Work Text:
Major John André died.
Major John André awoke with a soft intake of breath, the blindfold being pulled against his mouth. That would explain why he couldn’t see, at any rate. One mystery solved, his agile mind reached for another. The pain had been much longer than momentary; he had flailed and choked on the rope until Tallmadge and Brewster had put him out of his misery after the required one minute. He had died. How, then, was he now conscious and very much alive? His heart beating, lungs working...he made minute movements and found his limbs and extremities in working order...how in the unholiest of Hells was this possible?
There were voices a little way away from him, Tallmadge’s low, although the anger came through clearly. He was still rather incensed over the manner of John’s death, apparently; the fact that Washington had caved to pressure that would forever mark John as a spy rather than an honourable officer who’d been caught by devious means. As if it made a difference now.
They drew closer, Tallmadge saying he’d spoken briefly to Peggy, once he’d seen her in the crowd. Now a shard of pain flowed through him, electrifying his entire body with its sharpness. God above, Peggy. She’d been there at the end, with him in the only way she could be. Seeing her looking up at him from the crowd, pale, eyes red-rimmed with sorrow and grief, had been as much of a curse as a blessing as his last sight. His beautiful, strong Peggy, wed to him in heart and soul even though she was legally wed to another man. Arnold would never have her in her deepest depths, only the shallowest surface pieces of her, and John took very cold comfort in that.
“Ben,” Brewster said urgently, much closer to where he lay, drawing John’s attention, however the Hell any of this was possible, “that’s treason!”
“I couldn’t save Major André, couldn’t even get him the honourable death he deserved. Those dung heaps found him already behind the British lines, Caleb! They took his boots, which would have clearly shown him to be a British officer, and then they marched him miles back behind our lines and turned him in!”
“And exactly none of that has bearing on you telling goddamned Benedict Arnold’s wife to leave ahead of being arrested and tried for even higher treason than you’ve committed!”
There was a heavy sigh, though John had no way to tell which man had made it.
“In the carriage on the way here, André was drawing. He’d asked to sketch me, which I granted him permission to do, but at the bottom of the page, he’d drawn her eyes. He was thinking of her at the last. I don’t know if he saw her here, I don’t know whether I wish he had or hadn’t, but I could tell they loved each other fiercely. I have to wonder if she married that profligate Arnold to help turn him.”
“Reckon we’ll never know,” Brewster said on a heavy sigh.
“Likely not, but I’m not going to watch her pay for that coward’s crimes, by God. If only the man hanged today had been him.”
“Let us speak no more of it, Ben, lest we be heard and end up on the wrong end of the noose ourselves.”
They moved off, still speaking in low, tense voices, and John considered himself in Tallmadge’s debt for warning Peggy to leave before she was suspected and apprehended in Arnold’s treasonous actions. Now he just had to find a way to leave the encampment before his body was either buried or placed in a pickling solution for transport back to England.
His biggest problems were that he had no idea how much time had passed between him dying and now, and also if he was in a place where he could move without being noticed. The poke of the stones under him told him he was still outside, and the conversation between Tallmadge and Brewster told him he wasn’t so very close to the main encampment or under close guard--and who would think they had to stand guard over a corpse--but he had no idea how closely soldiers were walking to wherever he was. No, best to stay just as he was until he was certain it had gotten dark and try to make his escape then.
Some interminable time later, it had gotten quieter and he was just about to lift the blindfold to get his bearings, when he heard footsteps. He successfully bit back a sigh and resigned himself to lying there for even longer. A few moments later and he could quiet muttering, it sounded quite like--
“Major André,” Abigail called softly.
What was she about? Whyever should she be calling the name of a dead man?
“Major, please, there’s no time to explain right now, but I know you’re alive and you need to get away from here. Please, sir,” she whispered urgently, and suddenly the blindfold was removed and he was blinking up at her worried face.
It was dusk, which likely meant the changing of the guard, and he thought the way Abigail kept looking over her shoulder was confirmation of that. “Abigail how in the--”
She thrust a bundle at him. “Here, get out of your uniform.”
He took the bundle automatically, but stayed in place, staring up at her, his mind not able to catch up with...anything. “Abigail, I…”
“Oh, sir, you must hurry!” She reached down and pulled him up to sitting, then started to pull off his coat. “Please, they’ll hang me for this and I won’t come back from it!”
That roused him; Abigail deserved her freedom, and young Cicero deserved to be with his mother as he grew. He shook his head vigorously, then shucked the coat before he bent to pull his boots off. He hesitated for a long moment before he undid his trousers, but there was no time for decency, he could apologise to her later. He pulled them off, then pulled his shirt off, leaving him in his small clothes, which were soiled.
“Damn it,” he muttered, he could not clean himself with Abigail watching him, but she had anticipated him, and when he glanced over, her back was turned. He wasted no further time, wiping his nethers as best he could in the circumstances. Pulling apart the bundle, he found the clothes he’d been in just yesterday and clean underwear. He got to his feet unsteadily, glad of the tree they’d laid him by, and leant against the truck as he clumsily pulled on the small clothes and then the shirt and trousers. He sat back down to work on the stockings and then Abigail was kicking boots at him; boots she’d walked over to him in. He was about to ask what she would wear when he realised that she’d simply worn the boots over her own, more petite footwear. “You were completely prepared. How?”
“I promise I will explain but we have to--”
“Abigail?” Came a call from way too close. Tallmadge. Damn.
John laid down on his stomach, kicked the boots out of immediate sight, and pulled his red coat back on one arm. He hoped it was enough as he met Abigail’s wide eyes. Fortunately she took his meaning so that by the time Major Tallmadge came upon them, she was pulling the jacket off his arm.
“What are you doing, Abigail?” he asked, astonished.
John imagined how the major was likely gaping and wished he could see, but he was necessarily facing the opposite direction.
“I was just—“
“And why are his goddamned boots off again? Is it the end of his dignity once more? I thought you respected this man!”
“I do, Major Tallmadge, sir, please if you’d let me explain—“
“Please do attempt to convince me you are not desecrating the body of an honourable man who has suffered enough at this army’s hands.“
“It’s only that his uniform is fouled, sir, I...I wanted to wash it so he would be presentable.” Abigail sounded properly cowed and John thought she was a better actress than the conniving Philomena Cheer. It was a damned shame he hadn’t realised until too late that she’d been sending information to Culper that she’d stolen from right under his unsuspecting nose. Perhaps once he was settled elsewhere, he would dictate a note to General Clinton, advising him on employing ex-slaves in this fashion. After all, it had worked on him, and he’d been raised believing human beings were not unequal based on skin or speech or religion unlike most of his fellows.
Tallmadge sighed heavily. “I apologise, Abigail. Truly. I’ve felt wrongfooted ever since soon after returning to camp, and it’s grating. I know very well that you cared for the major.”
There was a lengthy pause before Abigail responded with, “Wrongfooted how, sir?”
“My guts are in uproar. In camp it felt as though it had settled, but no.”
“Like a wave of sick and static?”
“That’s it exactly! How did you know?”
“Lord have mercy,” Abigail breathed. “Major, were you by any chance wounded in battle at some point?”
“Last December. I was the only survivor in my unit.”
It suddenly hit John what Abigail was getting at. Major Tallmadge was like him, somehow, and had come back from the dead as well. What were they?
“Abigail, what are you truly doing here with Major André?” Tallmadge sounded unsure, but he was starting to get it, his mind as agile as John’s own.
“I think you can answer your own question. What do you think?”
“It’s the height of madness, but I think I can ask the major to sit up and that he will do that exact thing.”
John plucked his coat off and he and Tallmadge stared at each other, wide-eyed, for a very long moment before Tallmadge bent, holding out his hand. John reached up to clasp it, letting Tallmadge help him to his feet. He swayed like a newborn colt, but Tallmadge steadied him until he could stand on his own. Once he was more or less steady, Tallmadge let go of his shoulder and waist, his hands running over his hair.
“You must hide somewhere, Major. I mean, now that we’ve gotten you to your feet, you might want to lie flat until full dark. Come morning, we’ll sound the alarm for our missing corpse.”
Abigail took a step toward Tallmadge, placing her hand boldly on his forearm. “You need to know what you are, Major. Before I leave camp.”
“Where are you going?”
“Major André and I must go north. He can’t stay for obvious reasons, and I...Cicero will be waiting in Nova Scotia for me. We can’t stay either. Our emancipation will not last, I fear, and I don’t want to get caught in the net again.”
“There has to be some sort of plan,” Tallmadge asserted, placing his hand over hers. “Every moment he stays in camp is fraught, but if there’s no plan, there can be no safe progression.”
“I fear safe progression is out of the question, for we must elude both armies and practically anyone else we may happen to cross paths with,” John put in. “And we need papers, which means I need another damned name to go on the bloody papers,” He raked his hand through his hair. “Is there anywhere in the near vicinity where I may hide until we can get this sorted?”
“I truly apologise, Major, but I must insist you lie down again until we can figure this out.”
John sighed heavily, then got back on the ground and reached for the blindfold. “Please don’t be too long in returning, I do not wish to be packed in brine.”
“We shall have you on your way before dawn breaks, upon my honour.”
John nodded, then reapplied the blindfold and arranged himself in the most comfortable position he could find.
“Abigail, you may as well wash his clothes. People will see you doing so and if for some reason someone comes checking on the major, it will not set up an alarm for him being without.”
“All right, Major. One of us will be back for you as soon as possible, sir,” she said, bending down to pat John’s arm before she scooped up his soiled uniform.
He waved them off and sighed softly, wishing he was already away but knowing Tallmadge was correct; without at least a half-formed plan, his and Abigail’s escape was not possible. It was going to require a miracle even with a plan. That thought made him pause; he was alive again somehow. Had he been rejected from Heaven yet not considered wretched enough for Hell? His Huguenot background clashed with the Catholic idea of Purgatory, but what did Earthbound humans truly know? Although Abigail had known about both him and Tallmadge. Now he remembered her aside to the major, that he must know about his new circumstances before she left camp. What strange things was he going to hear for himself in a short while?
He tensed as he heard voices that were definitely not Abigail or the major coming close.
“I don’t know why they don’t leave this lobsterback to feed the wolves.”
“Because apparently he was a good man, regardless of his colours. At least the officers seem to think so, since it was Colonel Hamilton who asked for him to be brought closer.”
“Yeah, and Tallmadge and Brewster gnashing their teeth as if they knew him so well. He was a bloody Royalist and I doubt he’d show the same respect for one of ours were the tables turned.”
It took everything in him to remain as deadweight when one man took his wrists and the other his ankles and began walking closer to camp. How were they ever going to get away now?
He was taken and unceremoniously tossed into the back of a wagon, barely holding in a pained grunt and the instinct to correct his new, quite uncomfortable position. Thankfully they straightened him out and rolled him onto his back, a position he could easily keep.
“Where is this officer’s uniform?” a deep voice demanded.
“Colonel Hamilton! Sir, he was like this!”
“Did he take it off himself, do you imagine?” Hamilton demanded angrily.
John barely cut off the slightly hysterical giggle that tried to claw its way out of him, since he had, in point of fact, helped to remove it himself. He could hear the men shift, could picture how his own underlings would have looked to him in such circumstances. One took a breath, presumably to speak, but Hamilton didn’t allow it.
“Find. The. Uniform.” His words were coldly furious and overly enunciated and the men literally tripped over themselves as they legged it. John could almost feel sorry for them; he certainly felt sorry for Hamilton, who was pacing around the wagon muttering in French about scoundrels trying to make a Goddamned dollar on the Black Market by stripping an honourable man and placing him in the very clothing that had led to his unfortunate death. John wished he could soothe the man’s ire, but it would happen soon enough.
Within a few minutes, he could hear the approach of more than one person, and hoped that if they’d found Abigail, they hadn’t hurt her in dragging her back to this wagon.
“Colonel Hamilton, sir, I apologise for the state of Major André!” Tallmadge, thank God.
“What is the meaning of it?” Hamilton was trying to rein in his anger; he certainly knew that Tallmadge had held John in high regard.
“His servant is washing it, sir. She’s still at the river, in fact.”
“The one who brought the uniform from York City?”
“Yes, sir. She--we--well. It was soiled as it would necessarily be under the circumstances and we wished his family to receive it and his accoutrement in a less decrepit state. It had been my intention to have Abigail finish the washing and have it folded by him tomorrow morning when the body was prepared for shipment.”
“Did you expect he would be left out all night at the edge of the encampment for the animals to consume, Tallmadge?”
“No, sir, and I do certainly hope you know I have great respect and admiration for the major. I would never have left him there for the scavengers!”
Hamilton sighed deeply. “I do know that, Tallmadge. I apologise for suggesting otherwise. You are a good and proper officer, and, more importantly, man. It pains me, the indignities he suffered at our hands, and I know very well you are of a like mind in those matters.”
“I am, indeed, Colonel,” Tallmadge answered, his own temper showing in his tone.
“Let us protect him as we may for the last piece of his journey, then, Major. I shall post two hand-picked sentries who will not shirk their duty in watching over him for the night and we can thus rest easy.”
“A capital idea, sir.”
John fought down a snort, impressed with Tallmadge’s acting abilities. Not even a pause before agreeing, yet another outshining of Ms. Cheer. He wished he would have a chance to inform her of her betters in person, but it was not to be. At least not yet. He occupied himself with the fantasy of pulling her off the high street into a dark alley. How would she react once he let her get a good look at his face? He quite enjoyed thinking of the moment when she would realise it was him, the horror that would spread. Her ploy on the street as he’d made for the wharf had been a part of the wider net that had snared him; he’d been so consumed with breaking Peggy free of the beast that he’d not taken proper precautions. Philomena had been working with someone, though who it might be John couldn’t narrow down. There were, after all, no shortage of men who might have wished him ill.
Hamilton made an odd noise, a sort of interrogatory snorting grunt, that brought John back to the present moment.
“I know it sounds odd, sir, but I’d feel most comfortable with Lieutenant Brewster standing guard over him. It isn’t that I feel our men can’t do a good job, it’s that Brewster feels rather like you and I, sir, in that he truly believes Major André deserved better and he’ll take an extra care that our enlisted men likely cannot fathom extending.”
“Nicely stated, Tallmadge,” Hamilton said, huffing a breath. “Very well, Lieutenant Brewster shall stand by him tonight.”
John was intensely relieved by this and although he wasn’t thrilled at another person knowing his secret, it made sense Tallmadge would trust his friend to keep the secret for both of them. Brewster also knew Abigail and so would trust the source. It was the best solution available in the circumstances and it would be good to have Brewster watching Tallmadge’s back in future.
“You may locate Brewster. I shall stay until you’re back.”
“Thank you, sir. And please do not be cross with Abigail if she arrives before me, she was only thinking of him and his family, and it was my fault entirely for not informing anyone else of our plans.”
“I am not cross with her in the least. Her heart was in the right place to consider his family.”
“Very good, sir, I shall be back shortly.”
John thought it about ten minutes before he heard someone approaching the wagon, intensely relieved to hear Tallmadge and Brewster moments later.
“I do apologise for the wait, sir,” Tallmadge said. “Brewster was not in the camp.”
Brewster made a bitten off noise, but when he spoke a moment later, his voice sounded normal. “I also apologise, Colonel Hamilton. We’ll take good care with him tonight.”
“Thank you for that. I shall see you in the morning, then. Good night.”
“Good night, sir,” they said at the same time.
“What the fucking hell, Ben?” Brewster demanded. John could hear the shove that accompanied the words.
“We’ve...uh...we have a situation, Caleb, and I’m going to need your help and your sworn secrecy to get through it.”
“Surely you know you have both.”
“This is different. You’ll hear everything when Abigail gets here, and then we’ll have to come up with a way for them to get out of here without getting ourselves strung up for dereliction of duty.”
“Them? I thought Cicero would be waiting for her in Nova Scotia?”
“He is.”
Brewster sighed in frustration. “Just tell me what’s going on. I can’t imagine a situation where I wouldn’t at least listen to what you have to say.”
John snorted, sat up and lifted the blindfold. “Hello.”
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” Brewster yelped, jumping back.
There followed a frantic few moments wherein Brewster and Tallmadge were literally turning in circles trying to make certain no one was coming to see what the commotion was about, and John had to fight down what he was certain would have come out a more than slightly hysterical giggle.
“I would not have started explanations off so bluntly, Major,” Tallmadge said, censorious.
John heaved a sigh. “Even now the precious time I saved by doing so is wasting away. Brewster, it appears that I cannot die by being hanged.”
“Yes, I can bloody well see that! Are you a demon, sir?”
“I know not what I am with the lone exception of not dead. Abigail has knowledge of my state and she should arrive here again soon. I know this seems a Bedlamite fantasy, but I assure you I am just as alive now as I was dead after you and Tallmadge eased my suffering. You may come and feel my pulse if that would help.”
“The fact that you’re speaking to me is proof enough for me, sir.”
“You needn’t call me ‘sir’ as I am no longer an officer.”
“Presumably you are still a gentleman, however,” Brewster replied, his eyebrows raised.
John huffed a laugh. “I suppose I am, at that.”
There came the crash of someone running, and John quickly laid back down, though he didn’t have time to settle the blindfold before there was lamp light falling over him. “Oh, Lord, Major Tallmadge, I thought--”
John was tremendously thankful it was Abigail, and he sighed deeply and sat up again, letting her see he was all right.
“I apologise for causing you such worry, Abigail,” Tallmadge said, chagrined as Abigail tried to catch her breath. “Colonel Hamilton unexpectedly sent some men to bring him in so he was left unmolested by any hungry beast that may have wandered by, and I didn’t have time to find you.”
“No help for it,” she said, accepting it. “I presume Lieutenant Brewster being here means he has permission to hear what I’m about to tell you?”
“Yes,” Tallmadge replied. “All parts of it.”
Abigail nodded, taking his meaning. “All right. We don’t have much time, so I’ll try to be as brief as possible. There’s a race of humans that can’t be killed by ordinary means. Well, they can die, but they don’t stay dead. The only way to permanently kill such a person is to cut the head off with a metal implement, most usually a sword of some sort. They could drown, burn, be drawn and quartered, stabbed, crushed, suffocate, shot by ball or arrow--you get the idea?--and they will waken some time later as if never injured.”
“What about a knife cutting the head?” Brewster asked.
“Any metal would do, Bayonet, dagger, axe, knife, shovel, hammer, as long as the connections between the head and body are fully severed, they stay dead. The second most important thing to know,” she continued, looking between John and Tallmadge, “is that these people hunt each other. I was never told why, exactly, just that it happens. Always be armed with metal weapons, everywhere. Other weapons will slow them down or put them out long enough they can be dispatched permanently, but you need the metal to do it.”
“That strange feeling,” John said, “it’s a warning of some sort?”
“Yes, sir, that’s it exactly.”
“So there’s a range? Because I felt better once Caleb and I were in the camp proper, but when I came back, I had it again.”
“There could be, but I wasn’t told about it. I didn’t...these people, they’re very secretive and with good reason. I was told basic information because I needed to know not to leave them alone before they came back.”
Suddenly, Brewster grabbed Tallmadge’s arm. “Hold on, Ben, are...are you one of “them” as well as André?”
“I am. Apparently there was a good reason I survived the battle”
“So I’m going to grow old and die but you won’t.”
“It looks like that is what’s going to happen, yes. Although it seems one of my own race may appear and decapitate me tomorrow. So you may yet see me in the ground before you get there.”
“How does it work, though,” John asked, aware of time running out. “Obviously there’s a first death, but are there children like this? Aged people? If one comes back healed, does one’s age change with the transformation?”
“I don’t know about any children, I imagine it must have happened before but they were likely easy prey for their elders. As far as I could tell, you stay the same age as when you died, in the same basic shape.”
“So if Tallmadge had lost a leg in his skirmish, it would not have regenerated with his transformation?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know. I never saw that particular type of injury, and each one of this race I ever saw were all whole in body.”
“How many have you seen, Abigail?” Tallmadge asked.
“Three over the years, Major. Five, now, of course.”
“Thank the Lord you were here, else we’d have both been lost,” Tallmadge said.
“Rather,” John put in. “But as we’ve the basics of the situation now and know a little of what to expect in future, I posit we put a plan together for yours and my escape.”
“Any ideas?” Tallmadge said.
“My initial thought is that I continue to wear the blindfold and have Abigail lead me about. Should anyone question us, I’ve been blinded in a skirmish and she is my servant taking me to the City.”
“We can’t go to York City, sir, too many people might recognize either or both of us.”
“Abigail’s right,” Brewster said, rubbing his chin. “You’ll need to go further south to escape, I think. Or at least circumvent York City. We need a map.”
“There’s not time for that,” John said, sighing. “We need to put some distance between us and this camp. Once we’re ensconced somewhere else, we can attain some maps and better plan the rest of our journey.”
“How long do we wait to leave?” Abigail asked.
“We should leave as soon as we can, but I’ve just…” John looked between Tallmadge and Brewster. “How will you explain my absence? Considering the ado already made over my body, I highly doubt there will be an explanation satisfactory to your fellow officers.”
“Well,” Brewster said, putting his hands on his hips, “I presume you’re an accurate shot, so you could shoot me somewhere non-lethal and it doesn’t matter where you shoot Ben because he’ll come back, apparently.”
“That is a terrible idea, and on top of that, it doesn’t address Abigail. If she’s not here, they’ll probably assume something stupid and send men after her to bring her back and make an example out of her somehow. And aside from that, we both need to be fit for our journey, so subterfuge of that type will not work.” He turned to Abigail. “You’ve a sharp mind, my dear, as one who works in intelligence must. What are you thinking?”
Abigail’s face fell and Tallmadge and Brewster both made involuntary movements as if to protect her. “Oh, sir, I--”
John held out his hand in a calming gesture. “None of that, you were splendid and quite correct to use your position to pass on intelligence. I hold nothing against you, so worry not on that account. Only, please, have you thoughts on this situation?”
“I’m going to beat your coat into proper shape and then put the uniform out to dry overnight and once I’m finished that, I will stop by and visit very visibly with Ms. Strong. Perhaps we shall both appear to have drunk a little more than is strictly acceptable. At any rate, I’ll be seen far and wide within camp while you do...whatever you decide to do.”
John huffed a laugh and shook his head. “So I’m to be without my guardian angel after all.”
“Just for a day, two at the most, I imagine.”
“But where do I go to wait? However it is that I go, they will make at least a cursory search.”
“I know a place,” Brewster said. “It’s not far. I’ll take you, come back to camp, and then we’ll take care of securing things here.”
“Before we start,” John began, “Abigail, if we’re only wounded, we will heal slowly like a usual person?”
“Yes. It’s only when you die that you come back completely healed.”
“All right. So it seems we need only to come up with a reason someone might want to steal my corpse.”
“You need not worry on that, John,” Tallmadge said, not unkindly. “You need only concern yourself with your upcoming journey.”
John opened his mouth to protest, then realised Tallmadge was correct. His part in this was over, save for somehow finding a way to become invisible until he was safely away. “You speak true.”
“I’m going to beat your coat now, sir, and in about ten minutes, I’ll be going to see Ms. Strong. Travel safely.”
“Thank you for your invaluable knowledge and assistance, Abigail,” John said. “I shall see you soon, God willing.”
She smiled at him as she picked up the coat and took it right to the edge of the camp where many people would see her.
“Let’s get you on your way, sir,” Brewster said, coming to help John get out of the wagon.
***
Two days had passed since John had taken refuge in the root cellar of a burned out building about thirty minutes walk from the camp. It was not nearly far enough for his taste, but it suited their purposes as well as possible. Brewster had told him that they patrolled it only erratically now that it was basically ready to fall down on some unfortunate soul should they step foot in it, then added with a smirk how that shouldn’t be a problem for the likes of him. John had chosen not to rise to the bait, responding only with a noncommittal hum. He’d felt some small bit of camaraderie with Brewster and Tallmadge, down to the esteem they’d held for his honour, and also for the assistance they’d rendered--first in ending his suffering on the noose, and then, again, once his...odd state of affairs had been discovered. He did not wish to end on a sour note. Brewster had shown him how to enter and exit the root cellar, then shown him possible food sources and the river, shook his hand and wished him well. John had thanked him sincerely and watched him crawl back out of the root cellar. He was alone and unaided until Abigail arrived.
He heard the brush being moved around over the entrance but stayed where he was, sitting in a rickety chair against the back wall. He had a pistol in the travel bag Brewster had given him which was on the floor next to him, but the main reason he wasn’t worried was because the only person who knew where the entrance was located was Brewster. Of course he would have told Abigail as he would not have been able to accompany her. If, for some reason, it was anyone else, then they’d been discovered and he was going to die again regardless.
“Sir?” Abigail called softly.
“I’m here, Abigail. Do come down.”
It took her a minute to come in, laden with two bags which she dropped by the entrance.
“Are you well, Abigail?”
“I’m well, sir. Are you hungry?”
John shook his head. “Brewster had put some biscuits and dried venison in the bag along with a pistol and a few...sharper things with which to protect ourselves.
“Well, you’ll still need more before we get started tonight and so will I.”
He smiled a little. “I presume that means you have heartier fare in one of those bags?”
“I do. Mrs. Strong made me some small mince pies and oat cakes to take with me. I figure we can eat half tonight and half tomorrow and by then we should be far enough away that we can fend for ourselves.”
“You’ve a keen mind, Abigail.” He stood and retrieved another chair for her to use.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, sounding pleased by his comment as she dug through one of the packs and pulled out two tins, bringing them to him. “Here, have some.”
The simple food smelled delicious and his mouth watered as he selected two mince pies and an oatcake.
“Take more! You ain’t a small man and I don’t need much.”
“I’ll start with these and then see. I had some biscuits earlier so I’m not starting from an empty stomach.”
She seemed satisfied with that and they settled in to eat, both quickly going through their allotment. Everything was delicious and John reached for the tins, smiling crookedly as Abigail chuckled. A few minutes later, he wiped his mouth and hands on the serviette.
“Tell me about the escape. They obviously sold it because you’re here with supplies.”
“I’m not entirely certain what happened, sir,” Abigail said, shaking her head. “There was guns involved and we heard shouts and cries; it was quite the clamour. Being as I was clearly visible in camp and had been for some time, nobody suspected me. Mrs. Strong went to see the lieutenant and the major this morning and reported back that they’d both been wounded, the major quite badly. Your uniform was found just as we’d left it - in a neat pile, your coat hanging just where I’d laid it. Of course no one knows why your corpse was taken, but the major apparently mumbled that it was at least one of the bounty hunters who’d brought you in.”
John nodded. “That will probably work. They were rather unhappy not to get paid for me.”
Abigail sucked her teeth, making him smile.
“We don’t need to think about them again, at any rate, aside from the fact that whether it’s military justice in the near future or later judgement by the Lord God, they’ll pay for their greed.”
“True. Have you had enough to eat, sir?”
“Yes. We should be getting going, I agree. Are we still about travelling south? I’d thought on it and I’m not certain that’s our best option because no matter where we gain passage, the ship will pass by this general area and may very well stop in. Anyone getting on or off could tip our hand. Brewster had suggested circumventing to the west, and whilst I do not wish to keep you from Cicero any longer than absolutely necessary, that may be the safest route to take.”
Abigail put her hands on her hips. “Thank you for your thought, sir, but it’s fine. You need me more than he does right now.”
“I do, I must admit.”
“I owe you, sir.”
“Abigail, you owe me nothing. You brought me Peggy. That alone would wipe your slate clean as far as I’m concerned.”
“That’s kind of you, sir, but I don’t see as how that makes any sense. I spied on you and lied to you and--”
“Enough. You did those things, yes, but Abigail, our countries are at war and you used your position in my household to help yours. How could I hold something I, myself, would do in the same position against you? I underestimated you and you were right to take advantage of it.”
“Still, I don’t think the same.”
“Would it have made a difference had I not died? I do not think your guilt is necessarily tied to the acts themselves but that you somehow imagine they had an impact on what happened.”
“I don’t think my spying caused you to be hanged, sir. I know that to be true.”
“That’s good, at any rate. The people responsible for my death are me and whoever sent those bounty hunters after me, no one else.”
“How do you count yourself and not Major Arnold?”
“Because it was my choice to rush into the meeting. I wanted him out of Peggy’s life. That was part of my bargain, the British would take him but he had to give her up. I’d no idea they’d gotten married.”
Abigail gasped. “Married?”
“She’s carrying his child. I saw her, at my hanging. She was there—“ his throat choked up and his eyes burned as tears pricked them.
“Oh, sir, no!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I can find her, let her know that you’re not dead!”
He drew an unsteady breath, then swallowed down the surging part of him that wanted to do just that - find Peggy before she and Arnold were reunited; take her away and keep her at his side for as long as she lived. That would be a terrible burden on Peggy, though, for she would age and he would not, and she could never be with her family or friends again. No, he’d rather have her in comfort in exile, able to receive visits from her family and friends.
“You must promise never to tell her, Abigail. Swear to it.”
“But you love each other so much!”
“It is because I love her that I ask this of you! Only think on it - what sort of life will she have with me? By necessity we should have to live far away from Society, on either side of the Atlantic. She would not be able to see or even hear from family or friends and even worse, she would age and die whilst I remain in my prime. I could not subject her to that, Abigail. I will not.”
“I...I understand, sir. I give you my word she won’t hear it from me.”
Relief coursed through him. One less worry, for now. “I thank you, Abigail.”
Abigail nodded, obviously unconvinced but knowing there was nothing for it. Instead she bustled around, getting everything ready for the journey. John left her to it, checking their weapons and powder. Several minutes later, the sun had set fully and they were as ready to go as they’d ever be.