Whispers from the Shadows

by Roseanna M. White

  Thad stood at the familiar voice that came from Tallmadge’s office door. Senator Samuel Smith was one of the few politicians Tallmadge trusted enough to work with on matters of intelligence—and he was also the general who had been given charge of Baltimore’s defenses. “General, how good to see you.”

  Tallmadge appeared behind Smith’s shoulder and waved Thad and Arnaud in. “I didn’t dare hope you would be home already. Sam and I were discussing how to implement some of our ideas.”

  The general stepped aside to let them enter. “We will need to call upon your resources, to be sure. Arnaud, good to see you again.”

  Thad sat down in his usual chair as his friend responded in kind. Tallmadge perched on the edge of his desk. “Your trip was a success?”

  He filled them in on the numbers he had observed, the fact that with their addition, the British’s Chesapeake fleet would swell to fifty ships. And finally Cochrane and Ross’s inclination to allow Cockburn his way in regard to attacking Washington.

  Smith nodded throughout. “Not as many as we feared, honestly. And no surprise as to their target.”

  Thad leaned forward. “Can Washington be readied, do you think?”

  Tallmadge snorted. “With Secretary Jones stymieing our efforts at every turn and General Winder being always undermined by him? I have my doubts, though we will pray Winder overcomes political resistance. But if by chance the British succeed, if Washington falls, we must have our next step planned out.”

  Thad nodded even as his pulse kicked up. The plan they had already discussed as a possibility. “Lure them to Baltimore.”

  “Which will be ready for them.” Smith folded his arms as he made the pronouncement, his steel-gray hair and firm jaw daring anyone to argue. “The mayor backs my plan entirely, and I am ready to enact it at a moment’s notice. We will rally every man, slave and free, and put him to work. We will fortify, we will dig trenches, we will drill. Every day, round the clock, the masters beside their servants.”

  “And we will not let them know we are doing it.” Tallmadge picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Thad. “These are the messages you are to plant, Mr. Culper.”

  He read them quickly, though they but provided details to what they had already decided. An article for the paper to falsely report that Baltimore was dreadfully unprepared. And other, slier messages to send by word of mouth reporting the Potomac force as weak and in trouble.

  “I have a few messengers in mind, and I am well acquainted with the editor at the Patriot. But sirs, they have their intelligencers too. The generals and admirals were talking of them in Bermuda. We must tread carefully.” With the thought that every step they took could make it to the ears of Cockburn, Cochrane, Ross.

  And then over the sea to Gates.

  “I know. Trust me, I know.” Tallmadge stood and paced to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “But our best defense against their scouts is what you already do for us—know everyone, watch everyone. And somehow convince the populace that they are our last, best line of defense.”

  Thad agreed, and he and Arnaud took their leave a few minutes later. But once they were outside the city again, surrounded by naught but chirping birds and open land, his friend looked over at him and asked the question weighing on Thad’s mind too.

  “How, exactly, are we to convince the populace of this?”

  The question that had been plaguing them since this blasted war broke out. How to move a languid people? How to unify a nation divided on so many issues? How to overcome a generation’s worth of lassitude when two years of war had not accomplished it already?

  Only one way came to mind. “Remember Hampton.”

  Arnaud sighed. “But we cannot wish, cannot plan for another such violent, cruel attack. We cannot hope that Washington will be the next Hampton.”

  “No. But we can be ready with the battle cry if our first defenses fail.” He urged Electra to go a little faster, eager to be home. To let all these matters simmer in the back of his mind and focus the fore of it on his evening with Gwyneth. “That is our best hope, Alain. That though their goal may be to crush our spirits, they have never understood them well enough to do so. The harder they hit us, the more we awake to fight. The stronger they press, the more we lash back.”

  Arnaud grinned. “Vive l’esprit américain.”

  Long live the American spirit indeed. And may the British never comprehend it.

  They rode in companionable silence for a while and then spoke of lighter things. Of Jack’s exploits during Thad’s absence, of Emmy’s return from Henry’s sister’s. Of the latest letter from Amelia, in which she shared that her husband had joined up with Hagerstown’s First Maryland Cavalry regiment, which they expected to be called to Washington’s defense.

  There it was again, that shadow of the war.

  By the time they parted ways at the corner of Thad’s street, his mind screamed for respite. Something to still the swirl of British army red and naval blue behind his eyes, the images of ships and flocks of soldiers.

  He led Electra round to the carriage house and stabled, brushed, and fed her. Then he headed inside, half expecting to find Gwyneth in the garden finishing her painting despite the afternoon slant to the sun.

  Mother was instead the first one he saw, and from the look in her eyes, she had been waiting for him. She greeted him with a finger on her lips and a motion for him to follow. Too curious to disobey even had he been so inclined, he tiptoed behind her up the stairs and into his parents’ chamber.

  “What is it?” he asked in a whisper when she shut the door behind them.

  She smiled and turned to her vanity. “I want to give you something. For Gwyneth, when the time is right.”

  Thad swallowed as she lifted the lid to her box of jewelry. She never wore much—the occasional necklace, and the ring Father had given her to mark their engagement. What could she possibly be willing to part with?

  His brows furrowed when she pulled out a necklace she had always reserved for the most special of occasions. A delicate strand of gold with three pearls upon it. Mother withdrew it with an almost reverent care, placing the pearls in her palm. “Do you remember the story of this necklace?”

  Apparently he should, but he had not even seen it in years, and why would a boy pay any heed to tales of such girlish things? He shook his head. “Only that it was your mother’s.”

  “The necklace itself, yes. The pearls came from a strand my grandparents had given me. I was wearing it the night Grandfather had me beaten and tossed to the streets. The night that could have been my end, had God not led me to Viney.”

  Viney he remembered—the pure-hearted prostitute who had saved Mother’s life, and who had later harbored Father when he was out spying on Benedict Arnold. “I recall that part of the tale.”

  Mother nodded and touched a finger to one of the pearls. “I gave her the necklace so that she could sell the pearls and have enough money to live on until the consumption took her home. When your Father later met her, she gave him what remained of them—these three.” She looked up now and caught Thad’s gaze. “That was the day he proposed, the day we realized our causes were not so different. The day he learned of the Culpers. And so this has always, in my mind, been a Culper necklace more than just a family one. It ought to go to you and Gwyneth.”

  Though part of him wanted to insist she keep it, the greater part recognized that this, too, was part of the mantle his parents had passed to him. A symbol of how beauty rested in a thing’s purpose. How God’s path could be found in the most unlikely of places.

  His fingers closed around the gift when she held it out. “I know it will mean as much to her as it does to me. When should I…?”

  Mother smiled, rested her palm against his cheek, and shook her head. “That, my darling boy, is for you to decide. But whenever you choose, know you have our blessing. We suspected as soon as she arrived that you two would be well suited. And so you are.”

  “Is that w
hat Father—Oh, I will never hear the end of this. For the rest of our lives, he will be crowing about how he knew from the start that we were meant for each other. He will try to claim it as some scientific deduction.”

  She chuckled, patted his cheek, and stepped away. “And you will smile, pull your beloved close, and let him crow.”

  “If I must.” He smiled now, pulled his mother close, and gave her a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “You are so very welcome, darling one. So very welcome.”

  They exited together, Thad slipping into his own chamber long enough to deposit the necklace in a box with his cufflinks. Mother waited in the hall, and they moved together toward the stairs. Her face had gone serious. “The war will reach us soon?”

  Perhaps some men would have tried to protect their matrons from that truth. His probably knew it before he did. “Within a fortnight, I would say.”

  “And you will be out drilling under Smith’s command soon, digging trenches and what have you. When they come, you will be in Fort McHenry.”

  Somehow hearing her state it so definitely… “Assuming that Tallmadge and Smith do not assign me elsewhere.”

  They reached the ground floor, and Mother stayed him with a hand on his arm. Her gaze was intent, insistent. “I cannot shake the feeling that while you must take a careful, well-considered course, you ought not dawdle upon it. ’Tisn’t a time to leave things undone. Too much is at stake, and too many stakes are easily lost in war.”

  Of what exactly was she speaking? Culper business or personal? Or some combination of the two? He would have asked, but voices came from down the hall, Father’s and Gwyneth’s and Philly’s. Mother made a quick motion. She took one hand from her mouth downward and touched it to her opposite fist.

  Promise.

  He could do nothing but nod as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. And wonder for what the Lord was steeling him.

  Gwyneth crowded around the map with the others, her heart racing in a strange sort of excitement. Captain Arnaud had dubbed himself the general of this campaign, the irony of which made them all smile. Of their assorted family members, from young Jack to arthritic Grandmama Caro, he, with his generous scowls, was the least likely to order them all out to spread cheer.

  Hence, she suspected, why he had volunteered. Now he struck the city map with a rod, indicating the quadrant nearest Thad’s house. “Grandmama and Bennet will take this section here. Urge everyone downtown that you can or, failing that, over to the Washington road. Winter, you and Rosie will pick up here and work your way westward. Philly and Reggie, get everyone out of the shops and into the streets. Gwyneth, you will be with me—”

  “Try it, General, and you will have a mutiny on your hands.” Thad delivered the line with a somber face, but amusement gleamed in his eyes.

  The same reflected in Captain Arnaud’s. “A general does not have a mutiny, you salty dog. Those only happen at sea.”

  “Then we shall call you Admiral instead. But Gwyn is with me, as you well know.”

  Arnaud loosed an overdone sigh. “Fine. Upstart sailor. As punishment, the two of you are in charge of making sure the band is in order and nearby on the streets. And who will go with me then?” He made a show of looking around as his son all but danced upon his chair, so high did he try to raise his hand. “No one? No one wants to go with me to the docks?”

  “Papa! Me!”

  Gwyneth laughed with the others as Arnaud exclaimed as if he had not seen the boy and then scooped him up. And she made no objection when Thad laced his fingers through hers. He had done so frequently the past two weeks, first at any excuse, then at fabricated ones, and finally without even that pretense.

  She shot him a warm smile in reward.

  “All right then, soldiers, you all know your orders. This is the most serious campaign you will likely ever undertake, and I expect you to treat it with dignity and respect.”

  Jack giggled and wrapped an arm around his father’s neck. “Papa, it is a parade.”

  “Exactly, my little corporal.” He tweaked the boy’s nose. “A parade to send off our boys to Washington in such a fashion that they know they take us all with them. To mark the twenty-first of August as a day to remember.”

  And there was the regret that colored the joy. They were sending their neighbors off to their possible deaths—deaths at the hands of Gwyneth’s countrymen. Some of whom she undoubtedly knew firsthand, who had likely served under her father. Possibly with whom she had danced at a ball earlier that spring.

  What a terrible thing was this war.

  As the group broke up, Thad kissed her knuckles—another move that had become so common yet still sent such a thrill through her. “Are you certain you want to join us in this, my love? We all understand that you are—”

  “Thad, please.” She squeezed his fingers and pulled him out the door behind his grandmother. “I am English, and I will always love England, but that does not mean I cannot see her mistakes for what they are. And it certainly does not mean I want to see this country crushed when it deserves the chance to thrive.”

  “Just making certain.” A smile saturated his tone, though she didn’t look back to see it. Not until they stepped outside into the wet blanket of scorching heat.

  “Oh, heavens. I do not envy the men their march to Washington.” Already, after a mere handful of seconds in the sun, perspiration dotted her brow. Or perhaps it was merely the humidity finding a surface to which to cling.

  Thad pulled her away from the others and off toward where the musicians had been told to gather. “They have been in this heat all summer. They will be fine. ’Tis the chaps in red you ought to be concerned about on that count.”

  Poor fellows. According to what Thad learned and then shared with the rest of them, the six thousand men who had arrived so recently had not fared well on their march. No doubt they were out of condition from the voyage, weeks and months of inactivity, and then to be forced into this suffocating climate after being accustomed to the cooler European air…no wonder all the reports of men collapsing. “I do not wish the nation crushed, but I certainly do not wish my countrymen such an arduous time of breathing.”

  Thad was not so conflicted, if the impish grin on his face were any indication. “It seems to me that it is another valuable military lesson. Just as Napoleon learned not to wage war in Russia in winter, so the British ought to learn to stay out of the Atlantic states in the summer.”

  “They were here before.”

  “And look how well that turned out for them.”

  How was she to resist a breath of laughter and a shake of her head? Gwyneth pulled her fingers free of his, but only so that she could tuck her hand into the crook of his arm, the easier to walk beside him. The levity had little choice but to fade as she considered again why all these men were slogging through the ninety-five degrees that felt well over a hundred with the humidity.

  Cochrane had approved Cockburn’s plan. Her father’s friends had set a course for Washington City.

  She dabbed at the sweat from her brow with her handkerchief, though she knew even as she did so it was a vain attempt.

  A gaggle of women approached, all looking to be in their thirties, all with parasols to block the vicious sun. Thad called out a greeting, spouting out all seven names without a hesitation, though Gwyneth had never seen a one of them in her two and a half months in Baltimore. And she and Thad had been out together nearly every day the past two weeks, walking or driving or shopping or attending services at church.

  The ladies obviously knew him too, and they took in Gwyneth with a knowing glance and satisfied grins. As if they had all been waiting for the day when Thaddeus Lane became someone’s beau.

  Perhaps they had.

  “I do hope you are only headed home to drop off your packages, ladies. Our boys in the Fifth Maryland Infantry are headed to Washington City in an hour’s time, and we are sending them off with enthusiasm.”

  “Oh!” One of the la
dies grabbed the hand of another. “That must be what the musicians were doing. Of course we will be there.”

  Another of the women dabbed at her eyes. “Yes, of course. My brother is in the Fifth.”

  “Then Washington is in good hands.” Thad bowed to them and pulled Gwyneth onward.

  It took them half an hour to cover their assigned distance, not because they had to go far, but because Thad stopped to talk with each person they saw. Issuing an invitation here, a bit of encouragement there, speaking, as he always did, to each one’s need.

  More often than not, she merely watched and listened. And she wondered how she had been so lucky as to capture the heart of this man. Gwyneth knew so many authoritative men—generals and admirals, politicians and lords—but true leaders she could count on one hand.

  Thad was one of them, and of a sort she had never really seen before. He was not the ship that cut through the waves, he was not the captain at its helm, he was not the general plotting strategy at a desk in his cabin. He was the current in the water. Propelling, driving, pulling. He was a man capable of directing the leaders. Of influencing the masses. Of steering whole cities at a time.

  And he was hers.

  “Thad?”

  “Hmm?” He lifted a hand to the band’s conductor, who indicated with a nod and a smile that all was set with the group of musicians clustered around him with their instruments.

  “You know those hand gestures your family makes to communicate silently?” It had taken her too long to pick up on the fact that they were, in fact, a form of speech, but once her mind was cleared of exhaustion, it had been obvious.

  Thad glanced down at her with a smile. “’Tis sign language, sweet. My grandfather and Rosie’s uncle, Freeman, developed it to communicate with my great-grandmother, who was deaf. It’s based upon a few systems from Europe.”

  She hoped to meet this Freeman someday. And, for that matter, Thad’s grandpapa. “Would you teach it to me?”

  “Of course.” His eyes glowed, obviously pleased she had asked. His hand covered her fingers on his arm. “I would be delighted. We all would.”