The Traitor's Wife: A Novel (24 page)

Though she and Cal had watched the show from the rear of the theater, like the other servants, Clara had enjoyed herself that afternoon. She had never been to a play before, and she found it amusing how the men jostled about in costumes and masks on stage. Arnold and Peggy, however, had left the theater in foul spirits. “The signing of the Declaration of Independence—it’s the moment of this fight for liberty that people will always remember.” Arnold sat beside Peggy in the carriage, his brow stitched in a tight knot. “Jefferson and Adams always get all the credit. You know why I wasn’t present when they signed the Declaration of Independence?” Arnold looked up to Peggy.

“Why, my love?” Peggy asked, her voice gentle.

“I was defending Fort Ticonderoga. And Lake Champlain. Someone had to be there, or else Burgoyne and his entire army would have streamed down from Canada and ended our war for liberty before it had even started. There would have been no Declaration of Independence if not for me!”

“Yours was a far nobler pursuit, my dear Benny.” Peggy comforted Arnold with a light pat of her hand. “With what you’ve suffered for the cause, you are entitled to a large share in the glory.”

But Arnold did not appear consoled. “Did I not deserve to be there? To have my name memorialized on that document?” Arnold’s features screwed up in a frustration that he’d never before
shown in Peggy’s presence. “Instead, I’m here in Philadelphia three years too late. And putting up with that snake, Reed, besmirching my name at every dinner party he attends.”

“Well, of course you deserved to be there for the signing,” Peggy answered, cowed by Arnold’s nasty mood. “But no one shall ever remember their names—all crowded on that piece of paper like lines of a child’s scribble. But yours, Benedict Arnold, yours is a name which shall be remembered by history. You mark my words, dearest.”

Arnold thought about this in silence, wincing and clutching his leg protectively as the carriage jostled over the cobblestones of Fourth Street. Finally, he looked up and answered. “You are right, my sweet Peg.” He nodded, his melancholy evaporating under her attention. “You are my angel, always here to point out the good.” He placed a soft kiss on her cheek, which she received with an adoring smile.

“Ugh,” Peggy gasped.

“What?” Arnold looked at her, his face growing concerned.

“Look who it is,” Peggy answered, her voice now with an edge to it. They pulled up alongside a carriage, plainer and smaller than Arnold’s, and Clara detected the familiar, oval face.

“Joseph Reed.” Arnold lowered his voice to a menacing snarl.

“Everything about that man is dull. Even his carriage.” Peggy watched the man, her expression as taut as if she’d just drunk from a bitter draft. Reed, for his part, had not yet noticed Arnold’s carriage beside his.

“Well, of course. Because he’s so frugal and honorable, right?” Arnold’s tone dripped with contempt. “Above reproach, that Joseph Reed. All he cares about is his country. Joseph Reed is a man without vice, didn’t you know, Peg?”

“I can’t stand to look at him. That long, pale
moonface
!” And
then, Clara noticed, a sly smirk began to spread across the features of her mistress’s face.

“Benny, I think I have an idea. A way to show Mr.
Moonface
just how highly we think of him.”

Arnold looked from Reed to Peggy. “What’s that?”

Peggy cocked her head, leaning close and whispering something into her suitor’s ear.

“Ah! Ha ha ha! Peggy, you’re terrible.” Arnold’s thunderous laughter shook the carriage.

To the groom, Peggy called out: “Keep apace with Reed’s carriage.” Turning back to Arnold now, Peggy snickered. “Do it, Benny, hurry!”

And to Clara’s utter mortification, she watched in frozen horror as the commander of the Philadelphia army pulled himself to a stand in his carriage, bent over, and pulled his breeches down. When Reed did suddenly notice the carriage lingering beside his, with the military commander of Philadelphia fully exposed before him, the look of horror only prompted Peggy into further hysterics.

S
UMMER STRETCHED
on in Philadelphia, the sun’s rays warming the Schuylkill River and promising a good harvest of the farmland around the city, and a tenuous period of truce reigned in the Shippen home. Mrs Shippen and Betsy were so busy planning Betsy’s December wedding that they paid little attention to Peggy’s routine, nor did they notice when she stayed out later than perhaps was prudent. Judge Shippen, though not pleased with his young daughter’s budding relationship with the city’s much-older commander, at least seemed resigned to the courtship. His daughter had finally
stopped complaining about the scarcity of food and wine on their table and the absence of new silk in her wardrobe.

As the days shortened and crisp, clear air settled in around them, carrying with it the first hints of the coming autumn, Clara found herself starting to feel at home for the first time since she’d arrived at the Shippen home. Peggy was happy, and thus treated Clara kindly. Betsy was equally happy, visiting with Neddy Burd and planning for a life after the wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Quigley seemed satisfied with the work Clara was doing—guiding her with a gentle firmness and giving her plenty of opportunity to help in the home. Hannah, it seemed, had come to appreciate Clara’s constant company in the kitchen, and had taken to saving her extra-large pieces of pie for dessert. “We need to fatten you up, girl. Didn’t they feed you on that farm?”

Her only complaint that autumn was the absence of Cal. The cooler weather brought with it plenty of new work for him, often drawing him out of doors and away from the Shippen home for days at a time. She’d watch him return to the kitchen late at night, sleeves rolled up and glistening with sweat after long days outside. He had a winter’s worth of firewood to collect from the nearby woods, a smokehouse and root cellar to stock, and the raking to complete, not to mention his regular work as a horse groom and footman. When those chores were done, he’d turn next to the apple harvest.

Clara begged Caleb to let her help with this last job. “I worked outdoors at the farm. And besides, Peggy barely needs me now that she spends entire afternoons with Arnold,” she’d coaxed as Caleb had wiped his brow, nearly collapsing at the servants’ dinner table at the end of a particularly long day. He’d finally acquiesced, enlisting her help in picking the apples that grew in the Shippens’ small orchard. They made an efficient team, working side by side with stretches of laughter and stretches of amicable silence. He’d prop
the ladder and climb high into the trees, tossing down apples. She’d catch them, deposit them into brimming barrels, and deliver the haul to Hannah for fresh applesauce, apple butter, apple bread, and apple tarts. Clara loved the afternoons in the golden sun of late autumn. When they’d take breaks, Caleb would sit on a low branch and strum his guitar while she, propped up against the trunk of the tree, would eat apples until she grew full and sleepy. The evenings in the kitchen were just as pleasant, as she’d sit at the table playing cards with the rest of the servants and take greedy inhalations of the air, heavy with the aroma of the cooking fruit.

Caleb was different from the Quigleys, or Hannah and Brigitte. He was a friend, perhaps the first close friend she’d ever had. And certainly the first boy she’d ever been close to. She noticed herself looking forward to meeting Caleb in the kitchen at mealtimes, or in the evenings at the end of their days. He’d always ask her how her day with Miss Peggy had gone, and he’d listen intently as she’d describe the list of activities they’d completed. He would fill her in on the progress he’d made in the smoking of the meat or winterizing the barns.

Sometimes, at the end of a long evening of good-natured chatter beside the hearth, Clara would leave Caleb to retire to her bedroom and she’d find, to her surprise, that his presence lingered with her even after they’d parted ways. She often spent nights, after her prayers were completed, lying in bed and replaying the conversations she’d had with Cal. Wondering about Cal. Did he think of her as often as she thought of him? But always, these daydreams about Cal were accompanied by Oma’s stern warnings: boys only brought trouble. For Clara, the most important thing to do was to work hard and keep her employers happy. She reminded herself of this each morning as she rose from bed, scolding herself for the fact that he was often the first person she thought of.

And her hard work seemed to be noticed by all whom she served. Even General Arnold had come to enjoy Clara’s presence in his life, it seemed. When he’d send Major Franks over in a carriage laden with gifts for Peggy, he’d always include something extra for Clara: a small jewel, a vial of cordial, or a silk sash. To Clara’s surprise, Peggy wasn’t jealous of the gifts her beau bestowed on her maid—it actually brought a smile to her face.

“He’s a smart man, my Benny. He knows the strategy of a siege: you must win the support of the locals. The way to victory in conquering a maiden’s heart is by winning over her maid.”

T
HE COOLER
weather brought with it news from Europe that seemed to cheer everyone in the colonies, including General Washington himself.

“Spain has joined France in supporting our war for freedom!” Caleb rushed, breathless, into the kitchen, waving a discarded newspaper. All the servants paused their morning chores. Even Brigitte looked up from her sweeping to listen.

“ ‘The declaration of Spain in favor of France has given universal joy,’ ” George Washington was quoted as saying in the
Pennsylvania Packet
. “ ‘The poor Tory droops like a withering flower under a declining sun.’ ”

And yet, there was one Tory who did not appear to be withering, but rather seemed to be blooming before Clara’s eyes.

“A splendid day for a picnic.” Peggy looked out her bedroom window as Arnold’s carriage halted on the cobblestone street below. The door opened and Barley the dog hopped out, followed by Arnold’s hulking frame, tenuously supported by his jeweled cane.

“His leg continues to worsen,” Peggy observed, her shoulders dropping. “He can barely walk.”

For their picnic, they chose a meadow of sun-warmed grass beneath a willow on the bank of the Schuykill, a half hour’s ride out of the city. Clara stepped out of the carriage, carrying the picnic hamper, and admired the spot. Their view along the river looked directly across at Mount Pleasant, one of Pennsylvania’s largest mansions.

The mansion had been constructed in the fashionable Georgian style and was made up of white and red brick. Rows of clean windows pierced its façade, including a grand picture window in the middle over the front door. Atop the house was a rooftop balcony, and Clara imagined sitting up there on a pleasant night, looking down on the shimmering surface of the Schuylkill. The leaves on the surrounding trees had just begun to change color, and the tapestry of rich amber, bright yellow, and deep burgundy surrounded the mansion. Somewhere in the distance, a fire warmed a farmer’s cottage, filling the meadow with the welcoming scent of the cozy hearth.

Arnold had prepared a hamper full of apples, goat’s milk cheese, bread, marmalade, wine, and grapes for the occasion. Clara had slipped into invisibility, as she always did when Arnold and Peggy became consumed with each other. As she spread the blanket out on the grass, her thoughts turned to Cal, and how nice it would be for them to take such a picnic as this one. It wasn’t until she noticed Barley nosing his way into the food hamper that Clara came back to herself.

“How about some wine, Clara?” Peggy sat on the blanket, adjusting her straw hat to shield her eyes from the sun.

“To your health, madame. You look fairer today than you’ve ever looked before.” Arnold kissed Peggy’s cheek, clinking her
wineglass against his own. Her coral gown was the perfect complement to the shades tinting the leaves on the trees, and her cheeks had a rosy hue from the gentle breeze.

“Benny, you say that every day.” Peggy took a sip of her wine.

“Because it’s true, Peg—every day that I see you, you are prettier than the day before.”

Peggy smiled, feeding herself a slice of apple. “You seem nervous today.” She looked at him, watching him drain a full glass of wine. He gestured toward Clara for a refill.