Chapter 13: Inebriate

Mrs. Snyder, Ivy and the tangle of bony arms and thin legs that were her three rambunctious sons welcomed me with a fine, late supper behind shuttered windows. I looked at Ivy in the candlelight and saw why her mother was so determined to hide her, to save her chastity if she could. She was blooming, becoming a beauty, finer boned than her lusty mother but just as lovely and almost as tall.

In Felicity's large, soft bed, after we had satisfied each other to the point of mutual moaning and involuntary shivers, I told my sweaty companion that I had lost Susan as an agent who gathered information from the taverns and shops of Trenton and asked if she could suggest a replacement. She said she would think about it and that perhaps she knew a mature woman who might serve, a very plain and elderly spinster lady, she said.

"I'm certainly not going to hand you over to some girl as pretty as the small one you've just lost," she sighed, poking me in the ribs. "I liked Susan, and I know you did, too."

"Ivy could do it," I suggested, wondering where the idea suddenly came from. It sent another shiver down my spine, that idea.

"Yes," her mother said with a sigh. "She a good actress and would enjoy the challenge, jump at it. She's a patriot, proud of her father, and she knows what I do for you, except in bed, perhaps, but she may understand that as well. She has started her monthly courses."

"But?" I asked, hearing her doubt and delay.

"It's too dangerous, and she's too pretty."

"We can make her plain, costume her like we did that pale, young leftentant I packed off to Morristown with your able assistance, dress her like a boy."

"I'll think about it. One other thing," she said. "There's a woman in town that you might be interested in."

"Ah," said I gallantly, "I have no need for any more women, I thank you. After all, I have you."

"For business, you fool, not pleasure. This woman is an officer's wife, an important officer, Cornwallis's local agent, I'm told. He replaced the man that tortured you and Susan. And she's a public drunk, they say, an embarrassment I'm sure, and a flirt with men visiting her home at all hours."

"Have you seen her, I mean drunk?"

"Indeed, and she conceals it well unless she happens to breathe your way or try to speak to you. A pretty thing, too, and very well dressed, all the latest gowns, petticoats and fancy hat, lots of jewelry, most of it stolen I'd venture."

"So?"

"So, her husband is often away, in Hackensack or New York, and a lonely woman should be an easy target for you, you oversized cocksman with the inquisitive mind."

"Madam," I said in trembling, make-believe horror. "Me? You injure me."

"Aye," said she, "but enough of that for now."

"Time for another riding lesson?" I suggested, well past tumescent, saddle sore and yearning to sleep eventually.

"Um," she sighed, sliding her hand down my belly. "Lord, the size of that pole. You should fly a flag from that thing. I'll never manage," she gasped in mock fear.

"I haven't really learned to canter you know." I ignored her jest and pulled her ample haunch across my legs.

"Ah," she said, getting comfortable and just about emasculating me in the process, "it's the posting that's difficult. But you will learn, that you will, my hefty lad." She slapped me on the cheek with a loud crack and then looked sheepish at the noise she had made.

I did improve and was sore for another week.

Early the next day, I went to investigate the lonely officer's wife, wondering if anyone else was fighting the kind of war I was, from bed to bed. A tavern keeper in the center of town, a man I knew reasonably well and trusted, told me that the woman's maid servant was a regular customer and that she was purchasing four or five bottle of gin each week, paying in military script. His wife, overhearing our conversation, assured me that it was not the bond servant nor her master, the "haughty captain," as she called him, putting away all that gin, but the "silly dame in her frilly clothes" that was the sot.

The landlord pulled me aside as I was about to leave and whispered, "That lobsterback uses young boys a bit too much for my liking, he does. Pays them for their favors, some of the snotty lads that once ran errands for us."

The sun was just starting to warm the icy streets when I knocked at the stout front door of the officer's commandeered house. A pretty girl in homespun and a heavy apron answered, told me the captain was not at home, but that I could see her mistress if I wished.

"She's at 'er breakfast, such as it is," the girl said with London still thick on her tongue and a devilish gleam in her pale-blue eyes.

"Gin for breakfast, is it?" I asked her with a smile.

She nodded and smiled back, lighting her fresh face. "Who shall I say?" she asked. I told her a name and she announced me quite properly.

The slender, pale woman, her hair tied back with a broad blue ribbon, sat at the far end of a long, black walnut table with a plate full of food and a waterglass full of gin before her. She waved me in and gestured to the chair beside her.

"Coffee?" she asked. "Ruth, get the gentleman a cup. What can I do for you, sir, my husband is in, hm, New York, I believe. Won't be back for a week." She glanced at me over her glass as she drank deeply and then touched her lips with her napkin.

"Pity," I said tasting the coffee. It was cold, weak and sour, a week old I guessed. "I'm in cartage," I told her. "And he spoke to me of a move, perhaps to New Brunswick or Amboy. Said you had accumulated some goods you were very fond of." I looked at the mass of candle sticks, shining bowls and fancy pots on the sideboard.

"Lord, yes, I'm not surprised. His men have stripped every rebel house in town and much of the countryside. We've enough silver for three families and a shed full of furniture and crockery." She touched a necklace of red stones and diamonds and then put her hand on my knee and rubbed at my thigh, smiling at me with rather vacant eyes.

I know it is not proper to take advantage of a lady in her cups, and I almost never do, but at nine in the morning the rules may not fully apply. She leaned toward me, her hand reaching my crotch, and whispered, in fumes of aromatic gin, "You might do me a favor. I'm sure there will be a good fee in hauling all these possessions."

"Oh," I said as she stroked onward and her eyes became rather moist. She wrinkled her eyebrows in concentration, feeling the length and breadth of my now-noble yard. I tried to remember that I was serving my country and silently swore confusion to its enemies.

"Yes, come upstairs, if you will. There are some things I would like to show you." She patted my thigh and dropped her napkin in her still-filled plate, stood with a bit of a wobble, finished her glass and beckoned me to follow. She was a fairly tall woman of thirty-five or so with good shoulders, round hips and a really tiny waist. She took long strides and her light-blue, silken gown flowed around her thin body. It was a pleasure to watch her climb the stairs, rolling like a sailor.