Valley Forge (43 page)

"What will happen at the court-martial?" she asked.

"Captain Skoyles will be cross-examined, then certain witnesses will be called to give their testimony."

"Will any of them speak in favor of Jamie?"

"No, Elizabeth. This is not a regimental court-martial. There's nobody here from the 24th Foot who can attest that he's a man of good character."

"
You
could," she challenged. He smirked. "No, that would be asking too much, wouldn't it? Jamie once rescued you from being shot by one of your own men. Anyone else would feel indebted to him."

He jumped up. "
Indebted
—to a man who stole you away from me?"

"You drove me away."

"That's not how I remember it."

"Well, that's what happened," she said forcefully. "No woman could be expected to put up with such atrocious behavior. A moment ago, you talked about the importance of duty. Jamie saved your life, Harry. Did you conceive it as part of your duty to thank him by trying to kill him during the battle at Bemis Heights?"

"No," he replied unashamedly, "but I can now have the satisfaction of achieving the same end by legal means. Skoyles is a traitor. He should be condemned to death."

"Not if he proves his innocence."

"What chance is there of that?"

"There's every chance—if he's given a fair hearing."

"General Howe will grant him that," said Featherstone, "and he'll probe into every lie that Skoyles has told him. Our men were betrayed yesterday, Elizabeth, and lives were sacrificed as a result. Do not look for any mercy from our commander in chief."

"Would I be permitted to speak up in Jamie's defense?"

"Your testimony would not be considered relevant."

"But I know what a decent and honorable man he is."

"He's forfeited any claim to honor."

"Is there
nothing
that could save him?"

Featherstone gazed at her intently. He had once loved her enough to want to marry her. In his eyes, the fact that she had spurned him for another man
only made her more desirable. A thought stirred in his brain. He would never get such an opportunity again. Elizabeth was close to despair. He was in a position to relieve her anxiety, and to exercise power over her at the same time. Of her own volition, she had come to his room. The bed was yards away.

"There is one possibility," he said artlessly.

"And what's that?"

"I could speak to Brigadier General Malloby."

"Why should you do that?"

"Because he'll be sitting in judgement with General Howe and the others at the court-martial."

"Do you know this brigadier general?"

"Very well," said Featherstone. "He's my uncle. It's always a sensible idea for an officer to have at least one relation in the high command. I'm Uncle Arthur's favorite nephew."

"How could that help Jamie?"

"I could take my uncle aside beforehand, and tell him what a fine career Captain Skoyles has had in our regiment, and how highly General Burgoyne thought of him. Uncle Arthur is an old friend of Gentleman Johnny's," he confided, "so that will influence his view of the prisoner. I could also withdraw my accusation that Skoyles aided the escape that Ezekiel Proudfoot made from our camp in Skenesborough."

"But it's a false accusation in the first place."

"That's a matter of opinion."

"Jamie did nothing at all to assist his friend's escape."

"I'm prepared to make that very point, Elizabeth," he went on, "but not for
his
benefit. If Skoyles had turned to me, I'd not lift a finger to help him. Since the request comes from you, it's a different matter."

"What do you mean?" she said, becoming unsettled.

"In token of my admiration, I'm ready to do what I can."

"And what would you expect in return?"

"A sign of affection, that's all."

When he glanced toward the bed, she gave a shudder. Elizabeth was horrified at what he was suggesting. Blushing deeply, she rose to her feet. He took her by the shoulders.

"Let go of me, please."

"Not until you give me your answer."

"Let go of me, Harry!"

He released her but continued to stand uncomfortably close. She could feel his breath on her face. She could see the lust dancing in his eyes. Elizabeth was so outraged that he should suggest such a foul notion that she not could find words to express her revulsion.

"What's the matter?" he taunted her. "Don't you love him enough?"

She slapped his face hard. Then, without even bothering to grab her hat and cloak, she fled in panic from the room.

Though he was given the privilege of a cell on his own, Jamie Skoyles was very much aware of the other prisoners in the overcrowded jail. He could hear them coughing, spitting, arguing, and complaining about the lack of food or, in some cases, simply groaning in pain. Disease haunted the building. Its stink was in the air. During the night, a man had died of cholera and been dragged out of his cell. Skoyles was restless. He was locked up in the same jail as deserters, prisoners of war, common criminals, and disobedient redcoats who had transgressed once too often. He did not belong there.

Yet he had brought it upon himself. He knew that. When he claimed that he had only seen Ezekiel Proudfoot once, he never imagined that his claim would ever be questioned. Instead, it had been revealed to be a downright lie. Major Harry Featherstone had been his nemesis. The one thing that Skoyles had not allowed for was the appearance of his old enemy from the 24th Foot. As a result, his life was in the balance. Until the court-martial, he was doomed to spend his time in a tiny cell with an armed guard on the other side of the bars at all times. Because he had shown his proficiency at escaping from custody, they were taking no chances with him. Skoyles was being carefully watched.

The court-martial, he feared, would be a mere formality. While he had not betrayed his country, he was guilty of the lesser offense of helping an enemy, and that was enough to bring him down. Skoyles felt that he could have convinced Howe of his innocence, had Major Featherstone not already primed the general. No matter how eloquently he defended himself at the court-martial, Skoyles sensed that it would be in vain. The truth was painful. In saving Ezekiel Proudfoot, he had effectively signed his own death warrant.

When he heard footsteps coming along the corridor, he thought at first that his guard was about to be exchanged. Then, incredibly, the face of Elizabeth
Rainham appeared before him. Leaping up, he went over to welcome her, squeezing her hands through the bars. Skoyles looked at the guard who had accompanied her.

"Is privacy too much to ask?" he said.

"Yes, Captain," replied the man. "My orders are to remain with the lady. The visit will only last two minutes."

"Do not waste a second of it by protesting," said Elizabeth as she saw him about to do so. "I'm here, Jamie. Make the most of it."

"Major Featherstone swore that you'd not be allowed near me."

"General Howe has the ultimate authority. On our behalf, Captain Tillman appealed to him, and he relented."

"Thank him for me, Elizabeth."

"I will. He and Lucy have been my only succor. But how
are
you?" she asked, looking with distaste around the cell. "Is this the best that they can provide for an officer?"

"It will do."

"How could they even dream that you'd commit treason?"

"On my honor," he vowed, "I'm not guilty of the charge. But there's evidence of a sort against me and it may well bring me down."

"Harry Featherstone is confident that it will."

He was alarmed. "You've spoken to him?"

"Nobody else would tell me what was going on."

"Well, you'd be wrong to believe any account that he gave you. This is all his doing, Elizabeth—his opportunity for revenge."

"He's evil."

"Forget him."

"How can I when he's helping to condemn you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me, Jamie."

"No," he insisted, scratching the back of his neck. "If we have so little time together, I'd rather spend it in silence."

"But there's so much to say."

"It's too late, Elizabeth."

When his hand touched hers again, she felt something being slipped into her palm and she realized why he had scratched his neck. Having extracted some notes, hidden in the collar of his shirt, he had passed them on to her.
Words were pointless. With two guards standing behind her, she could not have a proper conversation with Skoyles. It was better simply to enjoy the feel of his hands and read the message in his eyes. The guard who had brought her was a stickler for punctuality.

"Time's up, lady," he announced. "You must go."

Pearsall Hughes was just about to close his bookshop for the day when he saw Major Clark coming toward him. The latter was dressed as a peddler and carried a pack on his back. Clark touched the brim of his hat deferentially.

"Is the lady of the house in need of anything, sir?" he inquired.

"Come inside and ask her, my friend."

Clark stepped into the shop and Hughes locked the door behind him. They went to the back of the room so that they could not be seen from the street. Taking off his pack, Clark set it down on the floor.

"It must be something important to bring you here," said Hughes.

"It is, believe me." He took a letter from his pocket and gave it to the bookseller. "What do you make of this?"

Hughes needed a little time to decipher the words. Clark did not hurry him. After a while, the bookseller looked up in surprise.

"Who is this fellow, Major?"

"Someone in sore need of help."

"What shall we do?"

"Exactly what he suggests," said Clark. "He deserves it."

Hughes returned the letter. "Where was this delivered?"

"To the usual place."

"By whom?"

"A beautiful young woman."

Sergeant Tom Caffrey marched along the corridor at the jail with a guard at his heels. When he reached the cell, he was saddened to see the state that Skoyles was in. Wearing only a shirt, breeches, stockings, and shoes, the prisoner was sitting on the edge of the crude wooden bed with his head between
his hands. He looked desolate. Caffrey tried to cheer him up with an amiable greeting.

"Wake up, Captain," he said, "I've come to change that dressing."

Skoyles raised his head. "Thank you, Tom."

"How is the wound now?"

"Still seeping blood from time to time."

"We'll soon stop that," said Caffrey, turning to the guard. "Let me in, then lock the door again. Neither of us is going anywhere."

He was let into the cell. Watched by the two guards, he put down the satchel containing his medical kit. Then he peeled back Skoyles's shirt so that the bloodstained bandaging was revealed. He began to unwind it. As he did so, Caffrey made sure that he was between his patient and the two men on the other side of the bars. The wound had started to heal but a scar remained. Taking fresh bandages from his satchel, Caffrey put a pad on the wound and used the bandages to keep it in place. Skoyles pretended to wince.

"Does it still hurt?" said Caffrey.

"A little."

"This shoulder of yours seems to attract trouble. Didn't I once remove a musket ball from it?"

"You did," said Skoyles. "That was even more painful."

Caffrey bent down to close his satchel, giving something to Skoyles in the process. The guards saw nothing. As Skoyles hid the object in the back of his breeches, the sergeant blocked the view.

"Thank you, Tom."

"I'll change that dressing again in a few day's time, sir."

"I may not be here then."

"No," said Caffrey, "I expect that you'll be a free man once again."

"God willing!"

"Get out of there, Sergeant," barked a voice behind him. "You've done what you came for. Don't linger, man."

Caffrey turned to see Major Featherstone on the other side of the bars. The door was unlocked again. As he shook Skoyles's hand, Caffrey gave him a sly wink, then he went off with one of the guards. The other man locked the door.

"Leave us alone," said Featherstone.

"My orders are to remain here, sir," said the guard.

"Don't you recognize a command when you hear one?"

Reluctant to desert his post, the man wilted under Featherstone's glare and crept away. The major smiled as he beheld the prisoner.

"You're in the right place at last, Captain," he observed. "I feel like a hunter who has finally caught a dangerous mountain lion."

"The animal is on the other side of the bars," said Skoyles.

Featherstone laughed. "Let's see how ready you are with insults when you face that court-martial tomorrow. Did you know that my uncle, Brigadier General Malloby, will be among those on the tribunal? I felt obliged to tell him the truth about Captain Jamie Skoyles, friend of the Continental Army and its ridiculous objectives."

"There's nothing ridiculous about a desire for independence."

"Are you trying to convert
me
to their cause?"

"I know you better than that, Major. Rational argument was never something that appealed to you. And you never learned the wisdom of respecting an enemy."

"You're my enemy," Featherstone taunted him, "and I certainly respect you. I'll be sure to doff my hat when they bury you."

"The court-martial has not reached its verdict yet."

"Yes, it has. I made sure of that." He grinned at Skoyles. "I wonder what will happen to Elizabeth when you're gone?"

"Keep away from her!" warned Skoyles.

"Oh, I will—for a time. I'll allow a decent interval for her to mourn. I'll wait until the memory of an executed traitor starts to fade away in her mind. Then I'll be able to court her without interference."

"Elizabeth will not let you near her!"

"At the moment, perhaps. But time can do extraordinary things." He put his face close to the bars. "She came to see me, you know. She begged for my help because she knew that I was in a position to save your undeserving neck. In exchange, Elizabeth was ready to do
anything
, except the one thing that I wanted." He smirked in triumph. "That's how much you mean to her, Skoyles. Elizabeth would rather preserve the sanctity of her body than save your miserable life."