Dreams of Glory (40 page)
Authors: Thomas Fleming
“My husband.”
“Yes. He's been unfaithful to you. But there's no proof that he's been disloyal to his country. Flora Kuyper, the woman he was visiting, is here at Morristown. We've questioned her rather closely. She tells us that Mr. Stapleton didn't leave willingly with his captors.”
Hannah remembered her halfhearted prayer, asking only for Hugh's patriotism. Did she still mean it? Did she really care what happened to him now? “I'mâI'm glad,” she said.
“I'm afraid, now that the enemy's plans have miscarried, they may abuse him. Would you be willing to go to New York to help your husband?”
“How could I help?” Hannah asked.
She stared sullenly away from Washington at the titles of
books on a nearby shelf:
General Essay on Tactics. The King of Prussia's Instruction to his Generals.
books on a nearby shelf:
General Essay on Tactics. The King of Prussia's Instruction to his Generals.
“Two ways. You could bolster his courage. We suspect the British will try to getâeither by persuasion or abuseâa statement from him, calling for a negotiated peace. It could do us a good deal of harm.”
Hannah nodded, signifying only her agreement that such a statement could be harmful. “What else?” she asked.
“You may also embarass the British into giving Mr. Stapleton better treatment. The British are always anxious to appear humane, no matter how inhumane they may be in private. They can hardly refuse a wife's request to visit her husband in prison. If you succeed in getting the congressman moved to better quarters, we can begin to think about rescuing him.”
“How?” Hannah said. She could not imagine that anything less than a British surrender would free Hugh from their cordon of men and guns.
“We're sending one of our ablest spies to New York with orders to make the attempt the moment it appears possible.”
Hannah nodded numbly, not really believing George Washington, again not really sure she wanted to go to New York. She was incapable of any gesture of love or support for Hugh at this moment.
“I hope you'll consider yourself my guest while you recuperate from last night's ordeal,” Washington said. “Mrs. Washington is upstairs, eager to do everything in her power to make you comfortable. As soon as you feel ready to go to New York, let me know.”
Hannah realized, as she nodded again, that as far as this man was concerned, the matter was decided. She would go to New York. She would try to rescue her unfaithful, more or less traitorous husband. She would do it for Paul, for Pompey, for Isaac, as much as for Hugh. In spite of death and desolation, what had happened last night at Great Rock Farm was not an ending but a beginning. She had joined a mysterious fraternity,
to which this man belonged. Like him, she owed a debt to men who had died for her and for an idea of a countryâthe United States of America. Her personal feelings were no longer important.
Malcolm Stapleton would have been proud to call you his daughter.
She understood what those words meant.
to which this man belonged. Like him, she owed a debt to men who had died for her and for an idea of a countryâthe United States of America. Her personal feelings were no longer important.
Malcolm Stapleton would have been proud to call you his daughter.
She understood what those words meant.
UHHHHHH,
MOANED THE MARCH WIND. The gray sky seemed low enough to touch the treetops. Cato sat on the coachman's box like a black statue. The horses were plodding past the place on Morristown's green where Caleb Chandler had found Caesar Muzzey's body. Some of the same snow, beaten into pocks and hollows by last night's rain, was still there.
MOANED THE MARCH WIND. The gray sky seemed low enough to touch the treetops. Cato sat on the coachman's box like a black statue. The horses were plodding past the place on Morristown's green where Caleb Chandler had found Caesar Muzzey's body. Some of the same snow, beaten into pocks and hollows by last night's rain, was still there.
Beside Caleb in the sleigh sat Flora Kuyper in a purple dress and traveling cloak. She had spent the night at O'Hara's Tavern. She stared straight ahead, her eyes rigidly averted from his forlorn gaze. They stopped in front of the Ford mansion. Caleb tried to help her out of the sleigh. “Cato will do it,” Flora said, withdrawing her hand. “I don't want to touch you if I can avoid it.”
Yesterday afternoon, they had driven here in the same sleigh with William Coleman and Major Benjamin Stallworth beside them. Coleman had persuaded Stallworth to let him change to male clothes. Red Peggy's fluttery mannerisms and voice had vanished with her rouge and skirts. The man who had seduced Flora confronted them, a compound of willful sensuality and domineering pride. When they brought him to General Washington, agent Twenty-six had at first arrogantly refused to confess or reveal anything. But Stallworth had trumped the bearded queen with predictable savagery. “Tell us what you know or Mrs. Kuyper hangs tomorrow morning,” he had said.
Caleb, his eyes on Flora, had almost protested. But he remained a prisoner of necessity. “Does this proposal have your approval, General Washington?” Coleman had asked.
“Yes,” Washington said. His voice had been as hard as Stallworth's, without the iron rasp.
The threat had worked. William Coleman had begun to bargain with them. In return for Flora's safe conduct to New York, he had agreed to reveal Beckford's route and plan of attack. Once Flora was in New York, he said that he might, under certain conditions, agree to provide the names of the men in his network in Morristown.
After locking Coleman in the town jail and leaving Flora under guard at O'Hara's Tavern, Stallworth had proposed putting a brigade of infantry and a dozen cannon in the woods along the Warwick Road to annihilate Beckford and the British cavalry. Washington had demurred. He wanted to defeat and disgrace Beckford as an intelligence director. “It will blind them for a few months and give us the time we need to revive this army,” he said.
He pointed out that it would also give Caleb unshakable credit with the British. How could they distrust a spy who had saved four hundred dragoons from slaughter? “You may be able to use this good faith to free Congressman Stapleton,” the general added in his casual way.
Now, the morning after Major Beckford had stumbled back to New York in mortified disarray, Flora Kuyper was about to join him. Stallworth had cryptically ordered Caleb to bring her to headquarters first. An aide escorted them to George Washington's office. The general closed the door and studied Flora for a moment.
“You think ill of us, madam?” he said.
“Why shouldn't I?” she said.
“You think we set this young man to snare your affections, out of malice?”
“What else can I think?”
“There was, from your point of view, some malice in our policy. We prefer to call it patriotismâor necessity. But as far as Mr. Chandler was concerned, he had no choice but to obey our orders. I saw how difficult this was for him, Mrs. Kuyper. It was clear that his heart belonged to you before we put it under
the orders of his country. Now that we've met, I can understand why.”
the orders of his country. Now that we've met, I can understand why.”
“You're too late with your explanationsâand your compliments, General,” Flora said.
“You alone can be the judge of that,” Washington said. “But if you'll let an older, if not wiser, man advise you, the heart eventually heals its woundsâespecially if there's another heart to which it can turn for honest sympathy.”
“I've never had honest sympathy from any man in my lifeâexcept my father.”
“Not true, not true. I've seen with my own eyes Mr. Chandler's sympathy. Let me assure you, madam, you also have mine. I hope you don't see our sending you to New York as banishment.”
“Are you trying to turn me into a spy for you?” Flora asked.
“No. I'm trying to tell you that as far as the government of the United States is concerned, you have nothing to fear.”
“I despise your forgivenessâas much as I despise Mr. Chandler,” Flora said. “I'll take advantage of it in only one way. Let me bring my slaves with me. I assume that my farm will be confiscated. I don't want them sold at auction like cattle.”
“Confiscation can be prevented,” Washington said. “I have some influence with the civil government of New Jersey.”
Flora shook her head, all willful passion. “I don't trust you. I want them with me.”
“How will you support them and yourself in New York, madam?”
“I intend to free them.”
“I look forward to the day when a free country will permit me to do the same thing for my blacks. But how will you support yourself without their labor?”
“I intend to pursue the profession for which you and Mr. Chandler have trained me, Generalâwhore.”
Washington lowered his head for a moment. “Madam,” he
said in a mournful voice, “I accept the rebuke in the name of the United States.” He raised his head and became the commander in chief again. “Mr. Chandler, take Mrs. Kuyper to the jail to say good-bye to the prisoner, William Coleman. He insists on it as one of the conditions for giving us further information. Do you have any objection to seeing Mr. Coleman, madam?”
said in a mournful voice, “I accept the rebuke in the name of the United States.” He raised his head and became the commander in chief again. “Mr. Chandler, take Mrs. Kuyper to the jail to say good-bye to the prisoner, William Coleman. He insists on it as one of the conditions for giving us further information. Do you have any objection to seeing Mr. Coleman, madam?”
“Not in the least,” Flora said. “I find him no moreâor lessâdespicable than Mr. Chandlerâor you.”
At the Morristown jail, William Coleman's wrists and ankles were manacled and leg chains wound in heaps around his feet. He looked ghostly. The shadowy cell seemed to have sapped some of the defiant vitality he had displayed when he was captured.
“Flora, dearest,” he said. “I was afraid you wouldn't come.”
“He brought me,” Flora said with a contemptuous nod toward Caleb. “He's my keeperâfor the moment.”
Coleman tried to take her hands. Flora stepped back, refusing to let him touch her. He accepted the rejection and dropped his weighted arms to his sides.
“This is the last time we'll meet,” he said in a sad, steady voice. “You have good reason to hate me, I know. But in these ten years past I've done nothing but out of love for you. We shared the same hard fateâto have been born too low for our dreams and desires.”
“For your dreams. Your mad, grandiose dreams,” Flora said.
“A gambler's dreams. But my last card can still recoup most of your losses. Tell Beckford I'll die a loyal servant of the King, confident that His Majesty's generosity will protect you. Assure him I've betrayed no one and a mutiny is still possible.”
For a moment Caleb was confused. This did not sound like a man who was going to negotiate for his freedom by revealing all the members of his network once Flora was safe in New York. Studying that arrogant, sensual face, stamped now
with mourning, but also suffused with a remarkable resignation, Caleb realized that William Coleman did not want freedom. In London he was a convicted felon who could offer Flora nothing but a life of poverty and disgrace. By dying in Morristown he could finally prove the truth of his love for her, the love that he had avowed and betrayed too often. Caleb saw that William Coleman had made Flora his faith, his hope, his charity. From the moment of his capture he had done nothing, said nothing, that was not connected to his obsessed, corrupted love.
with mourning, but also suffused with a remarkable resignation, Caleb realized that William Coleman did not want freedom. In London he was a convicted felon who could offer Flora nothing but a life of poverty and disgrace. By dying in Morristown he could finally prove the truth of his love for her, the love that he had avowed and betrayed too often. Caleb saw that William Coleman had made Flora his faith, his hope, his charity. From the moment of his capture he had done nothing, said nothing, that was not connected to his obsessed, corrupted love.
“I don't want your king's protection, William,” Flora said. “I won't accept it even if it's offered.”
“Yes, you will,” Coleman said with a blaze of his extraordinary gray eyes.
Flora shook her head. “I'm going to practice the profession you taught me in London, William. But I won't gamble the money away.”
“No,” he said, stumbling toward her over his chains. “No. I forbid it.”
Flora stepped back again and the chains caught Coleman. He swayed on them, groping helplessly toward her.
“Good-bye, William,” Flora said.
She turned and walked out of the jail. Caleb followed her. Behind them, William Coleman roared:
“I forbid it. I forbid it. Flora!”
“I forbid it. I forbid it. Flora!”
Outside, Caleb tried to help Flora into the sleigh. Again she asked for Cato's hand. As they repeated this ritual of detestation Benjamin Stallworth rode up. Caleb wondered if he should tell the major what he had just heard from Coleman. He decided to say nothing. He did not really think that Coleman's mutineers, shorn of their leader, could wreck the army. Perhaps he also owed something as a human being to William Coleman. Who else but Caleb Chandler understood the nature, the power of the love that had destroyed him, its unique compound of pity and beauty, sadness and desire?
Major Stallworth handed Flora an order, signed by General
Washington, permitting her to take her blacks and any other movable property she chose to New York. A half-dozen of Major Henry Lee's green-coated cavalrymen waited to escort her. Caleb gripped the side of the sleigh, staring at Flora's face in frozen profile. “I won't let you do it,” he said. “I'll come to New York and stop you.”
Washington, permitting her to take her blacks and any other movable property she chose to New York. A half-dozen of Major Henry Lee's green-coated cavalrymen waited to escort her. Caleb gripped the side of the sleigh, staring at Flora's face in frozen profile. “I won't let you do it,” he said. “I'll come to New York and stop you.”
“If I ever see your lying face in that city, I'll tell Beckford the truth about you. I'd enjoy seeing you hanged.”
Caleb saw that she was beyond his reach, beyond the reach of them all, in a world of loss that she was determined to explore to its depths. It was a glimpse of damnation as the theologians described itâthe rejection of even the possibility of faith or hope or love. Where, to whom, could he turn to save her? Washington had tried, with his worldly common sense. Stallworth, the minister manqué in the service of Mars, did not think she was worth the trouble. Every other minister Caleb knew would declare her beyond the mercy of New England's God.
He did not know how long he clung to the sleigh, staring at that beautiful, hatred-suffused face. “Will you stand free, Mr. Chandler?” Cato finally called.
Caleb withdrew his hands and the sleigh surged up the road toward New York. Would she turn her head, give even a hint of regret, irresolution? She never moved. The sleigh rounded the bend in the road about a quarter of a mile beyond Washington's headquarters and disappeared.
“Listen to me, Chandler,” rasped Benjamin Stallworth. “You'll be on your way to New York tomorrow. Under no circumstances are you to go near that woman. You're there to get Stapleton out of the Provost, remember that. Remember you're the oneâwith her helpâwho put him there. Are you listening to me, Chandler?”
“I'm listening,” Caleb said, his eyes still on the empty road.
But in his mind roared a voice that echoed William Coleman's farewell:
I forbid it.
I forbid it.
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