Chapter 16

Anne and her Aunt Amelia, who was now getting around pretty well with a cane, were just about to dine when Ensign Hart was announced and came into the parlor, filled with apologies, feathered hat under his arm, boots gleaming. "Pardon ladies, puh, puh, please," he said with his usual stammer, "but I've been sent to ask, sent by the captain, yes, to ask if either of you know someone called, called..." he produced a slip of paper from his wide cuff, "called William Field, no, Fields. Yes, Fuh, Fields. Eh?" He raised his eyebrows and blinked at them, biting at his generous lower lip.

"Yes," said Anne's elderly aunt, "he brings us sausage and such, from the market, almost every week. Nice fellow."

"I know him," said Anne. "One armed young man, right? He's from Maryland as I am, Annapolis I think."

"Don't know," said the stammering ensign. "Haven't seen him myself. They are holding him at the barracks, 'olding him as ah, ah, a spy for the rebels. That's what I was told, a spa, spa, spy. He is in great trouble, gave your names, ladies. Sorry. Just checking, asking about as it were. Captain André sent me of course when he heard your na, na, your name, Miss Conroy." He blinked and waited, awed by her beauty as usual.

Amelia Robertson laughed and Anne stood quickly, hand to her mouth. "Oh no," said the old lady, "not him surely, that nice boy, a spy. They must be mistaken."

"He works for Mr. Weaver I believe." Anne surprised herself by staying calm and in control of her voice. "He's certainly trustworthy I'm sure, very polite. A mistake as my aunt said."

"Very well, that is what I was sent to ask. You know him and tha, think well of him. Please excuse the intrusion." He backed away and left quietly after several bows and waves of his hat.

The women looked at each other, and Anne's aunt licked her lips, sighed, put down her big napkin, folded her hands together and said, "It's true isn't it. He is a spy, a spy for Washington? Poor boy." She pushed herself to her feet and looked for her cane. "Let's hope they don't hang him."

Anne nodded, her heart racing. "How did you know?"

Her aunt chuckled. "Good ears, my dear. My room is just above the parlor. The heat and voices rise through a grate in the floor. Do you love him? I'm sure you kiss him often enough." She smiled. "I can hear that too."

The girl blanched and shook her head. "We've known each other since we were this high. I may love him. I'm not sure, not sure about anything." She stood, wringing her hands. "I'm just not sure. Poor Billy. What can we do?" Anne felt tears welling up.

The old lady rang a small bell and told her maid to have the carriage brought around. "Fetch my shawl and get my cane. We are going into town." Anne helped her stand. "Let's see if we can rescue Billy, bring him home." She smiled at the girl. "I lost a lover once. I know how that feels."

"But we don't know where," Anne began.

"The barracks are on Tammany Street, have been for years. We will go there first and then over to Walnut Street if they've moved him." She looked very determined, her lower jaw thrust out, as she hobbled toward the front door, and Anne grabbed her shawl.

The ride into town was quiet with each woman holding her own thoughts, her own worries. Anne was shocked and embarrassed that her aunt knew about Billy. She wondered for about the hundredth time if she did love him, and then wondered why she wondered. She also thought about losing him. I warned him, I know I did, time after time. Her stomach was in a knot. He's a fool, a noddy fool. In her mind she almost thought "bloody," a foul word she had only heard twice.

One of the redcoated guards helped Aunt Amelia up the stone steps, and they were escorted to an anteroom filled with regimental banners, a wooden table and a pair of long settles. They sat and waited I mutual silence.

"Perhaps I should contact Captain André," whispered Anne. "He might be able to help."

Her aunt nodded and was about to speak when Billy came in accompanied by Ensign Hart who seemed to be supporting him, holding his upper arm and looking embarrassed as he often did. The young man's shirt was open at the neck and flapping about his hips. Then Captain André himself appeared and closed the door. "This rascal a friend of yours?" asked André lightly, lifting Billy's chin. His nose was caked with blood, his upper lip swollen and his right eye purple.

"Indeed," said Anne, standing quickly, fingers to her mouth. "Since we were children. What have you done to him?"

André made a sour face. "He evidently was uncooperative. Some of our grenadiers are a bit, shall we say, impulsive, eh? I'm sure he'll survive. Seems to have lost a bit of skin." He grabbed Billy's stump and lifted it. "Pity." The long-healed area was red and dripping.

Billy tried to smile but his split lip made it difficult. One eye was swelling closed, and his hand was loosely bandaged.

"We spoke to the butcher, Warfield, and then, of course, when you ladies said he was an exemplary citizen, well, they decided we must have made a mistake, an honest mistake I'm sure." André arched an eyebrow and made a small smile, a very brief one. "Mr. Fields has been, well, he talks about as much as a clam, claims he knows absolutely nothing, a complete virgin, ignorant as a newborn. Never heard of George be-damned Washington. Doesn't know what a Whig is, so he says." The man looked peeved and impatient.

"Can we take him home?" Anne asked.