There were only a few times in her life that Virginia had consumed enough wine to be what one might consider intoxicated. But she knew the feeling, and she felt that way now—head spinning, slightly sick, slightly confused, somewhat remorseful, and also very much not. This, despite the fact that she had not consumed a drop of alcohol. She had not even reached the ball where she might be offered such a thing.
She was seated in the coach and four, an elegant vehicle driven by a somber Black man who wore a heavy wool coat over what appeared to be fine livery. Its interior was heated to a comfortable temperature by the foot warmers on the floor, and it moved easily over the half-frozen, rutted roads of Philadelphia, its fine suspension tossing the occupants gently about.
Virginia did not know from whom the British officers had borrowed the vehicle, or how voluntary the loan might have been, but she was sure she would have known the name of the owner if it was mentioned. There were only a handful of people in Philadelphia with money enough for such a coach, and Virginia had met them all at some point or other.
When Virginia had accepted Captain Richard Dexter’s invitation to the ball, the gentleman had smiled at her—nothing gaudy, triumphant or over-eager—and inclined his head by way of acknowledgment. Susan had squealed with delight. That, in turn, led to another twenty minutes of preparation before leaving the house.
Virginia and Susan went off to fetch their cloaks and gloves and hats, which took all of five minutes. That done, Susan insisted that they remain in the family room for another quarter of an hour while the officers waited for them.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, my dear Virginia,” Susan explained, “And waiting makes the young gentlemen so very much more eager.”
“I suggest the young gentlemen not get overly eager where I am concerned,” Virginia said. “I’m doing this as a diversion, and a favor to you, nothing more. I’m a married woman, you’ll recall.”
“Of course, I recall,” Susan said. “You never tire of reminding me. But it all seems so very tedious, marriage and babies and such.”
Once the requisite time had passed, the officers were freed from the purgatory of the sitting room and Captains Dexter and Cornwall were allowed to escort the women down the granite steps to the brick sidewalk that fronted the house and up into the coach, which they did with European grace and chivalry. The four of them settled into their seats and Cornwall thumped the roof and with a lurch the coach was underway, iron-bound wheels grinding over the hard dirt.
Virginia tried to bring the reality into focus, like twisting the tube of a telescope. But like someone with too much drink in her stomach, she could not make it sharp, could not keep it all from spinning.
What in hell am I doing? she wondered. But the question was disingenuous. She knew perfectly well what she was doing, why she was there.
Her husband had gone off to fight his war and left her and her baby to the smothering ministrations of Mrs. Temperance Williams and the constant goading of her daughter and it made Virginia angry and resentful. Her baby son (whom she loved desperately, she assured herself) seemed to want to nurse nearly continuously, and cry or puke when he was not, and, despite herself, she felt angry and resentful about that as well.
Once she had been on fire for the cause of the Revolution but now that had all changed, her priorities and values had been turned upside down, and it seemed as if there was nothing solid under her. She had felt young and beautiful not so long ago and now she felt none of those things. Susan’s occasional half-hearted reassurances notwithstanding, she felt like a fishmonger’s wife; fat, frumpy, and old.
And then Captain Dexter had shown her that genuine smile, a gentleman’s courtesy.
She sighed and her head spun and she wanted to puke just like little Jack. Vomit had become such a regular part of her day that she was quite indifferent to his tossing up on her gowns. She wondered if Cornwall, seated across from her, would feel the same if she heaved on his uniform.
“This is my first visit to Philadelphia, I’ll own, and I find the city a delight,” Captain Cornwall said, breaking into Virginia’s reverie and smiling at her and Susan.
“You’d have been welcome at any time,” Virginia said, her tone more biting than she intended. “You need not have brought an army with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could check them, though she was not sure she would have done so in any event.
“Virginia!” Susan said but Captain Dexter laughed out loud.
“Quite right, Mrs. Biddlecomb, quite right!” he said. “Though I fear our invitation to visit the City of Brotherly Love was lost in the post. I never received mine, at any rate.”
Virginia smiled, despite herself. A clever riposte, and not a hint of offense at her words. She turned toward him so he could see her smile, see that she could take it as well as hand it out. Captain Dexter smiled back at her, that same disarming half-grin. And then she wanted to puke once again.
That damned uniform, she thought. That hateful red uniform. Every time Captain Dexter made her feel just a bit of her old self, the uniform was like a slap across the face.
What in hell am I doing?
They rolled on through the city, the red brick buildings and sidewalks lit with the streetlights that stood like sentries along the road. They spoke of the city and the people who lived there and the architecture and how it compared (favorably) to many cities in England. They did not talk about the declaration that had been drafted blocks away, or the Continental Navy that had sprung to life on the city’s waterfront or the Congress that had fled just ahead of Lord Howe’s approach.
Virginia joined in, tentatively at first, but then with more enthusiasm as the talk built in tempo. Dexter was a droll and witty man, Cornwall nearly so, and Susan much more clever than she generally let on. Virginia enjoyed the repartee, enough that she was soon able to look at the men’s faces and not their regimental coats. She felt the whirling in her head settle, the upheavals in her stomach subside.
After some time, the coach came to a swaying stop outside a three-story brick home not unlike that of Mrs. Williams. A streetlamp spread light over the brick sidewalk and the two servants who stood waiting; one to open the door and hand the occupants down and the other to set a portable step on the ground for their convenience.
Captain Cornwall was first on his feet and out the door, brushing the servant aside so that he might hand the women down. He reached up and took Susan’s hand and in a most solicitous manner helped her to the sidewalk.
He reached up for Virginia’s hand next, but she hesitated, unsure that she wanted his help, certain that she did not need it. Various biting remarks flashed through her head, but she kept them to herself, with some effort, and took the proffered hand, stepping down onto the smooth brick.
Last, Captain Dexter stepped lightly from the carriage and gestured toward the house. They climbed the granite steps and went in through the big front door, held open for them by yet another servant. The entry of the Newsome house was brightly lit by a chandelier high overhead and numerous candles burning in sconces on the walls, and the warmth was striking after the cold November night.
There were half a dozen people seated in the sitting room to the right, and more ascending and descending the wide staircase that rose up from the main hallway: women in beautiful silk gowns, their hair piled elegantly on top of their heads, men in embroidered suites and brilliantly polished shoes and glinting silver buckles. More than a few wore the red coats of the British army, or the deep blue of the navy. From above stairs, they could hear to the sound of the musicians playing and the people dancing and the muted sound of a hundred different conversations.
“Oh, this is delightful!” Susan said as she yielded her cloak and hat to a servant girl who stood ready to collect them. “The Newsomes are famous for their balls, you know, Virginia! You will be ever so happy you came!”
“I have no doubt,” Virginia said, but she failed to muster much enthusiasm. She had been warming to the whole thing during their ride in the carriage, but now she was less sure.
“Ladies, shall we go above stairs?” Dexter said, gesturing toward the staircase. “Ride to the sound of the guns, as it were?”
Susan took the lead, Virginia a half a step behind, and the two captains forming the rear guard as they climbed the carpeted staircase with its beautiful carved banister on the left and various portraits of Newsomes living and dead on the wall to the right. The top of the stairs opened onto a landing where more of Philadelphia’s elite, at least those of a Loyalist or apolitical bent, mingled with the men of British arms.
At the far end of the landing, a door opened into what Virginia guessed was the ballroom. Through the crowd, she could see people in chairs along the wall and she could catch the occasional glimpse of the swirling dress or well-shod foot and silk stocking of those dancing. The warmth and the sound were double what they had been below stairs.
“Susan, may I please have the first dance?” Captain Cornwall asked with an exaggerated bow.
Susan gave him a curtsey and a coy sideways glance. “I’d be delighted, sir,” she said and with that, Cornwall swept her off into the ballroom, leaving Virginia and Dexter alone among the crowd.
“I fear I am not much of a dancer,” Dexter said, turning to Virginia. “But if you wish…” He gestured toward the ballroom where music had come to an end and the dancers were clapping their approval.
“I am not much of a dancer myself, Captain,” Virginia said, though it was not true. She was an excellent dancer and loved to dance. But they were dancing minuets just then: complex, precise, and performed by each couple, in turn, in front of the entire ballroom. Virginia was woefully out of practice, having not danced at all for more than a year, and she felt awkward and clumsy as well. What’s more, she was still wrestling with the fact that she was attending this ball with a man, and British officer no less, while her husband was…she did not know what he was doing, or where.
“That’s a great relief to me, Mrs. Biddlecomb,” Dexter said. He craned his neck to look into the room behind them to the right. “They seem to have refreshments in the other room, here,” he said. “Would you care for something? We should make an effort to devour all of our host’s most expensive offerings. They might think us rude otherwise.”
Virginia smiled. “I’d be delighted,” she said. Dexter took her by the elbow and guided her into the nearby room. She thought, as he reached for her, that she might recoil at his touch, she did not. In fact, she found something comforting in the firmness of his grip, the gentle pressure of his arm, as he directed her toward the door.
The room was crowded, as was all the Newsome home, but not as crowded as the ballroom or the landing, and they were able to find a free corner in which to stand while Dexter gathered a plate of pastries and two glasses of wine. He handed one of the glasses to Virginia and she took a sip. The wine was lovely, tart with just a hint of fruit.
“Do you ride, Mrs. Biddlecomb?” Dexter asked.
“Ride?” The question took Virginia by surprise. She was passionate about riding, about horses in general. She had been a fearless rider since her youth. It was one of the few places where she and Isaac differed. Isaac was the master of anything afloat, but he disliked horses.
“Yes, I do ride,” Virginia said. “Why do you ask?”
Dexter shrugged, a disarming gesture. “People who ride…they have a way of moving. A sort of confidence, I guess. A certain grace. I can always tell.”
Virginia smiled. “You ride as well, I take it?”
“Oh, yes!” Dexter brightened with the question. “Hunting, mostly. Back home. My father maintains a prodigious stable. I have a Cleveland Bay, which is a particular favorite. I raised her from birth, a magnificent hunter. Are you familiar with the breed?”
“I am not,” Virginia said.
“Much like your thoroughbred, but stronger, in the long run. More tireless, I find, if one sees to their feeding properly.”
And with that, the conversation sparked, like an ember dropping onto a train of powder. There was little Virginia enjoyed more than discussing horses, but it was rare indeed that she found anyone who could match her depth of knowledge, a knowledge born of passion, and all out of proportion to her years.
But Dexter was a worthy partner in equine discourse and seemed to have as much passion as she did for the subject. Even when they disagreed, which was seldom, she had to admit that his arguments were well-founded.
They drained their wine glasses and finished off the plate of pastries and Dexter replenished both and the conversation continued. Then Susan and Cornwall came stumbling into the room, flushed and glistening with perspiration and smiling, and Virginia wondered if they had been dancing this whole time, or if Susan had managed to find an empty bedchamber somewhere.
“Ah, Mrs. Biddlecomb!” Cornwall said, “I do hope my dear Dexter has not been boring you to tears with this and that.”
“Not at all, sir. We’ve been discussing…horses.”
“Ha!” Susan shouted with delight. “Of course you have! You are the only woman I know, Virginia, who would come to such an affair, with a handsome gentleman such as our Captain Dexter here, and discuss horses.”
“It was my doing,” Dexter said. “I broached the subject, and I dare say I’m glad I did. Mrs. Biddlecomb is among the most knowledgeable people I have ever met in that regard. It’s been a delight to speak with her.”
“Well, time for speaking is past, I think,” Susan said. “I insist you dance the next dance, when the musicians are done with their respite.”
Cornwall and Dexter went off to fetch more wine and returned with four brimming glasses. “A toast!” Dexter said, raising his glass, and Virginia felt herself tense, felt the good cheer teetering on the edge.
A toast to what? she wondered, bracing. The King? Lord Howe? This could all turn ugly fast.
“A toast to friendship,” Dexter said. “Let us be united in that.”
Virginia smiled and thought I can drink to that, I suppose. She raised her glass and knocked it against the others and listened to the dull ring it made.
They had all but drained their glasses, and Virginia was most certainly feeling the effects, when they heard the sounds of the musicians tuning up and making ready.
“Oh, come, let’s dance this next, the four of us!” Susan said, and now Virginia found that she was ready to dance. Eager, even. The thought appealed to her.
“Captain Dexter, I don’t wish to discomfit you…” she said, turning to Dexter.
“Not at all,” he said. “If you can endure the humiliation of partnering with me, I would be delighted.”
“Oh, come now, Richard!” Cornwall said, turning to Virginia. “My friend is a perfectly fine dancer, don’t listen to his false modesty!”
“We’ll let Mrs. Biddlecomb be the judge of that,” Dexter said as the four of them moved from the sitting room like soldiers advancing in a square formation.
The ballroom was an elegant space, running the full width of the house, with ceilings twenty feet above the floor. The walls were painted a brilliant white and interspersed with windows surrounded by rich velvet draperies and massive canvases depicting idyllic country scenes. Four chandeliers hung at intervals down the length of the room, giving considerable light and adding to the warmth generated by the press of dancers. A marble fireplace, thankfully devoid of fire, took up the middle third of one wall.
The minuets were done, to Virginia’s relief, and the simpler country dances starting, with couples lining up opposite one another on either side of the room. Captains Dexter and Cornwall took their place in the far line, shoulder to shoulder, facing Virginia and Susan across the floor. The musicians finished their tuning and fell silent. The men bowed and the women curtsied and the musicians began to play in earnest.
With the first steps of the dance, the butterflies that Virginia had suffered flew clean away. Her feet, her legs, her arms, knew what to do from many hours on the dance floor, and she took joy in the strength in her body and the elegance of the practiced steps as she moved toward the center of the room, hand outstretched.
And there was Captain Dexter, his hand outstretched as well. Her fingers lighted on the top of his and neither could resist smiling. With the first steps, Virginia could tell that Dexter was a skilled, experienced, and graceful dancer. They whirled around one another and again formed into lines, now on the opposite sides of the room from where they started. They paused for half a measure of music and then stepped to the center of the room once more, skirts swirling, shoes shuffling on the polished wood.
So unlike Isaac… Virginia thought. Her husband was a tolerable dancer, and he was willing to dance for her sake, but he was no great enthusiast. So many years on a ship’s deck, and so few in a ballroom, had done little to hone his skills.
Once again she and Dexter whirled around one another, their arms crossed, their eyes locked. A wisp of hair was falling down over Dexter’s forehead and his face wore that half-grin that was in no way unappealing. They came apart, arms outstretched, and Virginia spun around, feeling the silk of her dress lifting with the momentum.
Again they separated, moving to opposite sides of the room. Virginia could feel the smile on her face, the pleasure she found in this simple thing, this civilized thing, this bit of a life she had once enjoyed. She and Susan came side by side in the line, looking across the floor at the soldiers who had brought them.
Susan leaned close to Virginia and whispered, “I promise I won’t tell Captain Biddlecomb what a fine time you’re having!” The tone was playful but the words were like a sword-thrust in the gut. Virginia felt her good mood collapse, the pleasure drain away.
The girl to Virginia’s right stepped toward the center of the room, and Susan to her left did the same, and Virginia moved with them, her feet stepping by rote, her mind and spirit no longer in the dance. She met Dexter midway. She laid her fingers on his extended hand and circled around him. She could see the change in her mood registered on his face.
They continued the dance, advancing down the room, Virginia’s arms and legs moving flawlessly despite her lack of interest. Dexter moved beautifully as well, but the concern was evident on his face. Then, finally, the music stopped, and Virginia curtsied again, and Dexter bowed.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Biddlecomb, but are you well?” Dexter asked and his concern seemed genuine. “You seemed to…I don’t know…”
“Fine, sir, I’m fine, thank you,” Virginia said, waving his concern away. “I think the wine has gotten to my head.”
“Pray, come, let me find you a seat,” Dexter said, gesturing toward the door that led out to the landing. Two of the chairs against the wall were unoccupied and Virginia settled in one, Dexter in the other.
“Might I get you something? Some water? A bite to eat?” Dexter asked.
“Water, please,” Virginia said.
“Of course,” Dexter said, springing to his feet and disappearing into the room where the refreshments were laid out. Virginia did not necessarily want water, but she wanted a moment to herself, and sending Dexter on an errand seemed the most expedient means of getting it.
“What in hell am I doing?” she asked herself, speaking out loud. She felt like a fool, trying to reclaim something long past. Play-acting that she was not a married woman, and a mother. Staging this silly drama in the company of a British army officer, of all things. She felt disloyal. A traitor.
Susan, damn you to hell, she thought, but she knew that Susan’s wheedling was only in part to blame. And probably not the biggest part.
Dexter was back with a glass of water. He handed it to Virginia and sat beside her and Virginia dutifully took a sip.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Better, thank you,” Virginia said. “Sitting helps.”
“Good, good,” Dexter said. For a moment, they sat in silence, staring at the floor. Just as it began to grow uncomfortable, Dexter spoke again.
“I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to be in so fine a house as this,” Dexter said. “Cornwall and I are quartered in rooms above a hatter’s shop. I had no notion of the horrid smells that a hatter’s work creates.”
“Indeed?” Virginia said, trying to sound interested. “Are there no better quarters for you?”
“For us, no,” Dexter said, smiling. “Colonels and above are finding very agreeable quarters, but for such as us, no.”
“And your men?”
“Well, it’s worse for them. They’re still bivouacked on the Northeast Square, the sorry buggers. We’re searching out winter quarters, but little luck so far.”
“I thought half the city ran off when your army arrived,” Virginia said. “Aren’t there quarters enough?”
“It might seem half the city ran off, but in truth they didn’t,” Dexter said. “The wealthier sort did, certainly, the ones who have no love for the king. But I don’t think the common folks had the means to flee. And they’re the ones in the homes we need for our men.”
“I see,” Virginia said, and she could feel the glow of a new thought coming to life. “You don’t think your regiment will be called away? It would be nice to think I might have your company for some time more.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think we’re going anywhere soon,” Dexter said. “We’re attached to Fourth Brigade. At Germantown, we saw some bloody hard fighting…beg your pardon.”
“Fear not,” Virginia said. “I was raised around sailors, you know.”
“Ha!” Dexter said, smiling. “Well, after Germantown, we were sent into the city, and I dare say we’ll be here for the winter, at least. There’s some talk of the Forty-Fourth Foot going off. A reconnaissance in force of some sort. But I’m not certain.”
“A reconnaissance in force?” Virginia said with feigned confusion. “Whatever is that? Would they really send the poor fellows of this Forty-Forth off in such cold?”
“They might, indeed,” Dexter said. “Lord Cornwallis, he’s not so concerned for the men’s comfort as you, I fear.”
Virginia smiled as she listened to Dexter discourse on the possible movements of British troops in the country around Philadelphia. Men, she knew, loved to talk. And now, she realized, she could do her country some good by listening. And taking note.