by L. E. Waters
Their sits Franklin’s mansion, with its French doors open wide and welcoming, as I now stand on the outside. Beautiful women in rustling dresses are accompanied up the stairs. I ride my horse around the back and sneak in through the garden gates. The once dapper, red-coated party turns now to a dingy, blue-coated party. The Tory women are still as lovely as ever, yet their male counterparts can’t compare. I try my best to stay plain, but even so, I’m twice as finely dressed as these Americans. I scan the room for Peggy and know after one glance she isn’t there, for she normally shines and beckons all eyes to her. I walk up the grand staircase, which curves ever so slightly, and hear her voice before stepping foot on the landing. She laughs with three of the handsomer men. I walk across and catch her eyes, which widen at my unexpected presence. I head directly into a quiet study, and she comes in and closes the door at once.
“John!” She runs and hugs me so tightly I can still smell her delicate perfume linger on my clothes after she breaks away. “How very brave of you!”
“Americans become you, my dear. I have never seen you look so pretty.”
She sneers slightly and says out of the corner of her mouth, “This is the second time I’ve worn this dress to a ball. Father can hardly afford the inflated prices on food, let alone new dresses.”
“It is not the dress that makes the lady, it is the lady that makes the dress.”
“Coming from a milliner that is quite the compliment.”
Someone opens the door and closes it just as quickly, once they see us alone together. We both laugh at his presumption, and I take advantage of the moment. “You may have to throw yourself on me the next time that happens. Better a tart, than a spy.”
She laughs. “I think I can manage something.”
“You were right. Clinton operates a spy ring and guess who he has opened his circle to?”
“That is wonderful! You can tell Smith tonight. He will be here shortly.”
“The general has set his sights on looking for a big fish to entice over to our side.”
Her eyes widen. “I know just the fish! General Arnold, the hero of Fort Ticonderoga. He came to our house this very morning to have father arrested. As Father begged and bribed, Arnold stared at me in the garden. He forced father to arrange for him to see me tonight in exchange for his freedom, given that he cannot leave our house any longer.”
“General Arnold will be here tonight?”
She nods. “He is arriving with Joshua.” We hear great commotion below the stairs. “That’s probably him making an entrance.” She grabs my arm to go out. “Well, then, we must go and welcome him warmly.”
“It’s too dangerous. Someone might notice me.” I pull back.
“You mustn’t fear anyone noticing you”—she laughs as she pulls the edge of her bodice down further to reveal more of her firm bosom and pinches her cheeks—“No one will notice you if I can help it.”
She lifts up both sides of her pocket-hoop to fit through the narrow door, and we walk out down the stairs, arm in arm. She is right, no one so much as glances over to me as she strides past. Most of the patriots who fill in the entryway wear simple clothing and hunting shirts, but then the group parts to allow General Arnold through. He isn’t tall but well built. He has piercing eyes and a hooked nose, reminiscent of a falcon. His skin is as dark as a sailor’s yet he glimmers in his new, blue, gold-buttoned coat, which fine lace spills out of. For such a strong-looking man I’m surprised to see him take a quick step with the aid of a cane, and I watch him limp over with great speed to a wide chair in the ballroom.
All of the fickle Tory women flock to him, practically drooling over the scandalous hero, yet I notice he looks over the heads of these women, as if he searches for something. He nervously smooths his eyebrows down with both hands, only drawing attention to a large scar above one eye.
I remove my arm from Peggy’s and push her by the small of her back toward him. Once he sees her, he smiles. Arnold, using the women as support, leaps up and hobbles across the floor, abandoning his cane.
As I watch her work her magic on the great enemy, someone comes up behind me and whispers in my ear, “You’re behind enemy lines, Brit.”
I turn around to see Smith standing there in his blue finest. “It’s quite exciting. I see why you do it.”
He nudges toward the courting couple with an expression of veiled discomfort. “Did you know Arnold almost resigned before Brandywine?”
“No, I had not heard that. Why? His leg?”
“No, he got that whipping Burgoyne.”
Confused, I ask, “Well, then, why did he almost resign?”
We overhear General Arnold asking Peggy to dance. Peggy hesitates for a brief moment, as she glances in Smith’s direction. Arnold takes a quick step toward her and looks deep into her eyes as he places her hands in his.
“Please take this trembling hand that only exposes the chaos of my heart. The very heart that which has been calm and serene amidst the clashing of arms, and all the din and horrors of war, trembles with diffidence and the fear of giving offence when it attempts to address you on a subject so important to its happiness.”
She sweetly nods, and he pulls her into his arms with great, unabashed energy, causing Smith’s jaw to clench. Once he unclenches it and remembers what I’d asked him, he replies, “You’re looking at the most disgruntled and underappreciated patriot there is, hero and all.”
I watch Arnold now with great interest and, as she dances in front of his clumsy grasp, I see he has already fallen in love with Peggy.
“He’s you’re man, limey,” Smith says as he’s forced to walk away.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
The three of us meet in Peggy’s garden the next day. Making sure no one follows me, I head through the maze of tall English hedges and find the marble benches at the center of the rose garden. Peggy comes swishing in, wearing a pale pink and lace sack-back gown, and she floats down beside me, waiting for Smith to appear. We hear someone running, and we turn to see Smith vault over the hedges and land on the stone walkway like a city tomcat.
Peggy claps as he comes and lifts her toy-like form and spins her around over his head as she kicks her delicate satin shoes high in the air. He sets her down beside him now, and out of breath, he starts, “Here is my plan. Clinton wants a big fish, and we’ve got one that is now in love with my Peggy.” He immediately finds her knee hidden under heavy skirts and pats it. “We get her to marry—”
Fright spreads across Peggy’s face. “Marry? Why would I have to marry him? Why would you want that?”
He attempts to soothe her with his indigo gaze. “I think it is the only way to turn him, darling. You must do it.”
Her glassy, honey-eyes fill with tears. “But I love you?”
He grabs her powdered-wigged head and brings it to his protective shoulder. “And I love you, but this is not a world where this is possible. Your father would not allow it. Not now. Not until this war is over.”
I wonder if I should start to try to creep off the bench and leave them alone. When I begin to move, Smith spins back to me. “You stay put. We have to all agree on this together.”
She looks up at me, and I glance away, feeling sorry for her for having to make such a decision. Then she stares up sadly at Smith. “Joshua, once I marry him, how will I be with you still?”
He puts his hands on her shoulders and promises her. “I will never leave you. I will find a way for us to be together after the fighting is over.”
She wipes her tears with his steenkirk scarf. “I will do this for you, my father, and my King.”
“Am I completely left out here?” I try to lighten the mood.
She laughs through her sniffles. “And for you too, John.”
Smith turns back to me, still holding her hand. “So Peggy will charm Arnold into marrying her and influence him to come to us. I will gather my intelligence, and we will get it to you, André.”
“How will I
get my letters safely to you?” Peggy asks me.
Smith and I explain to her the different forms of coding, embedding, and hiding our messages. After we’re through, Smith asks, “You will need a go-betwixt, someone who can carry the messages from Peggy to you since you can’t be seen together from now on.”
“How terrible! Not only do I have to marry old-man-hobble, but I won’t get to see you or John any longer?”
“I will speak to General Clinton at once. I’m sure he’ll have someone for the job,” I say.
Smith claps his hands together and rubs them. “That’s it then. Peggy will look for a carrier, and she will notify you of General Arnold’s status, but I’m guessing he gives way in a month if she uses her tricks on him.”
Peggy smiles playfully and leans into him.
“I will go now. Until then, be safe.” I put on my hat and hear noises of ‘happiness’ behind me as I find my way back out of the garden. Getting on my horse and heading back to New York, I wonder if this will actually come to something.
Chapter 11
Reaching the pickets outside New York, I’m told that General Clinton has gone to raid New Bedford. I follow the smoke in the air and pass many scared farmers carrying their possessions in whiny carts behind sagging-back nags. I ride through the mayhem of soldiers looting and spreading fires while civilians flee. Flames spread from the warehouses to surrounding houses. General Clinton’s deep voice rings out, “Contain the fires, you fools!” He yanks his horse in a turn to keep it in place in the chaos. “Only Military Installations! Only Military Installations!”
A soldier runs by with a sack of flour and Clinton cracks him on the back with his crop so hard that the man drops the flour immediately and reaches around to grab at the pain.
“I do not command thieves! My men do not loot!” He charges off, going after every soldier he spies with his arms full, as if swatting red flies. I wait until he tires of his rampage and ride up to him as he catches his breath under the shade of a towering oak.
He sees me and shakes his head, leaving a cloud of powder to rest on his coat. “André, good to see you well and your arms empty.”
“You can’t control men from looting and fires from spreading. This is war, General.”
“And how does anyone expect to win these colonials over after the smoke has settled if their houses are burned, their livelihood stolen, and their women assaulted? Magnamity, I tell you. Not terror!” He turns red again.
“What we need is more raids like Mohawk Valley.” I know as the words leave my lips I should not have let them escape.
His mouth pinches shut, and one of his eyes narrows as the other widens, and he speaks each word slowly through gritted teeth, “Colonel Butler will go to hell for what he and his Indians did to those innocent people! That is not my way, and you must comply!”
I bow my head. “I apologize, Your Excellency. I spoke out of frustration. I have only come to inform you that I have met with my contacts, and we are baiting our line for a big fish for you.”
He calms but says flatly, “What is the name of this big fish?”
“General Arnold, sir.”
“Strike me blue!” His frown turns into a broad smile. “Good job, my boy. What will you need from me?”
“Have you a trusted carrier?” I hold out a letter I’ve already prepared for Peggy.
He nods and takes it. “I know just the man—an experienced field spy. I will send him on to you. He goes by Obadiah.”
He reaches into his bulging satin waistcoat and pulls out a sleepy-eyed, yawning Rosey. “I enjoyed her greatly while you were gone. Be sure to share her with me.”
I take her relaxed, hanging body under her arms and place her inside my own waistcoat. He smells his hand that has just handled her. “Is it my imagination or is Rosey…a tad odorous?”
I cock my head. “Well, ‘that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.’”
“But the same should be said that naming this ferret, Rose, does not make her smell sweeter.”
I laugh as Clinton leaves the shade of the tree slowly, the fires burning on high above him.
Chapter 12
“The old woman has gone into Peggy’s teepee!”
I slip around behind a neighboring teepee and wait. I hear a slight struggle within the teepee but not loud enough to draw anyone’s attention. I’m waiting to see Peggy dash out the flap, but something delays her. I try to think about what that would be and realize it must be the ropes. I bet she forgot to have a knife by her, and she is untying them by hand! My heart starts to race as I see Arnold limp back from the pony field to the campfire between his and Smith’s teepee. I start praying that she’ll poke her head out first to see if Arnold has returned, and my heart sinks as she leaps out with a rope still tied to her ankle. She runs as fast as a squaw can across the space, but Arnold sees the movement and charges right at her, catching her by the campfire. She screams as he grabs her roughly from behind, and she cries, “Joshua!” right before he slits her throat.
A scarlet spray of blood reaches high over their heads, and Peggy clutches her throat in a last attempt to stem the flow before falling. Arnold lets her fall but throws his guilty knife away. Smith rushes out of the teepee and sees her, crumpled and bleeding on the ground. He quickly gathers her up in his arms and tries to put pressure on the large wound. She holds his gaze for a moment before closing her eyes, but he doesn’t lay her back down until he feels the life leave her body.
Covered in her blood, Smith stands slowly to face Arnold. He lunges and throws Arnold in one quick movement and hits him over and over again in the face and stomach. The other warriors, who Arnold was just sitting with, all jump on Smith but to no avail. Nothing can stop the power of such rage. Once Smith shows signs of fatigue, General Clinton steps in to pull a severely battered Arnold free.
Smith screams, “He killed her!”
Arnold, spitting teeth and blood, holding his broken ribs, says, “She was mine.”
Someone enters my room and cuts short my strange nightmare. I rub my eyes clear to see a figure standing at the end of my bed. I roll over quickly to grab for my gun where it leans on the bedpost as Rosey hisses and snaps at him from on the bed. The man lunges and yanks my gun from my hands with great force. He squats down beside me, glaring at me with peculiar amber eyes and brings his finger slowly to his lips with a shushing sound.
I roll to the other side of the bed, sweeping up Rosey’s hair-on-end-body as I go, and withdraw to the safety of the corner of the room. The man, who wears a low, floppy hat walks slowly toward us, with my gun hanging by his side, and reaches into his pocket. He withdraws a letter, and I immediately realize this is my new carrier’s absurd idea of an introduction.
“Obadiah, I could have shot you.”
He drops the gun to the floor, then hands me the letter and walks away without one word.
As soon as he’s gone, I put Rosey down beside me on the bed and, as I try to calm her, say, “What on earth was that?”
I open it and read a delightful letter about the gay parties Peggy is attending and the weather, but notice the small “f ” at the top corner of the page. I look to my expensive spermaceti candle, which the draught from the window has wasted into a waxy mess. Even so, as the last of the candle burns I hold the letter over it to see the lemon juice words appear like magic betwixt the existing lines.
My Favorite Englishman,
I think the only way I can demonstrate my progress best is to include ‘his’ very words:
“My Dearest Life,
Never did I so ardently long to see or hear from you at this instant. I am all impatience and anxiety to know how you do. Six days without hearing from you is intolerable. I am heartily tired with my journey and almost so with human nature. The day after tomorrow I leave this and hope to be made happy by your smiles on Friday evening; till then, all nature smiles in vain, for you alone, heard, felt, and seen, possess my every thought, fill every sens
e, and pant in every vein.”
Of course he has proposed to me, and Father has accepted the engagement since he used to stand at the window day and night, trying to keep the soldiers from thinking the house deserted and taking it for their barracks. Now he is treated like a general himself for fear of ‘his’ reprisal. I am weaving my web.
Love,
Síofra (I always loved that name)
I take out a sheet of parchment and pen from my desk box and scribble my own comments about the weather and how I long for the parties in Philadelphia. I bring out the lemon juice and write betwixt the lines.
Lovely Síofra (that name fits you nicely),
I have never doubted the effects of your charms.
Yours,
Monk
I scatter sand over the page to blot up the vinegar and ox gall ink, then pour the sand back into my tin container. I carefully seal the letter with a molten, scarlet wax and press my signet ring to keep curious eyes from prying. I wait until Obadiah reappears.
The next letter comes a month later with an “A” for acid in the corner. I rub the chemical reagent all over the parchment and wait as the message slowly appears.
Monk (I dare say this name does not become you),
You may congratulate me on my marriage to the General. I am a woman of my word but now it seems that many around him suspect his Tory leanings because of me. ‘Tis so severe he has had to write a letter to Congress saying that the president and council of the state “will excuse me if I cannot divest myself of all humanity to my enemies and common civility to all mankind in general, merely out of compliance to them.” Otherwise, he has been promoted to Major General but without assignment, much to his disappointment.
Much love to you, wherever you are,
Síofra
Six weeks later, Obadiah emerges from the woods as I’m using the latrine. I yank up my breeches as he approaches and hands me a wild turkey quill.
