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Philadelphia
June 1776
“This is a preposterous idea. I Have no idea why I agreed to it.” The confines of the carriage gave them a private space to speak freely, the rain on the roof even more so. With a snort, Sonya smoothed her gloved hands over her skirts and tried not to crease the silk. “It’s utterly humiliating.”
Daniel rolled his eyes, an overly familiar gesture at this point, and set the paper he was reading aside. “Because it’s the easiest way to gather information with no one the wiser. You’ll be able to blend in and listen to what’s going on without seeming out of place.”
“This isn’t what I had in mind when the General came calling to recruit.” It was ungodly hot for June, and the multitude of layers she was sporting certainly didn’t help.
“Really?” Daniel gave her an incredulous look. “Because I’m fairly certain it was in his.”
Sonya skewered her brother with a look and tried not to fidget. “I’d have told him to go to hell.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.” Daniel snorted. “This is giving you the perfect opportunity to do what you’ve always wanted to do, get away from Mother and do things your own way.”
“As much is allowed.” She hated that he was right. She was twenty-four, far past the age where most women were married. Worse than that, she was educated thanks to her father’s ideals, and although they had moderate funds, money was far from plentiful. She had more freedom than was given normally, the proclivity to spar with her brother, the ability to shoot a target from sixty paces.
And yet still she was confined by the corsets of her sex.
She wasn’t allowed to stay unchaperoned at their townhouse in Elfreth's Alley. Daniel was acting as her guardian. Any clandestine meetings she undertook, he was two steps behind her in the shadows. It was beyond galling that she was both seen as competent enough to undertake covert operations for General Washington ,yet fragile enough to need accompaniment to just about every location, except for the water closet.
Almost exactly a year and a half before the battle at Lexington and Concord had plunged the colonies into war with the British. Daniel had done what every able-bodied young man had been expected to do: picked up a rifle and fought with honor. Sonya had done what was expected of her as a well reared women: raised funds, gone to charity functions and tried to stifle screaming at the banality of it all.
Six months before, that had all changed.
The first week of December Daniel had returned home, and it was clear something was going on. He’d brought with him good coffee, a new volume of Immanuel Kant and a chest cold. Accompanying him had been the Aide de Camp to George Washington himself. If any of their neighbours had thought it odd a solid upper middle-class family would have such an elite guest, no one had spoken a word, but rumors were as lurid as they were informative.
In fact, that had been made abundantly clear when Daniel had roused her from her sleep and told her to meet him downstairs in the kitchen.
There, around the kitchen table, Sonya had been brought up to date on the real reason Daniel had returned on furlough. While the war was going favorable, the network of covert intelligence that had been painstakingly put in place by the Continental Army to ferry information back to The Committee of Secret Correspondence was falling short. Abraham Woodhull had issued an order from the Culper Ring to come up with new ideas to gather information. No where in Philadelphia, was there more information than in the ladies drawing rooms and parlours, a closed world to most men, but a world where Sonya could move freely. In one evening, she’d gone from the sister of a soldier, to being wrist deep in the war effort, and she couldn’t have been more thrilled.
It had been Daniel who had come up with her code name: Agent 355. She’d spent months integrating herself into the network, running messages and passing information as she could gather it. It was elite and dangerous, and if their mother ever found out, she’d be shipped off to their home in Boston to live under lock and key. It didn’t matter if it was a patriotic duty, Erica Blade would simply point out that duty belonged to Daniel and closet Sonya away until she found her a suitable husband.
“Benjamin Harrison is going to be here tonight, along with his wife. So are John Adams and Pierce Butler with theirs. They’ve been informed we’re in attendance, so we’ll be making introductions. They’ll be an intermission halfway through the performance in the general lobby, drinks, some light food. It’ll be the perfect time to mingle, so keep your ears open.” Daniel gave her a shrewd once over and then after a moment's thought passed her a small pistol. “Keep this secreted away. Use it only if you have to.”
“I wasn’t aware Shakespeare was so dangerous.” Sonya responded dryly as she slipped it into her reticule.
“Then you obviously need to read more of his work.” Daniel dodged her swat and adjusted his hat back into place. “I’ve heard The American Theatre Company is quite good.”
“They had better be.” They pulled to an abrupt stop, and she glanced out the carriage window to see they had arrived at the Southwark Theatre. “The first real opportunity I have to gather intelligence and I’m dressed like a profiterole.”
“Don’t whinge.” Daniel sighed. “We all have our parts to play.”
The driver eased open the door and extended a hand to help Sonya out first. “Then let’s hope, brother, that I remember all my lines.”
“Janet, you absolutely cannot be serious about this.”
“And why not, Rebecca? Can you think of another choice?” Janet gestured to the man laid out in front of them, snoring, and blissfully unaware of the chaos he was currently causing. “He’s drunk as a stoat. It’s not like he’s going to be able to walk a stage.”
“Because it’s not proper!” Her sister made a mortified expression, watching as Janet began to open trunks and pull out garments, sizing them against herself. “And because people aren’t stupid. You can’t just throw on men’s clothing and expect no one will notice.”
“Nonsense, the theatre is fairly dim. We’re of similar size. If I wind my hair back tightly, and wrap my chest, you’ll barely be able to tell. Especially in the further rows.” It wasn’t quite as simple as she was making it out to be. There would be plenty of difference. The walk she walked, the register of her voice, her cheekbones. The list could go on and on, but it was either she make an attempt or they cancel, and that simply could not stand. Not with a theatre of Philadelphia’s most influential peers filling the seats that evening. "the troupe’s reputation on the line."
“And what of yours? This would be enough that no other company would even merit you an audition.” Rebecca furrowed her brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “And any hopes of my sewing costumes would be lost along with yours.”
“You worry too much.” Janet began to work her legs into the first pair of men's breeches she could find. David Hamish, the man currently sleeping The American Theatre Company into ignominy, was tall and slim. If her assumptions were correct, she might just be able to make the costume work. “I know all the lines and stage cues. Besides, if there is any theatre production more suited to a swapping of the sexes, it’s bloody Shakespeare. I already spent part of Act Two in men’s clothing.”
That evening’s production of As You Like It was supposed to be their turning point. The moment when instead of being a scrappy band of performers, The American Theatre Company would light up the stage and bask in the glow. So many of the colonies had banned plays during the war as frivolous, they couldn’t afford to have anything stand I the way of that evening’s show.
“I’m really not going to be able to talk you out of this am I?” Rebecca fell in beside her younger sister, the seamstress in her immediately seeing where she could improve the costume. She reached for a roll of linen and eyed it shrewdly, then began to wind it around Janet’s chest. “This is going to be tighter than normal, but I’ll have no choice.”
“Fine, fine.” Janet submitted to her ministrations and mentally began running the lines for the first act over in her head. “You’ll have to back me up with the rest of the company.”
“As if I have any other choice.” Rebecca tossed her a linen shirt and watched as Janet pulled it over her head. “It’ll be a hard sell with Richard and William, though.”
“Well, if they want to get paid and have enough money to eat for the next month, they’ll have to understand. They can’t learn the lines in under an hour. Camille can take my spot as Rosalind; she knows the part well.” The sleeves on the shirt were far too long, they hung a good inch past her fingertips. “Damn it.”
“Don’t curse.” Rebecca admonished. “I’ll pin them. It’ll be fine.”
From behind them, David let out a whistling snore and belched slightly, the pile of coatings he was lying on shifting as he made himself comfortable.
Janet sighed. “I highly doubt that, but…”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow and pulled her pin cushion from her apron. “We could postpone. Try for tomorrow night.”
“You know that won’t work.” Thank God they had decided to go with contemporary clothing. She could only imagine how hard it would be to hide the ruse if she was wearing a doublet and hose. “And besides, there’s nothing saying David won’t be in his cups then either.”
“I don’t know why it’s put up with.” Rebecca made no attempt to hide her distaste. “We’ve seen good actresses dismissed for less.”
“Because the world tolerates the actions of men, where we as women are under constant scrutiny, even if it’s unfounded.” Janet began to work her dark tresses into a coil. A French twist maybe? Something to give the illusion that she had much shorter hair than she actually did.
Rebecca raised a skeptical eyebrow. “In your case, unfounded may be a far reach.”
“I prefer unorthodox.” Janet stepped in front of the only mirror that the small dressing room boasted. “But I think I’ll pass muster.”
“Or they’ll think you’re completely mad.”
“Like all the greats before me.” Janet spread her hands wide with a pleased smile. “But they don’t look as fetching as I do.”
Rebecca nudged the curtain open and stepped back. “Well, you had better hope that the others think that. Come on, let’s get it over with.”
“That’s the spirit.” Sweeping by her sister with a flourish, Janet headed for backstage. Always the bolder of the two, and always ready to confront problems head on.
There were times when Rebecca truly envied that.
“Call me insane, but I thought that an 8pm curtain call meant 8pm.” Sonya fidgeted in her seat and scanned the program once more. So far, the performance was almost fifteen minutes late starting, and she could have sworn she heard the faint strains of yelling coming from backstage.
“I’m sure it’s just technical details.” Daniel was scanning the crowd, looking for important faces to remember later at intermission. “Look over there, that’s Adams. He’ll make the introductions later. See if he’ll take your arm, walk you around the crowd in the lobby.”
“Like a prize ewe.” Sonya winced.
“Sonya enough.” Daniel elbowed her gently in the ribs. “Make the best of it instead of grousing. It could be worse; you could be stuck sewing bandages and attending church dances.”
She shuddered at the thought. Paying calls and attending parties was maddening, but at least she could glean information instead of feeling like her brain was dribbling out of her skull. It was a blessed reprieve from being asked why she wasn’t married, or why she wasn’t in her own home with a nursery full of children dragging at her skirts. The worst ‘spinster’ had been bandied quietly for some time, but she’d chosen to ignore the gossip. It left her more time to practise her fencing and marksmanship, much to the neighbourhood’s horror. Her mother cautioned her constantly that ‘the social circle’ they maintained would think she was odd and off-putting like her father had been.
Sonya considered that a high compliment.
Herman Blade had been a brilliant man with a love of history and science that would mystify most men. He’d been indulgent with Sonya, educating her and encouraging her curiosity. A former regiment man, his death in 1763, in the embers of the Seven Years War had been a blow she wasn’t sure their family would ever fully recover from. Erica Blade had made it a goal to raise her daughter as properly as her husband had not. There had been lessons in decorum and lady like skills, the loss of her beloved freedom and far too many corsets. When that had proved less than satisfactory, there had been a reputable finishing school in Boston. After two terms, it had been a unanimous choice by both the faculty and Sonya to part ways before she set fire to the library and tried to escape.
Thank God for Daniel. Sonya’s ever steady twin had taken to sneaking her places to practise her footwork and shoot paper targets. He’d encouraged her to read philosophy and discussed politics with her over tea. In every way their mother had sought to make her ladylike, he’d fought against the grain, and in many respects he often won simply by wearing Erica down until she gave in. It was an admirable trait, if not one that often got shoes thrown at him in frustration.
“Finally.” The parted to reveal a pastoral scene, and two young men seated in what looked to be a public house, mugs of ale within hands' reach. Sonya’s eyes immediately flitted to the taller of the two, a lithe figure in a black waist coat and slim breeches. With dark hair and eyes, he stood a little shorter than his companion, younger perhaps outside of the stage. It he who spoke first with a forlorn expression:
“As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother…”
Sonya sat forward in her seat slightly, her eyes trained on the actor as he rose and strode across the stage in agitation.
Perhaps this evening would be more entertaining than she had anticipated.
By the time the intermission was upon them, and the curtains drew to a close, Sonya had almost forgotten the real reason they were at the performance. Watching the players move on stage had captivated her attention to the point that when Daniel stretched and began to rise, she started with surprise.
“Enjoying yourself?” Daniel gave an amused chuckle.
“Hush.” Sonya glowered and rose to her feet, settling her skirts with a purposeful grimace. In truth, she found the lead actor intriguing, his movements fluid and dramatic. There was something alluring about his face, his eyes, and the way he quirked his mouth…
“Come along. Let’s go before you can turn any redder.” He narrowly avoided the rolled-up program as she swung at him and offered an arm as they exited the aisle, and headed back towards the lobby.
The well-lit space was teeming with theatre patrons, a carnival of evening clothing and fashionable dresses. Men and women are well coifed and chatting about the performance, both vocal in their likes and dislikes. A server wandered among the crowd, a tray filled with glasses of port held aloft on offer for those who wished.
“This way,” Daniel steered them through the din towards a portly-looking man with thinning brown hair and wire-rimmed spectacles.
“He looks like he should be working in an accounting house.”
“He just arrived from Holland the day before yesterday. I’m confident when I say he knows everybody important. Nothing happens that his wife Abigail doesn’t know about through gossip circles.” He put on a courteous air as they approached. “Smile, we don’t want to frighten them right off the bat.”
“Ah Blade, there you are!” For all the stories she had heard, John Adams really did look like he should have been counting sums and writing in ledgers, not making diplomatic ties. “I was beginning to think you’d failed to show.”
“Never.” They shook hands briefly, stepping to the side to avoid a man who seemed intent on making it to the other side of the room.
Sonya caught a brief glance of a set of dark eyes, and a scar running through one eye before her attention was redirected to the conversation at hand. Her brother was making introductions, and she was about to look as air headed as a cloud if she didn’t pay attention.
“And you must be Miss Blade.” Adams reached for her arm and wove it around his amicably. “I hear we have many friends in common.”
“Indeed,” Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her brother draw Abigail away into the innocuous conversation. “Daniel has assured me that our interests align nicely.”
They began to make a leisurely circuit through the crowded room; all the while Sonya kept a careful ear out for anything that she could take back to her next meeting. She was tacitly trying to listen to a couple conversing to her left when Adams leaned in, lowering his voice. “There are important conversations occurring in the coming weeks. We’ll need all hands on the watch for potential complications.”
“Understood.” It was the type of vague bulletin she was getting used to hearing. These men, who knew their importance, held all the important cards close to their chests. They doled out tidbits of information as they saw fit, like handing sweets to children.
Someone to her left was conversing about supplies and lack of ship movement. Low rations of coffee and sugar coming in from Jamaica because of the embargo on British goods. Canting her head, she took in the man's dissention, eyes flickering back to Adams, knowing he was hearing the talk as well.
“Old news, but good hearing.” He shrugged. “There’s always a loss of comforts in war. We must continue to think of the bigger picture.”
“Independence.” She tried to paste a convincing smile on her face and hoping she wasn’t appearing ungenuine.
“Exactly. My wife is throwing a garden dinner next, I suspect the main course will be gossip and it could prove relevant. I’ll see you get an invitation—”
Suddenly, from the back of the room came the sounds of a scuffle. Adams turned at the sound, pulling Sonya with him as his attention was pulled away. There was a sharp hissing sound that reminded Sonya somewhat of the brown snakes she’d seen as a child in her grandparents' garden and then the force of a blast that made her ears ring.
She remembered nothing after that.
“What the hells was that??”
Janet had returned to the small dressing room to change for the next act and try not to overly gloat to Rebecca. Now, the thin walls shook, sending papers flying off the desk in a flurry.
Pushing past her sister, Janet hauled open the door, only to be stymied by a cloud of grey smoke. With a cough, she body blocked her sister as the smaller woman tried to get out the door. “No, open the window above the desk and see if you can slip out. Go get help.”
“What about you?” They had only each other, their parents having died years before. Rebecca had taken care of Janet, and in turn, when her lungs went poorly, Janet had taken whatever jobs she could to make sure they were sheltered and clothed. To lose one would be devastating to the other.
“I’m going up front to see what happened.”
“And do what exactly?”
Janet ignored the fear in her sister’s voice and forced herself to step into the hallways, bending low to try so she could breathe easier. The narrow corridor branched not far from the dressing rooms, with one way heading to the main lobby and the other leading to backstage. The few stagehands she could see seemed unharmed and were heading for the exit normally used to haul set pieces in from the street. From the direction of the main lobby, she could hear the sounds of calamity and so it was in that direction she turned.
The double doors were pushed ajar and the scene that met her eyes was one of chaos and horror. Broken glass and wood scattered the floor, and the air smelled of char and smoke. Janet toed her way across the threshold, coughing as she held an arm in front of her face. She counted one, two, three men she could see who were beyond help and moved past them, sending up a silent prayer as she did so. The massive double doors leading to South Street were blocked by rubble, and a crew of men were working on pulling the debris away so that the crowd could set out. People were panicking, trying to open the French windows to let air in, while some others were too injured to do anything but sit or lay shellshocked.
What the hell had happened here?
Janet’s stomach rolled at the sight and for a moment she thought she was going to retch. Fighting it back, she thanked providence again that she was in breeches and not the walking skirt she normally preferred. The freedom of movement allowed her the ability to navigate the disaster without being weighed down by fabric. Stepping over a prone figure, she stopped to see if he was breathing, and then seeing he was, moved on. From her left came a cough, followed by a soft groan.
“Hello?” Janet began to shift through the rubble, wincing as something hot seared her palm. “Can you hear me?”
A large decorative screen had toppled over, and from underneath came another broken cough. Janet grabbed the gilded edge, almost dropping it again as the hot metal met her skin. With a grunt, she threw all her weight behind the wood and managed to shift it out of the way. Her first glance was a pile of lavender silk skirts, she realized, and then a pale face with soot darkened hair the color of winter wheat.
Squatting down, Janet searched the woman’s features, turning her chin gently to examine the bruise on her temple. She was alive, whomever she was, just knocked senseless, it seemed.
Suddenly her eyelids flickered, and Janet found herself looking down into a pair of eyes the color of cornflowers. “Hello there."
The woman groaned. “Mother’s never going to let me out of the damn house again.”
And then she lapsed back into unconsciousness.
The world Sonya awoke to was disordered, her ears ringing with a tinny whistle as she tried to piece together what had occurred. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t on the ground any longer, that someone was half dragging, half carrying her weight away from the smoke and din. “Daniel?”
The face that glanced down at her was vaguely familiar and yet a stranger. High cheek bones, and a patrician nose framed by a mop of chestnut colored hair. “Not quite, but I’ll have to do.”
Sonya peered through the smoke at her rescuer, trying to get a bead on the mellow, slightly amused voice. It was decidedly feminine, and yet she’d heard it before…
It finally hit home; this was the man she’d been so enamoured with on stage. The man who had captivated the audience and drawn her attention so raptly.
Except, he wasn’t a man at all. She could see that now as her vision began to clear. Up close, the lithe figure had hips and curves, soft lips curving to a cupid’s bow. The arms locked around Sonya’s waist felt strong. Even as she began to move more and more under her own power, she felt no compelling need to push them away. “Where are we going?”
“The stage exit. I saw people fleeing out of it earlier.” She glanced down at Sonya as they continued to move. “You’ve got a nasty cut on your head, and that bruise needs tending to.”
“I’ve got a splitting headache.” Sonya winced. “What the devil happened in there?”
“If I had to wager a guess, some type of explosive, a strong one.” They reached the stage door and found it mercifully open, the night air beginning to cut through the smoke. Outside was blessedly cool, a light drizzle having begun to fall.
“Damn.” Sonya tried to disengage and stand on her own two feet. As she did, her skirt caught around her feet, and the world seemed to tilt around her.
“Steady on, I’ve got you.” With little effort, the woman swept her up again and began to help her along.
“I have to find Daniel.” Sonya was having trouble focusing, the aching in her head and the nausea building in her stomach sapping her strength.
“I’m sure he made it out.” Her savior was surprisingly upbeat given the situation. Sonya, on the other hand, could feel panic starting to bubble up in her chest. What if Daniel had been injured? The building was starting to burn, the smoke filling the night sky. What if he was trapped inside? And what had happened to Adams? Had he managed to make it out unharmed?
They turned the corner from the back alley to South Street and Sonya was relieved to see the volunteer fire brigade clattering along the cobblestones. A crowd had begun to gather, mixed between helping those who had escaped injured and watching in abject horror as the building continued to burn.
Coming to a stop, the pair watched as the front doors were finally wrenched open and a steady stream of people began to stumble out into the fresh air. The volunteer fire crew passed them halfway, toting buckets of water as they headed inside the building.
With a sinking feeling, Sonya leaned heavily on the other women’s shoulder, trying to hide her disappointment. This was just the type of disaster that they had hoped to avoid, a flagrant display of war time sentiment close to home. It would mean more work, more time trying to figure out who and why. To her surprise, she felt an arm settle across her lower back, solid and reassuring. Glancing up, she met a pair of questioning eyes, seeking answers that she couldn’t and wouldn’t give. Under that was a warmth, a quickening that made her pulse beat erratically and her brow furrow.
“Sonya!” Daniel appeared through the din; his face was creased with worry. He filthy, covered in ash and more than a little blood but reassuringly intact. “Oh, thank God, I was terrified.”
“I’m all right, for the most part.” Sonya reached out and gave his arm a squeeze, surprised to find herself fighting back tears. She blinked, scolding herself, and took a steadying breath. The last thing she needed to appear was weak, the epitome of the so-called lesser sex.
“I’ve got her from here, thank you.” Daniel’s gaze flickered over the other woman and then back to his sister. With a curt and proper nod of thanks, he smoothly extracted Sonya from the stranger’s arms and took up the mantle of her weight. “Come on, the carriage is over here. The sooner we get home, the better.”
Still slightly dazed, Sonya let herself be led along, pulling back only when she realized that she hadn’t even thought to thank the stranger for saving her life.
Turning, she found that the spot behind them was empty, as if the woman had never been there at all.
It wasn’t until they were halfway home across the city that Sonya realized with a pang of regret, that she’d never even thought to ask her rescuer her name.