She slid onto the edge of a chair, pulled her shawl around her more closely and folded her hands into her lap.
“Thank you for coming tonight, are you comfortable, Lady Fitzpatrick?”
“Yes, I am, thank you,” she replied trying to look past the candles. “But gentlemen, please call me Lady Allen. I prefer to use that alias from now on.”
“Very well,” Calleigh replied.
The man with the gravelly voice said, “Lady Allen, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alden Quincy. We are anxious to hear what you thought of tonight’s meeting.”
India put her fist to her lips and looked down to gather her thoughts. She wanted to be diplomatic, but what she had to say was not flattering. “I have much to learn about life here in the American Colonies. I have much to learn about this revolution. It is not like my country. I look around, and I do not see the same abuses. I listen and do not hear the same words. It is not a fight to which I am accustomed.”
“The fight is the same. It is about freedom,” Calleigh said tersely.
“You Calleigh, of all people, should know it is not the same.”
Calleigh’s jaw tightened. He knew what she meant. She thought they did not suffer enough here in the Colonies.
“Lady Allen,” said one of the officers. “You heard the grievances. Surely you think we are justified?”
India did not want to answer that question. Instead she asked, “How do you intend to fight the British?”
“There is talk in Philadelphia of organizing an army,” one of them replied.
India rubbed her temples. She was frustrated, and felt like she was dealing with small children. “You realize that you are taking on the most powerful--”
“We do,” interrupted Calleigh. “And yes, we will fail if we confront them only on the battlefield. That is why we are forming this partisan operation.”
India sighed and said nothing. She looked up through the lacerated roof at the moon then back down at the candlelight blazing before her. She could not commit to this fight. These rebels are nothing more than spoiled children. They know no hardships. They know no suffering. I will leave the Brandywine Valley in the morning.
“Gentlemen, what would you like from me?”
“To help us win this war,” Calleigh said.
She knew they were not going to like her views, but they must know the truth. Taking a deep breath she said, “You need to completely overhaul your operation.”
There was a long silence. She continued. “First and foremost these men came to this meeting tonight filled with rage against Great Britain. They were charged with energy and emotion and you failed to harness that power and channel it into productive action. You talked, you discussed, and you adjourned. No plans were made for strikes or raids, no activity was planned.”
India sighed and continued. “I could not help but notice that you borrowed the strategy of cloaked figures from the White Shirt Boys of Ireland. That is a fine idea, but disguise is needed only when you conduct a raid. Guarding the anonymity of your members is not necessary during meetings. In fact it is detrimental.”
“But it is dangerous to share one’s identity,” said Quincy.
“Only for perhaps a few of the leaders, your men must be able to see each other and trust each other. They must be able to identify each other by sight to share information, to keep each other safe and for fraternity.”
“But what of informants?” one of them asked.
“Kill them. You must establish protocol for dealing with them, and it must be brutal.”
Calleigh was mesmerized. This doughty Irish peasant delivered these words with the callous indifference of an executioner.
“Next you must fragment your operation,” India continued in a monotone voice. “A basic element of successful partisan warfare employs small groups striking with lightning speed and withdrawing quickly. The Indians here in the Americas have had great success with this technique. I suggest you emulate them.”
Calleigh narrowed his eyes, leaned forward and examined her demeanor. He believed she was actually bored.
“What of the strikes?” he asked.
India shrugged. “Use the advantage of your terrain. Take the high ground; hide in the trees, and above all take out the officers first. This absurd gentlemen’s agreement between European nations about not shooting officers is sentimental tripe. Kill them.”
India stood up, adjusting her shawl. “Gentlemen, I am weary. I must bid you good night.”
Calleigh’s eyebrows shot up. She was dismissing them.
Before he could open his mouth to comment, she added, “And one more thing. It is a grievous error not to include women in your operation. They are your most effective weapon. Employ women as spies, informants, couriers and especially marksmen. Women frequently are your best shots. The power of a female is always underestimated.”
A smile played around India’s lips and she said, “Let tonight be your first example. Good night, gentlemen.”
Chapter 19
The next morning, India shed her peasant disguise. The job here in the Brandywine Valley was done. She stepped out from behind the screen and adjusted the sleeves of her jacket and arranged her hood. It felt good to be back in a well-made gown. Although the burgundy Brunswick was a traveling gown it was made of fine fabric and had a smart cut. She stepped in front of the mirror and started to arrange a plumed traveling hat onto her head.
She noticed Phineas’ reflection in the looking glass. He was staring at her with his mouth open. Dropping her arms, she asked, “What is it, Phineas?”
The boy said nothing and he went back to stuffing souvenirs into his pack; rocks, a sling shot and several dead frogs.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked, and he nodded.
India swept down the stairs with Phineas behind her, dragging and thumping her heavy bag down each step. She didn’t care if the innkeeper saw her now as Lady Allen; the need to conceal her identity was over. Before she could reach the door, Mr. Muller dashed over and opened it for her. India nodded her head as thanks and stepped out just as the coach appeared on the road.
It was a bright autumn morning in the river valley and the brilliant splash of color from the trees was almost blinding. India squinted. It seemed as if the sunbeams had set the leaves on fire; the oranges, reds and yellows were so intense.
The coach thundered up to the inn and stopped. Phineas immediately scrambled up to the roof of the vehicle and sat down. The coachmen threw India’s bag up to him then opened the door for her. On one side of the compartment was an elderly woman accompanied by her adult son and his two daughters, on the other side a middle aged Swedish couple sat with a young gentleman who was traveling alone. India greeted them and sat down beside the young man.
She settled in, arranging her skirts and sat back, planning to use the journey to Philadelphia to decide where to go from here. India sighed with relief. It was good to be leaving that wreck of an operation Calleigh had established. She believed it was destined to fail just like the entire American Revolution.
As they approached the Brandywine River ferry, her thoughts turned to her future. At least money was not an issue. India could feel her purse tucked down into her bodice, and she knew her jewels were safe in the hollowed out heel of her boot. She was grateful for Phineas as well. He was a valuable resource for her. He had first-hand knowledge of the ways of the streets, and he was good company. Between the two of them they would decide the best course of action for their future.
Just before they reached the bridge the coach stopped abruptly. The passengers looked at each other bewildered. They were not near a town, and there was no inn in sight. Suddenly the door flew open, and a young man with a scarf covering his nose and mouth pointed a pistol at them. He wore a dark three cornered hat tipped low over his forehead and barked, “Stand and deliver!”
The elderly woman screamed and the young girls gaped at the bandit with wide eyes. Their father cried, “What insole
nce is this!”
Everyone was stunned. No one moved. Suddenly, the young gentleman sitting next to India poked a pistol into her ribs and demanded, “Your firearm, Madam.”
India looked at him with surprise. How could he know about her pistol? She knew then that this was no garden variety highway robbery. This was Calleigh’s doing. The first bandit started yanking passengers out onto the road. India handed over her weapon and climbed out. She spotted Phineas standing under a tree, his eyes like saucers and grin on his face.
“Get over here!” she said, yanking him to her side. She knew these outlaws impressed him, and it irritated her. The men lined up the passengers and began collecting their valuables. The Swedish couple looked terrified. Even though it was in another language, India could tell the couple was pleading for mercy, but it was unnecessary. This was not about robbery.
When they got to India, they saw the ribbon dangling around her neck and asked to see what she concealed in her bodice. She pulled the purse out and handed it to them without comment.
As the outlaws continued to search the passengers, India saw a man on a horse, overseeing everything from high ground. He was in a charcoal-colored coat, britches and boots. He too wore a scarf over his face with a tricorne hat pulled low over his forehead.
Suddenly, he kicked his steed and sped down the hill toward India. The sound of his hooves startled the bandits, and they turned their pistols on him and then relaxed. When he reached India, he snapped the reins up, spattering her skirts with mud. She did not move or acknowledge the insult from him. Instead she held her head high, looking him in the face. The man’s dark eyes grew wide with amazement at the sight of her. He scrutinized her from the plume of her traveling hat down to the toes of her boots. Blinking several times, he turned suddenly to his men and jerked his head, signaling for them to leave.
“Thank you one and all for your donations to the rebel cause,” called the first bandit as the other one handed passengers into the coach.
The coachmen climbed back up to their posts, and Phineas started to scramble up the side of the vehicle. The gentleman bandit from the coach reached up and lifted him off putting him at India’s side, along with her bag. They waved for the driver to depart and India and Phineas were left behind.
The men pushed them into the woods and up a hill. The man who had splashed India waited there with horses. As India mounted, the man leaned down and pulled Phineas into the saddle in front of him. Phineas turned around and looked at him. Even though the man’s face was covered Phineas could see his eyes were smiling.
He lowered his scarf and said to India in Gaelic, “Lady Allen, it pains me to think you would leave me without saying goodbye.”
India was stunned. Could this ruffian be Quinn Calleigh? She ran her eyes over him. He was much younger and darker than she had imagined. She had pictured an older more distinguished gentleman, not this unrefined Irishman of low birth. She looked away.
He pushed the hat back on his head. Even though his black hair was tied back, several damp curls slipped out onto his forehead. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and said, “Ah, the Ice Queen. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Why are you detaining me?” she asked curtly.
“Because you owe me money. Last night’s consultation was not enough to repay your passage. Indentured servants work seven years to pay for their passage to the Colonies. Why should it be free for you?”
“If this is about money, I can get you money,” she said, her eyes turning an icy blue.
He chuckled, “Your expertise is what I need, darlin’, and you will deliver.”
He kicked his horse and they rode off down the deer path deep into the woods. Riding hard at first they slowed eventually to a walk in single file along a ridge overlooking the river. The sun shining through the trees dappled the path with light.
“What’s your name, boy?” Quinn asked Phineas.
“Phineas Martin Pierpoint.”
Quinn chuckled. “With a name like that, you must be related to George the third.”
Phineas shrugged and said, “Maybe.” He saw squirrels hopping through the underbrush and noticed how loud they were scampering through the dry leaves. He wished he had his sling shot.
“Are you hungry, lad?” Calleigh asked.
“Yes, where are we going?” the boy said, looking up at the man.
“To a mill not far from here. The mistress there will make you eggs and johnnycake. You like johnnycake?”
“I do!”
The sun was growing hot and Quinn took off his hat and put it on Phineas’ head. The boy grinned and pushed it back onto his forehead. It covered half his back.
Quinn turned around in his saddle to look at India. She was looking down at the river, scowling. “You enjoying the view?” he called.
She ignored him.
“Does your mistress ever smile,” he asked Phineas.
“Not much. She doesn’t laugh either.”
“Aye,” agreed Calleigh shaking his head. “She is a sour one.”
There was a fork in the path and the group stopped. Calleigh picked up Phineas under the arms and passed him to the bandit who had been in the coach. “Take him down to the Quincy place and get him something to eat,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
The men continued to follow the ridge with Phineas as Calleigh dismounted. “Get off,” he said to India. “You and I walk from here.’
Frowning, India dismounted, slung her skirts over her arm and took the reins of her horse. She followed Calleigh down an overgrown trail which leveled off by the water. He waited for her and they walked side by side, their horses trailing behind them.
“You surprised me when you tried to leave, Lady Allen. I didn’t take you for a thief.”
India looked at him. “I didn’t take you for a highwayman, Mr. Calleigh.”
He laughed. “It was wonderful being a ‘Knight of the Road’ again this morning. It is what I did in Kildare before they ran me out. It was my small way of contributing to the repparees in Ireland.”
“Oh I am sure your motives were pure,” India said in a voice heavy with sarcasm.
Quinn lifted his hat and scratched his head. “I admit it was lucrative especially when I was married to the fence.”
“Your wife sold the stolen goods?”
“Indeed,” he said, smiling roguishly at her.
When he looked away, India ran her eyes over Calleigh, noting his dark skin. The gypsy blood runs in his veins, she thought.
Quinn led them down to the river so the horses could drink. The animals dipped their heads and slurped the water eagerly. India noticed a rope swing on a branch overhanging the river. She reached out and touched it.
“That probably belongs to the Quincy children,” Calleigh observed. “It looks like fun. Phineas would like it. Is he your boy?”
“No, we met on the quay in Philadelphia,” she explained.
“Where are his people?”
India shrugged. “They are gone. He refuses to talk about it.”
India watched the water washing over the rocks and the colored leaves riding past on the current. Suddenly, she looked at Quinn and asked, “How do you know I won’t run away again?”
Calleigh’s eyebrows shot up and he said, “Ah, I have something that you will not get back until I have your word that you will stay and finish the job.”
“And what would that be?” she asked thinking of her purse.
“Your little friend, Phineas.”
India frowned. A breeze loosened several strands of hair blowing them across her face. She pushed the hair back impatiently and looked out at the river. She knew these winds would turn cold soon, followed by heavy snows. Even if he surrendered Phineas and they left now, travel would be difficult.
With an exasperated sigh she said, “It is under protest, but you have my word. I will stay until spring, no longer.”
“Done,” said Quinn with a smile. India wondered if she should h
ave driven a harder bargain.
Everything seemed so amusing to him. “Are you serious about anything?” she asked.
Calleigh shrugged, gathered the reins and started down the path with India walking beside him. “I am serious about this rebellion,” he said.
They followed a bend in the river and crossed an old wooden bridge. India could see a house through the trees. As he started up the path, he said, “I know you think we don’t suffer enough here to merit a revolution.”
“That is correct,” agreed India without apology.
He stopped abruptly and faced her. This time there was no smile on his face, no twinkle in his eye. “This is our last chance, Lady Allen. Here is where the Irish can be free. Here is our future. I know you think our operation will fail. Of course it is a shambles right now but why summon you if we did not need help?”
“So you suggest we give up on Ireland?” India asked. “Abandon our moors, our coastlines, our green valleys for this land, this new revolution?”
“Is that what you think I am asking? Did I give up on Ireland?” he asked.
India looked into his eyes, remembering the vast amounts of money that he channeled into their rebellion.
“If we overthrow the British here,” he continued. “It will be the first link broken in Great Britain’s chain of bondage throughout the world. We may not see it in our lifetime, but we will set the wheels in motion to free Ireland someday.”
India did not like what he was saying, yet she was listening. It was painful to acknowledge that the rebellion in her homeland was over, but after months of agony she had accepted it.
India turned her back on Calleigh. Can I endure another struggle? Can I lose myself again in another crusade?
When she turned back to him, he had his answer. He smiled broadly and said, “I will send couriers out tonight to say that you have accepted.”
“Couriers?” she questioned. “Why not announce it at the next meeting?”
“Lady Allen, I don’t believe you understand. The undertaking is not just for this settlement. You and I will be leading the entire partisan operation for the thirteen American Colonies.”
The Sword of the Banshee Page 15