The Women Spies Series 1-3

by Sergeant, Kit

  Robert subdued his grin. “I wouldn’t say I was happy, exactly, not with the war still going on. But,” he darted his eyes around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “When General Burgoyne was defeated at Saratoga, it was good to get some favorable news. Perhaps this will be the impetus that France needs to join us in the fight against England.”

  Sally folded her arms at her chest. Finally her brother was talking sensibly. The British had suffered a crushing defeat at Saratoga last month.

  “General Arnold has shown himself to be an impressive field commander,” Robert continued. As convincing as he might have been trying to be, Sally knew that his cheery demeanor was not just due to the Patriot victory. At any rate, she was glad that he was able to break his Tory façade, even if it was just temporary.

  Robert led her to the Underhills’ boarding house, a brick building in the Georgian style and bare of any fancy ornamentation. The front door opened into a cozy tavern, lit by an enormous fire. The tavern was nearly empty save for a slight young man sitting with one hand clasping the handle of a mug of ale.

  Robert nodded when the young man looked up. He stood and Robert walked over to make introductions.

  “Sally, I’m not sure if you remember Abraham Woodhull or not.”

  In contrast to her foppish brother, Abraham Woodhull’s dress was very plain; he wore a waistcoat and breeches in neutral colors and his hair pulled back with no ribbon. Sally assumed that he was another one of her brother’s peers, but his appearance first gave the impression that he was much older. His brow had a permanent furrow while beard stubble nearly obscured his thin mouth.

  Sally curtsied. “I’m not sure I do.”

  Abraham bowed and said in a barely audible voice, “I visited your family in Oyster Bay a few times. I’m originally from Setauket.”

  “Mary Underhill is his sister,” Robert continued.

  “It is nice to see you again, Mr. Woodhull,” Sally said.

  His lips turned up at the corners as he attempted a smile. Sally noticed that his eyes darted nervously to the front door as the bell rang. A couple of Redcoats walked in and seated themselves at one of the empty tables on the other side of the room. Abraham raised a hand to greet them before sitting back down to his ale. He gave a faint wave to the Townsends as they took their leave.

  Sally followed Robert as he headed upstairs, his long legs navigating the narrow steps two at a time. It was hard for Sally to keep up with him in her satin shoes. “He’s a rather jumpy young man,” she commented, a little breathlessly.

  Robert reached the top of the stairs and extended a hand to Sally, who took it gratefully. “Who, Abe?” Robert snorted as he escorted her down the hall. “I suppose so. He’s always been a bit fidgety, even when he was a boy.” Robert paused in front of a door before leaning in closer to Sally. “You know he was General Woodhull’s first cousin, right?”

  “The one who was killed in the Battle of Long Island?”

  Robert nodded before he unlocked the door. “This will be your room. I’m right next door if you need me.” He walked in and set Sally’s portmanteau on the bed.

  She followed him into the simply furnished room. A single bed covered with a blue and white quilt was placed in the middle of the room while a desk was tucked into the corner, beneath a small window. Sally walked to the window to look out onto Queen Street. Robert came to stand beside her. He pointed below. “That’s the shop I run.”

  Sally stood on tiptoes to get a better look. “Burgin’s Wares? Who is Burgin?”

  “That was the previous owner, Jonathan Burgin.”

  “The widow’s husband, then?”

  Robert’s hand dropped to his side before he replied, “Yes.”

  “I’d like to meet Mrs. Burgin,” Sally told him.

  His face had taken on his usual inscrutable expression. “Of course. I believe she was invited to the ball tonight.”

  Sally pulled a pair of satin gloves out of her bag. “Who is giving this ball, anyway?”

  “Mr. James Rivington.”

  “Rivington?” Sally asked indignantly. She thought back to the comment the soldier had made at the checkpoint. “Are you writing for his paper now?”

  “Yes.”

  So much for the end of his Tory sympathizing, Sally thought, which reminded her: “Oh, Robert, I almost forgot to tell you the most important information!”

  “What is it?”

  She told him about the beacons she had spotted on her ride.

  He swiveled his head from side to side, as if to check that the room was still empty. “Sally, you mustn't go gallivanting around, spying on the British. You could be arrested, or, worse yet, Papa could be blamed for your crimes!”

  “Papa?” The thought had never occurred to her that she would place any of her family in danger.

  “And did you actually make it to Jacob Townsend’s with these preserves you promised?”

  “No,” Sally said sullenly.

  Robert sat on the bed. “A cover is one of the most important pieces of what you were doing. If you’d told, say Major Green, that you were dropping off the preserves and he asked Jacob the next day about them, that would reveal your culpability straightaway.”

  Sally sat next to her brother and contemplated what he had said. It was just like him to reprimand her when she was only trying to help. After a moment of silence she asked, “Do you find the information about the beacons useful?”

  Robert, his expression unchanged, nodded. “I do believe that is helpful.” He stood up. “I’m going to get ready for tonight.” He stopped halfway to the door and turned around. “Try not to put anyone off with your rebel banter, would you please?”

  “Why, dearest brother,” Sally pulled off a glove and waved her bare hand at him. “I would never.”

  Robert narrowed his eyes. “You would indeed.” He folded his arms in front of him. “One thing you should remember, Sal. We are not betrayed by what we feel inside. It’s what we express to others that may be viewed as deceitful.” With that, he left the room, leaving his sister to ponder his meaning. Did he mean that his Tory views that seemed so deceitful to her were only a ruse? Or was it more of a caution, that she should curb her rebel views around his Loyalist friends? Typical Robert, she thought as she unpacked her things. He doesn’t speak much, but when it does, his words usually have a double meaning.

  “Why are we here?” Sally asked, peering out at the street. The coach Robert hired to escort them to the party had stopped in front of his store.

  “This is where Mrs. Burgin lives,” he replied, opening the door. “I offered to pick her up as she no longer owns a carriage. Would you like to meet her?”

  “Surely,” Sally said eagerly, taking his proffered hand.

  As soon as they were introduced, Mrs. Burgin asked Sally to call her by her first name. Elizabeth’s apartment, like her dress, was simple but dignified. She wore bronze damask with a linen petticoat and matching fichu. In contrast to Sally’s blue brocaded gown that was strewn with yellow roses, the only flourish on Elizabeth’s dress was a small burgundy bow that fastened the fichu to her bodice.

  “Would you like a glass of sherry?” Elizabeth asked Sally, who accepted without hesitation.

  Glass in hand, she wandered to the ornate tile fireplace in the living room. It seemed out of place in the otherwise sparsely decorated apartment.

  “My late husband designed it,” Elizabeth said, coming to stand beside Sally. “Long before the war, he liked to show off his wealth.”

  Sally smiled. “My papa was the same way.”

  Robert had seated himself at the kitchen table and Elizabeth and Sally joined him. Sally filled Robert in on the family’s comings and goings. Elizabeth listened, periodically asking questions. Sally decided that Elizabeth was exactly the kind of woman she pictured Robert marrying: warm, stately, and generous.

  As Sally brought up Audrey’s upcoming wedding, Robert appeared agitated, taking a long sip of the claret he’d been d
rinking.

  “To whom is your sister betrothed?” Elizabeth asked Sally.

  “A man named James Farley,” Sally replied. “He was a captain on the merchant boat with our brother Solomon in London. Captain Farley returned to America when Solomon fled to France. Solomon met Benjamin Franklin there,” Sally could not help the pride from entering her voice.

  “A man we would all like to meet,” Elizabeth said, keeping her eyes on the table.

  “Indeed.” Robert rose from his chair. “Are you ladies ready to leave?”

  Chapter 34

  Meg

  December 1777

  James Rivington was a good Loyalist contact for Meg and Mercy as his newspaper was extremely influential over the prominent Tory population of New York. Rivington himself was backed by his British officer supporters, who often wined and dined him in order to see their names printed in the Gazette.

  Rivington was hosting a party in the tavern above his newest business venture: a coffee shop on Queen Street not far from the print shop. It was easy for Meg and Mercy to get invitations, given that Hercules was a regular at Rivington’s coffee shop in order to meddle with the British officers who frequented there.

  Upon arriving at the party, Meg spotted Robert Townsend amongst the sea of redcoated men and bejeweled women. He was deep in conversation with two women, one a stunning young maiden with copper-colored hair and the other appearing slightly older than her companion, with brown hair.

  Mercy headed straight for their direction. “Robert!” she exclaimed before curtsying. She turned to the brunette. “And Elizabeth! I trust you are suitably recovered from your ordeal?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “We all made it through, thanks to Dr. McKnight.” Her face lit up in a friendly smile that softened her features. “How is Dr. McKnight?”

  Mercy cast a glance at Meg, who gave her a puzzled look. “Fine, thank you.”

  “Mrs. Coghlan and Mrs. Litchfield, I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Sally,” Robert cut in, indicating the copper beauty.

  Sally curtsied toward each of the women in turn. “Pleased to meet you both.”

  “And you as well.” Mercy returned the curtsy. “Your dress is beautiful,” she said, admiring Sally’s blue brocade. She turned back to Robert. “Where is your handsome brother William tonight?”

  Robert shrugged. “Who knows? William keeps his own counsel.”

  Sally nodded vigorously.

  Rivington sidled up to the coterie. “Townsend!” He extended his hand toward Sally. “You never told me how beautiful your sister is.”

  Robert turned to face him. “Of course not,” he replied as Mercy gave a tittering laugh.

  Sally stuck her hand out, a bit reluctantly, Meg thought as Rivington kissed it.

  “Have you heard the good news?” Rivington asked the group. As they shook their heads, Rivington continued, “Robert’s decided to become a partner in the coffee shop!”

  Meg cast her eyes around the little circle. It was Sally’s turn to look puzzled. A frown darkened her exquisite face while Elizabeth tried to mask her expression by taking a sip from a crystal goblet. Only Mercy moved forward to congratulate Robert.

  “Come, Robert. William Cunningham is here. I want to introduce you to him.” Rivington put an arm over Robert’s shoulders to lead him over to a heavy-set man in a frumpy coat.

  “Cunningham,” Sally spat out as soon as the gentlemen were out of earshot. “The provost of prisoners? I hear he sells their provisions to pay off his drinking debts.”

  “At any rate, he’s the one who executed Nathan Hale,” Elizabeth stated.

  At the mention of the spy’s name, four pairs of eyes glanced at Robert Townsend and then each woman quickly focused on different points in the room: Elizabeth on her hands, Sally on the refreshment table, and Meg on Mercy, whose eyes were, in turn, on the floor in front of her.

  “How can Robert associate with either one of them?” Sally asked. “They are both such vile human beings. I have half a mind to go over there.”

  She gathered up her skirts, but Elizabeth put a gently restraining hand on Sally’s arm. “As your brother might say, a silent mouth means an open ear,” she told the younger woman.

  Meg saw the wave of understanding come over Sally’s face. She didn’t know, Meg thought. She might have suspected that her brother had another side to him, but she didn’t fully grasp that he was a spy. Until now.

  Without speaking, each woman took one step closer, isolating the group even further from the rest of the party.

  “When will your next run to the Jersey take place?” Mercy turned to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth cast a glance out toward the harbor, but the window had fogged from the heat the hundreds of candles had created. “As of late, the supply trips to the prison ships have been hampered by the ice over the harbor.”

  Mercy nodded consolingly. “I understand. And I’m sure the prisoners do too.”

  “The Jersey?” Sally broke in. “What business do you have with the prison ships?”

  Mercy touched Elizabeth’s hand briefly. “Elizabeth brings supplies to the fallen men who have been captured.”

  Sally turned a wondrous face to Elizabeth. “How very brave of you. I’ve heard of the tragic conditions aboard those ships, no thanks to that man.” She nodded at Cunningham, still in conversation with her brother and Rivington. Robert’s face was stern, but his eyes revealed no contempt for the two men next to him. “They say they are purposely starved and are shot on sight if they even think about speaking out against the King.” She paused before continuing, her voice deepening with emotion, “I wish I could do more for the war effort than sew uniforms.” She looked up, her lips pursed as if she longed to say more. Meg avoided her eyes by staring at the floor. She had the distinct feeling that each woman in the circle was contributing to the cause in their own, secret way. Including her.

  “They introduced you as Mrs. Litchfield,” Sally finally ended the silence that had enveloped them. “Where is Mr. Litchfield?”

  “Major Litchfield is no longer with us,” Mercy stated evenly.

  “I am a widow as well,” Elizabeth said, her smooth voice filling the awkward void that followed Mercy’s reply. “My husband was captured at Long Island. He was stationed with General Woodhull at Jamaica Pass and then died aboard the prison ships.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so sorry,” Sally declared. To change the subject, she added, “I met General Woodhull’s cousin the other day.”

  “Abraham,” Mercy said. “I know of him.”

  “Quite a small world we live in,” Sally continued, her voice echoing Mercy’s cryptic tone.

  Meg had stopped listening. Her heart, it seemed, had only just begun to beat again and she could feel the heat rise in her face. “If you will excuse me,” she said as she rushed through the double doors that led to an outside terrace. Shivering, she enveloped her arms around herself.

  “Meg!” Mercy burst through the doors, frightening Meg, whose heart was still racing, even further. “What are you doing out here?”

  Meg turned to her friend with tears in her eyes. “Elizabeth’s husband died at Jamaica Pass.”

  Mercy nodded before moving closer. “There are many that died there. Too many.”

  Meg turned toward the view of Manhattan that the balcony offered. She grasped the handrail, putting her heeled feet between the posts, and leaned over. I could fall right now, she thought. Would anyone even mourn?

  Mercy put her hand on Meg’s arm and pulled her down. “Meg, what are you doing?”

  With her feet now back on solid footing, Meg’s tears spilled over. “Oh, Mercy, I am so ashamed.”

  Mercy led her away from view of the windows into the darkness of the terrace. “Meg?”

  Meg, desperate to tell anyone, even if she knew it might put her in danger, finally erupted. She told Mercy the whole story, how she’d overheard General Putnam discussing Jamaica Pass with Aaron and then told General Howe about it. She even d
ivulged the part about the fortifications and Thomas Walcott.

  “Meg, it’s all right,” Mercy said when Meg had finished. Mercy rubbed her friend’s arm. “We all do bungle-headed things for love.”

  “Yes, but most do not get other people killed.” Meg shrugged off Mercy’s embrace to once again brace her body on the railing. “What if Aaron had died? I never would have forgiven myself. It’s bad enough that a woman inside that tavern is a widow because of me.”

  Mercy moved to stand beside her. “You cannot accept the blame for this. The British might have already learned of Jamaica Pass through several sources and yours was only a confirmation, notwithstanding the mismanagement by the Americans to leave it so unguarded. This is not your fault.”

  Meg stared out at the landscape below. “I’m done,” she said finally. “I’m finished spying.”

  Meg assumed her headstrong friend would try to convince her not to quit. She did not expect Mercy to reply, in a hardly audible voice, “I’m done, too.”

  Meg turned to peer at her in the dim light. “What do you mean?”

  “That doctor Elizabeth mentioned earlier. Dr. McKnight. He has proposed to me.”

  “And you love him?” Meg asked, biting back a twinge of jealousy.

  Mercy nodded. “He is a Patriot and cares for our sick and wounded.”

  Meg raised her chin, not needing her friend to say any more. There was no way for Mercy to maintain her Loyalist contacts if she were to marry a rebel doctor.

  “That’s why I wanted to introduce you to Elizabeth,” Mercy continued. “She is of our nature. But how could I have known…” Mercy, unsure of how to finish her sentence, knew her friend recognized her innocence in that matter. She put an arm around Meg. “Come inside, now. It’s freezing out here.”

  Chapter 35

  Elizabeth

  January 1778

  The winter of 1777-78 was one of the harshest Elizabeth could remember. Robert was unable to return to Oyster Bay in time for Christmas, and Elizabeth invited him to spend the holiday with her and the children. He bought them a wooden rocking horse, to the delight of all three. They exhausted themselves playing with it, and, as Abby put them down to bed, someone knocked at the front door.