Infernal Revolutions (38 page)

‘Luck,' I whispered to Sophie. ‘They aren't as efficient as they look. You watch, any moment now one of them will march off at right angles to the others, or fall over drunk.'

We watched and waited, and I was proved a poor pundit. My words withered on the vine, and my hopes faded with the sound of the boots.

‘So is that what you do when you're not spying?'

‘Did do, Sophie,' I said distractedly, sticking my head round the corner in the forlorn hope I might witness a distant error. ‘My marching days are over.'

‘I bet you looked lovely in a scarlet jacket.'

‘I suppose I did,' I said complacently, ‘I never really thought about it.'

‘More exciting than selling books, though, sweetie. Or writing poems. You must admit that.'

‘No I do not admit that,' I retorted with great petulance. ‘It might have been before I met you, when I had no hope in the world. But now I have you with me what further excitement could I wish for?'

‘People need adventures, Harry, to keep them interested in life.'

‘There will be adventures enough in Brighthelmstone, sweetness, don't you worry. We will dance naked in our garden, we will tar and feather Frenchmen, we will talk dirty to each other, anything you want – but let us have adventures together, and not put our lives in the hands of people who do not care about us.'

I knew, of course, what was on Sophie's mind – that she was having doubts about returning with me to England – and though usually I did not like to interfere with the mechanisms God had wound up and set running, after my weakness with her at the De Witt household I was determined to act for what I was sure would be her own good. Staying in America, with her vitality and versatility, would inevitably end in her early death, and probably mine too. Grimfaced, resolve not feeling pleasant, I hurried Sophie on to Pete's. At last, after a few false turnings, I located the street by the Presbyterian Church on its corner, and the house by the presence of a guard at the door. I saw as we approached closer, however, that it was not just any old guard, but one of my favourites, and immediately my gloom started to lift.

‘Thomas Pomeroy!' I called. ‘How's your hernia, Sir?'

By the look of bewilderment on Thomas's face, I had caught him plumb in the middle of a juicy daydream. It took several seconds for his eyes to focus.

‘Why! ‘Tis Harry!'

‘I was looking for you at Paulus Hook. Thought you might have been with the Invalids there.'

‘I am working on it, my dear boy, indeed I am.'

With a lack of flash that endeared him to me all the more, Thomas carefully propped his musket up against the wall, made little
Stay!
gestures to it with his hands, then turned and shook my hands warmly.

‘Is Pete in?' I asked, even as I shook.

‘Yes, he is resting in his room; you know how tired he gets. Though between you and me, the fire has turned him into a veritable salamander. He is much tougher than he used to be, and quite snaps people's heads off if they so much as look at him queerish. And talking of the fire, we thought you had started it, and then run off. Very ominous, the timing of your disappearance.'

‘Started the fire? Me? Why, no, Sir. I have been…' I cupped my hand around my mouth and continued in a whisper, ‘…spying for Georgie Boy…'

‘What, George Washington?'

‘No, thou varlet! Farmer George.'

‘Monstrous! So you have met real Rebels then?'

‘Met ‘em, drunk with ‘em, danced with ‘em, even captured one of ‘em. Look…'

I handed Sophie forward for inspection. Thomas wiped his hand clean on his jacket, and shook her proffered hand very courteously.

‘Though to be accurate, Thomas,' I beamed proudly, ‘'twas Sophie that captured me.'

‘I can see why,' said Thomas, ‘Oh yes I can indeed.'

This was a remark as gratifying to me as it was presumably to Sophie, reassurance at last that my taste was not defective.

‘I must introduce you to Mrs Pomeroy, my dear, and you can have nice conversations together about cooking and darning and the right way to braise a chop. English cooking, you know, is the finest in the world.'

Sophie gave me a sidelong look of utter disgust. The peace, I fancied, was kept purely for my sake.

‘So how is Anne?' I quickly went on. ‘Still missing England?'

‘Dreadfully, Harry. Spends most of the day working as a nurse in the military hospital, or handwashing shirts at a rate of a penny a score. The rest of the time she just cries, especially since the news came in that we are to move against the Rebels at Fort Washington soon.' Thomas's jaw suddenly dropped. ‘Oh dear, should I have said that?' he continued, as he threw worried glances at Sophie.

‘Say what you like, Thomas. Sophie is more of an observer than a Rebel these days. Is that not right, sweetie?'

Clearly annoyed at having the Little Woman role foisted upon her, she snarled threateningly. I determined not to push my luck with her any more.

‘No relations at Fort Washington, my dear?' enquired Thomas with some concern.

‘None anywhere,' said Sophie.

‘That's good,' said Thomas. ‘Having none at Fort Washington, I mean. Dead dogs, those, I fear, especially as the Hessians are being asked to lead the attack again. However much I try to reassure Mrs Pomeroy that there's little chance of my being called into action because of this…' Thomas patted his groin, and winced superbly, ‘…she is becoming chronically fretful, a state which even the tender felicitations of young Peter cannot dissolve.'

‘But don't worry, Harry,' he went on brightly, trying to lift the mood, ‘You shouldn't be called upon to do much either, except perhaps dig a few Continental graves.'

My stomach lurched instinctively at the thought of having to do anything in battle, but confidential inside information helped me put a brave face on it.

‘Whatever,' I said airily. ‘'Tis all the same to me. Now, is Pete still in the same room?'

This show of mock bravery genuinely seemed to awe Thomas, for he spluttered rather than stated that aye, he was.

‘Then I shall go and see him. Come on, sweetie.'

‘He has asked not to be disturbed, but I am sure he will make an exception for you, Harry.'

Leaving Thomas to mull over his own shameful cowardice, we entered the strangely officer-free hall. Then we ascended the grand staircase to Pete's door, where the words LT WRIGGLE were less than grandly scrawled in chalk. A knock and a wait eliciting no response, I opened the door and walked in. Fast asleep on a mattress lay Pete, with his jacket unbuttoned and a lurid grin on his face. Beside him on top of the blankets lay Hartley, belly-up, tongue and paws lolling. This perfect Arcadian scene was marred only by six buckets full of filthy water dotted around the room in a most curious manner. Inspecting them after a brief survey of the wondrous room itself, Sophie came up with the only possible explanation – fire precautions. Then she limped over to the bed and peered closely at the duo as they feigned death.

‘Why, he is only a boy!' she whispered up at me.

‘He is fifteen, as I told you. But he has the equipment of a man. Look!'

The little pyramid of blanket halfway down the bed was not the accidental design of folded sheets.

‘Yes, but a boy of fifteen in New Jersey looks about twice his age.'

‘Now don't get parochial, Sophie. Pete is a product of elegant breeding. He has been well cosseted. He appreciates the finer things in life.'

‘It looks like it,' said Sophie contemptuously, as she surveyed his monogrammed silk pillow cases and the dazzling array of wigs on their stands. She was even more contemptuous when she pulled from under the bedclothes an empty madeira bottle.

‘Simple solace,' I said, moving magnetically to the papers strewn on Pete's desk. Curious to know what had tired the youth so, I lifted the page under his exquisite quill pen and read:

‘No wonder the prodigy is tired and bottled. He has been trying too hard to improve himself – a sure sign of insecurity. He needs reminding that there is more to life than the futile pursuit of perfection. Let us wake him up and set him straight.'

I proceeded to tease Pete's nose with the quill of his pen, and watched entranced as he slowly twitched and came snorting back to life. As his head rose from the pillow, I saw that one side of his face was all red and striated with the pattern of the sleeve he had been lying on.

‘Why,' said the tousle-haired youth, after staring up at me vacant-eyed for several moments, ‘'tis Harry.'

There was a curious catch in his voice, and a look of disapproval in his eye, so that I felt foolish for having overrated my popularity.

‘Hartley – wake up. Harry is back to see you.'

A sharp elbow in the ribs woke Hartley, who grunted, yawned and stretched. Then he saw Sophie and me, drew back his lips, and set up a menacing growl, which lasted until Pete clipped his ear affectionately. Chastened, the hound jumped off the bed and padded placidly to one of the fire buckets, where he proceeded to quench his thirst with loud lappings.

Pete was slower on the uptake, not realizing at first that there was a stranger in the room. When he did, the effect was electrifying. ‘OH MY GOD!' he squealed, leaping out of bed and frantically buttoning up his jacket. ‘A GIRL!'

‘Aye, a girl,' I confirmed, when he had slapped a wig on and finished fiddling with his breeches. ‘Sophie B. Mecklenburg to be precise. New Jersey born and bred.'

‘Pleased to meet you,' said Pete, shaking like a leaf, eyes darting everywhere but at her eyes. ‘Though I could have wished for an introduction in more formal circumstances.'

‘Informal is fine by me,' laughed Sophie. ‘After all, I like a man unbraced, don't I, sweetie?'

This only made Pete blush more, so to save his further embarrassment I decided to embark upon a monologue of my adventures in the Hackensack Valley, taking care to edit out the slightest sexual referent. Pete, though still on edge, listened dutifully while he made some tea and furtively shuffled his papers into a drawer, which he locked with the deliberation of an old man.

‘So you see, Pete,' I concluded, half an hour later. ‘things turned out well in the end, thanks to Sophie, but it could so easily have ended in disaster. Thank God – Whoever or Whatever He is – that the war is over now for me.'

‘Over?'

‘Under the terms of our agreement, remember?'

‘Oh yes. That.'

Never before had
Oh yes.That
sounded so much like
that agreement was simply a ruse to get you out of the way
. I had to get to the bottom of this new attitude.

‘Oh yes, what, Pete?'

Pete glanced over at Sophie, who was staring down with interest at the street scenes below.

‘Harry, can I speak to you alone?'

‘Of course you can,' said Sophie brightly, as if she had been waiting for just that very question. ‘I will see you boys later.'

With a radiant smile, she headed quickly for the door, pausing only to pat a suspicious-looking Hartley on the head.

‘Wait!' I said, doubly perplexed. ‘Where will you go?'

‘Just around the town, sweetie. See the sights.'

I did not want to appear jealous in front of Pete, but I had no choice.

‘Why not simply go and talk to Thomas?'

‘That bore! I would rather talk to a corpse.'

She's blunt
, I heard Pete whisper to Hartley. Then I lowered my voice too, in the equally vain hope that Pete would not hear me.

‘Look, Sophie, I do not want you wandering the town on your own. There are men around
who are not gentlemen
.'

‘Oh, I will be all right. There are plenty of people walking around. Besides, who would want to rape a cripple when there are women like that on view?' Sophie pointed down to what were indeed a couple of beauties. ‘Anyway, I can take care of myself, you know I can.'

‘All right,' I said with a heavy heart, knowing that sooner or later I would have to let her out of my sight, ‘but meet me back here at…Pete, what time is it now?'

‘Quarter to four.'

‘Seven o'clock.'

‘No, say eight o'clock, in that tavern we passed on the way in. The

one I said looked fun.'

‘Eight then,' I sighed. ‘But don't go into that area with all the tents and the derelicts.'

‘Canvas Town, they call that,' offered Pete helpfully.

‘Whatever it is called, do not go there. Promise me.'

‘I promise,' said Sophie lightly, and with her captivating Cockney barrerboy wink she was gone, taking my heart and my money with her. With so much emotion invested in her slight frame, I sighed at the potential I had given her to hurt me. Wondering if the benefits of love outweighed the disadvantages, I turned wearily to Pete.