Saratoga (18 page)

"I told you. I didn't wish you to hear about it."

"Why not?"

"Because of the danger I was in, Elizabeth. I thought you'd be terrified to hear that one of my own men became so crazed that he attempted to kill me. Combat has peculiar effects on some people. Private Higgs was one of them."

"Every time you see action, there's danger," she said reasonably. "I know that and I accept it as part of military life. What I never envisaged was that an officer like you ran the risk of being shot by a British soldier, a man who's trained and paid to fight at your command. It's frightening, Harry. Yet, from what I hear, this is not an isolated case."

"What do you mean?"

"Nan said that other British officers have sometimes been killed or wounded in battle by someone who's actually on their side."

"Who told her that?"

"Sergeant Caffrey."

"Ah," he said, teeth clenched. "So that's who it was—Tom Caffrey."

"Nan has become friendly with a woman called Polly Bragg. It was she who first mentioned the incident to Nan. She was amazed that I hadn't heard anything about it. So—for that matter—am I."

"The whole thing was over in a flash," he insisted. "Why make so much of it?"

"Because I want you to stay alive, Harry."

He smiled. "Oh, I intend to be around for a long while yet. I have such enticing prospects ahead of me, don't I?" he said, taking her hand to squeeze it between both palms. "Am I forgiven?"

"For what?"

"Trying to protect you from something I felt you shouldn't know."

"As long as it never happens again," she said, enjoying the feel of his warm hands. "I'm not a child anymore. I'll not have a fit of the vapors if you tell me what happens on the battlefield. I want to know
anything
that concerns Major Harry Featherstone. It's my right, isn't it?"

"Of course." He kissed her hand again. "Am I forgiven now?"

"Yes."

"Good." His facial muscles tightened. "With regard to your maid, I suggest that you forbid her to go anywhere near Polly Bragg."

"Why? She likes the woman."

"Do you know who Mrs. Bragg is?" he asked. "She was the wife of a corporal—though I doubt very much that their marriage had the Church's blessing. In any case, he was her second 'husband.' When the corporal died, she took up with our assistant surgeon, Tom Caffrey. Do you understand what I'm saying, Elizabeth?"

"What?"

"The woman is practically a whore."

"Harry!" she protested.

"Well, what other word can I use? She's a camp follower, an unpaid harlot,
someone with a compulsion to have a soldier in her bed. Polly Bragg is like dozens of others who follow the British army. Ten women per company is the specified number for us, and they're certainly not all on the Married Roll."

"Mrs. Mallard is."

"That's irrelevant."

"Not in my view."

"We're talking about Polly Bragg," he said, reining in his temper. "I'm sorry to disenchant you, but her friendship with Nan was not accidental. It was very deliberate. Mrs. Bragg was obviously suborned by Sergeant Caffrey."

"Why?"

"Because the sergeant is a close friend of Captain Skoyles," he said, spitting out the name. "Skoyles is behind all this. He's taken an unhealthy interest in you, Elizabeth. Since he can't get close to you himself, he finds out everything he can by using Polly Bragg as his spy."

"No," she said, refusing to believe it. "Captain Skoyles strikes me as an honorable man. He'd never do such a thing."

"Oh, yes, he would. But he won't get the opportunity again."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll cut off his supply of information at the source. Your maid is never to speak to Mrs. Bragg again, do you hear?" he ordered. "It's not the innocent friendship that it appears."

"Nan clearly thinks so."

"Then she's been duped. As for Captain Skoyles," he added darkly, "leave him to me. Since he's too pigheaded to listen to a verbal warning, it will have to be delivered more forcefully."

When he returned to Skenesborough with his men, Jamie Skoyles first reported to Brigadier Fraser that they had been unable to recapture the prisoner and that he had thought it unwise to pursue him deeper into the forest. Tired, perspiring freely, and itching from insect bites, Skoyles then repaired to his tent to wash, shave, and change into a clean uniform. He was troubled by the sense of relief he felt that Ezekiel Proudfoot had eluded them, and he struggled to explain it to himself. Was he simply sorry for the man, or did he have a grudging admiration for the way he had nailed his colors to the American cause? Had he caught any other rebel prisoner trying to escape, Skoyles
would have shot him without compunction. First and foremost, the captain was a British soldier with a heightened sense of duty.

Why did Proudfoot make him react so differently? It was much more than the pull of an old affection. The engraver served the enemy, producing prints that would glorify the actions of the patriots while denigrating those of the British. Spread far and wide through the newspapers, Proudfoot's work was an effective recruiting tool. In taking him out of commission, Skoyles would be removing an important weapon of the American cause, yet he could still not bring himself to regret the man's escape. It puzzled him.

Having made himself presentable again, he set off toward Colonel Skene's house for an evening at the card table. Sergeant Tom Caffrey came striding around the angle of a tent to intercept him.

"Hold on, Jamie," he said. "I need to speak to you."

"I'm late already. General Burgoyne has asked me to play with them again and that's an invitation I can't refuse. There's money to win."

"Or to lose."

"I'm prepared for that as well," said Skoyles easily.

"Not that it happens very often, mind you. When it comes to cards, you've got the luck of Lucifer. What are you going to do with all your winnings?" asked Caffrey. "You surely don't still have that dream of buying a little land in America?"

"No, Tom," replied Skoyles with a grin. "I want to buy a
lot
of land."

"Only if we crush the rebellion out of these hotheads."

"Whatever happens, this is the country for me."

"Then I'll do my best to keep you alive to enjoy it." Caffrey's face clouded. "There's something you need to know, Jamie."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"That may be too late. You have to be ready for them."

"Them?"

"I've just had Dan Lukins in my tent," said Caffrey. "He claims that he tripped over and hit something hard as he fell, but the little devil had obviously been in a fight again."

"I think I can guess who his opponent was—Private Wolverton."

"Exactly. I bullied the story out of Lukins as I patched him up. It was over a watch, apparently. Wolverton took it from a dead rebel officer at Hubbardton and was delighted with his booty. It was a fine watch."

"Then Lukins stole it."

"Inevitably."

"There's always some bone of contention between those two," said Skoyles, wanting to get off. "Excuse me, Tom. I don't have time to listen to this now."

"You must," asserted the other, putting out a hand to detain him. "The fight took place behind some baggage wagons, it seems, where there was nobody about. Wolverton was furious at the theft of the watch, even though he'd stolen it himself, of course."

"Did he batter Lukins?"

"Yes, Jamie. He made that ugly little face look even uglier. It was covered in blood. Wolverton eventually knocked him down, then got his watch back. All that Lukins could do was to lie there on the ground, dazed and bleeding."

"So?"

"It meant that he wasn't seen by the two men who slipped behind the wagons for a private conversation—about Captain Jamie Skoyles."

Skoyles was suddenly interested. "
Me?
"

"Lukins recognized Harry Featherstone, but he'd never seen the other fellow before. One of the Canadian axmen, he thought."

"Go on."

"The major asked the man if he'd like to earn some money by setting upon a certain officer and giving him a sound beating." He gave a mirthless laugh. "He did confess that it was a job for two of them as you wouldn't be an altogether defenseless victim."

"Coming from Featherstone, I take that as a compliment."

"Lukins swears that it's due to happen tonight," said Caffrey. "On your way back from the card game at the house, when you've had plenty of Gentleman Johnny's claret and are completely off guard."

"Thanks, Tom. I appreciate the warning."

"Count on me to be there as well."

"I'll make sure I don't drink too much of that claret."

"See if you can smuggle out a bottle for me."

"You deserve a dozen bottles for this," said Skoyles.

"Don't forget Dan Lukins. He's the man who overheard them."

"But only because Wolverton had that fight with him. I'm grateful to both of them. Lukins may have lost a little blood, but he's prevented mine from being
spilled too freely tonight. Forewarned is forearmed." He straightened his shoulders. "At least, I know what to expect now."

"Two of us against two of them," said Caffrey gleefully.

"I wonder how much the major is paying them."

"They only get their money when their work is done."

"Not a bloody chance!" said Skoyles with a smile. "I do believe that I'm beginning to feel sorry for them."

General John Burgoyne was in his element. Seated in the dining room at the house, he looked around the table at the senior officers who were gathered there and raised his glass in yet another toast.

"To King and Country!" he declared.

"King and Country!" they echoed in unison.

Glasses were emptied, then replenished with more wine. Everyone was in good humor. The atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. Burgoyne and his guests might have been carousing in a London club rather than pausing in the middle of a campaign. As the owner of the house, Colonel Skene was, technically, the host, but he was happy to cede that role to his commanding officer. Alongside the two of them at the table were Brigadier Simon Fraser, General William Phillips, and Major Harry Featherstone. They wanted to enjoy the break in hostilities before moving on to what they were convinced would be further victories.

Featherstone leaned over slightly in the direction of Burgoyne.

"Have you had chance to consider my request, General?" he asked.

"Forgotten what it was, Harry," Burgoyne joked. "How much did you want to borrow from me this time?" The others laughed. "You sought my permission, didn't you?"

"Yes, General."

"Colonel Skene might be the best person to consult. He knows the temper and the geography of this wilderness far better than we do. What do you think, Colonel?" said Burgoyne. "Harry wishes to escort Miss Rainham to visit her uncle, who has land somewhere to the northeast of us. His name is Lansdale—David Lansdale."

"I know the fellow," said Skene heartily. "A trueborn Englishman. It would be wrong to claim him as a friend exactly, but, then, most of my neighbors
find me a trifle outlandish, if not downright bizarre." There was general amusement at the remark. "Lansdale owns couple of thousand acres near Bitter Creek, best part of a day's march away."

"Should I sanction a visit there?"

"It would not be undertaken simply to enable Elizabeth to meet her uncle," said Featherstone quickly. "Our principal aim would be to find recruits. As well as three sons, Mr. Lansdale has many workmen, tenants, and slaves on his estate. And there's a village nearby, I believe."

"We can certainly count on his loyalty," Burgoyne affirmed. "Met him once at a family gathering, many years ago. Elizabeth was no more than five or six at the time. For some reason, Lansdale was about to sail to the colonies, start a new life here. Never understood why."

Philip Skene beamed. "I do, General," he said, tapping his chest, "because I share David Lansdale's instincts. By all accounts, he's done very well for himself, and I'd be surprised if he didn't furnish us with some men and some horses."

"Is it safe to travel to Bitter Creek?"

"Oh, yes—as safe as it is for me to look for recruits in Castleton tomorrow. The rebels have fled to the south or gone much farther east. Some have even deserted to join us—the most encouraging sign of all."

"More to the point," said Burgoyne complacently, "loyalists are starting to trickle in at last. We still need plenty more, of course, so I'm inclined to let Harry go and find them for us."

"Thank you, General," said Featherstone.

"Be sure to ask David Lansdale if he remembers me."

"Nobody would ever forget you, sir."

"You stick in the mind in perpetuity," Fraser added, raising a glass to his commander, "like a first beautiful love affair."

"I've had several of those in my time," Burgoyne confessed.

Jamie Skoyles walked in on the laughter. After apologizing for his lateness, he took the empty seat at the table and was immediately given a glass of claret. Everyone except Featherstone offered a cordial welcome. Though he was the junior officer there, Skoyles did not feel in any way overawed. Among fellow gamblers, rank did not apply.

Burgoyne reached for his glass. "I spy another toast, gentlemen," he announced. "To Captain Skoyles—the hero of Hubbardton."

"I'll drink to that," said Fraser, willingly.

"Captain Skoyles!" they chorused.

Featherstone joined in the toast without enthusiasm. Noting his reluctance, Burgoyne clicked his tongue reproachfully.

"Come, come, Harry," he admonished. "Skoyles saved your life.
You
should be the one who proposed the toast and not me."

"I'm very grateful to him," said Featherstone, forcing the words out.

"So are we all. Hate to lose a splendid officer like you. Well, my friends," he went on, picking up a pack of cards from the table, "are we ready to do battle? I suggest some games of faro and macao until two of you retire hurt, then the last four of us standing can turn to whist."

"You seem to assume that you'll be one of the four," noted Skene.

"I can play cards all night," boasted the other.