A Game of Shadows (26 page)

“Madame Jarnot, do you think Father Marc is Genevieve’s father?” Alec asked, his voice shaking.

Madame Jarnot shrugged her shoulders in a typically Gallic gesture.  “To be perfectly honest, Monsieur Whitfield, I don’t know.  Rose never named Father Marc as the father, and believe me, I asked, as I’m sure Mother Superior did.   Father Marc had the opportunity, but I had been alone with him on several occasions and there was never a hint of inappropriate behavior, but then again, maybe he simply didn’t find me appealing.” 

She shrugged again, looking from Valerie to Alec.

“There isn’t a person in Loudun who doesn’t suspect that Father Marc is Genevieve’s father, but they would never speak the truth for fear of Le Mayor’s wrath.  Did you know that he is Father’s Marc’s father?  He’s a hard man, and to cross him can be hazardous to one’s health, physical and financial, but I’ve kept this secret for over twenty years, and I’d be damned if I didn’t tell what I know now.  You see, Rose wasn’t the only one.  There was Martine as well.”

“Was she
also a nun?”

“No, Martine was the daughter of the cobbler.  She was a beautiful young girl
who spent a lot of time in church, praying for her sins, although I can’t imagine what sins a pious fourteen-year-old might have had other than nursing a secret love for the handsome priest.  She died in childbirth before her fifteenth birthday, the child with her.  Everyone believed the child to be Father Marc’s.”  Berenice took another sip of beer, obviously distressed by the memories of that time, and the injustice of young girls dying in shame while the priest escaped unscathed, protected by his powerful father and the Church. 

“What happened to Father Marc after Rose died?” Alec asked.
 

“
Father Marc left shortly after. He’s a cardinal in Paris now, but he comes to Loudon all the time.  He still visits the convent, and he always took a particular interest in Genevieve.”

“Thank you, Madame Jarnot.  You’ve been truly helpful. 
I’m glad that things worked out well for you.”  Alec took a slice of bread, spreading a thick layer of pate.  He seemed suddenly hungry after days of hardly eating anything.

“I’ve made a good life for myself here
, for that I am grateful.  It gladdens my heart to see that Genevieve finally found her family and has someone to look after her interests and welfare.  She was such a lonely child.  I would have gladly adopted her myself had Father Marc allowed it, but I suppose I’d be the last person on Earth he’d want as a guardian for Genevieve.  I know too much.”

Berenice moved the plate of cheese toward Alec, glad to see him eating.  She seemed like the kind of woman who got pleasure
from feeding others, equating food with love.  Alec gratefully took a piece of cheese, chewing thoughtfully as he considered the next step.  This was a bitter-sweet victory, finding answers that only led to more questions and renewed feelings of guilt and pain, but at least he now had something to go on.

Madame Jarnot placed her palms
squarely on the table, leaning in and rising from the bench reluctantly, ready to return to her chores.  She’d told them all she could, and the relief of having shared her suspicions after all these years was obvious in her face. 

“Thank you again, Madame Jarnot,” Alec said, shaking her hand as she walked them to the waiting carriage.

“What will you do now, Monsieur?” she asked, brushing a stray lock out of her face as the wind picked up, moving the trees above their head with a sudden force.

“The only thing I can do
—
find Father Marc and make him pay for his sins.”  Alec handed Valerie into the carriage, giving Berenice Jarnot a final wave as the carriage rolled away, swaying in the gathering wind. 

September 1777

Staten Island

The room was bathed in the soft light of an autumn afternoon, surprisingly cool and airy as both windows were open to allow for ventilation.  Several cots were set against the walls, spaced with geometrical precision, and neatly made.  They were all unoccupied, except for the one closest to the window.  The man on the far side lay silently, his form unmoving; his arms folded over his stomach as if laid out for burial; the even rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life.

Sounds of
vigorous activity, clanging of metal, and voices of men could be heard from the yard below, but the hush inside the room was almost church like.  Sam looked around, wondering where he was.  Judging by the nasal British voices that shouted commands in the yard below, this could only be one place, the worst possible place he could have ended up.  Sam tried to rise, but the sharp pain in his belly was like a hot poker that was being twisted this way and that to inflict the most damage.  He lay back, breathing heavily and sweating despite the freshness of the air, gingerly poking at his wound.  It had been cleaned and dressed, but Sam had no recollection of it.  Someone had removed his clothes and dressed him in a nightshirt which reached almost to his knees and smelled pleasantly of soap and fresh air. 

Sam licked his lips,
desperate for a sip of water.  His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow.  He reached for a cup on the low table beside his bed, drinking gratefully once he actually managed to get it without causing himself undue pain.  How did he get here?  Sam lay still, allowing his heartbeat to return to normal.  Even the act of reaching for the cup had left him drained and shaky.  Sam closed his eyes, his face tense with concentration.  He could remember everything that happened up to the time Finn helped him out of the boat, but after that, he drew a blank.  He hoped that Finn had gotten Abbie safely to the farm, but he had no way of knowing that they hadn’t been ambushed as they made their way across Staten Island.  The place was crawling with British soldiers, who must have come across him on one of their patrols.  The uniform had been the only thing that stood between Sam and a sure death, but it had also landed him among the enemy, making an attempt at escape difficult, especially in his weakened condition.

Sam tried to outline his options, but his mind refused to cooperate, getting fuzzier by the moment, his limbs growing heavier. 
He must have fallen asleep because the next time he opened his eyes it was already getting darker, the last glimmer of daylight leaching from the sky and a single candle burning on the table beside his cot.  A short man with bushy whiskers was standing over him, his hand on Sam’s head, his face full of concern.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, smiling
down at Sam.  “I’m so glad to see you finally awake.”

“I’m better, thank you,” Sam answered carefully.  “Where am I exactly?”
  He already knew, but he wanted to hear it nonetheless.

“Oh, you’re at Fort Flagstaff. 
A patrol came across you in the woods by the beach and brought you here.  I’m Doctor Freeman.  I don’t suppose you remember much of what happened?”

“No,” Sam mumbled.  The less said the better.

“They found you just in time.  I daresay you would have died had you been left out there much longer.  You were bleeding quite heavily.  You seem to have gotten lucky twice,” he said, beaming at Sam, his eyes large behind his round spectacles.

“In what way, Doctor?”

“Your wound is painful, but not fatal,” replied the doctor, taking Sam’s pulse.

“I’m very relieved to hear that
.” Maybe he could make his escape tomorrow, or even tonight, although the gates of the fort were likely locked for the night, making it more difficult to get out undetected.

“What I mean to say is that if the
bayonet entered your abdomen a little to the left, it would have perforated your intestine, which would have resulted in eventual death.  As it is, it didn’t damage any vital organs.  You should be on your feet in a few days.  I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”  The doctor smiled at Sam benignly, obviously happy for his patient’s good fortune.

“It’s Corporal Patrick Johnson, sir.”  How long would it take them to learn that Corporal P. Johnson didn’t exist? Sam wondered
, calculating his chances. 

“A pleasure to meet you
, Corporal Johnson.”  Doctor Freeman let go of Sam’s wrist and pulled back the coverlet and nightshirt to examine the wound.  He seemed satisfied and replaced the blanket, patting it into place absentmindedly. 

“I can give you a few drops of laudanum to help you sleep if you are in great pain, but it’s up to you.  I think you’ve had quite more than enough already.
  You were in terrible pain when the patrol brought you in, so I took the liberty of giving you some laudanum before cleaning and dressing your wound to spare you unnecessary pain.”

“Thank you, Doctor Freeman,” Sam began, but the doctor just waved his hand dismissively.

“Think nothing of it, my boy.  That’s what I’m here for.  Your improved health is thanks enough.”
  The doctor became distracted as a young woman walked into the room, carrying something on a tray.  She was slight and graceful, with warm, brown eyes much like Doctor Freeman’s.  The doctor’s face lit up as she came closer, a look of deep affection on his homely face.

“And who is this Ang
el of Mercy?” Sam asked, smiling up at her.  She looked away shyly; her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, visible even in the feeble light of the candle.

“That’s my daughter, Susanna.  She
insists on helping me take care of the patients.  What did you bring, my dear?”

“I heard you talking to our patient and thought that he must be hungry.  I brought some porridge and milk.”  She set the tray down on the table, making Sam’s mouth water.
  He hated porridge, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and would have been equally excited about anything she had to offer that would fill his empty belly.

“Very thoughtful of you, my dear, very thoughtful.  I was just about to suggest some food myself.  I think Mr. Johnson might require some help eating
though.  Would you be so kind?”  Doctor Freeman looked at his daughter with undisguised pride as she sat on the side of the bed, reaching for the bowl and spoon.

“I’ll check on you in a little while,
Corporal,” the doctor said before walking over to the far side of the room to check on his other patient.

Susanna held out a spoonful of porridge to Sam, who
obediently opened his mouth, enjoying the taste of the warm mush.  She’d put some butter and honey into it, just as his mother did, making it slightly more palatable.  Her blush faded, but she still looked self-conscious, her eyes barely meeting his as he studied her openly.

“How long have I been here?”
Sam asked, accepting another mouthful.

“Nearly three days
now.  You were unconscious when the patrol first brought you in, but you became delirious later, calling for Abbie over and over.  Is she your wife?” Susanna asked shyly.  Sam suddenly realized that she was older than he initially thought.  He assumed she was just out of the schoolroom, but on closer inspection, she had to be around twenty-five.  He let his gaze slide to her left hand, but there was no wedding ring on her finger. 

“Abbie is my si
…
—
fiancée,” Sam replied, looking away from Susanna.  He didn’t want to lie to her, but he was now trapped at a British fort, the only way out being as a deserter of an army he never joined.  He would need help, and if Susanna believed that he was trying to get to the woman he loved, she might be more willing to assist him.

“Is she in England?” Susanna asked, giving Sam a drink of milk
before continuing to feed him the porridge.  He noticed that despite her warm smile, her eyes were awfully sad, making him wonder what her life was like at a British fort helping her father.  Had she come willingly, or as an unmarried woman, did she have no choice in accompanying him?

“No, she’s here.  As a matter of fact, I was taking her to her aunt in
Richmond town when we were set upon by the rebels.  I tried to fight them off, but I was vastly outnumbered.  I have no idea where she is, or if she’s safe,” Sam whispered.  “I need to find her.”  He felt like an awful cad, seeing the distress in her eyes, but at the moment, she was his only hope of escape.  He hoped she was gullible enough to believe his story, but he couldn’t think of anything else that would explain his presence on Staten Island and his wound.

“Oh, how awful.  I do hope she’s all right.  You are not in any condition to leave yet, but once you are better
, I’m sure your commanding officer will give you leave to go look for her.  You must love her very much.”  Susanna replaced the bowl and cup on the tray, reluctantly rising to her feet.  Sam would have liked more time to cultivate Susanna’s friendship, but he didn’t have that luxury.  He had to get out of the fort, and he had to do it very soon.  He reached out and took Susanna by the hand, forcing her to look at him.

“I do
love her. Susanna, you have to help me.  I can’t wait until I recover and get leave.  I must go tomorrow.  Abbie could be out there, frightened and alone.  They might have taken her and done her an injury.”  Sam could see a look of indecision on Susanna’s face.  She would help him with just the right amount of persuasion.

“
You can’t just walk out of here, Corporal.  That would be paramount to desertion, and you know what the penalty for that is.  You must report to a ranking officer here at the fort and ask for his help.  He can send a messenger to your garrison and get a letter from your commander.”  Susanna gently extracted her hand, picking up the tray and holding it against her chest in an effort to put some distance between them.

“Susanna, please.  I can’t wait.  What would you think if your
fiancé left you alone and unprotected?  Surely, a woman of your compassion and sensitivity can understand my predicament.”  Sam gave her a pleading look, hoping he was wearing her down.

“I don’t have a
fiancé, Mr. Johnson, but I suppose I see your point.  You don’t think she got to her aunt’s house?”

“You see, even if she did, I still have to get to her
,” Sam improvised.  He glanced away, trying to look embarrassed.  “She just found out she’s with child, so I must marry her right away before her family finds out.  I must do the right thing, don’t you see?”  He looked up at her, begging her to understand.  She seemed disappointed for a moment, as if shocked by the fact that he might have gotten a woman he wasn’t married to with child, but then her mind turned to his fiancée. 

“All right,
Corporal, I will help you leave here if you promise to come back as soon as you’ve found and married your Abbie.  Do we have a deal?”  She looked so earnest that Sam loathed himself for lying to her, but he had no choice.  He had to get out of this fort before anyone realized he was an imposter.  If an officer marched in here asking questions, he was finished.  His only choice was to escape before anyone had a chance to question him.  If found out, he’d hang. 

“How can we do it?” Sam asked eagerly.

“There are some local farmers who make deliveries to the fort.  They bring meat and produce several times a week.  There are a lot of men here, and they need to be fed.  I don’t normally interact with the locals, but I know one man.  He brought his son here two weeks ago.  The boy fell out of a tree and needed to be stitched up.  I helped my father do it.  He wanted to pay, but my father wouldn’t hear of it.  He was happy to help.  I think he wouldn’t refuse me if I asked him for a favor.  He should be here tomorrow morning.  You would need some civilian clothes, and I would need to distract my father long enough to allow you to walk out of here.  I’ll speak to Mr. Miller tomorrow and let you know.  In the meantime, get your rest.  I will pray for you and your fiancée tonight,” she said as if that would take care of everything.

Miss Freeman
awkwardly touched his shoulder, obviously moved by compassion for him, making Sam feel even worse.   He’d been known to tell a lie or two to get out of a scrape, but this woman didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of.  Sam sighed and tried to go to sleep.  Recriminations would have to wait till later.  Right now, his only goal was to get the hell out of the enemy fort.