“Good night, Robin,” Theo said as he walked out the door. He’d won this round, but his heart felt sore in his chest, aching with the knowledge that his relationship with Robin would never be the same. He would have to look out for his own interests now and trust no one.
September 1777
New York
Chapter 36
Abbie wiped the perspiration off her face as she made her way down the corridor. The day was actually quite pleasant, but she felt unusually warm and weak, her legs refusing to cooperate as she swept the hallway before cleaning Major Weland’s room. He was one of the last to leave this morning, having had an upset of the stomach the night before. Two more officers were also still about, but they were downstairs breakfasting, so Abbie was able to quickly clean their rooms and move on. She couldn’t wait to finish her chores and go have a quick lie-down before the midday meal. She’d see Finn then. Mrs. Cromwell had sent him on an errand to get some fresh hay for the stable and collect several bags of oats for the horses, generously provided by the quartermaster of the British Army. She had become adept at cutting corners, and using her rank as the widow of a major to get some much-needed perks through the officers lodged at her establishment.
Abbie was glad to see Major Weland finally leave his room, returning his greeting as he made his way downstairs, his boots thudding on the wooden steps. He was one of Abbie’s least favorite lodgers, always uptight and guarded unlike some of the younger men. They were only too happy to exchange a few words with her, their playful manner a nice reprieve from the likes of the major. Abbie picked up her bucket and mop and entered the major’s room. She opened the window and was just about to make the bed when a sudden wave of dizziness forced her to sit down. She’d had a few of these over the past two weeks, and it was time to face the obvious.
Abbie forced herself to get up and walk to the major’s desk where he kept a calendar. She counted carefully and slowly, knowing that the answer would change her life, although she knew it already. She was nearly three weeks late, and that could mean only one thing. She’d suspected she was pregnant for a week now, but was reluctant to tell Finn. He would insist that they return home immediately, aborting their mission. True, she’d been able to pass on some useful tidbits to the Revolutionaries, but nothing that would change the course of the war.
Abbie decided to take a look at the major’s papers since she was already sitting at the desk. There was another letter from his wife, who judging from the letters, seemed even more tightly wound than the major, and a rolled-up document. Abbie spread the document on the desk, studying what appeared to be a map. Now this was interesting. It was a detailed map of Pennsylvania with certain points circled and starred. Abbie shuffled through some of the other papers. If she was reading the map correctly, then the British were planning to move some of their companies toward Philadelphia in an effort to capture the capital. There were markings in blue of where units of Washington’s army were stationed somewhere around a place called Brandywine. This had to be important, but there’s no way she could remember all these details. She needed to write it down and pass it on to Sam. It might be nothing, but it might be vital information.
Abbie looked around for a sheet of paper and pulled out a quill. She’d clean the quill, so the Major would never know she’d used it. Abbie began to copy the document to the best of her ability, making sure to place the troops accurately on the map. Even the slightest mistake could provide misleading information. She was so caught up in her task that she didn’t immediately turn as she heard the opening of the door.
“I’m coming, Libby. I’m almost done in here.” Libby made it a habit to come in search of Abbie if she took too long about her task. She fancied herself in charge, which was just fine. She’d be there long after Abbie and Finn departed. Abbie wasn’t too concerned about Libby finding her at the major’s desk. She was just as nosy, although her purpose was different. She was fascinated by the personal lives of the officers and liked to read their private correspondence. She’d recently confided to Abbie that she was nursing a secret love for Corporal Tennant, who was one of the few unattached men lodged at Mrs. Cromwell’s establishment. Libby checked his letters from home feverishly, hoping there was nothing from a young lady who might be a possible fiancée.
Abbie looked up in surprise as her wrist was seized roughly by a male hand. Major Weland stood over her, his nostrils flaring as his face turned beet red with fury as he glared at Abbie’s drawing.
“How dare you?” he hissed at Abbie, tearing the quill out of her hand and whipping the sheet of paper off the desk. “You are spying for the rebels.” Major Weland yanked Abbie to her feet, his fingers wrapped painfully about her wrist just as Libby’s curious face appeared in the doorway.
“All right, Major Weland?” she asked, nearly bursting with curiosity.
“No, not all right. Kindly summon the two officers from the dining room this minute, as well as Mrs. Cromwell.”
“Sir, I wasn’t spying,” Abbie stammered, her heart beating wildly against her ribs. How could she have been so careless as to assume that it had been Libby coming into the room? Although it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. The writing desk was clearly visible from the doorway, so any attempt to hide her map would have been noted by the major, who would have seized it anyway. Why couldn’t he have come in when she was still looking at the calendar? God, what would he do with her?
“Save it for the court, Mrs. Whitfield, for a court you will face. Have no doubt of that.” The major folded Abbie’s drawing and stuffed it into his breast pocket, safely out of Abbie’s reach. She opened her mouth to protest, but there wasn’t much she could say. The major caught her red-handed. Abbie felt another wave of dizziness wash over her as she slumped against the rigid form of Major Weland, who took her by the arms and roughly sat her down in the chair he’d yanked her from only a few moments ago.
“Don’t bother swooning; it won’t work,” the major hissed at her as the two remaining officers came in followed by a red-faced Mrs. Cromwell. Libby brought up the rear, her eyes round as saucers as she watched from the hallway, her mouth open in shock.
“I’ve apprehended Mrs. Whitfield going through confidential papers and making copies to pass on to her cohorts. I’m going to take her to the residence of General Campbell. I believe I have enough evidence to have her face a tribunal immediately. Captains Gordon and Mara, you are to remain here and take the husband into custody as soon as he returns. Bring him to me at General Campbell’s house. He will be put on trial alongside his wife. I can’t imagine that a mere woman would spy on her own initiative. You are to do nothing that might alert Mr. Whitfield and give him a chance to flee. Is that understood? Mrs. Cromwell, please keep your other maid out of sight. She’s just dimwitted enough to give the game away. Captain Gordon, collect my horse from the stable and bring it to the gate immediately.”
Mrs. Cromwell threw Abbie a look of pure poison before following the captains out of the room. Abbie heard her berating Libby as their steps receded down the hallway toward the staircase. Major Weland closed the door behind them and turned to face Abbie.
“How long have you been spying for the rebels, Mrs. Whitfield?” He looked as if he wanted to hit her, but was too much of a gentleman to strike a woman, even if she were the enemy. Whatever he did would be according to the custom of the Army.
“I’m not a spy, Major Weland; I’m just a nosy girl. I didn’t mean any harm,” answered Abbie, sounding feeble even to her own ears. If he fell for that one, he wasn’t fit to bear his title.
“I will ask you again. How long have you been spying for the rebels? Where do you meet your contacts?” The major towered above her in an effort to intimidate, but there was no need. Abbie was trembling with fear, her hands shaking in her lap.
“I’m not a spy, Major. I was merely bored and rifled through some papers. I have no contacts.” Abbie felt the room swim in front of her eyes as she slid off the chair and onto the
cool wooden floor. She closed her eyes, willing the room to stop spinning, but it didn’t work. She felt as if were being sucked into a black hole. Abbie would have happily stayed where she was, but the major hauled her up by the arms, sitting her back in the chair, his face mere inches away from hers.
“Your feminine antics won’t work with me,” he barked, giving her a good shake. He was about to continue interrogating her when Captain Gordon appeared in the doorway. “Your horse is outside, Major, and there’s still no sign of the husband.”
“Don’t let him get away,” the major barked as he led Abbie outside. She was surprised when he asked Captain Gordon to give her a leg-up to ride in front of the major. It felt awfully intimate to feel his hard body behind her as he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, leaving the boarding house behind.
Please don’t get caught, Finn, she prayed as the major cantered down the street, his thighs rigid against her own. Please get away. General Campbell’s residence was only a few streets east, just off 5th Avenue. He occupied a sizeable house, the first floor of which was used as a headquarters. The house boasted several outbuildings discreetly situated behind the main building. A few soldiers milled in the yard, bringing stores to the outbuildings from a loaded wagon. Major Weland helped Abbie off the horse and marched her through the gates past two astonished sentries. It wasn’t often that a woman was anything other than a skivvy, and those went through the back door.
“Can I help you, Major Weland?” A young officer greeted them at the door, eyeing Abbie with undisguised curiosity, noting Major Weland’s grip on her upper arm.
“I’m here to see the general.”
“Right this way, sir.” The officer led them down a corridor toward what must be the general’s private office. He was seated behind a massive desk, writing something as he scratched his unwigged head absentmindedly. The iron-gray curls stood on end as he composed his missive, oblivious to the commotion outside.
“General, Major Weland is here to see you on urgent business, sir,” the officer announced before showing them into the office.
General Campbell looked up in surprise, jamming his wig on his head almost as an afterthought before inviting Major Weland to sit down. Abbie thought that a general of the British Army would look more menacing, but General Campbell looked anything but. His round blue eyes peered out of a florid face, jowls spilling over the collar of the uniform which gave every impression of strangling him; his wig slightly off-center, making him look comical. Abbie would have laughed if she hadn’t been so terrified. This ridiculous man had the power to send her to the gallows, and there was nothing comical about that.
“Thank you. I’ll stand, General. I’ve arrested this young woman for spying. I caught her in the act of copying maps of the Philadelphia campaign to pass on to the rebels. I turn her over to you for military tribunal. I’ve left two men at the boardinghouse to arrest her husband since I have no doubt that he’s behind this enterprise.” Major Weland was rigid as ever, his chest puffed out with righteous indignation as he delivered his speech. Abbie stood quietly, unsure whether she should face the general or look down. Staring him down could be construed as either courage or insult, just as looking down could be seen as proof of guilt. She looked up, meeting the man’s bemused gaze.
“I see,” said General Campbell as if he didn’t see at all. He leaned back in his chair, studying Abbie. “Is it true? Were you spying?” His voice was soft and friendly, almost sympathetic, giving Abbie a tiny bit of hope.
“No, sir. I was just curious, that’s all. It’s a very dull job cleaning rooms, so I occasionally snoop to make things more interesting. I have no ties to the rebels, sir.” The general looked at Abbie with something akin to pity.
“I might have been inclined to believe you had you not been caught copying the documents. Boredom only goes so far. You obviously had a greater purpose to your snooping. Do you deny it?”
“I do, sir.”
“I expect you would,” replied the general, sighing as he shook his head in dismay. “You’re a patriotic lot, I’ll give you that. As distasteful as I find it, I must order you to be executed by hanging. That’s the penalty for spying. Do you have anything else to add?”
“Do I not get a trial?” she asked, desperate for another chance to state her case.
“I’m afraid this was your trial, young lady. You’ve been caught in the act of copying vital documents. The major has concrete proof, written in your own hand.” The general stabbed his finger into the map to support his argument. “There’s nothing more to be said. If there’s something you’d like to add, you may do so now, otherwise I’m forced to sentence you to death.” He looked up at Abbie, as if expecting her to suddenly produce some proof that this was all a lie and she hadn’t actually been caught copying the map, but Abbie had nothing more to say in her defense. She felt as if a great chasm opened up beneath her, ready to swallow her in a sea of blackness. Bright spots appeared before her eyes as all sound faded, leaving just the buzzing in her ears. She felt weightless as she crashed to the floor, unconscious.
Chapter 37
The room was upholstered in pale blue silk; well-proportioned and elegant, with high ceilings that gave the impression of space and airiness. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting squares of light onto the carpet covering the wooden floor, and a carriage clock ticked loudly on a marble mantel. The silk of the sofa felt cool against Abbie’s skin as she came to, enjoying a few blissful moments before her mind turned to the fearful sentence. She was to hang. The room spun again, but she managed to hang on just as smelling salts were shoved under her nose. A beautifully dressed woman sat down on the sofa next to Abbie, putting a cool compress on her head.
“I’m Camille Campbell, the general’s wife. Are you all right, my dear?” She looked as if she were about to cry as she smoothed back a strand of Abbie’s hair. “You poor girl. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now. I tried to intervene on your behalf, but the general won’t be swayed. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Abbie was about to say that she needed to get a message to her husband when she realized that Finn had either been arrested or gotten away. “My husband…” she whispered.
“Your husband got away. I hope that brings you comfort, although I’m sure he got you into this, didn’t he? A lovely girl like yourself wouldn’t be spying for any other reason than to please a man.” Camille Campbell looked like the type of woman whose entire existence was dedicated to pleasing a man, so Abbie kept her counsel. She had been about to tell her that she wasn’t some feebleminded female who could be induced to spy simply to please her husband, but what was the point? The woman was only trying to be kind in a situation where she didn’t need to be. Abbie just shook her head in misery, tears running down her face.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “They will kill my baby.” She hadn’t meant to tell anyone, but the woman’s sympathy just made her feel sorry for herself and the child who would never be born, thanks to her stupidity.
“How far along are you dear?” Camille wiped a tear from her lovely face, her eyes full of compassion.
“About two months.”
“That’s a shame. If you were further along they might commute your sentence until the babe was born, but not at two months. I’m afraid it won’t sway them. I will go talk to my husband though. Maybe there’s something I can do.” Mrs. Campbell rose from the sofa, her gaze still on Abbie.
“Why are you helping me?” Abbie asked, confused. This woman was the wife of a British general, yet she was carrying on as if spying for the Revolution was just a minor offense, like breaking a vase or forgetting to change the linens. Did she not understand what Abbie was accused of?
“You are just a slip of a girl, no older than my own daughter. Women do crazy things for the men they love, but I don’t think they should hang for it, especially if they’re with child. You are hardly a danger to the British Empire.” With that Camille Campbell
floated out the door, leaving Abbie to face the harsh reality of her sentence. A maid offered her a cup of water, but Abbie’s hands shook so badly she couldn’t hold it without spilling the water all over her bodice. The cup fell to the floor as Abbie doubled over, her face distorted by the silent cry that tore from her, tears streaming down her face. She would die very soon, and in a very brutal way. Abbie began to take great gulps of air as if the rope was already around her neck, choking the breath out of her body. She tore off her tucker, feeling as if she were suffocating, needing to breathe. Good God, was she really to die at eighteen with a new life just beginning to grow in her womb?
Abbie didn’t even notice as Camille Campbell came back into the room, followed by two soldiers. “I’m so sorry, dear. I tried.” She looked away as the soldiers picked up Abbie under the arms and dragged her toward the door.
“Where are you taking me?” she cried, terrified that the sentence would be carried out immediately.
“You will be held in a cell until tomorrow morning when you will be taken to the place of execution,” one of the soldiers replied. Abbie could see the compassion in his face, while the other shoved her roughly out the front door and into the sunshine.
“She’s a spy, Diggory. Save your compassion for someone who deserves it.” The man spit on the ground right in front of her feet, before marching her around the side of the house and toward a structure at the back. He used the butt of his musket to push Abbie inside before locking the door, the metal padlock clanking against the wooden door like clumps of dirt hitting a coffin. The room was small and dim, with a bench along one side of the wall and a chamber pot in the corner. Abbie sank onto the bench, her hands folded in her lap. There was nothing left to do but pray.
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