My Lady of Doubt

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER XXIV

  I UNCOVER CAPTAIN GRANT

  The thicket was sufficiently dense to conceal us from the man, whoremained standing at the foot of the steps. He was but a mere darkshadow, and I could not even distinguish that he was a soldier, yet thedanger of his presence was sufficiently great, for should he advance tothe right he would come upon Grant's unconscious form, and in thatsilence the slightest noise might arouse suspicion. Mistress Claire stillclung to my hand, but only to whisper a sentence of instruction.

  "Go straight north, Major, until you reach the hedge; follow the shadowof that beyond the orchard, and then take the road running westward.Don't mount until you reach there--good-bye."

  "Good-bye, you will not forget me?"

  "I--I am afraid not, but--but you must go!"

  I left her standing there, a faint gleam of white against the darkshrubbery, motionless. Grasping the bit of the horse I picked my courseslowly across the lawn, watchful that the intervening thicket hid mymovements, the soft carpet of grass muffling every sound. We reached thehedge,--a high, impassable barrier to further progress in that direction,but here the shadows were sufficiently dense for us to proceed faster,with little peril of discovery. There were no sounds of alarm from thehouse, by this time barely visible, but we continued on a walk until theorchard was skirted, and I felt beneath my feet the ruts of a roadrunning east and west. I waited long enough to adjust the stirrups, whichwere too short, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. The housecould no longer be seen, and the night was quiet as a grave. What hadbecome of Claire? Was she still hiding at the edge of the thicket, or hadshe found means of attaining shelter within the house? It was useless tospeculate, and I could better serve her by going my way. I swung up intothe saddle, and the horse broke into a lope.

  There is no incident of that night's ride which I recall distinctly. Imerely pushed on steadily through the darkness, leaving my mount tochoose his own course, confident we were headed toward the river. I wassufficiently acquainted with the valley of the Delaware, when daylightcame, to decide upon the nearest ford. As to the British patrols I mustrun the risk of dodging these, but felt safe from such an encounter forseveral hours. In truth I met no one, having no occasion to even drawrein, although we passed through two small villages, and by a number offarms. I could not even determine that these houses were occupied; theywere dark and silent, even the galloping hoofs of my horse failing toawaken response.

  As the feeling of security took possession of me, my mind returned to herwhom I had just left. As I had kissed her, as I had heard her lips repeatthe words I had insisted upon her saying, it had all seemed real. But nowthat I was no longer looking into her eyes, I began to doubt andquestion. Had she assented merely to appease me, merely to compel me toleave her? She had said as much, almost denied caring for me, openlystated that there was between us an impassable barrier. At the time, inthe spell of her presence, all this had meant merely a girlish spirit ofcoquetry; it had seemed to me her eyes denied her lips, and gave mecourage. But now, alone under the stars, and riding away from her, thisassurance deserted me, and I began to doubt. Why should I have hoped? Wehad met in ways which made intimacy inevitable, and yet the girl hadspoken no word which I could presume to interpret into love. She hadtrusted me with her friendship, and was in no way responsible for my moreserious thoughts. I could not recall one word, or act, on her part, thatwould give me any right to think that she cared for me, except as anacquaintance and friend. Through sympathy she might have served anyfugitive with the same loyalty shown me. Surely she could not have lovedme in Philadelphia, when we met for the first time, and yet, even then,she had risked everything to aid my escape. She had done no moresince--all might have arisen from the same impersonal motive. But whatcould that motive be? A mere love of adventure, the reckless audacity ofyouthful spirits, a secret sympathy with the cause of the Colonies, or adesire to outwit Grant? I could not believe her purpose unworthy, thatshe would sink her womanhood into mere trickery. She disliked Grant,despised him as she had just cause, yet it was not to anger him that shehad helped me. Somewhere there was a reason, and a valid one, for heraction.

  And, on the other hand, what could make it impossible for her to confessthe truth? A love for some one else? It was not Grant, at least, and noother name had ever been mentioned. She insisted that she was a sham, afraud; that when I really knew her I might despise her. She had notspoken this as a joke, but in sober earnestness. What could be themeaning? I had suggested that she was a British spy, and she had made nodenial, and yet it was impossible to believe such a charge true. All Ihad witnessed of her acts would seem rather to connect her with theColonies. Yet there were matters unexplained--the mysterious nightriding, the attack on me, and my first night's imprisonment at Elmhurst.No attempt had been made to clear up these affairs, and I might construethem as I pleased. Yet there was nothing convincing, as I knew not howfar Eric might be concerned. Perhaps all that appeared strange about theconduct of the sister could be explained by a few moments' conversationwith the brother. I determined to search him out as soon as I was safelywithin the lines, and hear his story.

  It was already daylight when I arrived at this conclusion, and, in thegray desolation of dawn, drew up on the bluff summit to gaze down intothe river valley. It was a scene of quiet beauty, reflecting little ofthe ravages of war. My vantage of height gave me a wide vista, embracingthe silvery stream, and a long stretch of meadow land, dotted withfarmhouses, and intersected by roads. In the middle distance smallvillages faced each other across the stream, and toward these most of theroads converged,--proof of the existence of a ford. I could not bemistaken as to the town--Burlington on the Jersey shore, and oppositeBristol. I should be safe enough in the latter, even if we had no outpoststationed there. I knew homes along those shaded streets, where foodwould be forthcoming, and where I could probably procure a fresh horse.It was the nearer town, nestled on the Jersey bank, that I studied withthe greatest care, but, so far as I could see, the single street wasdeserted. To the south, certainly two miles away, a squadron of horsewere riding slowly, surrounded by a cloud of dust. Without doubt this wasthe British patrol that had left the village at daybreak.

  It was a hot, close morning, and the padded Ranger's coat heavy andtight-fitting. I took it off, flinging it across the saddle pommel. As Idid so a folded paper came into view, and I drew it forth, curiously. Myeye caught the signature at the bottom of a brief note, and I stared atit in surprise. Fagin! How came Fagin to be writing to Captain Grant? Hepretended to be a Tory to be sure, yet both armies knew him as amurderous outlaw, plundering loyalists and patriots alike. There came tome a memory of Farrell's chance remark that Grant had some connectionwith this fellow's marauding. I had not seriously considered it then, butnow--why, possibly it was true. I read the lines almost at a glance,scarcely comprehending at first, and then suddenly realized the basevillainy revealed:

  "Have the money and papers, but the girl got away. Will wait for you atLone Tree to-night. Don't fail, for the whole country will be after me assoon as the news gets out about Elmhurst. _Fagin_."

  So that was the reason for this raid--Grant's personal affair. He hadreturned to Elmhurst, leaving his men to trudge on into Philadelphiaunder their Hessian officers so that he might communicate with Fagin. Hehad contrived to get Colonel Mortimer to detail him, after the maincolumn had been started on a false trail, and then he had left his detailto another, and rode alone to the rendezvous at Lone Tree. There,doubtless, he had received Fagin's report, with the papers whatever theywere, and then returned to Elmhurst, determined to force his will withthe girl. What had happened then I knew well, for I had been part of it.What a pity it was I had failed to kill the fellow, instead of leavinghim unconscious.

  The papers! Perhaps they were in the coat also. Surely Grant had no timeto change or destroy them, as he must have ridden directly to Elmhurst. Isearched the pockets of the garment hastily, finding a note or two, hisorders to escort Delavan, and a small p
acket tied securely by a cord. Ifelt no hesitancy in opening this, and ascertaining its contents. Thelines I read hastily seemed to blur before my eyes; I could barelycomprehend their purport. Little by little I grasped the meaning of itall, and then my mind leaped to recognition of Grant's purpose. They werenotes of instruction, brief orders, suggestions, memoranda, such as mightbe issued to a secret agent greatly trusted. These were addressed simply"Mortimer," many unsigned, others marked by initials, but I instantlyrecognized the handwriting of Washington, Hamilton, and Lee. Withoutquestion this packet was the property of Eric Mortimer, but why had theboy preserved these private instructions, covering months of operations,I should judge, although scarcely one was dated? And what caused them tobe of such value to Captain Grant?

  The answer came in a flash of suspicion--the Colonel. He could bethreatened with them, blackmailed, disgraced before Sir Henry Clinton,driven from his command. They were addressed merely to "Mortimer,"discovered at Elmhurst, and were sufficient to convict of treason. It wasa fiendish plot, well conceived, and Grant was fully capable of carryingit out to the end. I could realize what the possession of these papersmeant to him--military advancement, a distribution of the Mortimer estatein which he would doubtless share, and a fresh hold on Claire whereby hecould terrify the girl into accepting him.

  I stood there in uncertainty, turning these papers over and over in myhands, striving to determine my duty. Should I return to Elmhurst? To doso would only bring me into renewed peril, and would apparently benefitno one. Without this packet Grant was helpless to injure ColonelMortimer. As to Claire, Seldon would protect her for the present, and assoon as the father returned, he would doubtless compel her to accompanyhim back to Philadelphia. The best service I could render was to destroythese notes, and then seek out Eric Mortimer, in Lee's camp, and tell himthe whole story. All that any one could do now was to warn the Mortimersagainst Grant, to let them know his treachery, and this could be bestaccomplished through Eric. Although in different armies, striving againsteach other in the field, there must still exist some means ofcommunication between father and son, or, if not, then between brotherand sister.

  With flint and steel I built a small fire of leaves in a cleft beside theroad, and fed to the flames one by one the papers from the packet,glancing over each one again to make sure of its contents; all wereaddressed alike, simply "Mortimer," but upon two I found the word"Elmhurst." It was easy to see how the discovery of such communicationswould tempt an unscrupulous scoundrel like Grant to use them to injureanother, and win his own end, but why had that young Eric failed todestroy them as soon as received?

  When the last paper had been reduced to ashes, I stamped out the embersof fire under my boot heel, and, with lighter heart, rode down the hilltoward the ford.