Part Five
by Paula B and CJ
Late November 1776
Philadelphia
Porter Webb sat quietly in the drawing room of Constance Martin watching the other ladies of Philadelphia society gossip about the latest colonial disaster to befall George Washington. The Battle for the Brooklyn Heights had been devastating and a huge boost for morale amongst the Tories of Pennsylvania. She sat twisting the heavy ring on her finger.
"Mother, you’ll draw attention to it," his soft murmur was only slightly accusatory.
She sighed and looked up into the concerned hazel eyes of her only son, Clayton. "Yes dear, I know. Come and sit and keep my mind off of things."
"For a moment, dearest." He settled into the chair across from her and surveyed the people around them. "They all seem quiet pleased with General Howe’s success."
"Yes. Damn, the man," Porter hissed.
"Mother." Clayton sighed. It was hard for her. Almost harder since his father had died never knowing of her betrayal of his firm belief that Philadelphia and the Webb fortunes rested firmly with the crown and not on the side of Samuel Adams and Benjamin Franklin. Clayton had to speak to her quite firmly on the subject more than once. "Hancock and the others need us mother. Dickinson left congress and Philadelphia in a huff, Doctor Wilson would never think to gossip about what he hears. Dearest, you simply must listen and let me know what is being said. Or, would you prefer to retire to Oakton."
Porter studied her son lounging before her. His luxurious brown locks pulled back in a small tail. He wore his expensive, if drab colored clothes as elegantly as any courtier she imagined, though she herself had never been to England. He looked the part of a rich Tory. He fit in well with the people surrounding them. However, he was the one who had convinced her that his father’s dreams of a united kingdom, with the American Colonials enjoying the same rights as their English cousins, was a dream not born in reality.
He was a fine son, trusted advisor to Washington, Adams and Hancock. Only no one in their circle knew of it. No one in their circle could know of it, of course. She knew it worried him greatly that she knew of it. But he could never keep anything from her. She knew that when he made ‘business trips’ to Boston, Williamsburg and other cities, he really wasn’t all that concerned with the Webb’s fortune. He was quite simply a spy. A spy, just like that nice Captain Hale, who had been hung less than a month ago. She knew that Clayton was very upset by the boy’s death. Almost as upset as he had been by poor Braxton Wallace’s murder. Clayton still had no clue who killed one of his best agents. "Mother, he didn’t even know my name. I saw him the night he died. His widow has taken up the cause and may pay for it with her life as well."
Clayton had given up so much for the cause. While their fortune was well protected by their attorney and their loyalty to the cause was well documented with the people they trusted, he had no true personal life, not one he could relax in. He was constantly on guard even in their own home it seemed. He walked a fine line between their neighbors who truly felt that war would be their doom and radical Tories who were secretly working toward a British victory.
She shuddered as she saw Allison Krennick cross the room. Allison was the daughter of Thomas Krennick, who had strong ties with English interests and made no bones about the fact that he hoped and he would work for the defeat of the army of the Continental Congress. Krennick, father and daughter, also made no secret in the fact that they thought a Webb/Krennick marriage would be an excellent idea. « I can't stand the woman. She's so much older than Clayton. I'd be perfectly happy with a more down to earth girl. There was one once. A pretty girl. The daughter of a horse trader who used to come to the house. I remember asking Clay why they no longer came to the house. I can hear his voice now, ‘Mr. MacKenzie died mother. I went to pay my condolences to his daughter, but she had closed up the house and the neighbors knew nothing about her.’»
She couldn’t help but twist the ring on her finger. It was the only outward sign to others who knew that they were indeed as much a part of the fight as Washington and Jefferson. Porter sighed deeply. She missed dining at Mount Vernon. But the people that Martha Washington now entertained couldn’t offer the kind of information that Washington needed. Information that Porter and her son could obtain by pretending to be on the loyalist side.
Clayton knew immediately that something or someone had upset his mother. He was just getting ready to look around when he heard Allison’s purr. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Webb."
Clay cast his mother a look that only she could see and she smiled a little too coolly when she responded. "Good afternoon, Miss Krennick. And how is your mother?"
Clay stifled a groan. Dorthea Krennick was never at these afternoon teas for the simple reason that she was never sober enough to attend. Everyone knew it but few mentioned it.
Before Allison could parry with a cutting comment, something she was quite good at, he quickly stood and pecked her on the cheek. "You’re looking beautiful this afternoon, Miss Krennick. Would you care to show me the garden?"
"Oh, I really don’t know how your mother would feel about that, Clayton," she snipped, but let him lead her outside.
Once they were out in the dying fall garden, Webb spared a glance at the austere woman next to him. She had pursued him relentlessly for nearly a year, ever since her first husband, a Major in the British army, perished at Lexington. She was really very talented in bed and he knew he should feel guilty about using her, but she always instigated it. He wondered how long it would be before she would insist that he marry her. He shuddered at the thought of a loveless marriage. As far apart politically as his parents had been, though he doubted that his father realized it, Neville and Porter Webb had obviously loved each other. He doubted that he would ever have that for himself. A fleeting memory flashed across his mind. He remembered a time, it had been in the early spring and MacKenzie had brought several drays and one fine thoroughbred out to Oakton. Webb had instantly liked the horse but was surprised by the fact that Sarah MacKenzie had been its handler. «Now why the devil did I think of her?»
"Will you be able to come back tonight and see me?" Her husky voice further shattered the mood. Her words and her look promised much if he did.
Before he could respond, she pulled him behind the kitchen, ignoring several of the servant girls there and demanded a kiss. He sighed inwardly as his lips took hers. It would do him no good to protest, and he had found when she was aroused she was more likely to slip on information that her father possessed. Therefore, though it went against his natural reticence he began to slowly caress her. As his hands roamed over her back he brought his lips to the tops of her small firm breasts.
"Oh, Clayton," she sighed. "Oh dearest, please say you’ll come back and see me tonight."
He managed to put just the right amount of ragged anticipation in his voice. "But what of your father, Allison. Surely he’s back."
She pulled his head back and claimed his lips again before panting, "No, he’s still with Howe. I guess there was some problem. He sent word that he would have to ride back with the supplies. He won’t be home for another week."
He kept his disappointment from his kiss and then pulled back, feigning regret. "It would be very late. I have to meet with some people tonight."
"Again, Clayton." She stomped her foot. "I’m beginning to believe you care more for your business than for me."
He pulled her back into the garden and into view of the parlor over looking the garden. "And would you be happy with a poor man, Allison?"
"Oh, your fortune is well protected, Clayton Webb." She gulped and he turned to study her.
"I see that your father has been looking into my…shall we say…suitability as a son-in-law, madam." He let her know that she had overplayed her hand and took the opportunity to get out of seeing her tonight. As adept in the arts of love that she was, being with her somehow made him feel dirty. "Your servant, madam." He bowed and left her in the garden.
Fortunately, his mother had decided she was ready to retire for the day. "There you are Clayton. If Miss Krennick will allow it, could you see me home."
He only smiled at her and led her out the door. Neither of them noticed Daniel Wallace stoop and pick up the small gold object Porter had dropped when she was adjusting her cape.
As they settled into the carriage, Porter gently scolded her son. "Darling, you were the one who warned me earlier, now you must listen to me. You must watch yourself with Allison Krennick or her father will be quite right in demanding to know what your intentions are."
Webb kept his eyes on the streets outside their carriage. Even though he trusted his driver, his hand itched to touch the butt of his flintlock pistol fitted snugly in his boot.
Porter Webb sensed her son’s anxiety. "Clayton, you expect trouble?"
He spared her a brief, cold smile. "Are these not troubling times, mother?"
Just then, a heavy object hitting the side of the carriage rocked the coach. Webb’s pistol was in his hand instantly. There was a blast from above them and a shout from the driver. "Be off with you now."
"John. What is it?" Webb opened the small door between the coach and the driver’s seat.
"Scoundrels, Mr. Clay. I run ‘em off."
Webb settled back in his seat but didn’t put his gun away.
"They truly hate us don’t they, Clayton?" Porter sighed with resignation.
"Feelings are running very high with the recent defeats. All the more reason we need to get the General what he needs mother."
"You’re going tonight to meet them?"
Webb sighed and glared at her. He couldn’t tell even her. How she found out about Sydney Walden and Daniel Wallace was beyond him. If he didn’t know better he would swear it was Barbara Latham, their housekeeper. It was his nature to be suspicious, but Barbara Latham, a freeborn Negro, had not only worked for his family for nearly five years, she was also his partner in this little game they played. She carried the messages from him to him to Roberts the blacksmith. But more importantly, Barbara, or as his mother called her Bobbi, was Porter Webb’s staunchest defender, often taking his mother’s side against him in domestic disagreements. Even if it was Latham who told her, Latham would also make sure Porter didn’t tell anyone else. If Latham was around.
"Mother. I beg you please do not say anything about them to anyone," he sighed.
"Bosh. You sound like Bobbi. Who would I tell? Do you think I would do one thing to endanger your life further?"
"Then, pray madam, how did you find out about them?" Clay snapped with irritation.
A grin that on anyone else might be described as evil lifted one corner of her lips. "Later, dearest." The carriage pulled up the drive of the estate, and Clay jumped down to help out.
As they entered the house, Bobbi met them at the door. "You stayin’ for dinner tonight, Mr. Clay?"
"No…uhm…I’ll eat in town. I wanted to get mother home."
Bobbi Latham studied the man before her and nodded. He would tell her what he needed to when it was necessary. She wasn’t surprised when he followed her back to the kitchen. "Have you heard anything from the blacksmith?"
"Yes. He said Mr. Braxton's widow has been comin' by regular like, checking on your messages. The last of the guns are set to arrive in early December."
Webb remembered when he first heard that Cordelia Wallace had taken over her husband's duties. «I was afraid she'd be dead in a week and no one would know where the guns were hidden. I feared the Spaniard would refuse to do business with her, but she won him over quickly. She wouldn't tell me how she planned to meet privately with Chegwidden. Pretending to be his wife is a perfect masquerade. Or would have been, had Daniel Wallace not arrived. I pray he doesn't see her. I think no one else in Philadelphia even knows who she really is, since she came into town so infrequently.» To Bobbi, he said, "She is working out well. It is a pleasant surprise."
Bobbi shrugged and then snapped sharply. "Lauren Singer, girl, is that you pokin’ around back there?"
Webb’s eyes grew wide but Bobbi calmed him. "I heard her come in. Girl’s always got her ears open. If she weren’t such a silly thing I would think I could use her. She barely good enough for scullery as it is."
The stringy-haired blond came into the kitchen. Webb spared her a passing glance but in that glance took in every detail. He seldom paid any attention to the servants in the house. That was his mother’s and Bobbi’s domain.
"Evening, Mr. Clay," the girl simpered. Lauren Singer had been with them only a month, but Webb had already checked her out. Her mother owned one of the more disreputable boarding housing near the docks. Lauren was nearly inept, but Porter felt sorry for the girl. Still he knew Bobbi would keep an eye on her.
"Evening, Lauren." He nodded curtly before returning his attention to his partner. "I’ll be back late tonight. Lock up, I’ll use my key if I don’t stay in town."
Playing the part of housekeeper to the hilt, Latham insisted, "Sure you won’t have some supper, Mr. Clay, sir?"
Clay kept his grin to himself and just marched up the back stairs. He did hear Lauren sigh, "Mr. Clay works too hard, Miss Bobbi."
"That he does, girl. Now you go up and make sure, Miss Porter’s got everything she needs, ‘fore I bring up her dinner. She don’t like to eat in the dinin’ room when she’s by herself."
"Yes, Bobbi." Lauren sighed pitifully. Webb just shook his head. He was sure the housekeeper in Bobbi would quickly correct Lauren’s breach of conduct.
He stripped off his fine fawn suit and pulled on a coarser even darker black outfit. The cravat at his throat was just barely visible about the lapels. He studied himself in the mirror and snorted. "I look like a preacher."
He quietly opened his door and peered down the hall. Singer was just knocking on his mother’s door. "Ma’am." She sighed piteously, "I’m here to get the chamber pot and such."
When his mother opened the door, Webb quickly made his way across the hall and down the stairs. He was out the door and on the horse that John had tied at the post for him before anyone could note his leaving.
He rode through the cold evening. Dobbin snickering and trying hard to prance. The gray puffs of breath hung in the pale dusk. It was getting too cold for casual troublemakers to be out and harass him so, while keeping his eye on the road and the forest ahead he let his thoughts wonder. He thought over what he had heard at Mrs. Martin’s home and sighed. It wasn’t much. He would fill Bobbi in on it tomorrow and she could take it to the blacksmith to pass on to his contact who would pass it on to Washington. It was the best way, one that would insure that as few as people as possible would know who Webb was.
He worried about his mother some and wished fervently that there were someone else at the house to watch over her. For the second time that day the image of Sarah MacKenzie superimposed itself on his thoughts. "Fool." He muttered to himself and as if Dobbin understood, the horse whinnied in agreement.
He entered Philadelphia and turned down a side street. Climbing off the horse, he handed the reins to the boy standing at the dark oak door. Before he stepped inside he steeled himself to face the Reverend Mr. Nelson and his two cohorts, Sydney Walden and Daniel Wallace. Three hours later he left finally, in complete disgust and stepped back into the saddle. He rode out of town a way and made for home. He was just getting ready to turn into his drive when a carriage came out. Stopping the two men studied each other.
"Reverend Turner?" He greeted the tall freeman.
"Good evening, Mr. Webb."
"Is there a problem at the house?"
"No sir. Just wanted to discuss something with Miss Latham. About church on Sunday."
Webb smiled to himself. He suspected that the Reverend was rather sweet on their housekeeper. He wondered briefly what he would do if the man ever proposed. He would hate to have to train a new housekeeper.
"It’s very cold out." Turner continued.
"Yes, actually it is supposed to be very cold."
Turner waited a moment. "Perhaps a bit too cold to send Miss Latham into town."
Webb studied the Reverend a long moment and sighed. "Of course. But then again, there is no real reason for me to send Bobbi into town tomorrow." He paused and looked around. It was so damn silly sometimes. He lowered his voice. "There is nothing that I learned tonight. Krennick isn’t back, and all Walden and Wallace did was rail against the ‘traitors’ and Nelson kept ranting about some witch. Perhaps you could be so kind as to send someone to Mr. Roberts and tell him so."
Sturgis Turner tipped his hat. "I’ve been meaning to go in and have the shoe of Marigold’s front hoof looked at."
"Excellent. Have a good evening, Reverend."
"You too, Mr. Webb."
They left each other and Webb was a bit surprised to see Bobbi Latham meet him at the door. He looked up the stairs and then taking Bobbi by the elbow, led her into the parlor. The fire in hearth was nearly out but they both got as close as they could. Bobbi started to reach for a log but Clay stopped her.
"Don’t bother. I have nothing to report and have already told Reverend Turner so. He mentioned that he had to have the shoe of his horse looked at."
Bobbi knew immediately what Webb meant and nodded. "Well then I guess I ‘kin stay in tomorrow and help Miz Webb with that darnin’ she was talkin’ bout doin’."
Webb could swear there was a look of profound disappointment on the woman’s face. He smiled and touched her shoulder. "Now, don’t fret. Sunday is just two days away. He can see him then."
Bobbi sniffed. "And why should I care to see the blacksmith, Mr. Webb?"
He laughed out loud. "Blacksmith? Did I say anything about seeing the blacksmith? Not unless he is going to be at the Reverend’s church."
"I’ll have you know, Mr. Clay, Mr. Roberts often brings Miz Harriet and the baby to services. Says the Reverend Turner gives a much nicer sermon than that horrid Mr. Nelson." Her voice rang with pride and Clay was a bit ashamed at his teasing.
"Good night, Bobbi."
"Good night, Mr. Clay."
He climbed the stairs and wonder what it would be like to have a woman that proud of him. He doubted that if they married, Allison would pay much attention to him at all. Now Sarah MacKenzie. «Where the devil are these thoughts of the horsetrader’s daughter coming from today?»
Entering his room he was pleased to see that Singer had made the fire. She often forgot. Stripping down to his undershirt and long underwear he washed his face and climbed into bed. As he fell asleep he thought of the last time he had seen Sarah. Where had it been? Some shop he thought. And for some reason Allison had been with him. He shuddered as all the warm thoughts of Sarah fled at Allison’s calculating coldness.
"Mister Webb?"
Webb looked over his shoulder at Bobbi. The thoroughbred had injured her tendon and there was some concern that she would have to be put down. He didn’t want to do so, but he also couldn’t bear to see a horse suffer. Even though John was quite good at his job Webb wanted to make sure Dominion received the best care possible. He saw the look on her face and sighed. "What is it?"
"Boy brought a message from THAT woman."
Webb sighed again. «So many of the women I have to deal with are 'THAT woman' with Bobbi. Sometimes she's worse than my mother.» Webb thought, then corrected himself. «No, she’s not.»
"Which one?"
"That slut Walden," she spat.
Webb sighed yet again. "Now what?"
"Here. Stupid woman assumes that because that lagabout she uses don’t read, I can’t. Says she needs to see you tonight."
Webb followed her out of the barn and looked up at snow-laden sky. "Blast and damn," he muttered. "Sorry, Bobbi." He grinned sheepishly. At the dismissive wave of her hand he asked, "Where and when?"
He rode into Philadelphia, past the inn whose sign matched the ring on his finger. He had only been in the inn once and then, in the garb he was wearing, the few people who took note, wouldn’t have recognized him as the son of one of the older families in the city.
He rode past the church of Sturgis Turner. Bobbi spoke highly of the reverend, perhaps a little too highly. Webb grinned and wondered if he would need to find another housekeeper, once the war was over. A frown replaced the grin. He wished her the best, though he knew his mother would be despondent at the loss. He couldn’t see Lauren Singer filling the shoes of Latham, and if he did end up marrying Allison Krennick, he really couldn’t see the two women ever bonding at all.
He pushed all domestic thoughts from his head as he approached the Settler’s Tavern.
He threw the reigns to the boy standing out front and entered the noisy establishment. He quickly scanned the room for familiar faces, waved to several men but didn’t stop to talk to any of them. Instead, he headed for the staircase in back and climbed up to the private dining rooms. He gave the brief rap-tap-rap-rap signal and opened the door.
Where Allison Krennick left him merely cold, Sydney Walden made him nauseous. Allison’s motives were simple. She wanted her pre-war life to continue. She wanted a husband to show off at the dances and balls that were, or had been, the center of her existence. Sydney Walden had an almost insane focus on wreaking revenge upon the patriots. Webb had never discovered why. Now she stood by the window facing the sparsely furnished room, a glass of mulberry-colored liquid in her hand. Daniel Wallace was sitting at the heavy, round table studying some papers being shown to him by square- jawed man, who, even though he was in frock coat and knee pants, was obviously military. "You’re late," Wallace snarled, not bothering to look up.
"Sorry, Mr. Wallace." Webb panted. With these two he played the obsequious Tory eagerly ready to help the crown in whatever way it asked. He had gotten excellent information about troop movements and supply routes. He had promised John Hancock that he would pinpoint the exact location of each British squadron so that Chegwidden actually had a chance of getting the guns hidden somewhere on the Wallace farm.
Webb didn’t even bother to spare a thought to the fact that Braxton and Daniel were on two separate sides of the argument. It just wasn’t that unusual. Where Braxton had been quietly intense in his patriotism, Daniel had an almost violent hatred of the colonies and the ‘traitors’ who wished independence.
"Oh, leave the boy alone." Sydney smiled at Webb and he felt his skin crawl. If anyone could make Allison Krennick’s advances welcome, it was Sydney Walden. "Mr. Webb, this is Major Brumby of his majesty's grenadiers. Now, sit down and tell of your afternoon."
"Not much to tell, Mrs. Walden. Mr. Thomas Ross was there and I did speak to him some, however, I couldn’t get much information about Colonel Ross. He did say his brother was due home soon from somewhere out east," Webb lied glibly. Colonel George Ross, judge and signer of the Declaration, was on an expedition out west and had probably talked to Chegwidden. It was a small diversionary tactic. One he hoped would present them with enough proof he was still diligently working for them and perhaps even pull a few squads of redcoats off on a wide goose chase.
"Would you like a drink, Mr. Webb?" Sydney sipped from her glass.
"Uhm…er…no thank you, Mrs. Walden." He gulped nervously. He made a vow to himself never accept food or drink from either of them.
"Well, now that you two have gotten the niceties out of the way, do you think we can get down to business?" Daniel Wallace said.
"Of course, Mr. Wallace. Please lay out our plan for dear Mr. Webb." Walden purred and settled next to Webb on the settee.
"It has come to our attention that a witch is operating in Germantown."
"A witch?" Webb almost lost his supposed composure. «What the hell?»
"Yes, Reverend Nelson is quite concerned." Wallace continued as if Webb hadn't spoken.
"There hasn’t been a case of witchcraft in Philadelphia since…since…" Webb was truly surprised and at a loss for words. "I don’t ever remember a case."
"There, there." Sydney caressed his arm and Webb quickly lost all interest in witchcraft and strove to keep his revulsion at bay.
"It doesn’t matter. We will use the good Reverend’s concerns to our advantage." The British major finally spoke, "We have information that besides being a witch Theresa Coulter may be harboring wounded colonial soldiers. Wounded soldiers can be great sources of information. Don’t you agree, Mr. Webb?" The disdain that Brumby held for Webb was obvious.
"I suppose. Depending on the soldier captured. Do you really think it will be worth it?"
Webb thought quickly, already making plans on what to do. «It could very well be a trap to test my loyalty. It could also be an opportunity to cause some mischief.»
Brumby looked at Wallace, who just shrugged. He didn’t like Webb. But Walden swore he was useful. Of course, from the way the woman was fawning over the cringing little toad, he wasn’t sure. "Regardless, Reverend Nelson has come to us for help and we WILL help him. You and several other of the young bucks who just sit around and snivel about how much you want the crown to win will get your chance. Meet us at the crossroads tomorrow morning. Nine sharp."
"Tomorrow morning!" The squeak in Webb’s voice wasn’t entirely artificial. «Hell and damnation.»
"Yes, Mr. Webb. Did you have other plans? Perhaps another tea party?" Wallace sneered.
"N-no." Webb put a stutter in his voice. "I’m just surprised that’s all." «How in the hell am I going to get word to anyone in time? I don’t dare go into the Liberty Tree. What if they are following me? Damn it all!»
"Good. Now run along."
"Of course, Mr. Wallace. Tomorrow morning at the crossroads."
Webb rose quickly and didn’t bother to say his good nights. Instead he hurried down the steps. He had two choices, both fraught with danger. He could just ride home and tell Bobbi and send her back into town. Though, if he was being watched, then it would look very unusual for his housekeeper to leave so late at night. No. He knew what he must do; though he was loath to do it.
Thankfully, the stop he wanted to make would be close by. He retrieved his horse and set off in a measured pace. Heading west, he kept his eyes peeled for just the right opportunity. He spotted it about the same time he was certain someone had followed him away from the tavern. Carefully he pulled the reins until Dobbin was a little too close to the side of the road. As they came abreast of the ironmonger’s shop Webb forced the horse to stay close to the gutter. Within three steps Dobbin had stepped on something and it whinnied in pain and began to limp. Putting on a show for his follower, Webb cursed and alighted. "Stuff and damn," he muttered a little too loudly. "Damn me. I’m such a fool." He led the horse down another block and then turned down a narrow street. Straining, he heard the man behind him pause and then go on a little way. He had no doubt that his tail would find another way back here. There was only one place Webb could be heading down this street.
He came upon the blacksmith’s shop and pounded on the closed doors. Above him he heard shutters opening and an angry voice calling out, "Who’s there?"
"Sorry to disturb you so late at night, Mr. Roberts. It’s Clayton Webb. I have a problem with my horse."
"Well blast it, why don’t…oh never mind. I’ll be down in a moment." He was good to his word and Webb followed his progress down the steep stairs on the side of the building. "What did you do to him?" the baby-faced blacksmith insisted as he shone a bright lantern over the horse.
Webb stepped closer, and using his ring finger he purposely showed his hand under the light. "I’m sorry, I’m afraid he stepped too close to the iron monger’s shop."
Bud Roberts stared at the ring and forced himself not to look at the man’s face. He had always wondered if Bobbi Latham was working for her employer as the double blind or for someone else. It made perfect sense. From the way Webb was acting though there was trouble so Roberts played along and snarled, "Damn fool thing to do, Mr. Webb."
"Yes, you’re right." Together the crouched next to the injured animal. "Listen carefully." Webb quickly told the blacksmith everything that had happened, ending with a heartfelt, "There’s nothing to be done for it. If we do not take the hospital then they will know I tipped them off. Chegwidden is going to have to wait until we bring them in for questioning. Be on the lookout. If you have trouble, send word to my housekeeper."
"Yes, yes, of course. I’m not sure I can save her. I will see what I can do though. I have a horse you can borrow. Just bring her back tomorrow."
They stood and Webb took some coins from his pocket. "Tell Chegwidden not to wait. I don’t trust the Reverend Mr. Nelson."
"Aye. The man is mad. Witchcraft indeed. We’re Philadelphia for goodness sake, not Boston!" Roberts hissed as they went inside the barn to saddle the other horse. When they returned outside, he continued in a more jovial voice. "Don’t you worry, Mr. Webb, I’ll do the best I can for her."
Webb settled himself on the new horse and gazed down at the man to whom he had avoided revealing himself all this time. "I know you will, Mr. Roberts."
As he rode away, he was sure he caught a flash of movement where it normally wouldn’t have been this late at night.
Bobbi had been waiting for him when he rode up on the unfamiliar horse. She followed him into the parlor and patiently listened while he outlined his plans and his concerns. When he finished, he took her by the shoulders. "I need you to get word to Reverend Turner. Hopefully, Roberts will get the message through, but I don’t want any more people dying because I didn’t get the word out." She had known that Hale and Braxton Wallace’s deaths had bothered him greatly. "It’s one thing to die on the field of battle. It’s another thing to be shot or hung after you’ve been captured." His voice dropped. "And another thing entirely to be burned at the stake for being a witch!" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Tess Coulter a witch!"
Bobbi snorted, "Miss Tess got more sense than any man what calls himself a doctor, and that’s no lie, Mr. Clay. Don’t you worry none. Me and the Reverend will make sure no harm comes ta her." She said it with such pride and quiet dignity that Webb shook his head and wondered how anyone could try and make someone like her a slave.
She shooed him off to bed and he forced himself to sleep, though the dreams he had were troubling. When he woke the next morning, the only then he could remember was staring into almond shaped eyes, dark brown and full of anguish.
Heavy fog kept the dawn dark. Frost almost as heavy as snow promised a cold hard winter. Webb wrapped his riding cloak around him and opened the door.
"Clayton." He turned to find his mother hurrying down the steps, something silver catching the candlelight.
"Mother!" He ran to reach her before her bare feet touched the cold wood in the foyer. "Dearest, get back upstairs."
"Here." She pushed a small silver flask into his hands. It had been his father’s. "You may need to keep warm later. Be careful, darling." She kissed his forehead, snatched his wide brimmed hat from him and pushed it on his head. "Stay warm and come back to me safe."
He turned to find Bobbi standing there in shock. "I swear, Mr. Clay, I never said a word to her."
"How the hell does she know then?" Webb muttered as he stomped out.
His breath hung in air and he let the horse gallop to the meeting place at the crossroads. Daniel Wallace hadn’t told him how many men would be there but as the redcoats appeared in mist, Webb felt bile rise in throat. There was nearly a company of King George’s men. «What the devil!? What, or perhaps more importantly, who, are they expecting to find? Do they know of the guns?» He prayed Braxton’s widow was safe. He counted only three actual tories, John Williams’ two sons and Thomas Krennick, obviously back from his meeting with General Howe. Already in his fifties the man looked like he was ready to die.
Taking a steadying breath, Webb rode up to the man who would be his father-in-law if he didn’t watch himself. "Sir. What brings you out on such a foul, cold morning?"
Thomas Krennick studied the man who his only daughter wanted to wed. "Nothing like an early morning ride to get the juices flowing, Clayton my boy. Course Allison thinks I’m a damn fool but I promised the Reverend Mr. Nelson that I would make sure to deal firmly with the witch."
"Deal firmly with the witch, Mr. Krennick?" Webb spoke rather more harshly than he had intended. "Surely we will bring her back for a fair trail. If for no other reason than to serve as warning to others of her…ilk." Clay modified just a bit.
"Yes, yes," Wallace barked out. "Where the devil is she?" He looked around and Webb realized that Walden wasn’t there yet, which surprised him somewhat. He felt certain that the two were sleeping together.
Just then a soldier rode up and saluted the captain in charge. "Captain Brumby, sir. There’s a carriage approaching."
The square-jawed man glared at Wallace. "A carriage, Mr. Wallace? Who rides to this in a carriage?"
Webb was pleased to see Wallace cower before authority. He had suspected that Braxton’s brother was a coward. Wallace shook but managed a weak, "General Howe has the greatest of confidence in Mrs. Walden, and I am quite sure that he would want you to wait."
Only Webb, who was closest to the redcoat heard the "Bloody Hell!" Brumby nudged his horse until he was in the line of the rapidly approaching carriage. The cold mist had risen just enough that Sydney Walden could clearly be seen in the driver’s seat. Next to her was a young, petulant looking boy. Webb sighed. «Dear Lord, she’s brought the brat with her.»
"Madam," Brumby growled. "Your servant. Have you come to see us off?"
"Of course not, Captain. I’m coming with you. As you know, several…misguided… women have been taken in by this witch. I have assured Reverend Nelson that I would be present. We do not want any of your men to take advantage of decent women."
Webb wasn’t sure who was more shocked by Walden’s speech, he or Captain Brumby. He left it to the Captain. "Madam, my men follow my orders. No man under my command would take advantage of any woman." Webb rather doubted it, but he was pleased to see the early rays of the sun pick up the dark blush on the woman’s face.
"You forget yourself, Captain." The squeak was almost laughable and everyone's attention turned to the pock-faced youth. "M-m-my mother shouldn’t be talked to that way."
"Quiet, Daniel," Walden hissed.
"Motherrrrrrrr," the boy whined.
"Enough!" Brumby bellowed and turned his horse. "Keep up, or don’t, madam." He set his men at brisk march.
An hour later they came up the rise and looked down at the small village. At a nod from Brumby, the drummer set a steady beat. Webb hung back and watched in awe. There was little doubt that the colonists would win. He knew that the populace of Germantown held no truck with the revolution. They held no truck with King George’s reign, ignoring both factions and building their own lives out here in the wilderness. But that didn’t mean there weren’t spies from Washington, or a militia nearby ready to take a few potshots from behind a tree. «Just my luck. I’ll be shot by one of our own men.» Of course, he wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly how it happened.
Fortunately for Webb, the only person with a gun was an old man who valiantly tried to defend a small house from the troop. A cry went out as the man fell under a barrage of musket fire. Webb fought the rising rage. "Damn you, sir. He was an old man." He gripped Brumby’s arm.
The British captain studied the fop before him. Tories made him sick. Prissy men who longed to be British aristocrats yet were mostly bumpkins and merchants. Reaching up and taking Webb’s cravat in his fist he growled. "He was an old fool with a gun. Don’t ever touch me again, boy." Clay locked his knees on his horse and managed to avoid being flung to the ground. He noticed the evil grin on Wallace’s face, but both Williams boys looked sickened by the old man’s death. Krennick just looked away in disgust. «Good, perhaps he will go back to his daughter and tell her find another man to set her sights on.»
"Father!" A scream rent the air and a woman ran across the grassy commons. "Oh father!" Another woman came out of the building and knelt before the pair. Her almost white blond hair was pulled back in severe bun, but already wisps of hair were escaping and floated around her face like a halo. She shook her head and glared up at the troop.
"Well captain, I see that you have managed to take out our defenses, with little casualty on your side. Well done, sir. Old Micah presented such a threat to the King’s men."
Brumby had the grace to blush but Krennick pushed his horse forward and forced her back somewhat. "Are you the witch, Tess Coulter?"
"Witch! Are you daft? Take what you will, captain, but leave me and my wounded in peace. Hannah, Eveline, come and help me move Micah to the back room." She turned her back on the group. Webb watched in horror as Wallace and Krennick dismounted and grabbed at the woman. "Let go of me at once."
"Witch!" Krennick grabbed her by her hair and yowled. "Blood! Do you see? She cursed me. I’m bleeding."
Before Webb could speak it, Brumby sighed. "Aye, Mr. Krennick, I’m sure she did with that evil hair pin. Collins, tie her behind your horse."
"Surely you aren’t going to let her walk back to Philadelphia! It’s three miles!" Webb alighted and stalked to the entrance to the hospital. «This is utterly ridiculous. What is their true plan?» He gazed in to the bright clean room and saw only three beds were occupied. The two women that Coulter had called cowered in the corner. He felt Walden just behind them. "What shall we do with them, Mrs. Walden. Drag them behind the horses all the way back to Philadelphia?"
He bore her hand on his arm as he stared at the wounded. "And what will you get out of them, madam? They are no more than boys."
"Calm yourself, Mr. Webb," she soothed. "You would be surprised at how young some of their officers were. Remember Mr. Hale."
It took every ounce of control he possessed to not correct her. «Captain Hale, Madam.»
"Are we going to question them here?"
"Here? Don’t be daft, darling." He jerked around to stare at her. But she continued like she hadn’t misspoken. "Run along and find a wagon."
He walked down the aisle and took stock of the men lying on the cots. One was unconscious, his head wrapped in a cloth. One huddled in his bed, refusing to even acknowledge what was going on. The other, though. The other couldn’t have been more than a lad of 14 or 15 from the size of him. Webb couldn’t tell for sure, but he was a tall lad. At first Webb couldn’t tell what was wrong with him. The boy sat straight up in the bed and glared at Webb. Webb started to return the glare but swallowed his surprised. «Can’t be!» But he knew the eyes. They were the eyes from his dream. He walked up to the bed. "What ails you, boy?" He snarled for effect.
Mac returned the glare. «Clayton Webb! You damn Tory!»
Webb was taken aback by the stare. It was disconcerting. Something wasn’t right. It was almost as if he knew the lad. "I asked you a question,." he said with as much poise as he could manage.
"Hunting accident. My leg." Mac pitched her voice lower. She tore her eyes away from the hated enemy before her. This was the test. It didn’t look like he recognized her even though the stare was piercing. «You’ve seen eyes as green before. He’s the enemy. What would Rabb or Chegwidden think?»
Webb swallowed at the hatred he discerned in the boy’s eyes. It was almost as if the lad bore him a personal grudge. Quickly he pushed back the soldiers who were milling just inside the warm barn.
"Find a wagon. We’ll bring them with us." Brumby called.
Tess Coulter, tied by a long lead behind one of the junior officer’s horse, glared up at Webb. "Damned Ttory! Why would you do this to me, Clayton Webb? What have I ever done to you and yours?"
Remembering the way these people saw him he just hung his head and walked to his horse. He hoped that Chegwidden or one of Bobbi’s contacts would get to them.
A wagon was taken from one of the neighboring farms and the soldiers stood guard as the villagers finally came out of their houses. An austere looking preacher, his wide brimmed hat firmly on his head came up to Brumby. "Why hath thou taken our sister? What crime has she done?"
Brumby stared down at the Mennonite and curled his lip. "She is accused of being a witch."
"Bah. What nonsense. Who accuses her so?"
"I do." Reverend Miller stepped forward. "It isn’t seemly that she does the work of men." Before the other man could object, Miller turned and retreated toward his small church calling his follower to him. "Do not look up on the evil. Come and pray for all our souls."
A rage took Webb. He knew he shouldn’t but he reached for the knife in his boot and rode to where Tess stood in shock and fear. Reaching down he cut the tether scooping it up before it could fall to the ground. Without a word to anyone he led her back to the wagon where the three boys were being handed into it. "Help as you can, but keep them quiet, madam."
Webb glared at Brumby, daring him to rescind the order. Brumby looked like he might but Josh Williams barked. "We need to be getting back. I have things to do this afternoon and I don’t want to be here if one of them…" He nodded towards the villagers. "…decides to go and inform the detail at Valley Forge what we have done."
"Those starving bumpkins?" Brumby spurred his horse, making sure that he nudged Webb’s stallion. "What will they do? Come, though. You’re right. I have things to do this afternoon."
They started back. Webb was having trouble focusing on what was going on around him. That he was a solitary man he accepted. Even though Allison Krennick repulsed him, he knew he enjoyed taking his pleasure with her once the lights were off. He suddenly realized the feelings stirring in him and he was repulsed by them. «A boy!?»
He avoided Walden and Wallace though the way Danny was whining Webb longed to smash the brat’s face in for him. The redcoats surrounded them, hemming him in and he found he was riding next to the wagon with the prisoners in it. Tess was working frantically on the boy hurt the worst. MacKenzie was soothing the boy with the head injury. Webb paused to consider the actions. A vague question trying to work its way into his consciousness. He studied the hands of the boy soothing the head injury. He bit his lip as he noted the delicate bones there. «A woman’s hands??? Can it be?» He had heard rumors. «But surely not.»
He shook his head and tried to clear it. He left the question of eyes, brown or otherwise and considered what exactly had happened today. He still was unsure what this was all about. «Why did the British care if a woman, witch or not, tended to a small village outside of Philadelphia. There was only one answer, of course. They knew about the guns? But how?» As much as he wanted, no needed to flee from this place, Webb knew he would have to continue with the deception.
Tonight, he was supposed to have ridden north along the Delaware and meet with Washington’s aide. Something important was happening and scouts and spies along the border probably outnumbered actual soldiers. He would have to send a message with Bobbi. Perhaps Reverend Turner could help him.
They were just coming to junction and he fought to keep the surprise off his face. Standing there, as if waiting for the stage between Billingsport and Burlington, was none other than Reverend Turner. Being a Negro, everyone in the party ignored him, but a frantic plan formed in Webb’s head. Nudging his horse forward he rode along side of Walden’s carriage. "Where are we taking them, ma’am. Should I accompany you, or can I return to Oakton?"
Sydney grinned lewdly at him. "Oh no, my dear Clayton. I am going to need your help at Reverend Nelson’s house," she purred.
Clay couldn’t be sure that Turner had heard so he stopped and gasped a little too loud. "Reverend Nelson’s? Pray madam, will he welcome such group?"
"He’ll do whatever mother asks him," Danny Walden hissed. "Right, mother?" If Danny’s look had any force behind it, Webb knew he wouldn’t have to worry about hanging. He would already be dead. He didn’t spare a glance for the man that the British soldiers had pushed off the road. «God, please let him have heard. Let him get word to the necessary people.»
Hoping that he could get as much information beforehand Webb ignored the boy and concentrated on the mother. "What help will need of me, Mrs. Walden?"
Walden ignored him for a moment or two as if gathering her thoughts. "Daniel, darling."
"Yes, mother."
"Would you please allow Mr. Webb to ride with me into town? We have much to discuss."
Both Danny and Webb were unhappy with the suggestion but in the end, they traded places. Webb barely took his eyes off his horse. He didn’t like the look of Daniel Walden, sensing a streak of cruelty at best, darker things at worst.
Lowering her voice, Sydney leaned into Webb. "We suspect that Tess Coulter might be the conduit for getting guns to the rebels."
"Tess Coulter?" Webb hissed. "How? Why?"
"How doesn’t matter. Let us just say we have our sources and our sources tell us that a farm outside of Philadelphia is the hiding place." She shrugged. "I doubt that she is the one really. But Miller tipped us off to her ‘evil’ ways and she is so very close to General Washington’s headquarters. Whether she knows where the guns are or not is immaterial. She, and the men we found, will surely tell us things we can use. General Howe will be quite pleased."
Webb felt sick. «This was all just a ploy to curry favor with Howe.»
Walden continued. "Brumby cannot come with us into town, of course. His force isn’t big enough. But we need to interrogate the prisoners." She leaned closer still. "I know you will get me useful information, darling."
Webb licked his lip. A shadow fell across them and he had never been so glad to see a redcoat in his life.
"Ma’am." Brumby ignored Webb. "My men and I head for Trenton. I’m to confer with Colonel Rall," he spat out. Webb knew that many of the British officers despised the Prussian mercenaries. Webb took the opportunity to move away from her. Thankfully, Thomas Krennick came up to the carriage also.
"I need to get back to my home, Mrs. Walden." He spared a glare at Webb. "Do you have a message for Allison, sir?"
"Tell her I will see her as soon as I can, sir." Webb noticed Danny pulling too roughly on the bridle of his horse. Stopping the carriage he jumped down and stalked up to the boy. "You can return to your mother. I will follow and make sure none of the prisoners escape."
"I was just getting used to the damned thing," Danny whined, but at Webb’s look, he jumped to the ground. "Very well, then."
It was nearly noon and the streets were crowded. Mac looked around hungrily. She was surprised how much she had missed the town she had been born in. The smells were rank compared to the freshness of the west, but still she was glad to be home. She wondered if they would come anywhere near the house where she and her father had lived. The passed the mercantile where she used to buy dry goods and the memory of her last meeting with Clayton Webb colored her cheeks.
Riding beside the wagon again, Webb noticed her heightened color and followed her gaze. The niggle in the back of his head was pounding now, and he tried hard to place it.
The wagon turned down a narrow road and again behind a tall brick church. "Tess," she whispered.
"Yes, Mac?"
"What’s to happen?"
Tess sighed. When Mac had awoke after the surgery, she had found that Tess had rid her of the binding around her breasts, but had given her a bulky shirt and large vest. ‘It isn’t good to bind yourself so tight,’ was all she had said at the time. But later, when she knew that the other wounded slept soundly, Tess would come and talk quietly to Mac. They whispered of growing up with fathers who hadn’t minded daughters and, in fact raised them no differently than their neighbors raised their sons. Both were only children. Both felt strongly that they needed to do something important to help in the effort to free their land from British opposition. Considering all this Tess whispered. "We remain brave and try to escape and go for help if possible." Tess saw Webb had dropped back and was riding directly behind the wagon. His look seemed to bore into Mac.
"What will happen to me when they find out that I’m not a man?" Mac whispered frantically.
"I don’t know, Mac." Tess knew the woman’s given name, but wouldn’t allow herself to even think it. They might very well discover Mac’s true sex. If so, Tess wasn’t sure what they would do. Before today, she would never have thought that Webb, tory though he was, would be part of something like this. The few times she had seen him, he had always struck her as a good enough man, a bit soft. Certainly a dandy. Not at all like Mr. Rabb.
Tess had asked Mac about the tall, blue-eyed frontiersman and learned that he wasn’t married, rather typical for young men in the frontier. Mac had explained. "After his father had been killed in the war between the settlers and French and their Indian allies, he had worked very hard to keep the small homestead for his mother and brother.
"Then when Patricia remarried, Harm got engaged to a woman named Diane. But she died of cholera." Mac told her sadly.
"And what of you, Mac?" Tess had asked.
"Me?" The young woman blushed furiously. "I’ll never marry. What man would want me? I have no land? I have nothing that any man would want. I-I-I don’t know what I will do if I survive this war."
The words came back to haunt Tess now. «I hope we survive this horrid trial.»
The gates of a dark barn were open and the wagon turned into it. Once the doors were closed. The Williams boys came back and dragged Tess from the cart. "Come. The Reverend Nelson wants you in his cellar. He himself will attend you after evening vespers."
"What of my wounded?" Tess spat out. Daniel Wallace slapped her so hard she fell to the ground. Webb longed to kill the man then and there.
"Don’t worry. We will take good care of them. Go on. Take her." He grabbed a man in the shadows. "This is Mr. Lindsay. He will help you get the wounded upstairs." He held up a lantern. "Don’t bother with that one." He pointed to the man who had not regained consciousness since they put him in the back of the wagon. "Throw him in with the witch."
Mac helped the young man who had been wounded in the head. "Come on Michael. Let me help you."
"I’m okay, Mac." He climbed down gingerly. "Let me help you."
Webb got down off his horse and went to stand at the back of the wagon. Lindsay roughly grabbed Michael and led him way. Mac glared at Webb and made to get down by herself. However, it was dark and the only light, from swinging lanterns, disoriented her. She stumbled and would have fallen. Without thinking Webb reached out and grabbed her, pulling her against his chest. The light from the lantern seemed to freeze on her face and he gasped in recognition. "Sarah?"
"Damn me," he breathed as he looked into HER brown anguished eyes.