Ring of Secrets (33 page)

Laughter and tears vied for a place in her throat. She swallowed both down. That was the face of a man denying the truth if she had ever seen one. And someone so determined to ignore the gentle whisper of God would not want to listen to her prod him about it. “Then I shall pray you will.”

At least the stubbornness melted away, replaced by the amused arch of a brow. “Are you saying that to agitate me, my love?”

“Only in part.” She gave him her most mischievous smile and made no objection when he motioned to the path that meandered through the garden.

The greater part was pure honesty. She must pray. Not only for her country, her father, her friend, her cause. But also for the man she loved.

Twenty

T
oday if ye will hear his voice, harden not your heart.

Ben scowled at the snippet of the psalm that battered his mind every time he looked over at Winter. That same verse had plagued him for days, ever since she had posed her ridiculous question.

“Have you never heard the voice of the Lord, Bennet?”

Of course he hadn't. The very idea was preposterous. Providence had no need to speak to him, and these verses that sprang to memory at key moments were little more than the workings of his own mind. A mind perfectly capable of directing him, one the Lord had created with the ability to reason and make decisions.
That
was the role of God.

An argument he had no desire to bring up again with Winter, seeing how worn she still looked and knowing well what she would think of his position. He had never dreamed his words the other day would upset her so acutely. But then, she was overtired.

He stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Shadows still circled her eyes, but she seemed to be enjoying the book he had brought her. Mrs. Hampton had pursed her lips in disapproval of his choice, had made a comment about how different his gifts were from Fairchild's. Her tone had covered snideness with sugar.

Ben had only grinned. Winter had confessed how tired she grew
of candy and confection, and he was far more set on pleasing her than her grandmother. She enjoyed Shakespeare, he knew, and so the book of sonnets would entertain her well.

Mrs. Hampton made an annoyed sound and slanted a hard gaze at her granddaughter. “Why do you not read that after our guest has left, Winnie?”

Winter put a ribbon in the page and offered a peaceful smile. “I wanted him to know how much I appreciate the gift.”

The elder lady lifted her chin. “Appreciation ought not to be expressed by neglect. Do forgive my granddaughter, Mr. Lane. Tell me, have you heard lately from your father?”

“Indeed, ma'am.” Ben nodded and cleared his throat. He wished the letter from Father hadn't left him with such bittersweet feelings. “He has acquainted himself well with Clefton, which greatly pleases his uncle, whose health is fragile.”

Mrs. Hampton nodded. “I am glad to hear he has settled in so well. And I imagine he wishes you to join him soon, as you too will have to acquaint yourself with the estate.”

Hence the bitter side of his feelings. Bennet loosed a long breath. “He did indeed express such a desire, but I have no intention of leaving New York yet.” And when he did, he had every intention of heading back to Connecticut, not across the Atlantic.

An argument he intended to put off until he had finished his business here.

The lady smiled, smug. “Of course not. But Winnie and I were talking before you arrived about how she longs to see England.”

Winter sent her grandmother a questioning look. “Were we? I believe, Grandmother, that you were saying how much
you
would like me to see England.”

Ben grinned at Winter. “And what of Connecticut, my dear? Would you like to see that?”

“Indeed.” She flashed that mischievous smile he so loved. “It sounds terribly exotic. So very unlike New York.”

He chuckled even as her grandmother scowled. If she kept this up, she would soon rival her husband with her dour glances. “Winnie darling, do not be impudent. Really, sir, I don't know what has come over her of late.”

“No need for apologies.” Ben cleared his throat again, wishing he could rid himself of all anxiety with so simple a motion. But so long as his father had expectations he did not intend to fulfill, he knew well the discomfort would bind him. He caught Winter's eye. “In truth, ma'am, I am not so eager to cross the Atlantic myself. My home has always been here.”

Something shifted in Winter's face and relaxed. While Mrs. Hampton stared at him with mouth agape, Winter raised her hands and arched one finger from her mouth outward, one of the signs she had taught him.
Really?

He made a discreet knocking motion.
Yes.

Mrs. Hampton huffed. “When it comes to family responsibilities, Mr. Lane, our personal desires must be put aside. Surely you realize that. Why, to think of all those for whom you will be responsible! 'Tis unthinkable that you would let them down.”

“Unthinkable indeed.” But Archie would rise to the occasion. Ben had long thought that all his brother needed to shove him into maturity was direction. He had hoped the military would provide it, but the army ran too amuck in New York. A British estate, though, would be all Archie's dreams come true. His current attitude may in fact be due to being denied what he so wanted.

Winter looked ready to respond but was stayed by the opening of the door. The butler walked in, concern upon his face. “Colonel Fairchild, ma'am.”

Mrs. Hampton frowned, but the colonel gave her no chance to turn him away. He burst into the room with heaving shoulders and agony in his expression. “Forgive me for barging in, but I must—I am sorry. It is Major André. He has been captured.”

Ben and Winter both took to their feet. She slowly, as if dazed. Ben felt like a cannon exploding from the sofa, so forceful was his incredulity. “Captured? But how?”

Fairchild shook his head, nostrils flaring. “I have tried to piece it all together from various reports. So far as I can tell, the meeting with General Arnold went according to plan. The price for his defection was decided on, and he promised to turn over West Point.”

Ben started, eyes going wide. Benedict Arnold was the turncoat? He never would have guessed. Given her quick, startled breath, Winter was taken aback as well.

Fairchild paced to the window and clasped shaking hands behind his back. “The general was supposed to have already made provisions for André's return through the Patriot territory. Supposed to have sent out messages letting his men know that a ‘Mr. Anderson' would be traveling through and stating that he was sympathetic to their cause.”

Winter took a step toward Fairchild but then halted. Ben had never seen an expression quite like the one on her face, some strange variation of horrified disbelief. “When was this?”

“Saturday, the twenty-third.” He lifted a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes. “From what I can gather, he was stopped by Patriots…or perhaps locals out to make some coin. He must have misspoken to them, though I cannot fathom it. André always knew what to say. I would have thought he could talk his way out of any situation.”

Ben could scarcely fathom it himself. A hard knot cinched tight in his stomach, and the words he had spoken to Townsend about his cousin came back to him now. The Patriots were still seeking recompense for the hanging of their scout Nathan Hale nearly four years ago. If they had captured André, who was indeed about covert business out of military uniform, then they would have no choice. He would be hanged.

Much as he hated it, Ben understood that. But why did another young man he dared to call a friend have to get caught up in this? Hale, and now André. Perhaps he was not exceptionally close to either of them, but both he knew. Both he had talked and laughed with.

Both deserved grieving.

Mrs. Hampton snapped her fan shut. “What terrible news, Colonel. Perhaps he shall escape. Or be released.”

“I fear not, ma'am.” Fairchild's hand fell to his side and dangled as if he had no fight left in him. “His execution is set for the second of October.”

“Oh, Colonel.” Winter moved over to him and rested a hand on his arm. “I am so sorry.”

“I know.” He covered her hand with his but kept his gaze out the window. “We are all sorry. I have to think that even his executioners will be sorry if they take a moment to converse with him over the next week. Never have I met anyone so charming and likeable as John
André. And yet that can change nothing. He played a game too dangerous, and he lost.”

Ben's fingers curled into his palm. “What of General Arnold? Was he captured as well?”

Fairchild spun around, eyes narrowed. Then he relaxed. “I called him by name. Well, it hardly matters now. Our scouts have reported a flurry of activity that indicates they discovered his involvement, but that he escaped West Point before he could be captured. I expect he will arrive in the city any day.”

“Good.” Mrs. Hampton sniffed and made her posture more regal than ever. “I'm of the opinion that a man, once a traitor, can never be trusted by anyone, but it will be a welcome blow to the rebels.”

Winter drew in a long breath. “I will pray for the major. And for you, Colonel.”

“Thank you, Miss Reeves.” Fairchild offered a wavering smile. “I appreciate your every prayer, for both myself and André. I ought to get back. I had to see you, though. To let you know. To…”

To get what comfort he could from the woman he loved. Ben sighed and wished there were some formula to simplify a situation. Or, while he was dreaming of such alchemy, to right the wrongs of the world. But all he could do was send an understanding, encouraging smile to Winter when she clasped Fairchild's hand between both of hers. And, when the colonel nodded and turned, dejected, toward the door, clap a hand to his shoulder to stay him. “I know there is probably nothing I can do. But if there is…”

Fairchild nodded. “I do appreciate it, Lane. Perhaps we could plan an outing for the second. To keep me busy. I will not be good company, I know, but—”

“I shall come up with something. 'Tis the least I can do.”

His gaze straight ahead and lips pressed together—no doubt to quell rising emotion—Fairchild exited without another word.

“Well.” Mrs. Hampton huffed and smoothed out her skirt. “That was certainly unexpected news. I am sorry for Major André. He struck me as a fine young man. But then, such is always a possibility when one opts for military life. I am of the mind that if one sends one's kin off to war, one might as well as assume they are marching to their deaths.”

Winter spun to face her grandmother, two blooms of scarlet
bringing life back to her wan cheeks. “Grandmother! What a dreadful thing to say.”

For a moment, Mrs. Hampton wore an expression of belligerent victory that made no sense whatsoever, but then she glanced over at Ben and her eyes widened. “Do forgive me, Mr. Lane! It slipped my mind that your brother is in the army.”

He forced a smile and returned to Winter's side. When he took her hand, he found her trembling. From the shock of André's fate or anger? “Think nothing of it, ma'am.”

But he would not be able to put it so easily from his own mind. Why had the woman said such a thing, with such a pointed expression? An expression pointed at Winter?

He drew in a deep breath as they took their seats on the sofa once more. It would seem they knew something he didn't. Which was one of his least favorite states in which to be.

A gust of wind sent spikes of cold rain into Winter's face as she all but ran down Queen Street, Freeman keeping pace with her. Earlier that day she had breathed in the scent of autumnal leaves with a smile, had taken solace in the cool breath of the air. Had spent an hour of prayer in the garden and had enjoyed every moment of silent communion under blue September skies.

Now the biting rain was welcome. Her concealing cloak didn't look out of place, and no one would think anything of her pulling it low over her face. Assuming anyone else was fool enough to be out in the building storm.

With each footfall, her heart galloped ahead. Her fingers curled tighter into her cloak's fabric. Her spirit cried within her.