by Kit Sergeant
Yet another express arrived. Goodness, Elizabeth thought, Beverly is quite the busy place! This express did not soon reappear, and Elizabeth settled back down with her book, hoping to get another glimpse of the heroes of the Continental Army before they left.
A knock sounded on Elizabeth’s door in mid-afternoon. Hastening to open it, she was puzzled to see Dr. McKnight there. “Hurry, Mrs. Burgin,” he told her. “Mrs. Arnold is in a state of advanced fright and I need a woman’s help.”
Elizabeth joined him outside, shutting the door behind her. Dr. McKnight led the way to the main house and then up the stairs to the master bedroom. Startled, Elizabeth took in the scene. Mrs. Arnold lay on the fine bed in a flimsy shift. Although she had been rumored to be one of the most beautiful women in America, her hair was currently in disarray and her eyes were held wide, giving her an unblinking, wild look. The fireplace was lit, and the over furnished room felt hot and stuffy. Colonel Hamilton, standing next to the bed, cast a bewildered look at Dr. McKnight. “She keeps repeating that I’ve been ordered to kill her child.”
Dr. McKnight rushed to the bed. “No one is going to hurt Neddy, Mrs. Arnold. General Arnold will soon be returning from West Point and everything will be back to normal.”
This seemed to soothe Mrs. Arnold. She closed her eyes and began to breathe heavily, as though she had fallen asleep.
“Actually, Doctor…” Hamilton tilted his head at Mrs. Arnold and then gestured for him to come near the fireplace. Elizabeth followed, feeling sweat pinprick her face.
Hamilton threw out his hands. “General Arnold has gone over to the British.”
“What?” Dr. McKnight’s mouth dropped open in surprise as Elizabeth put her hand over her own gaping jaw.
“He has betrayed General Washington and our country,” Hamilton said mournfully before taking a deep breath. “Apparently a British spy named John Anderson was caught in the neutral territory of the lower Hudson carrying sketches and notes of West Point’s fortifications—in Arnold’s handwriting!”
“Dear God,” Dr. McKnight said. He pinched his lips between his fingers, as if to forcibly keep them closed, and furrowed his eyebrows.
Elizabeth was too stunned to speak. General Arnold had been a well-respected leader of the Continental Army and he had nearly given up West Point. His betrayal could have ended the war and guaranteed a British victory. Elizabeth said a silent prayer of thanks that West Point was still in American hands.
The doctor removed his hand to ask, “Where is Arnold now?”
Hamilton shook his head. “We were eating breakfast this morning, waiting for Washington’s arrival, when an express came with a message. Arnold read it and then ran upstairs before he quitted the house, saying that something at the fort required his immediate attention. He left both his wife and child here to deal with his treachery. No wonder she has been behaving so peculiar,” he added, glancing at the form on the bed.
At this, Mrs. Arnold opened her eyes and commenced shouting “Benedict, Benedict!” over and over.
The three of them rushed back to her bedside. Elizabeth’s hands were shaking—she’d never seen anyone in such a state of shock. She supposed Mrs. Arnold’s behavior was well founded, considering her husband had betrayed his family as well as his country, but all the same, the ear-piercing screams were beginning to strain Elizabeth’s ears. She found a washcloth and wet it in a basin of water before applying it to Mrs. Arnold’s forehead. Again Mrs. Arnold fell into a calm which only lasted a few seconds before she sat up in bed, causing the washcloth to fall into her lap, and pointed to the ceiling. “General Arnold is up there with hot irons on his head!”
“He will someday be in hell for his crimes, but we are not that fortunate yet,” Colonel Hamilton whispered under his breath.
As Mrs. Arnold’s head fell back into the pillow, Elizabeth replaced the cloth. Mrs. Arnold touched it. “And I, too have hot irons on my head!” she shrieked. “Only General Washington could rid me of this torture.” She reached out to grasp Elizabeth’s arm, her nails cutting into Elizabeth’s skin. “I must see General Washington at once!”
Dr. McKnight and Colonel Hamilton exchanged a glance.
“General Washington!” Mrs. Arnold shouted.
Hamilton nodded. “I will fetch him. Maybe he can bring an end to this madness.”
But when the good general arrived in the room, Mrs. Arnold insisted that it was the Commander-in-Chief himself who had the intent to kill her child.
“Mrs. Arnold,” The General began as Elizabeth balked at the sight of the tall, graceful man bent over the frantic woman with the tear-stained face. “General Arnold has escaped. Have you any knowledge as to his destination?”
She pointed to the ceiling.
General Washington turned to Hamilton. “He fled to his barge, and then presumably to the Vulture, and where he will go from there, we are not sure.”
“What shall we do about her?” Hamilton asked, nodding at Mrs. Arnold.
“We will send her back to her family.” General Washington rose to his full height. Turning to Elizabeth, he continued, “Mrs. Burgin, will you accompany her to Philadelphia?”
Elizabeth could only nod her assent. She was amazed that the General knew her name, but, then, she quickly surmised, he was the head of the entire Continental Army.
“I thank you for your duties to our prisoners,” the General continued. “I know Mr. Culper Junior was working on a more permanent spot for you in order for your children to join you. He has found a home by the way of a Mr. Thomas Franklin, our commissary of prisons in Philadelphia. We will secure a safe route for you and Mrs. Arnold.”
Elizabeth curtsied, keeping the multitude of questions that sprang into her head, including the identity of this Culper Junior to herself. “Thank you, your Excellency.”
Mrs. Arnold commenced screaming again, and Dr. McKnight rushed to her side. “Mrs. Arnold, take a sip of this.” He slipped the contents from a small vial into her water before handing it to her. She drank deeply, water dribbling down her chin, before dropping the glass on the floor. It shattered and Mrs. Arnold began shrieking that her child was dead.
“I gave her some laudanum,” Dr. McKnight said, his calm voice a welcome contrast to Mrs. Arnold’s hysterics. “It should take effect soon.”
“I will leave you to it, then,” General Washington said, moving to the door in a few long strides. “Again, Mrs. Burgin, thank you. Please let me know if you ever need assistance.” He nodded at Hamilton. “Now if you will excuse us, Colonel Hamilton and I must locate General Arnold and deal with this John Anderson character.”
Beverly was once again a flurry of activity the day following Arnold’s defection. Elizabeth was aware that Colonel Hamilton thoroughly investigated all of the servants, including Major Franks, General Arnold’s former aide-de-camp. Hamilton must have satisfied himself that Franks was innocent of helping General Arnold commit his crimes because he asked him to escort Mrs. Arnold, Elizabeth, and a few other servants to Philadelphia.
Franks cautioned Elizabeth before they left that it would be difficult to find lodging along the way. Most of America had become aware of Arnold’s flight, and despised him for it—the Whigs for nearly betraying the greatest American fort and the Loyalists for the plight of John Anderson, revealed to be John André himself, the brilliant adjutant to General Clinton. He was now being held prisoner by the Continental Army.
The carriage ride was deathly quiet, save for the whimpering of the baby in Mrs. Arnold’s arms. No one had anything to say for fear Mrs. Arnold would become hysterical again. Elizabeth stared out the window at the countryside, knowing that each step of the horse brought her further away from New York and her children. Despite the crowded carriage, Elizabeth felt lonely, her heart as heavy as lead.
They stopped at dusk in Paramus, New Jersey to stay at Hermitage House, a large brick farmhouse owned by friends of the Shippen family. Elizabeth, her legs stiff from the journey, assisted the servants in ge
tting Mrs. Arnold out of the carriage. As a maid carried the baby inside, Franks whispered to Elizabeth that the woman of the house, a Mrs. Theodosia Prevost, was married to a colonel in the British Army currently stationed in Georgia, but frequently entertained American officers.
A handsome man in civilian clothes came out of the house and then wrapped his arm around Mrs. Arnold’s shoulder. He guided her toward the door as she, nearly collapsing in his arms, said, “Aaron, it’s horrible, so horrible.”
“I know, Peggy,” he replied.
Franks caught Elizabeth watching them walk inside. “That’s Mr. Aaron Burr,” he said. “Formerly Major Burr, but he quit army life to become a lawyer. He is often a houseguest of Mrs. Prevost.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said, quickly grasping his meaning.
From the interior of The Hermitage, Mrs. Arnold’s shrieking began again, so loud that it seemed as if she were outside.
“Here we go again,” Franks said with a sigh.
Elizabeth pulled out the vial of laudanum that Dr. McKnight had slipped into her bag before she left.
Franks nodded approvingly. “Anything that will allow the household to get some sleep. We are all exhausted.”
When Elizabeth and Major Franks entered the house, they could see that the table had been set for dinner. Mrs. Arnold was standing next to her place setting, her hands on her face, claiming that her food had been poisoned.
A woman who looked to be a few years older than Elizabeth, approached her. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Aaron and I have both known Peggy since she was a girl. I’ve never seen her like this.”
“But it is somewhat understandable,” Aaron Burr appeared next to the woman Elizabeth inferred must be her hostess, Mrs. Prevost. “Given the circumstances.”
Mrs. Prevost extended her hand toward the table, and Burr went to the head. Franks lifted his eyebrows at Elizabeth before grabbing Mrs. Arnold’s goblet and bringing it to the side table. Elizabeth followed. Franks filled the glass halfway with wine, and then Elizabeth retrieved the vial from her bag and added a few drops. Franks put the goblet back at Peggy’s plate and poured the rest of the wine into the glasses.
“Please sit,” Mrs. Prevost said to her guests. “We are pleased that you are here.”
Burr lifted his glass for a toast, but then seemed at a loss for words. Normally Whigs drank to George Washington’s health while Loyalists exhorted the protection of His Royal Majesty. Due to the mixed company, Aaron Burr decided to go a safer route. “To Mrs. Prevost.”
“Here, here,” the other people, including Mrs. Arnold, agreed. One by one, each of them toasted another person at the table. Mrs. Arnold drank liberally while Elizabeth took tiny sips. She would have given anything to be back in New York amongst her friends and family, but here she was, in a different state, with this incongruous and awkward crowd.
A plate of duck was brought out. Elizabeth barely touched her food while Major Franks and Mrs. Arnold ate heartily. Burr and Mrs. Prevost exchanged frequent glances across the table. British husband notwithstanding, their love was clear to Elizabeth, and she had to stop herself from thinking about Robert.
In the middle of the next course, Mrs. Arnold held up her glass. “To John André,” she said. The other people at the table gazed at each other with wide eyes. Burr was the first to return the gesture. “Here,” he said.
“Here,” the rest of the company followed suit. No one quite knew what would become of the man who had been caught as a spy behind enemy lines.
“I knew,” Mrs. Arnold said quietly. All heads swiveled toward her. She set down her wine before she continued, “I was the one who encouraged Benedict to defect.” She gave a little laugh. “After all, John André and I were acquainted with each other. And you,” here she pointed to Franks, “treated my poor Benedict so badly.” She turned to her friend, Mrs. Prevost. “He was owed so much by the Continental Army, and then they had the audacity to court martial him and accuse him of stealing money.” Although she singled out Franks again, Elizabeth caught on that Mrs. Arnold meant the entire army. “Of course he sold off supplies. He needed to compensate for the money Congress owed him. You know he paid his soldiers that fought with him in Quebec with his own inheritance.” She took another sip. “He’s a good man, my Benedict.”
Franks obviously thought she had gone too far. “Mrs. Arnold,” he said.
“Major Franks. He’s a good man too,” Mrs. Arnold turned to Burr. “He didn’t have anything to do with Benedict changing sides. I’m the one who told him too.”
“Peggy—” Mrs. Prevost started, but Mrs. Arnold waved her hand. “I’m tired of it, Theodosia. I’m tired of the deception. My throat hurts from screaming, but I had to do it, to give time for Benny to get away.”
“Enough, Peggy,” Burr said, rising from his chair. “We are all exhausted and I think you need to retire for the night.”
“I am not finished, Aaron,” Mrs. Arnold said. She had begun to sway from side to side.
Burr exchanged a brief glance with Mrs. Prevost before marching over to Mrs. Arnold. “Let’s get you to your room.”
“No.” Mrs. Arnold picked up her fork and knife, but Burr pulled them from her hands and set them down. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to lift her to her feet, but when that did not work, he commanded Franks to get on the other side of her. Together the two men managed to get Mrs. Arnold upstairs before she revealed any more secrets.
“I am sorry for that, Mrs. Burgin,” Mrs. Prevost said casually. “Peggy has always had a flair for theatrics.” She took a drink of wine before continuing, “Did you know that Peggy’s uncle, Dr. Shippen, raised Aaron and his sister after their parents died?”
“I did not.” Elizabeth took a bite of meat, going along with Mrs. Prevost’s charade that everything was perfectly normal, and that Mrs. Arnold did not just admit to a table of people that she played a part in General Arnold’s betrayal.
When Burr and Franks returned, they too, resumed eating. Finally Burr spoke up. “As I said, we are all exhausted from the events of the last few days. Evidently Mrs. Arnold does not know what she speaks. If anyone was aware of what she has told us, it would make her life even more difficult than what she is about to face.”
The rest of the table nodded in unison. Burr’s meaning was clear: tell no one what they heard that night. Elizabeth knew he spoke the truth about her life becoming more burdensome and she did not envy the woman. Mrs. Arnold was practically a widow now, with a small baby on her hands. But instead of dying a hero’s death, Mrs. Arnold’s husband had become a traitor, hated on both sides. Whether or not Mrs. Arnold was a willing accomplice, she would have enough to deal with as it was. Elizabeth had her own worries and did not feel the need to make another person’s life harder.
Chapter LII
Sally
September 1779
The party in André’s honor was rescheduled and changed by Phoebe into a going-away feast for Simcoe. It was clear that something was afoot as Simcoe spent every waking hour drilling his troops, preparing them for the mysterious mission.
Sally fully suspected that he would be relocating to West Point. She had no idea whether Robert had received her message. She encountered quite a few sleepless nights, alternating worry over her letter arriving in time with her concern for Major André on his journey. Perhaps her information would indeed lead to an American victory. André would be a disgraced British soldier, but surely Robert, or even Papa, could find him work. In time, people would forget André’s former occupation and he and Sally could marry… she knew it was all just wishful thinking, but those happy thoughts allowed her to finally drift into a blissful sleep.
Simcoe had been acting edgy all week, constantly sending his men off with messages to and from New York City. Each time they returned carrying a small paper which Simcoe would unfold, his frown deepening as he read it.
The family was interrupted at dinner by one of these expresses a few days after André’s departur
e. The messenger walked in through the back door without bothering to knock and handed Simcoe a sealed letter. Simcoe opened it and scanned it quickly before rising. “I must leave immediately,” he told Papa. Sally thought she detected panic in his usually measured voice.
“But the party…” Phoebe protested. It was supposed to take place the next day.
Simcoe had already left the kitchen and did not return to say goodbye. After they heard the front door slam, Sally and Phoebe hastened to Robert’s old room. Simcoe’s books still stood on the bookshelf, but the wardrobe door had been flung open, exposing an empty interior. The sisters exchanged a bewildered look, wondering what could have been in the note that caused Simcoe to behave so oddly.
Phoebe decided to proceed with the celebration as planned, changing the theme to “An Autumn Harvest.” The day of the party dawned bright and clear and Phoebe had Caesar relocate the tables of food to the garden outside, on the other side of the house from the barren field that had once been Papa’s apple orchard. Simcoe had informed the family at breakfast a few days ago that he had paid for new saplings and he would have his men plant them when they returned. Both Mother and Papa seemed pleased, but Sally could only nod her thanks, thinking that he would not have had to go through the trouble to plant new trees had he not cut them down in the first place.
At midday, the guests began arriving: the Coles, the Greens, the Buchanans, and the Youngs. Daniel approached Sally and told her that her package had been delivered to Robert as requested. She nodded and thanked him again.
They had just sat down to eat when one of Youngs’ Loyalist militiamen rode up. Daniel rose and walked over to him. Sally watched as Daniel’s face fell after the soldier spoke. As an afterthought, the soldier pulled something out of his saddlebag and handed it to him.