Chapter 11 Out in the Open
Chapter Eleven
Out in the Open
The air was thick and stagnant, making it difficult to breathe. Benjamin lifted his hands in submission. The hard glint to Clara’s eyes lanced across his heart like tiny, hacking pickaxes, and her scowl remained despite the contrition on his face.
“Clara…”
“Who are you?” she demanded again, her voice wobbly.
“I…I-I am—”
“I know you’re not Philip Ashby,” she hissed, “so I am only going to ask you once more: Who are you?”
“Benjamin Cartwright,” he blurted. “I am a loyalist sympathizer, and I do own a shipbuilding business in Philadelphia. That was the Lord’s truth.”
“Then why did you lie?” Clara demanded. “Why did you pose as Charlotte’s betrothed?”
“You didn’t give me much choice, if you’ll recall,” Benjamin said.
Slowly, he took a step toward her, but when Clara fiercely re-aimed the pistol, he stumbled back and raised his arms higher.
“You were so eager for me to be Ashby, so I grossly misconducted myself and aided in a ruse I deeply regret. I wanted to tell you sooner, but…by that point, I’d muddled everything beyond repair. ”
Clara snorted. Tears sparkled in her eyes and her chin trembled. “You wanted to tell me, but didn’t,” she accused. “What are you, a thief? Do you want money?”
“No.” Benjamin shook his head. “I wanted to lend my aid to the cause—to assist your father in any way I could. Regrettably, I believed that if I backtracked on the Philip Ashby assumption, none of you would accept my help.” His mouth quirked.
“Truth be told, this all felt like a sign from Providence. Ashby’s city matched my own, and I knew enough about your family to aid in the fabrication. ”
Clara stiffened. “You may know about us, but we don’t know about you,” she coolly observed. “I’ve never heard of any Cartwrights in Philadelphia. Are you certain that’s your true name, or do you need a moment to come up with a new lie?”
Benjamin flinched, and out of the corner of his peripheral, he spotted movement.
Unfortunately, Clara spotted it too. She jerked toward the doorway and raised her flintlock, but not in time to fend off Amos’s attack. He tackled her and hurtled them both to the ground, the redhead crying out once she misfired into the wall.
Benjamin ducked and staggered back, wide-eyed as Amos ripped the weapon from Clara’s hand and curled an arm around her throat.
“Don’t!” Benjamin pleaded.
The cabinetmaker ignored him and squeezed. Clara choked and squirmed, clawing at his forearm while tears of exertion streamed down her cheeks. Harder and harder he tightened his grip, closing off her airway.
“Amos, that’s enough!” Benjamin thundered.
“We can’t have ’er warnin’ the others!” he volleyed. “D’ya really think she’ll stay quiet? You’ve really done it now, Moony-boy!”
Clara wheezed and slackened her hold, her eyes rolling back as she sagged from the effort of trying to breathe.
Furious, Benjamin grabbed Amos and yanked him off of her, fearful as he dropped to his knees and gathered her into his arms. Tasting bile, he cupped Clara’s face and urgently tapped her cheek. She was unresponsive but still breathing. He could already see light bruising along her throat.
“You bastard,” he growled. “Why did you have to be so rough? You could have killed her!”
“Y’mean as she woulda killed you?” Amos refuted. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Benjamin scoffed. “She wasn’t going to harm me. She was bluffing!”
“Oh, really? The blasted thing was loaded, Moony. She had every intention of usin’ that pistol!”
He swallowed. “Be that as it may—”
“We have to go,” Amos cut in, vaulting to his feet. “I got the paperwork outta Boyd’s desk, so grab your shite an’ anything else we might need.”
Benjamin paled. “We can’t just leave her…”
“We can and will,” Amos hissed, rounding on his friend in an instant. “Now ain’t the time for chivalry! She’s a bloody Tory, Ben. Or have ya forgotten that while gettin’ inside ’er mutton?”
Face burning scarlet, Benjamin’s upper lip curled, but he grudgingly knew his friend was right. They didn’t have time to waste.
Torn, Benjamin looked at Clara, then hoisted her into his arms.
“Oi!” Amos growled. “Put that doxy-dell down!”
“I intend to,” Benjamin snapped, his eyes blazing. Carefully, he laid Clara across his bed and adjusted her so she’d be comfortable. With a knot in his throat, he curled his hands over hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He was. Oh, God, he was! If there was one thing he wished had turned out differently in this venture, this was assuredly it.
“Let’s go!” Amos clapped a hand onto Benjamin’s shoulder and roughly ripped him back, causing him to stumble.
Benjamin was tempted to get into another argument, perhaps even throw a punch or two, but instead, he tamped down his anger and grabbed his valise and a couple books from his nightstand. “Let’s go,” he gruffly agreed.
Clara awoke after a splash of water shocked her into consciousness.
“She’s coming to!” a girl—Catherine?—exclaimed.
Groggy, Clara blinked the fog from her eyes and groaned, only to wince at the tender pain in her throat. “Where…? W-where…?”
“You’re in Mr. Ashby’s room,” Catherine said, concerned as she looked to Angélique. The servant was wide-eyed and clutching a water pitcher. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Philip…”
No, not Philip, she realized. Benjamin Cartwright.
Furious, Clara rocketed upwards, only to instantly regret it when she fell back onto her elbows.
“Easy, darling!” Catherine exclaimed. “Are you hurt? Your neck is…i-it’s bruised.” Gray eyes turning to flint, she demanded, “Did Mr. Ashby do this? Did he…take liberties?”
“No…” Clara swallowed past her nausea. “No, no, he didn’t take any liberties.” Extending a hand, she gently pushed Catherine away. “I’m soaking wet.”
“We had to wake you, mademoiselle,” Angélique said, shifting guiltily. “I apologize.”
“It’s no matter,” Clara grumbled, brushing a soaked curl from her face. “Have either of you seen the Ashbys?” When both women shook their heads, she cursed. “Of course not. Of bloody course not.”
“What’s going on?” Catherine demanded.
With an embittered sneer, Clara said, “It would seem my earlier suspicions were correct, my darling. We have been duped.”
Due to their limited time to escape, Benjamin and Amos took a dory boat up the Hudson. The Continental encampment in Middlebrook, New Jersey, wasn’t so far away, so they could easily make it by water, and then by land within a few hours, if conditions remained favorable.
“I’m sorry.”
Amos glanced at Benjamin, his brow puckering as he continued rowing. “For what?”
“For everything…and wanting to hit you.” Here, Benjamin offered a weak smile, though it never quite reached his eyes.
Amos cackled. “I’d like to see ya bloody try, lad! You Hoskinses are all bark an’ no bite. There’s never any follow-through.”
“Dan followed through,” Benjamin softly said.
Amos’s smile faded. “Aye,” he agreed. “That he did.”
Exhaling, Benjamin dragged a hand over his face. “I was foolish to think this could’ve worked. I’m no spy, and you know it. I’ve ruined everything.”
Amos frowned. “Y’protected our ranks from tampered goods, so it wasn’t a complete waste o’ time. Speakin’ o’ which…” He gestured. “Quit slackin’, will ya? We’ll get to camp faster if you actually row.”
Jerking upright, Benjamin mechanically moved his arms. “Sorry,” he apologized again. “I’m a bit distracted.”
Amos snorted. “She got to ya, did she?”
“Who?”
“The Boyd girl. I may be a lot o’ things, but blind ain’t one of ’em.”
Looking away, Benjamin muttered, “I don’t know…
I never thought I’d see the enemy as human.
This entire time, it’s been easy to label them as scum—monsters—but the more I got to know the Boyd girls, and Major Markham, in particular, the more I realized they have hopes, dreams, and fears like the rest of us. We all bleed the same.”
“Not quite,” Amos said. “I may’ve only spent one night with ’em, but they’ll never be like us. The rich don’t have the same fears as the rest o’ the world.”
“Poverty’s befallen many affluent families,” Benjamin reminded him, rowing with languid strokes.
“Ah. So you’re pityin’ ’em, are ya?” Frowning, Amos scolded, “Viewin’ the enemy as human is only gonna get’cha killed. From here on out, I want’cha to look at each redcoat an’ Tory as a movin’ target. Y’get me?”
“That’s horrible,” Benjamin whispered.
“Horrible, but the only way to survive,” Amos said. “Y’think I like killin’ people? It rankles somethin’ fierce, Moony, but it’s sure better than bein’ dead.” Huffing, he groused, “Oi! Row in time with me, eh? Clara may’ve made’ja into a loggerhead, but she ain’t worth a capsized boat!”
Clenching his teeth, Benjamin corrected his stance. “What am I going to tell Bishop?” he asked. “He took a chance on me, and I failed…”
Expression softening, Amos shrugged. “Y’weren’t even gone a full week, so I doubt he’ll be too upset. Zounds, Moony, you’re only one man. It’s better to be safe than rush your work.”
As if aiding in testament, Benjamin’s healing knife wound throbbed and he winced, nodding. “Right. Still, I wish I had more to offer than an oral report. Bishop’s not one to act on hearsay. He needs physical proof…proof I don’t currently have.”
“Y’mean the proof I swiped from Boyd’s desk?” Amos asked, smugly waggling his brows. He reached inside his inner coat pocket, then tossed the leatherbound book into Benjamin’s lap. “I didn’t get much time to look it over, but the second I saw Tryon’s name, I snatched it up an’ made a run for it.”
“Major General Tryon?” Ebullient, Benjamin stopped rowing and opened the book, scanning the pages with an eagerness that soon turned to dread. “Amos…”
“Aye?”