“Oh no!” Anne tipped the slip of paper to the light, and winced. “An aimless, silly scratching…”
“Which is unlike you,” Jack interrupted. “I worried maybe something was amiss.”
“I didn’t expect for you to even see this, much less have it induce you to risk your neck in coming here.” Anne handed the drawing back to Jack, and it made her heart skip to see how carefully he returned the little scrap of paper to his pouch. “I was missing you—feeling lonely and more than a little sorry for myself, and drawing our little crown made me feel better.”
“Caw!” Sally gave Anne a little shove. “Yer a softhearted lass, fer all yer stoic brash!”
Jack smiled. “I’m glad to hear that’s all there is to it.”
“You are a madman to have come here”—Anne touched the silver disk hanging from his pierced earlobe—“but I’m so glad you did.”
“Ahoy, Mrs. Merrick!”
Anne and Sally locked eyes, and Sally whispered, “What’s he want?”
“I’ve no idea!” Rising to her feet, Anne pressed a fingertip to Jack’s lips in silent warning.
Jack grabbed her by the hand. “It’s Captain Feather Hat, isn’t it? What was it he gave you today?”
Anne dropped back to her seat. “What?”
“Ahoy, Anne Merrick—Geoff Pepperell come to call—”
“It is him.” Jack growled under his breath, pushing off to rise up to his feet.
Sally lurched forward and shoved him by the shoulders, sending him back onto his hind end. Her index finger like a dart to his forehead, she hissed between gritted teeth, “Stay down an’ shet yer hole, or it’s the three of us dancin’ a jig at rope’s end by sunup.”
“Ahoy, Mrs. Merrick!”
Anne stumbled forward and banged into the lantern, sending the light swinging. Rubbing her forehead, she gave Sally a pull. “Get rid of him—but nicely.”
Sally nodded, drew a deep breath in, breathed it out slow, and poked her head between the tent flaps, clutching the canvas beneath her chin.
“Good evening, Captain,” she said in a loud and cheery voice.
“Hullo, Sal. May I have a word with your mistress, please?”
Sally pulled inside, keeping the canvas crimped closed in white-knuckled fists. “He wants to talk to you.”
“No!” Anne and Jack hissed in unison and waved her back.
Sally once again inserted her head between the flaps, her twin plaits swinging. “Apologies, Captain, but th’ hour is dark, and my mistress bids ye t’ pay yer call in the light of day.”
“Tell your mistress this matter cannot wait. I must speak with her now.”
Sally pulled inside. “Maybe ye ought…”
“No!” Anne and Jack whispered together.
Sally’s head emerged once again. “I’m so sorry,” she told the Captain, “but Mrs. Merrick is not prepared t’ receive callers at this late hour…”
“This is absolutely ridiculous…” Pepperell raised his voice. “Please inform your mistress that I will wait right here while she collects herself to speak with me direct.”
Sally popped back in. “Ye heard. He willna budge.”
Anne slipped her feet into shoes. “I’d better see what he wants.”
Jack grabbed Anne by the hand and pulled her down, their cheeks brushing. He growled in her ear, “I know what he wants, and so do you.”
Anne jerked free, and hissed, “That man is the fount of our intelligence —every bit of it crucial—you said so yourself.” She tugged a striped skirt over her shift, twirled a shawl over bare shoulders, and slipped outside.
Lantern in hand, dressed in casual shirtsleeves and buff breeches protected by black gaiters, Pepperell kept himself at a discreet distance from the tent, as any gentleman should. Anne noted the brace of pistols tucked into the sash at his waist, and she rushed forward to keep him as far from the tent as possible.
“I apologize for the lateness of the hour…” he began, setting the lantern on the ground.
“Indeed.” Anne held tight her shawl and managed a smile. “Sally and I are about to douse the light.”
“Were you at your letters? You’ve a bit of ink there…” Geoffrey stepped close, and brushed the back of his hand to her cheek.
Anne stumbled back a step, scrubbing the blue pigment with the tail of her shawl. At the exact moment, Sally squawked a distressing yelp. Pepperell made a move toward the tent, but Sally’s ginger head popped forth in an instant, stopping him in his tracks. She sputtered, “A huge, ugly spider crawlin’ about in here—he needs squashin’… I could use your help, Annie.” And she disappeared.
“Captain Pepperell.” Anne resorted to her vexed-widow voice. “Paying call at this hour—most unseemly, sir. I must bid you good night.”
“Wait…” The Captain grabbed her by the hand, curtailing her retreat. “I have come with only wholesome intent. Lennox has set out his telescope—a beautiful instrument—and Mrs. Lennox sends an invitation for you to join us in our stargazing. I’ve come to escort you to our camp.”
“S-s-stargazing!” Anne struggled to shift her tack from angry to reasonable. “How… how very kind of you, Captain… and, of course, kind of Mrs. Lennox as well—to think of me.” Any other time she would have leapt at this sort of opportunity, for Lucy Lennox had already proven to be a valuable resource. Eyes darting to Jack’s silhouette in a hunker near the canvas tent flaps, she was nonetheless compelled to cultivate Pepperell’s good graces. Tugging the Captain along, she guided him to stand with his back toward the tent.
“A telescope, you say? I’ve always wanted to learn more about the night sky…”
“Good! I’ll wait while you dress.”
“No! I couldn’t… wouldn’t want to trouble you.” Anne could not keep her hands from flailing about. “After all—well—it’s very late. And of course… there’s Sally and the spider…”
“The spider!” Geoffrey laughed. “It’s a moonless night—perfect for stargazing—and the views are fantastic. Please say you’ll come.”
Anne glanced over Pepperell’s shoulder at the tent, horribly aware of Jack and Sally watching her every move and listening to her every word. She moved in closer, kept her eyes cast demure, and lowered her voice to a more seductive tone. “Oh, Geoff, I would truly love to spend the night with you… stargazing.” Letting go of her shawl ends for a moment, she allowed the Redcoat captain the briefest glimpse of her dishabille, before collecting the soft wool in a modest clutch at her breast. “But it has been one long day after another, and I am”—she let out a breathy sigh—“quite spent. Could you possibly come calling tomorrow night, when I can promise to be better company?”
“Of course I understand. Tomorrow it is, then.” Smiling, Geoffrey Pepperell moved in to claim a kiss, which Anne managed to avoid with an adroit step out of his orbit, and an offer of her hand.
“Until tomorrow, Captain.”
Pepperell placed a tender kiss at the very center of her palm. “I’ll call for you at dusk… and I will hold you to your promise.” Bowing with a courtly sweep of his arm, he snatched up his lantern and threw her a kiss. “Sleep well, my sweet.”
“Convey my regrets to Mrs. Lennox…” Anne waved. Pepperell spun an about-face and marched away with a chipper bounce in his step.
Keeping her eye on the British captain, Anne backed away to take a stand at the tent door, until the glow from his lantern disappeared among the many pinpricks of yellow light in the distance. Ducking inside the tent, she found her writing box thrown open, and Sally scribbling like mad with a lead pencil on a sheet of foolscap.
Anne puffed out a breath. “He’s gone.”
Grim-faced, Jack stood upright and, without a word, snapped a mean-looking blade back into the beaded scabbard hanging from his belt.
“I got rid of him,” Anne added. “He won’t be back.”
Jack looked up, his dark brows knit into a single line. “At least not until tomorrow—my sweet—”
“Don’t…” Anne held up a hand. “I have no choice but to court the man’s favor. He’s our best source—”
“And no wonder…” Jack interrupted, aping her voice with exaggerated inflection. “‘Oh, Geoff! I would truly love to spend the night with you!’”
“Mind yer wicked tongue.” Sally slammed her pencil down, her eyes fierce. “Annie’s but doin’ the work she was sent to do. Ye ought t’ be proud of her—be it the camp laundress, sutler, or Burgoyne himself, she kens exact how to gull these Britishers to eatin’ out of her hand…”
“Literally.” Jack swiped his hair from his face, his glare unforgiving.
Anne flinched as if she’d been dealt a slap to the face. Mired in a muck of guilt and regret for kissing the Redcoat captain the night before, she scrubbed the palm of her hand to her skirt, unable to muster any defense. Sally, however, held no such compunctions.
“D’ye hear yerself, Jack Hampton? Ye can oft times be sech an utter arsehead.”
Jack’s shoulders sagged a bit, and his mouth lost its hard edge. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sucked in a deep breath, and let it out in a slow whistle.
“You’ve only the half of it, Sal. I’m a thoughtless, stupid, and selfish arsehead.” Clasping his hands behind his back like a contrite schoolboy, he turned to face Anne direct. “I’m so sorry, Annie. I am awful proud of you and the work you do, and the good that comes from it, and that’s the God’s honest truth.” He shrugged. “It was probably not a good idea—my coming here. I should go.”
“Already?” Anne’s voice wavered on the single word, and she dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed, lacing her hands tight to keep from bursting into tears.
“No call to linger—” Jack retrieved the gustoweh from where it rolled under Sally’s bed, and offered it up with a weak smile. “Ned’ll have my hide if I leave this behind—said it took him a year to collect the proper feathers…”
Anne nodded, the lump in her throat too great to overcome with words.
Jack brushed dirt from the hat and fiddled with straightening the feathers. “I’m wondering—though my borrowed plumage is nowhere near as fancy as your Captain Feather Hat’s…”
Anne groaned. “He’s not my captain!”
Jack winced. “… And though I continue to be a first-rate arsehead to boot—maybe, Annie … Maybe you might consider going for a walk with me this night?”
The sincere earnestness of his apology combined with the self-deprecating invitation washed all the ill feeling from her heart. Anne looked up into his soft brown eyes. “I’d like nothing better.”
Sally threw up her arms. “Now, tha’s a brilliant scheme, in’t it? Him an Indian, and you a white woman, strollin’ about the camp thegither la-di-da—are yiz both daft?”
“Not to worry, Sal.” Jack grinned. “I have it all figured, and I’ll have Anne back safe before the drummer boys beat reveille.”
“You see, Sal? Jack has a plan…”
“Why am I not surprised?” Sally creased the letter she’d written into a square, and handed it to Jack. “Not a single damning word—ye’ll no’ hang for anything writ on this page. Carry it to David for me?”
“Gladly.” Jack stuffed it into his pouch. “Handing off a letter is preferable to answering his thousand and one questions.”
Sally jumped up and gave Jack a hug and a two-handed shove to the chest in quick succession. “Have Annie back as promised, ye blackguard, or I’ll hunt ye down, scoop yer still-beating heart out with a spoon, an’ leave it t’ pickle in yon Hessian cabbage barrel.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” After saluting Sally with a knuckle to his brow, he turned and grasped Anne by the shoulders. “Wait a little time after I’m gone, then take your leave and head straight north.” He pointed to the back of the tent. “Do not carry a light; you don’t want anyone following you. Once you breach the tree line, count one hundred paces, and I’ll find you there. You understand?”
“I do.”
Jack slipped out of the tent. A moment didn’t pass before he popped his head back in and, with a wag of his brows, added, “Best bring your blanket!” before disappearing in a flap of canvas.
“Good earth and seas!” Anne flung herself to lie flat on her back. “Could that damned Redcoat have picked a worse time to come calling?”
Sally plopped onto her cot. “Ye had it easy. I was the one stuck inside this tent with a madman.”
Anne bolted upright. “Do you have my brush?” She pulled the ribbon from her plait, finger-combing her hair to separate the braid-crimped tresses. “Why do you goad him so, Sal?” Exaggerating Sally’s brogue, Anne singsonged, “‘She kens exact how to get these Redcoats to eatin’ out of her hand.’”
“Och! It’s no secret what we’re about here.” Sally found the brush, and tossed it over.
Anne put the brush to work. “Did you hear him call Pepperell ‘Captain Feather Hat’? I can only assume he was watching us at the bridge this morning…”
Sally groaned. “And saw the kiss, no doubt.”
Anne stopped brushing. “Then he comes into camp at great risk, and finds the same man calling on my tent after dark.” She resumed the brisk strokes. “In this instance I have to allow Jack some understanding. I know it would be awful difficult for me, if our roles were reversed.”
“I swear, Annie, when Pepperell touched your cheek, Jack near went out of his senses.”
“I know.” Anne pressed a palm to her chest. “My heart’s still pounding double time.”
“If Jack means for us all t’ remain a success at this business with necks unstretched, he must learn t’ curb his jealous heart. ’Twas all I could do t’ keep yer man from leaping out with tha’ huge sticker he carries. ‘I’ll separate the bastard from his bollocks,’ says he, very near bringing the British Empire down upon us all. Poor Titus,” Sally clucked. “No doubt he has his hands full.”
Anne stood, her chestnut tresses falling in a crescendo of soft waves to the small of her back. “Do I look a fright?”
“Och! Yer only gorgeous!” Sally dug a blue ribbon from the mending basket. “Should we pull yer locks up?”
“I think not. I know it’s altogether brazen, but he likes when I wear my hair loose.” Anne pinched her cheeks, splashed lavender water on her neck, and poured a drop down her décolletage, shivering as it trailed a cool trickle down to her navel. She dug under her pillow for her little half crown. Realizing she had neglected to tie on her pocket, she simply dropped the token down the front of her shift. Tossing on her shawl, she announced, “I’m off!”
“Wait!” Sally jumped up and rolled the woolen blanket on Anne’s cot into a sausage, handing over the bundle with a smile and a wink.
Tucking the blanket under one arm, Anne smiled. “You are the finest kind of friend.” Giving Sally a shoulder squeeze and a peck on the cheek, she scooted out the doorway. Careful to keep the tent betwixt herself and the neighboring Hessians, Anne ran the few yards to the looming wall of trees at the forest’s perimeter, her heart near bursting with joy that she would soon be in Jack’s arms.
She began counting her paces. One, two, three, four…
The friendly, sun-dappled forest by day was transformed by a moonless night into an endless black cave. To assure she wasn’t being followed, Anne glanced back every few steps until the cheerful glow of illuminated canvas was swallowed in the inky wake of her trail.
Twenty-two… twenty-three…
Without a lantern to light her way, Anne stumbled forward through fern beds and shrubbery with arms outstretched—bumping into trees and low-hanging limbs with almost every other step. Once ensconced under the thick canopy of leaves, she was so completely night-blind, she could not make out her hand before her face. Forced to a complete standstill, she took a deep breath and blinked, willing her eyes to adjust to the spare starlight filtering through the overstory of leaves.
Awful quiet.
This thought very loud in her head. Even the constant crick
et and tree-frog din seemed faint and muffled under the dense canopy, the night sounds absorbed by damp greenery, massive tree trunks, and the soft forest floor. The stillness, in company with the all-enveloping darkness set Anne on edge, and she shifted from joyful to wary. To prove her mettle and to fill the silence, she began to whisper-sing a brash rebel song. Hugging the bedroll to her chest, and swaying from side to side, her voice grew in volume with every line—
With Loyalty, Liberty let us entwine,
Our blood shall for both, flow free as our wine.
Let us set an example, what all men should be,
And a toast give the world—
To those who dare to be free.
Hearts of oak we are still;
For we’re sons of those men
Who always are ready,
Steady, boys, steady—
To fight for their freedom again and…
A deep wing thumping suddenly skimmed right over her head—fffoom, fffoom, fffoom—sending her down in a squeal and squat and raising instant gooseflesh to race over her forearms and up the nape of her neck.
Just an owl, common sense assured.
A big hairy, nasty bat, unreasonable fear insisted.
“No more singing,” Anne decided with a shiver, drawing her shawl up to protect her hair from airborne nocturnals. Her eyesight had adjusted somewhat and infinite pitch black began to transform into an environment formed of shapes and shadows in shades of gray, purple, and deep blue. Jack’s waiting. She set out once again.
Thirty-one… thirty-two… thirty-three…
She pulled to a sudden stop. The sound of tumbling pebbles reached her ear, and she could hear a creature scratching and rooting around in the crunch of dead leaves just to her left—its musky odor wafting up to crinkle her nose.
“Thirty-four… thirty-five…” Anne scurried forward, counting aloud, cringing at the sound of her panic-tinged voice. At the forty-pace mark, she let loose a squeal and was roughly jerked to a standstill—her shawl caught in the claws of a brambly thicket.
The Turning of Anne Merrick Page 10
