurried to obey. Unwashed, tanned men scampered up rope ladders like mice climbing a wall. Clambering over wooden poles twenty or thirty feet over her head, they loosened ropes and lowered vast sheets of sailcloth. Sally didn’t understand how those billowing sheets would move the Maria Josepha forward. Her master would know; he knew everything.

A tall man in a well-tailored, red uniform marched toward Mr. Adams. The hard heels of his black, leather boots clomped across the deck. Sally noted his uniform boasted a large quantity of gold braid and he had powdered his face like a rich aristocrat. He had natural long gray hair, rather than one of those fashionable wigs. He came to a halt in front of the Adamses, and clipped his heels.

“Mr. Adams,” he said in a very English accent. It sounded like he had a mouth full of marbles.

The blood drained from Mr. Adam’s face. “Lord Cornwallis. This is a … erm … pleasant surprise. I understood you were in India.”

Hearing the serious looking officer’s name, Sally’s own heart leapt into her mouth and she took a step backward. This wasn’t a man anyone would wish to meet.

“Yes,” replied Cornwallis. “I returned to take care of business.”

Mr. Adam’s eyebrows narrowed. “And business brought you onboard THIS ship?”

“As did yours, sir.” He nodded to Mrs. Adams. “Mrs. Adams.”

Without another word, Cornwallis stormed in the direction of Polly and Sally. She grabbed hold of Polly and pulled her from his path. Sally felt Polly deserved more respect.

“Come along, Sally,” shouted Mrs. Adams. “Don’t dawdle.”

They descended below decks, where the ceiling nearly clipped Mr. Adam’s head and the dark corridor smelled musty. Smoky oil lamps proved a poor substitute for sunlight, and stank like the burning blubber outside. Mr. Adams led them to a wooden door. A man stood to attention outside. Although he wore no uniform, Sally could recognize a soldier. He scanned them with piercing green eyes, then turned to knock upon the door. Presently the door opened and a familiar, tall man appeared.

Polly escaped Sally’s grip and sprung forward. “Papa!”

Sally’s jaw dropped. She had not expected this. There stood a man she had known and respected all her life. Mr. Jones was really Mr. Thomas Jefferson: a straight, six-feet-tall, thin man with sandy colored hair. The Sage of Monticello laughed and snatched Polly into his arms. He smiled and his bright, blue eyes lit up like a star.

“Oh, how I’ve mithed my printheth!”

Anyone who didn’t know this handsome, middle-aged widower might joke about his lisp, but Sally trembled in awe before him. She hoped her service would please him better than it did Mrs. Adams. She would do anything for Mr. Jefferson. Of course, he didn’t notice her. Why would he?

Mr. Jefferson stepped back and gestured for them to enter. Inside, three other people waited: two well-dressed gentlemen Sally didn’t recognize and–to her great horror–Mary Wollstonecraft. The famous anarchist glared at Sally.

“May I introduthe Mithter Wilberforce, Mith Wollstonecraft and Mithter Edmund Burke.”

Sally only recognized Miss Wollstonecraft, though she suspected the others were equally famous to those better educated than her. Perhaps anyone who could read would recognize these names. Like Miss Wollstonecraft, Mr. Wilberforce appeared in his late-twenties. He looked strikingly handsome, with bright, green eyes and long, wild hair. Though he wasn’t as tall as her master, somehow he dominated the room. In contrast, Mr. Burke was a much older man: stooped, wrinkled and gray … easily missed. Sally recognized kindness in his blue eyes. What was so important about this meeting they felt the need to hide their true names?

Sally’s master gestured to the new arrivals. “And to you I prethent Mithter and Mitheth John Adamth, and my daughter Polly.”

Naturally he didn’t mention Sally.

Mrs. Adams extended her hand to Miss Wollstonecraft, ignoring the men. “We met briefly at Mr. Johnson’s dinner party.”

“I’m honored,” said Miss Wollstonecraft, in a less obvious English accent than Cornwallis’. “I loved your letter to the Continental Congress. ‘All men would be tyrants if they could.’ Absolutely right!”

“My letter,”Mrs. Adams blushed. “I hadn’t realized my personal correspondence had reached so far into the public arena.”

She gave her husband a suspicious glance. He shrugged and smiled. Mr. Jefferson walked to the open door and addressed his guard.

“Peter, pleathe escort my daughter and her companion to their room.”

Sally was surprised her master didn’t wish to spend time alone with his daughter. He hadn’t seen her for six months, so they must have much to discuss. This secret conference must be very important. Great things were to be decided behind that closed door.

Servants carried huge, metal reinforced travelling cases into the cabin, where Sally helped Polly unpack her things. A large portion of this voyage would be by river, which pleased Sally. She’d hated the turbulent motion of the ship during their ocean crossing.

A sudden lurch made Sally’s stomach twist. The Maria Josepha was breaking free of her mooring.

“Well, that’s everything,” said Sally. “Do you want to explore?”

Polly yawned. “No, I want to be here if Father comes. You go ahead.”

Sally left the cabin and retraced their footsteps toward the deck. The serious-looking guard outside Mr. Jefferson’s cabin observed her with eagle-eyes. Having dismissed her as no threat, she again became invisible.

On deck, the swaying movement of the ship became more notable as it negotiated the lock to depart Greenland Dock. The river surface was calm, but she had been on land for a fortnight so the unfamiliar motion reminded her of the choppy ocean. She felt queasy.

As her stomach threatened to re-introduce Sally to her breakfast, she sought somewhere private to rest and recover. After five weeks on the ocean, she had become familiar with a ship’s layout. She made her way forward and–as she expected–found a coarse, rope ladder hanging down from the forecastle into the beak of the ship. After scanning the nearby area to ensure nobody objected, she clambered down.

Once inside the beak, closer to the water and with a breeze cooling her face, she began to wonder why she had felt so bad a few minutes before. Though the river stank in the summer heat, it was also interesting.

Around her the sights of the London docklands slipped lazily past. She saw the small, battered boats of the water rats bobbing in the filthy water as their rag-clad occupants went about their parasitic lifestyle upon the Thames: salvaging anything which fell into the river, including corpses. Seagulls competed with the skinny paupers for a few floating fish which had been stunned by passing boats.

Now comfortable, the gentle bobbing of the ship threatened to put her to sleep. Sitting cross-legged in the narrow place between rail and bowsprit, shaded by sailcloth, Sally closed her eyes. But soon footsteps and hushed voices above her head disturbed her.

An English woman whispered, “Edmund, why must you persecute Cornwallis so?”

An educated Irish accent answered, “Magnanimity in politics is not seldom the truest wisdom; and a great empire and little minds go ill together.”

Sally looked up from her hidden place and saw six familiar figures standing on the forecastle leaning against the front rail of the ship. She had a perfect view, if from an unusual angle. She considered announcing herself, but decided against it. Probably they would soon go. She would wait until those important people left, and then sneak back to the cabin she shared with Polly.

“What did Edmund say?” whispered the young man who had previously been introduced as Mr. William Wilberforce. His accent sounded English, but much less refined than his peers.

“Politicians should be kind,” murmured Mrs. Adams. “Ignorant people like Cornwallis are not good for the British Empire.”

“Why doesn’t he say what he means?” asked Mr. Wilberforce.

“Because he’s a genius,” replied Wollstonecraft, placing one hand protectively upon Edmund’s arm. “The brilliant founder of our anarchist movement.”

Mrs. Adams shook her head and addressed Mr. Burke. “It amazes me how you fool people. In public you oppose the French revolutionary movement, yet it is only three decades since you published your Vindication of Natural Society: a clear manifesto of anarchy. And it is only a decade sinceyou supported the American Revolution. Yet now the British government are convinced you oppose the French revolutionary movement.”

“When bad men combine,” whispered Mr. Burke, “the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.”

“Erm … pardon?” said Mr. Wilberforce.

Miss Wollstonecraft smiled. “All that’s necessary for evil to prosper is for good people to do nothing.”

“Oh!”

“Perhapth we thould take this dithcuthion back to the privathy of my cabin,” suggested her master.

Sally saw them all depart. She hadn’t understood anything they discussed, but it all sounded important. She began to climb up the rope ladder. When her head came level with the deck, something shiny caught her eye. A gold locket and chain lay upon the wooden planks a few feet from her. She paused to glance at it through the rails. A wrinkle-faced, red-uniformed man appeared from behind the foremast: Cornwallis! She ducked down out of sight.

Sally’s legs trembled as she clung to the rough rope of the ladder. She’d heard many bad stories about Cornwallis from Old Bob who lived on Mulberry Row. Cornwallis burned down churches, murdered women and children, and had once even sold his own grandmother to the Devil. Old Bob never lied.

Footsteps echoed across the wooden planks, becoming louder. A few minutes of silence passed, during which Sally only heard her own heart beating frantically.

The footsteps resumed, but this time they began loud and became quieter. Sally decided to stay low until she was sure he’d gone. After a few minutes, she raised her eyes like a curious tortoise popping its head out from its shell. Cornwallis had disappeared, but so had the locket.

Climbing back onto the forecastle, Sally wondered if Cornwallis had been able to overhear that whispered conversation. And why did he pick up the locket? If she told her master or Mrs. Adams what she had just seen, they might suspect she’d spied on them. But she knew Cornwallis was an enemy of her country and people. Who knew what he planned? She didn’t want to face her master with this information, but it was time to put her country before herself. She rushed to his cabin and pounded on the door.

“What is it, child?” asked Mrs. Adams, opening the door. “You look like you just saw Old Nick.”

“Please, ma’am,” stammered Sally. “But I did!”

“Nonsense, child.” She opened the door wider and ushered Sally inside. “But I’d like to hear what you really saw.”

Inside the claustrophobic room, all the people Sally had seen out upon the deck now sat. Six pairs of eyes stared intently at Sally. She began to regret her decision to come here. But she had a duty.

Sally turned to Mr. Jefferson and curtseyed. “If you please, sir. I just saw Cornwallis upon the forecastle.”

Her master shot up from his seat. “Cornwallith!” His eyes widened, and he shared a look with the others in the cabin.

“Yes, sir. I was sitting in the beak at the front of the ship and saw him from there.”

“Sally,” said Mrs. Adams, frowning. “Did you see us upon the forecastle?”

Sally examined her feet. “Yes, ma’am. And heard you all speaking too … every word.”

“Hah,” said Miss Wollstonecraft, smiling warmly at Sally. “It seems your ‘child’ has rather more backbone than you suspected, dear Abigail.”

Mrs. Adams nodded. “So it would appear.”

Mr. Jefferson walked closer to Sally. “Did you thee anything elthe?”

Sally looked up into his eyes. “Yes, sir. I believe one of you dropped a golden locket. Cornwallis took it.”

Miss Wollstonecraft reached under her collar and gasped. “My locket. It’s gone!”

The blood drained from Mr. Burke’s face. “You do not mean the very token of affection I gifted you?”

Miss Wollstonecraft nodded. “The very same.”

“Thith ith a dithathter,” said her master.

Sally narrowed her eyebrows. This seemed a lot of fuss over nothing. These were wealthy people. Mrs. Adams noted Sally’s expression. She took her to one side. “You see, child. That locket was a gift from Mr. Burke to Miss Wollstonecraft containing portraits of them both. It’s engraved with their initials too.”

Sally shook her head and narrowed her eyes. Mrs. Adams explained further.

“Their friendship must remain secret. In public Mr. Burke and Miss Wollstonecraft are enemies. It’s important they remain to be so perceived.” Mrs. Adams glared at Mr. Burke for a second. “The locket was a foolish risk taken by an old man!”

Miss Wollstonecraft stood. “He may be rather old, but never foolish.” She placed a protective hand over the seated man’s shoulder and gazed into his face.

“Let uth all be calm,” urged Jefferson. “The quethtion ith, how may we regain thith locket?”

“He’s a British army officer,” said Mr. Adams. “We’ll get him drunk! The ship’s captain can introduce us, and we’ll invite him for a game of cards. Obviously he has been following us, so I doubt he will be able to resist an invitation into our company.”

“He is a man,” agreed Mrs. Adams. “But he isn’t entirely stupid. Most likely he’ll hide the locket in his cabin, with a manservant on guard. If any of us goes missing from your cabin, he will become very suspicious.”

Adams nodded agreement. “Yes, we need help. But Peter is of no use in this endeavor. Cornwallis knows him and will be suspicious if he isn’t there to serve us.”

“What about the sailors?” asked Miss Wollstonecraft. “Could any of them help?”

“They are French,” said Mr. Jefferson. “And Cornwallith hath probably bribed them.”

“We need someone on our side,” said Mrs. Adams, rubbing her chin and frowning. “Someone onboard … but who has remained invisible until now.”

Miss Wollstonecraft grinned, glancing at Sally. “Invisible, you say?”

Everyone turned to regard Sally. She felt like the only hen in the hen house surrounded by hungry foxes.

That evening, after Polly had fallen asleep, Mrs. Adams knocked gently on the cabin door three times. It was their prearranged signal. Cornwallis had accepted the invitation and was even now making his way to her master’s cabin. Sally counted to four-hundred, and then picked up the clean bed sheets Miss Wollstonecraft had given her. She walked to the other end of the ship where they now knew Cornwallis had a cabin.

His cabin was not difficult to identify. Outside the door stood a giant.

“Excuse me, sir.” Sally showed him the sheets.

“I thought someone made the beds earlier,” growled the man.

Sally curtseyed. “Complements of the captain, sir. Silk sheets for his lordship.”

The man grunted, and then nodded to the door. She entered and closed it behind her. Changing a bed didn’t take long; she must work swiftly. She threw the new sheets under the bed, out of sight. Where would Cornwallis hide a locket?

There was an ornate box upon his dressing table. She opened it, but white face powder billowed out. Sally stifled a sneeze. A less fancy box contained some quills and India ink. She scratched her head. The drawers contained little but papers. His trunk held only clothes.

“Are you all right in there?”

“Nearly done.” Sally hadn’t found the locket, but her time had run out. She turned. Hanging on the back of the door was the red uniform jacket Cornwallis wore when she saw him on deck. She reached into a side pocket. Her fingers touched upon cold, hard metal. She pulled out the locket.

“Yes!”

The door opened and the man peered in. “You done yet?”

Sally thrust the locket behind her back and curtseyed. “Yes, thank you, sir.”

She walked towards her own cabin. On the way she passed Cornwallis. Apparently he hadn’t enjoyed the others’ company. If he’d returned two minutes earlier then he would have caught Sally searching his room. She sighed with relief.

Sally knocked on her master’s door, and it opened. When she walked in, all six people glanced up. She smiled, and showed them the shiny locket. They all stood, clapped and laughed.

Mr. Jefferson stepped forward and placed one hand upon her shoulder. “You have done uth a great thervith today. You have proved yourthelf a good athothiate.” He glanced at Miss Wollstonecraft.

“Sally,” said Miss Wollstonecraft. “We would be honored for you to join our secret society.”

“Secret society?” Sally placed her hand over her mouth.

“The Good Associates. We strive to infiltrate political parties, with the view of introducing anarchy to propagate change.”

“You’re confusing the child,” said Mrs. Adams, and then smiled at Sally. “Edmund has always believed the pen is mightier than the sword. He enlisted us to write for freedom. Mr. Jefferson and my John had their revolution. Mary and I fight for women’s rights.”

Understanding began to dawn. “But … if I may ask … what about Mr. Wilberforce? What does he fight for?”

Mr. Wilberforce stepped forward. His angelic face blazed like a painting of Jesus on the cross, casting the others into shadow. “Never, never shall I desist until we have wiped away a scandal from the Christian name, released ourselves from guilt, and extinguished all trace of a horrendous crime against our brothers and sisters in Christ.”

He placed one hand on Sally’s shoulder. “God created all men equal.” He smiled, and the light grew brighter. “My ambition is to bring an end to the evil trade in slaves, so black men and white men may walk through life side-by-side as brothers. It is a dream which I fervently hope may one day become a reality.”