Le Chevalier

by Mary Jean Adams

  “I see you are awake,” he said, setting the tray down on a table and drawing up two chairs.

  Alex inhaled the aroma of a plate full of mouth-watering croissants and a pot of something that smelled far more delicious than tea. Chocolate. She could almost taste the rich, sweet aroma on her tongue.

  “How did you sleep?” He held out a chair for her.

  Alex sat. The awkwardness of having breakfast with him in his bedroom wrapped in his robe made her squirm. It should have robbed her of her appetite too, but her stomach growled as she eyed the platter of croissants and the silver dishes of jam and honey.

  Of course, it would have been more awkward had she awoken to find him in the bed with her. Once again, she reminded herself how fortunate she had been when he turned down her impetuous offer.

  “I slept well. And you?” she asked, watching his face for an indication last night held some significance for him.

  To be on the safe side, she would take his lead. If he wished to talk about the kiss they shared or even about her invitation to join her in his bed, he would need to be the one to bring it up. On the other hand, if he chose to ignore it, she would pretend it never happened. In time, she might even forget about it all together.

  Not bloody likely. She bit into a croissant, ripping it with her teeth instead of tearing off a small chunk with her fingers as manners dictated.

  “Not as well as you, I am sure, but the kinks in my back will work themselves out.” He smiled, but his eyes only flickered upward for a moment as he set out a pair of chintz teacups.

  Alex took another bite of her croissant while he poured the chocolate. This time, she savored the buttery taste, letting the pastry melt in her mouth.

  “I’m surprised Mrs. Montgomery would let you use her kitchen,” she said between bites.

  “Madame Montgomery goes into her kitchen once a day right after breakfast to discuss the day’s meal plans with her cook.” He tore off a small piece of a croissant and shrugged. “Other than that, she does not step foot near the room.

  “I, on the other hand, have an understanding with the cook. I am teaching her what little I know of how to make French sauces, and she lets me use her corner of the mansion whenever I please.” He popped the piece of croissant into his mouth.

  “An understanding. I see.” Alex nodded, with an impish grin.

  “Surely you do not think…” He protested, his eyebrows raised. “The cook is nearing sixty, and I prefer women much closer to my own age.”

  To Alex’s surprise, a blush spread across his high cheekbones.

  She shrugged in a near perfect imitation of his habit. “That may well be true, Chevalier. But what does the cook prefer?”

  “Drink your chocolate, chérie,” he said, grinning.

  The slight flush to his cheeks confirmed she had at last managed to get the upper hand—if only just a bit.

  Alex took a sip and let the silky texture pervade her mouth. She had never tasted breakfast chocolate so didn’t know what to expect. She had always assumed it to be a thin brew, like tea, but with a different flavor. The thick chocolate in her delicate cup clung to the side when she set it back in the saucer.

  The chevalier smiled, watching her.

  “I am such a rustic, aren’t I?” she said, noticing his amused expression. “It seems like whenever I’m around you, I’m trying something new, and each new experience is better than the last. Except, perhaps, for that unfortunate incident with the cigar,” she added, as an afterthought.

  “Just wait until you see what comes next,” he said, with a wink.

  His words were an unsettling reminder of her own thoughts from the night before, and she looked down at her plate, hoping he would not notice the heat rising to the tips of her ears.

  “What do we do next?” she asked, pretending to misunderstand his meaning. “If we no longer believe Angelina or the colonel is the source of the information leaks, where do we go from here?”

  “Not ‘we’ at this point, chérie, but ‘me’.” He sipped his chocolate.

  “Can’t I help?” she asked.

  Was this to be it? Did he no longer need, no longer welcome, her assistance? The war had come too close to Philadelphia, too close to everything she knew. The thought of going back to her old life made her shudder. Alex set her half-eaten croissant back on her plate, fear squeezing her stomach.

  “Do not worry, Alexandra,” he assured her, his gaze resting on her face. “You will play your part, but at this point I need to meet with my informants and hear their reports. I have earned their trust, but they may not be so forthcoming if you are with me. Besides, you have your tavern to run.”

  “I understand.” Alex sighed, twisting her teacup around in its saucer. She had even lost her appetite for the rich chocolate.

  He reached across the table and grasped her hand in his. “You must trust in me, Alex,” he said, using her nickname for the first time. The intimacy made her eyes prick with tears. “I will come for you tonight, and we will plan our next move. Promise me you will wait for me at the tavern.”

  “I promise.” She squeezed his hand.

  ****

  From the moment Alex set foot in Turner’s Tavern, she didn’t have a moment to spare for her own thoughts. Patrons filled the taproom. Many of them had been there for hours, listening to the latest news of the war.

  Molly reassured Alex she had everything under control. While their guests drank in every drop of information, they had lost their taste for ale when the informants from the front lines carried the worst sort of news.

  During the night, the British had ambushed and attacked Brigadier General Wayne’s forces, leaving behind nothing but mangled, broken bodies. After the initial news, bits and pieces of information continued to trickle in by way of local boys who had a thriving business selling what they knew and then going back to the field and to other taverns to collect more.

  The latest news had been too horrifying to believe. It was said the English commander ordered his men to remove the flint from their muskets so no man could accidentally fire and alert the enemy. They had successfully dispatched the few sentries Wayne had posted and then proceeded to murder the Americans with their bayonets while they slept. The ground around Paoli Tavern had grown muddy with the blood of the slain Americans.

  She saw Reid for only a few minutes before he disappeared, presumably to his presses where he could be the first to publish the news of what he had dubbed “The Paoli Massacre.” He would no doubt turn up later, his dark eyes bright and his face flush with excitement, as he plunked George Smythe’s latest rant on the bar.

  Worry ate at her when she thought of Josh and Beau staying behind in Bristol to join the war. She hoped for their sake, and for Molly’s, they had not been involved in the latest fighting. More than once, she caught Molly’s eye. The poor girl worked without complaint, but red circles lined her eyes, and she questioned everyone for news of the boys. Alex couldn’t bear to watch as Molly came away empty-handed from every inquiry.

  Had Mont Trignon also heard news of the massacre? Perhaps some of the runners were part of his information web. She glanced around at a young boy, his face stained with dirt from racing through the fields, and wondered if he had seen Mont Trignon.

  She could not rest easy until tonight when he came to plan their next move.

  What would their next move be? Had the massacre at Paoli changed things? The rebels appeared to be losing this war, but what could she and Mont Trignon do about it?

  The rebels. Alex refilled a mug at the tap, handed it to Molly and then leaned back against the counter. These were her people being slaughtered. If they lost this war, she lost it as well. She might escape prosecution, but Reid would probably be hanged for his part in the rebellion if they connected him to Ol’ George. A tightness gripped her chest, making it difficult to breath, as she thought about all she could lose.

  Alex chewed on her lower lip, listening to a cluster of men repeating the same informat
ion she had heard a hundred times already.

  “Excuse me, Miss Alex,” Molly said, interrupting her fretful thoughts.

  “Yes, Molly, what is it?” she asked, noting a determination in her soft blue eyes she had never seen before.

  “I wanted to give you my resignation,” she said.

  “Molly, whatever for?” Alex asked, turning to give the girl her full attention. “I’m sorry you had to work so hard today. If you need to go home to rest, I’ll understand.”

  Molly waved her small hand and shook her head. “No that’s not it at all. I need to find Josh,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “I need to tell him how I feel about him. I want to be with him for whatever time we have left on this earth.”

  “I understand, Molly,” Alex said. She understood all too well.

  “I’ll stay tonight and help,” Molly added, glancing around at the full tavern, “but I won’t be here in the morning.”

  Reality hit her with the force of a blow, as Alex realized she might not be either.

  “But, how will you go about finding Josh?” she asked. Focusing on Molly’s concerns gave her some respite from her own.

  “I don’t know, Miss Alex,” she said, fat tears spilling onto her cheeks. “But I will find a way. I always do.”

  Once again, the resilient fortitude God had seen fit to grant to one woman struck Alex. Molly seemed so fragile, even to the point where Alex wondered if she ate enough. But through whatever trials she had experienced in her young life, she had managed to survive. Alex had no doubt the girl would find a way, but she shouldn’t be forced to do it alone.

  She lay a hand on Molly’s shoulder and looked into her tear-filled eyes. “The chevalier will be back tonight. Perhaps he will be able to help you. Promise me you will wait.”

  Molly wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Do you really think he can help?”

  Her tired yet hopeful smile tore at Alex’s heart.

  “I do, Molly. Why don’t you go back to the kitchen, lie down in front of the hearth, and get some rest? I will wake you when he comes, and then we will discuss it.”

  “All right, Miss Alex,” Molly agreed.

  She untied her apron and walked with tired steps through the doors leading to the tavern’s kitchen. Alex kept a stack of blankets in the pantry, and both she and Molly had taken a short nap in front of the hearth on more than one occasion to revive before the evening rush. If Molly could find sleep tonight, Alex would do what she could to manage without her for the rest of the evening.

  Much later, after the crowd had thinned, she went back to check on Molly and found a note scribbled in charcoal on a piece of flour sack.

  I culd not wate

  Alex’s heart sank as she deciphered Molly’s poor spelling.

  “Oh, Molly.” She sighed. “Please take care of yourself.”

  ****

  The next day dawned bright and sunny as though all were well with the world; although Alex knew it was not. She had availed herself of the blankets she had hoped Molly would use and lain in front of the hearth after the last of the tavern’s patrons crawled home to their beds.

  She had promised Mont Trignon she would wait for him at the tavern, and so she had, watching the moon dip low in the sky, her ears straining for the sound of his knock at the tavern door. But he had not come.

  For that matter, Reid hadn’t made his expected appearance either. She hoped if they were in trouble, they were at least together. Reid had the scrappy survival instincts of a boy who had grown up on the streets of Philadelphia. Despite her confidence in Mont Trignon’s abilities, she knew Reid’s talents would complement his.

  Throughout the morning, Alex busied herself making pot after pot of vegetable stew. After the events of yesterday, she had no idea what kind of crowds the evening would draw, and she wanted to be ready. Besides, she couldn’t abide idleness.

  She kept hoping Molly would arrive at the usual hour, but as the church bells chimed eleven o’clock, then noon, then one, she accepted the futility of wishing for something that would not happen. She peeled what might have been her one hundredth potato and offered a silent prayer for the girl’s safety.

  Mont Trignon, Reid, Molly, Josh, and Beau, all of the people who filled her heart and her days, were gone. Alex wiped away a tear with the back of her hand and tried not to acknowledge the sense of abandonment filling her.

  By evening, she had made enough stew to last the week. Ducking her head through the kitchen doors, she eyed the tavern. The bar stood empty, but a handful of men in work clothes sat scattered about the tables, staring at their drinks in sullen silence as there had been no fresh news on which to chew.

  Alex wiped her hands on her apron and called out, “Anyone need anything?”

  One man looked up and shook his head. Others grunted a response, before returning to their own thoughts.

  In the kitchen, she added extra salt to the stew to help preserve it. Frowning, she stirred the pot and watched pearl onions bob to the surface. Even though the stew contained no meat to spoil, she suspected much of it would go to waste.

  “Hallo! Is there anybody here?” called a voice, from the taproom.

  Alex wiped her hands on her apron and dashed into the room, hoping for welcome news.

  “Good evening, Ma’am,” said a thin man, small in stature but dignified in bearing.

  He removed his tricorn hat and held it to his chest. He wore the blue coat with scarlet lapels that marked him as an artilleryman in the Continental Army.

  With keen eyes, he looked around at the few patrons scattered about the tavern. “Is there a Mr. Turner, available?”

  “No,” Alex said, deciding it wouldn’t do to tell him there was no Mr. Turner until she determined his purpose. “May I help you?”

  “I’m afraid I bear bad news, Ma’am,” he said. “Our troops have been defeated at Germantown, and it’s only a matter of hours, days at most, before the British are in Philadelphia. I’m here to advise all Patriots to flee the city as quickly as possible.”

  Alex turned to the sound of chair legs screeching on the wooden floor as the men in the tavern snatched hat and coat. A few, but not all, remembered to toss coins on the table before rushing from the tavern.

  Within minutes, she and the stranger were alone.

  “Your name, sir?” she asked the young man.

  “Alexander Hamilton, ma’am,” he replied. “I am a captain in the Continental Army and aide to General Washington.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Hamilton. My name is Alexandra Turner.” She smiled and offered her hand.

  “Beautiful name, ma’am,” he said, grinning and clasping her hand.

  “I like yours too,” she replied, sharing his jest. Then she turned serious. “How bad is it?”

  He twisted his hat in his hand. “The situation is irretrievable. My men and I have been sent to secure what supplies we can and destroy the rest to keep them out of enemy hands.”

  “I see.” She wanted to ask about Mont Trignon, about Josh and Beau, and even about Reid, but she doubted he would have news of any of them. Then she noticed the haggard look on the man’s thin face.

  “You don’t look as if you’ve had a moment’s rest for days, sir.”

  He laughed, but with little humor. “That I have not, ma’am. I am determined not to rest before I am dead, and Lord willing, that won’t be too soon.”

  “Then if you won’t rest, will you perhaps have something to eat?” She waved a hand toward one of the many empty tables behind her. “I made more than enough stew for a full crowd this evening, but as you can see the British have scared away the last of my customers.”

  The lines in the man’s handsome face showed his devotion to duty, but then his belly rumbled. With slumped shoulders, he said, “I have six men with me. Would you have enough for all?”

  “Certainly. More than enough,” Alex said, happy to be able to do something to help the effort.

  “Very well. I
will call my men in, but you must promise me while we partake of your generous hospitality, you will ready yourself to flee.” He eyed her as though taking her measure. “You have relatives with whom you can stay? Someone who can keep you safe?”

  “Yes, yes, I have relatives outside Philadelphia who will help me.” She twisted her hands together under his scrutiny.

  Pride kept her from admitting she had no one, but what could this nice solider do for her anyway?

  Alex waited on the soldiers, several of whom looked to be as young, or perhaps even younger, than Josh and Beau. Despite the way their uniforms hung on their half-starved frames, they ate their stew with care. Every time she scooped a new bowl, and she must have ladled out at least three apiece, they thanked her and accepted the bowl with shy, appreciative glances from sunken eyes.

  Captain Hamilton also ate with little conversation. When the speed he brought his spoon to his lips slowed, Alex decided to ask the question burning in her mind all evening.

  “Sir, I must ask you, do you know General Lafayette?”

  “Of course, I do.” Captain Hamilton’s sharp eyes lit with admiration. “He is one of the bravest men I have ever met. Are you so fortunate as to be acquainted with the general?”

  “I have met him once,” Alex said, smiling and recalling how she had lectured him in his carriage when he had been gracious enough to escort her home. “However, it is actually a friend of his that I am wondering about. The Chevalier de Mont Trignon?”

  “Mont Trignon?” Hamilton asked, pronouncing the name with much more aplomb than Alex had.

  He looked down at his bowl, giving Alex the impression he was embarrassed for having corrected her pronunciation.

  “Yes, he is a friend of the marquis’s, I mean, of the general, and of me as well. I thought perhaps he might have gone to see Lafayette.”

  He looked up, his sharp-eyed gaze making her fidget with her apron. “I’m sorry. I cannot help you there, ma’am. I do know the gentleman of whom you speak, but my men and I have been traveling for several days. I would not know if he is with the general.”