by Kit Sergeant
“I don’t talk like a Tory.”
He started toward the entrance to the roof. “You do, but I suppose one can’t be blamed if they are the daughter of a traitor.”
Meg turned in his direction. “My father is loyal to his King. It is your Commander-in-Chief that is a traitor.”
He opened the door. “Even if you think that, I wouldn’t mention it to the Commander-in-Chief himself.”
“We’ll see about that,” she told him as she stalked past him.
“Indeed we will.” Meg couldn’t be sure, but she detected from the sound of his voice that his grin had returned.
George Washington was as tall as the rumors had said he was. He wore no wig, choosing to powder his graying brown hair and style it with curls above each ear. His uniform was the same dark blue as Major Burr’s, but with gold epaulets at his shoulders. His long face held no hint of a smile. It was well-known that he spoke rarely so Meg was shocked when, as the meal began, the General asked her why she didn’t drink her wine.
The truth was that the toast had been to Congress, and Meg didn’t feel the need to drink to the health of the redundant governing body. Aaron’s earlier warning froze her reply in her throat and she cast her eyes around the table helplessly. Everyone seated gazed back at Meg, waiting for her response. She picked up her glass and took a cautious sip. “To Parliament and Admiral Howe,” she said quietly.
There was an audible gasp from the direction of Lady Washington, a stocky, regal woman in a simple dress and cap. Meg looked over at Aaron, who stared back at her with his black eyes narrowed, his chiseled jaw set.
Old Put, seated beside General Washington, let out a hearty guffaw, the kind that came straight from the gut. “Forgive the child, she does not mean to offend.” He patted the General on his shoulder. “Anything from the mouth of such a young innocent should be an amusement, not an insult.”
General Washington set down his wine glass and turned his steely blue eyes to Meg. “Miss Moncrieffe, I will overlook your… indiscretion, provided the next time you are at Admiral Howe’s table, you drink to my health.” The rest of their company let out uneasy giggles.
Despite her heated face, the General’s words produced hope that Meg would soon be reunited with her father. “Sir,” she said, interrupting the cautious conversation around her. General Washington once again glanced in her direction. “I will do anything you ask provided you permit me to see my father again.”
He exchanged a look with Old Put, who furrowed his brow. “I will do what I can,” the General consented, picking up his fork. “But as of right now he’s on the other side of the water from us.”
“Have you ever been to an American ball?” Molly asked Meg the next day.
Meg set down her embroidery frame. “No. I suppose the brink of war is not exactly the time to have balls.”
“It is not, but there is one anyway next Friday night.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a ball, more like a social gathering,” Belle added. “And the price of the ticket goes toward raising money for the troops.”
“You have to come, Meg,” Molly insisted. “I’m sure Father will pay for us all to go.”
Mrs. Putnam didn’t pause in her spinning, but Meg noticed her eyebrows raise slightly. Meg swallowed the lump of nerves that had appeared in her throat. “Do you suppose that the local officers will be there as well?”
“If you mean a certain Major Burr, I believe so.” Belle replied.
While the city readied itself for the suspected arrival of Admiral Howe and his troops, the Putnam sisters and Meg occupied themselves by preparing for the ball. It was to be held at Fraunces Tavern, on the corner of Queen and Dock streets. Most of the merchants in that area had vacated the city, including, unfortunately for Meg, those that ran the best dress shops. The next few days were blissfully free of spinning as the Putnam girls and their maids set about turning last season’s dresses into a more current style.
Belle lent Meg a dress of rose silk. Meg tried to hide her dismay: the color was pretty, but the dress had the wide skirt of two years ago instead of the form-fitting gown with a higher waistline she had come to prefer.
Belle pulled up the mountain of fabric in the back. “Don’t worry, Meg, you can alter the farthingale into a bustle.”
Meg sat on her bed. “I can’t alter anything.” She had never wanted for many material things in her short years. Her father, far away though he was, always provided her with whatever toiletry and clothing materials she might have needed. But she was forced to leave all her beautiful dresses when she evacuated and the blockade meant that new and alluring things were not easy to come by.
Belle sat beside her. “Molly and I can help, as can my maid, Eunice. And wait until you see how good Eunice is with hair. We’ll literally be the ‘belles’ of the ball.”
Meg looked at her gratefully. Her mother had died in a drowning accident when she was two and her father had sent her brother and her away to school shortly after that. He had remarried twice, but both of her stepmothers had also died. Most of her life she had been passed from one caretaker to another. Belle and Molly were the closest things Meg had to any female relatives for a long time. “Thank you,” Meg told Belle as she pulled her up from the bed.
The day of the ball was a flurry of activity. At Belle’s insistence, the girls indulged in a large breakfast but skipped lunch. They hid away from the heat of the day by taking a nap indoors, cooled by the pleasant breeze that entered through the open windows. Near evening, Eunice was employed to coax and tease the Putnam sisters’ hair high on top of their heads, in the style of the new French queen. Eunice braided Molly’s hair with pearls while Belle’s coif was adorned with fresh flowers. Meg preferred to keep hers simple, asking Eunice to just use the curling tongs on the wisps of hair that hung down from her unadorned chignon.
The heat had lessened considerably when the Putnams and Meg left One Broadway. Old Put wore his uniform while Mrs. Putnam was in green brocade, of a darker shade than Molly’s dress. Belle was a vision in blue.
As the ball was only a few blocks away, they decided to forgo a carriage. Meg peered at the house next door as they set off, wondering if Major Burr was still getting ready. She couldn’t discern any activity inside and set her eyes to focus on the sidewalk in front of her.
The tavern was a red-bricked building in the Dutch style with a flat roof and a portico held up by white pillars. The liveried butler greeted the party by offering his arm to Mrs. Putnam as she made her way up the cobblestones, the General on her other side. As they entered the building, he announced, “General Putnam, his wife, his daughters, and…”
“Miss Moncrieffe.” Aaron appeared by her side. He wore his blue and buff uniform, but had added lace cuffs underneath his coat and a cravat at his neck.
“Miss Moncrieffe,” the servant echoed.
“How do you do this evening?” Aaron turned to look her up and down and Meg thought she saw a look of appreciation appear on his face. She noted that he looked even more handsome and dashing than the first time they met.
Meg flipped out her fan and held it in front of her mouth. “Fine,” she replied from behind it. She glanced around the tavern, taking in the small tables covered in white tablecloths and the well-dressed Americans filling them. Candles blazed from every available space, renewing the July heat that the evening had cooled off. The smell of cooking meat and stale beer filled Meg's nose with every movement of her fan.
“General Putnam, sir, do you have a minute?” Aaron asked, turning to Old Put.
“Oh, Burr,” he sighed. “Always working. Yes, I suppose.” He put his arm around Aaron as an older man in a powdered wig approached. “Ah, Black Sam,” the General extended his hand to the man. “Let us get a libation.”
“Why do they call him ‘Black Sam?’” Meg asked Belle as the trio walked away. The man named Sam was of a similar ruddy color as Major Burr.
She shrugged. “His real name is Samuel Fraunces. He i
s the proprietor of this tavern.”
Meg folded her fan and turned toward the main reception room, darting her eyes across the patrons. “Look at all the macaronis,” she said disdainfully.
“The what?” Belle whispered as Molly walked off to greet a dark-haired girl in a yellow gown.
“The macaroni’s. You, know, like Yankee Doodle?”
Belle shook her head.
Meg stepped closer to her. “Take that man over your left shoulder, no, don’t look yet. Okay, look now.” Belle cast her eyes to a middle-aged man wearing a miniscule tricorn hat that topped a powdered wig a full foot above his head. He wore striped silk knee breeches below his unbuttoned coat, a red carnation tucked in the pocket. “That’s a macaroni.”
Belle giggled. “I prefer a man in uniform.”
Meg unfolded her fan once more and covered her face, trying not to be obvious about her search for Aaron Burr. She located him at one of the tables in the corner, conferring with Putnam. Two other soldiers had joined them, one of whom she recognized as Captain Webb from her journey a few days ago.
Belle grabbed Meg’s arm and pulled her to where her sister was engaged in whispered conversation with the dark-haired girl. “I see Alexander Hamilton is here tonight,” Belle stated, gesturing to her father and the group of young men. She turned to the other girl. “Meg, I’d like to introduce you to Angelica Schuyler, daughter of General Schuyler.”
“How do you do?” Meg curtsied prettily.
“Meg is a Loyalist, but we don’t mind,” Molly added.
“Indeed?” Angelica asked.
“My father is Captain Moncrieffe of the British Army,” Meg replied.
Angelica nodded before catching sight of someone over her shoulder. “Captain Webb!”
“Ladies.” He extended his hand toward her. “Would you care to dance, Miss Moncrieffe?” As he led her to the dance floor, she snuck a glance at Aaron, who was still huddled with Old Put and the other man.
“I trust you are getting along well in New York?” Captain Webb asked as they touched hands and got into the rhythm of the gavotte.
Meg circled around him before their hands met again. “I am. Old Put and the missus have been quite gracious.”
“They always are,” Webb said as he shifted down the line. A fob in a bright blue coat met Meg’s hand and introduced himself briefly as a Mr. De Lancy before the line moved again.
Half an hour later, Meg was finally able to sit down. It seemed she had met all of New York society’s leading men in the short time she’d been at the ball. Captain Webb appeared with a mug of cider. “Here, you look like you could use this.”
“Thanks,” Meg told him gratefully before taking a ladylike sip, when what she really wanted to do was devour the drink, slam the silver cup on the table, and demand more. Aaron was still in the corner, only now he was surrounded by women. He moved slightly to the side of one woman and her towering hairpiece, meeting Meg’s eyes before narrowing them at Captain Webb. Meg took another drink and then stuck her hand out to the captain so he could help her to her feet. “If you will excuse me for one moment,” she called over her shoulder. As she was suitably emboldened by her ale, she decided it was time to approach Aaron.
Upon closer scrutiny, the women surrounding him seemed ages older than herself. “Major Burr, would you accompany me outside?” Meg flicked her fan out. “I could use some air and would like a military escort.”
He excused himself from his hangers-on to take her arm and lead her out the back door. His hand rested on her elbow as they walked on the herringbone patterned pathway, but he dropped it when they paused beside a fence surrounding the grassy knoll that sloped toward the East River. “Captain Webb could have escorted you out here,” Aaron said finally.
“I am aware. But I wanted you.”
Aaron blew out his breath and rested his hands on the fence. Meg noticed how strong they appeared underneath the frill of his sleeves. “It seemed to me you could have had any available man in that room.” He turned to face her. “Or any man in any room. Why don’t you find a kingsman to align yourself with?”
Meg reached for his hand. “Why should I when I can have a perfectly good rebel?”
He stepped closer. “Meg, this isn’t going to work. You are so young, and I might be called off to war at any moment.”
“I’m not so young. Many people my age are already married. And who knows what tomorrow brings? Maybe General Howe will not attack Manhattan and all of those soldiers making preparations can go home.”
“Would that make you happy?”
She shifted her hand so that their fingers were entwined. “Being with you would make me happy.”
“Would you change your alliance for me? Would you betray your father for my hand?”
“Do I have to?”
He dropped her hand and turned toward the river. “Yes. I’m Putnam’s aide-de-camp, and he assures me that a promotion is forthcoming. Being tied to the daughter of a captain on the other side would not do me any favors.”
“I would never forsake my father. Or my King.” Meg’s voice wobbled as her eyes flooded.
Aaron pulled a handkerchief out from his sleeve and shook it out forcefully before turning to her. He wiped her eyes tenderly before he said, “And I won’t abandon my career.”
“So that’s it then.” Meg moved his hand away from her face, the tears suitably dried.
He tucked his handkerchief away in his pocket. “I guess so.”
“Can I just ask for one thing? Can I have a kiss from a handsome officer in the garden on a summer’s evening?”
Aaron looked around. The doors that led to the tavern stood open, the laughter and gossip of the room floating out toward the few couples strolling along the promenade near the river. He opened a small gate and led her under the shade of an oak tree. Meg leaned up against it as he looked at her to ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
In lieu of a reply, she pulled him toward her. When their lips met, it felt as though her whole life paraded before her in mere seconds: the death of her mother and her father’s next wives after her, the lonely times in Dublin, the fearful scene with the soldiers in Elizabethtown. She was tired of being abandoned, tired of being alone. She may have been a child by some people’s standards, but the want coursing through her veins was a woman’s need. She wanted to be with Major Burr more than she had ever wanted anything. But was she willing to give up her King and family in order to do so?
Chapter VI
Meg
July 1776
The morning after the ball, Meg arose late. She hadn’t gotten much sleep: when she laid on her back in her bed, it brought to mind Aaron’s soft lips when he kissed her last night. Turning onto her side only served to remind her of the chasm between them. Her last thought before she finally fell asleep was that the chasm could miraculously disappear once this silly war ended.
After breakfast, she was commanded into yet another seemingly endless sewing session. In mid-afternoon, Eunice entered the room to announce a visitor for Miss Moncrieffe.
“Who is it?” Meg was thankful at any rate for the interruption.
Eunice frowned. “A Redcoat captain.”
Belle put down the wool she was carding. “A Redcoat? Here?”
Meg rushed to the door. She was pleased to see her old acquaintance, Thomas Walcott, standing in the front hallway.
“Thomas!” she cried, extending her hand toward the soldier. Thomas kissed it obligingly and then gazed over her shoulder. Meg followed his eyes to see Aaron, dressed in riding breeches, leaning against the doorframe outside Putnam’s office.
“How does your family?” Meg asked, taking a step closer to Thomas.
“My sister and mother are well. Father is with His Majesty’s navy. As was I.” He took another glance at Aaron, who now had his arms crossed in front of him.
“The navy? Do you have news of my father?” The Walcott’s had been family friends in England and Meg had attended b
oarding school with Sarah, Thomas’s younger sister.
Thomas shook his head.
“What brings you to New York?”
“Well,” Thomas shoved his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I’m what you might call a prisoner.” From the end of the hallway, Aaron coughed. Both Meg and Thomas ignored him as Thomas continued, “I was captured in the Battle of Bunker Hill.”
Conscious of Aaron’s eyes on them, Meg put her arm on Thomas’s sleeve. “Are you well then?”
“They are treating me quite fine. I have been staying at the home of Hercules Mulligan, the tailor. I believe Major Burr is acquainted with him and his old tenant, Alexander Hamilton.” Another cough sounded from Aaron’s direction as Thomas stated, “He mentioned that your father requested your residence here with General Putnam.”
At this Meg peered back at Aaron, her hand still placed on Thomas’s forearm. Aaron pretended to study the wall in front of him.
“I’m afraid I must return to Mr. Mulligan’s at this time,” Thomas said, returning Meg’s arm to her. “They allow me to come and go as I please. Of that I am grateful, but I wouldn’t want to stir their suspicion.” Thomas paused as Aaron cleared his throat loudly. “Mayhap I can call on you tomorrow, Meg? We can catch up with old news.”
“Of course, Thomas,” Meg said. She turned so that Aaron could see her profile before giving Thomas her sweetest smile. “I’d like that very much.”
“Then I shall take my leave of you for today. G’day, Miss Moncrieffe,” Thomas said, tipping his hat toward her. “Major Burr.” He turned to give Aaron the same gesture, though this time with slightly less enthusiasm.
After he left, Meg put her hands on her hips and glared toward the end of the hallway. “What was that all about, Aaron? Are you coming down with a cold?”
He sauntered forward. “I heard Eunice announce the Redcoat and I wanted to make sure you were not cavorting with the enemy.”
“He’s no enemy of mine,” Meg replied pointedly.
“Yes, I noticed. How do you know him?”