355: The Women of Washington's Spy Ring (Women Spies Book 1)

by Kit Sergeant

  Phoebe shot her an incredulous look that quickly turned smug. She was evidently pleased that her sister’s once adoring suitors had cast her aside to continuously discuss whatever it was that brought André to Oyster Bay in the first place.

  Sally threw her hands up in dismay and began to stomp, most unladylike, out of the room.

  Simcoe grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry, Miss Townsend. It’s just that Major André is only here for a short time and needed my opinion on some military strategies he is thinking of employing.”

  She cast a dark look at Major André, who gave her a subtle wink before turning back to Simcoe. “What military strategies?”

  He dropped her arm. “Oh, just some troop formations. It’s all very boring and tedious.”

  She knew that whatever it was that was prompting their cryptic behavior, it was much more than discussing humdrum troop formations, but was she also aware that neither man would reveal their actual topic of discussion.

  Simcoe continued, “Major André will be leaving the day after tomorrow and then I will have more time to spend with you.”

  Phoebe, obviously cognizant of the undercurrents flowing in the room, looked at Major André to get his reaction, as did Sally. André took a long sip of wine and gave Simcoe a tight smile. “But not too much time,” he reminded his friend. “I will be requiring the presence of the Rangers on my mission as well.”

  “Will you be gone long?” Phoebe asked André.

  “Hopefully not,” he replied. “This should be a quick one,” he said, glancing at Simcoe, who nodded.

  “Well, then, we must give you a proper sendoff,” Phoebe stated. “Sally, we don’t have much time to prepare.”

  “Are you going to bestow your olykoeks upon us, then?” André looked at Sally, his eyebrows raised and a miscreant glint in his eyes.

  She returned his smile. “Only if you promise not to hide them.”

  Phoebe rushed out with the intent to plan another fete, leaving Simcoe to shift his eyes back and forth between his intended and the major, his frown deepening.

  It was not long before the men excused themselves and, once again, disappeared behind the closed door of Robert’s old room. This time Sally could not help herself and paused outside to listen. She carried an extra blanket—in case anyone should catch sight of her, she could claim that she wanted to make sure Major André was comfortable. She was able to pick up a few snatches of phrases here and there, such as “’tis settled then,” and “fall to the Empire.” What would fall? Her heart fell into her satin slippers as she realized the importance of their discussion. She crept even closer, putting her ear on the door. Simcoe’s voice had grown louder with excitement. This time she distinctly heard the words “West Point,” and “Hudson River.” André’s voice, murmuring something in agreement, sounded as though he was near the door. Sally pulled the blanket to her chest and hastened as quickly away as she could without resorting to running. She slowed to a walk as she crept up the stairs, casting a worried look down upon the empty hallway before heading to her room.

  Sally knew that West Point, with its key position on the Hudson River, was the most important American military base and stored vast amounts of equipment for the army. She quickly surmised that André’s mission had something to do with the fort. Sally got up to light a candle and then fetched a paper and a quill. Her intention was to dash off a quick missive to Robert about the possibility of a British attack on West Point, but then she remembered his warning to code any future information. She retrieved the slip of paper he’d left her in the bottom of her clock and then sat down, putting Robert’s sheet as close to the candle as possible. On one side was a list of numbers and opposite, their meaning. The word “careful” was represented by the number 87 and “advise” by 234, and so on. On the other side was a cipher to disguise other important words that were not given a number.

  She began by addressing the letter to “723,” the way Robert had told her. She wrote the body of the letter haltingly, occasionally pausing to consult the sheet and add a number instead of a word. She frowned when she got to the most important part. New York was coded by 727, and Long Island was 728, but there was no number for West Point. She flipped to the cipher and then scrawled the letters that corresponded: Yiuv Rqcpv, before underlining them twice with her quill. It was all a bit disconcerting to Sally, but Robert had told her this was the customary way of conveying intelligence within his circle. When she had finished, she wrote the number “355” as instructed at the bottom of the message instead of signing her name. She had just returned everything to her clock when Phoebe entered.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Phoebe told her pointedly. “I’ve decided, with Mother’s permission, that we will throw Major André a going-away party.”

  There goes Phoebe again, planning parties when the fate of the Continental Army is at stake. Sally bestowed a fake smile upon her sister. “I will go with whatever you desire.”

  “Just make your olykoeks again,” Phoebe told her in a voice that implied that she had no other party-planning skills, which suited Sally just fine. She had to find a way to get this message to Robert, and quickly.

  The house was quiet the next morning. Papa left to meet with a customer and Mother and Phoebe had gone to extend invitations to their neighbors for the party. Simcoe and André had already departed by the time Sally started baking her cakes in the kitchen.

  The surety of her missive last night had begun to give way to doubt. If she indeed found a way to deliver the message to Robert, she now feared that it might have dangerous repercussions for André. While she knew her dedication was ultimately to the American objective, she had affectionate feelings for the major and the last thing she wished was to cause him harm. She wavered back and forth, reminding herself that André might not come to personal injury, but if West Point fell, that could result in the swift end of the war that Simcoe had hinted at.

  By the time the olykoeks were cooling on the table, Sally had once again convinced herself to ride out to the Youngs’ place to secure the message to Robert. She went upstairs to retrieve her letter and was about to start down again when she thought she heard the front door open. She maneuvered out of sight of the doorway and tucked the note into her bodice. She peered downstairs, expecting to hear the chatter of her mother and Phoebe, or even the masculine voices of Simcoe and André, but there was only silence. The man she spied from her view at the top of the stairs was dressed in dirty homespun and wore a hat that covered most of his face. Sally angled her head and edged down the stairs, watching as the man skulked into the parlor. She moved yet another step down when she realized she could see the man’s reflection in the parlor mirror. He walked toward the built-in cabinet where André had once hidden her olykoeks. The thought occurred to Sally that he too was going to hide her baking endeavor, as if André had hired a stranger to commit this newest prank. Instead, the man took a slim piece of paper out from the pocket of his waistcoat and, opening the bottom doors of the cabinet, stashed it inside. He made to close the cabinet, but then thought better of it and shoved the paper deeper inside the cupboard before shutting the doors and replacing the latch. Sally hoisted herself back onto the landing as the man looked around the room again, obviously preparing to leave. She stayed out of sight until she heard the front door click shut.

  She sat at the top of the stairs for a minute, breathing heavily to catch up for the moments she’d held her breath. What was that stranger doing in her house? He was not a soldier, or if he was, he’d dressed as a commoner for this occasion. Sally made up her mind to retrieve the letter under the guise that she needed a charger plate for this afternoon’s tea. She crept downstairs and into the parlor in the same manner as the man who had just left. She kept her eyes on the front door as she moved the latch and opened the cupboard before groping around its insides. Half-expecting nothing to be there, indicating that she had been imagining the whole thing, her fingers finally closed upon the paper. She pulle
d it out, still breathing hard. The envelope was addressed to “John Anderson,” and sealed with wax. With a sigh, Sally replaced it, knowing that she could not undo the seal without arousing the suspicion of the intended recipient. She hazarded a guess that it was meant for the major—John Anderson must be a code name for John André.

  Her suspicions were confirmed when, soon after André returned, her olykoeks disappeared once again. André entered the kitchen directly after her, waiting for her reaction. She stood before the empty plate and put her hands on her hips as André laughed. Sally pretended to storm out and marched straight to the parlor cupboard. She pulled open the doors with shaking hands. While the olykoeks were in there, the envelope was not. André followed her, and she masked her surprise at the quick disappearance of the letter. As Simcoe was still occupied at the redoubt, André was obviously the one who had retrieved the missive.

  She excused herself, saying that she needed to change out of her apron. She was about to start upstairs when André called out, “Sally?”

  She turned to face him. His brown eyes looked sorrowful. “Are you truly planning on marrying Simcoe once the war is over?”

  She dropped her gaze to her hands, which were folded over the soiled apron in front of her. She was not sure how to answer. Was he asking for Simcoe’s benefit or did he have a different motive? If she answered truthfully, that she did not want to marry Simcoe, it might open the door for André to ask himself. But then again, the same dilemma of her moving to England would confront her, notwithstanding that spending her life with André was a much more inviting prospect. She would never willingly leave her family or her country but to tell him the truth would reveal the patriotism that ran through her veins. “My heart does not know what it wants,” she called out before rushing upstairs.

  She was absolutely certain now that, in trying to save West Point, she was endangering André and his mission. But Sally shut out whatever feelings she might have for the handsome soldier as she added a postscript with the name “John Anderson,”—“Dqbp Ephiluqp” written with the cipher—and the mysterious circumstances of the letter to the bottom of her message. She quickly scrawled a separate note to her brother, asking him to procure some Bohea, Major André’s favorite tea, as soon as possible as he would be leaving Oyster Bay shortly. She also wrote that she was enclosing the packet of paper he had requested. It made no sense for Sally to be sending her brother stationary since his store sold the exact same brand, but this was how Robert instructed her to convey her intelligence should she ever find the need. She dug the packet out of her hope chest and carefully opened it. Robert told her to put the paper after the 21st sheet, in honor of her own birthday in May. She counted the pages and then tucked in the coded message before resealing the packet as best she could. She placed the innocuous note regarding the tea on top and then wrapped the entire package in brown parcel paper, also supplied by Robert.

  Simcoe had still not reappeared when Sally headed back downstairs. She went out to the stable and saddled Gem by herself, mercifully not encountering André again. She rode Gem to the Youngs as Robert had instructed. Sally did not fully understand how Daniel Youngs, the Loyalist militia captain, factored into Robert’s affairs, but she trusted her brother implicitly.

  There were a few militiamen roaming about the Youngs’ farm, as well as three small children playing with chickens in the side yard. Although Sally had never seen them before, the little girl reminded her of someone, but she could not place who it was. A woman in a loosely laced stomacher watched them with a forlorn look on her face.

  “Sally!” She turned to see Daniel walking out from the house.

  Sally dismounted and took the package from Gem’s saddlebag. “I have a rather urgent message for Robert,” she stammered, proffering the bundle to Daniel.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, a request for tea for Major André. He is quitting Oyster Bay very soon.”

  “Ah,” Daniel replied, turning the parcel over in his hands. “That sounds quite important.” He motioned for one of the Loyalist soldiers and Sally’s face heated up. She was sure she was caught, but then Daniel handed him her package and told him to rush it to Robert straightaway. “We would not want Major André without his tea, would we?” he asked, winking at Sally.

  As the man moved out, Daniel tied Gem to a tree and offered Sally some lemonade. “Are you sure?” Sally asked. “Susannah mentioned that you had a sick relative.”

  “Oh,” Daniel said, glancing at the young woman near the chicken coop. “She is not contagious, so I would not worry too much.”

  After a brief interlude with Susannah, in which Sally invited her to the party, and Susannah asked a few questions about the impending departures of André and Simcoe, Sally headed back home.

  The major was sitting on the steps of the back porch, and Sally’s heart caught yet again in her throat. André seemed out of sorts as he fanned himself with a piece of paper. He stood as she approached. “I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been?”

  She readjusted her bonnet, pulling it over her heated face. “We are out of Bohea,” she told him as smoothly as she could. “I wanted to make sure we had a supply for your party, and requested Robert to send us some.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes and Sally felt the familiar hammering in her chest. Did he know what she had actually been up to?

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, Sally, but I have to leave for my appointment as soon as possible.”

  “Now? But what about your party?”

  He hesitated before saying, “We will have another when I get back.” He handed her the paper he’d been fanning himself with. “One last gift for my beautiful host.”

  As Sally took the paper, Simcoe rode up. “Ready, Major André?” he asked. André nodded and then headed for the stables. Sally did not meet Simcoe’s eyes as she strode into the house.

  When she got to her room, she unfolded the paper, wondering if it had anything to do with the letter in the cabinet. But there was no seal and no address on the front. It was another poem, written in André’s handwriting.

  If at the close of war and strife

  My destiny once more

  Should in the varied paths of life

  Conduct me to this shore;

  Should British banners guard the land,

  And factions be restrained,

  And Clivedon’s mansion peaceful stand,

  No more with blood be stained,

  Say! Wilt thou then receive again,

  And welcome to thy sight,

  The youth who bids with stifled pain

  His sad farewell tonight?

  Sally refolded it and tucked it into her hope chest, praying that she would indeed be able to welcome Major André into her sight, but only after an American victory.

  Chapter LI

  Elizabeth

  September 1779

  The inhabitants of Beverly were in an uproar at the end of September. Servants rushed by Elizabeth in a hurry, and supplies arrived by the wagonful. The kitchen chimney seemed to smoke all day and night. It couldn’t be in preparation for the arrival of General Arnold’s family, as they had been living there for a month already, though Elizabeth only occasionally caught a glimpse of the beautiful Mrs. Arnold and her infant son.

  “What is the cause for your haste?” Elizabeth asked a serving wench as she scurried by her with a bucket of water.

  “The General arrives this morning!” she shouted as she tossed the contents of the bucket at the base of an apple tree.

  “General Arnold?” This was puzzling as Elizabeth knew Arnold left Beverly every morning, traveling in his barge upriver to the fort, and then returned the same way every evening.

  “No,” the girl gave Elizabeth a curious look. “General Washington himself. He is to break his fast with General Arnold and his family.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth put a hand to her mouth.

  The girl tossed her a wry smile over her shoulder as she headed
back inside. “And now you know the reason for my rush.”

  Elizabeth withdrew back to her little cottage, pulling up a chair to the window. She desired a glimpse of the great man, but the heat of the morning made sitting outside uncomfortable. After half an hour of waiting, Elizabeth stood and moved the curtain back when she saw horses approach. Puzzled, she watched two men dismount in front of the house, neither of them the famous general. She reasoned that the arrival of the Commander-in-Chief would require guards by the tenfold, not two men. She recognized one of them from the papers as the General’s aide, Alexander Hamilton, but was unsure of the identity of the other. They tied their horses to posts and then went into the great house. Not long after, another man with the urgent speed of an express arrived. He clumsily tied his horse next to the others and then, after presumably delivering his message, the express galloped away as quickly as he came.

  Another half an hour ticked by. Elizabeth grabbed her copy of Common Sense and began to read. Not too much more time passed before she heard a commotion, but this time it was coming from the back of Beverly. She hastened to the bedroom window where she caught sight of General Arnold exiting the house through the parlor. He shouted something to Hamilton—who had come outside to the little portico—before mounting his horse and riding away. Not a minute later, Elizabeth heard the thunderous sound of many horses. She ran outside to see Washington’s concierge riding up from the opposite direction in which Arnold had disappeared. Elizabeth watched as Colonel Hamilton approached Washington.

  This was all rather unexpected, Elizabeth thought to herself. Why did General Arnold gallop off like that if he was awaiting his commander? It must have had to do with the express—maybe West Point was in danger? But if so, then General Washington must not have thought much about it because he and his entourage of a dozen men—including one in a French uniform that could only be the Marquise de Lafayette—disappeared into Beverly. Again the servants began going in and out of the house, and Elizabeth figured the breakfast was taking place—without General Arnold.