C1PHER

by Monica E. Spence

  Lafayette kissed the air above her outstretched hand. “Enchante, mademoiselle.”

  “Bon Soir, Monsieur le Marquis.” Mary curtseyed.

  Washington bowed over her hand. “Such a lovely young woman shall indeed make a beautiful bride. Mister Townsend, if you have a few moments after supper, I would be happy to give you some advice on marriage. Not Rebel to Tory, but from a happily wed man to another entering that sacred state.”

  “That would be a delight, sir. I look forward to hearing your insight.” Robert shook hands with Washington.

  The ring of a bell called the guests to supper. A card at each place made the seating arrangements simple.

  When all were at the table, Peter rose. “I propose a toast to our newly betrothed couple, Mary and Robert. May their engagement period be swift and joyous; may their marriage be happy and fertile, and may you both be as content as my own dear Hannah and I were for so many years.”

  Glasses of wine were raised to the couple. “Here, here.”

  Dinner was a pleasant affair, with excellent conversation and delicious food. At the end of the evening, Washington said, “Do you have a moment for that advice, Robert?”

  “Yes, indeed, sir.” He assisted Mary to her feet, and with a nod from Peter, they walked to a connecting room and shut the door.

  The fire and the candles threw golden shadows on the whitewashed walls. An unknown hand had drawn the drapes, leaving the room snug and warm. Washington and Robert sat in wing chairs facing the fire. Mary took a comfortable padded chair next to Robert.

  “It is good to see you again, Robert.”

  “Thank you, General. You are looking well.”

  “In truth, I asked you here not to give you marital advice, but to acquire information.”

  “Understood, sir. I have been attempting to arrange contact with you, so our meeting is fortuitous.”

  “What have you learned?”

  Robert looked at Mary, who responded. “General, we are in possession of coded letters that I believe are vital to the American cause.”

  Washington stared at her for a moment but recovered. Whether it was because she had answered, rather than Robert, or because it was her information about the papers, Mary could not guess.

  “Go on, young woman.”

  Perhaps I will get burned at the stake as a witch. “Sir, I decoded the letters last week. The deciphered papers were destroyed, but the original documents remain in our possession. Robert and I will work on them tonight and have them for you tomorrow morning.”

  “Coded letters, you say?” Washington’s eyes glistened with suspicion.

  Robert jumped into the conversation. “Mary is a very unusual woman, educated well beyond the norm. I vouch for her in all things.”

  “How did these papers come into your possession, madam?”

  “I’d rather not say, General. If I reveal my sources, my life could be endangered. I can only say you and your forces must succeed to guarantee our freedom from the Crown. I swear this on all I deem sacred and holy.” What I would give to tell him all I know!

  For a long moment, Washington gazed at her without a change of expression, then turned to Robert. “I rely on your confirmation of your lady’s knowledge in this matter, Mister Townsend. I am staying at the DeWint House in Tappan, through the courtesy of my friend, Major Frederickus Blauvelt.”

  When the plans were set for the following morning, the stiffness in Washington’s shoulders relaxed. For a moment he looked like a houseguest, not the most feared opponent in the history of the British Empire. “And finally, so no one can accuse me of being a liar, I have a few words of advice for you as a betrothed couple.”

  “We welcome it, General,” Robert said, and Mary nodded her agreement.

  “It is simple enough. Our Lord says to love one another. Unconditional love must be supported by honesty. My advice is don’t forget to talk with each other. Transmission of ideas and feelings between you two are vital to a marriage. Failing that, the bond withers, and all efforts are for naught.”

  “Thank you, sir, for your advice and your time. We will endeavor to heed your words.” Robert smiled at Mary.

  “We will, indeed, General,” Mary said. “Your words are etched in my mind and heart.”

  “Something tells me you will have no problem telling Robert of your needs. You seem to be a young woman of remarkable strength and character, Lady Mary.”

  “She is an extraordinary woman, sir. I appreciate her more than I can express.” He laid his hand over hers.

  Washington stood. “Let us rejoin the festivities. We do not wish to insult our most excellent host.”

  Robert rose and helped Mary to her feet. “People will suspect we are discussing politics if we are in here much longer.”

  Laughing, Washington and the couple left the room. The party continued over drinks and desserts.

  Mary knew she must get to work. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will retire.” She pushed back her chair. “Peter, thank you for hosting this wonderful meal. I will remember it, and your hospitality, all my days.”

  The men rose as one and bowed. She curtseyed, then Robert escorted her to the stairs. “Stay and enjoy the company, Robert. I will be fine on my own upstairs.” Robert brushed a kiss over her hand, and she began to climb.

  Chapter Seven

  Tillie was just steps behind Mary on the staircase. “You’ll want help with you gown, Lady Mary.”

  “That I will, Tillie, thank you.” She noticed the luggage was missing from the room.

  “I put your room to rights, put all the clothing from the trunks into the bureaus, and then stored the luggage.

  Entering the bedroom, Mary said, “If you keep this up, Tillie, I will be tempted to steal you away from Peter and bring you back to Oyster Bay with me.”

  Tillie looked anxiously down the hallway, then followed Mary into the room and closed the door before she spoke. She kept her voice low. “I would like that Lady Mary, but as a slave I have no say in the matter. You would have to buy me from Mr. Peter. Besides, I could never leave my husband, Dwayne, or my three sons.”

  Mary sat on the bed with a thump, staring in disbelief at the young woman. “You’re a slave?”

  “Yes, m’am. My folks were slaves, too. Mr. Peter has been good to us, educating us and allowing Dwayne and me to marry like good Christians, so I’ve got few complaints. But I pray every day to the Lord, asking Him to grant us freedom.”

  “I thought Quakers didn’t believe in slavery.”

  “We are the last of Mr. Peter’s slaves—may be the last in the county. He got us from his father, but Mr. Peter’s promised to release us in his Will.”

  “But that doesn’t help you now.”

  “No, m’am, it doesn’t. But we are on the path the Lord wants us on. He has a plan for us all. I only hope and pray my boys will grow up in freedom.”

  “I hope so, too Tillie. Let me think about this. I promise I will do what I can to help you.”

  “Thank you, Lady Mary. But I know in my heart the Lord will take care of us.”

  A half an hour later, Mary was still thinking about what Tillie had told her. Slaves. Here in New York. She sat in her nightgown in her cozy bed, supported at her back by feather pillows and buried under eiderdown quilts. An embroidered, lace edged nightcap covered her braided hair. With an occasional pop of sap punctuating the stillness, the fire blazed, adding to the light of the beeswax candles protected by glass chimneys. Leaning on a small portable writing desk, with the two books Robert had borrowed from the downstairs library at her fingertips, she thought of what she could do for Tillie and her family. She had known that Robert’s father Samuel kept slaves, but remembered he had freed them due to the widespread Quaker disapproval of slavery. She would ask Robert about the situation with Peter’s household.

  Mary wished she had a clock or a cell phone to tell the time. Robert would be getting back soon, and she wanted to be finished with her work. She daydreamed f
or a moment. I met George Washington! If my re-enactor friends could see me now, they would be positively chartreuse with envy—if this is all real, and not a dream.

  Feeling a bit like Dorothy in Oz, she began to decipher the two letters. The first was based on Blackstone’s Commentaries, the second upon Nathan Bailey’s Dictionary. It took her an hour to decode the two papers. Practice makes perfect, she thought. The first time it had taken her days to discover the correct books and then work out the patterns.

  While she awaited Robert, the fire died to sizzling orange embers. It would really be cold here in the dead of winter. No wonder people cut and dried so much wood throughout the year and slept under a mountain of quilts. A draft of chill air blew through a window. She threw the quilts over the edge of the bundling board and padded to the fireplace. The weight of two oversized logs made slow progress, but she inched them on to the grate and stirred the embers with a cast iron poker. All that work just to keep warm. Central heating is unappreciated by those who have it.

  Enjoying the building warmth, she did a little dance to test her ankle. No pain. She hummed and did a few steps. Other than indoor plumbing, the thing she missed the most in this period was the music of her mp3 player. Everything from Colonial music, to showtunes, to classical music was stored in its digital memory. What would Robert say about that little device? Or her smartphone with its amazing camera. How she would have loved to have a selfie with Washington and Lafayette. And Robert. What a coup it would be to show those pictures to her PhD supervisor.

  A quick knock gave some warning, but not enough. “I am sorry to be delayed, Mary.” Robert caught her in mid-step as the door opened. He stopped and cleared his throat. “Miss Banvard, if I am to remain a gentleman in your presence, I beg of you to move away from the fire. Every one of the fine physical gifts God gave you are on display.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, Robert.”

  “It is simply the truth.” He eyed her as starving man would a good meal.

  She crawled into bed and pulled her letters from inside the portable desk and waved them. “These are finished. It took longer since I had to use a quill pen. I’d deciphered the original only last week, so I remembered quite a bit. Since there is no third letter, we’ll have to devise one.”

  “What do the papers say?” Robert peeled off his jacket and neck cloth and moved behind the screen. A few moments later he reappeared in his nightshirt, his legs exposed from the knees down.

  “Wow. I have never seen a man wear one of those. Now I know why.”

  “It is the latest fashion in gentlemen’s nightwear.” He spun, arms extended, for her approval. “All of Paris is agog.” He said Paris with a flawless French accent.

  “Agog Paris may be, but trust me, it is a style that must go. Eventually, it will be replaced with pajamas. Not that they are a great look either, but they are way better than the hairy shins.”

  “Pajamas?”

  “Think of them as pantaloons paired with a short nightshirt.”

  “Bah. Too much fabric.”

  “The other alternative is wearing nothing.” Mary saw his expression change and giggled. “Why, Robert, I do believe you are blushing.”

  He ignored the comment and raced for the covers. “Thank you for stoking the fire.”

  “Don’t tell me your Mary…”

  “…Is Lady Mary—capital L. Any physical labor she ever did was entirely by mistake. According to her, that is why we pay servants.” Robert crossed his eyes.

  Mary snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “My parents didn’t believe in spoiling us; both my sister and I had chores from the time we were children. I’m no delicate flower.”

  “There is another reason I am convinced you are not my Mary.”

  “I’m glad to be so persuasive. How?”

  “You are left-handed.”

  “Your Mary is a rightie?”

  Robert frowned. “A rightie?”

  “Sorry. Just a twenty-first century colloquialism. You mean she’s right-handed?”

  “Indeed. In some cultures, being left-handed is the sign of the devil.”

  “Ha. Lefties will take over the world one day. Just ask Ramses II, Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Joan of Arc, Leonardo de Vinci, Michelangelo, and some of the greatest Presidents of the United States.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Those people were all left-handed. To paraphrase historian Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, ‘Well-behaved people seldom make history.’”

  “The lady has a way with words. I appreciate the truth behind that statement.”

  “So, this ill-behaved woman needs to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know Tillie, Dwayne, and their children are slaves?”

  “They were slaves. Peter was ordered to free them in 1774. The Meeting told the all slaveholding members to part with their slaves or leave the Society of Friends.”

  “Well, that may be true, but Peter has not done so.” She scratched her nose as a feather from a pillow sailed against it. “Do you think he left the Society? Or was excommunicated? I’m Catholic, so we have recourse when someone does not follow the rules.”

  “You are a Papist?”

  “Yes. Catholic. Is that a problem for you? Please don’t tell me you believe we sacrifice babies at Sunday Mass? Or worship the Pope?”

  “Not at all. Mary is an Anglican, as is my mother.”

  “Episcopalians and Anglicans are termed “Catholic Lite” where I come from.

  Robert smiled. “I like that. Please take my word that I have no prejudice against Papists…”

  “Catholics,” Mary said firmly.

  “Yes, Catholics. I just have never shared a bed with one.”

  “It looks like you will have to get used to it, at least in the immediate future.”

  Mary shifted the quilt. When it caught beneath the bundling board, she heaved a frustrated sigh. “Now that we have had an ecumenical discussion and sung Kumbya, let’s move back to my original question. “What can be done for Tillie and her family?”

  “I am not certain Peter will listen to me, if he has ignored the Meeting. However, I will see what I can do.”

  “Make him listen. If I had money in this time, I’d buy their freedom, though the concept of buying a human being from another makes my stomach heave. No one should live a life of unpaid servitude, no matter how good the so-called ‘master’ is said to be.”

  “You are correct. It goes against the conscience of any good Christian…”

  “The conscience of any decent human being, Robert.”

  “Agreed, without question, my fierce Warrior for Righteousness. I will speak to him on the morrow.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek and yanked on the covers. “And now I have another question.”

  “Lord save us. Are we to discuss the rights of ladies? Abigail Adams will be pleased.” He pulled at the quilts, scowling as he struggled, then glowered and gave up. “How may I help you?”

  “Would you mind pulling out the board? After my nap this afternoon, I know I won’t survive banging into it all night long.”

  “Do you mean lay next to each other?”

  “Yes. Is that too brazen of me? Are you uncomfortable with the idea?”

  “Ah… I am uncertain.”

  “Of what?”

  “That I can sleep next to you. I am afraid you will prove too much temptation.”

  “You mean that you and your fiancée have never…” Mary bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.

  “No, never.” Robert flushed, embarrassed. “It would not be seemly for a gentleman to take advantage of a lady.”

  “Or, in this case, for a lady to take advantage of a gentleman.”

  “Just so.”

  “If I promised I will not compromise your virtue while you sleep, would you pull the board out?”

  “Yes, most happily.” He got out of bed, yanked the divider from the bedding, and leaned it against the flo
orboard. “Better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She lowered her voice. “Now, let’s get back to work. You’ll have to write the third letter, since my handwriting is too feminine. The paper I saw back home was definitely written in a man’s hand.”

  Robert settled himself in bed and righted the quilt. “I don’t know how well this sleeping arrangement will work.”

  “We won’t be sleeping for a quite a while. Don’t think about me as a woman, but as a colleague.”

  “It is impossible not to think of you as a woman.” He gave her a passionate glance. “Besides, I have no female colleagues.”

  “A gigantic mistake, since that kind of thinking promotes a huge waste of talent. Tonight, that will change.”

  “Things have already changed, Agent 355.”

  Mary felt all the blood drain from her face. The spy, designated 355, was presumed to be a woman somehow involved with Robert Townsend. Her identity and ultimate fate remained undiscovered by historians even in the twenty-first century. “Agent 355?” Her words came out in a croak.

  “The number has remained unused until now. That will be your coded designation when I send messages.”

  “Then Agent 355 I will be.” How odd for her to know so much about the past, but her own future remained cloaked in mystery. “But I have been thinking…” She tapped her chin with the plume of the quill pen.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you somehow disguise your handwriting? Perhaps writing with your left hand, or adding extra curlicues to your cursive?”

  Robert paused for a moment and nodded. “Perhaps that would be wise. Washington has seen my writing on receipts and the items forwarded to him by my contact, though I doubt he has compared them for similarity.”