C1PHER

by Monica E. Spence

  “You have not told Washington you are Culper Junior, correct?”

  “Correct. I do not wish him to think of me as anything more than a well-placed, albeit secret, Patriot sympathizer in New York City. I plan to take my confidential identity to the grave.”

  “An excellent plan. And one that will give Morton Pennypacker a suitable conclusion to his career.”

  “Pennypacker?”

  “An Oyster Bay historian from my grandparents’ time. Remind me to tell you about him when we have more time. In the meantime…” Mary passed him the writing desk and the quill pen. “Take a letter, Mr. Townsend…”

  Chapter Eight

  September 21, 1780

  The following morning, Robert and Mary traveled to the designated wooded area near Tappan. Since Robert had spent a good deal of his childhood visiting Peter, he was familiar with the area.

  After about fifteen minutes, Washington and Lafayette rode out of the trees.

  Mary amazed at how well they blended into the surrounding forest. How long were they watching? “Good day, General, Monsieur le Marquis,” Mary said in a whisper and adjusted her seat. She had not ridden a horse in almost a year, and her muscles protested with every move.

  Washington nodded to her but raised an eyebrow.

  She’d bet money the general had never seen a woman riding astride wearing breeches. Sorry, Mr. Washington. No sidesaddle for me. Lafayette ogled her, plainly appreciative. Leave it to the French to be fashion forward…or just plain forward. She dismounted, already sore from the ride, and draped her cloak over the offending pants.

  The men bowed to her, and Robert clasped hands with them. “We have the letters, sir.” He kept his voice low.

  “Excellent.”

  “My lady decoded them.”

  “That is unusual. How do you know they are accurate, Robert?”

  Mary struggled to keep silent. Because, George, I have a brain, and I know how to use it. Washington was a product of his time, but the insult still stung.

  Robert flashed her an apologetic glance. “Lady Mary should explain what she found.”

  She pulled the papers from the bag she’d slung crosswise over her chest. “As we said last evening, there are three separate letters. The first one is from General Clinton to Captain Andrew Sutherland, commander of HMS Vulture, asking him to prepare to move ships up the Hudson River.” She passed the letter, with the decoded copy to Washington.

  “The second message is from General Clinton to Major General Charles Grey. He orders six companies of light infantry under Major Turner Staubenzie, along with six companies of light infantry commanded by Colonel John Maitland, to prepare their move toward West Point.”

  Panic gripped Mary, strangling her with icy claws. Could Washington recognize Robert’s disguised handwriting? She swallowed hard. “The third letter, sir, is to General Clinton from an unknown person who signs himself A.”

  “Who knows if the signature is authentic; it may be part of a code,” Washington said.

  Mary glanced between the paper and Washington. “You are absolutely correct, General. However, I don’t believe the information to be false. It is crucial to your well-being for you to understand what I’m telling you.”

  “Please go on, madam.”

  She passed the letter, having memorized it as it was so brief. “This says ‘Can catch Washington if we move quickly. Have agent J.A. on Tarrytown Road. Will pass details on night of September 23rd.’”

  “Sacrebleu!” Lafayette said. “Mon General, I beg you to alter your plans to go to West Point. You must journey back to your army in Connecticut for your own safety.”

  “I refuse to turn tail and run. We must get back into New York City if we are to succeed in this enterprise.” Washington’s expression was set, as if cast in plaster.

  “There is quite a difference between running way and taking precautions to lead your forces in the future, sir,” Robert said. “What good would it to be captured by the British? They will hang you, and any members of your staff, as a traitor, or they could send you back to England where the punishment is so much worse. I recommend you move from the Hudson and go inland as the Marquis said.”

  “I will consider it.” He returned the letters to Robert. “Please take these back to Oyster Bay, Mr. Townsend. We will allow the Brits to believe we have yet to discover their duplicity. I thank you both for the efforts on my behalf and that of the Continental Army.” He looked at Mary. “You are a most unique young woman, Lady Mary.”

  She felt the blush creep up her cheeks. “Thank you, sir.” If you only knew.

  Robert cleared his throat. “There are two things that we must ask, General. We ask that you never mention either Mary’s presence, or our work here.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said. “Our second request is for you to put three men on the Tarrytown Road on the twenty-third and have them thoroughly search all passing travelers.”

  “Without fail. I intend to discover the men who plot against me and my army.”

  Washington saluted Mary and Robert, then motioned to Lafayette to remount.

  She stood, watching Washington and Lafayette as they rode off in a swirl of desiccated leaves. “Robert, the next four days is more important than you can guess. I pray the general keeps faith with us.”

  “He shall, Mary. He gave his word.”

  Chapter Nine

  September 23, 1780

  For the last two mornings, Mary awoke expecting to be back home in the twenty-first century but found herself cozily snuggled up to Robert beneath several quilts. Did that mean she could stay in the past? She sighed quietly, wary of awakening him. In her heart, did she really want to go home anymore?

  The dawn broke through the window as she watched Robert sleep. His dark hair and lashes highlighted his masculine appearance. Even the nightshirt he wore could not hide his powerful shoulders and muscular arms.

  That nightshirt continued to make her laugh, though they were still around in her time. Seeing him wearing it he reminded her of Michael, Wendy’s brother, in that movie about Peter Pan. Despite the fact he was a year older than she, she thought of him as an innocent. Perhaps it was his Quaker upbringing. Perhaps it was because he had not been exposed to her century and the cynicism of 24/7 news which made so much money from reporting the evils that people did to one another. His quiet wisdom impressed and endeared him to her; his capacity for hard work and his deep loyalty to the American cause amazed her. He was perfect—at least in her eyes.

  I can’t fall in love with him. My heart will break. The thought of being alone again when she went home to her time—home to her books and her research and her loneliness—made her want to wail in protest. Would she sense his ghost within the walls of Raynham Hall now that she knew him?

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she bit down on her forefinger to prevent a sob.

  “Here now, what’s this?” He gently pulled the finger from between her teeth.

  Robert’s whispered question caught her unawares. She did not know he’d awoken.

  “Nothing. I was thinking.” She wiped her tears on the corner of the sheet.

  “Missing home?” He turned her so she nestled in his arms.

  “No, anything but that.” She sniffed and tucked her cheek against his chest.

  “Then tell me what ails you.”

  “In all honesty, I was wondering how I could leave you.”

  He looked at her. “Who said you are leaving?”

  Mary shrugged. “I don’t know how long I am supposed to be here. So far, I don’t believe we’ve changed history. Even the third letter, the one you penned, had the exact look as the one I found behind the frame in Raynham Hall. Obviously, I am supposed to be here. I’ve done the job I was sent to do. We warned Washington. Major Andre will be caught on the Tarrytown Road tonight. Benedict Arnold…”

  “What about General Arnold?”

  Mary pulled out of his arms and sat up.
“That’s it! That’s the part I never told you.”

  “Calm yourself. What are you talking about?”

  “I must have changed history already. The plot to capture Washington must have been discovered differently, since I am here. But Benedict Arnold has turned traitor and sold the plans of West Point to the British.”

  “Impossible. Arnold is our country’s greatest hero. You must be mistaken.”

  “If I had not studied his life, I would be hard pressed to believe it myself. Ticonderoga and Saratoga, his tactics on Lake Champlain—Arnold was a true hero of independence, until he became the most notorious turncoat in American history.”

  “We have to tell Washington,” Robert said. “The news will wound the general to his core, but he must be informed post haste.”

  Mary hesitated. “No, you can’t,” she whispered.

  “Isn’t that what we want? Why would you want a traitor—especially such a high-ranking traitor—to escape justice?”

  She let out a sigh. “We can’t change that part of history. Things will happen if we do.”

  “To blazes with history. Let God sort it out.” He threw off the quilts and stood.

  She reached for him and hugged her face to his chest. “Robert, no. Please. Arnold must escape.”

  “Why the devil should we allow him to go uncaptured?”

  “Because I am a direct descendant of General Arnold’s youngest son, William Fitch Arnold, who will be born in England in 1794. If Benedict Arnold dies before the child is conceived, I won’t exist.”

  Chapter Ten

  September 24, 1780

  “I am still uncertain about allowing Arnold to escape, Mary, but I will not risk your life.” Robert squinted at the sun directly overhead. They rode around his cousin’s farm, enjoying the warmer-than-usual day, with a picnic lunch packed in their saddlebags.

  “History will change if he is caught and hanged, Robert. What may look like a small variation now, may snowball into disaster two centuries in the future. We have no idea how this could impact on American history, or even world history. Let Washington pass judgment on Arnold and Andre. Allow the revolution to play out as it should.”

  Looking grim, he nodded. “As you will. It is in God’s hands. I will not interfere, though it grates upon my sense of honor to allow the blackguard go free.”

  “Then let’s think about something pleasant. Shall we stop for dinner—lunch as we call it at home?” Mary spotted a small copse of trees and gestured. “Perhaps over there by those evergreens.”

  “Indeed. That is a pleasing spot.”

  A few minutes later they were settled. The horses, tied a bit of distance, munched on the grass around them. Mary spread the food on the blanket where they sat. They ate quietly, each to their own thoughts. When they finished, they packed their leftovers and put them back in the saddlebags.

  Robert removed his coat, lay down on the blanket, and tucked his forearm under his head as a pillow. “Mary, would you rest here with me for a while?”

  “Without a bundling board, sir? Do you think me a light skirt? But then again, I am wearing breeches.” She knelt next to him and tickled his ribs.

  Laughing, he grabbed her shoulders, rolled her on to her back, and straddled her. He stared into her dark eyes. “I would never call the woman I love any such thing.”

  Mary felt a hot tear trail from the corner of her eye. “How can this happen to us in so short a time?”

  “I don’t care.” Robert brushed her lips with his. “I only know you are the woman I care for and want as my wife.”

  “We are setting ourselves on the road to heartbreak.” She flashed him a wobbly smile. “But I love you, too. I want to stay with you forever.”

  “Then, let us wed without delay. We can marry now, between us, and do something more formal on First Day, when we can go to Meeting not far from my cousin’s farm. I will ask my cousin Peter to spread the word so those from the area can bear witness to our wedded state.”

  “Is that legal?” Mary fought the butterflies in her stomach, nervous and happy at the same moment.

  “Yes, completely.”

  “Then, I would be honored to become your wife, Robert.”

  They stood and took each other’s right hands, standing before God, in the cathedral of His Creation.

  “I, Robert Townsend, take you Mary Banvard, as my wedded wife from this day forward, ’til death parts us.” He pulled off his signet ring and slipped it on to the fourth finger of her left hand. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  Mary did not hesitate a moment, confident she was doing the right thing. “I, Mary Banvard, take you Robert Townsend, as my wedded husband, from this day forward, ’til death parts us.” With a self-conscious smile she said, “I have no ring to give you, Robert.”

  “No matter, Mistress Townsend. We are married, and you encircle my soul.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  “I love you, Robert Townsend.”

  “As I love you and wish to show you how much, Mary.”

  She reached up and pulled him toward her. His shoulders felt powerful under his linen shirt, his muscular arms bunched as he held her. She could feel how much he wanted her through the layers of fabric that separated them.

  Robert pulled off his shirt, leaned back, and unbuttoned Mary’s shirt.

  She blushed as he exposed her breasts, which demanded his touch.

  “You are so lovely, Mary.” He ran a finger over the slope of her left breast.

  She struggled out of her clothes and lay on the blanket over the soft pine needles. He slipped off the rest of his garments.

  For the next hour she felt lost in his arms. To her eyes his body was perfect, all she imagined and hoped for in her daydreams. The smell of the pine needles and his sandalwood scent, the feel of the breeze drifting over her skin, the taste of his kisses, the sound of the birds in the trees, made the joy of their love complete. Never was she as happy.

  Finally, sated, she snuggled against Robert as he wrapped the blanket around them. She gazed at him. “I never thought I would marry; my research and my work took priority. Now, I can’t imagine being apart from you—everything else is secondary.”

  “We will never part, my dearest. I cannot wait to introduce you to everyone as my spouse.”

  “Shouldn’t we get dressed first?” They both laughed, the sound of their joy echoed by their love.

  “Without a doubt. I shall dress you in the finest silks…”

  The thunder of a horse’s hooves broke their tranquility. Robert put a finger to his lips to silence her and yanked on his clothes.

  Mary dragged up her breeches, buttoned the front closure, and then set her shirt to rights. Thank goodness she wore pants. She’d never make it into a dress.

  Through the trees, she saw a short man in an officer’s blue Continental army jacket pull up where their horses were tied. The man’s own horse seemed on the brink of exhaustion; the poor animal was foaming. He untied Robert’s sorrel and began to lead him away, when Robert stepped from the trees.

  “Halt, sirrah. What gives you the right to steal my horse?” He grabbed the horse’s bridle.

  “I am commandeering this animal for the Continental Army. I have ridden my poor beast almost to the death and must have a fresh mount. I am on a mission and must reach Croton Point without delay.” He pulled out a paper and waved it at Robert as if it were a flag of truce, then shoved it under his coat. He limped, causing the leaves to catch under the heel of his boot as he pulled the horse along behind him.

  Mary ran from the grove of trees. “Be careful, Robert. Please, allow General Arnold to use your horse. We can retrieve it from the British later.”

  “I do not recall our meeting, madame.” In a flash, Arnold pulled a pistol and trained it on Mary, sneering at her. “Who are you and what do you know about me and the British?”

  “N…nothing. I heard something from a servant…”

  “You don’t look much more than a serva
nt yourself, girl.”

  Robert took a swing at Arnold. “That’s my wife, you traitorous swine.”

  Arnold paled at the accusation and wildly fired the pistol at Robert.

  Mary pushed Robert away and immediately felt the impact of the ball across her forehead. Everything went black.

  Chapter Eleven

  November 20, Present Day

  Mary unlocked the front door of Raynham Hall and took a deep breath before pushing the door open. Her stomach fluttered. Was it because of the tiny life she carried beneath her heart or a fear of the loneliness that greeted her?

  Too many parts of the last two months were a muddle. When she awoke in the hospital in October, coming out of a two-week-long induced coma, she had no idea how she had gotten there. All she knew is a bullet had grazed her forehead. An inch closer and she would have been dead. Instead she was missing weeks of her life.

  What happened? What had really occurred in the time her car crashed and the time she was shot? Was it all a dream? Robert, Washington, Arnold all an illusion?

  No, it had to be real. Robert’s signet ring sat on the forth finger of her left hand. She had proof—at least to herself—that they had married. But who would believe her?

  When the doctors finally gave her permission to go home, no one was more surprised than she to hear she was pregnant. Being nauseous from the moment she awoke from the coma should have been a pretty good indicator, but she was in such delicate health that the doctors withheld the information until her release. She would not believe the doctors, but when she saw with her own eyes the result of the home-pregnancy kit—kits, all three of them—she realized they had told her the truth. Mary rejoiced in her impending motherhood—she was carrying Robert’s baby! She spent the last month at home, sleeping, filling a diary with her memories of the eighteenth century and remembering to eat frequently. Not that she felt hungry, but the baby needed it.

  Returning to Raynham Hall was the most difficult part of her ordeal. Mary felt Robert’s presence within the walls of the old section of the house, though she never saw him. She ached with his absence. He’ll never meet our child. Thank goodness the museum was closed for the long Thanksgiving Weekend. The time will allow her to get past…well…the past.