"Will you be able to use it?"
"Naturally."
"Then I'll do an engraving of it," said Proudfoot, looking over his shoulder at the drawing. "I'm not sure how accurate a portrait it is of General Howe because I've never actually seen him, but I've tried to make it clear who the man in bed with Mrs. Loring is."
"Well, it's certainly not her husband, I can vouch for that."
They were in the bookshop and Pearsall Hughes was taking a first look at the cartoon that Ezekiel Proudfoot had drawn. It showed a bloated British general, still in uniform, caressing a half-naked woman of ample dimensions, who had a hand down the front of his breeches. In the balloon that sprouted from his mouth were the words "In your hand freedom's scepter you bear, Mrs. Loring." Around the bed was a series of British soldiers, gambling, drinking, brawling, or molesting women, a scene of corruption that would have been revolting had it not been so comically drawn. The caption was below: Conquest buckles his sword.
"It's not something I'd care to show to one of my daughters," Hughes admitted, "but it will give our soldiers something to smile about."
"That was my intention," said Proudfoot.
"It will also make them more determined to regain their city. When they see what the British are doing to Philadelphia, they will want to march down here in the spring and chase every last redcoat out."
"Might they not go of their own accord, Mr. Hughes?"
"What do you mean?"
"Occupying the city was a severe blow to our pride," Proudfoot commented, "but it has no real strategic value to the British. As long as they remain here, they weaken their hold on New York."
"Is that what General Washington says?"
"He's counting on the fact. Even the British army does not have infinite resources. The further they are stretched, the more weak points will begin to appear."
"You are quite the military man, Mr. Allen," said Hughes, removing his spectacles to clean them with a handkerchief. "That time you spent on the field of battle was clearly not wasted."
"I take the same view as General Washington."
"And what is that?"
"The credit for our victory at Saratoga must not go entirely to the Continental Army and the militia. General Howe should not be forgotten."
"But he was not even there."
"Exactly," said Proudfoot. "He was too busy pursuing an adventure here, and fighting the battle of Brandywine. Had he kept his army in New York, he could have sent a sizable force up the Hudson Valley to meet with General Burgoyne at Albany." He brought both palms slowly together. "We'd have been squeezed flat between them. I raise my hat to General Howe. Thanks to his folly, we triumphed in the field."
"Otherwise, you'd be languishing in a British jail somewhere."
"Oh, I think they'd have strung me up from the nearest tree."
Hughes held up the cartoon. "They'll certainly want to do that when they see this," he said, chuckling. "I'll make sure that a copy of the Patriot is delivered to General Howe so that he can admire your work." He handed the drawing back. "What gave you the idea in the first place?"
"The Kept Mistress."
"Who?"
"It's the title of a play that was performed here last night, apparently. When I got back to the tavern, I heard some of the officers singing a song from the piece."
"And you memorized the lines?"
"No," explained Proudfoot. "When I realized that I could make use of the words, I went downstairs and joined the officers for a drink. They were only too ready to help me learn the song, and thought me a splendid fellow for appreciating it."
"I did tell you to ingratiate yourself with them."
"And that's what I did, Mr. Hughes. In point of fact, the song trumpets the virtues of the British navy, but the lines I took from it serve my purpose admirably."
"Hurrah for The Kept Mistress!"
"What's all this about a mistress?" asked Miranda Hughes as she tripped into the room. "Oh, good evening, Mr. Allen. So nice to see you again. I hope that you are not leading my husband astray."
"The Kept Mistress is a play, Mrs. Hughes," said Proudfoot.
"A low farce, my dear," added Hughes. "It was staged here last night. England has produced dramatists such as Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Ben Jonson, geniuses whose talent will thunder down the ages. Yet what does the British army prefer to offer its soldiers—theatrical dross!"
"Next week they have a comedy called Polly Honeycombe."
"Why not a famous tragedy such as Hamlet or Macbeth?"
"I can answer that, Pearsall," his wife interjected. "It's because we've had enough tragedy from the other side of the Atlantic as it is."
"Well said, my dear."
"But why were you talking about plays at all?"
"That was my doing, Mrs. Hughes," said Proudfoot, holding up his cartoon. "A song from The Kept Mistress helped to inspire me."
"Really? Oh, do let me see."
"Perhaps not," said Hughes, stepping between them. "It's a trifle indelicate, my dear. It verges on the indecent."
"Out of the way, Pearsall. I can make up my own mind what's decent or not." She extended a hand. "May I, Mr. Allen?"
"Of course," replied Proudfoot.
Ignoring the warning glance from the bookseller, he passed the drawing over to her. Miranda Hughes moved it closer to the candelabrum so that she could see it more clearly.
"My goodness!" she exclaimed with mild outrage.
But the smile stayed on her lips for several minutes.
Jamie Skoyles was so overjoyed to see that Elizabeth Rainham was safe that he hugged her for a long time. It was only when he finally broke away that he became aware of Polly Bragg's presence. Kissing her on the cheek, he embraced her warmly. The four of them were in an abandoned cabin a few miles along the track from the point where Skoyles had met up with Tom Caffrey again.
"When we heard those other shots," Caffrey explained, "we were very worried. I decided to come looking for you."
Skoyles frowned. "You left the two ladies alone?"
"As it happened, that turned out to be the wisest course of action. Not long after I'd gone, someone rode up and held a musket on them."
"It was frightening," Polly recalled.
"He demanded any money and jewelry we had," said Elizabeth. "He also told us that we could expect no help because he had two friends who would take care of both of you."
"That proves they were from the village," Skoyles remarked. "They saw the four of us traveling together—rich pickings."
"Luckily," Caffrey resumed, "I got horribly lost. The next thing I know, I heard voices not far away and recognized one as Polly's. I must have worked my way back to them somehow. Anyway, it didn't take me long to realize what was happening, so I crept up slowly on them."
"You had a musket, Tom. Why didn't you shoot the man?"
"Because I was afraid that I might have hit someone else."
"So you stabbed him instead."
"It was gruesome," said Polly, a hand to her throat. "He let out this terrible cry as he went down. I'll never forget that sound."
"I heard it myself," said Skoyles. "I thought it might be Tom."
Caffrey grinned. "I've got a few more years in me yet, Jamie. Anyway, I felt it was important to get the ladies to a place of safety, so we took the man's horse and came here." He looked up at the gaping hole in the roof. "It was not the ideal place, but it was better than standing among the trees and waiting for another of those robbers to turn up. Once we got here, I rode back in search of you."
"Thank heaven we found each other!"
"You gave me a scare, Jamie—standing there like Dick Turpin."
"I had no idea who was coming out of the dark at me," said Skoyles, "and I had to make sure he stopped. It could easily have been a friend of those other men."
"They won't be bothering us again," said Caffrey bluntly. "And one of them was kind enough to give us his horse. From now on, we can move much faster."
"And that's what we have to do, Tom. Those men were from that village we came through. When they don't return tonight, someone will come out searching for them. We don't want to be caught here with a stolen horse."
"No," agreed Elizabeth, remembering their earlier failed attempt at escape. "They hang horse thieves without even giving them a trial."
"Nobody will search until daylight, surely?" Caffrey argued.
"Probably not," said Skoyles, "but we can't stay here in any case. This place is falling to pieces. We need to ride on until we can find another village. There may be a tavern where we can stay."
"Polly can ride behind me."
"Then Elizabeth and I will take the other horse."
"Tom and I should have the one we bought in Barnstable," said Polly. "It will remind us of Devon, won't it, Tom?"
"You're the only reminder of Devon I want, my love."
She laughed. "Get away with you!"
"It's that whiff of cider you always bring."
There was a dull ache in Skoyles's arm where it had been grazed by the musket ball, but this was neither the time nor place for him to ask for medical attention. That could come later. For the time being, he could willingly stand the discomfort.
"Let's be on our way," he declared. "We'll feel a lot happier when we're a long way from here. Are you all ready?"
"Yes," said Elizabeth. "Especially if we're riding that stolen horse. I keep thinking of that man they hanged in Cambridge."
"I can't get the one that Tom stabbed out of my mind," Polly confessed with a grimace. "That look on his face when the knife went in will haunt me forever."
"Not when I'm around," said Caffrey jauntily. "Mount up, my love."
Sharing the bundles between the two horses, they rode off along the track. Skoyles led the way, with Elizabeth clinging to his waist. At a steady canter, they soon began to eat up the miles, but there was no sign of any village or even of a farm. Buzzards Bay could not be too far ahead. They were all hoping to reach it soon when Skoyles tugged on the reins and brought the horse to a sudden halt. Tom Caffrey did likewise with his mount.
"What's up, Jamie?" he asked.
"Listen."
"I don't hear a thing."
"Well, I do," said Skoyles. "Listen more carefully."
Caffrey strained his ears and the women followed suit. The three of them soon heard the sound. It was the faraway drumming of many hooves, beating out a menacing rhythm somewhere behind them. Riders were heading their way. Skoyles was alarmed. Since their horses were slowed down by having to carry two people each, there was no hope at all of outrunning pursuit. He made a decision at once.
"Take cover!" he ordered. "They may be coming after us!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dismounting quickly, they led their horses off the track and into the cover of the trees. They did not have long to wait. A dozen riders soon appeared, dark phantoms that came out of the gloom for an instant only to be swallowed up by it again. It was an eerie sensation and it left them slightly jangled. Jamie Skoyles waited until the thunder of hooves began to die away.
"Militia," he decided.
"How can you tell?" asked Tom Caffrey.
"By the way they rode—one man in the front, the others in pairs."
"They could have been Continentals."
"I doubt it, Tom. The Northern Department prefers to keep its troops together in chosen locations. A dozen full-time soldiers would not be released to patrol this part of Massachusetts. My guess is that those men were part of a local militia."
"Were they after us, Jamie?" asked Elizabeth Rainham.
"I hope not."
"They would have come through that village where we stopped."
"That's true," said Skoyles, "and if they asked people whether they had seen anything suspicious, I'm sure that we'd have been mentioned. But they were definitely not searching for us because of what happened back in the woods. Those three dead bodies will not be discovered until morning at the earliest."
"So what do we do?" Polly Bragg wondered.
"We obviously can't go back," Skoyles replied, "and going forward will not be as easy as we thought. I've no wish to meet up with those riders in the next village."
"Where will we spend the night?"
"We'll find somewhere, Polly."
"I've been wondering if we should split up," said Caffrey.
Skoyles was taken aback. "Are you serious, Tom?"
"Two people attract less attention than four, and Polly and I would stand more chance of finding a room for the night on our own. So would you and Elizabeth."
"I take your point, Tom. But two people on one horse will always get us noticed, whether we travel in pairs or all together."
"We can explain that away."
"Can we?"
"Yes," said Caffrey airily. "We simply claim that we had a second horse, but that it had to be put down when it was injured in a fall."
"Both of us would not get away with the same excuse."
"That's why it might be better for us to travel separately."
"But Jamie has the only map of the area," said Polly.
"We'll get by. I've got a good sense of direction."
Polly nodded her assent. "What do you think, Elizabeth?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure," said the other woman.
"Four of us are bound to be noticed more easily."
"But it does feel safer if we travel together."
"I agree," said Skoyles. "Look at what happened earlier on. If we'd been coming along that track in pairs, those men could have picked us off at will. On the other hand," he went on, thinking it through, "if a posse is sent out after us tomorrow, they'll be looking for four people."
"That's why I believe we should split up," argued Caffrey. "I reckon we'd have a much better chance of dodging them."
"Possibly."
"We would, Jamie. And it would also ease my conscience."
"What do you mean?"
Caffrey hesitated and shot a glance at Polly before speaking. "Well, I do feel that we're imposing on you," he said.
"That's nonsense!" retorted Skoyles.
"No, it's not. All that you really wanted to do was to escape from Cambridge with Elizabeth. Then we barge in."
"We were delighted to have you with us, Tom."
"Yes," said Elizabeth with enthusiasm. "You were so helpful. We could never have managed without you in that fishing boat. You and Jamie rowed us through the storm."
"We're back on land now," Caffrey pointed out, "and the situation has changed. You got us this far, Jamie, and we're very grateful. But if we make our own way from now on, I'll feel less guilty."
"So will I," added Polly.
Skoyles gave a shrug. "Well, if that's the way you both feel."
"It is, Jamie. I agree with Tom."
"At least, sleep on the decision."
"If you wish."
"Yes," said Caffrey. "If we can find somewhere to lay our heads tonight, that is. Staying here is asking for trouble. There'll be wolves on the prowl before long."
"Then let's move on," resolved Skoyles, putting his foot in the stirrup. "Those men will be far ahead of us by now." He hauled himself into the saddle, then offered a hand to Elizabeth. "We'll stay together for the time being, then discuss this again in the morning."
George Washington had spent his first few days in a marquee, but he had now moved his headquarters to a little stone-built house, owned by Isaac Potts, situated near the junction of Valley Creek and the river. It was there that he was busy writing letters when Major Clark called on him that evening. The visitor was touched to see his commander working in such modest surroundings. Washington was a wealthy man who lived in a palatial house on his Virginia plantation, and who believed, in his own words, that farming was the most delectable of pursuits. Instead of being able to indulge his passion for hunting, shooting, and fishing, he was forced to share the deprivations of the Continental Army.
Clark stepped into th
e room and Washington looked up.
"News already, Major?"
"Yes, General."
"But we only spoke a couple of hours ago," said Washington.
"These tidings will not keep, especially as they come from someone whose name we mentioned earlier."
"Mrs. Darragh?"
"The very same," confirmed Clark, taking some tiny pieces of paper from his pocket. "Her younger son brought these and handed them over to his brother. Lieutenant Darragh gave them straight to me."
"What do they portend?"
"Place them in the right order, sir, and you will see."
He laid the pieces of paper out on the table and Washington examined them by the light of the candle. Leaning over his shoulder, Clark translated the neat shorthand messages for him. Washington's interest was sparked off at once.
"So General Howe is to send out a foraging expedition, is he?"
"With almost half their total men," said Clark.
"If our estimates are correct, that would put the number of those in the party around five thousand—too many for us to do more than harass them. They hold the advantage, Major," he conceded. "Their men are healthy and well fed while ours are sick and hungry. I'm told that almost two thousand of our soldiers are unfit for duty. They are either ill, wounded, or lacking shoes in which to walk. We are fighting this war with scarecrows."
"Even scarecrows can give the foraging expedition a fright."
"And I'll make sure that they do so." He looked down at the pieces of paper. "How is Mrs. Darragh's intelligence always so accurate?"
"Her house in Second Street is virtually opposite General Howe's headquarters. Lydia Darragh sees all their comings and goings. But she also has British officers lodging in her house," said Clark. "That was how she overheard the plan to surprise us at Whitemarsh."
"Forewarned is forearmed."
"Indeed, sir."
"You say that her younger son brought this message?"
"Yes, General, and by an ingenious means. It's one that I would never have fathomed. The boy has mold buttons on his coat."
"Nothing unusual in that."
"There is in this instance," explained Clark. "The buttons are covered with cloth, and these pieces of paper are hidden beneath them. All that the lad has to do is to cut off the buttons and hand them over to his elder brother. If stopped, he runs no risk of discovery by the British."
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