The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (34 page)

Something in his admission about
Clark being a prisoner of war activated Betsy's instincts that a double-cross
was in the works.
 
"I want to see
Clark, and I want my furniture back."

"Madam, you apparently haven't
understood your place in all this.
 
Because 'asinine causes,' as you label them, don't motivate you, I'm
convinced you don't intend to spill all this to the British, so I'm releasing
you.
 
During the course of our mission,
Mr. Sheridan may initiate contact with you."
 
Van Duser expelled annoyance, a hiss like steam escaping a
covered pot.
 
"His choice, but you
see, he's a very busy man.

"Be assured, however, that we
shan't permit
you
to initiate contact with
him
, nor shall you
have your furniture back, until our mission is completed.
 
Whether you die by our hands or ever see him
or the furniture again depends entirely on whether you can keep your mouths
shut and cease meddling in our affairs.
 
I advise both of you to not forget the feeling of steel against your
throats.
 
The next time we put it there,
you
will
die.

"Now get out.
 
At the front door to the manor, you'll find
your weapons.
 
Take them and return to
Camden.
 
And do not give us cause to
suspect you of interfering again."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

TWO BLOCKS FROM the Leaping Stag,
Tom yanked Betsy around to him.
 
Torchlight gouged concern into his face.
 
"God's teeth, calm down!"

Her voice hissed out, even though
she realized passersby could eavesdrop.
 
"Those rebels have ruined my life!"

"Lower your voice!"
 
He released her arm.

With her next breath, she
complied.
 
"They've swayed my
husband, burned my house, and stolen my furniture.
 
And I'm
neutral
!"

"If they swayed Clark, it was
because he decided months ago to follow this course.
 
Nothing you do will stop him.
 
His fellows remind him of his priorities and prevent his straying.

"And if they burned your house
and stole your furniture, you've the company of thousands who've been ground
underfoot by the injustices of this war.
 
You cannot stop that, either.
 
Van Duser can buy attorneys and judges who manipulate the law and
perform perjury.
 
You've naught but
truth to fight with, and it's meaningless against legal perfidies."

She glared at him and choked back
the vile taste of her own helplessness and impotence, hating all devotees to
asinine causes who had the financial backing to create victims of war from
decent, honest folks.
 
"God damn
them all to hell!"

Tom nodded in agreement, outrage flooding
his expression.
 
They both strove for
self-control.
 
His voice emerged low but
firm.
 
"We shan't find Clark until
he desires it.
 
We shan't recover your
furniture until the Ambrose ring is ready to release it."

"I want my life back!"

"Forget about Clark and your
furniture!
 
They aren't worth your
life."

Joshua had said the same.
 
She bit her lip and averted her face from
him.
 
Men didn't understand.

"Our priority now is assuring
your safety.
 
Have you relatives
elsewhere who might give you sanctuary?"

Seeking her parents among the
Cherokee might open the gates of hell on them all.
 
Tom couldn't possibly know.
 
Still looking elsewhere, she gnawed on her knuckle.

"Who is it?" he
whispered.
 
"I'll see you get to
them safely, I swear it, or I'll die in trying."

"Tom, please, don't make an
oath like that."

"Why not?
 
You know how I feel about you.
 
I've never been good at hiding it.
 
Nor have you minded my showing it."

She turned back and held his
gaze.
 
Abandoned by her husband and
threatened by his partners, only a conservative minority would blame her for
seeking solace, protection, and affection with another man.
 
In war, folks did what they had to do to
stay alive.
 
But Tom was being dragged
to the doom of her husband.
 
If anyone
deserved an out, it was he.
 
"I
have a duty to Clark," she whispered.

"
Clark
?
 
He hasn't enough brains to come in out of
the rain."
 
The corrosion in his
voice stung her.
 
"He's like all
the rest of those damned fools out there, men without honor, men who leave
families and pregnant wives to fend for themselves while they indulge in
bloodlust and call it duty."

Shadows covered his face.
 
"Duty to
what
?
 
To some hopeless cause?
 
Whatever happened to duty to loved
ones?"
 
He grasped her
shoulders.
 
"You've lost too
much.
 
Where must we go to find your
relations?
 
I would at least see you
regain your safety."

She shook her head.
 
"If we're caught, we shall all
hang."

His lips tightened.
 
"Ah.
 
Your mother and uncle aren't really prisoners of the Lower Creek.
 
And your uncle
did
visit you on his
way out of Augusta."

She hoped that somewhere down the
road she wouldn't have to justify confiding in Tom to Laughing Eyes.
 
"Surely Colonel Brown has extracted all
the details from Abby Fuller by now and even knows where Uncle David went.
 
I cannot return to Augusta, or I shall be
arrested."

"Well, you cannot stay
here.
 
Adam Neville is
en route
spitting nails because you've slipped through his grasp twice.
 
Fairfax will be passing through to partake
of Margaret again.
 
And if I were van
Duser, I'd have second thoughts about letting us go.
 
Abel Branwell just might ease the Dutchman's conscience by
murdering us both in our sleep.
 
Your
cousin's whorehouse is no sanctuary.
 
So
where are your mother and uncle?"

She studied him.
 
"Uncle David was headed to
Williamsburg, but he's very good at laying low to avoid a rival in cards or
love.
 
My mother is hiding with Cherokee
Indians in the wilderness near Keowee."
 
Could Betsy live among the Indians?
 
Recalling her experience in the Creek village near Alton, she
shuddered.
 
"Perhaps the redcoats
will move on soon and take the focus of hostilities with them."

"The redcoats have held
northern cities for years at a time.
 
General de Kalb is in North Carolina with the Southern Continental Army,
eyeing Lord Rawdon's portion of the British Army here.
 
Rawdon's pacing nervously with almost a
thousand troops sick of yellow fever and malaria.
 
Cornwallis is scrutinizing them both from Charles Town.
 
They're all bound to do something enormous
and untidy soon, and on our doorstep.

"Betsy, you're with
child.
 
You need protection.
 
Clark isn't protecting you.
 
With his head full of Patriot garbage, I
doubt he even knows how to save his own hide.
 
You're only going to get protection from another neutral.
 
Your mother's neutral."

"I mustn't endanger her."

"Cease being noble about
this.
 
If she knew the peril you're in,
she'd put herself at risk to assure the safety of her only child and unborn
grandchild."

Betsy's throat tightened.
 
Tom had met Sophie only twice, yet he knew
her well.

"My mother would do the same
for me.
 
Mothers are a special
breed.
 
I reckon you'll be that kind of
mother someday, too."

She swallowed.
 
Perhaps she could manage living among the
Indians for a short while, as long as Sophie was with her.
 
"All right, I shall try to find her,
but I haven't money to travel right now, and neither do you.
 
We'll need to save money so we can get
out."

He nodded.
 
"On the morrow I shall ask Mr. Wade
about overtime.
 
Sniff around, find odd
jobs that pay decent coin."

Betsy detested the obvious
solution, yet it was a superb source of income.
 
"I've time off in the afternoons.
 
Little as I like the work, I shall present myself to the town
printer on the morrow and inquire whether he needs an assistant with
layout."
 
She grimaced.
 
"If need be, I can even pull the
press."

"Excellent."
 
Tom's teeth flashed in a smile, and he took
her hand.
 
"Between the two of us,
perhaps we can escape this hellhole in a month and get you to safety."

***

After another night in a tavern throbbing
with boisterous redcoats, a bleary-eyed Betsy waved Tom off to work on
Friday.
 
Then she forced down coffee and
a biscuit and trudged back upstairs to tidy their room and clean the aftermath
of bliss in four guestrooms.
 
The night
had intensified her feelings of loss and anger.
 
Every time she ran fingers over the fine finish of Emma's
furniture, it reminded her that she had no furniture or home.
 
The furniture and home from Augusta were
gone.

So was the Betsy Sheridan of
Augusta, she realized with a tremor of fear.
 
Who was she, really?

She envisioned Ruth Glenn sipping
coffee in Augusta and saying in a sweet voice, "Furniture and a home are
only things of this world.
 
Lust for
them but sets your feet upon the path to hell."
 
Betsy scrubbed the very hell out of the guestroom floors,
effacing good Mrs. Glenn, upstanding Mr. Branwell, and eminent Mr. van
Duser.
 
Furniture and a home were only
things of this world until she was deprived of them.
 
Then she recognized them for what they were — not just shields
against starvation and disease, but keys to her own identity.

Finished cleaning by ten-thirty,
she proceeded downstairs with dirty linen.
 
A delivery of rum arrived.
 
When
she knocked on Abel's door, invoice in hand, she found the door unlocked and no
one within.
 
Tom's comment about caution
with Abel came to mind.
 
She flushed it
out with a scowl, daring the weasely accountant to make an attempt on her life.

After shoving the invoice in her
pocket, she marched in.
 
Monitoring the
hallway and the window, which faced the street, she looked over Abel's desk
before finding the business ledger in the top drawer of a cabinet.
 
Savoring her catch, she snooped in other
drawers.

The expected invoices were there:
liquor, food, glassware, furniture, repair of the roof after a tornado, labor
of employees.
 
But she hadn't a clue
what the invoices she found to and from "Messrs. van Duser and der Waal,
Surveyors" and other men and business entities were about.
 
A pity she couldn't put those in the hands
of the redcoats to make sense of them, but she didn't want to implicate Emma.

While poking about the third
drawer, she discovered the key for the Ambrose ring's cipher.
 
Hidden beneath the mattress in her room was
the final ciphered letter sent to Clark in Augusta.
 
She committed to memory the first ten number-word combinations
from the list that followed those for the military figures.
 
Then she replaced the key as she'd found it,
closed the cabinet, and left, resolved to snatch future peeks at the cipher
key.

Emma was in the dining room talking
with Margaret and Maria, a slim brunette.
 
Betsy greeted the ladies.
 
Her
cousin beamed and hugged her with affection.
 
"I just inspected the rooms.
 
My word, but you've done a marvelous job this morning.
 
Thank you ever so much."

"You're welcome.
 
Rum arrived a few minutes ago.
 
I had the men unload the kegs in the common
room."
 
Betsy retrieved the invoice
from her pocket.
 
"Abel wasn't in
his office."