Chapter 11 Out in the Open #2
“These are battle plans—Continental tactics.” With horror gripping him by the throat, Benjamin perused the notations and said, “Somehow, someone got these to Boyd—undoubtedly, because he has Tryon’s ear—to provide the major general with options that’ll make it easier to attack our lines in New York and Connecticut. ”
In a clumsy rush, Amos vaulted forward and peered at the pages, causing the dory to rock wildly before righting itself. “Zounds,” he hissed. “Y’think this is all they got on us?”
“I don’t know,” Benjamin said. “Clearly, someone’s trading our secrets…someone who knows the ins and outs of our camp.”
“A right-hand man?”
“Not necessarily. However, I’m not ruling anything out, so I suspect there will be a lot of sleepless nights in our future. I intend to keep my eyes and ears open.”
Slowly, a soft smile filled Amos’s face. “Not cut out for bein’ a spy, eh? It’s good to have y’back, Yale-man.”
Benjamin snorted. “How come? Because I’m giving you orders to spy on our own men? Clara was right: You do live for discord and mayhem.”
Amos’s smile stretched into a grin. “Aye, to the highest degree. But jus’ so y’know, it’ll be me givin’ you the orders now.” He proudly tapped his chest. “Bishop promoted me to corporal before I came out this-a-way.”
“Corporal?” Benjamin echoed, amused. “How in God’s name did you pull that one off? You can barely wipe your own arse.”
“Oi!” Amos snatched the book. “Can’tcha ever jus’ say ‘congratulations,’ y’barmy hob?”
The two shared a good laugh, warm and cathartic.
“That degenerate! I’ll kill him. I will kill him!”
In a rage, Jedediah seized a vase and hurled it hard across the sitting room, the Boyd women flinching once it shattered across the floor. Without provocation, two servants rushed forward to clean the mess.
While they picked up the shards, Jedediah furiously started to pace.
“What was he doing here?” he demanded. “Who was he? I don’t know any bloody Cartwrights!”
“I don’t know, Father, but—”
“You keep quiet!” he growled at Clara. “As I recall, his staying here was your doing, so you’re the least qualified to offer your opinions!”
Clara’s chin jutted. “I wasn’t aware I was ever qualified, given your refusal to listen.”
Enraged, Jedediah grabbed a candelabra and threw it against the adjacent wall. The unlit candles popped free and rolled across the floor.
Wincing, Deborah offered, “Perhaps Mr. Cartwright was hoping to marry our Charlotte. Surely—”
“You keep quiet, as well!” Jedediah thundered. “Ever since that jolter-head arrived, you have done nothing but preen and flirt, you…you insatiable harlot!”
Catherine gasped and burst into tears.
Infuriated, Clara curled an arm around her sister. “Don’t you worry, Father,” she seethed. “No man in his right mind would ever saddle himself to this family—or at the very least, not to you.”
The room fell silent. Even the servants faltered in their cleanup, their eyes nervously darting between their enraged employer and his daughter.
“Get out.” Despite the boiling anger within Jedediah’s bulging eyes, his voice was deathly low.
Clara’s brow creased. “I—”
“Get out!” he growled, knocking a small table onto its side. “You are not worthy of the Boyd name. You are not worthy of this family. So you are to leave at once!”
Jerking at the thunderous quality of his voice, Clara shook herself free of Catherine’s grip and coolly agreed, “I thought you’d never ask.”
The other women wept, and as she drew up her skirts and stormed from the room, Clara forced herself to keep moving without looking back.
When Benjamin emerged from his assigned tent, freshly changed and out of his prior disguise, he found Amos there waiting for him.
“Well, look at that!” the cabinetmaker crowed. “At long last, the stick’s been removed from your arse!” Laughing, he playfully punched the other man’s shoulder. “You all settled in?”
Benjamin huffed, a lopsided smile filling his face. “I certainly won’t miss dressing like the upper class,” he agreed. “And I’ve settled in fine, thank you. Bishop did a marvelous job with planning ahead.”
Amos nodded. “Who they gotcha quarterin’ with?”
“Uhh, I didn’t catch all the names, but one was Frederick Anderson, I believe?”
“Anderson? Oof, he smells worse than he looks! Might wanna stick close to the soap in your valise.”
Chuckling, Benjamin promised, “I’ll keep that in mind. How are you faring?”
“Weeell, red suited me quite nicely, but I’ll be all right now that I’m back in blue. How ’bout yourself?” Amos appraised him. “You puttin’ off the inevitable?”
Benjamin sighed. “If you mean talking to Bishop, yes and no. He’s currently indisposed, so I haven’t had a chance to discuss the specifics—or rather, the failures—of our mission.”
“We’ll get past it,” Amos assured him. “We’ve faced far worse than this, y’know.”
Benjamin spared him a cynical glance, yet knew he was right. “Where are you headed?”
“I’m stickin’ ’round for a bit, actually…jus’ to make sure things go well,” Amos said. “You’ve had quite a day, so I’d hate to see y’crumble under pressure.”
Benjamin snorted. “Thanks for the confidence.”
“Oi, quit bein’ such a looby,” Amos admonished, elbowing him. “Y’know I trust ya.”
They turned and started walking.
“I’m not sure I trust myself,” Benjamin softly admitted.
“Meanin’?”
“Meaning, my track record has been less than exemplary as of late.” He thought of Clara, and frowned when he realized that after everything, he was the one who’d been manipulated. His fieldwork pushed his heart straight into the snares of the enemy.
Shaking his head, Benjamin jolted once he spotted a figure in the distance. The man’s face was obscured by several thin, dirty bandages wrapped around his head, but there was a dark slant to his mouth that Benjamin immediately disliked.
Nudging Amos, he asked, “Who is that?”
“Hmm?” Following Benjamin’s gaze, he supplied, “Oh, jus’ some newcomer. Haven’t had a chance to speak with ’im, but the name’s Elijah Brooks. He’s a defector.”
Benjamin scoffed. “And you trust him?”
“I trust no one, Moony-boy, but Major Yates vouched for ’im. Brooks is healin’ from burns all over his face, ’cause some Tories tried to tar an’ feather ’im while he was out o’ uniform. Changed his allegiance right then an’ there.”
“I see…” Tensing his hands, a cold, sickening sensation churned through his gut, and when he and Amos passed by, Benjamin was overcome by a low tremor at the sight of the man’s sharp, wolfish grin.
Clara was uncertain if Jedediah meant what he said.
If she was unwelcome to return, that put her in considerable danger.
Despite her bravado, she didn’t actually feel safe in the streets of Lower Manhattan, and especially with so many lonely, leering soldiers that dotted the streets.
This was why, for now, she was taking the back roads along the upper part of the island to try and clear her head.
Perhaps after an hour or two, she could return, and her father would finally see reason.
Drawing her shawl in around her shoulders, she kept her eyes on the road while she traveled on horseback. Her mount’s trot was aimless, and fretful, she wondered if she had enough coin to stay at a tavern, should worse come to worse.
That was when a stagecoach appeared in the distance.
Skeptical, Clara slowed her horse’s tread and pulled the reins, frowning as the coach rolled to a stop, and a well-worn, friendly face peered back at her from the passenger window.
“Apologies, Miss,” he said. “Do you happen to be Clara Boyd?”
All at once, her defenses went up. “Who wants to know?”
Doffing his hat, the man revealed a head of dark, wavy hair and bright, twinkling brown eyes. “Mr. Oliver Yates, at your service. I was actually on my way to visit your family.”
Offering a brief nod, Clara frowned and looked away. “I’m afraid you won’t find my father in a pleasant humor, Mr. Yates. A rather…tense situation has arisen.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oliver said. “But if it eases your mind at all, I actually came with the intention of speaking with you, and not Jedediah.”
Clara blinked in open bafflement. “Me? With all due respect, sir, I have no idea who you are. What could you possibly wish to discuss with a perfect stranger?”
“Forgive me,” Oliver said, “but I cannot speak plainly in these woods. If you’ll accompany me, I can have your horse tethered to my own. I will tell you everything you wish to know, starting with the alleged Philip Ashby.”
Clara bristled at the mention of Benjamin. Despite the hollow, lurching sensation in her breast, she offered a tight nod. “Very well, Mr. Yates,” she agreed. “Please tend to my horse.”