by Kit Sergeant
“It’s best not to let on that you are afraid,” Mary said, bending down to tell the boy that she would bring them a snack. “I’d better get back downstairs. If anyone was watching, it should not take me too much time to show you up here.”
Elizabeth nodded.
As soon as she left, Abby asked to know what Mary meant about the prisoners. “Are they upset with you for bringing them blankets?”
“I am not sure.” Elizabeth affected a lofty air. “We will have to wait and see.” She pulled a book out of her valise and then sat on the floor to read to the children.
An hour later, Elizabeth and Abby were trying in vain to get the children to nap when there was a knock on the door. Elizabeth answered it, expecting to see Mary back with refreshments. But it was Robert who strode into the room.
The children shouted, “Mr. Townsend!” and ran to embrace his legs.
“Shh,” he said, bending down to greet them each by name. “I have a present for you,” he said, brandishing a small spinning top. Johnny took it from him and rotated it on the floor. Robert nodded a greeting at Abby. “Children, make sure you take turns and be sure to keep the noise down. I’ve got to speak with your mother.”
They retreated to the farthest corner of the little room as Abby bent down to oversee the children’s playing.
“What is going on?” Elizabeth was anxious and not a little upset that she had not seen Robert for weeks and now they were to meet under these circumstances.
“Near as I can tell, some time ago the British intercepted a letter from Washington intended for Ben. The General must not have had the code book available when he wrote it because he mentioned Higday by name as a person that could be of use to the ring.”
“And how do the British know of me?”
“They arrested Higday. His wife, in an attempt to lessen his punishment, gave up your name as helping Higday assist the prison ships. That is all they know currently. I don’t believe Higday has knowledge of the escape, but we cannot be sure. I’ve arranged for William to accompany you to Oyster Bay. You will stay there for a fortnight or so while I locate a more permanent residence for you, some place far away from here.”
“No,” Elizabeth stated resolutely. “I did not leave during the siege and I will not remove my children from their home.”
“Elizabeth.” Robert met her gaze. His face looked anguished, even more pale and gaunt than the last time she’d seen him. He reached up as though to touch her hair and then reconsidered, his hand falling back to his side. “I’m sorry, but to do that is to put you and the children in grave danger. You must leave the city as soon as possible. William will meet you at the wharf tomorrow to bring you to my friend Daniel Youngs’ house.”
“I will not depend on the pity of others,” Elizabeth replied, this time a bit more weakly as she took a sidelong glance at her children.
“Youngs will be well compensated for the additional mouths to feed, and William has volunteered. The sentries at the ferry are familiar with his comings and goings, and, as he will claim you as a cousin, it should not arouse suspicion.” Robert, too, cast his eyes to the group playing on the floor. “I wish I could accompany you to Oyster Bay myself, but there are stirrings amongst my contacts that lead me to believe the British might be making a large move in the future.”
Elizabeth nodded. “The cause must come first.” She sighed. “I will go to Oyster Bay with the understanding that this might be a storm that blows over as quickly as it came in.”
Robert set his lips in a firm line. “Thank you.” He let out a breath. “With that, I must be going.”
Elizabeth could not help throwing herself into his arms. This time his hand entangled itself in her hair.
“Why are you crying, Mama?” Catherine asked. She had grown bored with the top and now stood next to them.
“It is all fine, little Kitty,” Robert said, ruffling her curls. “You are going to take a vacation in my hometown.” The smile he bestowed on her did not extend past his mouth.
Elizabeth ran her fingers under her eyes and then wiped them on her apron. “Children, come say goodbye to Mr. Townsend.”
Chapter XLVI
Meg
April 1779
In early April, Meg and André met for an afternoon tea and found themselves alone in the room. General Clinton and many of his officers and hangers-on had taken advantage of the weather and had gone quail hunting in the countryside. André had declined, wanting to get some rest. As the maid poured their tea, Meg asked how his new position as head of intelligence was going.
“Well,” he replied, “We managed to intercept some papers addressed to Benjamin Tallmadge, and written by Washington himself. We found one of the spies he mentioned. A man by the name of George Higday.”
Meg spooned sugar into her tea. Her heartbeat had sped up when he said the word, “spies,” but she was unfamiliar with anyone named Higday.
“We had him in Bridewell prison for over a week, but he refused to give us any more information. His wife, however, on hearing of his arrest, gave up another name. A woman who supposedly was the mastermind of a prison ship coup. Can you imagine? They keep such poor records aboard the ship that no one knew that so many men had disappeared.”
“What was the woman’s name?” Meg managed to ask, even though her throat seemed suddenly obstructed and her chest tight.
André rolled his eyes to the ceiling, trying to remember. “Bergen. Eliza Bergen.” Meg refrained from correcting André as he continued, “We visited her place of residence, but it looks as though she might have fled, probably for the countryside. Clinton is offering a reward of 200 pounds if she can be apprehended. He has it in his head that she can lead us to the Culpers, though I personally don’t think a woman could be involved with Washington’s main ring.”
Meg set her spoon down. Pushing her tea setting aside, she searched desperately for a reason to leave. She would have given anything to shed decorum and run from the room, but doing so would only invite André’s inquiry, and possibly end his ability to talk so freely with her about the Culpers.
André, unaware of his companion’s anxiousness, mentioned that a Loyalist acquaintance he had in Philadelphia had recently married General Arnold, the American hero of Saratoga.
“Oh?” Meg asked, pretending to be absorbed in the conversation. “What sort of acquaintance?”
André smiled his golden grin. “Not that kind. Peggy Shippen was well educated, like you and Honora. However, I wish she would have put some of that knowledge to learning rather than social climbing.” He raised one eyebrow as he glanced at Meg.
“Another woman falling in love with a man of the enemy’s army,” Meg murmured, momentarily forgetting her plight. “Do you know if her family approved?”
“Well, they were quite strict.” André took a sip of tea before delicately setting the cup in the saucer. “Peggy could not even go to the Meschianza ball because a few Quakers pleaded with her father that it was too indecent.” His voice reflected the bitterness he must have felt of that declaration. “But even if they are strict Loyalists, becoming the wife of the military commander of Philadelphia has its own perks.”
“Are his fortunes still secure even after that court martial?” Many British officers had derided the fact that the Continental Army was accusing one of their own generals of stealing from them and the matter had been fodder for gossip at One Broadway for weeks.
“Fortunes?” André roared. “Arnold claims the army owes him that in back pay. He barely has a penny to his name.” André set his teacup down. “I wonder…” He rose from the table so abruptly that his chair fell over.
“Major André?” Meg called at his retreating back, thankful for the end of their conversation, though a bit perplexed by André’s sudden exit. As soon as she heard a door slam down the hallway, she left the tea table and hastened to her room. Despite Mercy’s assurances, Elizabeth’s husband died in part due to Meg’s treason. She was determined to help her any
way she could, even if it meant sacrificing her own safety.
The maid was still clearing the tea cups when Meg came back downstairs. “If anyone asks, please tell them that I’ve just stepped out to run an errand,” Meg commanded her. The maid nodded demurely.
Once on the street, Meg realized that she had no way of getting to the other side of the city besides walk. She recalled the heady days before the occupation when she and Aaron would ride out together. Now he’s traipsing about with a married woman! Meg thought. Her heart caught in her throat as she thought of Aaron’s dark eyes. I hope they’re happy, she thought before she turned toward Queen Street.
She was used to riding about town on horseback or in a carriage; the view from the ground was very different. Most of the beautiful trees that once shaded the avenues had been cut down for firewood last winter, and the April sun heated her bonnet and the back of her neck. Meg wrinkled her nose as the wind blew, bringing with it an overwhelming smell of decay, likely from the Sugar House and Bridewell prisons only a few blocks north. Mercy had once told her that the prisons were so crowded with Americans that there was not enough space for all of them to sleep and they had to take turns lying down. Still, Meg thought as she crossed Smith Street, it must be better to detained in a land jail than on those hulks in Wallabout Bay. She recalled what André had said about Elizabeth. She knew Elizabeth’s husband had died aboard the Jersey and Mercy had once mentioned that Elizabeth brought blankets and food to the prisoners. Meg did not have much more information than that, but she knew where to go to find more.
“Robert Townsend,” Meg gasped as she finally made it to Hercules Mulligan’s shop. She put a hand to her side. “I must speak to Townsend.”
“Meg?” Hercules came from around the counter. “Look at you. You’re covered in sweat,” he added distastefully.
“I had to walk.”
“From where? Your sanctuary with André?”
Meg straightened her posture. “Do not start with me, Hercules. You know what my husband is like.”
He cast a quick look around and then said in a low voice, “Yes, but m’dear, you are now in the perfect position to resume your old work.”
“No,” Meg said vehemently. “I need to find Townsend.”
Hercules shook his head. “He has become quite the scarce man these days. You might try over at the Underhills.’ It’s only a few blocks that way,” he said, extending his thumb north. “Why are you so interested in finding Townsend?”
“I need to tell him something. It’s extremely important.” She quickly filled him in on what André had told her at tea.
Hercules nodded. “C’mon. I’ll take you there.”
They soon arrived at a simple brownstone and Hercules led her inside. There was only one man sitting in the tavern area. A middle-aged woman with a round face was behind the counter. “Hercules!” she exclaimed upon spying him. “What brings you here?”
“We’re looking for Townsend,” he said in a low voice.
Mary Underhill frowned. “I have not seen him lately.” She nodded to the man in the tavern. “Perhaps my brother Abraham can help. He’s known Robert since they spent some time in Culpepper County, Virginia.”
Meg gasped when she realized that by Culpepper, she must have meant Culper.
Hercules raised his chin in recognition. “Not here, though.”
“That’s right, I do have a room available for a few hours,” she said loudly. “Abraham, I cannot leave my desk right now. Can you show this kind couple up to the attic room?”
Abraham got up slowly. With his sallow complexion and untidy hair, Meg would not expect him to be in the line of work he followed. At any rate, she supposed, he was of the type that could be easily overlooked. “Abraham Woodhull,” he said when they reached the attic. He bowed briefly and shut the door behind them. “I take it you have some business?”
“I was originally looking for Robert Townsend,” Meg said, “but your sister said you could help. It concerns Elizabeth Burgin.”
Woodhull gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Go on.”
“She is in grave danger. Clinton has a price on her head!” Meg’s voice rose in panic as she thought of the peril Elizabeth might be facing.
Woodhull’s eyebrows knit together. “Are you aware of anything else that might be of importance?”
Meg drew in a deep breath. “André mentioned that she might be of assistance in uncovering who the Culpers are.”
This finally caused a real reaction in Woodhull. His face fell as he staggered into a nearby desk chair.
“Do you know where she is?” Meg cried.
“For now, she is in a safe place, but now we must convey her out of the city as soon as possible.”
“She should go to West Point,” Hercules interjected.
Abraham put his chin in his hand. “The military garrison?”
“That way there will be no Loyalists to give her away,” Hercules said as Meg searched her head for where she had heard those words before. She scrunched her face before her eyes widened. Of course! In her last letter, Mercy had mentioned that Dr. McKnight had been recently stationed at West Point to manage an inoculation clinic. “I have a friend there,” she said.
Woodhull reached into the desk and pulled out a piece of paper and a vial. “I will get this to Robert as soon as I can.” With that, he turned his back and began scribbling. Meg noticed that his pen must have run dry because no ink was showing up on the paper. Before she could point this out to him, Hercules pushed her out of the room.
Chapter XLVII
Elizabeth
April 1779
There had been no time to pack. Someone had knocked roughly on the Youngs’ door in the middle of the night. Elizabeth, awakened by the noise, went out to the hallway and listened as a gruff voice asked for her by name. She did not want to cause the Youngs any more danger and hurriedly threw on some clothes, prepared to accept her fate if the unexpected visitor was a Redcoat. But it was Caleb Brewster who stood in the doorframe. Both he and Daniel turned as she hastened downstairs.
“We must go now, tonight,” Brewster said. He was, as usual, dressed all in black, but now his look was complete with a floppy black hat and mud darkening the features of his face not covered by his heavy beard.
“Just let me wake the children and Abby,” Elizabeth replied.
“No,” Brewster said firmly. “My instructions are to bring you only.”
“I’ve already arranged with Caleb that they can stay here as long as necessary,” Daniel told her kindly.
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears. “I cannot leave them!”
“You can send for them as soon as the scandal dies down.”
“Scandal?” Elizabeth’s throat closed and she struggled to get the next words out. “Has my name appeared in the Gazette?”
“Not the Gazette,” Brewster said, placing an arm on her shoulder to urge her out the door. “But pretty much every other paper in the city. One of our contacts told us Clinton offered two hundred pounds for your seizure.” He nodded at Youngs, who wished Elizabeth good luck before he shut the door. The sound of the lock echoed through the outside darkness. “If I didn’t like ye so much, I’d as like to turn ye in as well. It’s good money, thar.” The Irish brogue was back, which meant Brewster was more nervous than he was letting on.
“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked in a loud whisper as Brewster held up the lamp to find the path.
“Eventually, West Point.”
Elizabeth stumbled on a rock. “Across the Sound? In the middle of the night?”
“Aye. Luckily it’s cloudy.” He again took hold of her arm to lead her to the water where his whaleboat was docked. “I was in Setauket earlier today. Anna got the message straightaway and Woodhull came as soon as he heard.” He steadied the boat and Elizabeth climbed in.
“Anna?”
He followed her in and grabbed the oars. “Anna Strong, Selah’s wife. She hangs a black petticoat on the line a
long with a certain number of handkerchiefs. That’s how Abraham knows which cove I’m in. There are six of them, and I dock in a different one each time. Hence why the British haven’t caught me yet. Shh!” Brewster said suddenly, as if she were the one talking and not him. “Get down!” he commanded, and Elizabeth ducked as low as she could after catching sight of another boat entering the waterway a few yards down. “Damned Oyster Bay and its exposed waters. That’s why I don’t come this way much.” He paused and Elizabeth lifted her head to see him peering down at her. “Don’t ye worry, I can outrun ‘em.”
After several nerve-wracking minutes, Brewster told Elizabeth she could raise her head.
“Why West Point?” she whispered after she had sat up again.
“Dr. McKnight is there, not to mention that it’s probably the safest place to be in America right now, besides in General Washington’s own tent.”
Elizabeth nodded. She was trying to keep her mind off the three sweet, innocent heads sleeping the night away in the Youngs’ guest bedroom. If anything happened to them because of me, I’d never forgive myself. But the British could not be that cruel, could they? Elizabeth tried to banish all of the horrible rumors she’d heard of the Hessian troops murdering women and children in their beds.
A splash erupted in the quiet darkness. Brewster’s oars halted above the water before he motioned for her to duck down again. This time she could hear men shouting from the other boat, followed by a noise so loud it felt like Elizabeth’s teeth shook in their gums. A gunshot!
Brewster paused to haul his rifle up onto his lap before he somehow found the strength to increase the rhythm of his rowing and the voices soon faded. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut, imagining herself in the middle of a gunfight. Home, she thought, keeping her eyes closed. She pictured her apartment that, while spare of furnishings, was filled with love. Behind her eyelids, she saw an image of Robert instructing Johnny and Abby while Catherine curled up to read a book on Elizabeth’s lap, and the baby slept in the corner. Suddenly, she felt the boat slow down. She raised her head, expecting to see a boat full of Redcoats beside them, but, instead, Elizabeth saw only mud and grass. They were ashore.