The Turning of Anne Merrick (8 page)

“The city has seen better days,” Anne agreed.

Fraser said, “It’s a wonder, Mrs. Merrick, that you survived to see Lord Howe’s army regain control of the island. It must have been difficult for you during the rebel occupation.”

Anne gave a little shrug. “As my girl Sally would say, needs must when the devil drives.”

“We welcome you to our cadre, Mrs. Merrick,” John Burgoyne said, “but I have to wonder what has compelled you to leave the safety of our British bastion in New York town and join this army on its journey?”

Anne looked the General straight in the eye. “I am bound for Albany, sir, to begin a new venture with my brother. At his suggestion, I took along my stock of wares and joined the army as a purveyor, and it is proving to be a safe and profitable means of transport for a widow alone.”

Much to Anne’s relief, her answer seemed to satisfy the General. He called for red wine to be served prior to the second service, and attention was diverted while bottles were uncorked and glasses filled.

“A new wine requires a new toast.” Burgoyne rose to his feet once again. “May the enemies of Britain be destitute of beef and claret!”

“Hear, hear!”

General Fraser contemplated the red liquid in his glass. “Perhaps, Mrs. Merrick, you can refresh my memory. I seem to recall an incident—some recent tragedy at the Crown and Quill…”

Fluttering her fan at high speed, Anne could feel her face go red. “An awful, awful tragedy. It pains me so to even think on it…” Angling toward General Burgoyne, she put her wineglass to her nose, breathing deep.

Simon Fraser would not allow her to avoid the conversation. “An
officer quartered in the rooms above the Crown and Quill set upon by rebel banditti, or some such, as I recall?”

“A truly horrible affair.” Anne steadied her nerves with a good gulp of claret, giving herself a moment in which to spin a fairy tale for the persistent General Fraser. “Three officers were quartered in the rooms above my shop. We had all gone out for an evening of Faro and punch at Mrs. Loring’s on Broad Way. Not feeling well, one of the officers returned home earlier than the rest of us. He must have surprised some miscreants who had broken into my shop, and he was brutally attacked with knife and pistol.”

“Thieves?” the Baroness conjectured.

Anne nodded. “Or perhaps rebel spies searching for intelligence, as the officer in question was aide-de-camp to Howe. But I most suspect rebel fanatics bent on instilling terror among New York’s Loyal citizenry. All rooms were ransacked, and the words ‘Tory Take Care’ were scrawled in blood on my floorboards.” She forced a shudder. “You cannot imagine coming home to such a nightmare. Perhaps it was cowardly of me, but I took the dire warning to heart, and quit the city that very night.”

“Far from cowardly…” Pepperell reached beneath the tablecloth, and rested his hand on Anne’s knee. “I think you are one of the bravest women I’ve ever met.”

Anne rescued the handkerchief from her pocket, dislodging Pepperell’s hand from her knee in the process, and dabbed at an imaginary tear. “Oh, I don’t know about brave…”

“You are certainly wise to seek sanctuary under your brother’s roof,” Fraser added. “Your continued loyalty to the Crown seems to have earned you the enmity of ruthless men.”

“Spineless rogues, these rebels—” Burgoyne’s tone filled with scorn. “Preying upon women.”

Anne nodded. “It was foolish to think that I could survive the turmoil of war without the protection of a man.”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Merrick.” John Burgoyne reached over and gave her hand a brief squeeze. “You are traveling under my protection now, and I will see you safe to your brother’s keeping in Albany.”

“
To Albany!” Pepperell proposed.

Anne raised her glass again in silent toast.
To Jane MacCrea, and all Americans who’ve suffered under British protection.

Waiters bearing the second service emerged from the marquee to set groaning platters upon the table. Delicate poached trout fillets were garnished with a watercress salad dressed in sweet oil and vinegar. Thick slices carved from a charred saddle of venison swam in mushrooms and rich gravy. In the most fanciful presentation, a brood of roasted pigeons with beaked heads intact were glazed with maple syrup, stuffed with butternuts, and set inside a nest contrived of mashed sweet potatoes.

Lucy and Gordon Lennox took command of the dinner conversation, discussing the latest in theater, music, and literature, and no further mention was made of politics or rebellion. Every now and then, Geoffrey Pepperell leaned in to murmur in her ear about the food or drink. A misty fog floated in, hugging the trees, adding to the dreamlike quality of the evening. Sipping champagne from crystal, surrounded by cultured accents and the tink of silver on china, all overlaid with mellow notes played on cello and viola—if she closed her eyes, Anne could almost forget there even was a war.

Anne set her champagne glass to the side.
You are a soldier. This is the enemy.

“Attention!” Fanny Loescher began tapping a spoon to her glass. “Attention, ladies… Shall we all go and pluck a rose?”

The women were each supplied with a lantern, and Fanny led the way into the woods, weaving to and fro along a fairly straight path, until, succumbing to the quantity of spirits imbibed, she fell backward into a thicket of fern. Lucy and Anne tugged Fanny to her feet.

“I swan, I’m about to burst! This is as likely a place as any to water the garden.” Fanny proceeded to hitch up her skirts and squat.

Standing side by side, the Baroness, Lucy, and Anne turned their backs to Fanny, set lanterns on the ground, and extended their skirts outward, creating a curtain for modesty’s sake. The young German
baroness was the first to strike up the requisite small talk to disguise the shush of urine driving into the forest floor.

“It is worrisome, indeed, to see how lean the General’s table has grown,” she clucked. “Rattlesnake soup indeed!”

“The fare seemed very generous to me,” Anne said. “Wine and yeast bread—fresh poultry, fish, and meat—this is quality far beyond standard rations.”

“At Fort Anne we were regularly served eight courses with as many different wines, Mrs. Merrick,” Lucy explained. “It is clear this overland trek is taking a toll on the General’s larder.”

“Mrs. Loescher is certainly a drain on his wine supply,” the Baroness said, without even altering the volume of her voice.

“Your turn, Mrs. Lennox.” Fanny took Lucy’s place in line, holding out her skirts.

“The General seems less than his usual self tonight, Mrs. Loescher,” the Baroness said. “Is he not feeling well?”

“He has his moods.” Fanny heaved a sigh. “A courier arrived from Howe this afternoon, and Johnny’s been out of sorts ever since. Very upset, he was, upon reading that letter…”

Anne tempered her eagerness at this revelation. “Bad news, was it?”

Fanny shrugged. “He didn’t say, but it could not have been good news for all his huffing and puffing.”

“It must have been a long letter…” Anne probed. “I would think men of such import would have much to say to one another…”

“Not long at all,” Fanny said. “Written on the tiniest slip of paper folded into a hollow silver bullet—in case the courier needed to swallow it to keep the message from falling into enemy hands.”

“Very clever,” the Baroness said, “but can you imagine having to pass such a thing through your bowels?”

Lucy Lennox rejoined the line, and the Baroness stepped back to take her easement. Anne mined a new vein of conversation. “I suppose you ladies have heard the sad news of poor Jane MacCrae?”

Lucy nodded. “What a tragedy. Her beau went absolutely mad with grief…”

“
Another reason for Johnny’s foul mood—he was dealing with his Indians all morning long.” Fanny hiccupped loud, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Pardon me! Too much rich food, I fear…”

“Too much champagne, Mrs. Loescher,” came the Baroness’s forthright response from behind the curtain of skirts.

“A great bulk of our Indian allies have deserted today over the Jane MacCrae affair,” Lucy said. “Mr. Lennox is quite concerned.”

“I said ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ when I heard they left. Thieving and drinking rum is all Indians are ever good for.” Fanny swayed in such an ever-growing orbit, she clutched Anne by the arm to keep from pitching forward. “But Johnny is terribly upset. He says we’ll be needing every fighting man—redskin or white—to break the rebels’ backs.”

“It is plain to see why the General is troubled,” Anne said, linking elbows with Fanny, “what with the rebels wreaking all manner of havoc, and his Indians gone wild. They say supplies are dwindling fast and there will be a move to half rations.”

The Baroness stepped forward, and Anne stepped back to take her turn behind the curtain. Collecting her skirts into a bunch on her lap, she kept an ear on the conversation.

“Never fear, Mrs. Merrick; shortages will be temporary,” the Baroness said, fanning open her skirts. “My husband tells me Colonel Baum will soon lead his regiment on a major foraging expedition. He is to seize rebel stores at a place called Bennington—provender, horses, and wagons—all is to be had there in great quantity.”

“Colonel Baum.” Fanny giggled, bumping Lucy with her hip. “He’s a big, handsome fellow—”

Flustered, Lucy said, “Colonel Baum seems a most serious and disciplined commander, but I wonder, will one German regiment serve the purpose?”

The Baroness nodded. “Most certainly. Baum’s dragoons are ranked among our finest warriors, and General Burgoyne is also assured that a good number of countryside Loyalists will also rise up and join the effort.”

Anne was amazed. The simple business of “plucking a rose”
provided more valuable information than any of the time she spent sitting right beside General Burgoyne at the dinner table. As the feminine contingent trooped back to the table, Anne began to compose in her head the message she would send to Jack, eager to get back to her tent and writing materials.

But the evening was far from over. Once the women resumed their seats, the waiters swooped in with the dessert course—gooseberry tartlets served with dollops of sweet cream surrounded by a colorful array of comfits and lozenges.

As the host, General Burgoyne initiated the evening’s entertainment with a reading of a rather drab poem he had penned himself. Lucy and Gordon Lennox followed his lackluster recitation with a harmonic version of “Scarborough Fair” sung
a capella
. With a little urging from her husband, and using the viola as accompaniment, the Baroness sang an Italian aria in an angelic soprano.

“Brava!”
General von Riedesel led, with fervor, the enthusiastic applause for his wife.

Burgoyne tapped his glass for attention. “I have it on good authority that General Fraser has prepared a bit of theater for us—”

Simon Fraser stood, drew his shoulders square, and cleared his throat. “From
Henry V
, by William Shakespeare:

Anne had never been to a real theater, but her family spent many an evening reading aloud the works of Shakespeare, which were prime among the volumes in her father’s library.
Henry V
had never been among her favorite plays, as she preferred the comedies, but Simon Fraser’s impassioned delivery combined with his slight Scottish burr lent an air of romance and dash to his performance.

After applauding Fraser’s declamation with gusto, Anne reached into her pocket to clutch the little half-crown token she shared with Jack. How the world had changed, where she, too, was a soldier owning pride and kinship for her own “band of brothers,” and the desperate cause for which they risked all.

“Bravo, General.
Bravo!
” the Baroness cheered. Mindful that Colonel Baum beside her, who, with his limited command of the English language, seemed close to nodding off, she added, “Mrs. Merrick, perhaps you can uplift the spirit of this gathering with a gay song or poem?”

Anne laughed, shaking her head in the negative. “I’m afraid my talents do not extend beyond setting down words in ink or lead type.”

“Killing snakes,” Geoffrey added, raising his glass of port in salute. “You are very good at killing snakes.”

“I heard a clever riddle…” Fanny offered.

“A riddle!” Lucy Lennox clapped her hands. “Do tell, Mrs. Loescher. I so love riddles!”

Fanny Loescher stood to perform with black curls tousled from her fall into the fern, her rouged lips in a smear. Clutching the stem of her glass in a fist, she took one last gulp. Bracing a hand to the tabletop, she leaned forward, and the brown crests of her nipples peeked over the edge of her blue satin gown and her ample breasts readied to escape the confines of her dress at any moment.

“Now, listen carefully, and see if you can guess the answer.” As if reciting a nursery rhyme to a child, Burgoyne’s mistress launched into a singsong recitation—

“Oh dear!” Lucy Lennox went wide-eyed. German brows shot up. Geoffrey Pepperell began to shake with stifled laughter, and Anne hid her blush behind her fan. Burgoyne issued a terse,
“Mrs. Loescher!”
but Fanny paid him no mind, and carried on with her riddle.