Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
A Truce
When Benjamin returned to Clara later that afternoon, he was carrying a valise practically overflowing with garments.
He checked over his shoulder, secured the barn door, and then strode toward her with purpose.
“Put these on,” he instructed. “A camp follower agreed to lend you some clothes. Naturally, she’s unaware of the specifics and thinks she is aiding a general’s wife. ”
Arching a brow, Clara grew snide. “A camp follower? Well! I should’ve known you were friends with a doxy, given how well you can kiss.”
Flustered, Benjamin snapped, “The woman is not a doxy. She’s married.”
“Even worse!”
Agitated, he tossed the valise into the dirt. “Put these on,” he said again, but with far more conviction.
Clara scoffed. “With you here?”
“W-well…”
“I require privacy, Captain.”
“Of course.” Embarrassed, Benjamin turned and faced the opposite direction, sighing as he dragged a hand over his face. “All the necessary garments should be in that bag, though I haven’t checked myself.”
Opening the valise, Clara peered inside and grimaced while unearthing the stained raiment. “This woman has jumps instead of stays? How slatternly!”
Benjamin rolled his eyes. “I apologize for not meeting your standards, Miss Boyd, but this isn’t a bloody draper shop. You must take what you can get.”
Clara curled her lip. “Is that your motto in life? Because truly, your allegiance to the patriot cause is finally starting to make sense!”
Benjamin stiffened but didn’t take the bait. “Let me know when you’re finished,” he said.
There came a pause, then Clara ventured a soft, “Um…Captain Hoskin?”
He sighed. “Yes?”
“I know this may come as a shock, but…I don’t truly know how to put these on.”
“What?” Horrified, he remained frozen in place. “How do you mean?”
“Well, I know the basics, like slipping into a shift, but my lady’s maid always helped me get dressed. Could you…? Possibly…?”
Benjamin scoffed, completely mortified. “I am not helping you get dressed.”
“Whyever not?”
“Are you seriously asking me why? You don’t see anything wrong with that request?”
Clara huffed, placing a hand on her hip. “Not when it’s a matter of life and death, I don’t!”
Benjamin sourly appraised the wall, hating how she’d thrown that back in his face. “I don’t know what you expect me to do… I had a mother, but did not help her get dressed, nor was I privy to her morning and evening routine.”
Clara pouted. “Yes, but surely the two of us can figure something out?” Coming up from behind, she shoved his shoulder. “Turn around! I’m tired of shouting at the back of your head like some noddy!”
Benjamin tensed, flexing and curling his hands. “Are you decent?”
“Yes. I haven’t taken anything off yet.”
Turning to face her, he was relieved to find she was telling the truth. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Benjamin appraised Clara from top to bottom. “Let’s start with…uh…taking everything off? I-I mean! Not your shift, but your jacket, and…” He gestured lower. “Skirts?”
Clara snorted. “Although I cannot get dressed, I assure you, I can take everything off.”
Eyes narrowing, Benjamin accused, “Do you mean to tell me you’ve…y-you have been intimate with men, and yet don’t know how to get dressed?”
She shrugged, unimpressed. “You needn’t disrobe to shag, Captain Hoskin. And if I did, the man fixed my clothing since he was the one to disrupt it in the first place.”
Benjamin winced. “I wish you wouldn’t speak like—”
“You wish I wouldn’t speak like what?” she seethed. “A common strumpet?”
Lowering his eyes, he murmured, “No… I wish you wouldn’t speak as if you aren’t of value. I have told you before: I don’t think you’re a trollop.”
Pressing her lips together, Clara ignored the buoyant leap in her chest. Affecting indifference, she raised her hands and pointedly unfastened her green caraco jacket and stomacher.
Benjamin’s eyes remained fixated on the ground, though a part of her wished he’d stop being so gentlemanly, that he would look, so that for once during their acquaintance, she could actually understand the kind of man he was.
She’d never met someone who showed her respect and meant it.
Shrugging out of her jacket, Clara unwound her petticoats and untied her pockets and panniers.
Out of the corner of her eye, Benjamin started to fidget, his hands clenching and releasing.
His discomfort made her smile. After sparing him a sly glance, which he didn’t see, she struggled out of her stays and tossed them to the ground, leaving herself in only her shift, stockings, and shoes. She turned to face him.
“You may assist me now,” Clara said.
Benjamin shook his head, still keeping his eyes on the ground. “Are you sure you can’t figure this out? You just did a remarkable job removing your clothes, so—”
“I am not lower class,” she coolly reminded him. “There are certain rules that must be upkept, so please, just help me into my jumps, apply my pockets, and tie up my petticoats. The back ties are first, and then the front, and that should be that.”
Benjamin scoffed. “‘That should be that?’” he echoed, annoyed. “If it’s so simple, perhaps you should allow yourself the adventure of trying new things.”
Clara simpered. “Oh, I think not, Captain. I believe it is your turn to be adventurous.”
Rolling his eyes, Benjamin fetched the yellow silk jumps from the valise, unwilling to keep arguing.
“Hold still,” he muttered. Easing her arms through the garment, he tugged the front together, and then fumbled with the ties.
“Uh…” Heat prickled beneath his collar, and he looked shyly at Clara. “Is this correct?”
Clara sneered. “I’d suggesting lacing it first,” she cooed. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer that these slatternly jumps hang wide open?”
Benjamin flushed. Pulling away to a more appropriate distance, his fingers grew jittery while he laced up the front. The positioning of his hands was far too intimate for comfort.
“See? You’re a natural,” Clara teased him, batting her lashes. “Are you certain you’ve never dressed a lady before?”
Benjamin huffed. “Maybe we should try this in complete silence.”
“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable, Captain? You kill men for a living, and yet it’s my indecency that’s such a bother?”
Benjamin’s stance grew rigid. “I do not kill people for a living,” he snapped. “What I do…it’s for the glory of the cause. And for God.”
“But how do you know?” Clara countered. Lifting her arms while he applied her pockets, she continued, “The loyalists believe themselves to be in the right as well, and God is aligned with the just and true. What if it’s my side He favors?”
Benjamin was silent for a long while. Frowning, he helped her slip into her underpetticoat and fumbled with the front and back fastenings. “Your side is oppressive and cruel.”
“So is yours,” Clara hissed. “Don’t think I don’t know what goes on in these camps. To be frank, I am amazed I haven’t been ravished by one of your guards.”
Flushing at the stinging force behind her words, he tied her garment and drew a breath. “Can’t you see why patriots wish to be free of tyranny? Why they wish to control their own fates, with the king so very far away?”
Clara shrugged. “I can, but my family would be affected, should the king abandon us. Our livelihood rests upon trade with Great Britain.”
Benjamin chose not to say anything, since that was something that he, too, heard as a common reason amongst his Tory friends. Frowning, he helped Clara into the outer petticoat, then fastened the back and front ties.
Touching his hands, Clara halted his gruff movements. “I’ll handle the rest,” she murmured. When he stepped away from her, embarrassed by his frustration, she probed, “Can I ask you another question?”
Sighing, Benjamin handed her an apron. “That depends on the inquiry,” he replied. “Though if it has to do with women, or my love life, I am going to have to respectfully decline.”
Clara sneered. “All right, Captain Clodpate. I actually do have a mind outside of carnality, you realize.” Applying her—or rather, some doxy’s apron—she asked, “If you are not a shipbuilding merchant from Philadelphia, where are you from, and what is it you do?”
Benjamin straightened with a hint of relief. “I am a preacher’s son from Long Island. I really did study at Yale, but I became a bookkeeper.”
She gasped, amusement lighting up her eyes. “A preacher’s son?” she echoed, a laugh bubbling in her throat. “That explains the prudishness…”
Benjamin soured. “I am not a prude.”
“Oh, no?”
“You said so yourself that I…th-that I am an exceptional study.”
She scoffed. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re not prudish, Captain. There is no need to be ashamed. Why, it’s incredibly rare to find a man who is disinterested in sniffing about between a woman’s—”
“Is that all you wanted to know?” Benjamin cut in, his cheeks warm.
Chewing her lip, Clara sidled closer with a twinkle to her eye. “I have many questions. One of which being how a preacher’s son pulled off being a rich, distinguished businessman, but I digress. My true concern is apologizing for earlier. I’m sorry for kneeing you in the gingambobs.”
Benjamin snorted. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re right,” she agreed, “I’m not, but I am sorry it had to come to that.”
It took Clara a moment to remember she was angry with him, that she was supposed to dislike him. Smothering her coyness, she said, “Either way, we both have worn masks with one another. You may consider us even, if it pleases you.”
Benjamin arched a brow. “Then…does that mean you forgive me?”
“I’m uncertain if forgiveness is the right word, but I am amenable to being on speaking terms again.” She extended her hand. “Truce?”
Benjamin glanced at her physical peace offering, hesitant, before wrapping his hand around her fingers in a gentle squeeze. “Truce,” he agreed. “Though this means what, exactly?”
“That you’re allowed to speak to me, within reason, and help me blend in with these…” Clara curled her lip, looking around them in contempt. “These rebels.”
A touch smug, Benjamin grinned. “Perhaps you’ll find you rather like our side of things.”
“Ah, yes. About as much as a bayonet to the skull, I’m sure.” Her lips quirked and she mirrored his smile, albeit grudgingly. “Go on, then. Show me how to be rebel scum.”
Benjamin rolled his eyes. “As much as I’d love to stay and do precisely that, I have plans for a raid.”
Clara’s smirk faded. “A raid? Where?”
“Never you mind. I’ll have someone come by with your dinner.
” Realizing that he was still holding her hand, Benjamin parted their fingers as if she’d burned him, his own digits twitching before he curled them into a fist. “From here on out, so long as you remain cooperative, you can keep your shackles off. Good day to you, Miss Boyd.”
She nodded, but was no longer in high spirits. Something about his announcement gave her a dark, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach…
Benjamin knew everything was time sensitive.
Although this intelligence had been gleaned at the last minute, their source said they needed to act now in order to stay ahead of the game.
According to Yates, an insider swore that a local cabin was the headquarters for some prominent Tories, and that if Benjamin and his scouts were to come by, they could potentially find and steal future plans.
But as far as Benjamin could see, the cabin he and his men had just entered hadn’t been used for years.
“This doesn’t feel right,” he muttered. Eyes scanning the filthy, leaf-littered floor, he frowned. Why would Yates send them here? Hadn’t he been smart enough to investigate the claim first?
“We should search anyway,” Elijah Brooks insisted. A few others nodded. “It’s what we came to do, right?”
Benjamin nodded in return, but he wasn’t convinced. He still had an unsettled feeling in his stomach…
Inspecting an empty table and ransacked desk, he only halted when he heard a twig snap. He turned, but lurched once the sound of gunfire rang through the air, and a line of poorly aimed musket shot pockmarked the wood.
Blood and thunder…
Falling to his knees, Benjamin banged his shins against the floor and rolled onto his side, fumbling for his flintlock.
“Tories?” he asked, straining to see through the broken windows. Who tipped them off?
“Tough to say,” someone shouted.
Lifting his voice above the din, Benjamin called to the other men, “Everyone all right?”
A few affirmatives followed, and he crept toward the front door.
“Where you goin’?” one of the scouts asked. “We need to stay together!”
“Actually, I think Captain Hoskin has the right idea,” Elijah spoke. “To divide and conquer should be our best bet.” Looking to Benjamin, he asked, “Might I have the honor of guarding your attack?”
Benjamin frowned, skeptical, before agreeing, “As you wish, Brooks. Be sure to stay close.”
“Of course, sir.”
Benjamin lingered by the door, then rushed over the threshold before diving around the side. He could hear shouts in the distance, but no further gunfire as he raced to a proper hiding spot.
“Over here!” he hissed to Elijah. “I think they might be reloading.” When he received no response, he glanced over his shoulder and scanned the area. “Brooks?”
A sharp, painful thwack rattled through his head, and Benjamin swayed, stunned, before dropping to his knees. Wet warmth followed, and when he touched the spot of pain radiating beneath his cocked hat, he realized he was bleeding.
“Careful, there,” he heard behind him. “That looks like it might hurt.”
Benjamin turned his head and squinted at Elijah, his vision tilting in a sickening blur of color. “You…y-you…?”
Elijah sneered. “Me,” he affirmed, then lifted his foot and struck it soundly into the captain’s face.