Chapter 12 Baiting the Hook
Chapter Twelve
Baiting the Hook
Nervously fiddling with her shawl, Clara stared out the coach window as the afternoon sun blazed overhead.
Her new acquaintance, Oliver Yates, sat across from her jotting notes into a leatherbound journal.
Once she’d informed him of Benjamin’s escape, he’d become agitated, furious, and was still muttering to himself while writing in his book.
“You’re sure he’s not coming back?” Oliver pressed. “There is no chance of him returning?”
Perplexed, Clara shook her head. “Are you finally able to speak freely?” she demanded. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”
Closing his journal, Oliver sighed and clasped his hands.
“Yes, forgive me, Miss Boyd,” he said. “My name is Major Oliver Yates, and I am an officer in the Continental Army. However, I’m aiding the British head of intelligence along the side.
I don’t feel the colonials can win this war, and thus wish to restore order as soon as possible.
” His dark eyes flashed with displeasure.
“For the past several weeks, I’ve been feeding information to the British and certain loyalists, one of whom is your father.
” When Clara tried to interject, Oliver held up a hand.
“Since I cannot be in two places at once, as soon as the rebel spy plot enacted itself about a sennight ago, I enlisted my own blackguard to keep an eye on things. Specifically, on your side of town.”
“But why?” Clara asked, puzzled. “How did you know to watch out for us, in particular?”
“Because in camp, I aid Major General Edwin Bishop with his intelligence gathering. I know all about your Philip Ashby—or Benjamin Hoskin, as he’s truly known—and how he was dispatched to observe you and your family.”
With her pulse spiking, a lump formed in Clara’s throat. “But…why would this man, this Benjamin Hoskin, want anything to do with my family?”
“You’re influential loyalists with prominent British ties,” Oliver reminded her. “If he could immerse himself into your conversations, it was likely he’d acquire intelligence to bring back to Washington’s camp.”
Nettled, Clara demanded, “And if you knew of his intentions, why did you wait until now to say something?”
Oliver leaned back in his seat. “Because, Miss Boyd, without true proof of spy work, we cannot charge him for treason. I couldn’t just steal Bishop’s reports without it being obvious, so I had to wait.
As of this morning, I received word that a shipment ‘Ashby’ was supposed to deliver never made it to its destination.
We finally have the proof we need, which is why I was hoping…
” He laughed, the sound a snarl. “Well, clearly the Lord has other plans.”
A sharp, shuddering breath rolled through Clara. “But he seemed so sincere.”
“Blackguards often do,” Oliver replied. “My loyalist spy, Kit Donnelly—or Elijah Brooks, as he’s known amongst rebels—undoubtedly seemed sincere to you, as well.”
“Kit Donnelly? The man who hosted Father’s cockfight?” Clara asked, astounded. “Why didn’t you inform the officers? Surely, they could’ve played along and helped!”
“Not necessarily,” Oliver replied. “For these delicate matters, it’s best to keep only a few people involved. That way, the likelihood of things getting bungled is far smaller.” He sighed. “There was the issue of Donnelly and Hoskin getting into a scuffle, but that all worked out in the end.”
Clara blinked in alarm. “Does that mean your man murdered George Stewart?”
Oliver shrugged, unrepentant. “Alas, the cause requires sacrifice. Stewart was in league with Hoskin, and I wanted Donnelly to question him. Unfortunately, his efforts got a bit spirited.”
Clara bristled. “I’d hardly call what happened ‘a bit spirited.’ As for Phil—ah…Mr. Hoskin, he was in a poor state when he returned.”
“He was believed dead,” Oliver agreed, “but not long after, was spotted with your father, so we knew we still had a job to do.”
“And you need me to do what, exactly?”
“Pose as bait,” he said. “If I offer you to my rebel superiors, my loyalty will be secured.”
Clara shook her head, not understanding. “Meaning what? You already serve under the Continentals, so why would you need me to prove your valor?”
“Because,” Oliver replied, “with my allegiance clear, Donnelly and I can get Hoskin to the King’s Men without rousing suspicion. If he’s captured in plainclothes with incriminating documents, he can be hanged as a spy.”
The words sent a quiver of horror through Clara’s throat, but she swallowed it back like bile.
Benjamin brought this on himself. It was assuredly what he deserved.
“Why are you so concerned with this man?” she wanted to know.
“With all due respect, Major, your plot seems a little over the top for one rebel.”
Oliver frowned. “Isn’t it obvious? In the art of war, appearances are important,” he said.
“Hoskin’s brother is a folk hero amongst the rebels, so if we string up Benjamin, it’ll harm their morale.
The objective here is to make an example of those who enact treason; and rather than hang the entire operation of blackguards, especially since it’d be difficult to find and apprehend them all, we’ve opted for mercy by singling out one man.
” He crossed his legs. “I’ve not yet told the British head of intelligence about Hoskin’s identity, but that’s because I need a clear advantage, something to offer, should everything go south before my plans are enacted. ”
Clara laced her hands, her head spinning with all of this troubling information. “All right,” she cautiously began, “but why would the rebels want me? You mentioned needing my help, so how am I to play into this?”
Oliver smiled. “By having you under rebel control, they’ll be able to put pressure on your father.”
Clara laughed, the sound harsh and scornful. “With all due respect, sir, my father doesn’t give a single fig about me.”
“Perhaps not, but they don’t know that,” Oliver said slyly. “So long as they believe they’ll have the upper hand over Jedediah, and by proxy, several British and loyalist connections, we’ll be in business.”
Clara chewed her lip. “But what am I to do once I’m their captive? If you think I’ll let those vile, reprehensible rebels lay one hand on me—”
“I’ll ensure you’re protected,” Oliver promised. “As long as you do exactly what I say, you’ll be safe.”
Slowly, the rigidness faded from Clara’s shoulders, and the ocean of hurt crashing against her heart stilled at the thought of having peace. She held out a hand in agreement. “I accept your terms, Major. I pray the hangman’s noose finds Benjamin Hoskin with swift alacrity.”
With Edwin available to speak at long last, Benjamin stood inside the man’s tent, anxiously waiting while the major general perused Boyd’s book. Glancing over his shoulder at Amos, Benjamin tried not to wince when his friend nodded in encouragement.
“This is insufficient.”
With a startled jerk, Benjamin turned back around. “But, sir!”
“I cannot move forward with hearsay,” Edwin spat. “Our internal relations are strained enough without muddying the waters. This ‘proof’ doesn’t mean we have double agents in our ranks. Were this to be a false report, we could do irreparable—”
“We have already caused irreparable damage!” Benjamin thundered.
“By ignoring intelligence such as this, we’ve allowed Boyd to aid in slaughtering our men!
Why is this book written in his own hand considered hearsay?
” Furious, he jabbed his finger forward.
“Did you not see his entries from last year? He was given vital intelligence on how to disrupt supply lines in Fairfield and Norwalk! If we didn’t have an insider, how else could he have known?
” Catching himself, he reined in his temper.
“If we ignore this lead, if we ignore that someone is feeding Tories and the British alike with our strategies, we’ll never win another battle. Do the lives of your men mean nothing?”
“You will watch your tone when speaking to your superior, Hoskin!” Edwin growled. “I know full bloody well what is at stake here!” He slammed down his fist. “And to think, I was just about to promote you to captain!”
Benjamin faltered. “Captain, sir? But…I have no true field experience. The first and last battle I’ve endured was—”
“For Daniel,” Edwin supplied, his features earnest. “Yes, I am aware. But the fact remains that even with your botched mission, you’ve shown true resilience and passion, something these men could use for their morale.” Looking to Amos, he asked, “What say you, McQuinn?”
Amos brightened. “In terms o’ leadership, Moony’ll be a sound choice,” he said, his eyes sparkling with pride.
“But if y’mean the book, he has a point, sir.
Even if Jedediah was just blowin’ smoke out his arse, it can’t be denied these are our plans.
Someone gave ’em to ’im, someone with connections to our officers. ”
Edwin opened his mouth to reply, but the tent flap opened and his aide, Francis Holmes, stepped inside.
“Major General, Major Yates wishes to see you…says he’s got someone you’ll want to meet.” Eyes shifting toward Benjamin, he added, “I think her name’s Tara Boyd.”
“Clara,” Benjamin whispered, startled. “But how…?”
“Is the girl with him?” Edwin cut in, rising from his seat. “Has she been questioned?”
Francis nodded. “Yates said she’ll give us leverage against the Boyd family. He claims they have new information that could sway our strategy.”
“And the girl,” Benjamin cut in, “is she hurt?”
Francis shrugged. “Seemed fine to me, sir.”
“Bring them to me,” Edwin agreed. “If I deem the major’s plot suitable, we will move forward with his request.”
The young aide bowed, then stepped back outside the tent.
When the tent flaps opened again, two men entered, one being Francis Holmes, and the other Oliver Yates, both of whom flanked a very peevish Clara Boyd.