Valley Forge (40 page)

"Let me in," Skoyles demanded, banging the door.

"One moment, one moment."

"Come on, Mr. Allen. I won't ask again."

Unbolting the door, Proudfoot opened it, fully expecting to see his visitor with half a dozen soldiers at his back. Instead, astonishingly, Skoyles was on his own. As they stood there, face-to-face for the first time in months, there was an awkward silence. Neither quite knew on what precise terms they were meeting. The ties of friendship were loosened by the fact that they were on opposing sides in the war, but they still held firm. Proudfoot was the first to acknowledge this.

"Hello, Jamie," he said with a half smile.

Skoyles was more formal. "May I come in, please?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Allen."

He stepped into the room. Proudfoot closed the door behind him. Before speaking, they took a long time to appraise each other.

"It's good to see you again, Jamie," said Proudfoot.

"Is it?"

"How did you escape from Cambridge?"

"By killing the guard who tried to stop us."

"I had a feeling that they'd not be able to hold you for long. Captivity doesn't suit a man like Jamie Skoyles." He pointed to the window. "Some while ago, I thought I saw you riding down the street outside here, but I could not be certain that it was you."

"It was me, Ezekiel," said the other, "or would you prefer to be called Reece Allen?"

"Call me whatever you wish."

"As a British officer, I ought to call you a damn Yankee and arrest you for aiding and abetting our enemy. I'd certainly win congratulations from General Howe. Your name—your real name, that is—is rarely far from his lips. He'd sooner hang you than General Washington."

"I take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't meant to be complimentary."

"Have my cartoons had that much effect on Howe?"

"He's certainly taken note of them."

"What about Mrs. Loring?"

"She's been equally displeased."

"That was my aim—to mock her and draw attention to the fact that her husband is a vile monster."

"Yes," said Skoyles coldly, "I saw something of Joshua Loring's work when I was in New York City. He squeezes every last penny out of his position as commissar of prisons. While he makes obscene profits by means of corruption, your prisoners of war suffer horrendous privations."

"The few who were lucky enough to escape have told the most gruesome stories about the conditions they suffered. I'm bound to admire some things about the British army," Proudfoot admitted, "but the way it maltreats its prisoners is not one of them. It's shameful."

"We don't have a monopoly on shameful actions, Ezekiel."

"No, we've committed outrages as well. I concede that."

"Yet you never put them into your prints."

"I find more inspiring subjects for those, Jamie."

"Like today's little escapade, for instance."

"What do you mean?" asked Proudfoot, feigning ignorance. "I've not been out of my room all morning."

"Then you clearly have a double," said Skoyles drily. "Either that, or my telescope let me down. I could have sworn that I saw you, sneaking away after the rebels raided one of our camps." He glanced round the room. "We can soon settle the argument. Where's you satchel? If you were there, you'd surely have drawn some sketches."

There was a lengthy pause. Proudfoot saw the folly of further denial. When he looked into his visitor's eyes, he quailed inwardly. Skoyles's gaze was noncommittal. Proudfoot could not tell if he had come to arrest him or simply to renew their acquaintance.

"How did you find me, Jamie?"

"While everyone else headed back toward Valley Forge," said Skoyles, "you rode off in the direction of Germantown. I recalled a face I thought I saw at a window in this tavern."

"Perhaps you confused me with Reece Allen."

"That's not a mistake that I'd ever make. I'm not young and naïve like Lieutenant Orde. Do you remember him? He was the man who arrested you and your printer on Christmas Day."

"Don't remind me. It was terrifying, Jamie. We were having dinner together when the redcoats descended on us without warning."

"Did you expect them to send calling cards in advance?"

"Adam Quenby paid a terrible price for what he'd done," said Proudfoot sorrowfully, "but I was lucky enough to be released."

"You took advantage of the lieutenant's inexperience."

"I talked my way out of a noose. It's amazing what lies you can tell when you're faced with the possibility of execution. I could almost feel that rope being put around my neck." He gave a mirthless laugh. "I just hope that Lieutenant Orde never realizes that he actually let Ezekiel Proudfoot slip from his grasp."

"I made sure of that."

"How?"

"By asking what you looked like," explained Skoyles. "I said that I'd had a glimpse of you after the battle of Hubbardton. When the lieutenant gave a description of you, I assured him that it could not possibly be Ezekiel Proudfoot."

"Thank you."

"At the time of arrest, I hear, you had a beard."

"I shaved it off," said Proudfoot, running a hand around his jaw. "I wanted to change my appearance so that I could go back to Philadelphia again without being easily recognized. So," he continued with a smile of gratitude, "you lied on my behalf, did you?"

"I threw the lieutenant off the scent, that's all."

"For my benefit."

"And his," said Skoyles. "If General Howe ever discovered that the most wanted man in the rebel ranks had been released from custody, he'd have torn Lieutenant Orde to shreds."

"Was that uppermost in your mind at the time?"

"No, Ezekiel."

"Then I thank you again."

"You'd have done the same for me."

"Yes," said Proudfoot after consideration. "I probably would."

"I may need to remind you of that one day."

Skoyles was in a quandary. Duty dictated that he should arrest Proudfoot and deliver him to army headquarters in Philadelphia, thereby assuaging General Howe's lust for revenge and taking the most potent contributor away
from
The Pennsylvania Patriot
. In the wake of the successful attack on one of their camps, the British army would view the capture of Ezekiel Proudfoot as adequate compensation. Since he knew so much about Valley Forge and its high command, the silversmith would be ruthlessly interrogated before his execution. Proudfoot was not a rebel officer. He was still a civilian. There was no obligation on the enemy to treat him like a gentleman.

Yet it was not friendship that weighed heaviest with Skoyles. It was sheer practicality. If he handed Proudfoot over to Howe, he would lose all credibility at Valley Forge. Major Clark had an extensive web of spies in the city. The fact that Captain Jamie Skoyles had been responsible for the capture of Proudfoot was bound to reach the ears of one of them. In keeping his friend alive, Skoyles would also gain the complete confidence of George Washington and John Clark. More important, he would have successfully deceived Ezekiel Proudfoot himself, for, when he returned to Valley Forge, the latter would certainly report that it was Captain Jamie Skoyles who had let him go. Proudfoot would then be told that Skoyles was, in fact, operating as an agent for the Continental Army.

"What happens now?" asked Proudfoot.

"What do you think
should
happen, Ezekiel?"

"You should arrest me or you'd be failing in your duty."

"That depends on whom I owe the greater duty to," said Skoyles, face impassive. A memory nudged him. "How did General Washington know that that particular camp would be poorly guarded today?"

"He didn't, Jamie. It was pure luck on our part."

"Generals do not rely on pure luck."

"Maybe not," said Proudfoot, "but they're quick to make full use of it when it falls into their hands. We expected more resistance today. That's why such a substantial force was deployed."

"Who told you to be there?"

"I believe that it was General Washington's own decision."

"Did the assignment appeal to you?"

"Very much. I felt it an honor to be present." He looked quizzically at Skoyles. "Though I didn't expect you to be in the camp at the time."

"That was an accident," Skoyles told him. "I went to see my good friend, Tom Caffrey, who's stationed there. The last thing I bargained on was walking into a skirmish like the one I found. We were under sustained fire from the rebels. The one bonus was that I spotted Ezekiel Proudfoot."

"A bonus for you—or for me?"

"I'm not sure."

Proudfoot was worried. This was a situation he could not talk himself out of so readily. Jamie Skoyles was no gullible lieutenant. He was a shrewd man who could divine, better than anyone else, the way that the silversmith's mind worked. The fact that he had come alone was a hopeful sign, but Proudfoot did not attach too much importance to it. Other soldiers might be waiting downstairs in support, and Germantown was alive with redcoats. Reece Allen had been unmasked in one of the enemy strongholds. Only a personal favor could save him.

"I need your help, Jamie," he confessed.

"I know."

"It's time for Reece Allen to disappear."

"He's not the only one," said Skoyles. "If my guess is right,
The Pennsylvania Patriot
is printed here. What else would bring you to Germantown? Who is the printer, Ezekiel?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Then warn him to leave while he can or he'll be arrested. I may have obligations to you, but I've none to him. Get him out of the town before a search is instituted."

"Yes, Jamie."

"You can have three hours' start," decided Skoyles. "Then I'll have to report to General Howe that his least favorite rebel was sighted in Germantown. He'll have the place turned upside down in the search for you and your printer. Have the sense to be several miles away."

"I will." He offered his hand. "Thank you, Jamie."

Skoyles shook his hand. "Goodbye, Mr. Allen."

"Anybody else would have dragged me off to certain death."

"I have my reasons for not doing so."

"Friendship?"

"Partly that."

"Guilt over the way you killed my brother in battle?"

"Yes," said Skoyles with a sigh, "that, too, comes into it. But there's something else besides that I can't disclose to you."

"Why not?"

"Go to Valley Forge—and ask General Washington."

George Washington was lifted by the glad tidings. Ahead of the returning troops, a rider had galloped back to Valley Forge to deliver a report on the complete success of the mission. It made Washington change into his best uniform and collect the commander-in-chief's guard, the elite detachment formed in March 1776, to protect him, his family, and the rapid accumulation of documents at headquarters. He intended to ride out in style meet his soldiers so that he could signal his delight at their victory and accompany them back into camp. Before he could mount his horse, however, Washington saw the Marquis de Lafayette, hobbling toward him on his cane.

"The mission was a triumph, Marquis," said Washington.

"Did they steal any food for us?"

"They rustled every animal in the stock pen."

"That's good news," said the Frenchman, beaming.

"We'll all eat heartily tonight for a change."

"Did we lose many men, General?"

"Our losses were small compared to the enemy's," said Washington. "The camp was not as well defended as we thought. According to first report, we took them by surprise. They never thought we'd
dare
to attack such a target."

"Your decision was a sound one."

"I had a stroke of good fortune that was long overdue."

"I hope that you have many more like that," said Lafayette. He raised his cane. "But I hold you up, general. You will wish to go and welcome our heroes."

Washington hauled himself up into the saddle. "It's only a minor victory," he acknowledged, "but it will serve to bolster the men."

"What will it do to General Howe?"

"I don't think I'd like to be in his shoes at the moment."

"He does not like losing, does he?"

"No, Marquis," said Washington, smiling. "He hates it."

"They attacked the camp that we had deliberately weakened?" cried Howe in disbelief. "But they were supposed to strike elsewhere."

"General Washington had other ideas, sir."

"How could he possibly know that it was understrength?"

"I can't comprehend it," said Orde.

"Were there many casualties in our ranks?"

"Nineteen killed and over forty wounded."

"And the rebels?"

"They got off more lightly, it seems."

It had fallen to Lieutenant Hugh Orde to pass on the bad tidings, and it was not a task that he relished. Already in disgrace with his commanding officer, he was now the bearer of distressing news that had to be imparted at a particularly inconvenient time. Howe was seething. Hauled from the capacious arms of Betsey Loring, he had dressed in a hurry and descended angrily to his office. When he heard what Orde had to say, the general was infuriated.

"They rustled our stock?" he said.

"Apparently."

"But it would have kept the camp going for weeks."

"The rebels chose an opportune moment for attack," said Orde. "One has to admire General Washington's timing."

"Do not look for admiration from me," snarled Howe. "I despise this action. Was there any pursuit?"

"It seems not, sir."

"They were not hounded all the way back to Valley Forge?"

"Our men were outnumbered," said Orde reasonably, "and their first duty was to save the camp. There was untold damage. Several tents had been set alight. Patients in the hospital had to be rescued. That was their primary concern, General."

"Well,
my
primary concern is to find out how this happened."

"Rebel spies must have forewarned them."

"Yes," said Howe, tapping his desk as he pondered. "It's the only way that it could have happened. Someone betrayed us, Lieutenant, and I begin to think that it was someone in whom I unwisely placed trust."