Valley Forge (20 page)

With the orchestra playing a reel, General William Howe swept into the room that evening with Mrs. Loring on his arm, and collected a battery of obsequious smiles, polite nods, and mild applause. His fellow officers saw nothing unusual or outlandish in the sight of a married man in the company of someone else's wife when he was three thousand miles away from home. Howe was by no means the only soldier in the room who was enjoying an adulterous liaison with a gorgeous young woman.

Tory citizens of Philadelphia took a more critical view of Howe's behavior,
but they hid their feelings behind fixed expressions of approval. In expelling the revolutionary government, the British army had restored loyalty to the Crown as a guiding precept and lifted the gloom that had pervaded the city when it had been under the control of Congress. The Tories felt that Philadelphia had been handed back to them, and they were deeply grateful for that.

The room was full, the reel lively, and the floor filled with whirling dancers. Betsey Loring watched them with envy from beside a pillar.

"We must join in the next dance," she insisted.

"We will," said Howe, patting her gloved hand. "We will, we will,"

"I came here to be
seen
."

"There's not a man in the room who can take his eyes off you."

It was true. Mrs. Loring was wearing a dress of pink taffeta with a low-cut bodice, side hoops under the skirt, and echelle trimming that consisted of tiny bows. She wore dainty, high-heeled shoes on her feet, and her hair was piled high on her head in an oval shape and kept in place with wire frames. The whole effect was quite dazzling.

"You are truly the belle of the ball," he whispered in her ear.

"As befits a general's lady."

"I have always had an eye for beauty."

"I am grateful to be its beneficiary," she said.

"You can show me the extent of your gratitude later."

They exchanged a conspiratorial smile. The reel was coming to an end and Betsey was keen to take her turn on the floor. The general, however, had just seen someone enter the room. He excused himself and went across to speak to Lieutenant Hugh Orde, a gaunt young man in his early twenties. Howe took him aside.

"Well?" he asked.

"There's no sign of him, General."

"There must be."

"We've searched everywhere," said Orde, "but in vain. The problem is that we don't really know what Ezekiel Proudfoot looks like, so we are hunting for a ghost. It may be that he's not even in Philadelphia."

"Oh, he's here," Howe insisted. "I feel it."

"He might be at Valley Forge with General Washington."

"The printing press is in the city, and that's where Proudfoot will be. Find one and we find the other."

"Both are proving confoundedly elusive, sir."

"Then double the number of men you have—treble it, if need be."

"It's not simply a question of numbers," said Orde reasonably. "If the fellow is in the city, he can keep on the move. When he has so many hiding places at his disposal, a brigade could not flush him out. The same goes for that press, General. That, too, can be shifted when they see us approach."

"Proudfoot must be caught somehow," said Howe petulantly.

"Then perhaps I might make a suggestion."

"Go on."

"This man is not here by accident," Orde explained. "He was sent here for a purpose by General Washington. If we want to know where we can find Ezekiel Proudfoot in Philadelphia, we must go to Valley Forge to ask about his whereabouts. Washington will know exactly where he is."

"He's hardly likely to tell us, Lieutenant, is he?"

"He'd confide in those closest to him."

"How does that help us?"

"It doesn't at the moment," Orde confessed. "But it might if we could get someone inside the camp who could win Washington's trust. If we chose the right person, he could, in time, learn the precise location of the printing press and of Proudfoot's lodging. A clever spy could save us weeks of futile searches, General."

Howe ruminated. "You are right," he said. "We need such a man."

"Choosing him will be a difficult exercise," cautioned Orde.

"I don't care how difficult it is—find him!"

A day in the company of Charles Lee was fatiguing. He was so fond of discussing ideas and so ready to criticize his fellow officers that he talked for hours on end. It was not until late at night that Jamie Skoyles was finally able to get to bed. He and his fellow prisoner were conducted to an upstairs room that was completely bare except for the two mattresses on the floor. Four guards were posted outside the door, and when he looked through the window, Skoyles saw that four sentries were on duty below. The British were determined not to let their prize catch escape.

"Good night, sir," said Skoyles, lying on his mattress and pulling the blankets over him. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes," replied Lee sardonically. "I'm not going anywhere."

They lay side by side in the dark. Lee soon drifted asleep, but Skoyles was plagued by thoughts of Tom Caffrey and Polly Bragg. He had no idea what had happened to them since their premature departure from a Massachusetts farmhouse. Had they been recaptured? Were they, in fact, still alive? Their fate troubled him for a long time. It was only when his thoughts turned to Elizabeth Rainham that he was soothed. Still in New York, she was safe and sound, taken in by a major and his wife, and able to recuperate after the hardships of their escape. Fond thoughts of Elizabeth gradually helped to lull Skoyles to sleep.

He was soon trapped in a nightmare, reliving the horrors of being caught in a storm at sea and having the additional problem of being the only person in the fishing boat this time. It was completely out of control. As a colossal wave hit the vessel, it was tossed high into the sky and Skoyles was thrown headfirst into the turbulent sea. As he came to the surface, he looked upward and saw his boat spinning down toward him through the air. Striking him hard, it pinned him down like a ton weight and made it impossible for him to breathe.

Skoyles began to choke. He came out of his dream to find that Charles Lee was sitting astride him, trapping his arms under the blanket so that he could not move them. Strong hands were around Skoyles's throat. They slowly tightened.

"Now, then, Captain Jamie Skoyles of the 24th Foot," he said with mocking politeness, "what are you
really
doing here?"

CHAPTER NINE

T
aken completely by surprise, Skoyles was in a desperate situation. Charles Lee was a strong man, and he had a firm grip on his victim's throat. There was no doubting his ability or readiness to kill. He released the pressure slightly so that Skoyles could actually speak.

"I'm exactly who I say I am," gasped Skoyles.

"Oh, I'm quite sure that you are. What I'm not so certain about is why you've been incarcerated here."

"I told you. They're suspicious of me."

"And so am I," snarled Lee. "With good reason, too. I don't trust you, Captain Skoyles."

"Everything I said was the truth."

"You told me what you thought I wanted to hear and, I admit, I was taken in at first. Then it occurred to me that you might have been put in here with me for a purpose."

"Yes," said Skoyles. "They wanted me locked up."

"If they don't believe your story, why not keep you in the jail on the Common? It seems strange to me that, of all the places they could have sent you, they chose here. Why did they do that?"

"Ask them."

"Was it to give you a chance to worm information out of me?"

"No!"

"How do I know that?"

"Because I swear it."

"With your life in danger, you'd swear to anything."

He tightened his hold, but Skoyles was not going to be threatened again. His retaliation was swift and decisive. Putting all his energy into the move, he
pushed himself up hard then twisted to one side, toppling his attacker and freeing his hands from the blankets. He was on Lee in a flash, grappling with him and rolling over on the floor. Now that he could fight on equal terms, Skoyles soon began to master his opponent. Lee was older, slower, and patently unused to a brawl. A year in captivity had made him indolent. Skoyles, by contrast, had been hardened in battle and toughened by constant exercise. His superior strength and fitness were self-evident. It was not long before Major General Charles Lee was pinned to the ground on his back with Skoyles's knees across his arms.

"So that's why you're here," said Lee, breathing heavily. "They've paid you to murder
me
."

"No, sir. I just want to prove that I'm on your side."

"By wrestling me into submission?"

"By showing you that I can get the upper hand, if I wish," said Skoyles coolly. "Now, I think we've had enough fighting for one night, don't you? I'll let you go on one condition—that you give me your word you won't try to strangle me again."

Lee gave a dry laugh. "You're far more likely to strangle me."

"Do I have your promise?"

"You do, old chap," said Lee, relaxing. "Now, please get off me."

"With pleasure, sir."

Skoyles stood up, but he remained on the alert in case the other man tried to overpower him again. His caution was unnecessary. It soon became clear that Charles Lee had had enough. Shaken by the tussle, all that he wanted to do was to recover. He sat up and rubbed his arms. Skoyles lowered himself to his own mattress. Their eyes had become used to the darkness now. Lee stared at him with a new respect.

"I'll wager that you've killed men before with your bare hands."

"Only when I was forced to," said Skoyles.

"I'm sorry that I mistrusted you, Captain."

"I didn't ask to be put in here with you, sir, believe me. I would much rather have ridden on to Philadelphia. I stand far more chance of escape on the road. This place is like a citadel."

"They guard me well," said Lee. "I take it as a compliment."

"Then let me give you another compliment. When the word spread that the famous General Lee had been captured, cheers went up throughout the
entire British army. It was felt that Washington had been deprived of his best tactician," said Skoyles with sincerity, "and it was a cause for celebration."

"The man who caught me celebrated royally, I know that. In taking me from the battlefield, he seemed to think that he'd won the whole war. Do you know who the wretched fellow was?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton."

"A black-hearted fiend from the depths of hell."

"Yes," agreed Skoyles. "He's not known for his tenderness."

"He's a ruthless butcher."

"Yet he spared your life."

"Only because he thought I'd be more use to them alive than dead," said Lee bitterly. "I'm a trophy. They can display me like an animal in a cage." He snorted. "It was only by sheer luck that Tarleton caught me in the first place. I'd been careless. I was in a tavern without my usual bodyguards. The redcoats happened to ride up—God rot their guts!—and that was that. Since then, I've spent a year twiddling my thumbs in captivity."

"You've had Rousseau and the other books."

"But only one dog—and limited use of my manservant."

"You'll have everything restored when America wins this war."

"How can it do that without me?" Lee demanded.

"You made it more difficult for them by being captured," Skoyles conceded, "but the Continentals are bound to win in the end by wearing the enemy down. Britain simply doesn't have an army big enough to subdue thirteen colonies."

"Even that imbecile, General Howe, realizes that."

"Then why does he not sue for peace?"

"That's what he was ready to do," said Lee irritably. "His brother, Admiral Howe, was charged with initiating peace negotiations, and they wanted me to broker them. Nothing, alas, came of it. Since the brothers were uncertain of winning—fearing that the French might, in time, support us openly—I even took the trouble to show them how victory could be achieved in a mere two months."

"Indeed?" Skoyles was startled. "And how was that?"

"First, by severing the colonies along the line of the Hudson. Second, by sailing to Chesapeake Bay and cutting the southern colonies off. Third, by occupying Annapolis, Baltimore, and Alexandria."

"You actually agreed to
help
the enemy?"

"Of course not, man."

"That's what it sounds like, sir."

"I was trying to bring the conflict to an end so that we—the rebel army—could have peace with honor. I gave them no details about the size and disposition of our forces," he stressed, "and in urging them to disperse their men over a wide area, I was ensuring that there would be no major battle for us to fight. In a large-scale encounter, the British would always have the advantage."

"Let me understand you aright," said Skoyles, wrestling with the implications of what he had just heard. "You advised the British?"

"It was in our interest for me to do so."

"By letting them win the war?"

"By bringing it to an end in such a way that favorable terms could be offered to us. I loathe monarchy," Lee affirmed, "and I despise the way that King George has treated the colonies. On the other hand, I'm not entirely convinced that a republic is the ideal form of government."

"But that's what you were fighting for—independence."

"Yes, and a peace treaty of the kind that I envisaged would have guaranteed us a fair amount of independence."

"A country is either independent or it is not."

"You are just playing with words."

"No," said Skoyles with passion, "there's a serious point at issue here. Thousands of men are ready to lay down their lives in the hope of creating a republic. You'll not find one who bears arms so that he can achieve what you call a fair amount of independence."

"These things are relative, Captain Skoyles," said Lee blandly. "Nobody would be more delighted than me to see the British driven from these shores, and the thirteen colonies wrested from the tyrannical grasp of King George. But it may have to be done in stages."

"We must agree to differ."