Embrace of the Enemy (Winds of Betrayal) (2 page)

“What control do you have, Major? Can you get her out? Do you realize what they do to spies, Major? I understand all too well,” Jonathan stated emphatically.

“Who, Dr. Corbett, are you referring to?”

“My sister, damn it. My sister.”

Chapter Two

Hannah arose in the morning of the 22nd of September with the smell of smoke lingering within the air. The terror of the day before the conflagration of the city had dissipated into a different kind of fear. The fire had been quenched. Although for a time it had seemed impossible to check the flames.

Fleeing Patriots had supposedly set the fire. Bells from the churches had been taken out by order of the Provencal Congress. Confusion reigned.

Sleep hadn't come for Hannah. She closed her eyes tightly, but all she could see was darkness descending down upon her. She had come to New York for one purpose—to find the traitor that was responsible for her father and brother’s death. Revenge gnawed within her soul.

She had cared for little after the raid that killed her mother. When the news of her father and William’s hanging filtered to her, she had been devastated. She had clung to hurt to do the unthinkable. She infiltrated her grandfather’s home with one intent—revenge. She had no doubt her grandfather orchestrated her family’s demise or the fact he well knew who betrayed her father.

The moment she entered New York, she became part of a spy network relaying all the information that came her way. A dangerous mission if any suspected her of being a leak. Being her grandfather was a staunch Loyalist, information came easily. Hannah hadn’t hesitated to relay all the details she overheard.

Now, though, her mission was complete. She had found the traitor that betrayed her father—Joseph Gannon! Her intent had been to go home at this point, but now she was trapped. The British had taken control of New York.

Don't panic!
 Gabriel would have never left her like this…not caught within the city. She had waited and prayed for a miracle. Her ears keen upon any sound, any movement, but none came.

She dressed herself in a simple gown for she didn't know what else to do. She walked into her grandmother's room, who was sleeping soundly. The poor woman had no idea of the goings on around her. Hannah descended the stairs only to find Mrs. Hayes all aflutter with excitement.

“Mr. Clay is beside himself. He wants the house cleaned immediately. We're expecting visitors. Of course you wouldn't know, Miss Hannah, but Mr Clay is prominent with the Tory circle. We can expect lots more visitors, I can tell you,” Mrs. Hayes sighed. “I just can't be expected to get the house into order with all this smell of smoke and dust.”

“Is Grandfather within his study?” Hannah asked, paying no heed to Mrs. Hayes’ ramblings. She watched Mrs. Hayes nod, but then the woman escaped into the kitchen. Hannah stood alone within the foyer.

Hannah paced. She needed to think. Deep in thought, she jumped back when the study door opened. Her grandfather emerged from the room with a small group of British redcoats. Hannah swallowed hard, hoping against all hope that her grandfather didn’t notice her apprehension of their presence. His expression soured as he caught sight of her waiting. She ignored the gesture. “Are we to go now?”

“You aren't going anywhere, Hannah. I’m not saying this more than once. I don't want you out in this for any reason. Is that understood?” he admonished her.

She disregarded the others present. She pleaded, “But Grandfather....” She paused. He shot her a look that she comprehended well. She sidestepped and let all pass.

A young handsome lieutenant glanced back over his shoulder, giving her a small nod. She paid no attention to his interest. She had no time for games.

Reason didn't play well with her instincts to run. She had an instinctive need to leave this house, an overwhelming sensation of impending doom. She didn't know how long she stood staring at the door, but she could stand it no longer. She grabbed her cloak and without one word to anyone, walked out the front door.

The stiff air greeted Hannah as she ventured forth. Logic played no part in her decision, only her urge to leave. She walked.

She walked by her church, which stood untouched. Although the further she walked, the more destruction she discovered. Businesses had been rampaged. She watched men run into buildings and returned with arms full of merchandise. On the next street a small band of British soldiers chased the rioters. She continued onward down by the Beekman mansion, which lay near the East River on Manhattan.

Mayhem reigned. Chaos ensued as soldiers ran rampant detaining many and arresting others. Finally, Hannah found a place to sit in the gardens not far from the Beekman mansion. In her view, the whole of the city was overrun with redcoats. She sat without a word and stared blankly out in front of her.
However was she to go home now? 

Suddenly, voices startled her from behind. Her heart calmed when she realized the words weren't directed at her.

“I don't know where else we are to put them. I don't believe the Sugar House can hold more. Has to be more than two hundred held upon the supposition that they were incendiaries to the fire,” one voice commented.

“General Howe is in no mood to be lenient.”

“The poor soul this morning, but I s’ppose there had to be made statement, Arthur. Don’t you think?”

“Think? I think that if this is any indication of the intelligence of the Americans, then they are indeed not long to deal with. The spy signaled our ship. No question about his intent. Drawings and papers damned him without a debate. General Howe ordered the execution without even a trial.”

“But I will give that his spirit was strong. Although from his appearance, too gentle a disposition for the role he was supposed to have played. I found him to have a consciousness of rectitude, even dealing with Cunningham. He destroyed the letters I let the poor fellow write his family. Told me that the damn rebels shouldn't know that they had a man in their army who could die with so much firmness in his beliefs.”

“I know you, Captain Montresor, haven't seen eye to eye over much with Cunningham, but we are at war. He may be too brutal by half, but maybe that's what the Americans need at the moment. Hit them hard and they won't come back with this ridiculous notion of independence.”

“So, Arthur, you weren't impressed with the spy's last words.
My only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country. 
You think that we are going to suppress our colonies quickly with that heart felt passion for their cause.”

Hannah stood up, the voices trailing away.
A spy hung!
 Her heart raced. Had she not seen a crowd around artillery park by where Henry Rutgers took up residency? She needed no reminder of what they did to a captured spy; a disgraceful death hung out for a warning to all to see; a warning to her of the dangerous waters she now tread; the possible consequences of her actions. She should have returned to her grandfather’s, but a draw pulled her toward the crowd.

The gallows established in front of the park. Among the crowd of people, she made out a hooded form, which hung from a stout apple tree. Beside the corpse a signboard propped up of an old soldier with Washington written upon it. She stood frozen, not able to move.

She stared at the lifeless body. The death was supposed to serve as a deterrent. Instead, it was a reminder of the cause she fought for…the unquestioned belief in this new country. Her father had believed as had her brother. Their deaths couldn't be forgotten— ever. She sickened at the thought of the unquestioned fear they all must have faced when the noose placed around their neck tightened.

Then Tepper's word echoed. “You will be needed, my dear. Make no mistake about it. Congress has tarried too long on this issue. Don't wane in your beliefs for they will be tested in the days to come. You have a job to do. Don't lose sight of the cause. Your mission is more important than any of our petty concerns. I have faith in your ability. Put your emotions aside. I know all too well that those can eat at one's soul. What better revenge than to beat them at their own game? You ask what I expected out of you— information, my dear, information that will bring the British down.”

The wind picked up, blowing her hood back, but she stood thus, staring at the body hanging out for all to see.

* * * *

The last few days had gone well. Colonel Marcus Durham set foot again in New York, now back under control of the British. A beginning at least on settling this rebellion. Pressure had mounted on him from Britain. King George wanted a quick settlement, not willing to compromise in the least.

Marcus could foresee issues that would arise. He had lived among these people and understood their steadfastness. Over the last few years he had spent more time in the colonies than in his homeland away from family and friends. He had no doubt the British would eventually be successful, but this matter would take time and lives. This was war of the worst kind— a war against their own.

Chaos ensued after the initial invasion, which now had begun to dissipate. Sleep hadn't come for the last thirty-eight hours and he didn't expect any in the foreseeable future. The latest briefing had gone well. The Americans were on the run. Marcus only hesitated because General Howe seemed reluctant to go after the Continental army. Marcus expressed his opinion, which differed from Howe's, but his opinion mattered little against the General’s, having only the rank of Colonel.

He stepped out of the Beekman mansion, which now served as British headquarters. A gray haze greeted him. One young officer bumped into him as he crossed the yard for his horse.

“Sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going. My attention turned,” the young officer apologized.

“Quite all right, Lieutenant,” Marcus nodded as he continued on his path. He gave pause when he heard the two's conversation.

The lieutenant’s companion laughed. “Simon, you should have been honest and said your attention was upon a young woman.”

“I'm telling you, she's Clay's granddaughter. I met her this morning. He told her quite plainly to stay within the house. She must not have listened,” he said. “I need to escort her back. I don't believe the old man will be happy with her.”

“Not because she's a beauty. Not here twenty-four hours and you have already made eyes at a woman.”

Immediately, Marcus turned back to the two officers. “Hold there. Of whom do you speak? Alexander Clay? His granddaughter is down here?”

“Do you know of him, Colonel? I was over to secure his home this morning. The General gave orders to take care of our Tory families. The girl,” he pointed toward the crowd. “Wanted to go out. He refused. But I can swear I just saw her at the hanging spy.”

“I'll look into it,” Marcus dismissed the two. The lieutenant hesitated. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant....”

“Fletcher, sir. No, sir, but I would be happy—”

“You're dismissed, Lieutenant Fletcher,” Marcus interrupted the young officer, who sighed and walked reluctantly away.

Marcus strolled over to the crowd doubtful he would find her. The notion it would be Hannah seemed distant, but as he rounded the bend, a lone figure came into view. He walked up behind her. “Hannah?”

She turned. Her face drained of all color. For a moment, she seemed confused to who he was, but she had never seen him in his finely cut uniform and white powdered wig. A moment necessitated before he saw recognition flood through her.

She shook her head. Tears she had held back flooded her face. She tried to turn from him, but he reached for her and held tight to her arm. He could feel the whole of her body tremble. He drew her into his arms. For a moment, she resisted. Then she fell into his shoulder and wept.

He led her from the display, back into the gardens. She broke from his embrace and wiped her cheeks. “I'm sorry.”

“You should have never seen the sight,” he said, holding back the words he wanted to ask, such as why she was here. Instead, he tried to soothe away the remembered horror. “It is understandable.”

He brushed back her hair that had fallen onto her face. A sadness lived within her once bright eyes; she had lost weight. He was puzzled, though. He hadn't thought she would have still been within New York.

“Marcus,” she said softly. “The poor soul that hung. I heard...” She choked on the words. “He didn’t know what he was doing?”

“I don't believe so,” Marcus stated. His eyes studied her intently. “It didn't seem he was prepared for what he intended.”

“But he was brave…the officers said. They said they were impressed by his gallantry.”

Marcus nodded acknowledgement of the fact. She faced him. “Was my father? What of William? Tell me. Did they leave letters? Were they scared?” The questions rolled off her lips, but her tone waned with each question into almost a whisper.

Tears swelled back within her eyes with an almost infantile quality. His hand instinctively pulled her back into his shoulder and stroked her hair. “Hannah, I wasn't there. I'm telling you in truth I wanted neither to have endured that punishment, but I heard they both meet their fate honorably. I don't believe anyone could've questioned their bravery or honor.”

Marcus didn't move, but held her in his arms. A light breeze picked up along the river's edge. He had much work still to be done, and this young woman wasn't supposed to be his concern. But he was content at the moment and admitted to himself that he was glad to have found her thus.