The Traitor's Wife: A Novel (23 page)

She fixed her gaze on the far side of the room, avoiding his eyes.

“But you’ve been avoiding me.”

Now she looked up at him, his hazel eyes close to hers. She sighed, feeling her anger with him lessen. “I’m
not
sweet on Robert Balmor.”

“I know you’re not.” His tone was soft now, his eyes earnest.
“And I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about it. It was just that I was . . .” His voice trailed off. “Well, never mind it now. It’s in the past.” His hand went to her arm and rested there, a gentle pressure. “Now will you tell me what’s got you so upset?”

She nodded. She did wish to tell someone. “Cal, I’ve been helping Miss Peggy sort her pile of gifts.” She served herself a slice of the pie and sat down at the table.

“And these gifts wouldn’t happen to be from a certain General Benedict Arnold?” Caleb leaned on the table beside her. “I saw her ride off with Mr. Big Britches himself this morning, shortly after she received a visit from him.”

Clara nodded, telling Cal all that Miss Peggy had told her about this morning’s errand to Benedict Arnold’s home.

“Well, are you certain that Miss Peggy saw it correctly?” Caleb had turned back to the fruit preserves, his face serious as he questioned her.

“How could she see anything other than what was there?” Clara asked, serving herself a second piece of the pie. “She described row after row of confiscated merchandise.”

Caleb thought about this. “The goods must have been taken from Philadelphia’s stores when Arnold and his men declared martial law and closed them.”

“I’m telling you, she described tables, chairs, dishes, chandeliers, foodstuff. And the dresses, you would not believe the dresses she returned home with. I thought Miss Peggy’s eyes were going to pop clear out of her head.”

“Where is Arnold keeping all of these goods?” Caleb asked.

“The alley behind the Penn mansion,” Clara said, her mouth full of food.

Caleb nodded.

“The way Miss Peggy spoke of it, it seems all of the goods are
sprawled out back there. Wagons and wagons full of clothing, shoes, household wares. All of Philadelphia’s wealth, right there behind his home.”

“What could he be planning to do with all them goods?” Caleb asked.

“Give them all as gifts to Miss Peggy, from the sound of it.” Clara poured herself a mug of cider. “A drink?”

Caleb nodded, wiping his hands on the soiled rag. “But he can’t simply be planning to give them all as gifts. Not with that many goods.” Caleb sat opposite Clara, thinking for several moments before answering. “Arnold must be planning to sell them.”

This triggered a thought. Clara frowned, sliding a full mug toward Cal. “You know the British china merchant? That Joseph Stansbury?”

Caleb nodded. “Miss Peggy’s friend.”

“The other night at the party, when Miss Peggy met General Arnold, I overheard Christianne Amile telling Miss Peggy something interesting.” Clara considered what she was about to say before continuing. “Miss Peggy asked why Stansbury was absent. Christianne answered that Stansbury was in New York. She said that General Arnold had that china merchant conducting business for him up there.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes as he looked at Clara. “But New York is enemy territory. Arnold would have to write a pass to allow Stansbury to cross enemy lines into New York.”

“Would the military commander of Philadelphia have that power?” Clara asked.

Caleb sighed, nodding. “Arnold is selling the confiscated goods in New York. And he’s using the merchant to do it for him.” He thought about this, his brow knit together. “I can’t believe Arnold would do it.”

They sat across from each other in thoughtful silence, Clara sipping her drink. Caleb spoke first. “He
is
always complaining about how the Continental Congress owes him thousands. Why, Arnold has railed against the Congress for years, griping about their debt to him. Guess they never reimbursed him after he fed and quartered his men in Quebec for the entire winter of ’seventy-six. And after he lost a leg for them.”

“Yes, but to take your money back in such a dishonest way?” Clara frowned.

“Lots of ’em dabble in the black market, I suppose. You saw the cartload full of goods André left town with.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “But I never exactly thought of Major André as a pillar of virtue.”

“But he’s not the only one who does it.” Caleb rubbed his chin with his fingers.

Clara sighed, her mood hardly lifted by this conversation.

“He’ll get found out. Sooner or later.” Caleb gripped his mug of ale.

“I don’t think so.” Clara shook her head. “Who would dare stop Arnold? He’s beloved by the whole city, the whole thirteen colonies.”

“I’ll tell you who—that Joseph Reed,” Caleb answered. Clara’s mind went back to the evening of the party at the Penn mansion, and the plainly dressed couple standing alone in the corner, scowling at their host. Miss Peggy had spoken of Joseph and Blanche Reed with such disdain.

Clara’s mind was trying to make sense of this. “But how is Joseph Reed in a position to stop Benedict Arnold from selling Philadelphia’s confiscated goods?”

“Clara, don’t you read the papers?” Cal was grinning at her. “Joseph Reed has been named governor of Pennsylvania.”

“But I thought Arnold was already governor?” Clara wondered aloud.

“Arnold is military governor of Philadelphia. He runs the army here. But Joseph Reed is the governor of Pennsylvania’s Executive Council.”

“So, aren’t they on the same side, then?” Clara asked.

“Oh, sweet Clara Bell.” Cal eyed her in a quizzical way, as if trying to prevent some deeper emotion from spilling through his playful, hazel eyes. Clara shifted in her seat.

“What, Caleb? Why are you looking at me like that?” She broke his eye contact, trying to dispel the awkwardness she felt at the intensity of his stare. “Anyhow, aren’t Arnold and Reed on the same side?”

He blinked, and he was calm, lighthearted Cal once more. “That’s what you would think.
But when you’re in a position of power, your friends can become more dangerous than your enemies.”

“Meaning?” Clara asked.

“Meaning Joseph Reed and Benedict Arnold are bitter rivals.”

Peggy would be so thrilled to hear it.

“C
LARA, CAN
you believe how much he sent me back with?” Peggy was a woman possessed, her spirits soaring higher than Clara had seen in months. “Come in!” She pranced around the bedroom, sorting and re-sorting the piles of new gowns, hoopskirts, jewelry, ribbons, and shoes. All the goods Arnold had stacked into the carriage and sent back to the Shippen household from his back-alley cache.

“I thought we had put them all away.” Clara eyed the mess
sprawled across her lady’s bedchamber, shoulders sagging at her work being undone.

“Oh, but I wanted to see them again,” Peggy sighed, enfolding herself in a shawl of feather-light cherry silk. “Betsy is going to be so jealous. Why, not even John André could have provided me with such fine clothing.”

“You have so much, perhaps you might share some of it with Miss Betsy.” Clara scooped up a pair of satin shoes from the crowded rug.

“Perhaps.” Peggy considered the suggestion. “If I find something I don’t like. You’re so kind, Clara.”

Clara didn’t respond as she deposited the shoes back in Peggy’s armoire.

“Arnold must be the richest man in Philadelphia.” Peggy spoke in a singsong manner, fiddling with the shawl before the mirror. “Will there even be enough parties to wear all these gowns to?”

Clara removed an emerald gown from the bed and hung it in the wardrobe.

“I’ll just have to tell Arnold to host lots of balls at the Penn mansion.” Picking up a lightweight salmon skirt, Peggy went twirling in a circle until she fell to the ground, melting into a pile of clothing. “Can’t you just imagine it, Clara? Little old me—presiding over galas in the Penn mansion! Lady of the house . . .” Peggy’s mind raced forward into her fantasy, and she fell so deeply into the imaginary scene that she forgot the words necessary to narrate it.

The gifts kept coming all throughout the summer. Each time Benedict Arnold came calling, accompanied by his dog Barley, he’d appear with a treat. Sometimes it was a bottle of Champagne, sometimes it was a new hat in the latest style being modeled in Europe. Sometimes it was an invitation to a dinner party or card game at his home. He never showed up empty-handed, and Peggy never
failed to greet him with her most effusive praise, her most appreciative smile.

Peggy no longer complained to her father that she was hungry or tired of the food that Hannah cooked. She ate with Arnold at least once a day, taking either luncheon or dinner with him, if not both.

“Clara, you won’t believe how much I ate today.” Peggy had just returned one stifling afternoon in late summer, demanding that her maid unfasten her corset. “I’m going to burst. We started with baked sole and beef fillets with morels and truffles, followed by goose and peas and roasted duck. Next we had gooseberry tart, sweetbreads, plum pudding, fruit and nuts. And Champagne—a Champagne refill with every course!” Peggy let out a long belch. “Arnold told his footmen to make sure that my glass was never empty.”

“That sounds lovely, miss.” Clara pulled on the stays to loosen them, thinking hungrily of the feast her mistress described. How Clara would have loved to savor a bite of beef fillet. Still, she and the entire Shippen household had no reason to complain of hunger. Even though most of their luncheons were made up of salt fish these days, it was better than their countrymen who lived outside the city—starving and struggling to stay fed on what they could forage or hunt. Some of them, Cal said, would have considered squirrel meat a feast.

“I must watch myself or I might get fat under Arnold’s constant indulgences.” Peggy stepped out of her corset and looked approvingly at her now revealed figure in the mirror opposite her. It was true that she had regained the soft curves that she had lost after André’s departure; her waist still thinned to a narrow middle, but beneath it and above it, her hips and bust had bloomed outward into a full, feminine silhouette.

“Though Arnold tells me that I’m perfect just as I am.” Peggy flopped onto her featherbed, and before Clara had finished removing her shoes, she was snoring in a heavy, feast-induced stupor.

In addition to filling Peggy’s stomach with endless meals and bubbling Champagne, Benedict Arnold stopped by the Shippen home regularly that summer, paying his respects to Judge and Mrs. Shippen and inviting Peggy on a steady parade of outings. Whereas André had wooed her with the chivalry of a man visiting a brothel—luring Peggy away from soirees for clandestine midnight meetings—Arnold wooed Peggy in the broad daylight of his good and honest intentions. Clara noticed, with relief, that her mistress responded in kind. Peggy now behaved like a genteel belle of unimpeachable virtue. Arnold seemed to take pleasure in spoiling Peggy, and she showed her delight generously and gratefully. He took her to the theater, and for picnics along the Schuylkill River, and gave dinner parties with her as his hostess whenever an honorary came to town. On such occasions, Peggy would fill the home with her beautiful companions—inviting her sister, and Meg Chew, and Christianne Amile, and Becky Redman. In the past, Peggy would not have allowed her rivals to get so close to the man she had set her sights on. But Clara knew—as she watched Peggy adjust Arnold’s cravat, feed him tasty morsels of gooseberry tart, sit on his knee and light his pipe for him—that this time around, Peggy Shippen felt absolutely no threat. She held Benedict Arnold’s generous heart in her fair, soft little hand and she, and everyone around her, knew it.

I
T WAS
a Saturday afternoon in late August. Arnold was driving Peggy and Clara back to the Shippen home in his spacious carriage.
He’d taken his lady and her parents to a matinee comedy, the subject of which was a very blind King George III requiring all sorts of assistance to help him read the Declaration of Independence. Halfway through the performance, Mrs. Shippen had complained that her headache had grown too severe as to allow her to enjoy the performance, and her husband had asked Caleb to escort them home. This left Peggy and her maid to be delivered home in Arnold’s carriage, a responsibility Arnold had happily accepted.