The weather was crisp, but not terribly cold, on the morning that Virginia Biddlecomb and Captain Richard Dexter took their first ride together. Once they were mounted, Dexter dismissed the two privates who led the dark bay gelding away. He asked again if Virginia was content with her mount, and when she assured him she was, he turned his own horse and led the way north.
They rode along Chestnut Street, their horses’ hooves making a sharp clacking sound on the cobblestones, past the tall brick homes that lined the way, weaving through the crowds of tradespeople and servants and red-coated soldiers. Virginia wondered if Dexter would turn left on Fifth Street to avoid passing the State House where, a year and a half earlier, the seditious Continental Congress had signed the declaration that proclaimed the Colonies free and independent, and where, until just a few months ago, they had met to administer those united states. She wondered if he would try to avoid any awkwardness that might arise from seeing that potent symbol of the present conflict.
But Dexter did not turn, he continued on, which was, in Virginia’s mind, to his credit.
There were considerably more soldiers there than there had been even a block south: red coats with white facings and yellow facings and blue facings and the regimental drummers, young men, Black and White, with their colors the inverse of their regiment. The soldiers wore cocked hats or the leather hats of dragoons or the lofty fur hats of the grenadiers. There were German soldiers as well, with their blue coats and tall brass-plated hats and their impressive mustaches. So many soldiers, so well equipped.
“The State House has been taken over as a barracks,” Dexter said, nodding toward the imposing brick building and the hundreds of tents set up on the open ground to the west. “But I imagine you know that already. Second story is a hospital for American wounded. Mostly poor fellows from Germantown. A bloody business, I dare say.”
“I’ve heard as much,” Virginia said, eyeing the British soldiers as they rode past.
He’s never asked me about my loyalties, Virginia mused. Dexter had not shied away from mentioning things in the military line, but he had never asked Virginia where she stood on the question of fidelity to the Crown, or made even the slightest attempt to ferret out an answer.
He reckons I think the same as Susan does, most likely, she thought. Meaning I don’t think anything at all.
Susan had no discernable opinions about the war that Virginia was aware of, or about politics, or anything beyond fashion and the potential of this gentleman or that to make a suitable husband. But Susan could be an enigma, too. It was entirely possible that she thought very deeply about such things, but kept her own council.
Still, Virginia did not think so. Nor did she think Captain Dexter believed that she, Virginia, was quite as shallow as Susan Williams. More likely he did not care where Virginia’s loyalties lay, or did not care to know. Whatever designs he had on her, she did not think they involved politics.
“Are these all of General Howe’s troops?” Virginia asked. “Quartered here?”
“No, no,” Dexter said. “A fraction of them, really. The General was concerned about having the bulk of his army in the city, leaving the country unguarded. That’s why we were at Germantown, you know. Howe pulled the men back after the battle, and they’re quartered in various places in the city, or just outside. The Queen’s Rangers are north of there, covering Swede’s Ford. A few regiments have been sent to deal with the fortifications on the river below the city. The Seventeenth was to remain in Germantown at first, but happily we were pulled back into the city as well.”
“Happily?” Virginia asked with a teasing tone. “Do you fear the wilds of America? Would you be bored in the countryside?”
“I would not have made your acquaintance,” he replied.
“Indeed,” Virginia said. She was not impressed by such flattery, but found herself flattered all the same.
They crossed Sixth and then Seventh Street and the building began to thin. They turned east and crossed wide Market Street and soon found themselves in the North East Square with its park-like fields and stands of trees. Virginia had been to the square only once before, when the grass was green and the trees still sported leaves and there were no tents lining the western end, as opposed to the hundreds that were there now. Small cook fires burned here and there, and men in red regimentals huddled against the chill.
“These poor devils!” Virginia said, gesturing toward the men and tents. “Will they be here all winter?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Dexter said. “We’re finding proper quarters as quick as we can, and having some luck at last. Within a week, we hope these men will all have roofs over their heads.”
“So they’re in the city for the time being?” Virginia asked as casually as she might. “Boredom is the only thing they’ll have to fight?”
Dexter laughed. “Boredom is a dangerous enemy,” he said. “It can be more destructive than battle or smallpox. But we’ll see the men are not bored, I assure you.”
“Drills?” Virginia asked. “Marching?”
“That’s the chief of it,” Dexter said. “Something more, perhaps. It seems General Washington has encamped at a place called Whitemarsh, about twelve miles east of here. There’s some talk that General Howe might pay a call.”
“Is that so?” Virginia said. “I hope the Seventeenth would not be called away for such a thing.”
“And I would be very disappointed if we were not,” Dexter said. “But I doubt that I’ll be disappointed. Washington’s army behaved very well at Germantown. Sir William won’t underestimate his opponent, and he won’t take half-measures in attacking him.”
“I see,” Virginia said, wondering as she spoke why Dexter was willing to share so much of this information. Is he lying? she wondered. Does he think me a loyalist, or of such little consequence that it doesn’t matter what I know?
Regardless of the answer, she could see this was potentially important intelligence, a line of questioning well worth pursuing, but with care and subtlety.
They rode north over the short, brown grass of the open ground, a much more pleasant sensation than riding over cobbled streets. “I hope this Whitemarsh business will not happen any time soon,” Virginia ventured.
“Hard to say, really,” Dexter said. “One hears rumblings, but it’s so often the case in the military line that we seem on the verge of some great thing, only to be told to sit on our hands once again.”
“But you hear hints of something…imminent?”
“Hints,” Dexter said. “But forgive my prattling. This sort of talk must be so terribly dull for you. On the other hand, I’ve heard you wax eloquent about the joys of a good gallop, and here we are on open ground and we’re still walking our mounts as if we were bound off for Sunday service.”
“Oh, indeed?” Virginia said, smiling wide at the challenge. “How’s this for walking?” She gave the horse’s offside a meaningful tap with her cane and flicked the reins. The small chestnut bolted forward with an explosive energy, but Virginia had anticipated that sort of reaction from the spirited animal and she took the acceleration with grace, maintaining her place in the saddle and her control over the horse as its hooves dug into the frozen ground.
She heard Dexter shout in surprise, heard him urge his own mount on. She heard the pounding of the bay as it closed the distance between them, and soon they were galloping hard, side by side, with the open ground flying by under them. Virginia felt tears streaming down her cheeks and she laughed out loud with the sheer delight of the thing.
They spent the next few hours that way, alternately galloping and trotting and walking their mounts over the open country to the north of the city. Virginia did not mention Whitemarsh again, or try to wheedle any further intelligence from Captain Dexter, for fear that he would grow suspicious if she did. And, in truth, she soon found herself so taken the riding and the talk of horses and the pure pleasure of being on horseback once again that she forgot all about her ostensible reason for accepting the captain’s invitation.
Daylight was growing short when they finally walked the horses off the fields and back onto the streets of Philadelphia, which happily were not cobbled so far from the city center. They returned by the same route they had come, with the tradesmen trudging home after their day’s work and the shops shuttering their windows in the fading light.
They reined to a stop outside the Williams’ house on Chestnut Street and Captain Dexter dismounted and offered Virginia a hand as she slid down from the chestnut’s back. She gave the horse one last scratch on the neck and then turned to Dexter.
“I thank you, sir, for a most enjoyable afternoon,” she said, and she meant it, most sincerely.
“It is I who must thank you, Mrs. Biddlecomb,” Dexter said. “Such gracious company is a rare thing in my profession, you know.”
“No doubt,” Virginia said, and she paused, considering her next words before she spoke. “And please, Captain, call me Virginia.”
Dexter smiled, not an arrogant or triumphant smile, but one with a hint of pleasure. “You do me great honor, Virginia,” he said. “And I would be more honored still if you were to call me Richard.”
“Richard it shall be,” Virginia said. “And now, good night to you, Richard.” With that, she left him on the street and made her way up the granite steps and through the big front door of her temporary home.
It was three days later when Virginia next saw Captain Richard Dexter: three days of wrestling with the ebb and flow of feelings, the guilt over having enjoyed her time with the officer while her husband languished in some frozen purgatory, her sense that the information she had gleaned about Whitemarsh was potentially important and should be shared—but with who?—her desire to ride with Dexter again, her need to terminate all contact immediately.
Added to that was an unfamiliar soreness in muscles she had not used in some time, and all together it made for an awkward and confusing three days indeed. She had all but decided that she was done with Dexter, riding and intelligence-gathering be damned, and that she would decline his next invitation and the next after that (for certainly he would not be so easily dissuaded) when Susan announced that the gentlemen would be calling on them that very evening.
“Forgive me, Susan,” Virginia said. “They’ll be doing what?”
“I had a note from Captain Cornwall,” Susan said. “Nicholas,” she added coyly. “He asked if he and Captain Dexter might call for us in that lovely coach and four they took us to the ball in. A tour of the city, I believe they had in mind. I told him that would be agreeable.”
“Agreeable for you…and for me?”
“I know that you and Captain Dexter got on famously,” Susan said. “I assumed you would be happy to see him again.”
“But I can’t leave Jack…” Virginia said, grabbing on to the first excuse to float by. “Oh…let me guess…you already sent for the wet nurse?”
“Of course, I did so directly,” Susan said. “But never fear, I took care that my reply to the gentlemen did not sound too eager. They’re perfectly aware of how great a favor we’re doing them.”
“As long as Captain Dexter does not expect the sort of favors Captain Cornwall might, then I suppose I can go along,” Virginia said, too taken by the suddenness of it all to think of further ways to beg off.
“I’m sure he’ll be grateful for whatever courtesies you show him,” Susan said.
And indeed, when the two officers arrived at the Williams’ home a few hours later, dressed in their ever-immaculate regimentals, the same fine coach they had procured earlier parked on the street outside, they did seem genuinely grateful for the company. They were, as ever, the picture of gracious courtesy, though Virginia could see that something had changed between Susan and Cornwall, some level of intimacy and silent communication that had not been there before.
She made good use of an empty house, I’ll warrant, Virginia thought as Richard Dexter helped her on with her cloak.
They descended the stairs to the street where the officers handed the women up into the coach, made tolerably comfortable by tin foot warmers filled with hot stones and set on the carriage floor. Once they settled into place, Cornwall thumped on the roof and the carriage lurched into motion.
“I had thought perhaps we would have a tour about the city,” Cornwall said, “and then maybe some supper after? There’s a tavern that’s reopened on Second Street under the name the King’s Arms and I hear it’s tolerably good.”
“Oh, that sounds delightful!” Susan gushed, though Virginia suspected she would have reacted the same way if Cornwall had suggested they muck out the city stables. She did not think Cornwall could say anything that Susan would not find delightful.
“Would that be agreeable with you, Virginia?” Dexter asked, and try as she might Virginia could not stop herself from glancing over at Susan, who met the look with a smile and a raised eyebrow. She had not missed the use of Virginia’s Christian name.
“That would be most agreeable…Richard,” Virginia said, and she graced the officer with a smile of her own.
The coach rumbled down Chestnut Street toward the water, past the various meeting houses, the shops and the fine homes. The officers had invited the women on a tour of the city, but in truth, Susan was the only one among them who knew anything of Philadelphia, and she quickly took on the role of guide and embraced it. She named the families who lived in the elegant houses and many who lived in the lesser homes, she explained who among them were still there and who had fled when Howe’s army had arrived. She pointed out the various shops and explained who was to be trusted and who was a criminal, and which to patronize and which to avoid.
Susan was a lively and entertaining narrator, with a fine ear for detail and gossip, and she kept them quite amused as they rumbled along. Cornwall and Dexter were able to add their part to her narrative, pointing out which houses, abandoned by their owners, were now occupied by which general officers of Sir William Howe’s army. Virginia took silent note, in case that information might be of use to someone who was no friend of General Howe or his army.
Cornwall leaned over and unbuckled a leather bag on the floor at his feet. He pulled out a bottle of claret and four glasses, uncorked the bottle, poured, and distributed the glasses around. They toasted friendship and drank.
At the waterfront the carriage turned west and continued on. The moon was nearly full and it cast its light over the river, enough to illuminate the various ships at anchor there, from tiny sloops and cutters to the massive men-of-war of Lord Richard Howe’s fleet.
“Do you know what ships those are?” Virginia asked, nodding toward the water. She had finished her glass and allowed Cornwall to pour another and she could feel the wine in her head.
“Well, let’s see,” Cornwall said, turning in his seat and looking out at the river. “I know the big one ain’t Augusta. Bloody navy burned that one to the waterline. And I don’t mean the rebel navy. The Royal Navy managed that one on their own.”
“Is that true?” Susan asked. “I know she burned but…the navy burned their own ship?”
“Perhaps,” Dexter clarified. “She was aground and caught fire. No one is quite sure how. Might have been a bit of wadding from one of her own guns.”
Virginia had heard that as well. One of the Royal Navy’s greatest losses and it seemed the Continental Navy had played no part in it. In truth, there was no longer any Continental Navy, or State Navy, anywhere on the Delaware. What ships had survived Howe’s push up-river had been burned a few weeks back.
She thought of Isaac slipping Falmouth past those powerful ships. She thought of him in the near-empty great cabin of his beloved frigate. Was he thinking of her just then?
“The big one there, that’s Roebuck, Hammond’s command,” Dexter continued, pointing. “And the frigates, one is Liverpool and one is Pearl, but I can’t tell one from the other. Even in broad daylight, I doubt I could tell. Bloody ships all look the same.”
“The other one, just down river,” Cornwell added, “the fifty-gun ship, that’s Experiment, Captain Wallace’s command. Beautiful ship, just three years old, copper-bottomed. But I heard she won’t stay here all winter. Underway soon, I understand.”
“Nicholas, please,” Dexter interrupted. “You’ll only bore the ladies if you try to impress them with your vast knowledge.”
“Wallace?” Virginia asked. “James Wallace, who used to command the frigate Rose?”
“Sir James?” Dexter said. “Yes, I believe so. Not entirely certain. Army and navy, we can be a bit like oil and water, you know.”
“I see,” Virginia said, staring out at the great bulk of the ship, just visible in the moonlight. “I didn’t know Captain Wallace had been knighted.”
“Just earlier this year, as I understand it,” Dexter said.
“Hmm,” Virginia said, and she said no more. She did not care to seem overly curious.
The coach turned and left the waterfront behind, heading back toward the city’s center. It came to a stop in front of a tavern, well-lit with various lanterns hanging from hooks along the sidewalk and busy with men and women flowing in and out. Virginia drained the last of her claret and handed the empty glass to Cornwall.
“Here we are, ladies, the King’s Arms, finest tavern in Philadelphia, I’m told,” Dexter said. Whether that was true or not, Virginia did not know. The City Tavern had long been considered the finest tavern in Philadelphia, but that impressive building had been turned into housing for prisoners of war, first by the Americans and then by the British. Whatever fare they were serving there now, Virginia did not imagine it was up to the standards of well-bred British officers.
Cornwall and Dexter stepped out of the coach and helped the women down, then escorted them up the few steps and through the tavern’s front door. The big dining room into which they stepped was warm, loud, and smoky, well-lit by candles in sconces mounted on the walls and several elaborate chandeliers hanging from beams overhead.
The place was crowded, the tables nearly all taken. There was a smattering of civilians there, men and women whose clothes reflected their status in the upper echelon of Loyalist Philadelphia, but the preponderance of the dress was uniform: the red coats of the army and the blue coats of the navy. They were young men mostly, lieutenants and army captains, and some older men as well, colonels and post-captains, and the like. Many of them, like Dexter and Cornwall, were in the company of women.
Cornwall gave a subtle wave, to who Virginia could not tell, and a moment later a heavy-set man in green waistcoat and breeches approached, gave a shallow bow, and allowed Cornwall to slip something discreetly into his hand.
“This way, please, ladies, gentlemen,” the big man said, and a moment later, the four of them were seated at one of the few empty tables in the room. They had hardly settled in their chairs before cups of hot flip were set in front of each of them.
“You seem to be well regarded here, Captain Cornwall,” Virginia said.
Cornwall smiled. “I wish I could say it was due to my charm, or my good looks, but alas, it has more to do with how one spreads one’s money about.” He lifted his cup for a toast and the others followed suit.
Virginia took a sip. The drink was warm, just on the edge of hot, a sweet and potent mix of ale and brandy, sugar and nutmeg, with a few raw eggs stirred in, a perfect drink for a cold autumn night. Virginia could feel the slight burn of the alcohol on her throat, but it went down as easily as chocolate.
“Oh, this is delightful!” Susan said.
“They do an excellent flip here,” Cornwall said. “As well as a lamb stew that cannot be bested.” And so, on the captain’s recommendation, they ordered the lamb stew, along with roasted potatoes and asparagus, which was all the more fashionable for being so far out of season. They finished their cups of flip before the food arrived and four more appeared as if by some conjurer’s trick.
Susan and Cornwall were soon deep in a discussion about a colonel of the Thirty-Third Regiment of Foot, seated on the far side of the room, and the young woman with whom he was dining, who looked as if she could be his daughter or his niece, but clearly was not. Virginia was about to interrupt, and change the subject, when Dexter turned to her.
“Forgive my asking,” he said, leaning close so as to be heard without shouting over the din of the room, “but I understand you’re from Newport, Rhode Island, originally?”
“Bristol,” Virginia said. “North of Newport.”
“Of course,” Dexter said. “I know Bristol tolerably well. I spent quite a bit of time in that area, Newport, principally, before…the present situation.”
“Perhaps we know people in common,” Virginia said, speaking with care. She had felt the effects of the claret even before leaving the coach, and now the flip was announcing itself.
“Perhaps so,” Dexter said. “Let me see…do you know a gentleman by the name of John Wanton? A merchant in Newport?”
“Oh, yes, certainly!” Virginia said. “My father is a merchant as well, you know, and he’s friends with most of the prominent men in Newport. And so, perforce, am I.”
My father is also a great rebel, she thought, and a financier of the effort to drive you lot of Redcoats into the sea, but she still had control enough to not speak that part aloud.
“Ha!” Dexter said. “Mr. Wanton is a friend of my father’s as well. It’s a wonder we didn’t run into one another in his sitting room! Do you know a lawyer in that town by the name of Daniel Lyman?”
“Yes, I believe I do,” Virginia said, pushing her way through the fog of wine and brandy until she could recall the man’s face. “Yes,” she said with more certainty. “Yes, I certainly do.”
“An excellent fellow!” Dexter said. “I know the whole family well. How about Jonathan Weatherspoon? Do you know that worthy, at all?”
“Weatherspoon…” Virginia mused. “I knew a David Weatherspoon. I believe he was from Newport, though in truth I’m not certain.”
“Jonathan had a son named David,” Dexter said. “Middling height, brownish hair. He’s a few years junior to me, but I knew him fairly well. Might he be the same fellow?”
“Could well be,” Virginia said. “It sounds like him, to be sure.”
“Have you heard from him of late?” Dexter asked. “I haven’t seen him or his father since…oh, I should think not since ‘71. Is he well?”
“I couldn’t speak to the father,” Virginia said. “As to David, well, I’m afraid he was killed. Last fall.”
“Killed?” Dexter said, frowning. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know…perhaps I shouldn’t ask…but do you know the circumstances?”
“He died fighting,” Virginia said. “At a place called Great Egg Harbor.” She looked at Dexter with an expression that she hoped would indicate that she did not wish to speak more on that subject. She did not wish to discuss which side David Weatherspoon was fighting for, and which against.
“I’m sorry,” Dexter said. “Sorry to have brought it up at all. Pray, let us move on to some more pleasant topic.”
And with that, Dexter was able to nimbly steer the conversation back to a happier place, and soon he and Virginia and Susan and Cornwall were all laughing and raising their cups of flip and enjoying a lamb stew that was every bit as excellent as Cornwall had promised.
Virginia could feel her head was light with the drink, and when at last they stood to leave, she could feel it even more profoundly. But she managed to remain steady, or so she thought, and make it out the door, down the steps and up into the coach without embarrassing herself.
They soon arrived back at the Williams’ home, where the officers helped the ladies down and saw them to the door. They bid their goodnights, and Susan graced Cornwall with a less than discreet kiss.
“Oh that was a dream of an evening, was it not, Virginia?” Susan gushed once the front door was firmly shut.
“A dream,” Virginia agreed, but the effect of the alcohol on her head and her stomach, and the constant twist of emotions, had her feeling something less than dreamy at that moment. She made her excuses and with some effort mounted the stairs and made her way to her room. She quickly undid the lacing of her gown and let it slide to the floor, relieved to be free of the weight and the confines of the silk.
She crossed the room and sat down at her mirror and began pulling pins from her hair. She saw behind her, reflected in the glass, the small writing desk on the other side of the room. She turned and stared at it. Something there was nagging at her, but she was not sure what it was.
On the top of the desk, right where she had left it, sat the letter from Isaac. She had not bothered to hide it, or even put it away. Why, indeed, would she? It was not as if anyone, save for herself and the family or the servants, was ever there on the second floor of the house.
Then she felt the sudden rush of realization, like a gust of cold wind.
“Oh, you son of a bitch,” she said out loud.