The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [283]
Lamb seemed confused by the question.
“Um, no sir. I have not yet seen General Arnold, sir.”
“He is not here?”
“No, sir. I assure you, sir, I would be aware.”
Now Washington was confused. He looked back across the quiet river, said, “Well, Colonel, since I am here, perhaps you will allow me to inspect your command.”
“By all means, sir. I would be honored.”
“Perhaps, in time, we will find what has become of General Arnold.”
HE HAD RETURNED TO THE MANSION TO FIND ARNOLD STILL ABSENT, his aide reporting only that the general’s boat had not returned. He expected nonetheless to pass the time by the pleasant company of the young Mrs. Arnold, but she had yet to emerge from her bedroom. Arnold’s aides could only offer the familiar apologies.
He was shown to a small bedroom, a polite accommodation offered by Major Franks. As the aide escorted him into the room, Washington could not help a glance above him, seeking some telltale sign that Peggy Arnold was stirring in the upstairs bedroom. Franks caught the look, said, “General, my deepest regrets. Mrs. Arnold was not well this morning. I had hoped she would make her appearance by now, but I have learned that it is best not to disturb a woman in such a state.”
“Quite so, Major. Think nothing of it. Once General Arnold returns, I’m sure we shall have a fine gathering.”
Franks moved away, and Washington closed the door. He removed his coat, brushed his hand over his shirt, wiping at the dust of the long ride, the grime from the construction of the still-unfinished fort. He sat on the small bed, glanced around the small room. It was typical of so fine a home, a soft narrow bed, one tall window, a spray of sunlight that fell across a small chest of drawers. He noticed a fat china vase, bursting with flowers. It was a touch that Martha would have approved, and he said a silent thank-you for the attention to the small pleasant detail. He looked down at his dusty boots, thought of removing them, heard a small sound above him, a slight squeak from a bed. He listened for footsteps, but there was only silence, and he frowned, disappointed by whatever ailment had kept her upstairs.
He had known Peggy’s family for many years, knew the girl as a young teen. He had always suspected she would marry well. Even as a youngster her charms were magnified by her lack of shyness. When he learned that Arnold had won her, he was surprised. He attributed her affections to the strange effects of war. He would never mention this, of course, assumed Arnold had endured enough discomforting talk at the hands of the society belles of Philadelphia.
Peggy had seemed to be comfortable in any setting, especially in those social gatherings where the elite were certain to take notice. Washington found her behavior refreshing, this young confident girl who refused to play the expected role of the shy coquette. He had anticipated visiting with her as much as with Arnold himself, knew the young officers who accompanied him felt the same way. He cast his eyes toward the ceiling again, smiled, thought, Yes, it was always so. The young men are all in love with Peggy.
There was a sharp knock on the door, and Washington said, “Do come in.”
Hamilton was there, and Washington saw a bundle in his hand.
“Sir, these just arrived. The courier has a message from a Lieutenant Colonel Jameson, sir.”
“Yes, I know Colonel Jameson. He is in command of the outposts along the British frontier down the river.”
“It seems the colonel was most insistent that these be delivered only to your hand, sir.”
Washington took the letters, spread them on the bed. He saw a sketch, a crude drawing, held it up, could see now, it was the layout of West Point. He felt a stirring in his brain, looked at the other papers in turn, saw a letter from Jameson himself. He read for a moment, and his hands shook, a burst of cold spreading through him.
“A man has been apprehended, name of Anderson, bearing these documents on his person. And, bearing this as well, a pass signed by General Arnold. Mr. Hamilton, summon