Read Traitor to the Crown Online
Authors: C.C. Finlay
“I offer my sincere apologies for the non-appearance of Lord Cornwallis on account of indisposition,” General O’Hara said. “He sends his regrets, and asks me to present his sword.”
He held out the sword in both hands.
Proctor was stunned. Not only did Cornwallis not show, but they were going to surrender to the French instead. They were trying to steal the victory away from the Americans.
Comte de Rochambeau bowed his head and removed his hat in one smooth and simultaneous gesture. Then he lifted his head and placed the hat back upon it.
“I’m terribly sorry, but you have the wrong general.”
He held out his hand toward Washington across the road.
Proctor was close enough to see O’Hara’s shoulders slump and notice the deep breath he took before turning around and walking with as much dignity as possible across the muddy ruts.
O’Hara repeated his practiced speech.
“I don’t understand the point of all these ceremonies,” Deborah whispered.
“It’s a focus for the magic we call civilization,” Proctor replied. “Now shhh.”
He wanted to hear Washington’s response. The general sat with his hands crossed on the front of his saddle while O’Hara spoke. When O’Hara was done, Washington did not bow or remove his hat or raise his hands. After a moment’s pause, he said, simply, in his clear, steady voice, “General Lincoln would be honored to accept the sword from you.”
Proctor almost laughed. If the British sent out their second in command, then Washington would defer to
his. How sweet for Lincoln, after surrendering to Cornwallis at Charleston.
Lincoln dismounted at once and extended his hands. After a moment’s hesitation, O’Hara presented him the sword.
The British had surrendered.
The crowd erupted in a cheer, throwing their hats in the air and spinning friends and strangers alike. Deborah and Lydia hugged, and then Proctor wrapped his arms around Deborah and Maggie and picked them both up off the ground. Maggie laughed and clapped her hands. Proctor kissed her forehead then put them down, and pulled Deborah close for a longer kiss. After almost two years apart, she tasted sweeter and more delightful than he remembered.
She pulled away, finally, grinning at him. “It’s going to turn out all right, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he said.
He looked back at the soldiers. The British were stepping off the road into a field to ground their arms. John Adams or Ben Franklin might still have to negotiate a peace treaty, but for all intents and purposes the war was over here and now. America had won her freedom.
That thought sobered Proctor in a hurry. The war was over. That meant that the hard work lay ahead. If the country prospered or failed, they would now have nobody to blame or credit but themselves.
They moved with the crowd that was walking over to the field to watch the British finish their surrender. The British soldiers were not graceful in defeat. As more men stepped up to surrender their guns, they began to smash them into the pile. A flintlock snapped off one, and the stock cracked loudly on the next.
“Hey,” Proctor said. “They’re trying to break their guns.”
“Let them,” Deborah replied. “Let them break all the
guns forever. I’m tired of guns.” To make her point, she deliberately walked away from the crowd. “How soon will you be ready to leave for Salem, Lydia?”
Lydia lifted her chin and stared over the tops of the armies to the treetops that marked the woods and swamps. “I won’t be going back with you. I’d say I was sorry, but it wouldn’t be true.”
“Did something happen …?” Proctor asked. He could sense Deborah watching him closely, as if she was wondering the same question.
“Not like that, no,” Lydia said. She stepped over the furrowed field, waiting to be planted with winter rye. “But I’ve been thinking about the Quaker Highway.”
The secret series of trails and farms that helped witches escape persecution in New England to start over again in other parts of the country. “What about it?” Proctor asked.
“I don’t belong anywhere,” she said. “And I never will. But I want there to be a world someday where I could belong, where I could live a free life without fear. The Quaker Highway doesn’t have to lead one way, or be just for one kind of people. I’ve been thinking about using it to lead my people north to freedom.”
Her people …? Oh. Not witches. Slaves. The northern states had started banning slavery during the Revolution.
Deborah clasped Lydia’s hand. “That’s a wonderful idea. Most of the Quaker families we know are abolitionists. Proctor and I will do what ever we can to help.”
Proctor thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
Deborah turned back to Proctor. “I’m ready to go. If we leave within a day, we could make it back to The Farm in time for Maggie’s second birthday.”
Proctor hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much she’d seen or knew. “The Farm is destroyed,” he said softly.
“Smashed to splinters,” Deborah said. “There’s not a
thing left standing except Maggie’s tree and our hearth. That’s all that survived. The parts that we made together.”
“If we go back, we’ll have to replant and rebuild everything else from scratch,” Proctor said.
“That’s true,” Deborah agreed. “It’s going to be very hard, especially the first year or two, and harder if Maggie has a little brother or sister.” Without warning, she handed Maggie to him—this time, Maggie did not try to get away. “Do you have any other plans?”
Proctor bounced Maggie tentatively—she laughed and grabbed his cheek with wet fingers.
“No,” he said. “Nothing this important. I’ve got no other plans at all.”
My thanks must begin with the good people at Random House and Del Rey, especially my editor Chris Schluep. This book took longer and was more difficult for me to write than we expected, but he gave me the time and the guidance I needed and told me to write the best book I could, not the fastest. I am deeply grateful.
This book, more than the other two, deserves notes on the history. New England’s “Day Without a Sun,” described in chapter 14, actually took place in May 1780. People didn’t know the cause and thought it was the end of the world. The voyages of the
Sensible
and the
Alliance
are far more interesting and colorful than I had room to explore. Captain John Barry isn’t as well known as John Paul Jones, but he fought more successful engagements against pairs of enemy ships than any other captain of the time, winning repeatedly against superior odds. When he didn’t have ships to captain, he served with the army, just to help the war effort.
Banastre Tarleton has been portrayed as one of the great villains of American history, and there is no doubt that he burned a church and was present for the massacre of prisoners at Waxhaws. It is also true that these events are at odds with the rest of his biography and his years of service to the British people. After the Gordon Riots, the mystically inclined Lord Gordon was freed from the Tower of London by the intercession of William Petty, the earl of Shelburne and one of the great patrons
of the Enlightenment. Gordon later had himself circumcised, converted to Judaism, and moved to the Continent to study occult magic with Count Cagliostro. Shelburne became prime minister of Great Britain on July 4, 1782, and negotiated peace with the United States of America.
Nathan Hale is often seen as the first figure of American spying, but that honor ought to belong to Thomas At-wood Digges. Digges, the direct descendant of John Dee’s most famous student, was born in Mary land and lived on the Warburton plantation across the river from George Washington’s home. He left America under a vague cloud of scandal and traveled in South America and Europe before landing in London, where he anonymously published
The Adventures of Alonso
, arguably the first novel written by an American. Digges, using a variety of pseudonyms and disguises, worked tirelessly for America throughout the Revolution. He provided intelligence to both Franklin and Adams, helped hundreds of Americans escape from prisons in England, and stole advanced munitions and other desperately needed technologies from the British, which he shipped to the states through Dutch merchants and other third parties. Digges not only risked his life and safety repeatedly for the American cause, but also produced tangible results that helped the young nation stand on its own. Though cast under suspicion during the war because he could not account for how he spent all of the American funds, he eventually returned to the United States where he maintained close friendships with both Washington and Jefferson.
Only the ruins of Rosewell Plantation stand in Gloucester County, Virginia, today. At the time of the Revolution, Rosewell was considered one of the most elegant and refined homes in America, the equal of the good life in London. Today it is considered one of the most haunted of the surviving colonial plantation sites.
My own French is worse than Proctor’s. I thank
Melissa Siah, her husband, Eric Blanchi, and Aliette de Bodard for helping me with translations. My employer was kind to give me some time away from work to finish the first draft. The good folks at Luck Bros’ Coffee allowed me to make their front booth my office away from home, and kept me supplied with coffee and sandwiches during the many hours and days I spent there.
Once more, my sons proved understanding of long and frequent absences while I was working on this book. Coleman, in particular, is also an astute listener and asker of questions. He was helpful on numerous occasions when I needed to talk my way through scenes. I am especially grateful to Rae, who took on extra chores to keep the house running while simultaneously making time to slash into the manuscript with her red pen. It is a better book for all their contributions, though any flaws and mistakes remain my own.
The Demon Redcoat
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Del Rey Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2009 by Charles Coleman Finlay
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
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is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-345-51573-5
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