Ring of Secrets (34 page)

All those hours on her knees this past week. So much supplication. Moment after moment of undulating urgency, chased by fleeting peace. Times when she thought others must have taken up her prayer, times when she felt she was the only one in the country who knew to pray for its protection from betrayal.

But this—this was not what she had wanted. Why did it have to be Major André who was caught, Colonel Fairchild's closest friend? He did not deserve this fate. He was guilty only of doing his duty, and much as that duty opposed Winter's cause, he still ought not to have been handed such a punishment. Why could it not have been the traitor himself who was intercepted? Whose execution was scheduled?

Benedict Arnold. One of the highest-ranking men in the Continental Army. In charge of West Point. Privy, no doubt, to countless Patriot secrets.

O God, the Eternal All
,
protect us.

What if he knew of the Culpers? What if Washington had confided in him, and he intended to have a few lynchings of his own when he reached the city?

What if her days, too, were numbered—not just by God, but by man? She choked down a sob.

Freeman drew a bit closer. “I know this isn't what we wanted, and I'm right sorry for the major. But, Winnie girl, our prayers have still been answered. Try to look at that. Had they not caught him and discovered the plot, Arnold would have turned West Point over to the British. That would have been the end of the Glorious Cause.”

“I know. And praise the Lord for that.” Yet it lit a fuse of guilt within her. When she prayed for discernment for the men around the traitor, when she prayed that Providence would waken His children to prevent such disaster, she had never stopped to think that the answer may mean death to one she knew, one she liked.

And yet her father's life could have been forfeit had Arnold had his way, as Grandmother had so nastily hinted at after Fairchild left. Any battle, any accident, any illness could snatch Father from this world before they could be reunited, and the chances would certainly have increased with treachery.

How could she weigh one life against another? How could she rejoice in the sparing of her allies and yet still mourn the loss of an enemy?

An enemy who was a friend.

She swiped away rain and tears and risked a glance up to see how much farther they must go. Only a few more buildings.

And praise be to the Father that He did all the weighing, all the
judging. She would never, could never understand His ways. And so she would always be conflicted.

Freeman caught her elbow. “Hurry. He is locking up.”

Winter broke into an outright run, but Robbie had still made it nearly to the corner before she caught him. She whispered his name once she was close enough for him to hear.

Robbie spun around with a startled frown and tugged his collar up to meet his hat. “Winnie! What are you doing here?”

“Shh.” She motioned him into an alley. A roar of thunder ripped through the sky.

Taking what cover could be found beside a stack of crates, Robbie looked from her to Freeman. “Again, what are you doing here? If you mean to try to get me to warn seven-one-one of this possible defector again—”

“Have you not heard?” She forced herself to take a deep breath, though her throat wanted to close off. “André has been arrested by the Patriots, and so they have discovered General Arnold's intentions.”

Robbie drew in a sharp breath. “Arnold? Nay, say you jest. And Major André?”

No nod had ever felt so painful. “He will be hanged next week.”

“Nay.” This time his denial came out as no more than a murmur. “It cannot be. He is such a fine man, so friendly and well liked by all.”

“'Tis as true as it is terrible. Fairchild came to tell me as soon as he found out.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he made a visible effort to keep his breathing even. Freeman reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. “We thought you would want to know.”

Robbie didn't open his eyes. “I should have sent your message. I should have warned them weeks ago, and then this meeting never would have taken place. Arnold would be the one arrested, and André would be free and safe.”

For a moment Winter just looked at him. 'Twas the first time in months she had been so close to her old friend, had exchanged words with him. Why must they be words so laden with death? With implications so very unmistakable?

If it could happen to André, it could happen to them.

And she didn't even know, anymore, how to try to comfort him.
He was no longer a friend whose hand she could clasp. No longer the brother to whom she could offer a shoulder. Yet still so much a part of all she had become, one of the few who knew from whence she came.

She must do
something
. And so she drew a bit closer and rested her gloved fingers on his arm. “I daresay they would not have believed it of General Arnold even if we
had
sent a message. They cannot deny it when they intercept the man who has turned him, but on mere rumor and hearsay?” She shook her head. “He did not manage to deliver West Point, which had apparently been his plan. So all is not as disastrous as it could have been.”

Brilliant light arrowed through the gloom, charging the air with a snap and sizzle. Thunder pounced and rolled. Robbie's lips turned up, but it could hardly be termed a smile. “How can you find hope in circumstances like these?”

What was it Viney had said when Winter asked her something similar?
They are only circumstances. The men out there may define me by them, but thank the Lord, He does not.

How true those words were. Perhaps man and man's justice doled out death and defeat. But the Lord's hand was still outstretched with life and victory. Winter patted his arm. “It may seem impossible, but our faith is founded on what mere logic says cannot be.”

Perhaps that was why Bennet seemed not to have made the leap from knowledge to belief.

Emotion washed over Robbie's features as sure as the deluge of rain, affection as piercing as the lightning. “You can always…how I wish things were different.” Shaking his head, he drew away from her hand. “In addition to faith, we also need caution. Tread with care, Winnie. Promise me.”

“I will. And you must too, even more so. No one but you knows of my involvement, but the entire ring knows of yours.” She pursed her lips when the heavens barked their fury again, drowning out anything else she may have said.

Freeman stepped close to her side. “We had better get back.”

“Yes, you had better.” Robbie edged away from the crates and tugged his hat a little lower. Then he paused at her side. “Winnie…”

She lifted her brows and waited.

The rain sluiced down, dripping off the corners of his hat. He bent
down, eyes echoing the storm, and pressed his lips to her cheek. Then he stepped back. “Thank you for being the one to tell me.”

Winter could only nod and watch him stride away as the rain washed his kiss from her cheek.

Twenty-One

B
en slid behind a taller man and peeked over his shoulder at the contingent of soldiers riding down the street. At the lead trotted the traitor himself, head held high and chest puffed out beneath his pristine red coat.

Perhaps it was his imagination that made him think the citizens around him all shrank back and hid their secrets behind their halfhearted cheers. In all likelihood that was his own frustration coloring his perception, for it seemed that ever since General Arnold arrived in New York, no honest thoughts ever found their way to lips—or, at least, no honest thought that breathed a word against the British establishment.

How in thunder was he supposed to discover whether certain parties had been involved in espionage when anyone with mixed loyalties was all of a sudden mute?

George, beside him, crossed his arms over his chest and glared with pursed lips at New York's newest person of infamy. 'Twas no great mystery why. His father, along with countless others, had been hauled in for questioning under Arnold's orders not two days ago.

It seemed the man was determined to earn his thirty pieces of silver by finding the spies that were operating in the city. As if arresting
every man who had once spoken against the Crown would lead him to the elusive ring.

Blasted traitor. Mrs. Hampton had one thing right. No man could ever be trusted again after he turned on his cause for monetary gain. And now he was here scaring into silence everyone to whom Ben needed to talk to make the last connections in his own hunt.

One far more orderly than this willy-nilly arresting nonsense. Arnold had no idea how to go about the business Ben had been agonizing over for so long, and he would ruin all his efforts if he kept this up. Anyone who knew anything would be frightened underground.

George spun away and jerked a head in the direction of Rivington's. “Coffee?”

“I would like nothing more.” He matched his stride to his morose friend's. “Is it me, or has everyone been looking askance at everyone else since Benedict Arnold came to town?”

With a snort, George shoved a hand into his pocket. “'Tisn't you. With a man of his ilk proving how fleeting loyalties can be, no one is willing to trust anyone. Every word ever spoken is being examined and judged.” He sent Ben a sideways glance. “Not that
you
have anything to worry about, what with Archie in the army and your father in England. You could climb up on your rooftop and scream ‘Down with tyranny!' and no one would mutter a word against you.”

Ben echoed George's snort. “Somehow I doubt that, my friend. Were I to say such things, my brother and father may be the first to haul me in.” He hesitated but a moment. “And speaking of fathers?”

His friend gritted his teeth. “They released him this morning, but with a threat to take all our military contracts from us.” An unfortunate stone met George's shoe and went hurtling into the alley. “Blast it, Ben, I am sick to death of this supposed rule of the military. They are the most corrupt bunch of louts I have ever seen, and they are running roughshod over us all. Doesn't matter what side you are on, not really, only whose pockets you line.”

Oh, how he hoped none of those louts were within earshot now. Ben did a quick check over his shoulder. “Valid as that complaint may be, do keep it quiet, George.”

Shoulders hunched, his friend looked the part of a disgruntled delinquent ready to pick his next fight. “Or what? Will you turn me
over to your saintly Colonel Fairchild? Or maybe your reprobate of a brother?”

It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes. “I realize you are frustrated and angry, but could you at least
try
not to be a complete dunderhead?”

George came to a halt and, when Ben followed suit, glowered at him. “What am I supposed to think?” His voice was low, tight as a throb. “Every time we meet lately, you are cautioning me not to say this, not to do that, lest you have to turn me in.”

Ben took a step closer and returned the glower. Odd—had he always been so much taller than George? It had never struck him before. “Have you ever paused to consider why I only issue warnings and have not
done
it?”

George opened his mouth but then closed it again and lifted his brows.

“I thought not.” Ben loosed an exasperated breath and shook his head. “You are my friend, George. My oldest, truest friend. I would never—but if
thinking
I would has a chance of getting you to halt activities that could get you killed, obviously I will issue the threat.”

Not a muscle in George's face twitched. He just stared at him, no doubt trying to digest what exactly he meant by that.

Ben chuckled, though he felt far from amused. “Do you think me unaware of what you have been doing? That I have forgotten that night in my garden, that I am blind to the times I have seen you sneaking off somewhere or deaf to the warnings others have given me about you?”

Panic flashed through his friend's eyes. “I…that is…”

“Nay.” He put on the same expression he used when a student decided, after a small explosion, to take his word for how two chemicals would react. “I am no fool. But neither am I fond of seeing my acquaintances, much less my friends, lynched.”

George looked off into the distance, his freckles standing out as his face went pale. “I am in no such danger. They only hang spies.”

And he was not
that
. Ben had verified as much months ago. “True. Arms smugglers they would simply shoot on the spot.”

Now 'twas George who glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one overheard. “I don't know of what you speak, Ben old man.”

“Mm-hmm.” Ben motioned his friend onward. Once they were walking again, he shook his head. “One would think that, given recent events, everyone would see the dangers inherit in any clandestine work and cease at once.” His, of course, was entirely different. He was trying to find the spies. He had not become one himself.

George shoved his hands into his pockets again. “You are all logic. I daresay there is nothing in this world you believe in enough to take a risk for it. Leastways, nothing you cannot grasp with your hands.”