355: The Women of Washington's Spy Ring (Women Spies Book 1)

by Kit Sergeant

  “How exactly are we supposed to suss that out of him?” Meg asked. “It isn’t as though he would say he actually worked for the British if we asked him.”

  Hercules shook his head. “It’s more the impression he gives off.”

  “But if he is a spy should he not be very careful of his impressions?” For some reason Meg thought once more of Robert Townsend.

  Hercules sighed and glanced at Mercy, who shrugged. He tried again. “It’s—how do you say it—a woman’s intuition. We just need to know if it’s worth looking into. I want to know what you ladies think regarding Duychenik.”

  “Noted,” Mercy replied. She poked Meg in the side with her elbow.

  “Duly noted,” Meg countered.

  Hercules introduced Mercy and Meg to Duychenik at intermission during a play at The Theater Royale the following night. The suspect was dressed in the red and blue regimentals of the loyalist militia, and Mercy started off by commenting on his coat.

  “The number of buttons in a row indicates the battalion number.” He held out the navy lapel. “See, there are three, which means I’m of the 3rd Battalion.”

  Mercy reached out to finger the coat. “You must be so brave.”

  Duychenik laughed. “I haven’t exactly been in battle. We’re more tasked with keeping order in New Jersey.”

  Meg had heard about the havoc caused by the Loyalist militia on the island she used to inhabit. Tasked with harassing the locals and stealing their food was more like it, Meg thought.

  Hercules took his leave of the ladies of the group, citing the need of another drink. Mercy squinted her eyes at Meg in a gesture that said, You’re not being very helpful.

  Meg turned a nearly bare shoulder to Duychenik. “I spent some time in Jersey last year. Are you on familiar terms with William Franklin?”

  “I was,” Duychenik said smoothly. “I met him through the mayor of New York City when they had some business to discuss.”

  “What sort of business?” Meg asked. She reached out and pretended to snag a loose thread from Duychenik’s vest.

  “Oh, just men’s business, the type that would bore ladies of such grace.” Meg caught the glimmer of sweat that had begun to form over his brow. “How do you know Mr. Franklin?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

  Meg giggled. “Oh, I don’t know Mr. Franklin. I met his wife a few times. What was her name?” She pouted, pretending to have forgotten.

  “Lizzie.” Duychenik replied immediately

  “Ah, yes.” Meg hid her genuine smile behind her fan. “That’s it, Lizzie.”

  At that, Duychenik bowed and took his leave of the ladies. As soon as he was out of range, Meg whispered to Mercy, “He’s lying.”

  “Indeed.” Mercy hit Meg with the base of her fan. “See? Nothing to it.”

  “I guess there is such a thing as a woman’s intuition,” Meg murmured as a servant came to announce the end of intermission.

  Chapter XXXII

  Elizabeth

  November 1777

  Elizabeth, Higday and Brewster continued to supply the prison ships every few weeks. The atrophied faces that lit up at the sight of them often changed, and Elizabeth knew that the absence of those familiar most likely meant their death and she soon stopped looking for them. She preferred not thinking of them as individual men with lives and families beyond the hulks. It was less painful that way, especially after the young man from her first trip failed to reappear. Instead, she studied the guards, noting that some were more cordial than others.

  One day, Brewster surprised Elizabeth by calling out to one of the prisoners. “Selah Strong, you old bugger. What are you doing up there?”

  The man who gave a half-hearted wave in return was tall and appeared somewhat robust from Elizabeth’s vantage point. It was obvious he had not been held prisoner for long. “Ah, Brewster, it seems the Redcoats have finally caught up with me.”

  Brewster nodded. “They were never big fans of your politics, that’s for sure.”

  Selah called out to someone on board and, as the accommodation platform began to descend, he leaned over the side of the Jersey. His face contained a great deal of emotion as he said, “Cal, will you please look out for my Anna while I’m confined?”

  Brewster’s tone was uncharacteristically grave. “Will do, Selah.”

  “You there!” Selah turned as one of the sentinels stationed on deck shouted at him. “Back away.” Selah held up his hand mournfully before he disappeared from view.

  As they began to row away, Brewster told Elizabeth that Selah was a fellow Setaukian, a Patriot judge.

  “And Anna is his wife?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Indeed,” Brewster replied.

  “Do they have children?” Elizabeth’s heart went out to this Anna.

  “Aye.” Outwardly, Brewster did not seem overly concerned that his friend was aboard the hulks, but, as Elizabeth had learned from spending these boat rides with him the past few months, that was his nature. When he became agitated or aroused, the hint of Irish brogue grew thicker. “They must have four or five by now,” he said, his words heavily accented and barely discernible.

  Elizabeth glanced back at the ship as Brewster rowed away. From that distance, too far to see the tortured figures of the prisoners on deck or smell the surrounding water spoiled by human decay, the ship looked like any British man-of-war. Elizabeth wished fervently she could do more to help the men on board. A vision of the laudanum Dr. McKnight had given her appeared in her mind’s eye. Suddenly, Elizabeth had an idea. It was a radical notion, and completely out of character, but plausible just the same.

  As soon as they arrived back to the shop, Brewster pulled Robert into the storeroom. Elizabeth followed them, leaving Higday to the empty store. Neither man seemed to object to her presence.

  Brewster shut the door before he declared, “Selah Strong is a long-time acquaintance of mine, and a friend to the cause. We have to find a way to secure his release.”

  Robert shook his head. “The only way for a man to get off that boat is in a prisoner exchange or else promising to defect and serve the British.”

  “Selah would rather die first.” Brewster folded his arms across his chest. “Which brings up the other way: when they feed his dead body to the sharks.”

  Elizabeth listened as they went back and forth, hoping that Brewster’s determination to free Selah Strong would be the impetus to convince them that her scheme could work.

  Robert sighed. “I can use my Loyalist contacts to see if the Continental Army has captured anyone of consequence lately. If so, perhaps we can negotiate an exchange for Strong.”

  Brewster shook his head. “He’s not an officer and would not likely merit a prisoner swap.”

  “There is another way,” Elizabeth finally spoke up. Both men looked at her blankly. The bell rang, indicating a customer had walked in. “But we shouldn’t talk about it here.”

  “You don’t mean—” Robert began.

  “Tonight then,” Brewster interrupted. “At your apartment?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Someone from outside the storeroom inquired, “Mr. Townsend?” Robert sighed before he headed out into the main room of the shop.

  Later that night, after Elizabeth relayed her idea to them, Robert threw down his hands, slamming his palms loudly on the pinewood table. “It is too dangerous. I won’t let you risk your life in that way.”

  Brewster got up from the table to pace around the room, rubbing his hand on his beard. “Rob is right: it is quite risky. That warden watches us from the deck like a hawk seeking its prey.”

  Elizabeth set the vial of laudanum in the middle of the table.

  Brewster glanced by it before walking the length of the room. “We don’t even know if Selah can get close enough to the guards to slip that in their drink.”

  Robert sat back and crossed his arms in front of him. “Let’s say Selah managed to get the drug into a few guards’ drinks. He would need the help of many men
to overthrow the rest of the sentinels. Men who would want to be rescued in return for the favor. We won’t be able to bring them all back.”

  “The channel is too shallow for anything but small skiffs. And there would not be enough time to make multiple trips,” Brewster added from the corner.

  “There are a lot of complicated variables involved,” Elizabeth agreed. “But if we put more thought into this, mayhap we can come up with as much of a fail-safe plan as possible. It is the only chance Selah has.”

  Brewster paused in front of the table and scratched at a spot on his temple. “I think we should bring Ben in on this. We could use his military expertise. And you, Rob.” He turned to his old friend. “We’ll need your sense of logistics. Will you help?”

  “I don’t—” Robert began, but as he glanced at Elizabeth’s face, his own softened. After a moment, he sighed deeply and then nodded. “I will do what I can.”

  Brewster peered outside. “I’d best be getting going. Those Tories in the Devil’s Belt aren’t going to scare themselves.” He bowed at Elizabeth and Robert before letting himself out of the apartment.

  “I must be going as well,” Robert said, but he made no move to get up.

  “Do stay.” The words slipped out of Elizabeth’s mouth before she had put any thought to them. “I’ll make some tea.” Robert was silent while Elizabeth bustled around in the kitchen. As she sat down with a tray of teacups and biscuits, she could feel Robert’s eyes on her.

  “If you do not mind me saying, Elizabeth, you never fail to surprise me. There are not many women who insist on finding a way to rescue prisoners from their doom.”

  “And then make tea,” she joked.

  “Indeed,” Robert said, reaching for a cup and saucer. “Again, if you don’t mind my forwardness, you are handling the loss of your husband with the same competence as you grapple with everything else.”

  Elizabeth removed her own teacup from the tray. “As time passes, I find that Jonathan’s absence becomes more tolerable.”

  “What about the rest of your family? I know your father is gone, but what about your mother? Any siblings?”

  “I had two: a brother and a sister, but both have passed on. My mother died in childbirth when I was fourteen, and my baby sister did not live much longer. That’s why, when the British invaded Manhattan, I had nowhere else to go.”

  “What about your husband’s family?”

  Elizabeth took a sip of tea. “Jonathan was an only child, and seeing that he was quite a bit older than me, both of his parents had died before we were married.”

  “It must have been a trying time.” He looked out the window. “The harbor is not far away. You must have heard the cannon fire.”

  “Indeed, we did. It was just me, Abby, Johnny, and Catherine. George was still in here,” Elizabeth said, gesturing to her stomacher.

  Robert gave her an appreciative look. “Elizabeth, you are one of the bravest women I’ve ever met.”

  Elizabeth gave a nervous laugh. “I do what I can. I just don’t want other families to suffer the way we have after Jonathan…”

  Robert tilted his head toward her, changing the subject as smoothly as always. “You are very well educated as well. Did you attend school?”

  Elizabeth reached for a biscuit and put it on her saucer without eating it. “For a bit. My brother had a tutor that came to the house. I would find excuses to not do my chores and listen in on their lessons. My mother knew about it, but never reprimanded me. And she never scheduled anything taxing while the tutor was there.”

  Robert’s face finally relaxed as he pictured a young Elizabeth peeping at keyholes, trying to learn the classics. “What happened to your brother?”

  “He died at Bunker Hill.”

  “I am sorry. Indeed you have sacrificed much for the cause.”

  Elizabeth set her empty cup down on the saucer. “And you. I’ve heard that you started writing for the Gazette. And there is the partnership with Rivington.”

  Robert avoided her eyes. “As a reporter, I have to travel the city with my pen and notebook at the ready, and interview the British officers to be informed of their intentions.”

  Elizabeth nodded slowly. Robert went on to explain how conflicted he had been when the war began; that he wanted to fight but his religion and family values had held him back.

  There was a pause in conversation when he finished. Elizabeth stacked the tea cups back on the tray, deep in thought. He did not reveal which army he would have joined, but from the little information she’s picked up, his family had strong Whig ties. Robert was too honorable to ever confess the real reason he courted all of those Tories, but yet was friends with dyed-in-the-wool Patriots like Caleb Brewster and Benjamin Tallmadge. Elizabeth surmised that somehow Robert had found another way to defy the British—an undisclosed method that he would never admit to. She cautiously reached out to put her hand over Robert’s. He finally met her eyes over the candle flame, his pupils flashing with the understanding that Elizabeth knew his secret.

  Chapter XXXIII

  Sally

  December 1777

  Sally did not know how deliver the information she had gleaned to Robert. Luckily he invited her to stay with him at the Underhills’ in New York City for a few days in December. Robert even told Sally to bring her best gowns as there would be balls and parties in honor of the season.

  Caesar drove Sally, dressed in a fine blue camlet coat, in a cart to Dobb’s Ferry. Upon reaching the checkpoint, two Redcoats in powdered wigs approached them, stopping near Sally’s seat. The one whose face held the dourest expression asked, “What business do you have in New York?”

  “I am to visit my brother, Robert Townsend,” Sally stated smoothly.

  The man broke into a knowing grin. “Ah, yes, Robert Townsend, of the Gazette. I have heard of him.”

  Sally wanted to ponder that comment, but the other soldier was ogling Sally. “Would you like a better chaperone than your darkie?”

  Sally raised her chin. “No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself,” the second man replied. The first man had approached Caesar’s side and was whispering in his ear.

  “What did he say to you?” Sally asked Caesar as they pulled away from the checkpoint.

  “He tole’ me that if I would join their army, they could make me a free man.”

  Sally eyed the old man. He’d been a part of the family since before she was born. “And what did you reply?”

  “I tole him I’d think about it, even though I won’t.”

  Sally nodded. As a Quaker, she was bit uncertain of her feelings on slavery. On the one hand, she knew that the slaves provided necessary labor and her family had always been kind to their slaves. But on the other hand, she did not see how one person could claim to own another.

  When they reached the harbor, Sally’s heart sped up a bit. She’d always loved New York City, the hustle and bustle of it. It hadn’t changed too much, but for the ensign on the flags waving in the wind. Massive ships lined the entryway into the port and the water sparkled in the December sunshine, promising the type of adventure she couldn’t get in Oyster Bay.

  Robert was waiting for her when they arrived at the wharf. He thanked Caesar and told him to give Papa and mother his regards. Caesar nodded before he handed him Sally’s portmanteau and then climbed back into the ferry.

  Robert pretended to almost drop the bag. “This is quite heavy, little sister. What do you have in here?”

  “You told me to bring my best gowns!”

  He smiled genuinely, causing Sally to search his face further. “You seem content,” she told Robert. “Almost, dare I say, happy. And you have on a new suit.” Instead of his usual plain Quaker garb, underneath his greatcoat he wore a royal purple vest that tapered at the waist.

  “Do you like it?” Robert asked, affecting the manner of a Tory macaroni. “The tailor, Hercules Mulligan, advised me on the fit and color.”

  Sally nodded. “What has af
fected your change in mood?”

  Robert subdued his grin. “I wouldn’t say I was happy, exactly, not with the war still going on. But,” he darted his eyes around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “When General Burgoyne was defeated at Saratoga, it was good to get some favorable news. Perhaps this will be the impetus that France needs to join us in the fight against England.”

  Sally folded her arms at her chest. Finally her brother was talking sensibly. The British had suffered a crushing defeat at Saratoga last month.

  “General Arnold has shown himself to be an impressive field commander,” Robert continued. As convincing as he might have been trying to be, Sally knew that his cheery demeanor was not just due to the Patriot victory. At any rate, she was glad that he was able to break his Tory façade, even if it was just temporary.

  Robert led her to the Underhills’ boarding house, a brick building in the Georgian style and bare of any fancy ornamentation. The front door opened into a cozy tavern, lit by an enormous fire. The tavern was nearly empty save for a slight young man sitting with one hand clasping the handle of a mug of ale.

  Robert nodded when the young man looked up. He stood and Robert walked over to make introductions.

  “Sally, I’m not sure if you remember Abraham Woodhull or not.”

  In contrast to her foppish brother, Abraham Woodhull’s dress was very plain; he wore a waistcoat and breeches in neutral colors and his hair pulled back with no ribbon. Sally assumed that he was another one of her brother’s peers, but his appearance first gave the impression that he was much older. His brow had a permanent furrow while beard stubble nearly obscured his thin mouth.

  Sally curtsied. “I’m not sure I do.”

  Abraham bowed and said in a barely audible voice, “I visited your family in Oyster Bay a few times. I’m originally from Setauket.”