by Tony Roberts
McGinnes saluted and waved a squad to follow him, trotting down the still slick path, their feet sliding from time to time. They soon happened upon the house and quickly enough found the broken door. McGinnes waved the poacher to search for more tracks and sent three others into the house.
The news that came to him after five minutes convinced him they were on the right track. He discharged his musket into the air and got the men to eat a quick snack while they waited. After a short while the rest turned up. “Report, Corporal,” Sir Richard commanded sternly. He was anxious to find his son. Damn the woman, she would be packed off to a home somewhere. He could easily persuade two doctors to find her insane. She had done her job anyway in giving him a son.
“Sah. The house has been slept in. Someone broke in recently. The wood is still fresh where it’s been snapped. And Ferris here says tracks – fresh ones – lead out towards the sea. No more than an hour or two old.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Go, man! We’ll follow behind.”
“What if we find this Lonnergan, sah?”
“Kill him,” Sir Richard enunciated clearly, leaning forward in emphasis. “Preferably slowly and painfully.”
McGinnes smiled. “Sah!” He waved the same squad to accompany him, and they made double time down the path in the wake of Casca, Rose and Cass. They got to the shore in fifteen minutes and saw the lone boatman making his way back to the shore, and in the distance, three figures making their way inland, even at that distance clearly a man, woman and child.
McGinnes waved at the men to arrest the boatman as he got to the boathouse, and waited for Sir Richard to arrive. When he did, the boatman was questioned and McGinnes’ evidence was too damning for the boatman to deny what he’d done.
“You scum,” Sir Richard snarled, drawing his sword. “You’ve aided in those kidnappers taking my son away from me!”
The boatman tried to struggle free but he was held fast by two British soldiers and Sir Richard ran him through the heart. The man was allowed to fall to the ground. Sir Richard remounted his horse and watched as the distant figures headed towards the nearest Continental Army camp, fuming. Once again Lonnergan and his traitorous wife had conspired to steal his son away from him.
He wouldn’t rest until he got William George back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Casca, Rose and young Cass made it to the army camp and were shown to George Washington’s quarters after a delay and a short argument between Casca and an obstinate adjutant. Casca settled the argument by suspending the officer over the camp latrine and promising to let go unless he agreed to inform Washington that they were here. He ignored the six muskets leveled at him by alarmed soldiers and asked them whether they wished to shoot him in front of a woman and two-year old child. The men, abashed, lowered their guns.
Washington was pleased at their arrival and immediately arranged for quarters for Rose and Cass, and got Casca signed back to the army. Casca was to report back to his unit on the following morning, but Washington was happy enough to have him eat with Rose and his select senior officers that evening. Rose was given a suitable evening dress, much to her – and Casca’s – surprise, and she was delighted to wear it in front of the admiring men. Cass was soon fast asleep and looked after by some of the camp women.
At dinner the matter of Claire and the others in her group came up. Claire was a prisoner in New York, that was clear, since Washington had an efficient spy ring on Long Island, and all the others of her group were dead except Overton who’d somehow managed to keep out of his pursuer’s clutches and even now was making efforts to rebuild the espionage ring on Long Island.
Sir Richard and the 67th foot were due to sail to Savannah along with Lord Cornwallis and reinforcements in the next few days, and Casca was eager to come to grips with the baronet and settle their feud once and for all.
The matter of Cass’s future was once again raised, by Casca, much to Rose’s irritation. Washington listened to both sides and then gave his thoughts. He reckoned the boy ought to have a decent education, and that when the war was over letters should be sent to whatever British diplomatic presence was left in the Colonies and seek advice there. Of course, should Sir Richard survive, then he would have to be included which neither Rose or Casca wanted.
The other news was that Katherine had been written to from New York to tell her Ebenezer Maplin had met with an unfortunate accident in his warehouse, having apparently fallen to his death. Since he and Katherine had not been divorced, she was still technically next of kin, and she was taking legal advice on what to do now.
“I bet Sir Richard was involved, somehow!” Casca growled.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Washington said. He looked at Rose who was sat there, her face white. “It’s a shock, though, isn’t it?”
Rose nodded, tears welling up. Casca took her by the hand and she buried herself in his chest, sobbing. Rose composed herself after a moment and used a handkerchief offered by a gallant officer on her other side.
The next morning the eternal mercenary reported to his unit, commanded now by a Colonel James Yardley, after saying farewell to Rose and Cass. Rose looked better, having gotten over the shock of her father’s death. What it meant to the Maplins only time would tell. At least they had a home and relative safety where they were going. He promised to write and departed, wondering whether he would, in fact, see them again.
His return from captivity was welcomed by his men and Lieutenant Connors and Captain Soderling. The man who’d taken Casca’s place hadn’t been very popular, a Major seconded from another unit, and Casca showed the man orders from Washington that transferred him back to his original company which he went with relief.
“What happened to you, sir?” Connors asked, his boyish face lit up in pleasure at seeing the scarred and rough-looking Major back with them.
Even Soderling took an interest in Casca’s tale which took a little time. Casca skipped some of the details but made sure all knew what it was like in the prison hulks. It made the men more determined than ever not to be taken prisoner.
Once more commanding his men, Casca had them training the old way, which they grumbled about, but Casca caught one or two grinning even as they did so. The Eternal Mercenary roared vile punishments at them if they didn’t come up to his exacting standards, after which he smiled at the looks of alarm on the men’s faces. They chuckled and set about bayonet practice with renewed vigor. At least things would be done properly now.
The indolence in the camp had taken the edge off the men and Casca asked Colonel Yardley about sending the men on patrols. Yardley shook his head. There was no need, seeing that the British were bottled up in New York and content to stay there. Casca pointed out that doing nothing made the men lazy and if and when a battle came, they may not be in a fit shape to fight. Yardley said he would put it up to his commanding officer and let Casca know in due course.
Casca sighed. The inertia had deadened the vitality of the army. They needed action somewhere.
He wrote to Katherine at Claire’s house in Philadelphia and got a reply a couple of weeks later telling him Rose and Cass had arrived safely. They were anxious for news of Claire, but not even Washington’s spies could detect where she had been taken. Katherine also made a pointed comment about Casca breaking his promise not to remain romantically involved with Rose. Casca grinned as he read the letter by the flickering light in his oil lamp in his tent. He would send a letter back – he had damned little else to do – and point out that Rose had run away from Sir Richard and had considered the marriage over. He would also make a point of saying he wasn’t the only one who’d made love to someone who was married. Katherine might not like it, but she had been married to Ebenezer while living with James Lowe. Casca recalled a saying from the Bible about not judging lest one be judged themselves.
The boring life in camp got Casca down and he frequented the headquarters, bothering Washington with requests to be sent to the Carolinas or to effe
ct a rescue of Claire in New York. Washington told him to route any request through his colonel which both knew would be a waste of time.
Then a few weeks later Casca was summoned to attend a meeting with Washington at his headquarters. Excited about what it may be, he almost ran to the house, but when he got there he was surprised to see British officers. Washington stepped forward to welcome Casca. “Major Lonnergan, good to see you. Thank you for coming at such short notice.”
Casca wondered why he was being so formal, but he guessed it was something to do with the three British officers standing stiffly to attention in the room, flanked by two of Washington’s personal guard. They didn’t seem too concerned, so Casca gave the three a careful look. Washington smiled and waved towards the officers. “May I introduce to you, gentlemen, Major Lonnergan, 5th New Jersey regiment. Major, this is Colonel Jacquard, Major Fellowes and Captain Kerrigan, all attached to the headquarters department under General Clinton, commander of New York garrison.”
Casca took off his hat and nodded gravely. The three were all tall, severe looking, and in the case of Jacquard and Fellowes, fairly senior in age. Kerrigan was dark haired and at least ten years younger than the other two. Fellowes was the most rotund while Jacquard very slim. Kerrigan had a paunch and Casca guessed he liked his ale.
“These gentlemen are not here in a military capacity. Please, everyone, be seated.”
They all sat in handy chairs, the three British together with Casca opposite them alongside Washington. Drinks were brought by a young soldier and then they got down to business. Jacquard fixed Casca with a hard stare. “I’m led to believe you were instrumental in the abduction of Sir Richard Eley’s wife and child from his home in New York?”
“Abduction, Colonel?” Casca smiled. “Not in the slightest. Rose – ah – Mrs. Eley went of her own accord.”
“Lady Eley,” Jacquard coldly corrected Casca.
Casca waved a lazy hand in response. “We know who we’re talking about. She wished to leave and I merely helped her. She was beaten and raped by her husband.”
“We shall leave the matrimonial stories to another time, Major,” Jacquard said sharply. “That is not the subject of this discussion. The fact is that a nobleman’s wife and heir have been taken from his household and he naturally wishes for them to be returned to where they should be.”
“The fact, Colonel,” Casca countered, leaning forward, pointing at the man, “is that Lady Eley has been the subject of beatings and she considers that good cause to leave your precious nobleman. If she were to return she quite naturally worries that her health, if not her life, would be in danger.”
Washington watched the exchange carefully, while to the rear his clerk was taking notes, as was Kerrigan, clearly there to record the British version of events. Jacquard looked at Washington. “General, I am reliably informed that this man here is or has been romantically involved with Lady Eley, and therefore has a vested interest in ensuring my fellow officer’s wife is not rightfully returned to him, along with the heir to his title and substantial holdings in Great Britain. Furthermore,” Jacquard cast a hostile look at Casca, “there is no evidence that Lady Eley left on her own free will. It may equally be true that this man here abducted her and Sir Richard’s son against their will. What is certain is that Sir Richard’s butler was murdered during the – ah – incident and two of his guards violently assaulted and rendered incapacitated. One of whom is still gravely injured and may have to be pensioned out of the army.”
“Horseshit,” Casca spat. “Prove it, you bag of wind.”
Jacquard’s face took on a look as if Casca had defecated at his feet, while Washington sighed. The other British officers gave Casca looks that could have killed.
“Really, General,” Jacquard said in a strained voice, “you do surround yourself with uncivilized examples of officers. It does not reflect well on the Continental Army’s reputation.”
“Major Lonnergan is a first rate officer, Colonel, and has my fullest confidence. He’s here to fight, not to exchange pleasantries with enemy officers,” Washington said evenly. “But I must agree he should tone down his language. Major?”
“General,” Casca said wearily. “I apologize, Colonel, for the language, but not for the sentiment.”
Jacquard sniffed. “Very well, that’s the best I should expect, I suppose. I return to my point that the Major here is not a suitable person to discuss this matter.”
“I heard you, Colonel,” Washington said. “There’s always two sides to each story. I can arrange for an independent party to question Lady Eley if you wish; nobody from either army.”
“She should be present here to answer our questions, General.”
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Colonel. You can advise Sir Richard that Lady Eley is no longer in the state of New York.”
Jacquard scowled at Washington. “That is most unfortunate, General. Besides, Sir Richard is also no longer in New York which is why I have been appointed to conduct matters on his behalf. Writing to him and getting a reply will take some time.”
“It seemed she went of her own free will to her mother’s, without the Major’s assistance,” Washington said, a twinkle in his eye. Casca smothered a smile.
“I see,” Jacquard said stiffly. “Then it would appear we are powerless to influence matters at the current time. I shall write to you shortly with our recommendations as to progress in this matter. I would strongly urge you to consult your legal representatives on this matter as this may be taken up at diplomatic levels. I’m sure your, ah, Congress would wish to avoid international condemnation at an abduction of a titled heir and his mother. The French may not take too kindly to their – allies – behaving in such a manner.”
The threat was clear as Jacquard and his group stood up, donned their caps, saluted Washington and pointedly ignored Casca before departing.
The general remained standing, looking at the doorway for a few moments, then slowly turned to Casca. “Major, this is a damnable affair. Colonel Jacquard is correct in that it may not reflect well on our reputation with our allies. They may try to bring diplomatic pressure to bear on forcing us to return the boy and Rose back to Sir Richard.”
“Christ, General!” Casca exclaimed, fist clenched. “I’ll kill that bastard Major Eley before he gets his hands on them!”
“Language, Major!”
“Sorry, sir. But he needs killing, he really does.”
Washington looked thoughtfully at Casca. “It would solve a potential problem. The trouble is you and he are not facing one another on the battlefield.”
“You heard that colonel, sir. He’s not in New York anymore. Find out where he is and have him killed.”
“No, Major,” Washington shook his head emphatically. “Killing a baronet in cold blood is not the way. Kill him on the battlefield.”
Casca snorted. “And how am I to do that, sir, if I’m here wasting my time here and he’s elsewhere?”
“Patience, lad. I do hear the war’s widening down south. If I hear he’s gone down to the Carolinas, which I suspect, I’ll arrange for you and your unit to go down there. Then it’s up to your commander to put you in proximity to Sir Richard.”
“You’d force a battle just to get me in killing range of that stuck-up idiot?”
“If it means heading off a diplomatic rift between our monarchist allies and ourselves, then yes.”
“Shit, sir. Sorry I mean hell. Is that word permitted?”
Washington sighed and rolled his eyes.
* * *
Winter came and still nothing happened. They did get around to training some more, as new recruits came and drill was needed to knock them into shape, so Casca got the rest of his men to do it, looking to see if they had gotten too sloppy. Some of the men had and Casca had them doing extra drill.
Then, in the new year, rumors began to circulate that the war down south wasn’t going too well and that Charleston was under siege from the British.
Casca wondered whether Sir Richard had gone down there, and what he was planning about his son. He did hear from Katherine and, to his delight, Rose, that they were enjoying themselves in Philadelphia, but that a couple of lawyers had written to them, asking whether Rose would swear in a Court of Law as to the reasons of her leaving New York. It seemed not only the new American legal people had contacted her, but also the British. Communications on a legal front appeared to not notice the warring front lines.
A reply had finally come from Sir Richard, and it confirmed the suspicion that he was with the army down south in the Carolinas. The British were willing to trade Claire Kelly who was still being held in New York for Lady Eley, and Washington informed Casca that although Claire was an important member of his spy network, the fact she’d been captured meant that her usefulness to him was virtually at an end. The American response was a firm rejection.
Casca asked Washington to allow him to go down south to assassinate Sir Richard. Casca smiled to himself at the term; a modern word forged in the Middle East hundreds of years before. Casca had been one of the original Hashashin, the smokers of hemp, or hashish, where they’d acquired their name, willing followers of Hasan al-Sabah, the old man of the mountain. Drugged up to obey their master, they’d embarked on a spree of political murders that had given the world a new method of killing: assassination.
If Washington assented to his request, he wouldn’t leave a golden dagger on Sir Richard’s pillow, which had been the trendy thing to do back then. No, he’d sneak in and take him out in one go.
Washington refused once again, but he did say that he was working on sending Casca and his unit down to join Horatio Gates’ army and would do so once he’d worked out the logistics. But then came news of Gates’ defeat at a place called Camden which had virtually destroyed the Continental Army there and in Washington’s words, ended the military career of the Hero of Saratoga.
