Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution (45 page)

Sophie exited
the cabin, and with her first breath of fresh air, realized that the foul stink
had permeated her hair, clothing, and skin.
 
At the railing she inhaled, purging her lungs.
 
Through dusk she spotted blotches of islands to the north and the
approach of the
Zealot
from the northeast.
 
She brushed David's elbow.
 
"Any idea where we are?"

"The
Florida Keys.
 
We sailed north all
afternoon."

Fairfax paused
behind them, raising her hackles.
 
"I'd no idea that you paid as much attention to maps as you do to
strategies for piquet.
 
We shall
rendezvous with the
Zealot
approximately twenty miles south-southwest of
Key Largo — if that means anything to you."

The lieutenant
walked past them.
 
David lowered his
voice.
 
"It means we'll arrive at
St. Augustine within five days, if the weather holds well."

The gallows in
five days.
 
Her shoulders sagged.
 
"Might they put in at Savannah and take
us back to Alton?"

"I doubt
it.
 
The
Zealot
was stationed off
St. Augustine.
 
She must return to her
original mission as soon as possible."
 
Grim humor ground at his mouth.
 
"Besides, we don't carry the importance of Ben Franklin or John
Hancock, so there's no point in parading us around."
 
He sighed.
 
"No, indeed.
 
It shall be a
quick and simple noose for the three of us."

Sophie gazed
east to hide her desolation.
 
If Fairfax
had his way, the noose would be the only quick and simple part of it.

The vessels
drew alongside each other, and sailors from the
Zealot
rowed a gig
over.
 
Fairfax ordered the prisoners,
two marines, and their gear and weapons transferred to the gig.
 
Sophie descended the schooner's boarding net
into the gig after David and Mathias and sat staring at the starlight-speckled
water while sailors rowed them to the warship.
 
Then she climbed up the
Zealot
's boarding net.

Surrounded by
marines, forced to wait on the deck of the
Zealot
, she brushed off her
filthy petticoat, straightened, and watched the gig cross the water for Fairfax
and the other men.
 
She overheard a
seaman say that the three sailors aboard the schooner were being left behind to
pilot her and follow.
 
The prisoners
watched the gig return, by starlight discerning Fairfax from the boat's other
occupants by the victory in his posture.

David
grumbled.
 
"He'd have walked across
the water if they hadn't sent a boat for him."

Mathias
muttered, "Where's a waterspout when we need one?"

Aboard the
Zealot
,
Fairfax's gaze landed on them and swelled with satisfaction.
 
Sophie's hopes for finishing her life with
dignity withered.
 
He limped over to
them, exultant.

"Lieutenant."

He pivoted and
stood at attention in response to the familiar voice.
 
Sophie caught her breath.
 
Lantern light shone like white gold in the hair of Edward Hunt, who had
made his way amidships through clusters of sailors and marines, his carriage
taut with fatigue.
 
Justice presided in
his expression, not vengeance or cruelty.
 
She nearly wept with relief.

"Sir."
 
Fairfax saluted.

Edward returned
the salute and assessed them.
 
"What of Dusseau, Gonzales, St. James, le Coeuvre, and the two
assassins?"

Sophie
frowned.
 
Gonzales?
 
Who was Gonzales?

Still at
attention, Fairfax displayed no emotion.
 
"Gonzales escaped, sir, as did St. James.
 
Le Coeuvre and El Serpiente are dead.
 
If not dead, Dusseau and El Escorpión are mortally wounded."

Edward
frowned.
 
"You aren't
certain?"

"No,
sir.
 
There was a commotion on the
wharf.
 
We departed Havana in great
haste to avoid capture by the Spaniards."

"I
see."

Sophie saw,
too.
 
Edward was disappointed with
Fairfax.
 
Although the lieutenant's
actions had surely muddied water between Spain and the rebels, he'd spent a
great deal of resources and time and hadn't brought back a major player.

"I shall
take them to the brig, sir."

"No.
 
These three are my personal
responsibility."

"But sir
—"

"I shall
expect a full report from you in my cabin on the morrow at seven o'clock.
 
You'd best see the surgeon about your injury
straightaway.
 
Divest yourself of
that
uniform as soon as possible.
 
Dismissed,
Lieutenant."

Fairfax
saluted.
 
"Sir."
 
He limped aft.

Edward passed a
visual inspection over them one by one without lingering on her, as if he were
wary of touching hot metal.
 
A host of
regrets cascaded through her — that she'd hurt him, that she'd been unable to
return his love or accept his offer of protection, and that soon he must
witness her execution.
 
But Edward was a
creature of the air, Apollo of sunlight and justice, while she was a creature
of the dark earth.
 
Not in a lifetime
could he have lavished the kind of wealth upon her that her soul craved.
 
She averted her gaze.
 
The god of sunlight didn't want her
apologies.

"Ye
gods.
 
How did the three of you come by
the stench of rotten fish?"

David cocked an
eyebrow.
 
"I suspect that spending
six hours in the hold of that schooner would confer similar redolence on
anyone.
 
Do we reek too much for the
brig?
 
Well, please do turn the hawse
pipe on us.
 
I can hardly stand the
smell myself.
 
Five days hence, even the
hangman will thank you for it."

Edward curbed
appreciation for David's vivacity from his expression — a difficult maneuver
when even she wanted to laugh with black humor.
 
"I daresay he shall.
 
For tonight, however, if I am assured your utmost cooperation, I shall
part with orthodoxy and ask the captain where I might lodge the three of you
that you might remedy the problem of that reek with some amount of
privacy."

David inclined
his head.
 
"Many thanks,
Major.
 
I shall comply with all your
demands."

Gratitude
wandered across Mathias's face.
 
"As shall I."

She mustered
all the sincerity she could.
 
"I
promise."

Edward's nod
was curt.
 
"Bring your gear and
follow me."

***

In a closet
adjoining Edward's cabin, the three took turns bathing and washing hair and
clothing, tasks impeded by the cramped conditions.
 
They didn't complain, however, not when they, ears pressed to the
bulkhead, overheard conversation between Edward and the ship's captain.

They never
discerned enough detail to make them viable informants for the rebels, a
condition intentional on Edward's part.
 
But while the
Zealot
slipped past Key Largo and the Biscayno Reef
and found the Gulf Stream on the night of June 24, the names of Charles Lord
Cornwallis and Continental General Johann de Kalb figured in the adjacent
cabin.
 
The prisoners learned of
Cornwallis's activity fortifying a base in South Carolina from which the
redcoats could subdue the Carolina backcountry — and of the Congress's
desperation to halt him, wolverine in the South.
 
From nearly a thousand miles away, the thunder of something
damned monstrous brewing in South Carolina was already audible.

The three
whispered of it, wondering what other than British victory could result from a
ragtag Continental encounter against well-fed redcoats.
 
Convinced that they were rebel spies, Edward
had instilled those very speculations in them.
 
Spies mustn't go to the gallows believing that their actions mattered in
the great scheme of things.

Discussion of
the war subsided, then they each spoke a special memory of Jacques le Coeuvre
into the darkness, spilling tears again and bidding him adieu as best they
could.
 
Jacques wouldn't have wanted a
fancy wake.
 
But the belly of a British
ship-of-the-line didn't strike Sophie as a seemly place to tell the Frenchman
goodbye.

David dropped
off to sleep, having squished himself against one wall of the closet out of
courtesy.
 
Against the background of his
slumbered breathing and the
Zealot
's creaking, Mathias drew Sophie atop
him, and they bade each other a silent, sad adieu to the rhythm of the ship's
swaying in the Atlantic Ocean.
 
The
speculation about military action in South Carolina had served as a shield
against the crush of reality.
 
But in
the naked aftermath of lovemaking, as they kissed away each other's tears, they
were certain — certain as the sun would rise a few hours later in the eastern
sky — that they would never know the outcome of the American War.

Chapter Thirty-Five

ON DECK SUNDAY
morning, the
Zealot
's captain read from the Bible while sailors and
soldiers shifted about, sails stretched in the briny breeze, and the
mangrove-covered coast of southern East Florida slipped past to leeward.
 
He recited the Articles of War to remind
sailors of offenses such as mutiny and sodomy that they were forbidden to
commit.
 
Then Sophie, David, and Mathias
were escorted back to the closet by the two soldiers who had delivered
breakfast and swapped out their chamber pot and lantern.

The closet was
in disarray.
 
Their belongings had been
ransacked.
 
Sophie seized her haversack
and emptied the contents on the deck.
 
No cipher, translations, or
Confessions
.

"Jolly.
 
Now they've proof we're rebel spies."

She sighed,
miserable.
 
"Would that I'd thought
to destroy the messages after committing them to memory."

David shook his
head.
 
"Would that any of us had
thought to do so.
 
What fools we
are.
 
I hardly see how we're worth the
noose."

Mathias signed
for silence.
 
The tread of boots to the
end of the corridor was followed by a rap at the major's cabin door. David
groped for his pocket watch.
 
"Seven
o'clock," he whispered.
 
"It's
Fairfax with his report."

They pressed
their ears to the bulkhead, privy to the conversation.
 
"At ease, Lieutenant.
 
How's your injury?"

"Well
enough, sir."

"You're
fortunate the arrow wasn't poisoned."

"No
time," whispered Mathias.
 
David
mouthed, "Too bad."

"Sir."

"I require
a moment to read this.
 
Remain while I
do so."

Realization
shot through Sophie.
 
She blurted a
whisper.
 
"Fairfax doesn't know
we're in here.
 
Major Hunt's the one who
searched our belongings."

A smuggler's
brazen smile swaggered across David's mouth.
 
"Dunstan, laddie, you've botched the job.
 
You let spies escape, and you didn't search your captives.
 
For shame.
 
What will your next commander say?"

Mathias
grinned, too.
 
"Slovenly job in
Havana, Lieutenant.
 
We shall withhold
that promotion for awhile."

They
sniggered.
 
Edward's cabin stayed quiet
about five minutes.
 
Then stool legs
squawked on the flooring.
 
"Let's
go for a walk on deck, shall we, Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

"I require
your clarification of some points in the report, and I should like fresh air in
the process."

The prisoners
pouted at their door while the two officers exited and walked past the
guards.
 
David voiced their shared
sentiment.
 
"Dash it all.
 
Hearing the major's evaluation of Fairfax
would have brightened the rest of my short lifetime."
 
No doubt Edward had figured the same.

The morning
dragged with little to stimulate them.
 
Mid-afternoon, they were served salted beef, Pease porridge, hard
biscuits inhabited by weevils, and stale beer — a stark contrast to their meals
aboard the
Gloria Maria
.
 
They
amused each other by tapping their biscuits and seeing whose weevils scurried
out the quickest.

Minutes after
they'd finished the meal, a knock came on the door.
 
Mathias opened it to a soldier at attention.
 
"The captain requires Mr. St. James and
Mr. Hale on deck for fresh air."