The Messenger (36 page)

Eventually the horse slowed to that jolting jounce I so disliked. But after a while she slowed still more to a walk. By then I was ready to collapse in relief. We’d left the sounds of battle so far behind that we ought to have happened upon General Washington’s men. But I was beginning to suspect that we’d left them behind as well.

I was a complete and utter failure.

Just as I had resigned myself to trying to turn the horse back toward the city, a man stepped onto the path. “What have we here?” His coat flashed buff and red. His pistol was pointed at my head.

The hairs at the back of my neck began to prickle. I dug my heels into the horse’s sides; she did nothing at all but stop in her tracks. Had I been able to feel my legs, I would have jumped to the ground and fled. As it was, I felt nothing but a terrible dread.

“What are you about, missy? On this fine and frightful day?”

“I—” I didn’t want to tell the truth, but I hadn’t the first idea of how to tell a lie. So I said the only thing I could. “I have a message for General Washington.” I winced as I said it, certain he would have no choice now but to shoot me as an enemy spy.

“For General Washington, eh?” He stared at me for a moment. Spat onto the road. Lowered his pistol. “Come by way of the battle, did you?”

“I came down Germantown Road.”

“Did we trounce them?”

“I . . . couldn’t really say.” I didn’t know which
them
he was against. He was wearing a red coat, but he wasn’t acting like a redcoat. Or maybe he was just biding his time.

He walked up and grabbed hold of the reins. “Lost your way, did you?”

I did not want to place myself under the control of any man. “If thee could just point out the right direction . . .”

“You’re a Friend, are you?” He looked at me in a speculative sort of way, then led the horse into the brush. “It’s a tangle back here.”

I didn’t like the way he was being so evasive. Nor the way he was leading me farther off the road. “I must insist that thee unhand my horse. This instant.”

“Can’t. We’ve had too many spies in camp.”

If only I knew where he was taking me!

He led me on a twisting, turning path through the stumps and bogs that had once been a forest. I began to smell woodsmoke. A sentry stopped us and then let us continue. Soon I could see movement in the distance, along with tents and fires.

And men in
blue
coats!

The man hailed a soldier. “Is Captain McLane about?”

The soldier nodded toward a tent that stood off at a distance from the rest.

Once we reached the tent, the man lifted the flap. “Captain McLane, sir? There’s a lady here. Says she’s got a message for General Washington.”

My escort stood aside as another man pushed through the flap. Quite large of nose with an excess of unruly hair, he planted himself in front of my horse and crossed his arms. “Well?”

“I
do
have a message for General Washington.”

“May I see it?”

“Are thee the one who will pass it on to him?” He didn’t seem to be a very trustworthy sort of person.

“Aye. And then he’ll pass it back down to me.”

“Can thee turn thy back, then? For just a moment?”

He scowled, though he complied.

“Thee as well.” I addressed my escort.

He too frowned, but he also turned away.

I drew the message from my polonaise, and then smoothed everything down again. “Thee may both turn around.”

The captain extended his hand.

I leaned down and handed him the message. He whisked it from my hand and started back for his tent. But he threw a look over his shoulder at me before he disappeared. “Stay here.”

I’d like to know where he thought I might have gone.

My escort lounged by the captain’s fire while I sat atop Queenie. I wished I could have dismounted, but my legs had gone numb and I knew that if I got off, I would never have the strength to get back on.

Several minutes later the captain reappeared. “I’ve a message of my own for you to carry back.” He passed it to me.

“Can thee . . . turn again?”

He threw up his hands and vanished back into his tent.

My escort led me out of the camp and returned me to the road, then pointed back the way I’d come. “The city is that way.”

“Thee couldn’t . . . ?” What did I want him to do for me? Take me back to Pennington House? Promise that I would make it there safely?

“Can’t give you a pass. Those lobsterbacks would know you’d been to camp for sure. Best thing to do is lie. Make something up. Your cousin was sick. Something like that.”

“I have a pass.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one? Most everyone else has to find some way to sneak in through the lines.”

I would have if I’d known where to do it and how. I didn’t want to face another soldier; especially not a redcoat. Not after what I’d just done. As he passed me up the reins, I vowed to keep hold of them this time.

Jeremiah

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d done the wrong thing in sending Hannah out into the countryside. But I didn’t know what I ought to have done instead; the information needed to get to General Washington, and I had no other person to send. If she rode into trouble, if she were taken by the pickets on either side, there would be no one to blame but myself.

The streets seemed quiet, the city almost somnolent. But it wasn’t until dinnertime that I realized why. Only three soldiers appeared of the sixty or so who usually took their meals at the tavern. I stepped out into the street to see if there were any set on joining them, but there was only one clattery cart and a mangy dog trotting down the street. I closed the door against the breeze that had blown up from the river.

“What’s wrong with the others? Did the cooking put them off?”

One of the men hoisted his tankard and took a drink before replying, “I’m sure they’d rather be here than where they are.”

“And where is that?”

“Out toward Germantown, trying to roust Mr. Washington from his camp.”

Out toward Germantown! “Whose company?”

“The first battalion, light infantry. The seventeenth regiment and the forty-sixth. Did the Queen’s Rangers go as well?” He consulted his companion who nodded. “And the Rangers.”

That was . . . seven thousand men marching down the same road Hannah was traveling. “They don’t hope to see any action, do they?”

The soldier shrugged.

The door opened and John came through it. He stalked toward a table and sat down. “Blasted luck! Half the army’s been called out to fight those rebels and I’m stuck here at headquarters.”

“Has General Howe gone himself?”

“No. He’s got business to attend to. With Mrs. Loring.” He winked and smirked. “Which is why I’m here. What’s for dinner?”

“Pickled tongue with green peas. Some cheese and a pie.”

“I suppose I’ll have to eat it, then.”

I sent Bartholomew back to the kitchen for another plate.

“They weren’t intending to march straight down Germantown Road, were they?” I was hoping that John would tell me the other soldiers had been mistaken.

Bartholomew set a plate down in front of John.

John snorted as he picked up a spoon. “General Howe’s not so dim-witted as that. He sent some of the men up the river and some up Frankfort Road. It’s the rest that went straight on to Germantown Road.”

My hopes fell to the floor. I’d sent Hannah into a trap. Even if she had made it past the redcoats in leaving, she’d have found herself in between the lines, in the middle of a veritable battle. God help her, I’d sent her straight to her death.

I spent the afternoon pacing the floor from the public room back to the kitchen. Glancing out toward Walnut Street, stalking past Bartholomew and then past Fanny and the babe she cradled. Glaring out at the stables.

Where was she!

Finally about three o’clock I caught a glimpse of Hannah rounding the corner on old Queenie. By the time I’d burst through the kitchen and yelled for the stable boy, she had arrived in the backyard. Not willing to wait for the stable boy, I reached up for her myself. “Are you fine, then? Did you . . . ?”

She nodded. “I am well.” She accepted my hand and leaned on it as she slid from the saddle. But as she took a step away from the horse, she stumbled.

I offered my arm.

“My legs. They feel so . . . queer.”

I leaned close. “Were you . . . ?”

“I am fine.”

“No one . . . ?”

“I was not stopped.”

“Did you—?”

She burst into tears. I don’t know why; I was trying to be nice. I pulled her to my chest with a hand to her head. She clutched at my lapels and would not let me see her face until I put my hand under her chin and lifted it. Then I looked in her eyes.

“I was so frightened.” The words were scarcely more than a whisper.

“So was I.” I pulled her close once more.

She passed a message to me before she left. Once she had gone, I turned back to the tavern only to find Bartholomew beckoning me. “I’ve something for you to see.”

I followed him toward the stables. He nodded toward the stable boy, who slipped out behind us. Then Bartholomew motioned me toward one of the corner stalls. He threw aside some hay to reveal several stacks of what looked like dark-colored clothing.

“What are those?”

“Forty-eight coats. And there’s forty-eight breeches beneath them.” He scrambled toward the other corner of the stall, pushing aside more hay to reveal four large, lumpy sacks.

“And what’s in those?” I was afraid I already knew the answer.

“Forty-eight pairs of shoes.”

“The coats and breeches and shoes that I asked to be taken on the night of the Meschianza? During the party?
Only after
General Washington begins his disturbance?”

Bartholomew shrugged. “The boys got them early.”

“I didn’t
want
them early. What do you think will happen when the soldiers realize forty-eight sets of uniforms have gone missing?”

“You think they’ll notice?”

“How could they
not
notice? Wouldn’t you notice if an entire set of clothes went missing? Wouldn’t you say something about it to your friends?”

“It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t know what they’d done until they brought them all here this morning. They needed the money.”

“The money.”

“The half that you promised once the task was done.”

For want of patience our entire scheme had been compromised? “They’re going to have to find a way to put them all back. And then they’re going to have to steal them again.”

“Put them—!”

“It didn’t take you very long to guess the reason for the uniforms. How long do you think it will take the barracks sergeants to do the same?”

He was poking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “Not long.”

“Not long enough. And once they figure out our plan, we might as well just tell them where to collect the prisoners.”

That evening, as I was eating supper, Bartholomew stepped toward me from the night just as he used to do. Only this time he brought another boy with him.

“This is Ethan.”

I nodded.

Bartholomew poked him in the elbow. “Tell him.”

The other boy folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin. “If we’re to take all the things back and then steal them again, we need to be paid again.”

I’d figured they’d need to be paid something. They already knew about the plan and there was no point in involving any more people in the escape than there already were. I was in danger of becoming as bad as Hannah. “That sounds reasonable.”

“Ten shillings for returning them and ten shillings for stealing them back.”

“Five shillings for returning them and five for stealing them back.”

“We have to do twice the work.”

“Because you didn’t wait to do it when I wanted it done.”

He scowled. “Then keep them.”

“If that’s what you’d like.” It’s not what he wanted, of course. What he wanted—what they all wanted—was money. I lifted another spoonful of supper to my mouth.

The boy frowned. Exchanged a glance with Bartholomew. “I can’t guarantee that we can put them back and steal them again without being caught.”

“Couldn’t guarantee it the first time either. But you did just fine.” He was wavering. I could tell. “Bartholomew, why don’t you ask Fanny to feed your friend while he thinks it over.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide as he looked toward the kitchen.

“Let me know what you decide.”