Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10)

by Monique Martin

  It was a flier for Henry Jacoby’s triumphant return as Hamlet to the Liverpool Theatre Group.

  He glanced down at her now-snoring husband. “A little old for Hamlet, don’t you think?”

  Travers took the flier from her hand and put it into his pocket. “A little insurance.”

  Quincy scowled first at him and then at Victor. She lifted her chin defiantly. “Now what? Are you going to kill me?”

  “No.”

  She smiled, sensing a second chance. She put on her best bedroom eyes and walked over to him. She walked her fingers up his chest. “Maybe we can work something out.”

  He grabbed her hand. “I do not think so.”

  “I’ll scream,” she said.

  “No one will come. You have tried once too often.”

  She ripped her hand from his and glared at him. “Then what?”

  Travers picked up the glass from the bedside table. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said and held up the glass.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  DECEMBER 26, 1776 - TRENTON, New Jersey

  “Fire!”

  A man next to him yanked on the long lanyard, and Teddy plugged his ears. Although it all happened in seconds, Teddy saw each stage as though it were a written diagram on paper in front of him.

  The priming hammer was released, causing a spark to ignite the priming powder. That would travel down the vent hole and light the larger cartridge of black powder inside the breech. The explosion of that powder would cause the projectile, in this case, a six-pound lead ball, to hurtle through the air and rip through anything in its path.

  He jumped at the sound of the explosion and watched through squinted eyes as the ball flew through the air. Its damage wasn’t like he’d imagined. There was no explosion when it landed. It bounced and tumbled and tore through anything and everything, including men.

  His stomach dropped each time. Everything was so loud, so chaotic. Men yelled orders. They screamed in pain or in victory. The air was thick with acrid smoke and snow swirled inside it.

  Men ran toward one another firing their weapons, bayonets ready to slice each other open. Teddy turned away. He did not like this. He did not like this at all.

  Even though they’d fought a few minor skirmishes on the outskirts of town, the main garrison was caught completely unaware. The German soldiers ran to their posts, armed themselves and even tried to get their own cannon into the fight, but it was no use.

  “Again!” Sullivan barked. “Sponge!”

  The men around him were in constant motion; the men below were running for their lives, the smoke of the cannon blurred it all.

  He’d heard of the fog of war, but always thought it was figurative and not literal. As he stood there numbly, he realized it was both.

  “Fiske! Sponge!”

  Teddy shook himself from his reverie and grabbed his sponge. It was a long pole with lambskin on the end. He dipped it into the water bucket and rammed it down the length of the cylinder. Another man did the same with a dry pole to clean out any excess bits.

  The cartridge of powder was put into the barrel followed by the lead ball. Then it was all rammed into place.

  “In battery!”

  The men used long handspikes to leverage the cannon back into place. Each firing sent it backward. Once it was set again, the command to point was given. They aimed crudely but effectively enough, Teddy thought with a wave of nausea. There was a man, or what used to be a man, lying at the mouth of the road, who’d been hit by their first salvo. His torso lay motionless, separated from the rest of him.

  He’d seen horrific injuries before. The aftermath of the Great Earthquake had taken that innocence from him. But that was an act of God. This was an act of man.

  “Fire!”

  They, cleaned the cannon, reloaded the shot, the priming powder, and the fuse.

  And fired. And then again and again and again.

  ~~~

  September 29, 1774 - London, England

  The Pantheon of London wasn’t exactly the Pantheon of Rome, but it was no schlub either, Elizabeth thought as she looked around the enormous rotunda lavishly decorated in reds and golds for Countess Pawluk’s ball. She and Simon had done their bit and had spent most of the day left waiting for their time to return. Thomas Paine shuffled along behind them like a teenager going to church. When they’d invited him to join them at the party Franklin had mentioned, he said the whole affair was “frivolous to the point of indecency.”

  It was, and Elizabeth couldn’t have been more delighted. She needed a little bit of frivolous. Eventually, they’d managed to convince Paine to come but, looking at his dour face, maybe they should have let him stay home.

  Franklin’s calling card worked better than an invitation at the door. Elizabeth looked around at the large gathering. Anyone with any blue or even bluish tint to their blood was here along with every wit and twit in town, as Franklin called them.

  She looked for the good doctor and found him sitting on the far side of the room. His leg was propped up for his sometimes gouty foot. He half rose from his chair as they arrived.

  “So good of you to come,” he said holding out his hand in welcome.

  Simon fought down a smile as Franklin beckoned Elizabeth to his side. Quick introductions were made to the others of his social circle.

  Thomas Paine bowed politely and then planted himself in a chair—a petulant wallflower.

  A polite cough caused them all to turn their heads. A handsome woman in her early sixties stood regally before them. Her dress was something Elizabeth might expect Marie Antoinette to wear. Lavish didn’t cover it. Layers of gold silk overlaid with a thin veil of red lace down the front. But it wasn’t the get-up that got everyone up. It was the woman inside it. Everyone, including Franklin, stood.

  He bowed at the waist with a flourish. “Lady Pawluk.”

  After another round of introductions, she smiled at the doctor. “I hope you have saved a dance for me,” she said with an Eastern European accent Elizabeth couldn’t quite identify.

  Franklin smiled sadly and gestured to his bandaged foot. She looked disappointed and then a smile came to Franklin’s face. “Perhaps someone else. Sir Simon?”

  Simon gaped for a moment, caught off guard, but gathered himself quickly. He bowed deferentially. “I would be most honored, Lady Pawluk.”

  She eyed him up and down, and her smile showed he passed muster. She inclined her head slightly in acceptance.

  Simon held out his arm.

  “Don’t worry about your wife,” Franklin assured him with a grin. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Or two.”

  “Ah,” Simon said, “but it is not your eyes that I am worried about, Doctor.”

  Franklin chuckled as Lady Pawluk took Simon’s arm, leading him toward the dance floor.

  “Tell me, Sir Simon, do you ride? Horses are my life. Do you know Count Orlov? He’s a breeder, you know. His trotter is a fine horse. He’s making a chicken next, I hear. Can you imagine?”

  Elizabeth watched with amusement as Simon was led away.

  Franklin chuckled. “She does love her horses. Perhaps more than most people which, having met many people, is not necessarily a poor decision.”

  He patted the seat next to him, and she joined him on the settee. “She’s a fine woman, really. Married a Count from Galicia and Lodomeria.”

  Elizabeth had heard of lots of places, but not that place. It sounded like something out of a Terry Brooks novel. “Lodomeria?”

  Franklin smiled in understanding. “I believe that is what it is called this week. Polish one day, Hungarian the next. Such is our modern world—go to sleep one nationality and wake up another.”

  “One day British, American the next?” she said.

  He grinned broadly and clasped her hand. “Precisely.”

  She spent the next twenty minutes enjoying both Franklin’s company and watching Simon on the dance floor. Finally, her husband extricated himself from the lad
ies. He found his way back to them and asked Elizabeth to dance.

  Reluctantly, Franklin let her go.

  “Give her a good twirl for me,” he said as they joined the dancers.

  Elizabeth laughed, but Simon didn’t. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but the music started and she suddenly realized she had no idea what to do. She’d never danced a cotillion before.

  Happily, it wasn’t that hard. She was usually half a step behind but, if she watched the women opposite her, she caught on quickly enough. Four couples formed a square and moved delicately in pairs, groups, or in a circle.

  She and Simon could only talk when the dance brought them together, and even then, only in quick bursts.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when they were finally paired.

  “We have a problem,” he said.

  “I can see—”

  The music pulled them apart again, and she smiled at her new partner. What she wouldn’t give for a good old-fashioned waltz right about now.

  Finally, they were back together. “What is it?”

  “Scott.”

  “The man who recommends Paine?”

  “He was seriously injured in an accident the first night we were here,” Simon said, making it clear he didn’t think it was any accident.

  They danced apart again, and Elizabeth put the pieces together. They’d seen him with Paine that night at Vauxhall Gardens. When they’d followed Paine, Phillips had probably followed Scott. If he couldn’t eliminate Paine, he could eliminate the man who would introduce him to Franklin.

  “Well, that’s not good,” Elizabeth said as Simon took her hand and they briefly promenaded.

  “How are we going to get Franklin to recommend him?”

  Elizabeth frowned and looked over at Franklin. He looked up and smiled at her.

  She smiled back. “I might have an idea.”

  After the dance, Elizabeth made her way to Franklin’s side.

  “May I join you?”

  He gestured to the seat next to him and watched the dancers with envy. “Oh, to be able to dance again,” he said with a sigh. He turned to her. “I was quite nimble in my youth.”

  She had no doubt of it. Even at seventy, he had more energy than most. They sat in companionable silence for a moment before she broached the subject of Paine.

  “What do you think of Thomas Paine?”

  “Hmm?”

  She nodded toward Paine, who still sat alone in his chair brooding.

  “Bright,” Franklin said. “But a little dull. Certainly too dull for you.”

  “Not everyone is as electric as you are, Doctor.”

  He laughed. “No, very good.”

  “It is not for me I look to make a match, but for America. I do think there is more to him than meets the eye,” she said, enjoying the formal repartee. When in Rome ….

  “He has ideas, Doctor,” she continued, “and he is not afraid to use them.”

  Franklin smiled, intrigued. “I have read some of his work: strident and annoying. Goodness knows I get enough of that from John Adams, but there is something to what you say.”

  She knew she was onto something. “Here, he’s as wasted as you are needed.”

  “You flatter me.”

  She leaned in. “I do, but it is deserved. And I believe, in his turn, Paine deserves more than a life wasted at the excise office. My husband and I would like to sponsor him, in America.”

  “Very generous.”

  “But we have few connections, and you many. A letter from you would open doors that otherwise would remain shut.”

  His brow knit as he considered her words and Paine.

  She leaned back in her seat. “We both want to fan the flames of liberty, do we not, Doctor?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. She looked toward Paine. “There sits a tinderbox and you, sir, hold in your hands the flame.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  SEPTEMBER 30, 1774 - LONDON, England

  “Are you sure?” Paine asked as he looked at the terraced house across the street, uncharacteristically nervous.

  Simon nodded. “Quite. It’s all been arranged. Franklin’s letter will get you employment in America. In a few months, when we’ve taken care of a few things, our offer will still be open to you.”

  Elizabeth glanced at Paine. “But somehow, I don’t think you’ll need it.”

  He dipped his head. “Thank you.”

  “It has been our great pleasure to meet you, Mister Paine,” Simon said and held out his hand.

  Paine shook it. “You have been most kind.”

  Elizabeth held out an envelope. “Your ticket. The London Packet sails in two days.”

  He took the envelope and tucked it into his breast pocket. He met Elizabeth’s eyes and, for the first time since they’d met, he smiled at her.

  “Godspeed.”

  With one final tip of his hat, Thomas Paine hurried across the London traffic and rang the bell at 36 Craven Street. After a moment the door opened. The butler was soon joined by Franklin himself. Paine said something and they both looked back across the street toward Simon and Elizabeth and waved.

  Elizabeth caught a little wink from Franklin and laughed quietly to herself as the two men went inside.

  Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Just what did you say to Franklin?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Simon laughed. “Actually, I would.”

  “It wasn’t hard to convince him. He already knew about Paine; they’d met several times. He didn’t like the man much, but he knew there was something special about him. All I did was nudge.”

  Simon smiled. “Is that all?”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to laugh. She took his arm, and they started to walk down the street. “A lady never tells.”

  Simon shook his head but held her closer.

  They’d done their part and with hours to spare. All that was left now was to wait for the key to take them home.

  ~~~

  December 7, 1777 - Passy, France

  Victor pushed in the last of Quincy’s petticoats and closed the door to the armoire.

  Travers turned away from the window and frowned, but only slightly.

  “Can she breathe in there?” he asked.

  “Enough.”

  He joined Travers by the window, and together, the two of them watched as, in the driveway below, Franklin got into a gold-plated, royal carriage.

  “You are sure this is it?” Victor asked.

  Travers nodded. “He will meet with Vergennes and the heart of the alliance will be forged. They’ll sign the treaty in a few weeks and formally declare their allegiance and acknowledge the sovereignty of America. England will have no choice but to declare war on France. Spain will declare war on England as France’s ally and the little skirmish between thirteen small colonies will have escalated into a full-on world war.”

  Victor sighed. “And that’s a good thing?”

  Travers smiled sadly. “In this case, yes.”

  Victor leaned back against the windowsill. “Well, what do we do now?”

  Travers checked his watch. “Wait, I suppose.” He walked over to the table. “Do you play chess?”

  Victor smiled. He did indeed.

  ~~~

  December 26, 1776 - Trenton, New Jersey

  By the time Jack made it to Trenton, the battle was over. It had barely lasted an hour and a half. It was a complete rout. The Hessian commander, Rall, had been mortally wounded, nearly a hundred others were wounded and two-thirds of the garrison captured. Only two Americans died and neither in the battle. They both died from exposure during the march.

  The man who told him that didn’t know their names, and Jack hurried to find Teddy. He found him with Hamilton and the others at the top of a hill overlooking the town. Teddy stood at the base of a great oak staring down at the town as soldiers mopped up the last of the battle and cleared the final houses.

  “Teddy?”

  He didn
’t respond and Jack felt a pinch of worry.

  He walked around to stand next to him. “Are you okay?”

  Teddy’s face held a sadness and confusion Jack would never forget. He’d seen it before—a man’s first taste of battle. Some wore the horror on their sleeves, some hid it, but all good men felt it.

  Jack put his hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “It’s all right.”

  Teddy pulled his eyes away from the scene below and looked at Jack finally. The ghost of a smile curved his lips. “I was worried about you.”

  “Same here.” Jack looked around. “Looks to me like you did well enough.”

  Teddy looked a little sick. “I wasn’t much help.”

  He glanced down at the battlefield once more and then back to Jack. “I’d like to go home now.”

  Jack nodded. He could use a warm bath and cold beer himself, but they had one thing left to do. “Soon. I’ve got Burgess tied up in the woods. We should get going.”

  “You have the key?”

  Jack patted his chest. “Safe and sound.”

  Teddy managed a small smile and together they slipped away and back into the woods. It was a good twenty-minute walk to the spot where Jack had left Burgess. Neither had much to say. The last few days had taken nearly everything out of them.

  They made their way through the cold dead woods as the storm above finally slowed.

  “He’s just over—”

  Jack stopped in his tracks and frowned. Burgess was gone.

  Teddy was a few paces ahead of him now and turned back around to ask what was wrong.

  Jack pointed to a large fallen tree. “He was right—”

  Teddy started back toward him, pointing to his left. “Look out!”

  Jack turned just in time to see Burgess lunging toward him. Teddy stepped between them and tried to stop Burgess’ approach.

  It was a nice thought, but he was just in the way. Jack shoved him aside and then lowered his shoulder and tackled Burgess.