Even the reputation that followed him from his homeland was not one of which he should have been proud. Granted position, title, and authority by virtue of his birth, he had proved himself to be useless in camp and worthless on the field. So much so, that his superiors had sent him to America and made him an officer.
She detested this type of officer—who was content to watch others do the fighting, while breathing no battle smoke of his own. Such conduct could be attributed to either prudence or cowardice—the former supposing cautiousness and the latter needing no explanation. As far as she was concerned, Major Briggs’s behavior, on and off the battlefield, needed no explanation.
Sophia pushed these thoughts from her mind and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. “How kind of you, but it really wasn’t necessary.”
Briggs took two rapid steps toward her and, grabbing her hand, caressed her with his eyes. “Sophia, you appeared half dead when they brought you in.”
“I was just tired,” she responded with a tilt of her chin. “I do hope I no longer resemble the remark.”
“Of course not, my dear,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips and bowing. “You look as if no low-down dirty rebel Patriot ever crossed your path.”
Sophia did not even attempt to smile. His constant condescending politeness and underhanded remarks about the Americans served only to sicken her, and make her long for the ruggedness of the patriot encampment.
It was no secret to her that Briggs was jealous of Colonel Morgan’s reputation and competence as a soldier. Contending at all times with a force superior to his own in numbers, arms, and equipment, the American officer routinely baffled the British in their attempts to subdue him. Briggs could do nothing but downplay the significance of the patriot’s successes because he had nothing to show but a substantial trail of defeats.
Briggs must have noticed the look of revulsion and disdain. “Why is it that you trifle with my affections and have so little regard for my feelings, my dear?” He leaned even closer to whisper the words. “You know how deeply I care for you, Sophia.”
Although mortified by the remark, Sophia was too well bred to show it. She knew this was just the beginning of a long and demanding ordeal, and so she smiled sympathetically, while offering no words of compassion or encouragement.
The British thought of her as young, carefree and frivolous, incapable of undergoing privations because she was so accustomed to luxury. She had to keep them thinking that she was fond of their admiration and high society—that she scorned the poor pageantry of colonial rank and authority.
“It’s very good to be home,” is all she said in reply.
“I know it’s early, but Colonel Tyndale is here as well.” Briggs paused for a moment as if to gauge her reaction. “He wants to speak with you, of course.”
Sophia grabbed the bannister a bit more strongly. Tyndale oversaw the troops in the region and possessed a reputation for ruthlessness. Yet, like most British, he easily assumed the appearance of a gentleman—disguising his cruel side the same way the smooth, shiny hilt of a dagger conceals the dangerous blade within.
“What’s wrong, my dear? You look frightened.”
Sophia swallowed hard and smiled reassuringly. “Not frightened, just surprised. I knew he would wish to speak with me, but... so soon?”
“So soon? You are not aware of the tumult your absence caused? He rode here as soon as he heard, and refused to leave until you were safely returned.”
Until I am thoroughly questioned. Sophia knew that Colonel Tyndale ruled like a tyrant. His men obeyed him out of fear and dread of reprisal—not out of respect or esteem.
Allowing Major Briggs to loop her arm through his, Sophia followed dutifully through the gallery and into a sunny parlor where Colonel Tyndale and three other officers sat relaxing and sipping tea. When they saw her, all scrambled to their feet and bowed.
“Miss Adair, how good it is to see you well.” Colonel Tyndale placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him in a manner that clearly indicated he believed himself personally responsible for her return. “I trust the uncivilized Americans were not overly rough with you.”
“They were as well behaved as they know how to be,” she replied with an air of sophistication. “I pity the creatures, though. So ragtag and dirty.”
“Sit, sit, and tell us about your ordeal.” Tyndale gave her little chance to decline as he led her to a chair. “That is, if it’s not too awful to recall. I do not wish to be the cause of unpleasant memories.”
Sophia took the seat offered, but did not offer any comment one way or the other about dredging up memories or her desire to offer testimony. The colonel seemed a bit taken aback by her silence and leaned down to gaze straight into her eyes. “You do understand you possess information which is your duty to give, which you must give, and which you cannot escape from giving.”
Sophia’s heart of its own accord began to thunder in her ears. “This is a formal inquiry then?”
Major Briggs quickly came to her aid. “Of course it is not a formal inquisition, Sophia. The colonel merely wishes to find out anything which may be helpful to us.”
Sophia took a small napkin from the table and dabbed her eyes. “It is hard to recall, yet I shall do it—for the King’s sake. But after this interview, I beg of you, if you value the service, do not pain me with mention of it again.”
“Of course, of course, my dear.” Tyndale turned his gaze to the men around him and nodded.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” he said as he handed Sophia a saucer of tea. “Your servant, Mash, told us a little. That you were out for a ride and the Patriots swept down upon you, insisting that you accompany them—something about you being a spy?”
“Yes, can you imagine anything so absurd? And then they blindfolded me and bound my hands.” She held out one of her arms to show the red scratches from the rough hemp still visible, thankful she had taken the extra step of fighting hard enough that the Americans recognized the necessity of binding her.
“They bound you? A lady? Preposterous!”
She nodded and covered her eyes with her hands as if to blot out a painful vision.
“What then, dear?”
Sophia dabbed at her eyes dramatically and sniffled. “They took me to this officer—”
“What officer?” Major Briggs interrupted in an unusually loud voice.
Sophia paused as if searching her memory. “Colonel Maugen, I think it was.”
“You must mean Colonel Morgan. Was it he? Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, that’s it.” She nodded. “Colonel Morgan.” She pretended not to notice how they all leaned in just a little closer, and all seemed to inhale in unison, making it clear this was a man they loathed and feared.
“He questioned me at length and then locked me up in this horrible room.” She bent her head and squeezed her temples as if that would help rid herself of a terrible memory.
Colonel Tyndale stood and paced a moment before coming to a stop in front of her. “What did you think of Colonel Morgan?”
Sophia bit her lip to keep from blurting out that he she thought him the most patriotic and courageous man she had ever laid eyes upon. “If you’re asking how he treated me,” she said, looking up innocently, “I would say no hostility was shown... but then again, little courtesy.”
“No, that’s not what I mean!” Tyndale boomed. “Did he seem in control of his men? Is he respected in the ranks? Was his camp fully fortified?” His voice began to soften. “We’ve heard he is in complete disarray.”
When Sophia hesitated once again, Major Briggs stepped to her side. “Now, now dear. It’s unfortunate that a lady of your standing had to come in contact with such animals, but it is important if you can remember anything.”
Sophia wondered why Briggs seemed unable to express anything but anger, hatred and disdain when speaking of the Americans.
“I was really in no condition to note particulars,” she said slowly, as i
f searching her memory, “but a dirtier and more forlorn establishment would be difficult to imagine.” She paused, trying to find a way to describe the Americans in such a way as to enforce the British officers’ inaccurate impression of their enemy. “As for Colonel Morgan, he appeared deficient in everything save self-esteem. Of course, as for his military prowess, I do not have the knowledge to comment.”
While some of the men in the room laughed, Sophia’s eyes drifted over to Major Briggs who stood warming his hands by the fireplace. She had never met a man so sensitive to cold. She studied him intently as he began to turn around to speak. The only thing he seemed to favor more than warmth was food, she thought to herself, as she gazed critically at his ample contour.
“But what of their soldiery. Did you chance to see any of them?” he asked.
“Oh, the soldiers.” She shivered. “They appeared in terrible disarray—not like our soldiers here at all.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Their uniforms, if you can call them such, were dirty and of no standard issue.” She paused a moment for effect. “I cannot pretend to be knowledgeable about such things, but they did not seem to be familiar with military drill or the conduct of gentlemen.” She heard a catch in her voice, and hoped the British would not grasp that it was caused by her deception.
Contrary to her words, all the men in the American camp had treated her with some level of courtesy, and she knew that even when not in the presence of the enemy, they were being drilled and prepared to encounter them. She cleared her throat. “They seem adept, though, at clinging to every straw that affords hope to their desperate cause.”
“It is just as I thought,” Briggs said, his voice tinged with disdain. “The cowards are incapable of fighting in the open. That is why they fight like Indians from the edges of the swamps.”
“Appearances would warrant that conclusion,” Sophia said, though she could barely suppress the contempt from her voice. Due solely to his lineage, Major Briggs considered himself a soldier and an infallible divinity—when in reality he was merely a bladder of emptiness and pride She studied his self-righteous expression as she calmly sipped her tea.
“What else? Do you remember anything else?”
“Oh, yes, now that you mention it,” she said demurely, “Colonel Morgan asked me to convey a message to you.”
“He did?” Again all the officers leaned forward so as not to miss a word.
“Yes. He asked me to warn you that you should leave this territory immediately or risk complete annihilation.”
The men laughed in unison, save one, an older, wise-looking man, who met her gaze with an expression as alert as an imperious hawk. He tried to warn his fellow soldiers. “If we believe Morgan is just another rebel, just another bumbling military officer,” he said, looking around the room, “we will lose a lot of blood.”
Major Briggs waved his hand and laughed. “No military establishment can be expected to give serious attention to threats made from such an outrageous assembly of criminals. They should be reproached for fighting like savages, not feared.”
Sophia smiled. “Indeed, and of course it’s the colonies we’re fighting, not an individual.” Then she grew silent and thoughtful, causing the men to stop talking and look in her direction once again.
“Did you think of something else, Miss Adair?”
Sophia took a long sip of tea as if pondering something. “Perhaps... I mean, I saw something, but I do not know if it is anything worth noting.”
“What is it, my dear?” Colonel Tyndale sounded unconcerned as he walked over to the fireplace and joined Briggs in warming his hands.
“Well, the camp seemed to be in a state of tremendous activity,” she said. “I thought it odd, so when Colonel Morgan left the room to find some guards, I ...”
Colonel Tyndale turned around and cocked his head. “Yes?”
“When he left the room to find some guards,” she repeated, talking slowly, “I took the liberty of looking at a piece of paper on his desk.” She paused, letting her gaze roam, one by one, to each man in the room. “I know it was wrong of me, but I ...”
“No, no, no, my dear,” Colonel Tyndale said as he hurried to her side. “You mustn’t worry about that. Now what did you see?”
Sophia swallowed hard. “I saw a piece of paper...”
“Go on!” Tyndale thundered. “What did it say?”
“I tried to memorize it.” Sophia closed her eyes for added effect as she repeated the words she had seen on the paper. When she had finished, utter silence filled the room. Nothing could be heard but the crackling of the fire and the steady, heavy breathing of the men surrounding her.
Sophia found herself holding her breath during the fateful moments on which hung the tides of war—or at least the possible doom or success of her hurriedly conceived plan.
“Do you think it’s important?” Sophia gazed up at Tyndale with the most innocent expression she could muster.
The officers looked at one another, their eyes bright with excitement. “A fortnight, you say?” Tyndale turned away so she could not see his face. “Interesting. I suppose we shall prepare to send a greeting party, eh Briggs?”
“Indeed,” Briggs replied. “We must draw every soldier we can get our hands on so we can end this nonsense once and for all.”
Sophia’s heart pounded as the trap fell into place. The plot of war had begun to thicken noiselessly and without observation, just as calculated. The British would send everything they had to Woodsboro, while the majority of Morgan’s men would be moving around their flank to capture Gladstone and confiscate needed supplies. If he kept his end of the deal, Morgan’s own men would not be told the object of their expedition until the very last minute.
As the men whispered around her, Sophia took a deep breath and stared with a strange fascination at the room that had once seemed so familiar. Her uncle fulfilled every desire of her aunt and cousin, as was obvious from the room’s decor. To enter his home was to enter a realm of lavishness and luxury. From the overstuffed chair she sat in, to the ornately framed portrait of a distant relative peering down from the paneled wall—it all seemed foreign to her now. After seeing how the patriots lived, this room exuded only extravagance, opulence, wealth, and waste.
Sophia wore a smiling mask upon a radiant face of calm as she stood and looked demurely around the room. “I have bestowed upon you what little information I possess. Is the interview complete?”
“Oh yes, my dear. Quite,” Colonel Tyndale said, winking at his men. “I believe we’ve kept you long enough.”
Major Briggs strode to her side and placed his lips purposefully and sensationally on her cheek. “The Crown will soon hear of a great victory thanks to you,” he whispered breathlessly in her ear. “You shall be remembered a long time for this.”
Sophia’s heart skipped only one beat as she thought of the inevitable defeat that would soon commence due to her actions. It may be better if they don’t remember. Before she had time to think another thought, she was swept out of the room with a wave of jubilant British officers busy preparing for their own demise.
Chapter 5
The boisterous sea of liberty is never without a wave.
— Thomas Jefferson
The house seemed eerily quiet and empty as Sophia sat near the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and the soothing sense of isolation the silence brought. Until the previous evening, the home had been the scene of intense commotion as British officers arrived to attend private councils of war in the Spanglers’s library. Most had left by sundown, but couriers continued riding in and out until this morning when the last of the troops had departed.
Sophia tried to remember a time when America was not one vast military camp, and regretted how she had taken that life—once so peaceful and calm—for granted. Living in the Spangler house had become like a prison, forcing her to balance the weight of dangerous responsibility with dreary, dismal days. How incredible to think back to a time
when nothing more troublesome than a mosquito crossed her path. Now she had to endure the constant pretentiousness and pomposity of men in red coats, and live with the knowledge of the lives that were in danger because of a war that continued to expand.
As the logs spit and flamed, Sophia thought about the two days she had spent with the patriots. It was hard for her to believe a month had passed since the raid on the storehouses in Gladstone—especially since the resulting tumult had only recently subsided. According to what she’d overheard, the British had been caught by surprise, losing not only valuable arms, ammunition, food, and horses—but also something much more important—their pride.
Stinging from having been beaten by a bunch of country rebels, they had questioned Sophia again about the dispatch she had seen, and she had repeated the message word for word. Evidently she had guessed correctly. They believed Colonel Morgan had led them into a trap, using her to set it. It apparently never occurred to them that she had been the one to devise the trap in the first place.
As for getting any details about the defeat directly, Sophia had not been successful. Tyndale’s losses in the engagement were not confessed, nor would they probably ever be discovered. He allowed no one to discuss the topic, making it even more apparent that being outwitted by a rebel commander and his volunteer militia constituted a significant defeat. The shadow of fear and intimidation Colonel Morgan now cast over the British had grown markedly.
But now Sophia feared again for the rebels’ safety. The British had reacted to their defeat by sending for reinforcements—and those reinforcements were close at hand. The increase in activity around the house proved that what they were planning would be substantial, yet she had no means of conveying what she had learned to the Americans.
Sophia watched a log collapse in a shower of sparks, as her mind wandered to Colonel Morgan. Where was he now? Did he know the British were massing? She picked up the needlework on her lap, and put it down, trying without much success to keep her mind agreeably engaged. Perhaps she should go for a walk—or better yet, a ride.
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