Unknown

Smith stands up, swaying slightly with drink. “Well, then I’ll give a toast!” He holds up his glass and slurs, “I have known many, and liked not a few,”—he turns to look at Peggy across the room—“but loved only one, and this toast is to you.” Everyone quiets in the awkward moment, and he raises his glass to her.

Smith smiles, taking the jest in stride, and points to the fiddler. “Play my song and I’ll bless everyone with a little song and dance!” The happy music starts, and he yells to the center of the room, “Clear the floor, make room!”

The men push the tables to the side and get up on them clapping. Smith stands in the middle, still as an oak until he springs to life at the first word.

“Lift MacCahir Og your face
Brooding o’er the old disgrace
That black FitzWilliam stormed your place,
Drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure
Soon the firebrand he’d secure;
Until he met at Glenmalure
With Feach MacHugh O’Byrne.”

At the chorus the whole room joins in, and he stops singing and runs over to grab Peggy, and the two of them spin around the floor together.

“Curse and swear Lord Kildare,
Feach will do what Feach will dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star, low.
Up with halberd out with sword
On we’ll go for by the lord
Feach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow.”

Smith handles his feet well, and Peggy floats on air. She beams as they dance, and I wonder why I never noticed before that they’re so obviously sweet on each other. The chorus stops, and he lets go of Peggy to sing as she continues to jig around him, kicking high and springing up unnatural like.

“See the swords of Glen Imayle,
Flashing o’er the English pale
See all the children of the Gael,
Beneath O’Byrne’s banners
Rooster of the fighting stock,
Would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock,
Fly up and teach him manners.”

Again, the chorus comes in, and the boys are now jumping from table to table, all singing at the tops of their lungs. The excitement is so thick in the room it makes my eyes tear—not wanting this great moment to end.

“From Tassagart to Clonmore,
There flows a stream of Saxon gore
Oh, great is Rory Oge O’More,
At sending loons to Hades.
White is sick and Lane is fled,
Now for black FitzWilliam’s head
We’ll send it over, dripping red,
To Liza and her ladies.”

A cheer roars out, and all the boys jump into the circle for dancing the last chorus. It’s a sea of bobbing heads, all shouting and pushing each other off them for room to dance, all the while smiling, though. They hold the last note for as long as they can, and when done, cheer so loudly I have to hold my ears to keep them from ringing. Smith is up on the table, and he jumps onto the boys in the circle who catches him and spins him high in the air. I look to Peggy who glows at Smith’s performance.

Days later, the British pack up and get in lines throughout the dusty roads of the city. I reach the Shippen’s door and knock as civilians scamper in the street behind me, filling their carriages to flee the city. Rosey clings on my shoulder, worried by all the commotion. I knock again, much harder. The window opens from the second story, and her father peers out suspiciously. “Oh, it is only your man.”

I yell up, “General Clinton has given orders to reinforce New York. We leave in but two hours.”

“Clinton has issued an offer to allow any loyalists to join us?” I offer, hopefully.

Peggy looks behind her, and her face drops immediately. She turns back, downcast. “Father wants to stay with the house.”

“Well, this is a shame. The British shopkeepers and dressmakers are all packing their trunks as we speak,” I try to sway her.

She gives a pleading look behind her again, even stamps her foot as if a tantrum is coming on, but then wilts on the windowsill.

“Well, good luck to you all, and it would have been far too enjoyable having you accompany me to New York anyway. Total distraction. And I think you should find some comfort with the patriots on their way.”

Her eyes widen at my risky joke, and I laugh as she notices. “What is it you have there?” Pointing to the painting I have under my arm.

I smile broadly and hold up the portrait of Benjamin Franklin. “I cannot leave without a souvenir.”

“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 Cliveden’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?”

She kisses her hankie and releases it in a dainty, fluid movement. I catch it as it pirouettes in the fall, and I make a grandiose bow, then stand and tuck the painting back under my arm to join my regiment at the front.

As I ride up next to General Clinton, I hear his cursing from many horses away. “God damn shoulder always aches whenever it’s time to march out.” He rolls his shoulder around with his face drawn up in pain. “And what is this God-awful heat, in May?”

I move my way betwixt his aides, and he gives me a quick, sideways look before ducking under a low tree branch along the road out.

“André, my boy.” He pats his red face with a handkerchief, then squints to examine what I have on my shoulder. “Either I’m losing my eyesight or you have a small weasel on your shoulder.”

He seems amused by it but continues, “I have been thinking. My reaction to your inquisition was defensive and unprepared.” He turns to the soldier riding to his left and gives him a hard look and sweeps his hand back for him to fall behind. Then he glances back at me. “I have been urged to pull together a board of intelligence, consisting of the best loyalist refugees from each state; gathering information, granting passes, crossing borders”—a small burp erupts mid-speech, yet he sucks it back in as quickly—“and employing their own spies.”

“I understand.” I try to keep my words short, not wanting to irritate him in his agitated state.

“I am telling you this, André, because I have realized that you are my only man of abilities, and I look to you to set an example to others.”

He flaps his hand, annoyed by such flattery. “What I’m saying, André, is that I would like to promote you to my spy ring.”

“Yes, sir. I accept eagerly.” My mind drifts off immediately to Peggy and Smith. “And I already have a few persons of ability in mind.”

“I am particularly interested in encouraging disaffection among any important rebels. Seduce them back over, home to mummy.”

“André, I don’t think I need to tell you to pick your informants and messengers wisely since bringing your letter to Washington, instead of me, will fetch a far greater reward.”

I stretch my arm out above Clinton’s shoulder, which Rosey is trained to follow. As soon as her light feet land on his coat, Clinton chuckles in a childish way. He brings his hand up to pet her minky coat and turns to me. “I think I shall borrow her for the march.”

A month later, on a thick summer night, I’m riding along a dusty road no wider than a deer path. The absence of a pass makes dubious side roads a necessity. I can see the city’s lanterns through the woods and hear music playing above the accompanying chirp of tree frogs from the lake beside me. The danger and thrill in the air makes the whole night seem enchanted.

Their sits Franklin’s mansion, with its French doors open wide and welcoming, as I now stand on the outside. Beautiful women in rustling dresses are accompanied up the stairs. I ride my horse around the back and sneak in through the garden gates. The once dapper, red-coated party turns now to a dingy, blue-coated party. The Tory women are still as lovely as ever, yet their male counterparts can’t compare. I try my best to stay plain, but even so, I’m twice as finely dressed as these Americans. I scan the room for Peggy and know after one glance she isn’t there, for she normally shines and beckons all eyes to her. I walk up the grand staircase, which curves ever so slightly, and hear her voice before stepping foot on the landing. She laughs with three of the handsomer men. I walk across and catch her eyes, which widen at my unexpected presence. I head directly into a quiet study, and she comes in and closes the door at once.

“John!” She runs and hugs me so tightly I can still smell her delicate perfume linger on my clothes after she breaks away. “How very brave of you!”

She sneers slightly and says out of the corner of her mouth, “This is the second time I’ve worn this dress to a ball. Father can hardly afford the inflated prices on food, let alone new dresses.”

“It is not the dress that makes the lady, it is the lady that makes the dress.”

Someone opens the door and closes it just as quickly, once they see us alone together. We both laugh at his presumption, and I take advantage of the moment. “You may have to throw yourself on me the next time that happens. Better a tart, than a spy.”

“You were right. Clinton operates a spy ring and guess who he has opened his circle to?”

“The general has set his sights on looking for a big fish to entice over to our side.”

Her eyes widen. “I know just the fish! General Arnold, the hero of Fort Ticonderoga. He came to our house this very morning to have father arrested. As Father begged and bribed, Arnold stared at me in the garden. He forced father to arrange for him to see me tonight in exchange for his freedom, given that he cannot leave our house any longer.”

She nods. “He is arriving with Joshua.” We hear great commotion below the stairs. “That’s probably him making an entrance.” She grabs my arm to go out. “Well, then, we must go and welcome him warmly.”

“You mustn’t fear anyone noticing you”—she laughs as she pulls the edge of her bodice down further to reveal more of her firm bosom and pinches her cheeks—“No one will notice you if I can help it.”

She lifts up both sides of her pocket-hoop to fit through the narrow door, and we walk out down the stairs, arm in arm. She is right, no one so much as glances over to me as she strides past. Most of the patriots who fill in the entryway wear simple clothing and hunting shirts, but then the group parts to allow General Arnold through. He isn’t tall but well built. He has piercing eyes and a hooked nose, reminiscent of a falcon. His skin is as dark as a sailor’s yet he glimmers in his new, blue, gold-buttoned coat, which fine lace spills out of. For such a strong-looking man I’m surprised to see him take a quick step with the aid of a cane, and I watch him limp over with great speed to a wide chair in the ballroom.

All of the fickle Tory women flock to him, practically drooling over the scandalous hero, yet I notice he looks over the heads of these women, as if he searches for something. He nervously smooths his eyebrows down with both hands, only drawing attention to a large scar above one eye.

I remove my arm from Peggy’s and push her by the small of her back toward him. Once he sees her, he smiles. Arnold, using the women as support, leaps up and hobbles across the floor, abandoning his cane.

As I watch her work her magic on the great enemy, someone comes up behind me and whispers in my ear, “You’re behind enemy lines, Brit.”

I turn around to see Smith standing there in his blue finest. “It’s quite exciting. I see why you do it.”

He nudges toward the courting couple with an expression of veiled discomfort. “Did you know Arnold almost resigned before Brandywine?”

We overhear General Arnold asking Peggy to dance. Peggy hesitates for a brief moment, as she glances in Smith’s direction. Arnold takes a quick step toward her and looks deep into her eyes as he places her hands in his.

“Please take this trembling hand that only exposes the chaos of my heart. The very heart that which has been calm and serene amidst the clashing of arms, and all the din and horrors of war, trembles with diffidence and the fear of giving offence when it attempts to address you on a subject so important to its happiness.”

She sweetly nods, and he pulls her into his arms with great, unabashed energy, causing Smith’s jaw to clench. Once he unclenches it and remembers what I’d asked him, he replies, “You’re looking at the most disgruntled and underappreciated patriot there is, hero and all.”

I watch Arnold now with great interest and, as she dances in front of his clumsy grasp, I see he has already fallen in love with Peggy.

The three of us meet in Peggy’s garden the next day. Making sure no one follows me, I head through the maze of tall English hedges and find the marble benches at the center of the rose garden. Peggy comes swishing in, wearing a pale pink and lace sack-back gown, and she floats down beside me, waiting for Smith to appear. We hear someone running, and we turn to see Smith vault over the hedges and land on the stone walkway like a city tomcat.

Peggy claps as he comes and lifts her toy-like form and spins her around over his head as she kicks her delicate satin shoes high in the air. He sets her down beside him now, and out of breath, he starts, “Here is my plan. Clinton wants a big fish, and we’ve got one that is now in love with my Peggy.” He immediately finds her knee hidden under heavy skirts and pats it. “We get her to marry—”

Fright spreads across Peggy’s face. “Marry? Why would I have to marry him? Why would you want that?”

He attempts to soothe her with his indigo gaze. “I think it is the only way to turn him, darling. You must do it.”

He grabs her powdered-wigged head and brings it to his protective shoulder. “And I love you, but this is not a world where this is possible. Your father would not allow it. Not now. Not until this war is over.”

I wonder if I should start to try to creep off the bench and leave them alone. When I begin to move, Smith spins back to me. “You stay put. We have to all agree on this together.”

She looks up at me, and I glance away, feeling sorry for her for having to make such a decision. Then she stares up sadly at Smith. “Joshua, once I marry him, how will I be with you still?”

He puts his hands on her shoulders and promises her. “I will never leave you. I will find a way for us to be together after the fighting is over.”

She wipes her tears with his steenkirk scarf. “I will do this for you, my father, and my King.”

Smith turns back to me, still holding her hand. “So Peggy will charm Arnold into marrying her and influence him to come to us. I will gather my intelligence, and we will get it to you, André.”

Smith and I explain to her the different forms of coding, embedding, and hiding our messages. After we’re through, Smith asks, “You will need a go-betwixt, someone who can carry the messages from Peggy to you since you can’t be seen together from now on.”

“How terrible! Not only do I have to marry old-man-hobble, but I won’t get to see you or John any longer?”

“I will speak to General Clinton at once. I’m sure he’ll have someone for the job,” I say.

Smith claps his hands together and rubs them. “That’s it then. Peggy will look for a carrier, and she will notify you of General Arnold’s status, but I’m guessing he gives way in a month if she uses her tricks on him.”

“I will go now. Until then, be safe.” I put on my hat and hear noises of ‘happiness’ behind me as I find my way back out of the garden. Getting on my horse and heading back to New York, I wonder if this will actually come to something.