The Traitor's Wife: A Novel (30 page)

“Clara, you are truly skilled.” Peggy placed the wreath atop her head and tucked her blond hair, pulled back in curls, under the flowers. “Well?” Peggy turned around, spinning in a circle for her mother, sister, and Clara. “What do you think?”

Since Mrs. Shippen and Betsy seemed intent on reserving any praise, Clara weighed in. “General Arnold will feel like the luckiest man in Philadelphia when he sees you.”

Peggy beamed, crossing the room and taking Clara’s hand in hers. Leaning forward, she kissed Clara on the cheek, and the sweet smell of her fragrant crown filled Clara’s nose. “Oh Clara, thank you for making my wedding day special.”

T
HE COURTSHIP
had been lavish—the responsibility of the besotted Benedict Arnold—but the wedding was a simple ceremony and feast hosted by the Shippens.

As Clara had predicted, the groom was bashful to the point of speechlessness for most of the day, doing nothing but look on
fawningly at his bride as she chatted with her guests. Arnold looked very dignified, Clara decided, in his full military jacket and jeweled cane. He beamed with pride whenever his young wife was present, and it gave him a kind, handsome appearance.

There were few guests for the evening feast—just the Shippen family, with Uncle William Shippen, who had traveled to town for the wedding, and a small number of guests. Peggy had invited Joseph Stansbury, Meg Chew, Becky Redman, and a very shy Christianne Amile. Since Benedict Arnold had no surviving parents and the rest of his family was up north in Connecticut, he had just Major Franks attending on his side. He’d arranged to have a military band of fifes and drums to serenade his bride, and Peggy clapped and delighted in the music as she ate.

Hannah cooked, assisted by Mrs. Quigley and Brigitte, while Mr. Quigley and Clara loaded the candlelit table with platters of food and bubbling Champagne. The food was simple but savory: mutton with mint jelly, roasted vegetables, ham, potatoes, and bread with black currant preserves. For dessert there was a fruit and nut cake accompanied by cherry cobbler and gooseberry tart.

Benedict Arnold spoke before the dessert, toasting his bride and telling her family that he’d loved her since the moment he first met her at the Penn mansion. While Arnold extolled his bride’s beauty and virtue, Peggy blushed, and her laughter was as bubbly and intoxicating as the Champagne.

After the family had finished eating, Arnold loaded his bride into a carriage and drove her off, accompanied by the full military escort, to an inn for their honeymoon night.

“Goodbye, Clara!” Peggy kissed her maid before she took Major Franks’s outstretched hand and hopped into the carriage. “Clara, I love him so much,” she sighed. “How did I get so lucky?” As Clara listened to these words, the image of Cal’s face burst
across her mind. How terribly she missed him since he’d enlisted. But when she began to cry, Miss Peggy assumed they were tears of joy on her own behalf.

I
T WASN’T
until the guests had left and the servants had retreated to the kitchen to enjoy their own supper that Clara had a moment to think. And when she did, her thoughts inevitably turned to Cal. He’d left shortly after New Year’s Day. It had been a quick goodbye in a crowded kitchen. There was so much Clara would have loved to tell him, but with the eyes of everyone on her, she’d merely urged him to take care of himself and stay safe.

The past few months had been a blur of stitching Miss Peggy’s bridal gown, packing up her lady’s bedroom, arranging a feast and a party. But now, with Miss Peggy happily married, and Clara taking a moment to pause, her mind was flooded. She felt Cal’s absence like an ache in her bones.

“Hello, Clara? Where has your mind wandered off to?”

Clara blinked, seeing once more the crowded kitchen before her, the table set for supper. “Oh, I apologize, Mr. Quigley.”

“Daydreaming again?” Mrs. Quigley, still dressed in her wedding attire, served Clara a slice of cold mutton.

“I suppose I was,” Clara said, accepting the full plate from the old woman. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“I was saying—a toast to your mistress, now happily married.” Mr. Quigley raised his glass toward Clara from where he sat at the head of the table.

“Indeed.” Clara nodded, lifting her glass. “And to the groom.”

“I’ll drink to that. Poor Benedict Arnold is finally victorious in his latest siege.” Hannah chuckled.

“She’s done all right for herself as well,” Mrs. Quigley said, taking her seat beside her husband.

“Indeed.” Clara nodded.

“Your life will really change now, don’t you think?” Mr. Quigley said, as all the servants began to eat. “Moving out of this home, going with Miss Peggy to set up her own household. I’m still shocked that she managed to convince the judge that she should take you with her.”

“We all know that she can be very persuasive,” Hannah said.

“Poor Miss Betsy didn’t get to bring you to help set up her home,” Mrs. Quigley said.

Clara nodded. “But Miss Betsy seems happy enough. Mr. Burd is very good to her.”

The other servants agreed.

“And I suppose it’s good for you that you get to go with the Arnolds. You might be managing the house someday.” Mrs. Quigley smiled, a look of encouragement.

“Perhaps, ma’am.” Clara nodded. Was that what she longed for—running another’s household? The idea contained some enticement, to be sure; managing the household of a lady such as Mrs. Margaret Arnold was certainly a respectable station for an orphan who had started out on a remote farm.

“How long do you suppose it will be before the Arnolds take up residence at Mount Pleasant?” Mr. Quigley paused his eating to take a sip of cider.

Clara thought carefully before saying, “I wonder at that, myself, sir. General Arnold keeps telling Miss Peggy it’s not ready for them.”

Clara had heard the gossip in town—how General Arnold had taken out a seventy-thousand-dollar mortgage to buy the large home as a wedding gift for his bride, but now could not afford to furnish it.

“Well, they are fortunate to have the judge offering his cottage out back,” Mrs. Quigley interjected. “It’s no Mount Pleasant, but it’ll do for now. I’m sure they can stay there as long as they like.”

“Or as long as they need,” Hannah said. Clara saw the look that passed between the butler and his wife, and she suspected that she was not the only person at the table to have heard the rumors of General Arnold’s financial woes.

T
HE TABLE
had barely been cleared from their small wedding feast before the trouble began for Arnold and Peggy.

It was a warm afternoon in late April. Peggy was taking her tea in the small parlor of the Shippens’ cottage, exchanging post-wedding gossip with Joseph Stansbury. Arnold walked in on the chatting duo, leaning heavily on his cane. Clara opened the door for her new master and watched him limp in, noting that his silver-topped cane, once so lustrous, needed a polish and shine.

“Oh, hello, my darling.” Peggy rose from her chair and gave Arnold a quick kiss on his cheek. “Stansbury and I are just having some tea and catching up on the latest news.”

“Your wife is catching me up on her life since becoming a married woman, General,” Stansbury added.

“Ah, well, let’s hope she’s not telling you too much, at least not about the wedding night!” Arnold rejoined good-naturedly.

“Of course not, my love.” Peggy played the role of blushing bride. “Would you care to join us, Benny?”

“I’m afraid I cannot. Peggy my love—” Arnold paused. “Mr. Stansbury.” Arnold nodded to the china merchant. “My dear wife, might I be so rude as to demand a minute of your time?”

“Yes, of course. Sit. What is it?” Peggy cocked her head, sitting
back down in her chair. Arnold shifted his weight, looking at Stansbury.

“Oh!” Peggy understood. “Stansbury, do you mind giving me a minute alone with my husband?”

“Course not.” The merchant rose, kissing Peggy’s hand. “It’s his right, I suppose.”

“You’re a dear, Stansbury.” Peggy smiled back at the merchant. “It won’t be long. We still haven’t even gotten to what everyone wore to the wedding.”

“Oh my, did you notice how plain Meg Chew looked?” Stansbury put his long, spindly fingers to his mouth in mock horror and Peggy erupted in laughter.

“Shoo, shoo.” Peggy waved her friend away. Once Stansbury had gone, Peggy looked back to her husband. “Benny, what is it? You have me very nervous.”

Arnold fidgeted opposite her, lowering himself in the chair just vacated by the china merchant.

“It’s about Mount Pleasant, Peg.” He looked at her as if to gauge her reaction.

“Yes, what about it? When can we move? Before it gets too hot—well before July or August, I should hope. This tiny cottage will not do well in the heat.”

“I fear . . .” Arnold paused, changing tracks. “I so much regret that I have to tell you—we shall not be able to move in before the summer. Probably not before winter either.”

Arnold told his wife the news Clara had known for weeks. How he had had to take out an exorbitant mortgage to buy the home, and how his military salary did not allow him the monthly funds required for fixing up the home or buying the furniture necessary to move in. He needed time, a year or so, to try to set some funds aside. He begged and pleaded with his wife to understand,
and to make the best of their current situation in the Shippen cottage. They had a roof over their heads, after all, did they not?

Peggy listened quietly, the look on her face growing grimmer as her husband discussed the bitter vitriol his rival, Joseph Reed, was spewing thoughout town. Now that Reed was so publicly questioning Arnold’s finances and expenditures, hadn’t they better err on the side of discretion and avoid a very public move to Mount Pleasant? And perhaps, would Peggy be willing to put a temporary halt to the credit spending she was becoming known for throughout town?

When Arnold had finished speaking, he seemed to collapse farther into his chair, as if the mere confession of this sobering economic report had cost him all his energy reserves. The room was quiet, filled now by just the sound of the crackling fire.

Peggy stared into the hearth at the decomposing logs. “Well, this is something, Benedict Arnold.”

“Please, my pet, what do you think?” Arnold eyed his wife, rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture.

Finally, Peggy answered him. “What do I think?” Peg met his gaze, her cheeks red. “What do I think? I think it’s a shame that my husband is siding with the gossips throughout town over his own wife.”

“Peggy.” Arnold looked at her, his face draining of color. “Surely you know that that is not my meaning. I simply think that it might be wise if we economize a bit in the next few months. Perhaps you might not purchase quite as many new items at Coffin and Anderson? You can manage that, right, my dove?”

“You want me to live like a pauper?” Peggy leaned forward to sip tea from her full cup just as Arnold reached forward to take her hand, so that the hot drink spilled down the front of Peggy’s new gown.

“Look what you’ve done!” Peggy yelped, reaching for a napkin.
Clara ran to the kitchen and reappeared with several rags, and she began to dab the front of the gown.