The Sword of the Banshee (42 page)

Later that night, they dressed and went out to the lake. After taking a walk, they sat down under the arbor on the stone bench, near the water. India was leaning against Quinn, looking up at the stars. Their brilliance was softened by the humidity of the South Carolina sky.

“There is an irony to all of this, you know,” Quinn said.

“What?”

“Now that I have you, I am miserable.”

India sat up and looked at him.

“We are at war, darlin’,” he said. “Not only do I worry about you and Phineas, I worry about how I will perform in the field. At last, I have a reason to live. Will I lose my nerve?”

The same fear had been nagging India. She had at last lowered her guard and opened the flood gates of emotion only to find a deep apprehension accompanying this new found love. “Now, at last, we have something to lose,” she said.

“I worry about the boy,” Quinn agreed, lighting his tobacco. He blew out the smoke. “Every day that passes brings him closer to joining the patriots. This damned war just drags on and on.”

India pressed her eyes shut, and opened them again, saying nothing.

“Tomorrow we must return to work,” Quinn said apologetically. “I have some important information to share with you. It will not be to your liking, but that is for tomorrow,” and he pulled her back under his arm.

*           *            *

The next morning before they could speak, Quinn was called immediately to the Colony of Georgia. He promised to return before the first of the year, but there was no word. The winter months of 1780 were grueling for India, and she grew more anxious day by day.

Lucretia and Emilee were gone as well. Lucretia was roving the countryside delivering and receiving partisan information, and Emilee was residing in Savannah gathering intelligence. Finally in late January, there was a brief note from Quinn brought by one of the pigeons, saying he was well but could divulge no further information about his activities and whereabouts.

The war was not going well for the patriots and morale was low. Most of Georgia was in the hands of the Crown, and by February, the British had moved up the coast toward Charleston.

In response to the growing enemy presence, the Hennessey twins expanded their network, and India was busier than ever training new partisans. Several days a week she met with local leaders to discuss sabotage and resistance strategies. The distraction was of great help to her.

As the threat of a siege grew, so too did Phineas’ desire to play a role in the fight for freedom. One spring morning, he stood at India’s bedchamber door, dressed in a threadbare linen shirt and breeches with a rifle in his hand. He had just returned from bird hunting. “Jeb Hitchcock joined the militia yesterday,” he blurted out. “His aunt is letting him go fight, and he is even younger than me.”

“I am tired of this nagging, Phineas,” India stated, pushing clothes into a bag. She was late for a meeting in Beaufort. They had had the conversations several times before.

“Then take me with you to Beaufort. If I cannot be in the militia, start me with the organization. I have been practicing my shooting every day.”

India sighed. “Phineas, you are fifteen years old. When you are sixteen, we will talk about this seriously, but for now, it is out of the question.”

She shut her bag and walked downstairs with him behind her. “Now I am entrusting you to take care of the twins,” she said on the landing. “They need your help packing. They want to leave in the morning. They have orders to move inland.”

“I will,” he said, with a pout.

“I will be back in two days’ time,” she said, searching his face. At a loss for words, India turned and walked out the door.

It was dusk by the time India met up with her two escorts. It was a relief to leave the Ashley River region and travel overland away from town. The tension in Charleston was unbearable as patriots prepared for evacuation. It was difficult to admit the British could win Charleston, but it seemed inevitable.

Two partisans familiar with the Carolina back country escorted India to Beaufort that night under cover of darkness. She was carrying valuable information about British troop movements obtained that afternoon from Tobias, the elderly servant at the Hennessey plantation. It was an arduous journey at a grueling pace. They traveled all night and well into the morning, taking few breaks.

They arrived at last in Beaufort, a sleepy little town, surrounded by tidewater and indigo plantations. India spoke with her contacts then slept at an inn for several hours before going to see Emilee and her husband to give them the information as well. The McLanes had a residence on the outskirts of Beaufort in a secluded area where patriots and partisans could come and go undetected. The couple was there for only a few more days. They frequently moved between residences to preserve their anonymity and their safety.

India freshened up, dressed her hair, and put on a green stripe gown edged in white lace. She donned a straw hat and tied the pale green ribbons at the back of her neck. When she looked in the mirror, she was surprised to see that she did not have dark rings under her eyes after so little sleep.

One of the men took her out to the McLane home that evening as the sun set. They traveled down a lonely road bordered by cypress and oaks, thick with underbrush. India draped a veil over her hat. The bugs were thick and aggressive.

“The house is pink,” India said with surprise when she saw Emilee’s home. It was a square Georgian style home with two white columns and a pink facade.

“It is indeed, Lady Allen,” said John Simon. Her escort was a balding middle aged blacksmith from Walterboro. He had grown up in Beaufort. “The previous owners tried to paint over the red bricks with whitewash, and the color kept bleeding through as pink.”

India slipped from her side saddle, and John took her horse to the barn. Picking up her skirts, she walked up the steps and knocked on the front door. A servant answered, inviting her into the hall.

Lifting her veil, India and looked around the central hall. It had a highly polished wood floor, a large chandelier and a wide flight of stairs up to a second story. Several rooms opened up off the hall on the main floor.

“Welcome,
mon amie
. I am delighted you are here,” exclaimed Emilee, sweeping up and kissing India on the cheek. “It has been so very long. How is it you are here in Beaufort?”

“I have news about troop movements,” India said.

“Of course,” Emilee said, with her usual French shrug.

“Come,” she said taking India’s hand. “At last you will meet my husband. He just arrived this morning. He is here in the library consulting with Lieutenant Colonel Frances Marion.”

“Oh yes, I have heard of this Marion,” said India, pulling her gloves off and following Emilee. “I have been hoping to meet him too.”

Emilee was dressed, as always, in the latest fashion. India noticed her light blue gown trailing luxuriously out behind her on the floor. She surmised this extended train must be the latest trend in Paris. Emilee threw open the double doors and a man looked up from a desk. The room was lined with books, and the desk was littered with papers and maps.

“Lady Allen, may I introduce Lieutenant Colonel Frances Marion,” Emilee said.

Marion smiled and moved around the desk taking India’s hand and kissing it. Short in stature and in his middle years, Marion was not at all an imposing figure, but he had an air of confidence and vitality which gave him presence.

“I have been waiting for the opportunity to meet you, Lady Allen,” he said smiling. “I am honored.”

A side door in the library opened and in stepped Mr. McLane. “Oh, there you are, Devlin,” Emilee said. “Lady Allen, may I introduce my husband, Devlin McLane.”

India turned to greet Emilee’s husband, and the smile dropped from her face. There standing before her was Quinn Calleigh.

She stared at him, her lips parted, unable to speak.

Quinn stared back at her, swallowed hard and said, “How do you do, Lady Allen.”

Mechanically, India murmured, “How do you do.”

Emilee looked from one to the other. It was obvious that something was wrong. She said haltingly, “Lady—Lady Allen brings news.”

Confusion, betrayal, and pain flooded India. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat.
Why was he here? Was he married to Emilee? How could he have lied to her?

Instantly, the cast iron door of India’s reserve slammed shut, and her demeanor turned frosty. Pulling her chin into the air, she said, “I do indeed have news. I will share what I know about British troop movements and be on my way. As you know Charleston is in grave danger, and I must get home to
my family
.” She looked at Quinn, her eyes a bright green.

India took off her hat and stepped over to the desk unrolling a map. They gathered around to examine the parchment. Quinn burned a look into her as she talked, but she refused to acknowledge him. He watched her hands move across the paper, graceful and at ease, pointing and gesturing to roads and bridges while his hands were in hard fists at his sides.

How can she carry on with such aplomb and self-assurance? Did she not want to know why he was here with Emilee? Was she not shaken to the core like him? He wanted to scream, “Are you even of flesh and blood!”

Quinn’s jaw tightened. He wanted to shake her and explain everything to her, but she had pulled back into her shell like a tortoise. He wanted to make her understand that he had just arrived this morning and was on his way to be with her at the Hennessey plantation. Long before she had come over from Ireland, Emilee Dubonnet had been providing a cover for him while he operated in the Southern Colonies. It was imperative she know that this French woman was nothing to him.

But he had to remain mute and tortured, watching India carry on like an ice queen.

She completed her talk and rolled up the map. “I am afraid I must take my leave immediately. Thank you for your time,” she said, putting her hat on once more. “Good night.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Allen,” said Francis Marion. “I am sure we will confer again in the future.”

India nodded and turned toward the door.

“I will see you out,” Emilee said.

Quinn’s mind was racing as he watched India leave the room. He had to move quickly.

Suddenly, India’s knees buckled, and she caught herself on the back of a chair. She steadied herself as if nothing had happened and walked on, but Quinn understood. He had witnessed the crack in her stone facade.

Seeing his opportunity, he burst forward, taking her arm. “I believe Lady Allen is fatigued. I will help her to her horse, Emilee.”

India did not look at Quinn. She pressed her eyes shut for a moment, put her chin in the air then stepped out into the hall. Quinn followed her out to the front steps, shutting the door behind them.

“Listen to me,” he said, grabbing her arms and jerking her around. “I never married Emilee. This is a cover for me while I am in the South. It has been nothing more than a role to play. I was going to tell you the morning I left the Hennessey plantation, but I was called away too quickly.”

India yanked her arms from his grasp. “No explanation is needed. I was mistaken to have ever made an alliance with you.”

“An alliance! What is wrong with you? You can’t even say the word,” he said grabbing her again. “This is not some damned treaty or coalition. We are in
love
!”

“Emilee is the one who loves you, not me,” India said. She reached up and dropped the veil over her face, starting down the steps.

“Listen--” Quinn demanded, but the front door opened, and Emilee came out followed by Marion.

“I am afraid both of our guests are about to leave,” said Emilee, looking from Marion over to India mounting her horse.

“Before I go,” said Marion to Calleigh. “There is something I must discuss with you about the sharpshooters.”

Reluctantly, Quinn dragged his eyes from India.

“I am unclear about where they will--” Marion said, his voice trailing off as they all turned back into the house.

India snapped the reins and started down the driveway. John Simon caught up with her and asked, “Back to the inn, Lady Allen?”

“Yes, only to gather my things. We return to Charleston tonight,” she stated flatly.

*           *            *

India was extremely fatigued from riding all night, but she was grateful for it. It replaced the hard edge of hurt and pain she had experienced the night before. After riding all night and thinking of nothing else, she came to the conclusion that she was glad she found out about Quinn and Emilee. Never again would she have to experience that maelstrom of emotion that intimacy wrought. She could return safe to her familiar world of seclusion and hard steel walls. It was bitterly cold, but it was safe.

The plantation was quiet when India arrived home the next morning. She thanked John as he continued on home to prepare his family for evacuation. When she dismounted, India was stiff and sore but glad she had put many miles between her and Calleigh so quickly. Her hair had tumbled down around her shoulders, and her habit was spattered with mud, but she did not care. She grabbed the reins and began to walk her horse to the stables.