Caleb sighed, nodding. “Arnold is selling the confiscated goods in New York. And he’s using the merchant to do it for him.” He thought about this, his brow knit together. “I can’t believe Arnold would do it.”
They sat across from each other in thoughtful silence, Clara sipping her drink. Caleb spoke first. “He is always complaining about how the Continental Congress owes him thousands. Why, Arnold has railed against the Congress for years, griping about their debt to him. Guess they never reimbursed him after he fed and quartered his men in Quebec for the entire winter of ’seventy-six. And after he lost a leg for them.”
“Yes, but to take your money back in such a dishonest way?” Clara frowned.
“Lots of ’em dabble in the black market, I suppose. You saw the cartload full of goods André left town with.”
Clara’s eyes widened. “But I never exactly thought of Major André as a pillar of virtue.”
“But he’s not the only one who does it.” Caleb rubbed his chin with his fingers.
Clara sighed, her mood hardly lifted by this conversation.
“He’ll get found out. Sooner or later.” Caleb gripped his mug of ale.
“I don’t think so.” Clara shook her head. “Who would dare stop Arnold? He’s beloved by the whole city, the whole thirteen colonies.”
“I’ll tell you who—that Joseph Reed,” Caleb answered. Clara’s mind went back to the evening of the party at the Penn mansion, and the plainly dressed couple standing alone in the corner, scowling at their host. Miss Peggy had spoken of Joseph and Blanche Reed with such disdain.
Clara’s mind was trying to make sense of this. “But how is Joseph Reed in a position to stop Benedict Arnold from selling Philadelphia’s confiscated goods?”
“Clara, don’t you read the papers?” Cal was grinning at her. “Joseph Reed has been named governor of Pennsylvania.”
“But I thought Arnold was already governor?” Clara wondered aloud.
“Arnold is military governor of Philadelphia. He runs the army here. But Joseph Reed is the governor of Pennsylvania’s Executive Council.”
“So, aren’t they on the same side, then?” Clara asked.
“Oh, sweet Clara Bell.” Cal eyed her in a quizzical way, as if trying to prevent some deeper emotion from spilling through his playful, hazel eyes. Clara shifted in her seat.
“What, Caleb? Why are you looking at me like that?” She broke his eye contact, trying to dispel the awkwardness she felt at the intensity of his stare. “Anyhow, aren’t Arnold and Reed on the same side?”
He blinked, and he was calm, lighthearted Cal once more. “That’s what you would think. But when you’re in a position of power, your friends can become more dangerous than your enemies.”
“Meaning?” Clara asked.
“Meaning Joseph Reed and Benedict Arnold are bitter rivals.”
Peggy would be so thrilled to hear it.
“CLARA, CAN you believe how much he sent me back with?” Peggy was a woman possessed, her spirits soaring higher than Clara had seen in months. “Come in!” She pranced around the bedroom, sorting and re-sorting the piles of new gowns, hoopskirts, jewelry, ribbons, and shoes. All the goods Arnold had stacked into the carriage and sent back to the Shippen household from his back-alley cache.
“I thought we had put them all away.” Clara eyed the mess sprawled across her lady’s bedchamber, shoulders sagging at her work being undone.
“Oh, but I wanted to see them again,” Peggy sighed, enfolding herself in a shawl of feather-light cherry silk. “Betsy is going to be so jealous. Why, not even John André could have provided me with such fine clothing.”
“You have so much, perhaps you might share some of it with Miss Betsy.” Clara scooped up a pair of satin shoes from the crowded rug.
“Perhaps.” Peggy considered the suggestion. “If I find something I don’t like. You’re so kind, Clara.”
Clara didn’t respond as she deposited the shoes back in Peggy’s armoire.
“Arnold must be the richest man in Philadelphia.” Peggy spoke in a singsong manner, fiddling with the shawl before the mirror. “Will there even be enough parties to wear all these gowns to?”
Clara removed an emerald gown from the bed and hung it in the wardrobe.
“I’ll just have to tell Arnold to host lots of balls at the Penn mansion.” Picking up a lightweight salmon skirt, Peggy went twirling in a circle until she fell to the ground, melting into a pile of clothing. “Can’t you just imagine it, Clara? Little old me—presiding over galas in the Penn mansion! Lady of the house . . .” Peggy’s mind raced forward into her fantasy, and she fell so deeply into the imaginary scene that she forgot the words necessary to narrate it.
The gifts kept coming all throughout the summer. Each time Benedict Arnold came calling, accompanied by his dog Barley, he’d appear with a treat. Sometimes it was a bottle of Champagne, sometimes it was a new hat in the latest style being modeled in Europe. Sometimes it was an invitation to a dinner party or card game at his home. He never showed up empty-handed, and Peggy never failed to greet him with her most effusive praise, her most appreciative smile.
Peggy no longer complained to her father that she was hungry or tired of the food that Hannah cooked. She ate with Arnold at least once a day, taking either luncheon or dinner with him, if not both.
“Clara, you won’t believe how much I ate today.” Peggy had just returned one stifling afternoon in late summer, demanding that her maid unfasten her corset. “I’m going to burst. We started with baked sole and beef fillets with morels and truffles, followed by goose and peas and roasted duck. Next we had gooseberry tart, sweetbreads, plum pudding, fruit and nuts. And Champagne—a Champagne refill with every course!” Peggy let out a long belch. “Arnold told his footmen to make sure that my glass was never empty.”
“That sounds lovely, miss.” Clara pulled on the stays to loosen them, thinking hungrily of the feast her mistress described. How Clara would have loved to savor a bite of beef fillet. Still, she and the entire Shippen household had no reason to complain of hunger. Even though most of their luncheons were made up of salt fish these days, it was better than their countrymen who lived outside the city—starving and struggling to stay fed on what they could forage or hunt. Some of them, Cal said, would have considered squirrel meat a feast.
“I must watch myself or I might get fat under Arnold’s constant indulgences.” Peggy stepped out of her corset and looked approvingly at her now revealed figure in the mirror opposite her. It was true that she had regained the soft curves that she had lost after André’s departure; her waist still thinned to a narrow middle, but beneath it and above it, her hips and bust had bloomed outward into a full, feminine silhouette.
“Though Arnold tells me that I’m perfect just as I am.” Peggy flopped onto her featherbed, and before Clara had finished removing her shoes, she was snoring in a heavy, feast-induced stupor.
In addition to filling Peggy’s stomach with endless meals and bubbling Champagne, Benedict Arnold stopped by the Shippen home regularly that summer, paying his respects to Judge and Mrs. Shippen and inviting Peggy on a steady parade of outings. Whereas André had wooed her with the chivalry of a man visiting a brothel—luring Peggy away from soirees for clandestine midnight meetings—Arnold wooed Peggy in the broad daylight of his good and honest intentions. Clara noticed, with relief, that her mistress responded in kind. Peggy now behaved like a genteel belle of unimpeachable virtue. Arnold seemed to take pleasure in spoiling Peggy, and she showed her delight generously and gratefully. He took her to the theater, and for picnics along the Schuylkill River, and gave dinner parties with her as his hostess whenever an honorary came to town. On such occasions, Peggy would fill the home with her beautiful companions—inviting her sister, and Meg Chew, and Christianne Amile, and Becky Redman. In the past, Peggy would not have allowed her rivals to get so close to the man she had set her sights on. But Clara knew—as she watched Peggy adjust Arnold’s cravat,
feed him tasty morsels of gooseberry tart, sit on his knee and light his pipe for him—that this time around, Peggy Shippen felt absolutely no threat. She held Benedict Arnold’s generous heart in her fair, soft little hand and she, and everyone around her, knew it.
IT WAS a Saturday afternoon in late August. Arnold was driving Peggy and Clara back to the Shippen home in his spacious carriage. He’d taken his lady and her parents to a matinee comedy, the subject of which was a very blind King George III requiring all sorts of assistance to help him read the Declaration of Independence. Halfway through the performance, Mrs. Shippen had complained that her headache had grown too severe as to allow her to enjoy the performance, and her husband had asked Caleb to escort them home. This left Peggy and her maid to be delivered home in Arnold’s carriage, a responsibility Arnold had happily accepted.
Though she and Cal had watched the show from the rear of the theater, like the other servants, Clara had enjoyed herself that afternoon. She had never been to a play before, and she found it amusing how the men jostled about in costumes and masks on stage. Arnold and Peggy, however, had left the theater in foul spirits. “The signing of the Declaration of Independence—it’s the moment of this fight for liberty that people will always remember.” Arnold sat beside Peggy in the carriage, his brow stitched in a tight knot. “Jefferson and Adams always get all the credit. You know why I wasn’t present when they signed the Declaration of Independence?” Arnold looked up to Peggy.
“Why, my love?” Peggy asked, her voice gentle.
“I was defending Fort Ticonderoga. And Lake Champlain. Someone had to be there, or else Burgoyne and his entire army would have streamed down from Canada and ended our war for liberty before it had even started. There would have been no Declaration of Independence if not for me!”
“Yours was a far nobler pursuit, my dear Benny.” Peggy comforted Arnold with a light pat of her hand. “With what you’ve suffered for the cause, you are entitled to a large share in the glory.”
But Arnold did not appear consoled. “Did I not deserve to be there? To have my name memorialized on that document?” Arnold’s features screwed up in a frustration that he’d never before shown in Peggy’s presence. “Instead, I’m here in Philadelphia three years too late. And putting up with that snake, Reed, besmirching my name at every dinner party he attends.”
“Well, of course you deserved to be there for the signing,” Peggy answered, cowed by Arnold’s nasty mood. “But no one shall ever remember their names—all crowded on that piece of paper like lines of a child’s scribble. But yours, Benedict Arnold, yours is a name which shall be remembered by history. You mark my words, dearest.”
Arnold thought about this in silence, wincing and clutching his leg protectively as the carriage jostled over the cobblestones of Fourth Street. Finally, he looked up and answered. “You are right, my sweet Peg.” He nodded, his melancholy evaporating under her attention. “You are my angel, always here to point out the good.” He placed a soft kiss on her cheek, which she received with an adoring smile.
“Ugh,” Peggy gasped.
“What?” Arnold looked at her, his face growing concerned.
“Look who it is,” Peggy answered, her voice now with an edge to it. They pulled up alongside a carriage, plainer and smaller than Arnold’s, and Clara detected the familiar, oval face.
“Joseph Reed.” Arnold lowered his voice to a menacing snarl.
“Everything about that man is dull. Even his carriage.” Peggy watched the man, her expression as taut as if she’d just drunk from a bitter draft. Reed, for his part, had not yet noticed Arnold’s carriage beside his.
“Well, of course. Because he’s so frugal and honorable, right?” Arnold’s tone dripped with contempt. “Above reproach, that Joseph Reed. All he cares about is his country. Joseph Reed is a man without vice, didn’t you know, Peg?”
“I can’t stand to look at him. That long, pale moonface!” And then, Clara noticed, a sly smirk began to spread across the features of her mistress’s face.
“Benny, I think I have an idea. A way to show Mr. Moonface just how highly we think of him.”
Arnold looked from Reed to Peggy. “What’s that?”
Peggy cocked her head, leaning close and whispering something into her suitor’s ear.
“Ah! Ha ha ha! Peggy, you’re terrible.” Arnold’s thunderous laughter shook the carriage.
To the groom, Peggy called out: “Keep apace with Reed’s carriage.” Turning back to Arnold now, Peggy snickered. “Do it, Benny, hurry!”
And to Clara’s utter mortification, she watched in frozen horror as the commander of the Philadelphia army pulled himself to a stand in his carriage, bent over, and pulled his breeches down. When Reed did suddenly notice the carriage lingering beside his, with the military commander of Philadelphia fully exposed before him, the look of horror only prompted Peggy into further hysterics.
SUMMER STRETCHED on in Philadelphia, the sun’s rays warming the Schuylkill River and promising a good harvest of the farmland around the city, and a tenuous period of truce reigned in the Shippen home. Mrs Shippen and Betsy were so busy planning Betsy’s December wedding that they paid little attention to Peggy’s routine, nor did they notice when she stayed out later than perhaps was prudent. Judge Shippen, though not pleased with his young daughter’s budding relationship with the city’s much-older commander, at least seemed resigned to the courtship. His daughter had finally stopped complaining about the scarcity of food and wine on their table and the absence of new silk in her wardrobe.
As the days shortened and crisp, clear air settled in around them, carrying with it the first hints of the coming autumn, Clara found herself starting to feel at home for the first time since she’d arrived at the Shippen home. Peggy was happy, and thus treated Clara kindly. Betsy was equally happy, visiting with Neddy Burd and planning for a life after the wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Quigley seemed satisfied with the work Clara was doing—guiding her with a gentle firmness and giving her plenty of opportunity to help in the home. Hannah, it seemed, had come to appreciate Clara’s constant company in the kitchen, and had taken to saving her extra-large pieces of pie for dessert. “We need to fatten you up, girl. Didn’t they feed you on that farm?”
Her only complaint that autumn was the absence of Cal. The cooler weather brought with it plenty of new work for him, often drawing him out of doors and away from the Shippen home for days at a time. She’d watch him return to the kitchen late at night, sleeves rolled up and glistening with sweat after long days outside. He had a winter’s worth of firewood to collect from the nearby woods, a smokehouse and root cellar to stock, and the raking to complete, not to mention his regular work as a horse groom and footman. When those chores were done, he’d turn next to the apple harvest.
Clara begged Caleb to let her help with this last job. “I worked outdoors at the farm. And besides, Peggy barely needs me now that she spends entire afternoons with Arnold,” she’d coaxed as Caleb had wiped his brow, nearly collapsing at the servants’ dinner table at the end of a particularly long day. He’d finally acquiesced, enlisting her help in picking the apples that grew in the Shippens’ small orchard. They made an efficient team, working side by side with stretches of laughter and stretches of amicable silence. He’d prop the ladder and climb high into the trees, tossing down apples. She’d catch them, deposit them into brimming barrels, and deliver the haul to Hannah for fresh applesauce, apple butter, apple bread, and apple tarts. Clara loved the afternoons in the golden sun of late autumn. When they’d take breaks, Caleb would sit on a low branch and strum his guitar while she, propped up against the trunk of the tree, would eat apples until she grew full and sleepy. The evenings in the kitchen were just as pleasant, as she’d sit at the table playing cards with the rest of the servants and take greedy inhalations of the air, heavy with the aroma of the cooking fruit.
Caleb was different from the Quigleys, or Hannah and Brigitte. He was a friend, perhaps the first close friend s
he’d ever had. And certainly the first boy she’d ever been close to. She noticed herself looking forward to meeting Caleb in the kitchen at mealtimes, or in the evenings at the end of their days. He’d always ask her how her day with Miss Peggy had gone, and he’d listen intently as she’d describe the list of activities they’d completed. He would fill her in on the progress he’d made in the smoking of the meat or winterizing the barns.
Sometimes, at the end of a long evening of good-natured chatter beside the hearth, Clara would leave Caleb to retire to her bedroom and she’d find, to her surprise, that his presence lingered with her even after they’d parted ways. She often spent nights, after her prayers were completed, lying in bed and replaying the conversations she’d had with Cal. Wondering about Cal. Did he think of her as often as she thought of him? But always, these daydreams about Cal were accompanied by Oma’s stern warnings: boys only brought trouble. For Clara, the most important thing to do was to work hard and keep her employers happy. She reminded herself of this each morning as she rose from bed, scolding herself for the fact that he was often the first person she thought of.
And her hard work seemed to be noticed by all whom she served. Even General Arnold had come to enjoy Clara’s presence in his life, it seemed. When he’d send Major Franks over in a carriage laden with gifts for Peggy, he’d always include something extra for Clara: a small jewel, a vial of cordial, or a silk sash. To Clara’s surprise, Peggy wasn’t jealous of the gifts her beau bestowed on her maid—it actually brought a smile to her face.
“He’s a smart man, my Benny. He knows the strategy of a siege: you must win the support of the locals. The way to victory in conquering a maiden’s heart is by winning over her maid.”
THE COOLER weather brought with it news from Europe that seemed to cheer everyone in the colonies, including General Washington himself.
“Spain has joined France in supporting our war for freedom!” Caleb rushed, breathless, into the kitchen, waving a discarded newspaper. All the servants paused their morning chores. Even Brigitte looked up from her sweeping to listen.
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