“And there were citizens loyal to Great Britain, right?” Jimmy asked.
“Yep. There were citizens loyal to Great Britain, although many moved to Canada—the United Empire Loyalists—when the war began. But this city was a prize to the British, harder to obtain than they’d expected.”
“The rivers weren’t deep enough for the Royal navy!” Todd said. “I know that because we’ve been on so many history tours already!”
“Exactly,” Allison agreed. “And there were numerous unseen obstacles under the water. It was difficult! But eventually they made their way here.” She continued the story she’d told so many times before. “Philadelphia fell to the British, and was held by them from September 26, 1777, through June 18, 1778. General Washington deprived them of greater victory by seeing that the city was abandoned and the Continental Congress moved to New York City. The British set up a puppet government in Philadelphia for that nine-month period. Meanwhile, the British soldiers enjoyed the warmth and comfort of some of these splendid homes, while Washington’s men froze at Valley Forge. And so here, at this beautiful mansion, Lucy Tarleton stayed behind, pretending to be loyal to the Crown, throwing parties, and even feigning a romance with Lord Brian Bradley—soon to be known as ‘Beast’ Bradley, and soon to execute—without trial or king’s command—the lovely patriot, Lucy Tarleton. Lucy was indeed passing British secrets to General Washington down in Valley Forge. She was passionate about her cause and she was to die for her efforts, in a rare but tragically vindictive incident. Follow me.”
The front door led through a tiny mudroom with cut-glass windows and then into a grand foyer. “In the city, you’ll find that many businesses were on the first floors of what are now historic buildings, while the living quarters were upstairs. But here, a servant would greet guests in the foyer, and determine where they’d go. Mr. Tarleton’s study was to your right, while the salon was the first room to your left,” she said, gesturing in those directions. “The kitchen is still a separate house out back, which prevented a cooking fire from reaching the main house. Beyond the salon is the dining room, and it gave the servants easy access to the kitchen. The left side of the house as you face me was the entertainment area, you might say, and to your right were the family rooms. In back of the study is the ladies’ parlor, and behind that, the music room. You’ll see an exquisite harpsichord there that actually belonged to the Tarleton family. Upstairs, there are five bedrooms and the attic, which contained storage space and rooms for the servants. The Tarletons had five household servants who lived in the main house and a number of gardeners and grooms who lived over the carriage house, which is also preserved.”
“Servants! I could use a few!” the boys’ mother said, ruffling her younger son’s hair.
Allison grinned and went on to describe various objects in the house. Then she explained that because of tight spaces and narrow hallways, they should go by themselves and look into the rooms on their own, respecting the velvet cord barriers. “So, please go ahead and walk through the first floor, and I’ll be here to answer any questions. Don’t forget to note the dumbwaiter at the rear of the dining room! It’s still in perfect working order.”
She stood in the foyer, in a central area so guests could question her. She was surprised when Todd came up to her. She suspected some kind of sexual innuendo, but he seemed oddly quiet and awed. “Miss, can you come here for a minute?”
“Sure, Todd.” She followed him to the doorway of Tarleton’s study. The room held his large carved maple desk, reproduction ledgers, quills, ink pots, study chairs and wooden shelves, some covered with glass doors. There were two paintings that dominated the walls in the room, one of Angus Tarleton himself, painted when he was a young man with shiny dark hair and bright blue eyes, traits he’d passed on to his daughter.
But Todd was staring at the other painting. He pointed at it.
“Who is that?” he asked in a whisper.
“Oh, that’s the man they called ‘Beast’ Bradley,” she told him. “Brian Bradley. Remember? We talked about him.” She stared at the painting, too. Bradley was a young man in the portrait, with a narrow face, high cheekbones, and dark, brooding eyes. Allison had always thought that although the portrait was certainly flattering, the artist hadn’t liked the man. The cruelty for which he would one day be known seemed painted into the sharpness of his features and the look in his eyes. He was elegantly dressed, in the fashion of his day. And while he was a general in the king’s army, she’d seldom seen him depicted in uniform. She assumed that wearing anything that might be rank and file—even with elevating insignias—would have been, in his eyes, beneath him.
Todd shivered, still pointing at the portrait.
“And a ghost will follow you home!” he said, and his words weren’t light. He was truly unnerved.
“He was a horrible man, but he’s long gone,” Allison said, surprised that the would-be “cool” preteen now seemed more like a scared schoolboy.
“He isn’t gone,” Todd said. “He…he looked at me.”
Despite herself, Allison felt a chill. She tried to tell herself the boy was trying to tease her, play off the situation and get her to slip an arm around him.
But he wasn’t playing any games. He appeared really frightened.
“It’s the way the portrait’s painted,” Allison assured him, but she found herself staring up at Bradley again. She never came into this room when she was alone, locking up and setting the alarms for the night. She always stood in the doorway, glanced in and moved on. While the house was equipped with a modern alarm system, they were supposed to make sure no visitors tried to stay on to defy the ghosts of the mansion.
Legend had it that Beast Bradley had thrust his knife straight into the heart of Lucy Tarleton in the grand salon; he’d killed her there while her father had wept for her life and been forced to watch. To add to the cruelty of the act, he’d left Angus Tarleton alive to hold his dying daughter. According to history—in this case, the accounts that were handed down by the survivors—Brian Bradley hadn’t killed Lucy for her patriot escapades. He’d killed her because he’d discovered she was false to him, that she wasn’t in love with him at all.
Before the arrival of the British, Lucy was about to become betrothed to another patriot, Stewart Douglas, who had fled the city with other American soldiers. It was a sad tale, one Allison would share in a few minutes when she’d gathered her people in the foyer again.
“Todd, this is a creepy picture of a man who was apparently a monster, which had far more to do with him than with the fact that he was British. Horrendous incidents, beyond any code of warfare, have taken place during just about every conflict in history. But the British weren’t monsters, and neither were the colonists. Most of the evidence we have says that Bradley did behave abominably, and—”
“How did he die?” Todd asked her.
“Actually, no one knows, but it’s presumed that he was killed in the fighting soon after the British abandoned the city. Howe was furious with him for his brutal actions in Philadelphia. They argued before the Battle of Saratoga, and he disappeared from history,” Allison said. “A few letters that mention him have been preserved, and some suspect he might have been killed by his own men. Those letters suggest he was a brutal commander, as well. Way, way, way back, he was related to the Royal House of Hanover, and he seemed to think he was entitled to his behavior through the divine right of kings—even though he was certainly not a king and never going to be one.”
“He’s still here,” Todd whispered. “He’s still here.”
She did set an arm around his shoulders. Allison was about five-ten in her two-inch Colonial pumps, giving her a bit of height over him. “Todd, that was then, and this is now, and you need to see the rest of the house, learn about the history, and have fun with your family tonight. The historic tavern restaurants, where they serve in Colonial garb and entertain with flutes and old jokes, are really fun. You’ll enjoy that.”
He shook his head, gazing at the painting as if drawn to it.
She led him firmly from the study. “What happened to the house after the British left?” he asked.
“Angus died a year after his daughter. She had a younger sister, Sophia, who married a fine American soldier, Tobias Dandridge, and they inherited the house. It’s now owned by a private corporation called Old Philly History, and there’s still a descendent on the board of governors. The house stayed in the family until 1930, when the owner formed this corporation. That’s why so many of the original family pieces have been preserved.”
She’d managed to get Todd back into the foyer, and she smiled at him as she related the history of the house she’d just given him.
“Now, the upstairs. We’ll go up together and I’ll wait in the hall while you look in all the rooms,” Allison said cheerfully. “The master bedroom is at the far end of the house, but the one everyone finds most interesting is Lucy’s room, on the right side of the staircase. She and her sister both had grand rooms with large dressing rooms. There’s a 1700s tub in Lucy’s room, which is authentic to the house.”
She sent them off and waited, watching Todd. He ignored all the rooms except for Lucy’s.
He came back to stand by her. “I saw her picture on the wall. Lucy’s picture. You look like her.”
“I think a lot of women do when they’re dressed like her,” Allison said.
Todd nodded solemnly. “Maybe. But you mostly.” He studied her for a moment and then whispered, “Someone else died in the study, right?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, the family had gone on a ghost tour last night. Though the house itself was closed to these ghost tours, they all walked by it and embellished the tales that went along with it. Personally, she thought the truth was far more haunting than anything they could make up.
