Chapter 4 The Gathering #2
Not catching the man’s scorn—or perhaps choosing not to acknowledge it—Eleazar continued, “It’s a God-given fact that men are more submissive once they’ve had a good ol’ grind, so if we buy them each a wench, they’ll lose their drive to fight!”
The men erupted into laughter.
“El, that has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Simon remarked, “and the runner-up is your stance on the French. You’re a prime example of why men in your position have to purchase army commissions to get ahead.”
Eleazar huffed. “I just don’t think we should be so dismissive of the Frenchies, that’s all!” he exclaimed. His face grew nearly as red as his military coat.
Benjamin arched a brow. “Wait a moment…Ensign Thomas is the only one here leery of the rebel alliance with the French?”
“At this point, it’s old news!” Jedediah exclaimed, puffing out his chest. “The French are no match for His Majesty’s Finest, Philip.”
Benjamin frowned. “But sir, they’ve sent arms and ammunition to aid in the fight, and that’s not including their own soldiers, naval personnel, and warships!”
“What of it? Even if the French have a sizeable addition, they’re fighting alongside rebels. That sort of alliance won’t last against the royal army!”
“Hear, hear!” the group exclaimed.
Laughing, Eleazar chimed in, “I’ve got their ‘sizable addition’ right here!” and lewdly grabbed himself.
“Good Lord, El,” Michael admonished, his upper lip curling. “Major Markham, can’t you control your ensign?”
Desperate to rein back the conversation, Benjamin pressed, “But sirs, what about the newfound flow of supplies and coin? Surely, that will bolster the rebels and keep them fighting?”
Adam looked his way with a wink. “Don’t you worry, Ashby! We’ll find a way to stamp out their passions. Michael, here, has quite the plan.”
“Oh?” Benjamin looked his way with intrigue. “What are you thinking, Mr. Collins?”
“Ah!” Jedediah crowed, waving his glass of port. “You two could be of use to one another, Philip. You claimed you wanted to help with the loyalist cause, and that you’ve been helping many loyalists, in fact; so by God, this is assuredly the way!”
Michael brushed a thumb over his lower lip, assessing Benjamin with his dark, cunning eyes. “I have my own men,” he allowed, “but a shipbuilding merchant could potentially get us ahead of schedule, if you have spare ships at the ready?”
“I am at your service,” Benjamin affirmed. “Name it, Mr. Collins, and it will be done.”
Crooking his finger, Michael indicated that he follow. “Take a turn with me, Mr. Ashby. I’d rather keep the specifics between the two of us, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Benjamin agreed, tamping down his sudden burst of excitement. Could it truly be this easy?
Moving into step alongside the tall, scarecrow-like man, he kept his eye on the crowd while they strolled the perimeter. “How can I help, sir?” he asked. “I take it your endeavor requires nautical travel?”
“Preferably,” Michael agreed. Lowering his voice, he added, “Throughout this bloody war, the rebels have been at a constant disadvantage with supplies. The French may be aiding them now, but they’d be absolute fools to deny further assistance after everything they’ve endured.”
Benjamin nodded, his brow creasing in thought. “You wish to give them supplies, sir?”
“Tampered supplies,” Michael corrected. “My business deals with farming, so I’m able to give them grain and flour—through hired men with patriot aliases, of course—but it’s not of an ingestible sort.
” With a crooked sneer, he smugly confided, “I’ve already had tiny bits of glass put into each bag.
These supplies could feed an entire army encampment.
Just think of it, Ashby! We could end this war through their very food! ”
The breath stripped from Benjamin’s lungs, and he blinked, nearly stumbling when Michael looked his way. Forcing a grin, Benjamin feigned glee and exclaimed, “That is remarkable, sir! An ingenious plan, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Michael replied, chuckling, “because I wholeheartedly agree. And although I have men willing to bring these supplies to the rebels via cart, doing so by ship and then by cart might be safer.”
“Most assuredly,” Benjamin agreed, his mouth dry. “How would you like to arrange this?”
“Pray, why not make things easier for you?” Michael suggested. “I have a man in Philadelphia. If you give me your address, I can have him stop by for further instruction.”
Benjamin shook his head. “No. My men prefer to be underground about dealings of this nature, and they never take ‘donations’ in the same place,” he replied. “I’ll get you the address once I’ve written home to verify. This is a bit last minute, so they may require some coin for their troubles.”
“Fine,” Michael agreed. “Have them name their price, and it will be done.”
“Fifteen pounds should suffice,” Benjamin said. “If you’d like, you can pay me tonight, and I will forward the coin along with my correspondence.”
Michael nodded, appearing a bit put out, but no less invigorated. “Fine, fine,” he allowed, “that will be suitable. How soon should you receive word?”
“Probably no later than a week or two,” Benjamin replied, “so long as I reach out tomorrow morning. I’m sure I can find someone to ride out to Philadelphia posthaste.”
“See that it’s done,” Michael agreed. “I’ll give you the money before departing this evening. To do so now would be unseemly.”
Nearly breaking into a wide, ebullient grin, Benjamin congratulated himself on a job well done.
Not only did he have valuable intelligence to share, but he’d also gleaned some coin he could pass along to Bishop.
Any amount of money, no matter how small (or in this case, large), could aid in employing additional blackguards.
His excitement, unfortunately, proved to be short-lived. A mere moment later, Deborah and her two daughters entered the room, preening beneath the attention bestowed upon them.
Oh, sweet merciful Lord…
“You’re one lucky man, Ashby,” Michael told him. “Each of Jed’s daughters is a true sight to behold.”
“A man could grow blind from taking in so much beauty,” Benjamin agreed. If their grating conversation did not lead to deafness first. Falsely brightening, he added, “I can scarcely wait ’til I’m reunited with my Charlotte.”
“Mm, I can imagine,” Michael agreed. “And for your sake, I hope she has every bit the exceptional tongue as Miss Clara.”
Benjamin blinked, scandalized. “I-I beg your pardon?”
“Alas, I haven’t partaken myself, but one does hear rumors…” Clapping a hand onto the other man’s shoulder, Michael concluded, “Now then! I must be off to greet our lovely hostess. Remember, Ashby. Fetch me the address, and I’ll send along the supplies.”
Benjamin nodded, dumbfounded, before finding himself alone by the refreshments table. Alas, this was the perfect opportunity for a premeditated ambush…
“Good evening, Philip.”
Benjamin jerked in surprise, then turned and beheld Clara in all her coquettish, simpering glory.
Her curls were piled into a high roll with ornamental jewels and feathers, and around her neck dripped a glittering spread of diamonds.
Adorning her frame was a pale-blue gown with a low, lacy neckline—one so low that his eyes guiltily snapped back to her face.
“Miss Boyd,” he greeted. “Where is your chaperone?”
She snorted. “Mother’s my chaperone, and with Father also near, I hardly consider this discussion a means for concern. Unless you plan on being untoward?”
Benjamin huffed, thoroughly mortified. “I…o-of course not. No.”
When he flushed a faint pink, Clara grinned and mockingly batted her lashes. “Are you not going to tell me how lovely I am?” she teased. “You certainly look handsome this evening.” Waving a fan lazily beneath her chin, she pressed, “And how are you faring? I wasn’t expecting to find you all alone.”
“Why are you here?” Benjamin asked, choosing to ignore her questions. “To my understanding, this was supposed to be a gentlemen’s party.”
Clara snorted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, how unfortunate,” she purred, “for I see no gentlemen here…present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” Benjamin agreed, resisting an eyeroll.
“Naturally, Mother’s on the hunt for potential suitors,” Clara explained, pointing her fan in Deborah’s direction. “Unlike Charlotte, I’m afraid the matter of marrying up isn’t quite so important in my case. She just wishes to see me wed and carted off to the highest bidder.”
Benjamin hummed. “Surely, it’s not all that bad? From what I can tell, you have quite a few men chomping at the bit.”
Clara groaned. “I wish you wouldn’t use a horse analogy toward potential suitors…though to your credit, you’re not entirely wrong. Most of these men are a bit on the farm-animal side in terms of attractiveness.”
Benjamin grinned. “How fortunate, then, that you have so much farmland to spare.”
She gasped, swatting him with her fan. “You are cruel, Mr. Ashby!”
“I’m not cruel, I am honest—something you don’t seem ready to accept.”
The redhead appraised him sagely. “In regards to honesty as a whole, or yourself? Because you’re right; I have encountered my fair share of men, and most of them say whatever I wish to hear, and almost always with an ulterior motive. I suppose I’m trying to figure out yours.”
“My goal is to marry your sister,” Benjamin replied. “Need I more than that?”
“Spoken like a true gentleman. With your silver tongue, I’ll assuredly need to stay on guard.” Eyes alight, Clara resumed waving her fan beneath her chin, only to falter once her gaze settled upon something across the room. “Who on earth is that?” she asked.
Intrigued by her disgust, Benjamin turned and beheld a surly, thick-browed man with dark, uncombed hair and filthy-looking raiment.
“That’s Kit Donnelly,” he explained to her.
“According to Major Markham, he’s a commoner who hosted today’s cockfight.
When they discussed payment, this was what they settled upon. ”
Clara made a face. “What, to attend this party? These are my people, and even I wouldn’t wish this upon anyone. Surely this blaggard isn’t enjoying himself?”
“Clearly not,” Benjamin agreed, bemused. The man’s eyes were sharp and wolfish, and trained upon him with such fire that an immediate shudder lanced up his spine.
Clara hummed. “In any case, he certainly doesn’t seem fond of you, Philip. Do you think he’s taken offense to you skipping the fight? It was hosted in your honor.”
“I…surely do not know,” Benjamin replied, more perplexed than ever.
“Perhaps you should tip him, just to be safe,” Clara decided. “You never know with the riffraff of this colony.” A look of mischief overcame her face and she tapped his arm. “Let’s not speak of such things any longer. How are your pipes?”
Benjamin blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your singing voice,” she clarified. “At these parties, it is customary to sing and make merry, so you might as well be the one to lead us. Maybe then your admirer will be far more amenable.”
Benjamin sneered at her. “If your aim is to embarrass me in front of your father’s friends, I am afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Clara raised her chin. “How so? Are you an accomplished tenor?”
“Not in the least,” he replied. “I have a dreadful singing voice—much like two feral cats wrestling in an alley, if I am being honest—but my song choice of ‘Burrowing Yankees’ will surely soothe any auditory assault.”
Clara gleefully tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Well!” she exclaimed. “If that isn’t a sign to head over to the harpsichord, then I surely don’t know what is. Catherine can accompany you, and I’ll use my singing voice as a buffer.”
Benjamin huffed. “Yes, I daresay your voice could drown out anything,” he agreed, smiling once she knuckled his ribs.
Despite her clear annoyance, the redhead leaned into his side and led him across the room, yet as they walked arm in arm, Benjamin swore he could feel Donnelly’s dark, unwavering gaze searing through the back of his head, sharp and all-knowing in its intensity.