The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution

by Adair, Suzanne

  Her heart hammering, she batted the paper away. "You think to trap me with privy military information. Away with it."

  Adam seized her hand. "Colonel Brown doesn't know I'm showing it to you. It's the key to the cipher used by the Ambrose spy ring. You've seen something like it before?"

  "No, never!"

  "Something on this page looked familiar to you just now. I saw it in your eyes. Perhaps a letter Clark received or sent, coded in such a fashion?"

  She snatched away her hand and stood, her nostrils flared, her body trembling. "Good day, Lieutenant!"

  His expression closed. After returning the paper to his tote, he rose. "Forgive me for deepening your distress, but I don't believe I'm wrong about your knowledge of this cipher. I want to help Clark. I don't want to see him executed. If Brown finds him before I do, he'll hang him." His face glowed with the fervor of holy cause. "If you recollect where he went, send for me. I shall come in an instant." He bowed. "Good day."

  In disbelief, she watched him saunter for the front yard. So the redcoats had decoded the Ambrose cipher. How long had they been intercepting Clark's letters and learning rebel schemes? Perhaps they'd even authored that letter from "Uncle Isaac" to lure Clark to Camden and capture him, along with other spies.

  She massaged her temple. How the redcoats toyed with her, waiting for her to break. She'd no idea how much longer they'd wait, but it was obvious she couldn't afford to remain passive and under house arrest much longer.

  The back door opened. Astonishment shot through her when she spotted Joshua Hale exiting, and she raced forward to greet him. He grinned and caught his niece up in a solid embrace. "My dear, you look exceptional for someone caught in a hornet's nest."

  Sarah smiled and waved out the back door. "I told your uncle he's welcome to stay with us tonight." She ducked back in.

  "But you'll want to head home on the morrow. I shan't be going to South Carolina after all. I cannot leave the O'Neals' property right now."

  "Not that anyone in his right mind would want to go to South Carolina right now." He linked arms with her and guided her back into the shade. "House arrest is no fun, so I shall stay a day at least to cheer you up before I return."

  "And I shall be delighted for your company."

  "Tell me, have you heard the latest news out of South Carolina Spartan District?"

  Spartan District was some seventy-five miles northeast of Camden, but the way Whigs and Loyalists bashed each other around, hostilities could shift any day to another district. "I heard of a battle in which Captain Huck was killed."

  He rolled his head, loosening his neck from travel. "That was Wednesday. This started Thursday in Cedar Springs. Rebel militia under Elijah Clarke lured a couple hundred Loyalists and British cavalry to their camp. About thirty-five were killed."

  She winced. Colonel Clarke liked creating a stir.

  "And Thursday night, Loyalists who'd escaped Cedar Springs returned to Gowen's Old Fort near North Carolina with some Whigs who were passing themselves off as Loyalists."

  "Trojan Horse."

  "Exactly. Middle of the night, Whigs took the fort. Fighting and retribution are a way of life in the Carolina backcountry." Her uncle glanced around to ensure their privacy, withdrew a letter from his waistcoat pocket, and passed it to her. "I trust you'll know how to deal with this."

  She stared at the name on the return address: Isaac Sheridan, Camden. "How did you come by it? I thought Colonel Brown was intercepting all of Clark's mail."

  "My timing was extraordinary. While the lady who runs the stationer's shop and I were chatting about you, the afternoon post arrived. That letter to Clark was in it. No sooner did she give it to me than a Ranger walked in and inquired whether there was mail for the Sheridans. She waved me on my way and told him no. So there you have it."

  Betsy hoped Molly wouldn't be keeping Abby Fuller company in jail, although from Joshua's news, it sounded as though Thomas Brown had his hands full keeping up with the actions of rebel militia leaders. She broke the letter's seal. "Uncle Isaac's" spidery scrawl greeted her from within:

  11 July 1780, Town of Camden

  My dear nephew John Clark:

  I regret to inform you that I took a Fall yesterday Afternoon and sprained my Ankle and Wrist. The Surgeon tells me Nothing is broken. However, I am at a Loss to run the Business adequately now, as my Accident necessitated my sharing the Home of an old Friend, Samuel Taylor, until I mend and can get about properly again. Please come in all Haste and assist me, at least for Awhile, with my Business.

  I remain Sir

  Your devoted Uncle

  Isaac Sheridan

  Not doubting another message resided, invisible, between the lines, she reread the overt message and pondered its urgency. Someone wanted Clark in Camden right away.

  Who was Samuel Taylor? The letter Lucas had been unable to post was addressed to Taylor, also on King Street in Camden. "Leaving 15 July," Clark had written. "Expect me 18 July. Blood follows." Blood follows. Yes, the Rightful Blood.

  "It sure is taking you a long time to read one little letter." Joshua smiled at her over the top of the page. "Unless you got more than one letter there, that is."

  Betsy eyed the house. "Actually, there may be a second letter hidden here. If we had a source of heat, like a candle, I'd be able to show you."

  Joshua studied her face. "You aren't joking." After groping his waistcoat pockets, he extracted pipe, tobacco, and tinderbox. "Time for a smoke." He began stuffing tobacco in the bowl of the pipe.

  Betsy knelt and cleared a patch in the grass. In a moment, the two of them had a small blaze going with the kindling they found beneath the oak. Joshua lit his pipe and enjoyed a few puffs on it, mingling the sweet smell of tobacco with the tang of wood smoke. With him crouched beside her, Betsy hovered the letter as close as she dared to the flames. The Ambrose spy ring's characteristic three-digit cipher blued between the lines of brown ink. "Look there. You see?"

  He removed his cocked hat and frowned at the letter. "Amazing. Now, I've heard spies use invisible ink, but I never thought I'd see it demonstrated. Any idea what it says?"

  With a cough, she fanned away smoke and blinked at the numbers. "I only know a little of the code." In fact, the names of each British commander she'd seen on Adam's key were represented in the cipher, and Cornwallis and Rawdon were mentioned twice. Despite sweat running down her back, she felt cold. She passed the paper close to the flame again to refresh the hidden writing. "Clinton, Cornwallis, Rawdon, Cruger, Tarleton, Ferguson —"

  "Whoa, there." Joshua sat back on his haunches. "What the deuce has your husband fallen into?"

  She regarded him. "Didn't town gossip spell it out? He's part of a rebel spy ring."

  "I heard it, but I didn't believe it." Joshua scowled. "I thought he'd more brains. You're going to have a baby. And what are these spies up to?"

  "I think they're trying to kill these British officers."

  He sat back on the turf cross-legged like an Indian and laughed a few seconds, his pipe in his right hand. "Why, that's outright crazy. Suicide. Each of those men has a small army of bodyguards around him." He sobered and patted her shoulder again. "Gods, Betsy. You must be worried sick. Doesn't sound like you've been helping the redcoats with your knowledge. You helping the rebels, then?"

  "No."

  "Whom have you told?"

  She studied Joshua, as comfortable in his presence as she felt with Sarah and Lucas. "A strategic few other neutrals."

  "Smart woman. I reckon you got me figured out."

  She settled beside her uncle and wondered what to do next. Disgust trickled into her voice. "I was forced to swear allegiance to King George to stay out of jail."

  Her uncle fanned away her self-reprobation with the wood smoke. "Plenty of folks do that to stay alive. If a man put a pistol to my head, I'd tell him whatever he wanted to hear." He indicated the return address on the new letter. "Did Clark go to Camden?"

  "Yes." She e
xhaled exasperation and anguish. "He's so obsessed he cannot see that his cohorts have grown mistrustful of him and are setting him up for failure. I tried to make him see what's happening, but it was all for naught." She snorted. "I suppose that if a man makes up his mind to do something, he'll keep after it."

  "Men do think like that, yes."

  "I hate giving up. I've seldom given up at anything."

  He chuckled. "It doesn't sound as though you're ready to give up. It sounds as though you're going after him."

  "Colonel Brown will have my head if I leave without helping him find these spies." She stared into the distance. "But that hasn't stopped me from fancying that I sneak away in the middle of the night, like Clark did. Somehow, I must leave. Otherwise I'll land in jail anyway."

  Joshua puffed on his pipe and smothered the fire. "Write Brown a letter and tell him something he doesn't already know, just enough to convince him you're doing your duty to the Crown."

  She exhaled, her disappointment shaken out with a wobble of her head. "He'd still have me followed."

  "And your idea of night travel is a good one. Makes it more difficult for pursuit."

  "I need an escort."

  "I'm yours, and two fellows waiting on Mrs. O'Neal's front porch are prepared to ride to South Carolina with us."

  Dismay screwed up Betsy's face at the thought of his being indiscreet. "Whom else have you involved?"

  "Sehoyee Yahuh and Assayceeta Corackall."

  "Creek." Her dismay faded. "The same warriors who rode to St. Augustine last month with my parents?"

  Joshua patted her knee and leaned closer, in conspiracy. "Write your letter to Brown. Then find yourself one or two other neutral fellows to accompany us. We shall be in excellent shape to start the journey to Camden before dawn on the morrow."

  "Joshua, I realize you're hoping to find your brother. Camden is on the other side of South Carolina from Keowee."

  "Uncle Jacques used to say, 'Sometimes a man travels to the very end of a road just to see what is there.'" Especially if he wanted to get away from a shrewish wife for awhile? Joshua had reasons aplenty for embarking upon such a journey. He craned his neck around toward the house. "Say, who's the handsome fellow?"

  She followed his gaze to where Tom Alexander trotted down the steps with a chair hooked beneath his arm. In the open doorway, Sarah waved again. "Betsy, look who stopped by for a visit!" She withdrew inside the house.

  One chair. Hmm. Sarah was leaving them to their conference. Betsy looked from Tom's approach to the letter in her hand. "I believe we've found another man for the escort."

  Chapter Eighteen

  WITH A YAWN, Betsy reread the note she'd written:

  Colonel Brown:

  I have thought back to the Moments early Saturday Morning when the Assassin held me at Knifepoint. My Terror from those Moments was so great as to make the Event a Blur in my Memories, and I've scarce wanted to reconsider such Peril. However, it is my Duty to impart upon you such Information as I can recall in Effort to speed your Investigation.

  As I told you, while he held me Prisoner, the Assassin did demand of me the Destination of my Husband, and I informed him that I did not know. I now recall that he referenced the Ambrose spy Ring, labeling them "French-loving Fools." He also said that their Mission was "Stripping mighty Britain of her military Command." He said Nothing else to me. I trust this Information is of value to you. As my Part in the Affair has been blessedly small, I have Nothing else to contribute.

  The Events of the past several Days have generated unwelcome and unwholesome Publicity for me. I find myself ostracized and ridiculed by Residents of Augusta and have grown fearful of losing my Child from the Strain. Therefore, it is my Decision to venture to the Home of a Relation and remain there in Seclusion for several Months. Of necessity, I have kept my Destination secret, even from the O'Neals. If you must pursue me and execute me en route, so be it. But I shall not endanger my Unborn by remaining here in a condition of such Disfavor.

  I am Sir

  Your humble servant

  Elizabeth Sheridan nee Neely

  She sealed and addressed the note. Then she placed it in full view on the desk, blew out the candle, and reclined in her shift to take what rest she could. In five hours' time, she, Joshua, Tom, and the two Creek warriors would set off for Camden, some 110 miles distant and four days travel through a portion of South Carolina populated largely by Loyalists. The O'Neals' official story would be that they'd risen Sunday to find their foster-daughter gone.

  Lucas had given her his extra musket and cartridge box. Sarah had packed trail rations. In case she needed to verify her identity with the Ambrose ring, Betsy had tucked both letters in her pockets. Then all of them, even the Creek, had sat in the O'Neals' front room after supper and discussed the route and its perils.

  Not the least of those perils would be the pursuit of the Rangers. Rebel leader Elijah Clarke stomping around nearby wouldn't make Brown forget that the Ambrose spy ring had operated within his jurisdiction. Plus she wasn't asking his permission to leave. She was just leaving. Unless he searched for her first in Alton, she'd have no more than eight hours lead.

  Even if she made it to Camden, she might not be able to find Clark. Since the fall of Charles Town, the military population in Camden had increased to several thousand troops. She doubted Clark would publicize his arrival and whereabouts under those circumstances. But remaining passive in Augusta, never venturing forth to find him, was no longer an option for her.

  Had Sophie wrestled with similar thoughts before she violated house arrest to chase after Will, her father? Father. Betsy tried to assemble a picture of Mathias Hale from memory, but it had been too long since she'd seen him. Before she lost herself to sleep, she wondered whether somewhere in the chaos of South Carolina, she'd find not only her husband but her father, too.

  ***

  Afternoon sun emerged from behind cumulus and bathed the road in blistering waves. Cicadas surged and subsided with the passage of horses, and the scent of pine loaded the humid air. "More sand and turkey oaks." Tom removed his hat and swabbed a kerchief over his face.

  "And South Carolinians are butchering each other over this?" Betsy's tailbone ached from twelve hours' astride and so little sleep. At least the road had taken a turn east, placing the sun at their backs. She halted Lady May beside Tom's horse on the road.

  "Not over sand, no. They've carried clan feuds across the Atlantic."

  "And the army has no idea how to keep the peace." Joshua reached the top of the rise and pulled back on his horse's reins.

  Betsy studied Tom. "How do you know so much about these people?"

  He cocked his head. "I listen to what men say in the taverns. I read every paper I can find."

  "If I'd been half that wise when I was your age, lad, I'd be twice as smart now." Joshua grinned. "Take a break, shall we?"

  Tom replaced hat and kerchief. "How far have we come?"

  "Thirty-five miles. The Ninety Six road isn't far ahead."

  Thirty-five miles: small wonder Betsy's arse hurt. Such a distance was a challenge for cavalry soldiers. She regarded her uncle. "Where do you suppose the Rangers are?"

  Jubilation hovered at the edges of his smile. "Since the Creek haven't seen them today, I wager they followed our false trail and went to Alton first."

  He hadn't witnessed the fanaticism in Adam Neville's eyes. "I wager they followed us straight away, soon as it was light," she said.

  With a yawn, her uncle dismounted and led his horse off the road. "Come out of the sun for awhile. Let Assayceeta Corackall catch up and give us the latest report from the road south."

  Remembering how the assassin from Casa de la Sangre Legítima had tracked them through cover of trees alongside the road, she nudged Lady May over to Joshua. Tom helped her dismount. "Suppose the Rangers followed us without using the road?"

  "They'd be hard-pressed to keep up in those pines without one of my cousins noticing them."


  "But the Rangers were trained by the Creek."

  "Betsy, relax. We're far enough ahead for a respite." Joshua groped in his haversack for his pipe.

  Tom seized his musket. "I hear a horse."

  Runs With Horses trotted his steed over the rise. Joshua signaled him over. "What news, Cousin?"

  "No sign of Rangers." A little smile curved the warrior's lips. "But three White peddlers ride our way."

  Joshua cradled his rifle. "We'll stay out of sight and allow them to pass. No telling what caliber of men they are."

  Runs With Horses' smile broadened. "I know them. They are harmless except for loving the sound of their own voices."

  Tom turned to Joshua. "If they've been through Augusta, perhaps they've word of the Rangers."

  "All right, then, we'll travel together aways and hear what they have to say." Joshua motioned the Creek down. "Join us in the shade, will you?"

  "No. I ride ahead to find my brother." The Creek's smile became toothy, and he steered his horse back toward the road. "We follow, stay out of sight."

  "You don't want them to recognize you, eh?" Joshua snorted. "Most settlers cannot tell you two from Catawba or Cherokee."

  "Take no risk." A grinning Runs With Horses tapped his gelding in the ribs and sent him eastward on the road after Standing Wolf.

  Squatting, Joshua lit his pipe. "Don't mind him. He's just weaseling out of a boring conversation with old friends."

  ***

  Paunchy Harry the peddler leaned forward in his saddle and gave Betsy a wink of conspiracy. "Got a roll of yellow silk in Charles Town for a good price because some fool spilled coffee on it. I hung onto it all through Georgia. I knew them soldiers' wives in Ninety Six didn't have nothing so fine, so pretty.