Infernal Revolutions (47 page)

‘'Tis different,' I muttered, steadying my arm and studying the troops more closely, to see if I knew anyone, ‘different completely.'

‘Jealousy is jealousy,' Sophie pronounced, ‘whatever the cause. And I must say a little of it does you good. It makes you angry and masterful, and it makes me feel wanted.'

In a more sheltered and stable condition, this remark would have been the cue for hot matrimonial rogering, but up here on a crumbling, exposed ledge I could do nothing about the spark that went through my artillery except leer lovingly, and rub my hand up and down Sophie's thigh with masterful possessiveness. Gratifyingly, however, ‘twas enough to subdue Sophie's rebel heart, and soon she was cooing and billing like a turtledove, and nestling her head on my shoulder as if in parody of a colonial housewife. After checking out of the corner of my eye to see that no parody was intended, I was free to turn my attention back to a scene that had caught my eye moments earlier. I immediately wished I had not bothered – the fight I had been watching between five men on a hilltop was now over, and I watched with horror as two supine, squirming Americans were bayoneted to stillness by three burly redcoats. ‘Twas sickening stuff, like watching tribes of savages hack each other to death, and it brought home to me how brutal was the actual business of battle. Dry-mouthed, I quickly turned my spyglass away, but the new sight I chanced upon showed human nature in no more rosy a light. Three men were pulling sailors out of a bateau at the water's edge, with the apparent intention of climbing into it themselves. When they did not climb in, but simply stood around waiting, my curiosity was aroused, and I watched in anticipation for the appearance of some bigwig – perhaps Lord Howe himself – from the woods behind. Sure enough, after a few minutes, the branches of a fir tree began to twitch, and out appeared a trio of men on horseback. Examining their insignia closely, a sudden terror struck me as I realized that these were not any old horsemen, but members of the 16th Light Dragoons. Looking from rider to rider, I eventually found myself staring straight into the bruised and swollen face of Burnley Axelrod himself. I studied the features in a state of shock for a few moments – for he looked even more fearsome than I remembered – then began an involuntary shaking, as of one scared for his very life, a reaction which communicated itself to Sophie.

‘Someone walked over your grave, sweetie?'

‘Someone will be walking over it soon, I fear. And over there you will see the reason why.'

I handed her the spyglass like a man with palsy, and gave her directions as well as I could. ‘The big one, with the bruised face.'

‘Burnley Axelrod, I presume?'

‘Twas Sophie's turn to be perceptive.

‘That's him then, is it?' said Sophie. ‘The mythical Burnley Axelrod, the Stuff of Nightmare. My, let me get a good look at the rogue.' She studied him in silence for a few moments, while I fought the urge to run screaming to Lord Cornwallis for protection.

‘Well?' I said, when I could no longer stand the pain of chewing my lip.

Sophie took the spyglass from her eye and looked at it quizzically.

‘Am I not focusing right, or is he much bigger than everyone else around him?'

‘He is much bigger than everyone else around him.'

‘My,' she said, peering in once more, ‘What a beast! Handsome too, in a brutal way. Only joking, sweetie. But, oh my God – what's that hairy thing dangling in front of his groin? Surely ‘tis not his…..'

‘What?' I shrieked, nerves strung to snapping, ‘What? What?'

‘Oh no, ‘tis not what I thought – but ‘tis something disagreeable, that's for certain. A baby racoon perhaps, or a pelt of some kind…'

Without looking, it occurred to me in a flash what it was, and my agony was compounded.

‘Is it perhaps…..' I could hardly get the words out, ‘…a hairy, bloody scalp?'

‘My God! Yes, it could be. In fact I think it is!'

‘Then my surmise was correct, and we know who he wants to murder next.'

‘Not necessarily,' said Sophie, laying down the spyglass and taking my trembling hand in hers, ‘one scalp looks much like another, after all.'

‘No, the coincidence is too great. ‘Tis Isaac's barnet on his belt, of that I am sure.'

‘Well, even supposing that to be true, it does not follow that he is after you now. Or if he is he might just be coming to negotiate with you….'

‘Does he look like the negotiating type? Besides, why negotiate when you can get what you want by brute force? Oh Amanda, you stupid, stupid bitch! He knows I've read her letters by now. He probably knows that I know that he's killed Isaac.'

‘Calm yourself, Harry. You are getting into a state. Events are coming to a head now, if you will excuse the pun, so we must think logically and calmly. Negotiate this crisis and we are free to start our life together, war permitting.'

‘But how do we negotiate this crisis? They will be over within an hour, and I'll probably be dead within ten minutes of them finding us if we stay here. ‘Tis not just me in danger you know; once they find out you are my wife, you will probably be raped as a
hors-d'oeuvre
. I suppose I might be too for that matter.'

‘Vivid, imaginative Boy! I'm sure nothing of the kind is going to happen. And even if they do try, you have a flintlock and a bayonet, and I have this…' From deep in her coat, Sophie pulled out a well-used pistol. ‘…They will not take us lightly. Your problems are my problems, and I will not leave you.'

‘I could not fly a kite with my hands shaking like this, let alone fire a musket.' I glanced fearfully over to the riverbank. The bateau was now embarking. ‘Oh God, if only I had time to think what to do for the best.'

‘Then I will think for you. We go back to your regiment and await developments. Axelrod and his henchmen cannot simply ride into camp and scythe us down. Then somehow or other we will find out exactly what he wants, and respond accordingly.'

I mulled this over for a few moments, then – primal fears winning out over godlike reason – came to a momentous decision.

‘I already know exactly what he wants – which is why I'm off. Alone. ‘Tis best for both of us.'

‘No, listen! Perhaps you could come to an agreement with him never to return to England. Paper proof of your death could easily be forged for Amanda's benefit.'

Even though frantic, I instantly detected Sophie's hidden agenda in this solution.

‘I don't think I would like to be party to one of Burnley's agreements; I would never feel safe. No, I'm off.'

‘You mean you are running away?'

‘I am not running, my dear. I am simply giving myself time to think.'

‘You're running away!'

‘Your beloved bloody army has just run away!' I shouted, exasperated, waving my arms wildly, ‘yet they are heroes to you!'

‘That was strategic.'

‘This is strategic.'

‘This is cowardice, plain and simple! Stand and fight. Be a man!'

‘Not yet!' I thundered, in answer to the stand and fight injunction, before realizing another injunction had been made, making me sound despicable, ‘I mean yes…I mean….' I was all confused now…'I mean I'm off!…I'll be in touch.'

‘Harry, where are you going?'

‘Away.'

‘Away where?'

‘I don't know yet. I will let you know when I get there.'

‘I'm coming with you.'

‘No, you're not. I'm going alone.'

‘You won't last five minutes on your own, especially in that outfit. Pickets will be placed on every approach road. I know the countryside and the people. You know neither.'

‘Ignorance is bliss.'

‘Ignorance is a sin that traps fools.'

‘And cowards. Don't forget cowards.'

Sophie looked at me reproachfully.

‘If you run away, you will have not just Burnley but the whole British Army after you.'

‘So? What good has obeying orders done me?'

‘So you are going to get on a horse and ride, are you? I know your riding skills, Harry. I do not think you will outride a dragoon.'

‘I am not going to outride him, I'm going to hide until he's gone. Up a tree somewhere, like Charles II.'

Sophie looked at me pityingly, then out of nowhere came up with a plan that would have done Cornwallis proud.

‘I know somewhere safer and more comfortable than a tree to hide.'

‘You do?'

‘Aye, but we must go there together – they will not let you in alone. I will take you there only if you assure me that you will face your problems when you have had time to think.'

‘I have already told you I will,' I shouted, taking umbrage at this nannying whilst I was at my most vulnerable. ‘What more assurance can I give?'

‘Good man! That's what I wanted to hear. Now, let us make our way out of here. First we must get past the pickets that will be posted on every road in and out of Fort Lee. And to do that, my dear, we must get you into different clothing. Come with me.'

After casting one final glance down at the hellhounds on my tail, I turned and followed Sophie as she stumped determinedly in the direction of the baggage train, which had now become a veritable Ranelagh for the men and their floozies. Torn coats were being held up and examined, babies were being dandled, bubs were being squeezed, tea was being poured, bets were being placed, bread was being gnawed, pipes were being smoked – all amidst animated chatter about the delightful ease of war in America. A few acquaintances saw me pass, and beckoned me to join them, but I simply extemporized my well-used mime of a man rushing desperately to the jakes. This was convincing, judging by the laughter, and I was allowed to progress to my destination, which turned out to be a canvas-covered cart at the rear of the baggage train.

‘You in there, Doll?' called out Sophie breathlessly.

‘Ooo's that?' came back a squeaky voice that reeked of the English gutter.

‘'Tis I, Sophie B. Mecklenburg. I mean Oysterman. We had a chat in the woods last night.'

‘You that American girl wiv marital problems?'

‘The very one.'

‘Gotcha. Cam orn in then.'

We clambered up the step into the gloom of the wagon. Immediately my nostrils were assailed by the heavy stench of blood and sweat, which came from the disorderly heaps of damp clothes that lay scattered around the floor. Comfortably wallowing in the middle of them, lit by a lantern, was an enormous creature who looked for all the world like a bloated white grub. She was seated on a three-legged milking stool, and rotund little arms and legs stuck out of her body like balusters. Tiny eyes regarded me impassively, before a grunt indicated that the bulk was moving. Aghast, I noticed that her hand had extended slightly in my direction in a sort of capillary motion, and I had no alternative but to take it. Unsurprisingly, it was hot and clammy, and I had to fight down my rising gorge.

‘Meet Scavenger Doll,' said Sophie. ‘Nothing gets past this one.'

‘Keep me eyes open, I do,' exclaimed Doll, lolling back wheezing. ‘Know evryfin worf knowin'.' Then, weighing me up, ‘This the one causin' you all the problems, luvvie? Not much to look at, is he?'

‘He's all I've got, Doll. But that's all solved now. ‘Tis a dress I'm here for. One that will fit my husband.'

‘Funny time to desert, innit, gel?' said the knowing Doll. ‘War's over, so they say.'

‘We need to get away,' said Sophie. ‘Quickly.'

‘Ah well, if yer must, yer must. Ain't fer me ter question yer motives. ‘Ave a sift through that little lot, ‘n see if anyfin fits the bill.'

‘Thanks, Doll.'

While Sophie began to sort briskly through the fetid mound of clothing, I watched in disgust as Doll moved to another tiny stool in the corner of the wagon. Both Sophie and I rose a couple of feet skywards as she poured herself over it like a giant bladder.

‘What is it we are searching for?' I dithered, still squirming from the repulsive sight. ‘A dress for me?' Suddenly my mind returned to the task in hand. ‘Wait a minute, I'm not wearing a dress. No, not I!'

From the corner Doll's wheezing came faster and louder, as though something had amused her. Indeed I thought I detected the ghost of the phrase
fackin' fanny
in her gasps.

‘'Tis the best way for a man to escape – ain't that right, Doll?'

Doll wheezed and coughed assent.

‘Besides which,' Sophie went on, ‘There's no time now to think about it. Get your clothes off.'

I was not happy, and unbuttoned only reluctantly until Sophie came out with the clincher.

‘Do not be so nice, Harry – I dressed as a man to help you out, after all.'

That was true, so I discarded all notions of taste and shame, and began to undress quickly ready for the fitting, an act which increased the wheezing more.

‘Here, try this one,' said Sophie eventually, holding up for my delectation a frilly gown which even in this light I could see was in a far from perfect condition.

‘But it's got blood all over it,' I protested, ‘and there…look there…a dark gaping hole.'

‘Ah yes,' Doll enlightened, squinting over. ‘Had that one brought into me only yesterday. Not had time to wash or mend it yet. Belonged to a poor gel over in Bloomin'dale. Bayoneted, so I'm told.'

And probably not even dead before her clothes were removed from her, I conjectured queasily.

‘'Tis the only one about your size, though, Harry,' said Sophie, sensing my distaste, ‘so I would not worry about the history of the outfit. Not wearing it will not bring back the girl.'

‘Don't care!' I protested, suddenly sick at heart. ‘I'm not wearing it, and that's final.'

‘Very well then. Try this one. ‘Tis smaller than the other, but you might just be able to squeeze into it.'

Afraid to examine it closely, I took the gown, and with Sophie's help struggled in. Buttoned up, bewigged, bonneted and padded at the breast, I felt like a molly in a straightjacket, a feeling the obligatory look in the mirror did nothing to dispel.

‘Yer lack fackin lavley,' wheezed Doll, loving, I suspect, every minute of my ritual humiliation. ‘A proper li'l ‘Essian magnet.'

‘And now we need an ordinary suit of clothes as well, Doll,' said Sophie. ‘For when we have slipped the pickets.'

One was soon found – a relatively clean russet affair with no obvious signs of a turbulent history – and arrangements were made for payment.

‘That'll be a bob altogether,' said Doll, making a parcel of my suit and my uniform. ‘Plus sixpence for keepin' quiet.'

In no position to haggle, Sophie dug the requisite coins out of her pocket, and placed them in Doll's outstretched hand.

‘An fer anuvver sixpence, I can tell yer where ter find a wagon and a pair o' osses.'

Sophie and I exchanged glances.

‘But that means leaving by the roads. I was thinking of getting out through the woods, where horses can't follow.'

‘Up to you, dearie. The offer's there.'

‘Harry, what do you say? Are you confident enough to endure glances dressed like that?'

I peeped out coyly from under my bonnet.

‘More confident than I am entering a dark wood the size of England, crawling with Indians and ghosts and bears, aye.'

‘Then the roads it is. Here, Doll – another sixpence. Which wagon, pray?'

Doll peered out through her own private slit in the canvas and invited Sophie to peep too.

‘The one over there, look. Abandoned by the Rebels as far as I can make out, and as yet unclaimed by King George. Get in quick, while yer can. God knows what's in the back of it, though; even my eyes can't see that.'

‘We'll take our chances. Thanks, Doll. Not a word now, if anyone comes asking.'

‘Me word is me bond. Always has been. Always will be.'

Doubting that very much, we left Doll to her grubbing, and hurried towards the wagon, eager to claim it before Doll's bond expired. Indeed, such was our haste that I had no time to feel self-conscious about my dress, despite a couple of wolf-whistles I fancied I heard on the wind. Reaching the wagon, I toyed with the idea of peering under the canvas to see precisely what it was, if anything, we were stealing, but then demurred on the
ignorance is bliss
principle. Instead I blindly threw my parcel of clothes on the front seat and climbed up beside Sophie. Already she had the reins in her hands and was ready to be gone.

‘Hurry up and sit down, Harry. Speed is of the essence.'

The girl was on fire on my behalf, and I looked at her with great love and affection as she gave the horses a good whipping, and set us on our way out of Fort Lee.

‘So where is it we are going, sweetness?' I asked in falsetto, taking the opportunity to practise my womanly accent.

‘Ooo – too high, Harriet. Lower it.'

Hurt, I tried again.

‘Is this better?'

‘Aye, better, but still not perfect. Keep practising under your breath. ‘Twill not be long before we reach some bayonet-poking bumpkin or other. As to where we are going – a town called Paramus, a few miles north of here. A cousin of mind lives just outside there. Or did do five years ago, anyway. Might be dead now, for all I know. Never liked her much actually, but blood is thicker than water, as they say.'

‘Not something I've noticed personally,' I shrieked, still modulating, as the memory of my parents' abandonment of me sprang up spontaneously, ‘but we can live in hope.' Then,
sotto voce
, I began to recite what I remembered of Gray's
Elegy
for further practice, so that by the time we were stopped by the inevitable pickets, my voice was as near to a woman's as I could get.

‘Halt, my beauties,' called a snaggle-toothed sharp-nosed redcoat, grabbing the reins of the nearest horse as we pretended not to notice his command to stop. ‘Where be you off to in such a hurry?'

I flickered my eyelashes at him, and instantly regretted it, for it appeared to quite inflame the rogue. Handing the reins of the horse to a fellow soldier, he slowly walked round to me and asked his question again.

‘Paramus!' I squealed.

‘Oooh, Paramus. What business does a pretty girl like you have in Paramus?'

‘We're visiting my cousin,' Sophie called across boldly. ‘Now let us get past.'

‘Silence, Pie Face, it is Goldilocks here I am talking to.'

Inevitably, a hand insinuated itself up my skirt, and started rubbing my leg up and down.

‘And what's in the back of your cart, Goldilocks? Can you tell the Big Bad Wolf?'

‘I really do not know,' I squealed, smacking him down before his hand reached my todger. ‘I did not load it.'

‘Well we will have to look then, won't we? Wait there.'

I glanced at Sophie while the slimy soldier walked behind us. I could tell she was all set to whip up the horses and risk musket fire about our ears, but I supposed she was delaying the action because she was as curious as I to know what was in the back of the wagon. Looking over our shoulders, we watched as the soldier cockily grabbed the corner of the canvas, smiled up at us, and in one movement whipped it off.

Out jumped, like all the ills of the world personified, a brace of wild Rebels, screeching and swearing at the tops of their voices for maximum shock effect. They pounced on the soldier and soon had him on the ground, punching and kicking him as though they had some personal grudge against him. The second picket let go of the horse's reins and ran to help his friend – leaving the road ahead of us temptingly open.

‘Go!' I screamed, shedding all disguise, ‘Go, go, go!'

Sophie needed no encouragement; a blur of whips and arms, she lashed into the horses like a Fury, and off we shot at incredible speed. Behind us, all was still mayhem, which meant that the soldiers were too engrossed in their private battles to be bothered by our departure; nevertheless we kept up our furious pace until we were well clear of the trouble. Even then, we slowed down but little, so that I still had to hang on tight to prevent my being thrown head-first into one of many miry puddles that lined the road.

‘Enjoying this, sweetie!?' yelled Sophie, an American Boudicca with her eyes screwed up against the wind and her hair streaming out behind her.

‘Immensely, Pie Face!' I yelled back, full of excitement. ‘But are we on the right road?'

‘What?'

Perhaps, on second thoughts, it was fortunate she had not heard. I shouted the question again, omitting the reference to the pie. I received a wicked smile in return.

‘There's only one road to Paramus, Goldilocks! And it looks straight and built for speed. Hold on tight!'

Clearly exhilarated by the idea of using the road as a racetrack, Sophie stood up and thrashed the whip down again on the flanks of the hurtling horses, causing them to rocket forward with even greater acceleration than before. Cobwebs, doubts and pieces of bonnet being ripped from my head by the wind, I could only laugh out loud with fright at the sheer mindless excitement of it all, and thank God I was not one of the horses.