The Traitor's Wife: A Novel (51 page)

“Good gracious, girl, what are you waiting for?” Mrs. Quigley grew irritated at Clara as she lingered in the kitchen each morning, asking if that day’s post had arrived. “You look as though you’re expecting a letter from General George Washington himself.”

No, Clara thought to herself. But nearly as important.

September marched on, and all around them it seemed that the world was preparing for the arrival of General Washington. Major Franks and a stream of officers rode in daily from West Point, carrying maps and lists of troop numbers and plans for the fortifications and improvements at the camp. Arnold no longer simply feigned interest as he pored over the documents and listened to the briefings. Now he spent his days studying maps, asking questions, dispatching messengers across the river. His men, delighted by their commander’s heightened interest in the fort, dispatched every one of his orders dutifully.

M
EANWHILE, INSIDE
the Arnold home, Peggy was preparing for the meeting with André.

At the insistence of his wife, Arnold wrote André to tell him that their terms had in fact changed; the news of Washington’s coming visit gave the Arnolds even greater power. At the meeting at Smith’s, Arnold would turn over to André the plans and papers on West Point, which he had spent the month collecting. In return, André would deliver him a pouch of six thousand pounds. Once the fort was surrendered to the British, at the end of a highly unequal battle, Arnold would receive the remaining fourteen thousand pounds in silver he’d demanded. If Washington happened to be trapped in the battle, the Arnolds had every reason to expect an invitation into the ranks of the British nobility.

“If we can deliver the biggest fish of them all—” Arnold started, allowing his wife to finish his thought.

“Then this time next year, we shall be dining with King George the Third, as Lord and Lady Arnold.”

C
LARA, HAVING
heard no reply from Caleb, still had to find a way to join the expedition. As the days dwindled, Clara struggled to plant this idea. Finally, on the eve of their trip, she tried her luck.

“Clara Bell.” Arnold sat beside his wife on the porch, the two of them watching the sun slip behind West Point as dusk settled over the yard.

“Hello, General, Mrs. Arnold.” Clara nodded to each one in turn, delivering the jug of ale that they had requested. “The river looks nice tonight, does it not?”

“Is Little Eddy asleep?” Peggy asked, ignoring her maid’s small talk.

“Aye, ma’am.”

“The river does look nice,” Arnold replied more good-naturedly, accepting his mug.

“Let’s hope that it stays calm.” Clara kept her eyes only on Arnold.

“At least until tomorrow,” he added, sipping his drink. “You know, Clara, that Mrs. Arnold and I will be setting off down the river tomorrow night? On business.”

“Aye, sir.” Clara nodded. Of course she knew. “Such a long journey to make twice in such a short time. The rowing must get very tiresome. I hope you know that if you require assistance, I would gladly come to help with the labor.”

Clara floated the idea, knowing that Arnold would never accept the offer. But she hoped that it might give rise to another idea.

“Ha! Rowing? You?” Peggy reacted as Clara had guessed she would.

“It’s kind of you, Clara.” Arnold smiled. “But I can’t ask you to row a boat.”

“Understood.” Clara nodded, looking down the river toward the south. “Besides, I’d just be a distraction once I got there. They’d probably wonder why General Arnold brought two women with him to the meeting.”

Arnold looked up at her, his eyes alert. And then, looking out over the river, he began to stroke his whiskers. After several minutes, he spoke. “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea that you join us, Clara.”

Peggy turned, glancing at her husband in shock. “What are you saying, Benedict? Absolutely not.”

“Perhaps Clara should accompany us down the river.” Arnold still stared out at the Hudson.

“Why would she come? She has no cause joining us, Benedict.”

“Peggy, you understand well the need to distract Smith. The last time around, he seemed adamant that he would join me when André arrived. I’ll need to present a serious diversion to keep him occupied. The only thing more disarming than a beautiful woman,” Arnold continued, looking between the two ladies, “is
two
beautiful women. We could dress Clara up as your sister.”

“Absolutely not.” Peggy shook her head in slow determination. “Have you gone mad?”

“Come now, Peg. Think about it: Smith is less likely to wander off with you if it means it’s just him and another man’s wife; he’d think it indecent. If we hope to lure him away from my meeting with André, it would be helpful to have the two of you.”

“I won’t have Clara masquerading as my sister.”

“Why ever not?”

“Ha! Do you really think that Smith would believe the two of us could be sisters?”

Arnold looked from his wife to Clara. “Yes, I think it could be quite plausible indeed.”

Peggy gestured between the two women. “Look at the difference between us—I’m a lady, she’s a maid.”

“But the only difference is in the clothing, really.” Arnold ignored, or didn’t notice, the irate look on his wife’s face. “And we will do one of those hairstyles . . . puffs . . . or whatever you call them.” Arnold waved his hands vaguely around his head.

“Poufs!”
Peggy snapped.

“Right. Well, we shall dress her up like you. The two of you, side by side, will be the perfect duo to distract our oblivious host. You’ll play cards, and dance with him, and ply him with wine. And once he’s sufficiently enamored of you both, André and I will slip away to discuss the matters at hand.”

“L
ET’S GET
this over with.” Peggy reluctantly marched Clara to her wardrobe and stared inside. “He wants us to look alike, so you’ll need something pink.” Peggy winced, putting her hand to her waist. Peggy was already dressed in her outfit for the evening’s journey. “Goodness, these stays are tight.” She looked through the parade of dresses. “You can’t wear the magenta, because it’s too nice. I don’t want you wearing the silk one in light pink, it’s too similar to mine. You’ll wear this one.” Peggy pulled out a dress of peach-colored taffeta. It may have been her least favorite gown in the pink hue, but it was likely the most beautiful dress Clara would ever wear.

It was strange. Dressing in this fine clothing after she’d spent years cleaning and mending these dresses. Clara obeyed, silently, as Peggy slid her into a shift, then a corset, followed by a wide hoopskirt, and finally the restrictive stays. How Peggy wore this bone corset every day, Clara could not understand, and it gave her some small insight into why Peggy was always so irritable. Clara had never been so immodestly poked, tugged, and yanked. Finally, once the undergarments were firmly in place, she slithered into the peach-colored taffeta. The gown felt like cool, smooth water running over her skin. As she watched the fabric sway, catching the light so that it reflected a faint shimmer of evening sunshine, Clara couldn’t help but admire the figure she cut in the mirror.

“I suppose you can pass for a lady, after all.” Peggy’s mood had risen slightly as the hour for the visit approached. She gave Clara pearls to wear around her neck and hang from her ears. Clara lifted her own blond hair into the
pouf
she’d fashioned for Peggy so many times, even allowing Peggy to string a few strands
of pearls through her curled tresses. It felt surreal, performing these duties on herself.

When she was done, Clara stood beside her mistress and looked in the mirror. The two of them did look like sisters, even twins. “Benny will be impressed with how I’ve been able to transform you.” Peggy turned to the maid, her face growing stern as she said. “But do not get accustomed to this. This is the only time I will ever allow it, and it’s only so that my husband can be successful in his conversation with Johnny.”

“I understand, Miss Peggy.” Clara nodded, suddenly feeling as though she were back in her calico gown with a low bun in her hair and an apron around her waist.

“Right then, go tell him we’re ready. He can prepare the boat. I’ll just finish up the last touches.” Peggy turned to the mirror and scrutinized herself one final time.

Clara left the room, wobbling atop her high heels as she made her way down the hallway toward the staircase.

“Oh, Miss Peggy, there you are.” Clara heard Mrs. Quigley calling out behind her.

“Miss Peggy?” But the housekeeper sounded as if she were right behind Clara. “Miss Peggy?” The housekeeper tapped Clara on the shoulder. Clara turned around.

“Good gracious!” the old woman screamed, as if she’d seen Hannah’s ghost, clutching her hand to her heart. “
Clara!
Is that you? Good heavens, girl, what on earth are you doing dressed like Miss Peggy? You better change before the mistress sees you and demands that you be burned at the stake. Have you forgotten how she reacted when she thought you took her jewelry?”

“No, no, Mrs. Quigley. You don’t understand.” Clara reached for the housekeeper to try to calm her.

“Clearly I do not,” the woman replied.

“They’ve ordered me to dress like this.”

“Who has, child?” Mrs. Quigley looked at Clara incredulously.

“Miss Peggy has just dressed me herself.”

The housekeeper ogled the peach-colored gown in disbelief, and Clara couldn’t help but smile at the housekeeper’s expression; she too found the recent events mystifying.

“What the devil is happening in this house?” Mrs. Quigley asked.

Before Clara had time to explain, Peggy was at the top of the stairs, fanning herself with a white silk fan. “Mrs. Quigley, you’re in my way.” Mrs. Quigley turned, doing a double take as she cast her gaze from Peggy to Clara and back to Peggy.

“My word, you two could be twins,” the housekeeper stammered.

“Nonsense. We don’t look anything alike,” Peggy said.

“I am seeing double. But I still don’t understand. Clara, why are you dressed like that?”

“That is none of your concern,” Peggy answered, slamming the fan shut and descending the stairs. “She is coming with me as a guest and we don’t want her looking like a maid, that’s all.” Peggy passed the housekeeper on the narrow staircase, her wide hoopskirt swooshing by the bewildered old woman in her descent.

“Now go fetch my husband and tell him we are ready for the boat.”