A Game of Shadows (17 page)

The room was upholstered in pale blue silk; well-proportioned and elegant, with high ceilings that gave the impression of space and airiness.  Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting squares of light onto the carpet covering the wooden floor, and a carriage clock ticked loudly on a marble mantel.  The silk of the sofa felt cool against Abbie’s skin as she came to, enjoying a few blissful moments before her mind turned to the fearful sentence.  She was to hang.  The room spun again, but she managed to hang on just as smelling salts were shoved under her nose.  A beautifully dressed woman sat down on the sofa next to Abbie, putting a cool compress on her head. 

“I’m Camille Campbell, the
general’s wife.  Are you all right, my dear?”  She looked as if she were about to cry as she smoothed back a strand of Abbie’s hair.  “You poor girl.  I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.  I tried to intervene on your behalf, but the general won’t be swayed.  I’m so sorry.  Is there anything I can do?”

Abbie was about to say that she needed to get a message to her husband when she realized that Finn had either been arrested or gotten away.  “My husband…” she
whispered. 

“Your husband got away.  I hope that brings you comfort,
although I’m sure he got you into this, didn’t he?  A lovely girl like yourself wouldn’t be spying for any other reason than to please a man.”  Camille Campbell looked like the type of woman whose entire existence was dedicated to pleasing a man, so Abbie kept her counsel.  She had been about to tell her that she wasn’t some feebleminded female who could be induced to spy simply to please her husband, but what was the point?  The woman was only trying to be kind in a situation where she didn’t need to be.  Abbie just shook her head in misery, tears running down her face. 

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.  “They will kill my baby.”
  She hadn’t meant to tell anyone, but the woman’s sympathy just made her feel sorry for herself and the child who would never be born, thanks to her stupidity.

“How far along are you dear?” Camille wiped a tear from her lovely face, her eyes full of compassion.

“About two months.”

“That’s a shame.  If you were further along they might commute your sentence until the babe was born, but not at two months.  I’m afraid it
won’t sway them.  I will go talk to my husband though.  Maybe there’s something I can do.”  Mrs. Campbell rose from the sofa, her gaze still on Abbie.

“Why are you helping me?” Abbie asked, confused. 
This woman was the wife of a British general, yet she was carrying on as if spying for the Revolution was just a minor offense, like breaking a vase or forgetting to change the linens.  Did she not understand what Abbie was accused of?

“
You are just a slip of a girl, no older than my own daughter.  Women do crazy things for the men they love, but I don’t think they should hang for it, especially if they’re with child.  You are hardly a danger to the British Empire.”  With that Camille Campbell floated out the door, leaving Abbie to face the harsh reality of her sentence.  A maid offered her a cup of water, but Abbie’s hands shook so badly she couldn’t hold it without spilling the water all over her bodice.  The cup fell to the floor as Abbie doubled over, her face distorted by the silent cry that tore from her, tears streaming down her face.  She would die very soon, and in a very brutal way.  Abbie began to take great gulps of air as if the rope was already around her neck, choking the breath out of her body.  She tore off her tucker, feeling as if she were suffocating, needing to breathe.  Good God, was she really to die at eighteen with a new life just beginning to grow in her womb?

Abbie didn’t even notice as Camille Campbell came back into the room, followed by two soldiers.  “I’m so sorry, dear.  I tried.”  She looked away as the soldiers picked up Abbie under the arms and dragged her toward the door.

“Where are you taking me?” she cried, terrified that the sentence would be carried out immediately.

“You will be held in a cell until tomorrow morning when you will be taken to the place of execution,” one of the soldiers
replied.  Abbie could see the compassion in his face, while the other shoved her roughly out the front door and into the sunshine. 

“She’s a spy, Diggory.  Save your compassion for someone who deserves it.”  The man spit on the ground right in front of her feet
, before marching her around the side of the house and toward a structure at the back.  He used the butt of his musket to push Abbie inside before locking the door, the metal padlock clanking against the wooden door like clumps of dirt hitting a coffin.  The room was small and dim, with a bench along one side of the wall and a chamber pot in the corner.  Abbie sank onto the bench, her hands folded in her lap.  There was nothing left to do but pray.

Finn watched in dismay as Major Weland rode away from the house with Abbie seated in front of him.  She looked terrified; her back rigid in an effort not to lean against the major as he cantered down the street.  Finn had just been on his way back when he noticed Gordon leading the horse from the stable, glancing around nervously from side to side before disappearing inside the house.  It was unusual for Captain Gordon to saddle the horse himself, and even more so to look so worried, so Finn stopped for a moment to watch.  If only he could talk to Libby, but she was nowhere to be seen.  Maybe she was out back hanging the wash.  Finn left the sacks of oats behind a bush and doubled back.  He’d approach the house from the back and see if he could catch Libby at her work.  It took him a few minutes to get to his vantage point, but it felt like an hour, his mind racing with unanswered questions.  Where had the major taken Abbie and why?  What was happening?

Libby was
n’t in the garden.  She was likely still laundering since she was on her own today, and the daily laundry took several hours to complete every day even with Abbie’s help.  Going inside was risky, but Finn had to try.  He needed to know what happened, and Libby was the only person in a position to tell him.  If Abbie had been arrested, it would be only logical to assume that Finn would be next, so he had to be extra careful not to get caught.  Whatever happened, he was Abbie’s only hope, and if he were caught, there’d be no one to get a word to Sam.  Finn vaulted over the low fence and made his way quietly to the open door.  Mrs. Cromwell went marketing at this time, so Libby should be alone, but under the circumstances, he couldn’t be sure.  Major Weland might have left men to guard the premises, making sure Finn didn’t get away. 

The laundry room
was in the cellar and smelled of soap, ammonia and hot steam, the heat enveloping him as soon as he crossed the threshold.  Libby was standing by the steaming copper tub, red in the face as she pulled garments out with a long wooden stick.  She would put them through the mangle to squeeze out the water before finally taking them outside to hang in the fresh air.  Libby’s hands were red as a lobster from the hot water, her forehead covered with drops of sweat from the effort it took to get the clothes out.  The wet garments were heavy and hot, making it awkward to get them out without getting boiling water all over yourself.  Normally, Libby sang while she worked, but today she was silent, her lips compressed into a thin line.  She nearly jumped out of her skin when Finn whispered her name, spinning around and splashing Finn with scalding water.

“Get yourself away from here
quick as you can.  The major caught Abbie in his room copying some map.  He arrested her for spying and bid Captains Gordon and Mara to arrest you as soon as you come back.  Now go.  Abbie wouldn’t want you to get caught.  The Dragon Lady is on the lookout for you as well.”

“Thanks, Libby.  Where’d they take her?” 

“General Campbell’s residence.  She looked so scared,” Libby said, her eyes filling with tears.  “Get her back.”

“I will.  Don’t tell Mrs. Cromwell you’ve seen me.”

“As if I would.”  Libby looked indignant that he would even suggest such a thing.  “Go with God, Finn.”

  Finn felt as if his heart would explode out of his chest.  It was so much worse than h
e could have imagined.  If the major took her to the general’s house, he meant to see Abbie persecuted.  She obviously couldn’t talk her way out of it, and the sentence for spying was death. 
Oh, Dear God, Abbie, what were you doing?
  What would have made the major arrest Abbie?  They’d agreed that she would just look at the papers and put them away if she heard anyone coming.  Even if they caught her snooping, they’d have no reason to believe she was actually spying and not just being nosy.

Finn was just about to step out into the yard when he saw Captain Gordon come out through the kitchen door.  He stood with his back to the house, surveying the fence and the alley behind it as if he were expecting an enemy ambush.  Finn stepped behind a cupboard hoping the man
would just go back in, but Captain Gordon seemed in no hurry to leave.  Finn supposed that they’d decided to split up, with one person guarding the front and the other guarding the back.  The captain was armed, his musket in his hands and surely loaded.  He wouldn’t hesitate to use it, so Finn’s only chance was the element of surprise. 

Captain Gordon kept gazing out over the fence, never suspecting that Finn was actually behind him, which was to his advantage.  Finn quietly stepped from his hiding place and looked around for something he could use a
s a weapon.  Most tools were kept in the stable, but there had to be something he could use.  His eyes lit on a shovel propped up against the wall in the corner.  Of course; Mrs. Cromwell had asked him to use it when he dug a new privy and filled in the old one.  He could still remember the stench which clung to his clothes and burned his nose until tears ran down his cheeks. 

Finn reached for the shovel, weighing
it in his hands.  It would do.  He didn’t want to kill the man, just knock him out long enough to make his escape, so he had to make sure to hit him hard enough to take him down, but not hard enough to actually murder him.  Finn sighed, wishing there was another way.  Captain Gordon was only a year or two older than himself with a young wife and a newborn baby back in England.  He was a nice fellow, always ready with a smile, courteous and polite.  He often chatted with Finn while Finn saddled his horse, telling him amusing anecdotes about the regiment and his commanding officer, who sounded like a real horse’s ass.  Under different circumstances, they might have been great friends, but this war put them on opposite sides of the fighting, pitting them against each other against their will. 

Finn wrapped his hands around the handle of the shovel, holding it at the ready as he stepped into the yard.  The
captain was still looking the other way, his left hand shielding his eyes from the sun as his right hand gripped the musket.  Finn stepped behind the Captain just as the man began to turn around.  Finn hadn’t wanted to hit him in the face, but he had no choice.  Captain Gordon had seen him, his mouth opening in shock and raising his musket just as Finn swung the shovel and brought it across the temple.  Captain Gordon went down like a sack of potatoes, crumpling to the ground in a heap of red tunic and white trousers; his wig stained with blood.  Finn didn’t stay long enough to see if he’d killed the man.  He dropped the shovel next to the captain and ran for the fence, jumping over and running down the alley before Captain Mara could come after him.  He prayed the captain wasn’t dead, just unconscious, and Captain Mara would find him in time to get help.   

Finn ran,
needing to put as much distance as possible between himself and the boarding house.  There was only one place to go, so he raced in the direction of the brothel, having no idea what to do once he got there.  He had to get Sam.

The brothel didn’t look any different during the day than it had at night.  All the windows were shuttered despite the fact that it was nearly noon and Finn’s banging went unanswered for a painfully long time.  He was just about to try the back door when the thug who manned the door finally opened it a crack, looking at Finn as if he were daft.

“What’ye want here?  Can’t ye see we’re closed?  Come back after dark.”  He was about to slam the door shut, but Finn pushed his way in, taking the sleepy man by surprise. 

“I need to see Diana right now.  It’s urgent.”

“Or what?  Yer cock will explode?”  The man laughed at his own wit, sounding like a creaky door. 

“Now,” Finn hissed, giving the man a look that implied that a lot more than his cock would explode if he didn’t call Diana.  The man didn’t seem intimidated by Finn, just annoyed to be disturbed so early in the day.  He’d probably been sleeping when Finn’s banging woke him up.  His clothes looked grubby and rumpled, and his face was covered with a day-old growth of beard, making him look even more disheveled.  He squinted at Finn, taking his measure.

“All right, all right.  Wait here.” 
The man lumbered away, leaving Finn in the darkened hallway.  He could smell the aroma of coffee coming from somewhere down the hall and the smell of frying bacon and fresh bread.  The girls were probably having breakfast having just woken up after a night of earning their keep.  Normally, the smell of bacon would have made Finn hungry, even if he’d just eaten, but it made him sick to his stomach, bile rising in his throat and threatening to choke him.  He tried not to think of what Abbie must be going through at that very moment, and instead concentrate on coming up with a plan.  He was Abbie’s only hope, especially if Sam had left New York as he implied he might.

“John, what are you
doing here?”  Diana came floating down the stairs, her wrap barely covering her bare breasts and long legs.  She pulled the wrap tighter around herself, covering her nakedness and pushing her long, red hair out of her eyes.  “I was asleep when Bill woke me.  He said it was urgent.  Now what could be so urgent before noon?” she asked with a forced giggle, her eyes worried as she studied Finn’s anxious face.

“I need to talk to Sa
… — Patrick.  It’s an emergency.  Where is he?”

Diana gave him a once-over, suddenly looking very awake.  “It’s your wife, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Finn whispered.  “Now where is he?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the honest truth.  I only know he left Manhattan for a while because of some scuffle he got into with a British officer.”  Diana took Finn by the arm and dragged him upstairs to her room.  He followed
obediently since this would be the last place anyone would come looking for him.  If Sam couldn’t be located, he’d need to rescue Abbie on his own.

“Listen,” Diana whispered, “I need to run out for a little while.  I know of someone who might know wher
e Patrick is, but you need to stay here and wait for me.  I’ll tell Mabel that I have a personal errand to run and lock you in here, so no one comes in.  Just try to sleep or something.  You need to be very quiet since this room is directly above the kitchens.  Do you understand?”

Finn just nodded, sitting down on the bed as Diana began to get dressed.  She pulled off her wrapper, standing completely naked with her back to Finn.  He could see her reflection in the mirror, her
full breasts and flat stomach clearly visible.  He wondered if she’d done that on purpose.  She was probably so used to men seeing her nudity that she simply paid it no mind.  Diana quickly pulled on a chemise, stockings, and stays before stepping into a skirt and tying it at the back and putting on the bodice.  She hastily pinned up her hair, jamming a straw bonnet decorated with silk flowers onto her head, and pulling on a pair of white gloves.  She almost looked like a lady as she put a finger to her lips and disappeared through the door, the key turning in the lock smoothly as she locked Finn in.

Finn reclined on the bed, breathing deeply in an effort not to panic. 
He had no time to waste, but he desperately needed help.  If Diana didn’t come back within a half hour, he’d climb out the window and do what?  He had no idea.  If he went to the general’s house, he would be arrested immediately, so that was out of the question.  Going back to the boarding house to get his hatchet was paramount to suicide, but he needed a weapon.  He supposed he could get Diana to pilfer a knife from the kitchen for him, but that wouldn’t be very useful against a loaded musket; besides, what chance did he have against several well-armed British soldiers?  He needed a cunning plan, one that would give him an advantage and an element of surprise.  That was the only way he would have any chance in hell of saving Abbie. 

Finn
sat bolt upright as an idea suddenly popped into his head.  Yes, that just might work, but it would take more than one man.  He prayed Diana would be able to locate Sam since he was the only person Finn would trust to help him, and who would be just crazy enough to pull it off.  Finn suddenly felt very alone and isolated, reminding him of his first few days in the eighteenth century.  If only Mr. Mallory or even Jonah were nearby to turn to for help.  If Diana couldn’t find Sam, he was completely on his own, and Abbie was likely doomed.  Finn suddenly thought of his father and what he must have felt like when he found out his brother was in the Tower.  He must have had thoughts of a rescue, until he realized that there was nothing he could do other than try to spare his brother a horrible death.  What if he couldn’t save Abbie?  What if he had to watch her dangle at the end of a rope, gasping for air as her last breath left her body, her thrashing stilling as she finally died and the crowd dispersed, satisfied to have seen an execution and ready for a cool drink after their entertainment?

Finn curled into a ball, trying to hold in his fear and misery.  A silent
cry escaped from his lips, forging the way for another and another.  Finn covered his face with his hands in an effort to stifle the sobs that were coming fast now, tears flowing down his cheeks.  It was all his fault.  He’d been a reckless fool, and now Abbie would pay the price.  She hadn’t bled in August, but he barely noticed, intent on seeing them settled at the boarding house without arousing suspicion. 

Abbie was normally a strong girl,
accustomed to hard work, but she was feeling faint by the end of the day, desperate to rip off her confining clothes and lie down, fanning herself with anything that was to hand.  She was irritable and unusually emotional, which he attributed to her fear at being behind enemy lines.  And she hadn’t bled since they left Virginia. How could he have been so blind?  She was pregnant and he’d ignored all the signs, putting her in danger.  He should have made the decision to leave at least two weeks ago, but he was too intent on his mission, paying no attention to his wife, who would now die because of his carelessness.

Finn finally forced himself to calm down and think clearly. Getting hysterical wouldn’t save Abbie. 
He had to focus on his plan, and work out all the details before presenting it to Sam.  It had to work.  It simply had to.  Even if Diana didn’t find Sam, he’d have to try it on his own.  He would be at a disadvantage, but at least he’d have a better chance than just charging in with a knife and hoping for the best.

There was no clock in the room, but the minutes seemed to crawl by at glacial speed as the sun reached its zenith
in the cloudless sky.  He was getting restless, needing to do something, anything, but he had to wait a little bit longer.  If Diana hadn’t been able to locate Sam, she would have come back right away, reasoned Finn in a desperate attempt to justify her long absence.  Oh, what was taking her so long? 

He nearly jumped out of his skin as the key
finally turned in the lock, the door slowly opening to admit a flushed Diana.  She breathed out a sigh of relief as she saw Finn on the bed, tossing her reticule onto a dressing table and taking off her bonnet before sitting down on the bed next to him, and pulling a piece of paper out of her bodice. 

“Sorry it took so long
.  It seems Patrick came back to Manhattan a few days ago, but no one knew exactly where to find him, except Maury Baker, who refused to tell me for fear that I would give Patrick away.  Or maybe he just wanted to see how badly I wanted the information.  I had to use everything I had to get him to trust me.” 

Finn unfolded the paper, looking down at an address.  “What do you mean you had to use everything you had?” he asked, suddenly realizing what Diana had said.

“Never you mind,” she replied, suddenly business-like.  “One more won’t make a difference, will it?  Now, go find Patrick so that it’d at least been worth it.  Tell the woman at the address that Mr. Baker sent you, or she won’t let you in.  Patrick should be there.  If he isn’t, ask Mrs. Morse to get a message to him.  She’ll know how to reach him.  Now go.” 

Diana
unlatched the door, looking left and right before allowing Finn to leave.  He slipped out the door without looking back, needing to get away as quickly as possible.  Finn wished he could have given her something for her trouble, but everything he had was back at the boarding house, not that a few coins would make up for Diana having to sell herself for information.  He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to use your body as a bargaining tool.  Even as a man he would have a hard time lying with someone just as a business arrangement.  He supposed she was used to it, but he still felt sorry for her.

What had happened to her to drive her into a life of prostitution?  She seemed like such a lovely girl, pretty and smart.  Had there been no other way for her to survive?  He’d seen the look on her face when she admitted to having lain with the man to get news of Sam, and he’d wished he could have spared her that sacrifice.  In her line of work
, one more man wouldn’t make any difference, but he hated to think that she’d done it for him.  He supposed some women preferred to toil long hours for little pay keeping their honor intact, while some chose the life of easy money, their virtue of little consequence.  Diana didn’t seem like the type of girl who’d be happy taking out chamber pots and cleaning the silver.  She was too saucy for that, too spirited.  Finn hoped that the choice had been hers and that she’d never regretted it. 

Finn looked down at the paper, hoping
the information was accurate.  The address Diana gave him was on the Lower East Side, so it would take at least a half hour to get to. Finn pulled his tricorn lower to cover his face and stayed to the side streets, trying to lose himself in the midday crowds.  There were so many men who looked just like him that he eventually began to relax, darting between the carts and delivery wagons to get to his destination faster. 

The
address was near the wharf known as Old Slip; located on a side street that smelled of fish, tar, and refuse.  The wooden houses looked as if they were slightly drunk, leaning against each other for support.  Finn knocked on the door of number 17, holding his breath without even realizing it.  What would he do if Sam was no longer there?  He was relieved to hear someone coming.  The woman who opened the door was a surprise.  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of Mrs. Morse, but it wasn’t the young, pretty girl who was looking at him from under her sooty lashes with an expression of amusement.  She couldn’t be more than seventeen, with a rosy complexion and laughing dark eyes.  Mrs. Morse folded her hands over her huge belly, eying Finn as if he were about to do something very entertaining. 

“I’m looking for Patrick.  It’s urgent. 
Mr. Baker sent me,” he added hastily. 

“I see.   Come in then. 
It was a surprise to see Patrick again, I’ll tell you.  I haven’t seen him in nearly nine months.  I’ll just go get him.”  She showed Finn into a parlor and made her way laboriously up the stairs.  She’d said nine months.  Could her baby be Sam’s?  Finn put the thought out of his head.  Whatever Sam did in his private life was his own affair and nothing to do with the business at hand.  He paced the small room, too anxious to sit down.  Finn heard muffled voices coming from upstairs and then a thud as Sam’s feet must have hit the floor as he got out of bed.  He came flying down the stairs a few moments later, wearing breeches, but no stockings or shoes.  Sam’s dark hair was tousled, and a couple days’ beard shadowed his jaw.  His shirt hung out of his pants, open at the chest, his face white with shock. 

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, tucking his shirt in and running a hand through his hair.  “Sorry, I was asleep.
  Late night dicing with some British soldiers.  I did pick up a useful tidbit or two,” he added as an afterthought, his eyes taking in Finn’s troubled face.

“Abbie’s been arrested
for spying.  I don’t know exactly what happened, but she’s been taken to General Campbell’s house.  There’s a warrant for my arrest as well.”  Finn coughed slightly to hide the tremor in his voice, not wanting Sam to think him weak and frightened.

Sam ran a hand over his beard, his eyes lost in thought.  “What do they have on her?”

“I don’t know, but it must be something concrete.  Libby said she was caught copying some map.”  Finn shook his head in dismay.  He wanted to act now, this moment, but Sam seemed to be moving in slow motion, his mind still not fully awake.

“Sam, we need to get her out,” he yelled.

“Shh, I’m Patrick here.  I know we need to get her out, but we need to think this through.  Campbell has a reputation for fairness, but he’s very by the book.  If he truly believes that Abbie was spying, he will order her execution.  We don’t have much time, and we need a plan.”  Sam began pacing the room just as Mrs. Morse looked in, probably wondering what the commotion was all about.