“While I was recuperating in Morristown,” he continued, “I wrote to General Knox of your bravery under fire on the hilltop, and your loyalty to me in preventing the surgeons from amputating my arm.” Hadley lifted his arm high above his head to demonstrate it had healed. “I recommended you for promotion to Lieutenant. It pleases me greatly to see you are now an officer.”
General Knox had not lied to him about the reasons for his promotion, Will thought. He never should have doubted the General’s intentions. He vowed he never would again.
“And your Elisabeth?” Mercy asked. “Is she well?”
Will did not know how to answer. He blurted something about her remaining behind in Philadelphia and then changed his explanation, saying she had been unable to escape in time before the British occupied the city. He saw the confused looks on Hadley’s face and the quick look Mercy gave her husband. Will’s voice broke as he said he had not heard from her in a few weeks. Helplessly, he let his hands fall to his sides, upset he could not tell them the truth, and afraid for Elisabeth knowing that his brother suspected she was a Rebel spy.
John Stoner controlled his excitement and strolled nonchalantly down Second Street, headed toward Elfreth’s Alley. He would have preferred summoning Mrs. Bates to his quarters. However, there was an urgency that he speak with her and he did not trust his man to convey that she should come immediately to his office.
The entrance to the Alley was a middle green high wooden door adjacent to the imposing columned entrances to two townhouses on either side. One would not know the Alley existed, assuming instead the door opened on to a narrow courtyard between the brick buildings, a private space to be enjoyed by the townhouses’ residents. He planned to impart to her the intelligence that the 16th Dragoons would be leaving in two days to raid Princeton and capture two prominent persons there.
Colonel Harcourt expanded the plan, according to Chatsworth. More than one hundred Dragoons would leave for New Jersey to support the Loyalist Militias fighting the Rebel bands. 8 They would remain in Monmouth County for a two week campaign, while Chatsworth would immediately lead a flying squadron north to Princeton to capture the traitors and bring them to Philadelphia.
John latched the green door to the Alley behind him and ambled down the cobblestones in the shadows of the three story red brick homes on either side. Mrs. Bates’s shop was at the end abutting a stone wall, a modest building with her store’s bay windows on the first floor and rooms above where she and her husband lived.
As he opened the door, a small brass bell attached to the inside rang gently. Mrs. Bates emerged expectantly from the back room with a scissors in her hands. Her face registered her surprise to see him.
“I decided to come in person this time. The information I have for you is most important.” He walked around the long table lined with fabrics, his hand idly caressing the cloth. “I trust we are alone.”
“Yes, but I fear not for long,” Mrs. Bates said, casting an anxious glance through the bay window. “Your young lady has made an appointment to visit my shop this afternoon. In fact I thought it was she when you entered.”
Elisabeth must not see him in the company of Mrs. Bates. He had been foolish not to formally arrange a meeting. His craving to expose Elisabeth as a spy had led him to be hasty and incautious in his actions.
He looked at the curtains leading to the back room. “May we go in there and talk.” Mrs. Bates nodded and led the way. Quickly, John related the plan by the Dragoons to raid Princeton, capture Reverend Witherspoon and Doctor Rush and bring them to Philadelphia. “Today is Wednesday. They will leave on Friday morning and could be in Princeton by this Saturday. Be sure and emphasize this urgency to Ms. Van Hooten.”
“I will do so,” she replied. The bell on the door jangled. “Leave through the back.” Mrs. Bates put a finger to her lips and pointed to a low doorway leading into the kitchen. She left him and walked into the front room to greet Elisabeth.
John looked around the room. Instead of stepping into the kitchen, he squeezed behind two tall shelves closely packed with rolls of cloth. Hidden there, he could see through the vertical crack where the two wooden frames did not quite meet. He breathed quietly and waited.
Elisabeth entered the back room first, followed by Mrs. Bates. She wore a simple plain gown of brown that consisted of a bodice and skirt joined together. The skirt opened in the front to reveal a cream colored petticoat as part of the dress.
“The dress you asked me to modify for the City Tavern ball is here,” Mrs. Bates said, reaching to the right beyond John’s view. He heard a cabinet door creak open. “The silk fabric is very rich and was difficult to sew without revealing the alterations. I hope you find my work satisfactory.” John heard a rustling of cloth, Mrs. Bates saying “Here let me take that,” and then, he caught a glimpse of Elisabeth’s stocking covered calves beneath her short linen under-petticoat. She had her back to him, her blond hair curling down her neck. Her shoulders were covered by her shift. Nothing but her firm white flesh beneath those undergarments, he thought. She moved out of his narrow field of view and grunted as Mrs. Bates laced up the stays. Another rustle of cloth and Mrs. Bates said, “There you are. That green becomes you. You look lovely,” she chirped pleased with the outcome. “Here see for yourself in that mirror.”
John caught a fleeting look of Elisabeth as she glided by in stocking feet.
“You do not think the bodice is too low? Perhaps too revealing?” he heard Elisabeth ask.
“My dear. I assure you it is quite a few inches higher than what most young ladies will be wearing that night. I do not approve of the flaunting of bosoms. You have nought to be ashamed of in this dress.”
John leaned forward and turned his head so the right side of his face was against the rough backing of the shelves trying to see more of Elisabeth. With one eye he glimpsed the green of the gown from the rear and watched as Elisabeth bent down to put on her shoes. He imagined her firm buttocks pressing against the under-petticoat, now concealed by the outer petticoat and gown. She twirled around in front of the mirror, testing the length. Her movements created a gentle swishing noise.
“I hope that your young man is not in the Dragoons. Otherwise, he will not be in Philadelphia for any parties this weekend.”
“This dress is for the ball next week,” Elisabeth said. She held the side of her gown in one hand and pirouetted about the room, looking down at her stocking feet. He saw where the fabric of the bodice came to the top of her breasts, thrust up by the stays. A pity Mrs. Bates had not left it lower for his viewing pleasure. “But why might that be if my escort were a Dragoon?” Elisabeth asked. John heard the tightness in her voice and recognized her effort to suppress any eagerness.
“My husband has been repairing the fuzees for the 16th Dragoons. You know how men chatter boastfully about exploits yet to be accomplished,” she said dismissively. Another rustle of silk. “They are going on a raid to Princeton to capture some doctor and another member of Congress. It is like a fox hunt for them.” John heard Elisabeth exhale as Mrs. Bates undid her stays. “A chance for a dashing ride, derring-do and glory and to wreak havoc on a Rebel town.” Mrs. Bates moved into his field of view, Elisabeth’s street dress in her arms.
Elisabeth followed on stocking feet. He saw her standing in her shift and petticoat facing him, her chin thrust upward, the milk white skin of her neck directed his gaze downward to her high rounded bosom, as Mrs. Bates helped her into her street clothing. Through the linen he could see the swelling of her breasts. He licked his lips slowly, watching as Mrs. Bates stood behind her and buttoned Elisabeth’s plain brown dress.
“Well, my escort is Captain Montresor. He is the Chief Engineer to General Howe and would be unaffected by any such business,” Elisabeth said calmly. John waited for her to ask another question. Instead, Mrs. Bates also paused, just long enough and after a few moments provided what Elisabeth wanted to know.
“Good for you then having captivated your Engin
eer Captain. These Dragoons will miss any merriment this Friday. They leave for Jersey and expect to return with their captured Rebels by Sunday morning the latest.” John heard Elisabeth moving about the room and Mrs. Bates wrapping the altered gown in old linen.
“Take this home and try it on again. Ask your friend Mrs. Lewis for her opinion. If you want any further minor modifications, I cannot do so until Friday the earliest.” She paused for the obvious question from Elisabeth. What a wily woman, John thought.
“I may have some changes,” Elisabeth said slowly. “Mrs. Lewis is very critical of bodices that are too revealing. May I not come by tomorrow?”
“No. I am sorry my dear. Thursdays are the days I pass through the lines and sell needles, thread, scissors and other sundries to the poor women unfortunate enough to be part of the Rebel camp at Valley Forge.” She sighed. “In this cold weather the trip is a burden but they pay in coins and the money is useful.”
“Very well,” Elisabeth said. “I had some other errands to run this afternoon but perhaps I will hurry home and see if Mary approves. If she does not, I will be back this very day.”
I am sure you will, John thought, smirking to himself. Going home to write a letter to warn of the impending raid. I will have trapped her before this night falls. He heard the bell tinkle as Elisabeth left the shop and stepped out from his hiding place, surprising Mrs. Bates.
“I thought you had left through the kitchen door,” she said reprimanding him. “Lieutenant Stoner. I run a decent business. I strongly protest your watching proper young ladies in their undergarments.” Her anger and indignation was genuine. John was in too good a mood to remind her of her place.
“I compliment you on your performance, Mrs. Bates. You are a very clever woman,” he said inclining his head as a small gesture of respect. “It was most wise of me to select you. I also admire your sense of propriety but remember, she is a Rebel spy and not deserving of any courtesies. I wager she will be back this afternoon. I could hear it in her voice. I am so certain of it,” he reached inside his waistcoat pocket, “that I am willing to pay you a little bonus now for your work.” He placed a five pound note on her cutting table. “To offset any discomfort you may experience passing through the lines tomorrow,” he said with a smirk. “Bring me immediately whatever message she delivers to you today.” He adjusted his hat against the cold and let himself out. It had been a most successful afternoon.
He thought of the image of Elisabeth in her undergarments. He definitely would have his way with her first before turning her over to the authorities.
Elisabeth sat at the small writing table in her room, with a sheet of paper before her on which she had marked the pigpen cipher - two horizontal and two vertical lines, creating a grid of nine square boxes, three across and three down. She wrote the letters in the boxes, beginning with the letter “B”, as Will had taught her, three letters per compartment with the last box in the lower right having only two - ‘Z’ and ‘A’. Slowly, constantly referring to the grid before her, she methodically drew the appropriate box on thin strips of paper she had torn, each narrow enough to fit within fabric sewed over buttons. Dipping her quill in the glass ink container, she placed a dot, representing the desired letter in the same position as that letter in the box, consulting the grid as a guide.
Angrily she crumpled two strips she had completed and started over. She had forgotten that the absence of a dot is the first letter, one dot for the second and two dots for the third letter. It was taking so long to commit the message to paper. There was not much time left in the day. She would bring it to Mrs. Bates in the evening if necessary. She thought of what to say to her - the buttons were just a small present for a gentleman she knew - would that sound contrived? How would she explain the need for Mrs. Bates to take them this Thursday? Her haste would arouse suspicion. After all, why not ask her to take them next week? Surely there was no hurry to simply deliver some buttons. She concentrated on writing the cipher correctly, but the questions nagged at her.
She needed Mary home to sew the messages into the cloth coverings of the buttons. But how could she be sure the warning would be delivered in time for someone to get the word to Princeton? She could not ask Mrs. Bates to deliver her package before selling her sundries to the camp women. And even if she turned it over to some officer, what assurance was there that he would act promptly? After all, Mrs. Bates would say, they were only buttons. She put down the quill and touched the grid and the strips of paper with the ciphers to the candle flame. The ashes floated slowly to the table. No, she concluded. The only way to ensure the warning reached its destination in time was for her to pass between the lines. Tomorrow.
She heard the front door close and Mary calling to see if she were home. Gratefully, Elisabeth raced downstairs and found her in the kitchen. “I have just come from the Meeting House,” she said. “Why my dear, you look distraught. Is all not well with you?”
Elisabeth told about her visit with Mrs. Bates, the imminent raid on Princeton to capture some doctor and a Reverend who was a member of Congress and bring them back to Philadelphia.
“I suspect it is our own Doctor Rush,” Mary replied. “Although why he would be in Princeton instead of at Valley Forge where soldiers by the hundreds suffer from disease and illness seems strange. His duty would be to remain there, I would think.”
“Mary. Strange or not, I have resolved to cross the lines tomorrow morning and convey this information to Will. I have thought it through and it is the only way.”
Mary shook the pot to assure herself there was enough water and there was no need to go outside to the pump. “I am in need of some tea and will brew enough for both of us,” Mary said. “I had expected news of my husband at the Meeting Hall but there was none. Our Minister believes John and the others are still at Winchester.” She hung the pot on a hook over the fireplace, stoked the logs with an iron poker and held her hands toward the flames. Elisabeth dragged the short bench toward the hearth and the two women sat in silence side by side.
“No, Elisabeth. It will not do for you to go.”
“I must and you shall not stop me.”
“Perhaps I can prevail upon your reason,” Mary said as she
wrapped her hand in a thick rag and lifted the pot off the hook. She poured two cups at the small kitchen table. Elisabeth sat rigidly straight in her chair, like a skittish colt eager to bolt and be on its way.
“First and foremost, what if Mrs. Bates sees you, whether before or after you pass the lines. That will arouse her suspicions. Have you thought what you would tell her is your reason for being there?” Elisabeth remained silent but Mary’s question was troubling.
“In addition,” Mary continued, “you are too pretty and refined not to arouse the interest of sentries and Loyalist Militias who guard the roads from the city. They will question you closely and since you obviously are not a market woman, they will be most suspicious.” Mary gently lowered her cup. “Your warning will do no good, my dear, unless you are able to deliver it.” Elisabeth was beginning to regret having impetuously destroyed the ciphers she had written so laboriously.
“I could wear old clothes and a worn cloak. Disguise my appearance. Carry a basket of some goods we could contrive together,” Elisabeth said, effecting confidence that she could deceive the posted guards or militiamen.
Mary wagged her finger. “It will not serve, my dear. And I must say,” she continued, “I am chary of the information you have obtained. We have never heard of such a hospital in Princeton. The very journey from Valley Forge to there would kill the poor wretches, exposed to the harsh elements of winter as they would be.” She took another sip of tea, savoring the taste, before continuing. “Mrs. Bates may be unknowingly passing along false rumors she has heard though I do not doubt the good woman’s integrity.”
“We must assume the information is correct,” Elisabeth responded. “Otherwise, if it turns out to be true and I did not communicate the warning, I would be responsi
ble for their capture. And if the Dragoons set homes and even the hospital on fire, the deaths of those poor wretches would . . .” She turned toward the fire, seeing the flickers of the flaming logs consuming a building in a snowy field.
She felt Mary’s hand on hers. “Yes, my dear. We must convey the warning despite my reservations. But I will cross the lines tomorrow. I will be as Mrs. Bates will be, carrying scissors, needles and half used spools of thread to sell to women from the camp at Valley Forge.”
“No, Mary. You must not. I cannot ask you to. . .”
“You did not. I told you I will go. Think about it Elisabeth. Who has a better possibility of not arousing anyone’s suspicions? Mary Lewis, a plain Quaker market woman, whose husband has been unjustly imprisoned by these Rebels and needs to sell sundries to make ends meet. Or you, a pretty young lady who some may recognize as having been escorted around town by a well-known Captain on General Howe’s staff.”
Elisabeth knew Mary was correct. She imagined her friend’s rotund figure blending together with a group of other women, passing by the sentries and trundling down the road toward Valley Forge.
“But who will you meet with and whom will you tell?”
“I shall ask for your Will and if he cannot be found, I shall seek out William Knox, who you told me is the General’s brother.”
Elisabeth squeezed Mary’s hand. “You are compromising your faith’s neutrality by undertaking such a mission.”
Mary shook her head in disagreement. “It is not my faith which has declared neutrality but our Leaders. The precepts of my faith require me to save lives and you consider this information will do so.” She wagged her finger at Elisabeth. “I still believe these are false rumors. Imagine, a hospital in Princeton while those in need of the care of skilled practitioners such as Doctor Rush are at Valley Forge.” She tut-tutted and shook her head. “The very idea is nonsense.”
Spies and Deserters Page 6
