These woods were dense, and the road was little more than an overgrown path. Even with lanterns, it was hard to see. Branches brushed against their faces. They splashed through several brooks, going deeper and deeper into wilderness.
The going became harder. The trees were thicker, the path blocked in places by fallen trees. She hung onto Captain Warren. She could feel the tension in his back. Skinners were a bunch of lawless outcasts—and there was no telling what was in the head of their leader.
Behind them, a horse stumbled and the rider cursed. Captain Warren turned his head and spoke into her ear. “Be ready for trouble,” he muttered. “They may try to get the gold and leave us. I’ll do my best to protect you, but if there’s shooting, slide off and run for cover.” He touched the mare’s flank and rode closer to Big Emile.
“What are you up to? We’ve been too long in these woods. I’m warning you, no signals to your men or I’ll shoot you in the back.”
“Threats, is it? Gettin’ there, mister.”
They plunged down into a rocky ravine. The mare almost fell, then found her footing and strained up the other side. Sarah clung to Captain Warren with all her strength. At this point she should be numb with fright, but she had been closer to death in the white house.
Then, slowly, the woods began to thin. Another few moments, and they emerged onto a open road. The cavalcade slowed and stopped. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed men and sweating animals.
The fitful moon was still shining. Across from the woods a long field, recently harvested, led to a millstone poised above a rushing stream. There was a small house nearby, half-hidden by trees and bushes. A light shone from a window.
Big Emile raised his lantern and pointed. “Warn’t no tricks, mister. Hand over the gold.”
“When I’m sure it’s them.” Captain Warren slid from the saddle and turned to Pogy. “I’ll go down and have a look. You stay and take care of Mrs. Colborne. I won’t be long,” and he started down the field.
Pogy grunted, then reached up and lifted her from the pillion. “Best you keep out of the way of them varmints, ma’am,” he said, leading her to a stump at the edge of the field.
She sat down and began to rub her stiff, cramped legs. She had dozed on the highway, but the spurt of energy she felt earlier in the warehouse cellar was gone. Her head seemed disconnected from her body, as if she were drifting up into the air. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. Be wafted away from all that had happened, and whatever was about to happen.
Behind her, the Skinners started to curse and shout. “Varmints is passing around bottles, soon be drunk as skunks,” Pogy muttered “Cap’n’s the only one can deal with them. It be bad for us if he falls into a trap and don’t come back.”
She shuddered and dug her fingers into the stump, startled out of her dazed trance. He was right. Only Captain Warren could hold this operation together. Without his protection she would be alone and vulnerable.
Deep in the woods an owl called. Now the Skinners were stomping their feet, singing a raucous song about sailors bedding women. Daniel and Seth and Tom walked the horses further away. Pogy cleared his throat.
“Cap’n shouldna gone alone. I’d best leave you with Seth and go down—no, lookee there. Someone coming up the field.”
She leaned forward, straining to see. As the figure came closer, she recognized the walk, the set of the shoulders. It was Captain Warren. He strode past them, went up to Big Emile and shook his shoulder.
“Stop the drinking and shouting. The spies are down there and they’ll hear you. Pay attention. Ten more guineas if you help us take them prisoner.”
Big Emile spat. “Not so fast, mister. I’m owed fifteen for getting you here.”
“Twelve.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the pouch and handed over pieces of gold.
Big Emile counted. “Fifteen more if we fight.”
“Twelve when they’re tied up. I heard voices, which means they’re awake. We’ll have to surprise them before they can reach for their guns.”
A Skinner began to sing again. Big Emile cuffed him on the head. “You got a plan, mister?”
“My men go in by the back door, you take the front. There’s a log lying halfway down the field. Use that as a battering ram. Make a rush and break down the door. Shoot if you have to, but don’t kill. That’s for the hangman. From now on, no lights and no noise. Is that clear?”
“He’s mighty quick with them orders,” a Skinner grunted.
Big Emile hit him across the face. “No more blabber until we’re shot of this place. After me, you scum.” The group started toward the house swinging their rifles in the air.
“Skinners may go crazy and start shooting,” Pogy said under his breath. “Can’t count on them for anything. Worse when they’ve been into the sauce.”
“Risky, but we can’t do it alone.” He paused. “Mrs. Colborne’s chaise was in the yard, along with their horses. Tom, you’re to stay with her behind the chaise. Be ready with your pistol.” He looked at her. “It’s a long walk, but we’ll do our best. I’ll take one arm. Pogy, you take the other.”
She picked up her cloak and they started down the field. The rough grass scratched her ankles. Even with support, her swollen feet stabbed with pain. They were half to the house when Captain Warren turned his head. “How well do you know Captain Graham, Andre’s aide?”
“Quite well. He’s pleasant, but a bit of a bootlicker.”
“A bootlicker being well paid by someone to lead a double life. He’s the leader who rode up with the message. What’s more, it’s likely he passed the word to Jamieson, told him when you’d be going to Lady Eden.”
“Captain Graham?” She stumbled. Just two nights ago she had laughed and talked with him at Admiral Digby’s card party. So agreeable, so attentive. “Are you sure?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
They were nearing the bottom of the field. Jamieson was there, in that house. Even if he was in terrible pain, she was no match for his cleverness. He would twist her words. Reduce her to useless babble. She must have been mad, shocked out of her mind, to think that she could ever walk in and face him.
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
October 23, 1778
A narrow path led around the corner of the house to the stables. A number of horses were tied to a rail near the watering trough, heads drooping. The little chaise with red wheels stood in a corner. Captain Warren and Pogy placed Sarah behind the chaise and then went to the back door. Tom took his place beside her.
She leaned against the seat. A lifetime ago, she had been sitting there, holding her sun screen, looking forward to seeing the new baby. Moments later Nate was dead and she was on the way to face long hours of sheer terror and humiliation.
A fox barked in the wood. The light from the skittish moon was fading. She stared at the men standing at the door, pistols drawn, waiting for the sound of splitting wood. Captain Warren was risking his life. So were his men. She was not a coward. She must think of James and Aunt. Dig deep and find the courage to go in and do her part to bring down that evil man. If not, as long as she lived, she would never forgive herself.
A sudden wind rustled leaves in the nearby trees, a sign that the long overdue storm was coming soon and would hit with force. She shivered. Where were the Skinners? Those drunken sots might have slunk back up the field and left the others to fight alone.
The crash of the door breaking apart made her heart thud wildly. The men disappeared into the house. There were shouts, a scream of pain, then silence.
She clutched the seat, fighting anguish. The enemy plotters had been waiting, weapons primed. A few moments ago, when Captain Warren went down the field, she had felt alone and vulnerable. The thought that he might not come out was terrifying. She had come to depend on his support and protection. She clasped her hands and began to pray. Dear God, let him live. Don’t let them kill him.
“This be bad,” Tom whispe
red and pointed his pistol at the door. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. Captain Warren came out and walked toward them. Not staggering. Not bleeding.
“Done,” he said calmly. “Tied up before they had a chance to shoot. Their story is that they’re ordinary citizens on the way to Skenesville. They think we’re all a bunch of outlaws who’ll take their money and let them go.” He looked at her. “It’s not a pretty sight. Jamieson is in pain from his eye, calling for a surgeon. You might not get much out of him. Do you still want to go in?”
“I’ve come this far—when I think of what he’s done—I’ll do anything to bring him down.”
“Just the shock of seeing you might get results. I’ll follow and stand behind you.”
It was a few feet to the door. She crossed the threshold and stepped in. The room was small and crowded. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust from darkness to the light of a swinging lantern. A few details began to come clear. The faded blue curtains at the windows. The swaggering Skinners in their ragged clothes. Men lined against the wall with their hands tied behind their backs. The acrid smell of fear filled the air.
Jamieson and Graham were sitting on a rough bench. Jamieson was slumped over, staring at the floor. The bandage had slipped, showing a gelatinous mass where his eye should have been. He didn’t look up.
“Good God.” Captain Graham was on his feet. “Mrs. Colborne—you? How in the name of heaven did you fall into the hands of these ruffians?” His surprise seemed genuine.
She widened her eyes. “Captain Graham! You too? How did this happen?”
“I was on patrol with my men. We—ah—that is, we had orders to look for smugglers near the river. These rogues ambushed us and took us prisoner. They’re after our money. I’m trying to negotiate a ransom.”
His first lie—and it showed that the bootlicker was no master of the art of evasion. She must press hard, waste no time.
“There were no smugglers, Captain Graham. No ambush. You and your men were at Captain Jamieson’s house. His house.” She pointed to Jamieson.
Graham stiffened. “You’re mistaken, ma’am. That man’s name is Dunn.”
“You’re wrong. He may call himself Dunn, but his real name is Jamieson, Captain Ian Jamieson, formerly of the 17th Light Dragoons. I was in that house. I heard you ride up and shout that you had orders to take his man Landers to kill General Washington.”
Graham’s hand pulled at his neckcloth. “What? You couldn’t have been in that house.”
“I was in that house, and I was there because you told Captain Jamieson when I would be on the road to Lady Eden’s. He had me kidnapped and my driver killed. When you rode up, I was able to get away.”
Graham face went white. He shook his head. “Wild accusations, ma’am. You’re not yourself. These men have treated you badly. You must sit down and rest.
It was the opening she needed. She drew herself up. “No, Captain Graham, you’re the one who’s been treated badly. Very badly. Used as a tool, but your double life is over. Captain Jamieson is being hunted for his attempts to assassinate General Washington. He’ll be tried and hanged—and so will you.”
Graham’s neck jerked back as if he could feel the noose. His face went from white to mottled crimson. He pulled Jamieson to his feet and shook a fist in his face. “You tricked me,” he shouted. “Those questions, who she was seeing, when she was going to Lady Eden. Private business, you said. You took her to your house because you needed a woman. She heard the plan and she got away. There’s only one way out of this. I’ll pay these ruffians their ransom. We’ll put her in the chaise and take her with us. God knows how, but she has to be silenced.”
“Get me a surgeon,” Jamieson muttered, and collapsed back onto the bench.
The listening men were beginning to mutter. Captain Warren touched her shoulder. “We have them,” he said in her ear. He moved forward and faced Captain Graham.
“No ransom will be asked or paid, Captain. As an officer in General Washington’s intelligence service, it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest for treasonable activities against General Washington and the Continental Army. You and your men will be taken to our headquarters where you will be interrogated and tried in a court of law.”
Graham drew himself up. He looked at the Skinners, poking at the prisoners with their rifles and passing around a bottle. “Threats won’t get you more money,” he said sharply. “Twenty pounds if you let us go on to Skenesville, including the young lady. Hold us here any longer and there’ll be a search for us. You and your thugs will be found and punished. That I can promise you.”
Captain Warren shook his head. “There won’t be any search, Captain. In fact, there’ll be quite a stir at headquarters when they hear Captain Andre’s aide is being held by the Americans as a spy. That he’s an informer who goes in and out of the city pretending to be a farmer. I strongly advise you to tell our judges all you know about Agamemnon and the loyalist group that pays you. It may be taken into account when you are tried and sentenced.”
The room had grown silent again. Even in shabby clothes, Captain Warren had the voice and presence of authority. Graham’s men began to shout and pull at their ties. The Skinners stamped their feet.
Sarah put her hand to her mouth. The stench in the room was overpowering. The air was leaving her lungs. She made for the door and stumbled across the yard to the chaise. Slid to the ground and lay there, shaking, aware that she had come to the end of her strength.
Time passed. In the distance thunder rolled again. The horses snorted. She was shivering with cold, her cloak was in the chaise, but she was too weak to reach it.
At last, footsteps. “Mrs. Colborne,” Captain Warren said and lifted her to her feet “It’s over. They’re finished. You did well.”
“Jamieson. It wasn’t what I expected—”
“No, but you saw the way to trap Graham.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “You once told me you were willing to go to Valley Forge because of your brother, so think of this. Twice, now, you helped to save the life of General Washington. Tonight your brother would be proud of you. Very proud.”
“Cap’n?” Pogy was at the door. “Cap’n, you’re needed in here quick. Them Skinners is getting out of hand, yelling for their gold. They want to be off before the storm strikes. The others is howling about what’s going to happen to them. How we going to move them? They can’t ride with their hands tied behind their backs.”
“No, and we have to move fast, there are patrols on this road. Saddle up and get yourself to headquarters. Wake the aides. Tell them we need three covered wagons and armed men. Tom can take Mrs. Colborne in the chaise.”
“I’ll tell him to hitch up the horse.” Pogy disappeared.
Heat lightning flashed in the sky. A few drops of rain spattered on the ground. She stood there, letting him hold her up.
“Christ, when you came down that ladder and I saw you standing there, not floating in the river—it was hell, those hours in the cellar. Blaming myself for letting you leave the city. Not able to find you—” he touched her face. “Rest. Sleep. There’s no time now for what I want to say, but wherever you are, tomorrow I’ll come and find you.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
October 25, 1778
The storm hit with epic violence. Thunder crashed, lightning struck the ground, but in the hours before dawn, a strong wind blew away the endless heat. The countryside woke to fresh, cool air. The little town of Fredericksburg, now filled with General Washington’s entourage, bustled with renewed energy.
Late in the afternoon, Sarah sat waiting in Mrs. Phillips’s front parlor. At any moment, an armed escort would arrive to take her to a remote cove on the Hudson River. When it was dark, a boat would row her across to Connecticut. Another escort would take her home to Myles.
Two nights ago she had arrived at this house, speechless with exhaustion. Mrs. Phillips, a major’s wife, had fed her hot soup, washed
and bandaged her feet, and put her to bed in the spare room. She had slept around the clock, woken, and slept again. This morning she was able to get up, dress, and meet Colonel Hamilton in the parlor.
Colonel Hamilton was a slight young man with reddish hair; he was wearing an aide’s uniform with a green ribbon. With warmth and kindness, he told her that Captain Jamieson had been tried, condemned, and would hang. Captain Graham was talking freely and might be used as an exchange prisoner. She need not see those two men again, and arrangements were being made for her to go home. At the end of his call, he had handed her a letter. “From the general, in recognition of your valuable service.”
The letter was tucked into her small satchel. Back in Myles, she was still regarded as the parson’s turncoat daughter, the impetuous countrified girl who’d left town a little over a year ago. A year in which she had learned how to dance, flirt, and deceive. She had married the enemy, she was now a rich widow, but what lay ahead? For a few weeks, she could work on the farm, but at some point she must take on the burden of Aunt’s legacy. Go back to Philadelphia and try to manage her estate. Be wary of men who fixed their sights on marrying for money. The future seemed as bleak as a frozen field in winter.
Lying in Mrs. Phillip’s trundle bed, she had pondered over Captain Warren’s words as he held her in his arms beside the chaise. “. . . when I saw you standing there . . . it was hell, those hours in the cellar . . . there’s no time for what I want to say, but wherever you are I’ll find you. . . .”
He hadn’t come. He hadn’t even sent a message. She could only assume that those long hours of strain had loosened his tongue. By daylight he had moved on to the next crisis. They might not meet again. She lay there, startled and dismayed by a sense of loss.
Where was the escort? Earlier, Mrs. Phillips had said goodbye and gone to nurse a sick friend. Now, alone and unable to sit still, she went to the door and looked out. Headquarters was located across the way, a small house on loan from a Mr. Kane. There seemed to be more activity than usual as officers hurried in and out; the arrival of so many prisoners must require a great deal of work.
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