“Indeed. If I could extricate myself from the relationship, I would be the happiest man alive.”
“Not very gentlemanly of you.” But no worries, Robert. You get out of it somehow, because the history books tell us you never marry.
“True. But to quote Mr. Benjamin Franklin, ‘God helps those that help themselves.’”
“And Monsieur Jean-Paul Sartre said, ‘Hell is other people.’”
“I agree with his sentiment. Who is Monsieur Sartre?”
“A twentieth century philosopher and playwright. The quote comes from one of his plays about three people in Hell. A very messy situation.”
“I am uncertain that Hell is ever neat.”
Mary sat on a chair by a window and removed her shoes. She bent her toes against the wide plank floor but stopped when sharp pains radiated from her ankle. “Speaking of a messy situation, we must try to ferret out a reason for this time travel business. Where and how do we start?”
“Have I mentioned how much I admire your intelligence and your lack of vanity? Unless a blow to the head can alter the core of a soul, my Mary would never say we or us, but me and I. Incredulous I may be of your time travel explanation, but those are the very traits which could lead to your unmasking as an imposter.”
“Then you must coach me on how to behave like your Mary so it does not happen. How are we different? Besides the whining, I mean.”
A tap on the closed door interrupted them, and a voice said, “Excuse me, Lady Mary. It’s Tillie, the maid. I have the hot water and towels, a robe, and your dress for you.”
Mary opened the door. A young black woman wearing a blue turban as if it was a crown, waited in the corridor. Two adolescent boys, her sons judging by their similarity of features, stood with her. The younger boy carried a pile of towels which nearly overwhelmed him, while the older boy carried Robert’s small trunk on his shoulder. The woman held a dressing gown and Mary’s very wrinkled dinner gown over one arm and balanced a large steaming chinaware pitcher on her head.
Mary immediately jumped to help. “Tillie, I do so appreciate your assistance. Let me take that pitcher. You could be scalded if the water spilled. Please, just toss the garments on the chair to get them out of the way. And thank you for your assistance, as well, lads.”
“You are most kind, Lady Mary.”
“Please call me Mary. All this formality is making my head ache.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Lady Mary.” Tillie shook out Mary’s gown, frowned at it, and laid it across the back of a chair. “But Mr. Peter would be displeased if I did so. He runs a very proper household and expects his servants to keep to a certain style of decorum.” She turned to the teen and pointed to the washstand. “Go back to the kitchen, Joshua. Make certain the table is set properly. Jeremiah, heat the iron on the stove so I can press Lady Mary’s gown. And both of you, please make certain Caleb is turning the spit in the hearth or the meat will burn.”
“Yes, Momma,” they said in unison, bowed to Mary and Robert, then disappeared out the doorway.
“I have only just met Peter, so I apologize if I have offended by asking you to go against the wishes of your employer, Tillie. Now that his wife has passed, he must have his hands full running a foundry business and overseeing the home as well.”
“Indeed.” Tillie sounded like a woman of few words. Or perhaps she was watching herself with a new person. Getting the lay of the land, as it were. Well, no matter.
“Before you leave, would you please undo my corset laces, Tillie?”
“Not a problem, m’am. Let’s go behind the screen to give you some privacy.”
“I can step out in the corridor,” Robert called over the edge of the print-covered screen as the women stepped behind it.
“There’s no need, sir. We will be finished before you are out the door.”
Mary allowed Tillie to unfasten her bodice, then she turned her back toward the maid, who made short work of the corset lacing. She sighed with relief when the corset strings were released. “Tillie, you have the nimblest fingers of anyone who has ever assisted me. Thank you. It feels so nice to breathe again. I feel like I’ve been in this corset for centuries.” Now there’s an understatement!
The maid helped Mary into the silk robe with a smile. “It is my pleasure, m’am. I’ll head downstairs and give your traveling dress the attention it needs. It most likely will not be ready for this evening, though. Would you like me to give your dinner gown a press, as well?”
“That would be wonderful, if you would. The dress was perfect when I left Oyster Bay, but it did not fare very well during and after the accident. In the meantime, I must rest. Between the pain in my ankle and the pain in my head, I am an absolute wreck. I’ll never survive this evening if I don’t lay down.”
Tillie folded Mary’s clothing and tucked the bundle under her arm. “When the balance of the luggage arrives, I will have the pieces brought up, but I will leave you in peace. Enjoy your nap, m’am.” She took two feather pillows from a small chest and placed them on the bed. “You may want to elevate that ankle while you rest. If you need anything, just send word. I’ll post one of my boys in the corridor, just in case. I hope you feel better soon. It is nice to have a lady to fuss over once again.” She curtsied to Mary and Robert and eased her way into the hallway.
Mary shut the door and turned back to Robert, who grinned at her.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Remember you asked how you and my Mary are different?”
“Yes.”
“You just showed several clear examples of the differences. You treated Dwayne, Tillie, and their boys as human beings, not as servants. The other Mary would have made demands instead of requests. She would have talked down to Tillie to make herself seem superior. You may think it is disloyal, but I am beginning to like you much more than my fiancée.”
“That poses a problem. If I return to my time, you will be forced to deal with her.”
“I will address the problem when, and if, she returns. For now, let’s clear our heads with a short rest. Then, since we are alone, we can consider the possible reasons for your presence.” He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I wonder if you are simply a gift from God.”
Chapter Five
When Mary awoke the sun still shone, but the shadows beyond the windows had lengthened.
She rubbed her sore hip. “I swear a man invented the bundling board. No woman would ever have come up with anything so uncomfortable.” She slid her foot off the pillows and inched up along the oak board dividing the length of the mattress, then leaned against the headboard. “But it is better than sleeping in the barn, or on the floor, or in a tent. As a re-enactor I have had my fair share of those accommodations, thank you very much.”
“Why would a woman of your education and character be sleeping in any of those places? Do they not have beds from whence you came?” Robert looked confused. “In truth, I am also unfamiliar with the term re-enactor.”
“Of course, I sleep in a bed. A re-enactor is a historian of sorts, but he or she studies specific timeframes in history. Not just the dates, times, and occurrences, but the manners and mores. On certain weekends we gather together and work to recreate the period live, not just on paper. It is all-encompassing research. In our free time we make, or buy, reproductions of household goods and clothing from the period so we can use them at our re-enactments. In my case, I focus on the American War for Independence. Most of us sleep where we can at events—usually in tents—since half the fun is sitting around a campfire in the evening, singing or telling stories. Renting a hotel room—you would call it taking a room in an inn—becomes costly if done frequently.”
“It sounds interesting, but how can people afford the time and the money to do this? Are they not concerned with their everyday survival?”
“Robert, in my time, people have much more free time and disposable income than your contemporaries. None of my friends can be termed wealthy. No
one I know could afford a carriage like yours, not to mention the matched set of horses to pull it. It would take days to explain how people live in the twenty-first century—and you would be hard-pressed to believe anything I said.” I would love to tell you, though. “My interest in the American Revolution may be the reason I’m here.”
“Then that is where we must start.” Robert sat up on his half of the bed. “I wonder if you are here to make certain something happens.”
“Or does not happen.”
“Then let’s review what we know,” Robert said.
Mary laughed. “We don’t know much. I was thinking about the date, September 20. Back in my own time, it was nothing special.”
“Special?”
“Not a national holiday, such as July Fourth, the nation’s Independence Day. However, in late September and early October 1780 an awful lot is happening, or is about to happen.”
“Such as…?”
Mary buried her head in her hands and moaned. “What I can tell you? What I should tell you? The entire history of my country could rest upon what I say and do.”
“That is a fearful responsibility.” Robert took her hands in his and sat on the bed next to her.
“I am terrified of doing the wrong thing.”
“You won’t. The Lord guided you here to help us. Put your trust in the Power that pulled you through Time. Now, tell me what you know. Perhaps the two of us can ferret out an answer.”
Mary took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She kept her voice low, just in case people were able to hear through the walls. “In five days, on September 25, a man calling himself John Anderson will be stopped by three Patriot militiamen in Tarrytown. One of the Patriot militiamen will be wearing a Hessian overcoat, so Mr. Anderson will assume the men to be British troops. He will be incorrect. Mr. Anderson, known to you as Major John Andre of the British army, will be held for the night at Thomas Wright’s mill in Armonk.
“I know Major Andre. He is a fine officer. I wish we had him on our side.”
“As do I,” Mary said, knowing Andre’s fate, but keeping that to herself. “According to the history books, the following day Andre will be escorted to American Army headquarters at Tappan, where he will be questioned by the chief of American intelligence.
“Do you have a name for our intelligence man as well?”
“Yes, but if I told you then I’d have to kill you.”
He reached behind him, under his jacket. Mary extended her arm to grab his hand; she felt the outline of a pistol. It was good to know someone was armed.
“For heaven’s sake, Robert, don’t get your underdrawers in a twist. I’m joking—sort of. The intelligence man is your contact in the Culper Gang, Agent 723. It would be a lethal mistake if I told you his name.”
Robert blanched. “Blast it, Mary. Is there anything you don’t know?”
“If it is written in a history book, I know it. However, not everything is recorded.” She pulled away from him. “Now it is my turn to ask questions.”
“Such as?”
“What happened to the letters I had in my trunk?”
“What letters? On my honor, I have not seen or taken a thing.”
“Robert, believe me, I am not accusing you of anything. However, your portfolio case looks just like mine, only two-hundred-some-years newer.”
“A coincidence? Could there be two such cases?”
“Has anything in the last few hours been coincidence?” Mary looked around the room to make her point.
“Doubtful.”
“Then would you mind showing me the papers in your case?”
Robert looked dismayed. “They are private documents…”
“Actually, I would hazard a guess they are coded letters taken off a British messenger.” Please God, let me be correct. Her gamble could mean the freedom of millions in the future. “I believe the letters I found in Raynham Hall originated in your possession.”
“How is that possible?”
Mary laughed. “Not to sound stupid, but how is any of this possible?”
“Do you realize that only a hundred years ago, you would be accused of witchcraft and hanged, or burned at the stake?”
“Now there’s a cheery thought. Are you planning to turn me over to the authorities?”
“No. We don’t burn witches in America any longer.”
Mary smirked. “How fortunate I landed in such an enlightened era.”
Robert seemed uncertain, but he grabbed his case from under the bed, sat next to Mary, and pulled out two pieces of paper. He handed them to her.
Mary stared at the two documents. “Dear God.”
“Are these…?” Robert began.
“Yes, they are the letters I deciphered, only they are brand new. Remember, I looked at two-hundred-thirty-three-year-old papers.” She glanced up. “Please tell me you have the third letter and the decoded versions in your bag.”
“I regret I have but two letters, both of which I have failed to decipher since they were intercepted in July.”
“Damn. I found three papers at Raynham Hall.” She looked at his two letters. “Based on what was discovered in Colonial era records, I decoded the three papers. I can do it again, if I have the correct books. What are the odds that your cousin has copies of both Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of England and Nathan Bailey’s Dictionary?”
“I shall inquire. They are common enough books for a gentleman’s library. I will return posthaste. Guard those papers.” After Mary placed the letters back into the portfolio, he opened the door and almost ran into Tillie.
The maid curtseyed. “I came to see if Lady Mary needs assistance with her dress.”
Mary walked to the door, grateful her ankle felt better after her nap. “I would appreciate your help, Tillie. If you could give me some time to dress for supper, Robert, I’ll be ready when you return with the books.”
With a nod, he bowed over her hand and left the room.
It took almost an hour to dress and arrange her hair. Mary looked at her reflection. “You have a talent with hair and clothing, Tillie. Considering what I looked like when I arrived, you are nothing short of a miracle worker.”
The young woman smiled. “You are most gracious, Lady Mary. I enjoy this kind of work. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go down and help serve the meal.”
“Thank you again, Tillie.”
A knock preceded Robert who held the door for the departing servant, and then shut it. “I found the books I sought. Give me ten minutes to change my clothing. The guests are arriving, so we are expected.” He stepped behind the screen, and as he disrobed, he laid clothing along the screen’s top edge.
Mary envisioned Robert undressing, peeling away each layer to reveal long limbs and sculpted muscles. That thin arrow of dark hair disappearing below the waist of his breeches. A sudden rush of heat coursed through her, and she felt herself flush everywhere. Better she should stop. After all, that bundling board dividing their bed was nothing but a flimsy piece of wood. Her twenty-first century behavior might embarrass him—or herself. “Robert, I have been thinking. Perhaps we should keep the papers with us. I don’t want to leave anything to chance here. What if I kept the papers in the pockets beneath my skirt? Or if you prefer, keep them in your billfold.”
He walked from behind the screen, dressed but for his coat. “You make a most excellent agent, my dear. That is a commendable idea.” He took the letters from his portfolio and handed them to her. In turn, she folded them and hid the papers beneath her skirts. Finally, he slid into a chocolate brown coat of fine wool, straightened his wide cuffs, and adjusted the plain cravat tied around his neck. A brown ribbon held his dark hair in a queue.
She patted her low-cut bodice over her heart. “As they say back home, ‘Be still my beating heart.’ Or more colloquially, ‘You look yummy, honey.’”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he were laughing inside. “I assume that means you approve.”
&nbs
p; “I do indeed.”
“As do I.” Robert gave her an admiring nod. “You look lovely, Mary. If you would allow me, I would be honored to escort you to supper.”
Mary curtseyed. She had never felt like a princess before, but the way he looked at her…
Minutes later they descended the stairs. Robert tucked her arm into the crook of his and whispered, “Do not concern yourself about anything. The evening will go smashingly. Allow me to introduce you to the guests I know.”
They maneuvered around the room, exchanging pleasantries and introductions. Mary felt a thrill every time she had the opportunity to speak to one of the guests, many of whom were vital parts of the independence effort, people she had read about in books for most of her life.
How could this be real?
Chapter Six
The party continued. The guests mingled over wine, finger foods, and cheery conversation.
A gust of wind chased the opening front door. Upon entering two callers stepped into the house and passed their cloaks and tricorn hats to the doorman.
The first, a tall, bewigged man in a navy blue and gold military uniform dwarfed the younger second man, in a light blue suit trimmed with silver braid and buttons.
Mary grabbed Robert’s arm. She kept her voice to a whisper behind her sandalwood fan. “Good grief, that’s George Washington.”
“So I see. I wonder as to the identity of the other man,” Robert murmured.
Peter, their host, spoke to the newcomers briefly and then strode to the couple. “Robert, Mary, if you have no objections, I have a mind to add two guests to your celebratory supper.”
“Of course, Peter. On an evening such as this, politics should be left at the doorstep.”
“Excellent. I appreciate your courtesy.” Peter returned to the gentlemen at the door and led them over for an introduction.
“Mr. Robert Townsend, may I present the leader of the Colonial forces, General George Washington, and Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette.
“Gentlemen.” He bowed to the newcomers. “Cousin Peter, thank you for your introduction, though I am well acquainted with General Washington. My humble New York City shop is markedly poorer without your patronage, sir. It is pleasant to see you again and to have you in attendance at our betrothal supper.” To Lafayette he said, “Monsieur, welcome to our celebration and to New York.” He edged Mary in front of him, holding her elbow as if he knew she would need support. “Gentlemen, may I present my fiancée, Lady Mary Banvard of Oyster Bay, Long Island.”
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