Saratoga (37 page)

"We have surgeons to look after the wounded."

"And nurses," she said. "Kind women like Mrs. Bragg who give up their time to tend the sick and injured. Men are grateful for the sight of a female face."

"I
know
—I'm one of them."

"Harry!"

"Have you any idea how painful this is for me?"

"The pain will gradually fade in time."

"The opposite has happened in my case," he said, "and I'll stand no more of it. I'll not be made the laughingstock of the whole camp."

"That wasn't my intention."

"Then talk to me, be with me, dine with me. People are starting to pass derogatory comments, Elizabeth. They think that a rift has opened between us."

"You were the one responsible for that, Harry."

"Can't we consign it all to the past and start anew?"

"I think not."

"We can, if we both try." His voice took on a pleading note. "Have you forgotten all the promises you made to me when we were in Canterbury? You swore that you'd do anything to be with me."

"That was before I saw you for what you really are."

"I'm still the same man, Elizabeth," he insisted, taking her by the shoulders. "The man that your sister chose until she was cruelly taken from us. Don't you remember what Cora said to you?"

She bit her lip. "Only too well."

" 'Love him in my stead, Elizabeth.' That's what she told you."

"Yes, it's true—and I found it easy to do so."

"What's changed?"

"I don't know."

"Have I lost
all
of your respect?"

"No," she said, "I still admire you as a soldier who's prepared to risk his life in defense of King and Country. Beyond that . . ." She ran her tongue over her dry lips. "Beyond that, Harry, my feelings are unclear. When my sister died—and when she wanted me to enjoy the happiness that she had hoped to share with you—I was only too ready to love you. But I was young and inexperienced. I was caught up in an infatuation."

"And now?"

"Things have altered. I simply can't feel the same about you any more. That may sound cruel, but you deserve honesty." She straightened her back. "You brought it on yourself, Harry."

He glared at her. "It's
him
, isn't it?" he decided. "That's what really came between us—Captain Skoyles. Until he came on the scene, you were only interested in me. Then you met him."

"It's not as straightforward as that."

"Oh, I think it is, Elizabeth. If I'd engaged two men to assault any other officer, you'd not have turned a hair. Because the intended victim was Skoyles, you had a fit of righteous indignation."

"It was a dishonorable thing to do, Harry, and, whoever the victim was, I'd have protested strongly."

"I doubt that," he said. "Skoyles has been a thorn in my side from the start. After Hubbardton, he even dared to invite you into his tent."

"Only because I asked to thank him on your behalf."

"I owe the fellow no gratitude!"

"Well, I do. He rescued us both at Bitter Creek."

"Does that mean you have to throw me aside for him?"

"No, Harry."

"He
was the reason you visited the hospital yesterday, wasn't he?" he accused. "You didn't go to see the wounded men at all. You went there to meet Captain Skoyles. Admit it—
admit it, Elizabeth!
"

He reinforced his demand by shaking her so vigorously that she let out an involuntary cry of pain. Nan Wyatt came into the tent immediately and stared in disbelief at what she saw. Featherstone released his hold and mouthed an apology before going swiftly out of the tent. Nan rushed to put a consoling arm around Elizabeth, who tried to stem her tears.

"He knows," she whispered. "The major knows."

"Why didn't you betray me, Ezekiel?" he asked. "You know why I'm here."

"Yes," said Proudfoot, "but I had a debt to repay. Thanks to you, I'm not languishing in Fort Ticonderoga with the other prisoners."

"There's a big difference. In helping you, I didn't put myself in any danger. You, on the other hand, could be charged with harboring an enemy soldier."

"I'll take that chance."

"Thank you."

"Besides, there's another reason why I didn't give you away."

"Is there?"

"I was pleased to see you."

They were seated together on a grassy knoll near the edge of the camp. Skoyles had signed the relevant papers, been given a regiment, and was now a putative member of the Continental Army. Across his knees was the corporal's blue uniform that he had been issued. Proudfoot glanced at it.

"You've been demoted, Jamie," he mocked. "You should have held out for a captaincy—not that you'd have enjoyed it for long."

"I was happy to be back in the ranks for a while."

"We've good soldiers, the equal of anything you can muster. And our militias are full of brave fighting men."

"I know," said Skoyles, feeling the side that had been grazed by a bullet. "One of those men wounded me slightly at Bennington."

"You were
there?
"

"Until we were chased from the field."

"I watched the whole battle, Jamie."

"That luxury was not afforded to me."

Skoyles had been stunned when he first encountered Proudfoot at the camp, and he was mightily relieved that his true identity had not been revealed. There were plenty of trees from which the rebels could hang him. Proudfoot had kept him alive.

"I was glad that you escaped, Ezekiel," he confessed.

"Why?"

"Because I hated to see you under armed guard, especially as you are no soldier. It was almost as if I
wanted
you to go free."

"Who's showing friendship toward the enemy now?"

"I led the search party for you. When we found that the redcoat in the woods, I realized that you'd got safely away and I was content."

"Even though you knew that I'd use all my skills against you?"

"Even then."

"We are two of a kind, Jamie," Proudfoot commented. "I wore a red uniform to escape from your army and you're putting on a blue one in order to join mine. Both of us are turncoats."

"Only by compulsion."

"Unless you could be persuaded to stay with us."

"On a corporal's pay?" said Skoyles with a grin. "It's not exactly an irresistible temptation. I know there's a bounty of twenty dollars and the promise of land, but the land is only in the gift of Congress if you happen to win this war."

"I believe that we will. Bennington was a turning point."

"Campaigns are full of turning points. I've fought in too many to be worried by a single reverse. You've gallant soldiers, I'm sure, but have you the commanders who can bring out the best in them?"

"Only time will tell." Proudfoot studied him quizzically. "What do you see yourself as, Jamie—British or American?"

"British."

"Yet you've always nurtured the idea of buying land and settling down here. What would that make you?"

"A British colonist."

"Only if this corner of the colonial empire survives. Supposing—for the sake of argument—that we break away from King George. Does that mean you'll accept defeat and go back to England?"

"No, Ezekiel," said Skoyles. "I've lived on my dream far too long to abandon it now. Win or lose, I'll be staying here."

"Then you'll become one of us."

"No, I'm British through and through."

"You will," Proudfoot argued. "So stop shilly-shallying. These men you see around you will be your fellow countrymen—and so will I. Why not become one of us sooner rather than later?"

"Stop trying to corrupt me."

"I'm simply appealing to your common sense."

Skoyles laughed. "If I had any of that, Ezekiel," he said, "I'd never have joined the army in the first place. It was an act of sheer madness that, somehow, I've never quite managed to regret."

"But you regret things you'd done in the name of that army."

"Very much so."

"Have you ever looked at it from the opposite angle?"

"In what way?"

"Well," said Proudfoot, "imagine, just for a moment, that England has been invaded and conquered by France. Instead of being at the head of a mighty empire, the country would be nothing more than a French colony, subject to the laws, dictates, and whims of a foreign power. Can you envisage that, Jamie?"

"Quite easily."

"In those circumstances, what would someone like you do?"

"Resist the enemy in every possible way."

"Just like us! Welcome to America!"

"That's false logic," said Skoyles earnestly. "In the sense that you mean, America does not exist. It comprises thirteen fractious colonies that squabble with each other all the time. They have to be reminded who founded and who funded them. You're merely one part of the biggest empire in the world, and I'm proud that I can help to maintain it."

"I don't see you as King George's lackey somehow."

"I'm a true subject, Ezekiel."

"Subject to all the dictates of that grotesque tyrant?"

"Stop trying to win me over to your side."

"I think that the tide of events will do that."

"Have you never heard of loyalty?"

"Loyalties can change. Look at our generals—many of them learned their trade in the service of the British army."

"Including your own General Gates."

"He marches to a different drum now, one that beats out the pure, clear sound of American republicanism."

"It has a discordant note to my ear," said the other skeptically. "Our commanders are kindred spirits. They're both crafty politicians with an eye on self-advancement. General Burgoyne got where he is by talking down Sir Guy Carleton in London. In exactly the same way, General Gates gained his command by undermining his predecessor. That's not American republicanism, Ezekiel—it's naked ambition."

"Ambition is only a means to an end."

"Then it can be used to justify any atrocity."

"I dispute that. However," he went on, "I can see that this is not the ideal moment for a philosophical discussion, or even for a conversation between friends. It's time to choose sides. You know the one that I'm on." He offered his hand. "Goodbye, Jamie."

Skoyles shook his hand. "Where are you going?"

"To take a long, slow walk around the perimeter of the camp. That should give you plenty of time to decide what to do. When I've had my stroll, you see," he warned, "I'll feel obliged to report to General Gates that I've just seen a British spy in the camp." He hauled himself up. "I wish that we didn't have to part this way."

"Blame it on American republicanism."

"I'd rather blame in on your pigheadedness, Jamie."

Skoyles rose to his feet. "I always looked upon my pigheadedness as a shining virtue," he said with a smile. "Perhaps the only one I've got." He slapped the other man's arm. "Goodbye, Ezekiel—and thank you."

"You'll be back one day."

"Oh, I will. But I'll have the British army with me next time."

On September 13, 1777, led by Brigadier General Simon Fraser and his advance guard, the British troops set off with colors flapping in the wind and bands playing to cross the Hudson River. On the following day, the Germans
followed them. There was no turning back now. With an army of little more than five thousand men, General Burgoyne moved slowly south until they reached the village of Saratoga, where he took over General Schuyler's sumptuous mansion as his headquarters. He ordered his men to reap the harvest in the fields that Schuyler's wife had found too wet to burn when she fled from the house. Then he made arrangements for dinner.

The army was unsettled. Many of the officers were aggrieved that their commander had not consulted them about the move from Fort Edward, and there was perturbation among the rank and file as well. News of St. Leger's defeat had reached everyone by now, and it caused general anxiety. They felt isolated. Elizabeth Rainham was more concerned about the absence of Jamie Skoyles. Since the only way that she could find out about him was to speak to Burgoyne, she accepted his invitation to dinner, even though she knew that Lucinda Mallard would be present.

There was another advantage to her appearance as one of the guests. Harry Featherstone would view it as a gesture of kindness to him, and he would be appeased. It might even still his suspicions about her. In order to learn the whereabouts of Skoyles, she was prepared to endure the major's company beside her, and the inevitable comments that would be made about their forthcoming marriage. Elizabeth arrived early at the house, hoping to catch the general on his own. Burgoyne was giving instructions to the musicians whom he wanted to play during the meal.

"Ah!" he said, breaking off when he saw Elizabeth. "Someone is hungry, I see."

"It's always a delight to come to your table, General."

"Then why have you spurned us so many times?"

"I've not been at my best recently," said Elizabeth, inventing an excuse. "I felt tired and slightly feverish."

"Oh dear! Nothing serious, I hope."

"No, General. It seems to have gone away now." Other guests could be heard arriving at the front door, so she blurted out her question. "I've not seen Captain Skoyles in camp for a day or two. Where is he?"

"I sent him on an assignment, Elizabeth."

"May I know what it is?"

"It's highly secret, I fear. I can't discuss it."

"How long do you expect him to be away?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Idle curiosity, that's all."

"There's nothing idle about you, Elizabeth," he said shrewdly. "Curious, maybe—and an inquisitive nature is a good thing—but never idle. As for Skoyles, he's acting on my orders."

"Where?"

"That's privileged information," he said. Six other guests came into the room, Simon Fraser and William Phillips among them. The general beamed. "Well, now," he declared, "everyone is remarkably punctual today—except Major Featherstone, that is. Where have you hidden him, Elizabeth?"

"Harry will be here soon."

"Then why don't we all have a glass of punch while we await him?"

He signaled to the man beside the punch bowl, and the waiter began to fill the glasses and hand them to the guests. Elizabeth was the first to receive hers. When she saw Mrs. Mallard enter, she took a long sip of the liquid to brace herself against what lay ahead. Featherstone was the last to appear, and he had clearly been drinking beforehand. Though his gait was steady, his cheeks were reddened and his eyes faintly glassy. He went into an elaborate pantomime, kissing the hand of every woman there with excessive courtesy and making a flattering remark to each one. Featherstone even treated Lucinda Mallard as if she were the social equal of everyone else in the dining room. The last person he approached was Elizabeth, and he kissed each of her hands in turn.