Paxton's War (31 page)

“No, I didn't think of that. But surely no one will …”

“Why take such a risk? Why make such an association?”

“You're far too sensitive, Jase. I don't think …”

“And this Frederic Pall. Have you discussed him among your rebel friends? Are you certain that he isn't …”

“If you'd read his letters of recommendation, you'd understand why I resent your inference,” Colleen blurted out, cutting him off, her voice growing angry. “Sam Adams refers to him as one of the most dedicated Patriots in all the colonies. You still don't give me credit for having any sense. By now you should realize that we're truly partners in this …”

“For all the love I feel for you, Colleen, I must say that I don't need a partner. I don't want a partner. My plan was that no one except my patrons would know of these midnight rides. I've wanted to protect my family and you from …”

“Spare me from your protection! Won't you understand once and for all that I don't need protection? I have a mission in this war as great as any man's, and with the help of God I'll fulfill that mission or die trying.”

For several seconds, they looked into one another's steadfast and stubborn eyes. Then, at the exact same moment, the discord quickly fading, they found each other's arms, lips, mouths, and tongues.

“Will you play for me?” she whispered in his ear.

“Whatever you like.” He felt himself melting.

In the library, he wooed her with Mozart, his military posture turning into sweet, subtle melody. Later, with an almond-colored sun sinking into the garden beyond his bedroom window, their bodies danced to a long, sensuous symphony of love.

“It'll never cease, this love of ours,” she said afterward as he cooled her neck with kisses.

“Promise me you'll be prudent,” he urged. “For the sake of our love, promise me that, at least for the moment, the Sandpiper will retire.”

“If you insist …”

“I do.”

“Then I promise,” she said, kissing his nose while she crossed her fingers tightly behind his back.

Frederic Pall held Major Randall Embleton and Buckley Somerset with his slanty, icy blue eyes. Wigless with wispy blond hair falling below his shoulders, his concave chest gave a decidedly passive appearance. The clothes he wore—a dark brown waistcoat, a jet-black blouse—were in noticeable contrast to his pale, rubbery skin. His elongated face was strangely mercurial. At times his visage exuded the tenderness of a kitten; other times he projected the aura of a sly fox. To a slow, steady rhythm, he continually tapped his long, graceful fingers upon his knees. He spoke with a fluent theatrical accent that could be bent to fit a wide variety of characters.

“Let me be plain about the matter,” he said in a tone that was all business. “'Tis solely a question of money. I'm asking for nothing less than a hundred pounds sterling.”

“Why, that's outrageous!” Embleton slammed his fist on his monumentally messy desk, causing papers to scatter in every direction. He was on the verge of ejecting the man from his office.

“With your permission, Major,” Buckley interceded, “let's hear the man out. He's said, after all, that his information is nothing short of spectacular.”

“That it is,” said Pall, “if you still harbor an interest in the positive identification of the rebels known pseudonymously as the Sandpiper and Will-o'-the-Wisp.”

Embleton and Somerset both rose at the same instant. Their jaws dropped; their eyes widened with impassioned interest.

“Of course! Of course!” the major declared.

“Money is no object,” Buckley announced, deciding that if he himself had to pay the price, he would—which was one of the reasons Pall had requested that the plantation owner be at this secret meeting. “Just give us the names—now.”

“It's not quite that simple. The arrangement will be effected in two stages. Today I'm prepared to deal only with step one—the first revelation. Within a week, I shall return to deliver the second name.”

“With whom do you begin?” asked Somerset.

“And how do we know your information is correct?” inquired Embleton.

“My proof is incontrovertible. So confident am I that I'll defer full payment until a week from today, when I'll disclose the name of the Wisp.”

“So you still don't know who he is,” Buckley deduced.

“He's as good as named,” said Frederic Pall, pulling a rolled piece of parchment from his coat. “Read this.”

Embleton grabbed the document and Buckley read over his shoulder. It was the verse concerning Colleen's escape.

“This must never see the light of day!” Buckley demanded. “Name this Sandpiper so we can string him up this very day!”

“I'm afraid, kind sir,” Pall replied, “that if we are to catch your elusive Wisp, this broadside must be distributed. If not, its author, whom I know to be in direct contact with the bandit, will be lost to me forever. As things stand now, she is as innocent of me as a lamb.”

“She!”
shouted Embleton. “You don't mean that the Sandpiper is a female!”

“One Colleen Cassandra McClagan by name.”

“My God!” Somerset gasped as he fell into a chair, mumbling with a dazed glaze over his eyes. “Mother was right … Mother is always right.…”

“The McClagan woman!” the major shouted. “How extraordinary! She's a beauty, if I remember correctly, with those strangely yellowish eyes. In fact, was she not the woman whom you brought to the ball?” Embleton asked Buckley.

“Yes,” answered the printer, “and the one whom the Wisp captured from Marble Manor.”

“You didn't mention anything about a woman being captured,” the major said to Buckley.

“I was about to tell you,” Somerset lied, “but then Mr. Pall arrived early and …”

“Ye gods!” Embleton bellowed. “This woman has been extracting information from you for months. You've been taken in by the oldest trick of them all, a seemingly innocent female who …”

“I can assure you, Major, that she's learned nothing from me, absolutely nothing.”

“It doesn't matter,” Embleton said excitedly. “All that matters is that we've got her now.”

“
I've
got her,” Pall reminded the men. “She placed this document in my hands, just as I placed a printing press in the basement of her aunt's sewing shop. I have her absolute trust.”

“Then why didn't you ask her to name the Wisp?” Buckley wanted to know.

“Timing, gentlemen,” Pall said coolly, squinting his eyes. “'Tis all a matter of timing. In one meeting, I did quite enough. To rush matters would lead to suspicion. She's a trusting and extremely bright woman. Her impetuousness, though, led her to indiscretion, in spite of the shock of having seen her former ally, Ephraim Kramer, hanged in public.”

“So that's why the swine wouldn't name his accomplice. A woman!” Embleton observed. “How novel, how clever …”

“I still insist that this broadside be stopped,” demanded Buckley. “What purpose does it …”

“Let not pride interfere with progress,” Embleton interrupted. “Our Mr. Pall is right. The McClagan woman must be led to believe that nothing is awry. We'll have that shop watched every minute. We'll follow her everywhere she goes. There's no doubt she'll lead us to our man.”

“You could follow her all you like, but one false move on your part, Major,” said Pall, “and the game will be up. I suggest my approach is far more subtle. Leave this flighty Sandpiper to me and by this time next week the true name of your troublesome Wisp will fall from my tongue like gentle rain from the summer sky.”

Something suddenly flashed through Somerset's mind—the image of a clown at his grandfather's ball. But, no, that was absurd, absolutely impossible. He dismissed the thought quickly.

“Yes, you have a point,” declared the major. “If you can prove the Wisp's true identity, you'll get your hundred pounds next week, Frederic Pall, whomever you may be.”

“I'm a mercenary, an occasional printer, but principally an actor by trade. In fact, I've been asked to take over for the chap who's been playing Parolles in the local production of
All's Well That Ends Well
. Seems as though the poor fellow, discovered to be a rebel by his crazed father-in-law, a rabid Tory, was shot in the back. I do hope you gentlemen can find the time to see me perform, though I must admit that this extraordinary state of war is a drama greater than any conceived by even the mighty bard. It has created a number of fascinating parts for those whose training has equipped them for the roles. This isn't my first performance in the service of public good and private gain, and I assure you it shan't be my last.”

“Yes,” said Embleton, “my reports from Georgia indicate you were a most effective spy.”

“An actor,” Pall corrected him, “who takes great professional pride in his performances.”

Buckley had heard little of this, his mind still preoccupied with Colleen. Once he had gotten over the initial shock, a slow fuse had begun to bum through his body, finally reaching his brain, where the explosion was evident by the fire in his eyes and the rage of his shouting voice. He screamed without restraint. “
I want that wench's neck! I won't rest till the bloody bitch is dead!
”

Chapter 2

On a muggy mid-September afternoon, Jason took a brisk afternoon walk to his family's town house in Charleston. He knew that Joy had been spending time there with Hope, but now that Allan was free, he wondered whether his unmarried sister was in Charleston or Brandborough.

Strangely enough, the front door was open, allowing the musician to go inside without knocking. There, in the empty parlor, seated on a wooden crate, her head in her hands, Joy was sobbing her heart out. The place had been stripped of all its furniture. The rugs had been picked up from the floors; the walls were bare. When Joy saw her brother, she arose to embrace him. Shaking, she held him for a very long time before the two of them sat down on the crate.

Jason looked at his sister, her eyes puffy with tears, her body weak from sobbing. He tried to comfort her by putting his arm around her shoulders. “Just take a deep breath,” he said, trying to console her, “and tell me what happened.”

“The English military command has appropriated the house,” Joy said, sniffling. “They say it's because of Allan being at large, but I know they've been looking for any excuse to punish the Paxtons. They've ransacked the house, they've taken everything. Soon they'll be back to padlock the door.”

“We'll find a way to get it all back.”

“It's not that, Jase. It's Father. When I was told that the English would be closing up the house, I had no choice but to go home to Brandborough. I never thought he'd do it, but he blocked the front door. He stood on the porch and shouted at me. He called me a traitor and said never to come back to Brandborough because now that Allan had escaped he was afraid I'd find out where he and Hope were hiding and tell Peter. I reminded him that it was Peter who arranged for Hope to see Allan, but Father would have none of it. So I came back to Charleston only to find that the servants have been dismissed and that by day's end I'll be barred not only from our childhood home, but from our house here as well.”

“Why didn't you come to see me?”

“I was about to, but you found me first. What's going to happen, Jase? Where am I going to go? What am I supposed to do?”

A rap was heard at the front door, followed by the firm footsteps of a soldier. Instinctively, Jason stood, his body tensed before he saw Captain Peter Tregoning appear in the archway of the parlor. Joy looked at Jason for an instant before she ran to the Englishman and embraced him. As he was being held by Joy, Peter's embarrassed eyes met Jason's.

A few seconds later, Joy asked her brother, “Do you think it's terrible? Do you think I'm a traitor?”

Jason regarded his sister and his friend. “No,” he answered, “I don't think you're a traitor. I know your heart, and it's pure as gold. You're caught, we're all caught,” he said, his eyes turning to Peter, “in the web of war.”

“I just found out about the appropriation,” Peter said with sincere concern. “I've tried to intercede, but it's impossible. Frankly, I was surprised, given Major Embleton's regard for you, Jase, that this action wasn't averted.”

“In his mind,” Jason answered, “he separates me from the rest of my family.”

“Just like Father,” Joy added.

“Did you see your father yesterday?” Peter asked her.

She told him the story. When she was through, she once again raised the question of her future.

“You'll come with me to Robin and Piero's,” Jason told her. “They have the room and …”

“I couldn't, Jase. I barely know them. I'd feel like an intruder.”

“What about Colleen McClagan?” Peter asked, addressing both Jason and Joy.

“Her Aunt Rianne has often told me that if I needed anything in these troubled times, I was merely to ask,” Joy said. “I think I'd feel far more comfortable there than with your patrons, Jase.”

Jason tried to hide his concern while searching for a good excuse as to why Rianne McClagan's was not a suitable place for Joy. The intrigue surrounding that house alarmed him. Anything he said, though, would reveal more than he wished to disclose.

“Will you take me there, Jase? They're so fond of you. Will you ask them with me?” Joy knew of the romantic involvement between Colleen and Jason. Jason had also told her of Dr. McClagan's disapproval. In her brother's affectionate alliance with Colleen, Joy felt a comforting parallel to her own relationship with Peter, something that the English soldier had himself sensed when he made the suggestion. She was also genuinely fond of the flamboyant Rianne and quick-witted Colleen. She looked forward to greater intimacy with them both.