The Traitor's Wife: A Novel (6 page)

“It
is
hard, and she
should
worry about it,” Mrs. Quigley snapped at Caleb. “And you could stand to worry a bit more too. Now start getting these dishes out on the table.”

“Sorry, Auntie.” Caleb nodded his head respectfully toward Mrs. Quigley before flashing Clara a mischievous grin. With that, the housekeeper handed her nephew the tray of wineglasses and pushed him through the door, ordering Clara to follow behind.

“D
INNER IS
ready to be served,” Mr. Quigley announced to the kitchen. His voice set off a fresh round of errands among the staff.

“The family is seated—go, go!” Mrs. Quigley kept Clara and Caleb running to and from the kitchen to the dining room, carrying tray after tray of hot food. Hannah had the Shippens starting with trays of meat: miniature game hens, a rabbit pie, and fresh sturgeon. Accompanying the meat were heaping bowls of rosemary potatoes, carrots from the garden, steamed fiddleheads, spinach, and roasted beets.

“My aunt acts like we are serving the royal family, but really you just have to make sure you don’t spill and you don’t trip. As
long as you manage that, they’ll never even notice you’re in the room. All they’re looking at is the food and one another’s clothing,” Caleb whispered to Clara at the threshold of the dining room, but Clara wasn’t listening to the footman beside her. Her eyes were feasting on the scene before her, a tableau unlike the family meals she’d known at the Hartleys. The Shippens sat around a table of walnut, with ornately carved chairs showing the ornamental flair once again popular in Europe. The table was spread with a damask tablecloth, every inch festooned with the freshly polished silver and china plates wreathed in a floral pattern. “Ready?” Caleb paused beside her, weighed down by the plates of meat he carried.

“Caleb, I can’t. Let me watch you this first time,” Clara pleaded, placing her bowl of potatoes down on the buffet in the hallway. “I’ll drop something, or do something incorrectly, I just know it.”

“What’s the matter, Clara Bell? ’Fraid of a few Shippens just because they wear fancy clothes and pump powder into their hair?” Caleb smiled, his hazel eyes lit up with teasing.

“Let me see how you do it first. Please?” Clara pleaded.

“All right, just this once, then you’re helping me serve.” Caleb winked. “Here I go.” He straightened his posture, shrugging off the casual affability he’d displayed just moments ago in the servants’ quarters and marching into the dining room with sudden and impressive poise. Clara lurked in the hallway outside the dining room, watching the family from a concealed corner where they didn’t suspect her presence. She spotted her mistress first, the brightest spot in the dark, wood-paneled room. The candlelight danced playfully off her features, and the sight of Peggy Shippen made Clara freshly nervous. She stared on, admiring Peggy’s genteel features, her soaring hair, her perfect attire.

Caleb distributed the plates of meat evenly along the table and
Clara watched, studying his graceful movements, the way he served the family members without getting in their way as they sipped their wine. Judge Shippen was greeted reverentially by each member of the family as he took his spot at the head of the table and led the group in a short prayer of thanks.

Beside the judge sat a man with a very similar likeness and a heavier frame. “That’s Doctor William Shippen.” Caleb was back by Clara’s side, whispering into her ear as they watched the family. “Doctor William is the judge’s brother.” Judge Edward was like his cousin, Doctor William, in many ways, but seemingly more of a deflated version—as if there was less flesh on his bones and a wearier spirit shining through his eyes.

“Doctor William, unlike his brother, is known to be supporting the colonies,” Caleb explained.

Clara nodded. This was a well-known piece of gossip. “But Miss Peggy seems to have openly loyalist tendencies,” Clara whispered, thinking back to the conversation she’d had earlier with her new mistress.

Caleb considered this, his features folding into a casual, cockeyed grin. “Well, how many colonial men do you see in Philadelphia wearing store-bought suits, ready to serve her Champagne and caviar?” He stepped away to deliver a platter of sturgeon to the table.

Across from Doctor William, occupying the middle of the table, sat the Shippen girls, Peggy and the other young lady whom Clara knew to be Betsy. She was a less striking version of her younger sister. Like Peggy, she dressed
à la française,
wearing a silk gown of light lavender with a yellow stomacher. Her hair was fixed in a low bun that seemed simple beside Peggy’s elaborate
pouf
. Her eyes were the same blue as her younger sister’s, but less alert, and as Clara observed their body language she determined that Betsy took
her cues from her sister, as if Peggy were the elder of the two.

At the opposite end of the table from the judge sat the lady of the house, dressed in a simpler style than her two young daughters. “That’s Mrs. Margaret Shippen,” Caleb said, returning from the table, “the judge’s wife.” She wore a plain gown of plum-colored silk with no ornamentation, her neck covered by a white linen neckerchief that seemed all the more modest beside her daughters’ exposed bosoms. Mrs. Shippen had graying hair and wore nothing on her face except a tense expression, but she listened attentively as her husband spoke.

“The French may be clamoring to enter into the war on the side of the colonies.” The judge took a slow, deliberate sip of wine, his lean fingers clutching the silver cup tightly. “But I tell you, brother, they will not. They can’t afford another war.”

“Brother.” Doctor William’s voice boomed in comparison to the judge’s meek tones. “You have the kind and timid nature that assumes, I believe incorrectly, that monarchs arrive at their decisions by determining what is right and prudent, not by what is beneficial to their Empire. A chance to remove the British threat from this continent and ensure his hold over Canada? Of course Louis will join the war. The French have made that apparent after the colonial victory at Saratoga.” Doctor William paused. “Edward, am I expected to eat this meat by itself?”

Caleb picked up the bowl of potatoes that Clara had not yet delivered, placing them in her hands. “Your turn, Clara Bell, they’re asking for the potatoes.”

Clara hesitated. “Must I go in?”

“You lived in the countryside swarming with Iroquois and you’re afraid to serve some potatoes?” Caleb teased her. “Follow me.” Caleb picked up a bowl of cranberry relish and led her into the dining room.

The eyes of the judge and Mrs. Shippen turned upon Clara,
and she froze near the threshold of the dining room. Silence filled the room. The only noise was a pop from the hearth, where a log collapsed. When the judge did not speak first, Doctor William addressed Clara.

“Well? Are those potatoes for us, then?” he asked, a good-natured smile lighting his ruddy features.

“Who is this? Is this her?” Betsy turned to her sister, speaking about the unknown face.

“Oh,” Peggy piped up. “Everybody, this is the new maid, Clara.”

“You’re the girl that Mrs. Quigley sent for?” Judge Shippen asked.

“Indeed, sir, Excellency, Judge,” Clara answered.

“Any one of those three titles shall do, but not all three at once.” The judge laughed.

“Nice to meet you, Clara,” Doctor William answered. “Now bring those potatoes here. I happen to be starving.”

“Yes, sir.” Clara obeyed, depositing the potatoes in front of Doctor William.

“Clara helped me dress for dinner.” Peggy sipped her wine, turning to her sister.

Betsy’s spoon clamored to her plate. “She did? But you promised you would . . .” Seeing her younger sister’s smirk, Betsy did not finish, but crossed her arms in front of her body.

“Calm yourself, Betsy. I had her fashion my hair for Lord Rawdon’s soiree tonight. You hardly needed help managing a hairdo like the one you’re modeling.”

At this second insult, Betsy’s pout threatened to turn to genuine tears. “Well, why did she not help me?” Betsy turned from her sister to her father. “Papa, you told Peggy that we were to share the new girl, but Peggy’s kept her all to herself.”

“But Papa, Betsy doesn’t need a maid, she already has a fiancé.
I don’t see why she needs help getting ready for parties when all she does is sit in the corner and sulk that Neddy wasn’t invited.”

“Girls, if you are going to quarrel, there shall be no new maid at all.” Mrs. Shippen’s features were pinched, and Clara noticed that she barely nibbled on her food. For her part, Clara wished to finish serving the potatoes and disappear from this room.

“Mama, I am not quarreling. I just don’t think it’s fair that Peggy always gets—”

“Enough, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Shippen snapped at her elder daughter, rubbing her temples in a slow, rhythmic gesture. “I have a headache. I cannot bear another row tonight.”

“You always have a headache,” Peggy muttered to herself, sipping her wine.

Betsy, having lost the round to her sister, changed tracks. “Fine. Then I’m not going with you to Lord Rawdon’s tonight, Peggy.” Betsy uncrossed her arms and took a forceful stab at the bowl of potatoes offered by Clara. Clara braced herself, struggling to keep the dish steady.

“I don’t care.” Peggy shrugged her shoulders and leaned to help herself to the same dish.

“But you can’t go either, then.” Betsy tugged on the bowl of potatoes, so that Clara was pulled back toward the elder sister.

“Why is that?” Peggy stared down her sister, challenging her.

“Because you aren’t allowed to go out alone, remember? Mama? Papa? Remember you told Peggy that she comes home too late and spends too much money and she shan’t be allowed out alone anymore?”

“We did agree to that, Edward.” Mrs. Shippen threw a weary look to her husband, already fatigued by the coming spat.

“Nonsense!” Peggy cocked her head. “All the girls go out alone. You don’t see Meg Chew or Becky Redman with a chaperone. Papa, don’t listen to this spoilsport.”

“But not all the girls find themselves the subject of ridicule, Margaret.” Mrs. Shippen turned a mirthless expression on her daughter. “It has already been agreed upon. If your sister will not accompany you, you shall not go.”

“Ridicule? How have I been made the subject of ridicule?” Peggy’s eyes smoldered as she turned from her sister to her mother.

“Well, you lost your entire purse at cards the other night, for one thing.” Now Betsy appeared to have the upper hand, and Clara noted genuine concern in Peggy’s eyes; her evening plans might in fact be thwarted.

“When your purse contains nothing more than a shilling, that’s not a difficult accomplishment,” Peggy said.

“Any money gambled is money wasted,” Mrs. Shippen retorted.

Peggy turned wild eyes to her father, and when he cocked his head, she saw that she might in fact be kept at home. “Papa, this is unfair. You must let me go. Betsy is just being petty. I planned on this long ago. Please tell me I may go.”

“We did tell you, my dear Peggy, that you would need accompaniment from now on.” The judge avoided his daughter’s eyes, keeping his attention on his plate.

Peggy glanced from her father to her mother, her lips pursing as she watched her chances recede. She avoided her sister, who smirked beside her. Then, glancing up at her new maid, Peggy showed a flash of inspiration. “Fine. I’ll take Clara with me.”

Mrs. Shippen answered quickly. “We know nothing of Clara.” Looking up at Clara, Mrs. Shippen spoke quietly, almost inaudibly. “I apologize, Clara, I am sure you are a young woman of impeccable character, but it takes time to build trust.”

Clara nodded, wondering if they were done with the potatoes so that she might retreat into the other room.

“Once Clara has been here several months and Mrs. Quigley vouches for her character, then perhaps she may become a companion.” Mrs. Shippen finished.

“Mrs. Quigley!” Peggy repeated the name. “Mrs. Quigley too. Send them both. Send the whole servants’ quarters, for all I care. Papa, how about if Mrs. Quigley and Clara accompany me?”

Judge Shippen deliberated and his wife watched with a strained expression. Judge Shippen threw his brother a look as if to congratulate him on not having daughters.

“Dear, sweet Papa, please do not make me suffer. Please tell me that I may go.”

“All right, Peggy my dear.” The judge’s posture sagged as he agreed. “Take Mrs. Quigley and this new girl. And try not to spend money at cards, please.”

“Anything for you, Papa.” Peggy bounced up from her chair and flew to her father, whom she showered in enthusiastic kisses. Smiling at Clara, Peggy nodded.

“Whose soiree is this?” Judge Shippen asked.

“Lord Rawdon’s. It’s at his home,” Peggy answered her father as Clara slipped out of the room, determining that the potatoes were no longer of interest to the family.

“There, you survived.” Caleb greeted Clara at the serving buffet. “Though your presence certainly caused quite a stir.”

Clara sighed, fearing that the judge might regret having brought her into his household.

“And you’ve managed to get yourself an invitation to a soiree tonight.” Caleb smirked.