Author's Note: This chapter is going to make you very upsetti spaghetti (:
It had been several weeks since Molly's encounter with Simcoe and Akinbode. She hadn't seen either man since then. And, for that, she was grateful.
Now that she knew that Akinbode knew of her secret, she was beginning to reconsider her original decision to delay her departure from the city. She still didn't fully trust him. After all, he had been a Queen's Ranger once. He could do plenty of damage with the information he knew.
As for the rebels, she had received further instructions from Anna.
…We were disheartened to hear of your decision to delay your journey. Please know that we are prepared to expect you at any time. If you would prefer to travel by yourself at a more convenient time, do not hesitate…
The note had included a series of numbers. Numbers from the codebook. Molly translated them fast enough and one thing was certain: the rebels had moved their camp to New Windsor, New York. They were close, yet still, it would be a long trip. New Windsor was north of York City, near West Point.
The only thing stopping her was Arnold's search for spies in the city. A single woman traveling alone would be questionable enough. But Simcoe was also working with Arnold. And Simcoe knew well enough that Molly had no family connections north of York City. If word reached him before she had gotten far enough away… She didn't even want to consider it.
Right now, it was a waiting game. She was waiting for another opportunity. She didn't know exactly how it would appear, but she had already decided that she would be prepared anytime that opportunity may arise.
Molly was cleaning tables at the Lees' Tavern. It was midday, but the tavern was packed fully of soldiers and officers, and it was loud and hot, and she was desperately trying to ignore the deafening noise of chatter. When she turned around, she jumped, clutching her rag close to her chest. She had bumped right into Colonel Simcoe himself.
"Ms. Strong"
"Colonel." She sighed, trying to hide the annoyance in her voice.
She assumed this was going to be a tedious visit. But that proved to be incorrect. Simcoe wasted no time getting to the point.
"I must say, it is the most curious thing. I ran into an old friend of yours from Setauket." His tone was more condescending than usual. "A whale boatman. By the name of Brewster. You remember him?"
She gripped her rag tighter. She was trying to suppress her emotions, but she knew her eyes were wide with worry.
"And you just ran into him? How might that have happened? Run into him at Holy Ground, perhaps?"
She didn't know why she said that. But she was almost happy she did. She had hoped it may make him squirm as well, but she was wrong. He was as composed as ever.
"No." He smiled, and it was a terrible smile. A condescending smile that made her squirm. "In fact, he's been taken prisoner. He's set to be questioned by General Arnold. Seems he may be a rebel spy."
She was taking shaky breaths now, and she knew her hands were visibly trembling. She kept gripping the rag, trying to hide her discomfort. But the truth was, she was terrified. Caleb was in trouble. He could die. He could be killed. I wonder if Ben and Anna know where he is.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked quietly.
"It is gossip, is it not? If I were to receive word that my childhood acquaintance was being held prisoner for treason against His Majesty, I do believe I would be very interested to know."
The way he said it. Gossip. As if he knew about her. As if he knew about everything.
She purposely didn't respond. It was obvious that he was saying these things to get a rise out of her. She couldn't let him. Because just like in Setauket, in York City, he had no evidence to indict her. That's why he was reduced to psychological warfare.
"Good day, Ms. Strong." He finally said. And then he was gone.
And she was left standing there, unsure of what to do. But one thing was repeating over and over in her head.
Caleb.
Caleb was sat in a chair in a large office. Although the room was large, it was sparse. All there was were a few chairs and a desk and a fireplace along one of the walls. His hands were being bound behind his back by one of the Rangers who had just dragged him from his cell. He had been in York City for a week.
After his latest assignment, which included burning a supply of hay set to be sent to the King's Army, he had gone ahead and stolen twenty braces of ham hock from the redcoats as well. He did so knowing they cost a fortune on the London Trade.
The plan was for him to sell the ham on the Connecticut Coast – rebel territory – and then meet Ben back at the New Windsor camp. But things went awry when his contact betrayed him, and he was captured by the redcoats.
So now he was here, awaiting questioning. He didn't show his worry, but if he was being honest, he had no idea if Ben knew where he was. He had no idea if Ben was already sending men to search for him.
He wasn't exactly sure where in the city he was. He knew he was in a prison of some sort. And it wasn't the same one he had visited before, when he came to the city to find Abe in prison all those years ago. A part of him kept thinking that maybe he could find a way to escape, find Molly wherever she was in the city, and bring her back to camp. Now that would be quite some trick. He tried to reassure himself.
As soon as the Ranger finished the knots, into the room came the turncoat himself: Benedict Arnold.
"Leave us." Arnold ordered, and the Ranger scampered out of the room.
To be honest, Caleb was amused to see the General. He had never understood why Ben had a high opinion of the man. And he found the fact that the man wound up being a traitor funny.
"Hiya general. How's your day going?" He grinned. "You know, I don't know if you're the fellow to be taking this up with, but the food here is terrible."
He was having a hard time controlling his tone. A part of him wanted to burst into laughter. He enjoyed teasing the man.
Arnold rolled his eyes at the comments and took a seat at his desk, shuffling through some papers.
"Do you find your situation here amusing, Lieutenant Brewster?"
"Well if I'd spouted off to you back in camp, I'd be thrown in jail, but seeing as you've turned coats, and I'm already in chains, I can finally speak me mind, and tell ya, you are a two-faced, pompous, piece of shite." It felt great to say that aloud. Caleb had been thinking it for so long. "So yeah, I do find it a touch amusing."
Arnold laid a piece of paper down in response.
He said, "I know you're the whale boatman named in Mr. Sackett's papers."
Mr. Sackett's papers. As in the ones that Gamble had stolen from their camp after he killed Mr. Sackett.
Caleb was surprised that the redcoats still had them. Nothing seemed to come of the breech in security, so they assumed that the papers had little information of importance.
"The courier for Benjamin Tallmadge and his Culper Ring." Arnold continued. "And I know if you don't give up the names of your confederates, then you'll be hanged."
Caleb kept his expression neutral. So what if they knew of his position in the ring? It was just an accusation.
He shrugged, "Right. What's in it for me?" He knew he wasn't going to admit to anything. But he was curious.
"Well, if you cooperate, I'll spare your life."
"That's it? I get to live in this shithole or some other?" He laughed aloud.
He knew very well that, even if he admitted to nothing, the redcoats could still have him imprisoned for the remainder of the war. Heck, they could even decide to send him to the Jersey. But he didn't care. He was willing to do that.
"No, I don't think I'll be confessing for spying for that. And if I don't confess, you can't hang me, so you're not really offering me anything are you?"
The two men looked at each other for a moment.
"What did you have in mind?" Arnold finally asked.
"Well, let's see, how much did you get for jumping ship?"
Everyone in the Continental Army knew that the only reason Arnold had turned coats was because of greed. He was bribed.
"The whole $10,000, I heard, you were after? Or did the lobsters short ya?" He chuckled again when he saw Arnold's expression fall.
"They did, didn't they? The slimy bastards!" He laughed. "You see, that's why I always insist on money in hand before I hand over me goods."
"Oh so you admit to smuggling?" Arnold snapped.
"Well, nowhere near your level. I read your record of court-martial, your business dealings in Philadelphia were quite-"
Arnold cut him off, "I was– I was cleared of all charges!"
"Yeah?" he scoffed, "That's not what I hear. And it's not what they say."
"And what do they say?"
Caleb grinned.
"About you? What, in camp? They say that if you were ever to be captured, they'd cut off your leg, the one that was wounded in Saratoga, and they'd bury it with honors. But the rest of you, they'd just hang."
Arnold jumped to his feet, outraged by the comment.
"You dirty little runt!" he hissed.
"Well, at least I ain't a Judas, who sold out his whole country for a pile of silver!"
Arnold gave him one last glare and stormed out of the room. Caleb continued to laugh as he watched him stomp out. Arnold was a General, for God's sake! And he was behaving like this.
Caleb's laughter trailed off when he noticed another person approaching his chair. He turned slightly to see who it was, and that's when the grin faded from his face. Standing before him was the dreaded John Graves Simcoe himself. Before Caleb could even process everything fully, Simcoe spoke up.
"My turn."
With that he punched Caleb in the jaw so hard, that the man tumbled back in his chair, hitting the ground with a hard thud.
Caleb was startled awake by cold water being splashed on his face. He gasped aloud and tried to blink the water out of his eyes and shake it out of his beard. He was still restrained in his chair.
The last thing he remembered was Simcoe beating him repeatedly. But he couldn't fight back, with his arms and legs tied to the chair. Eventually, he blacked out. When he looked around now, he knew that he had only lost consciousness for a few minutes.
"Back with us again?" Simcoe said with a feigned cheeriness.
Caleb knew the man was enjoying every minute of this. The sadistic bastard. He thought. He groaned as he tried to shift in his seat. He could feel warm blood tricking from his nose.
"I was afraid you'd drifted off, and so early in the evening."
"What did I miss?" Caleb asked, refusing to drop his amused tone. He refused to give Simcoe the satisfaction.
"Just the preliminaries. I wanted to get the small talk out of the way before we began a real conversation. Just to be clear, this isn't about payback…"
Payback. Caleb knew that Simcoe wanted revenge for that time he and Ben had questioned him. Caleb admitted, he had gone a bit overboard, beating Simcoe in an attempt to get information. But he didn't feel sorry for it.
"…It's about respect." Simcoe continued.
"That's funny. I got none for you."
Simcoe moved the chair from behind the desk so that it was set across from where Caleb was sitting.
"Well, I think you were showing me a warrior's respect by your eagerness to inflict pain. To think anything less would break me would have been an insult. Now I extend you the same courtesy." He took a seat.
"You expect me to thank you for that?"
"When one soul recognizes its counterpart, even in an enemy, there's already a measure of gratitude."
"Untie me here, and I'll show you how grateful I am." Caleb challenged.
"See? As beasts we make a promise that one will stand and one will fall. But between us, that promise has gone unfulfilled thus far. And we both know that you would have killed me at Meeg's Harbor had Tallmadge not intervened, or killed me in captivity if General Scott hadn't interrupted. Or the ambush at Rocky Point, if you'd been a better warrior."
"Oh yeah." Caleb rolled his eyes. He didn't want to hear any of this.
"No, that ambush answered a question for me, because even though you had the advantage, I still bested you and your master, Robert Rogers." Simcoe stood up once again. He returned to a small table beside the desk and began pouring himself a drink. "Or should I call him Samuel Culper?"
Despite everything, Caleb quietly chuckled. He had always found that misunderstanding musing. Simcoe slowly turned back to face him.
"What did you say?"
"Oh, I didn't say shite."
"No." He set his drink down. "That laugh… was the first honest thing you've said." He was sat back across from him now. "And with it, you were telling me I was wrong."
Caleb could hear the realization in Simcoe's voice, and he didn't like the sound of it. He needed to get them onto another topic.
Simcoe then asked, "But did you mean I was wrong about besting you… or wrong about Rogers?"
"Did you honestly wake me up for this shite?"
"If Rogers isn't Culper, then who?"
Caleb tried his best to look genuinely confused. Simcoe averted his gaze for a second, lost in thought.
"Strong." He finally said. "It was Strong all along."
Caleb could feel himself beginning to panic. His hands suddenly became clammy, and his mind was racing. He kept trying to appear ignorant of the topic. He chuckled.
"What, Selah Strong?" He laughed aloud. "What, you mean the tavern owner?"
"No, of course not." Simcoe sounded smug. "I mean Ms. Strong. Molly Strong?"
Caleb laughed again, trying to behave as if the idea was absurd. But Simcoe didn't buy into it. Because he continued.
"All this time, I was meant to be looking for a man by the name of Culper. But I should've known." Simcoe was the one chuckling now, and Caleb could feel his feigned smile fading fast. "I should've suspected that Samuel may be in name only. A name used to throw me off the trail. Because who would suspect a woman as being Culper?"
He was on his feet again, pacing now as he thought aloud. And all Caleb could do was listen in horror.
"It makes sense." He went on. "The victim. The poor loyalist woman whose brother was arrested by the King's Army. But not only that, the poor loyalist woman who was formerly engaged to a Major Tallmadge." He was smiling now. It was a terrible smile. "But what's easier to believe? A veteran savage like Rogers taking orders from the likes of Major Tallmadge? Or a woman with the motivation and connections? Four friends from the same little town?"
"Oh yeah." Caleb rolled his eyes again.
"Tallmadge the leader. You the courier. Molly Strong is Culper. And that just leaves the man in New York, Culper Jr."
Although Simcoe was still incorrect, he was correct enough to cause a lot of damage. And that was even more dangerous.
Caleb made one last attempt. "Who the hell is Culper?"
Simcoe hurried over to the desk and picked up parchment and a quill.
"A full confession will be required." He explained, so sure of himself. "I'll take dictation."
"Never gonna happen."
Simcoe narrowed his eyes.
"I encourage you to reconsider." He said slowly.
Caleb was grinning again, suddenly amused by Simcoe's frustration. He winked in response. Simcoe drew his bayonet from where it was sheathed at his belt.
"Challenge accepted."
It was nearly closing, but the Lees' Tavern was still brimming with customers. Molly was rushing back and forth, trying to deliver as much ale as quickly as possible. She huffed in frustration when a Queen's Ranger stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
"Excuse me, I'll be with you in just a moment." She promised, gesturing for him to move.
He didn't move though.
"Colonel Simcoe wishes to speak to you."
"Well, tell the Colonel I am still on the clock. If he wishes to speak to me, it will have to wait until morning."
She tried to push passed him, but he put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. She glared up at the man.
"Colonel says its urgent. He says if you won't come willingly, then I'm to arrest you to ensure you come."
They glared at each other for a moment, then Molly finally complied. She didn't want to cause a scene. She swore aloud and passed the drinks onto one of the other servers near her.
"I'll be back soon." She promised her co-worker.
She then followed the Ranger outside. Once they were in the street, a second Ranger joined them. She had no idea what Simcoe wanted, but it was late, so she feared it was related to Caleb's capture in some way.
As they walked through the streets, she suddenly became aware of the fact that one Ranger had fallen behind. She was forced to follow one while the other followed her. She felt uneasy.
"I'm sorry, may I inquire as to why Colonel Simcoe wishes to speak to me? What is so urgent?"
Both Rangers ignored her.
She didn't like this. She didn't like any of this. Suddenly, her mind went back to over a year ago, when MacInnis and Tanner had escorted Anna and Abe into the woods, and they intended to kill them. These Rangers gave off a similar atmosphere. She slowed her pace slightly. The Ranger walking behind her pressed a hand into her lower back, forcing her forward.
"Can't slow our pace." He said.
And that's when she knew she needed to get away from these men. With each step after that, she was now in search of an escape route. They walked for a few more blocks, and that's when she saw her chance.
There was an alleyway which she knew led directly to the brothels of Holy Ground. She had been warned to avoid this area at night. But now, as she considered it, she knew how easy it could be for a woman to get lost at Holy Ground. So, as soon as they were beside it, she darted into the alley.
"Hey!"
She could hear the Rangers behind her, swearing and shouting. She had never been down this alley before, but she found it easy to slip past the soldiers and women who were loitering in the alley. Even with her layers of skirts, she was still quicker than the Rangers, who were carrying pounds of weapons.
She was panting, and her heart was pounding, and she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her. She was completely panicked, but she had to keep her head.
As soon as she reached the end of the alley, she darted left and was met by a series of tents, blocking her path. She cursed under her breath and darted right once more, running along the front of the tents. She could hear nothing but laughs and shouts and unintelligible conversation. It was just like she was back at the tavern.
Once she reached the end of the row of tents, she ran into a group of people. She pushed passed them, but that slowed her pace, and she found herself swearing aloud. She was still struggling through them, but she could see the end of the crowd in sight. She could see the next section of the area in front of her. The next street.
She yelped when she felt someone grasp her forearm. She cried out and turned to face her assailant. It was one of the Rangers. They had caught up to her. She swore aloud again. She hadn't been in a proper fistfight since she was twelve years old. But in that moment, her old memories came flooding back.
She struggled for a moment, then she let the man pulled her closer, and as he did so, she punched him in the jaw. He cursed, but his grip was still firm. That's when she kicked him in the knee. He continued cursing, but his grip loosened, and she was able to wiggle free. She turned back to face the crowd, but it was just as closely packed as before.
"Move! Move!" she shouted, her voice becoming hoarse.
And they were moving, but not fast enough, because the Ranger recovered, and he reached out and she felt his arms wrap around her waist and pick her up.
"No!"
She kicked and fought, but she wasn't facing him, and she couldn't properly reach him to do anything. So she went limp. The man half fell with her, and she was able to slip away from him again. But when she looked up, the second Ranger was there.
And, the last thing she remembered, the second Ranger was swinging the butt of his musket towards her. And then everything went black.
Half an hour passed. Simcoe had stopped his musings long ago, and Caleb had decided to keep his mouth shut. So he found himself watching Simcoe help himself to another glass of whiskey. I'm the one who could use a drink. He thought.
He had no idea what Simcoe was planning. But a part of him hoped that the entire conversation involving Molly and Culper was just a ruse to get him to confess to something. He wouldn't put it past Simcoe to do something like that.
They both turned their heads when the door opened. In walked two of Simcoe's Rangers, and between them they were dragging a body. Caleb's eyebrows knitted together as he watched them. They dropped the body in a heap on the ground. And that's when Caleb felt his blood run cold. The unconscious form was nonother than Molly Strong.
Shite.
"Took you long enough. What happened?" Simcoe asked.
"Seems you may be right about her. She put up quite a fight." The first Ranger explained.
The second one chuckled, "Not that it did any good."
Simcoe dismissed them and then it was just the three of them in the room. Just like how Caleb had been awakened, Simcoe procured another bucket of water and dumped it on Molly's unconscious form.
She jolted awake, gasping for air, trying to wipe the water from her eyes. She had a red spot on her forehead, from where she had been hit. It hadn't started to bruise yet. She looked around frantically but froze when she caught sight of Caleb.
"Ms. Strong, I must say, it's a pleasure to see you." Simcoe gloated. "Mr. Brewster and I were just discussing you."
She turned to look up at him. Caleb saw she was visibly shaking. And suddenly, he found himself afraid for her.
"What am I doing here?" she gasped.
Simcoe shrugged from where he was still standing beside the desk. He absentmindedly flipped through some of the papers on the desk.
"I know you're Culper." He said. There's no use denying it."
Molly shot Caleb a look, and it was one of pure confusion.
"What? What are you talking about?" she asked.
Simcoe stepped closer to where she was, and she pulled her knees to her chest, beginning to crawl backwards away from him.
"It was a clever ploy, using the name Samuel Culper." He said. "No one ever would have suspected that a woman would. But it all makes sense. Your connection to Brewster and Tallmadge. The fact that your brother returned with them in an attempt to recapture your hometown. But you remained behind.
I remember reading the reports. Your sister-in-law clearly disapproves of your involvement. Why else would she leap from a whaleboat to freedom? But there was you. You never got on a boat. You remained in town.
As for your fiancé, I would not put it past Tallmadge to involve his fiancée somehow. You played me for the fool. Acting as if you had called things off."
She had crawled so far away that her back was now pressed against one of the walls. Despite everything that had happened, when she spoke, her voice was firm.
"You're wrong." She said. "I'm not Culper. I've never even known anyone by that name."
"Oh really?" He moved from his place looming over her to stooping down beside her. "Then where were you when you fled Setauket?"
She was hesitant to respond.
"What?"
"Where is MacInnis?"
"What? I don't know what you're talking about." She swallowed, her voice cracking. "I have always proven myself loyal to the Crown."
Simcoe laughed aloud at that comment.
"I've spent enough time pretending to believe you." he snapped. "Now I know you did not travel to York City when you fled Setauket."
Molly internally swore. She had wondered if this might happen. Simcoe had made inquiries about her time in York City. And there was no way to account for an entire year. The entire year missing from her supposed alibi of living in York City.
"You fled at the same time MacInnis and Tanner disappeared. I know you ran off with him. Where is MacInnis?" Simcoe demanded.
"I don't know." She said again. "Even if I did, why do you care?"
"One of my men has the nerve to desert the Queen's Rangers. I wish to see him punished. Now where is MacInnis?"
"I don't–"
He cut her off, "Exactly! If you did not run off from Setauket with MacInnis, then there is no other explanation. You are Culper. You used your connections to the Quakers in Oyster Bay to provide an alibi for your place in the city. Why else would you seek Mr. Townsend's friendship? You did so to eavesdrop on officers in His Majesty's Army. You are Culper!"
"I am not!" she hissed.
Caleb was relieved to hear her say it. He wasn't sure if she was aware of the significance of a confession. But as long as she didn't say anything, she would avoid execution.
It's over. I don't know… Is it really over?
She shook off the feeling, still too frightened by Simcoe. She was still in the floor with her back pressed against the wall. And Simcoe was still stooping down beside her, taunting her.
Her head was throbbing from where she'd been hit. But, despite that, her hands were unbound, and she was still mostly free. And she decided that she would try to fight her way out.
Simcoe had leaned in closer, but he had used this technique on her before. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. She lowered her head and widened her eyes, pretending to succumb to it. And as soon as he was close enough to her, she lifted her chin and spit in his eyes. Much to her dismay, he hardly flinched, but it worked nonetheless, because he was forced to close his eyes, and that's when she lashed out.
She pushed herself forward and tackled him off his feet. Now she was the one looming over him, and she punched him in the face. And she was struggling to hide the smile spreading across her face. She had wanted to do that for a long time.
But her victory was short lived. It didn't matter that she had surprised him or that she was the one looming over him now. It didn't change the fact that Simcoe was nearly a head taller than her, and that gave him all the advantage he needed. In one fluid motion, he shoved her to the side.
She was hurrying to push herself to her feet, but he beat her to it, and that's when he firmly kicked her in the stomach. All the air was knocked out of her and she doubled over in pain.
She suddenly remembered why she hadn't properly fought anyone since she was twelve years old. It was no fun to fight when you weren't evenly matched, and at twelve, plenty of the boys she had fought were already growing taller than her, and she was at the disadvantage.
But Simcoe wasn't satisfied to leave it at that.
"Bitch." he hissed.
When she was doubled over in pain, he landed another kick to her abdomen, and she collapsed back on the ground this time. She was still out of breath from the first blow. She tried to crawl away, back to her place against the wall, but it was too late to feign innocence.
She could hear Caleb shouting from the other side of the room.
"Leave her alone!"
But Simcoe ignored him, and he continued to kick Molly where she was on the ground. Again and again, his heavy boot came into contact with her abdomen and chest and waist. There was no way for her to get to her feet because his blows were relentless.
Finally, she tried to curl up into a protective ball, but she was also scared to hug her arms to her torso now. She knew if she brought them there, then those would be kicked as well. And she didn't even want to consider the pain that would come with a broken arm at a time like this.
So she laid there, with tears streaming down her face, and she took the beating. Still listening to Caleb's protests, and trying hard not to yelp herself. And she did so until darkness took her again.
"You f– bastard!" Caleb spat.
Molly had been unconscious for some time now, and Simcoe had dragged her body over to one of the chairs and was now restraining her in the same manner as Caleb was. It didn't matter how much Caleb struggling against his restraints. He couldn't break free from them.
Simcoe ignored his comments and continued his work.
Caleb looked passed him and stared at Molly. She was half slumped forward, with her head loosely resting on her shoulder. Her nose was bleeding and her lip was split. And he couldn't imagine the bruising she was going to have from the beating. Simcoe had beat her worse than he had beat Caleb. Once she was fully tied, Simcoe turned back to face Caleb. The two men glared at each other.
"So that was her famous temper I've heard of." He laughed mockingly. "I must say, I expected more."
Simcoe wasted no more time with delays or pleasantries. He retrieved his bayonet from where he had it laying on the desk.
"Now that my suspicions are confirmed–"
"Confirmed? She didn't tell you shite!" Caleb scoffed.
Simcoe shrugged.
"Oh, she will. When she awakens and discovers what I have done to her friend... And what I am going to do to her."
With that, he approached Caleb, the bayonet held firmly in his hand.
"Ms. Culper… Ms. Culper."
Molly wished she could stay asleep, but that voice kept trying to drag her back to consciousness. And the closer she came to it, the more pain she felt.
"Ms. Culper."
She finally cracked open her eyes and groaned in discomfort as she became aware of the damage from her beating.
Everything ached. And she was suddenly aware of the fact that she was struggling to catch her breath. She coughed slightly, and a chunk of phlegm rose from her throat. She spit it to the side. She could taste blood.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and then repeatedly blinked as she regained consciousness. In front of her was Simcoe. He was leaning down, so that they were face-to-face. He had removed his coat, and she could see that his hands were stained with blood.
"Welcome back, Ms. Culper." He said. Molly wondered if it was possible that his voice had become more annoying during her unconsciousness.
He continued, "You're just in time to see the main attraction."
He stepped away from her and went over to the chair across from her. The chair where Caleb was still sat.
She gasped aloud when she saw what had happened in her absence. Caleb's shirt was half ripped off, and his chest was littered with a series of long, thin slashes. Each was bleeding profusely. But then she noticed that he was also some sort of granular substance. She had no idea what it was.
"What have you done?" she croaked. And then a series of coughs wracked her form.
She was still recovering when Simcoe stepped to the desk and reached into a bowl that sat there. It was a bowl full of salt.
"I want you to see this part, Ms. Culper. For I want to see your reaction." He said coldly.
With that he took the salt from his hand and rubbed it into one of the wounds on Caleb's chest. He was literally rubbing salt into his wounds.
Molly visibly winced for her friend. He groaned and his face contorted in pain, but he refused to cry out. Simcoe leaned down close to his ear as he continued pressing the salt into the wounds.
"Why not let yourself scream?" He feigned concern. "A beast has no shame in howling if it's wounded. Or you could just make it stop by confessing to what I already know and sign the paper."
Caleb glared in response and spit in his face.
"Stop!" Molly coughed again. "Why are you doing this?"
She gasped for breath. The exertion from yelling was causing her chest to burn. She had no idea why it was burning.
Simcoe ignored her. He lifted his bayonet and sliced into Caleb's chest again, and then he shoved salt into that cut as well.
"I'm impressed." He commented. "Most men would have begged for mercy by now."
"The only one who'll be begging for mercy is you." Caleb was out of breath. "You and all the redcoats. Begging and wishing you never left home."
The Colonel cackled at that. "Home? Home. You know, I realize that we've been at this all night and all morning…"
Morning. Molly thought. How long was I out?
He walked over behind Molly and poured himself a drink. "…and I've been no more forthcoming than you. It might surprise you to know… that I wasn't born in England. Never actually set foot on her."
Molly and Caleb made eye contact. They both had no words, but their expressions said everything. They knew this was probably the end.
"This is the part where you say 'so, where were you born, John?' if only to give yourself a little breather." He grinned at Caleb, "You're asking with your eyes, I can tell." And he told them regardless. "So, here's the answer. I was born in India. My father was a surgeon at Fort William. And I grew up watching him minister to the poor mongrels of Bengal. Only at age ten, to see them turn on him, and throw him in a tiny cell designed to hold three men… They put him in with sixty." He shrugged, "'Black Hole of Calcutta', they called it. Now, here was a man, whose job it was to dispense mercy, killed by the merciless he sought to save."
Simcoe had his bayonet again. And he walked across the room so that he was standing behind Caleb now.
"Well, at least he didn't have to see you grow up." Caleb hissed. "That was a mercy." He grunted in pain again as Simcoe sliced into his back. He was shaking from the pain.
Simcoe placed a hand on Caleb's shoulder. "Mercy is weakness. Strength is truth."
"You're wrong." Molly rasped, spitting another chunk of phlegm onto the ground.
Simcoe turned to look at her, he was half scowling, half grinning.
"Oh! She speaks!" He scoffed. "What am I wrong about? About mercy? Please. I do not need a lesson in mercy from the likes of you.
She narrowed her eyes.
"I know you." He declared. "You know, Ms. Culper, for living in the same place your entire life, you did not leave behind a very good impression. The stories your neighbors were willing to share with me. About that famous temper of yours. The trouble you caused.
"I was a child!" she spat.
"Yes, you were. You still are. But it doesn't matter. Where was the mercy in that?"
He picked up his glass again and took another drink. Then he continued.
"…As I was saying: Mercy is weakness. Strength is truth. Those are the lessons of Calcutta. Lessons I've been teaching to the colonists ever since. As a member of the Royal Army, in Guyana or the Caribbean. And now here in New York with you. So, you see, Caleb, I am home."
Caleb feigned a smile, but Molly knew he must be in excruciating pain. But that was the thing about Caleb. He was forever the optimist.
Ever since they were children, it never mattered how bleak the situation was, or how extreme their punishments may be. He was always the first one to look on the bright side of things. While she had always loved that about him, this time, it was different. The stakes were real this time. And his optimism only made her more somber.
"You keep yapping… and I may scream." Caleb was trying to keep his voice steady.
"Each man is driven by something. Now I remember…" Simcoe walked over to the fireplace and he placed the bayonet into the coals. "…watching your uncle shake with palsy at the trial. Remember?" Simcoe mimicked Lucas Brewster's tremors. "That sort of thing runs in the family, doesn't it?"
Molly growled in frustration, struggling against her bonds now. She hated nothing more than when people teased Caleb about his family. Palsy was a disease that ran in his family. Caleb was fortunate. He was one of the few Brewsters who did not suffer from the tremors. But his uncle had it, and his half-sister had it, and his mother had had it.
Molly remembered the first time she had seen the other children teasing Caleb about the condition. Although she hardly knew him then, he was Selah's friend. So, in her mind, watching them mock Caleb made her feel as if they were mocking Selah as well. And she refused to stand for that. That was the first time she had ever hit one of her peers. And she and Caleb had been friends ever since.
"You know," Simcoe took another drink. He still had a cocky smirk on his face. "I may hate weakness, but you fear it. You've been running from it all your life... Now you know who I am. And I know who you are."
"All I know is I'm looking at a dead man." Caleb said quietly.
"If you think your friends will come for you, they won't."
"Oh, it don't matter. I know they'll kill you, and that's as good as me doing it." Caleb chuckled.
"I learned other things in India, things I'm eager to share with you."
Simcoe abandoned him and walked back to the fireplace. He held a rag in his hand, and used it to pick up the bayonet from where it laid in the coals. The blade was now orange.
"Today … tonight… or even tomorrow if it comes to that. I'm in no hurry." Simcoe was looking at Molly now, and she felt the blood drain from her face when she realized what he intended to do.
"Perhaps I have been too kind to our guest?" Simcoe mused. "You've always acted to fragile, Molly."
She hated it when he said her name.
"Always so eager to please. But now that we all know that that is a mere façade. Perhaps we should see how fragile you truly are?" He was approaching her now.
"No!" Caleb shouted.
Simcoe froze, and turned to look at the other man. Molly shot him a look.
"I'll take it. I'll take all of it." He declared.
"Caleb! Stop." Molly snapped.
But he shook his head.
"I will. Whatever you intend to do to her, do to me. I'll take it."
"What are you doing?" Her voice was strained.
Simcoe looked between them briefly, then he laughed aloud.
"Oh, now this is intriguing." He chuckled. "I did not expect this further development." He turned back to Molly. "Do you know why he'd sacrifice himself?"
She didn't know what he was talking about, so she didn't say anything.
"Oh, I remember when I was making inquiries about you… both of you." Simcoe explained. "Your neighbors may be loyalists, but they have little regard for their own. And they certainly have no loyalty for the two of you. I remember what… what's her name? Oh, yes, Mrs. Scudders… When I asked that woman about your standing in Setauket, she told me it was always a wonder that you," he looked at Molly, "were intended to be a Tallmadge, and not a Brewster." He looked over at Caleb as he said it.
Molly glanced over at Caleb, but he was averting his eyes. Refusing to meet her gaze.
Simcoe went on, "Curious, isn't it Molly? Is it because you were playmates as children? Certainly, if you believe that, then you are more naïve than I thought." He chuckled darkly again. "No, look at him. Do you know why he'd sacrifice himself for you?"
She honestly didn't know what to say, so she said the first thing that came to her mind.
"He's like a brother to me."
"Yes, and I can assure you that you are anything but a sister to him." He turned to looked back at Caleb "Am I right, Mr. Brewster?"
Caleb still refused to meet her gaze, and he didn't deny Simcoe's accusation. And that's when Molly knew it was true. Her face became hot, and she could feel herself blushing. Shit. She thought.
Simcoe was beside Caleb now, but he looked at Molly as he spoke these words.
"Keep that in mind as I do this."
With that, he pressed the orange metal to Caleb's chest. As Caleb finally screamed in pain, Molly winced, feeling the hot tears streaming down her face. But there was nothing she could do. So, she closed her eyes, too horrified to watch. But she could still hear his screams.
"You see?" Simcoe taunted, sounding quite pleased with himself. "There's no shame."
Caleb had blacked out quite some time ago. As soon as he passed out, Simcoe resumed tormenting Molly.
He didn't burn her like he did with Caleb. Instead, he waited for the bayonet to cool down. Then he proceeded to leave tiny cuts along her arms and chest and neck. They weren't deep cuts. But they stung, and Molly was still covered in a sheen of perspiration, courtesy of the pain from her beating. And the sweat made all the cuts sting more and itch, and she couldn't stop shaking. She felt as if she was going crazy.
But she had cried herself dry, and she was mentally exhausted from that. And she still refused to tell him anything. She had already made up her mind. She decided it was worth dying to protect the ring; to protect Ben.
Eventually, he got bored with her silence, so he was attempting to rouse Caleb once more.
"It's rude to drift off in the middle of a conversation." He said, trying to shake the other man awake. "Ah, you had another sleep again. it's not bedtime yet. Caleb? It probably feels like it can't get much worse. Come back. There you are."
At that moment, the door burst open. Molly jumped more out of fear than surprise. She was expecting the worse, but there in the doorway stood Colonel Cooke and Benedict Arnold.
"Bastards! What do you think you're doing?" Cooke ordered.
Simcoe turned quickly. But he looked just as surprised to see them.
"We're in the middle of an interrogation, sir." He explained.
Cooke and Arnold looked back and forth between Molly and Caleb. She had no idea what she looked like, but from the expression on their faces, they seemed just as horrified by her appearance as by Caleb's.
"It's outrageous. It's outrageous." Arnold muttered.
"Is this how you treat an officer?" Cooke gestured towards Caleb.
"He's a smuggler and a spy." Simcoe said.
"And I'm the Archbishop of Canterbury!" Cooke snapped. He turned to look at Molly now. "And why the hell is she here?"
"I have reason to believe she is a spy as well."
Cooke scoffed, a look of disgust becoming clear on his face.
"I know this woman!" he declared. "She is no spy; she is a loyalist. She served me drinks at the Coffeehouse." He shook his head, looking over at Caleb's form again. "You better pray he can still be traded for the Woodhulls."
Molly raised her eyebrows in surprise. It seemed that word of Caleb's arrest was known. And now they were using Abe in some scheme to rescue him.
"Woodhulls?" Simcoe asked.
"That's right. The rebel bastards have kidnapped Judge Woodhull and his son as payback." Cooke tsked in disgust again. "Cut him loose!" he ordered. Get him cleaned up or you'll be the one sitting in shit and piss."
"Of course, sir. Right away, sir."
Arnold began whispering to Cooke. "I'm sorry sir, the evidence seemed overwhelming."
"Damn your evidence!"
Cooke stepped forward so that he was in front of Molly now.
"I am so sorry this has happened, Madame. Please, you have my word nothing like this will ever happen again."
Despite everything, Molly was still trembling, "Colonel." She gulped. "If… if it is not too much to ask, may I appeal to your kindness? And may I request that I be traded to the rebels along with the smuggler?" she asked. "I'm sorry, but I no longer feel protected in this city." She looked at Simcoe warily, and she prayed that Cooke would be understanding.
He placed a hand on her own.
"Of course, ma'am." He sighed and then shot a glare at Simcoe again. "I understand how one man's ignorance can discourage our own kind… Do you have any family? Anyone that I can be of help to contact?"
She shook her head.
"No, sir. I am on my own in the city. If I am allowed to cross lines, then I pray I can settle in neutral territory, and attempt to contact them then."
"Of course. I will see it done." Cooke agreed. He turned back to look at Simcoe. "Release her immediately. And see to it that she is prepared to travel with the rebel."
Simcoe bowed his head slightly. "Yes, sir."
Cooke walked back to the door where Arnold was, and he began to quietly scold him. The two men stepped outside to talk. Once they were alone again, Simcoe looked over at Molly.
"Woodhull." He repeated quietly. "Curious."
Molly internally swore. She was grateful that Abe was helping Caleb escape capture, but she doubted he had expected Simcoe to be a part of this.
"So." Simcoe smirked. "It was Woodhull all along."
She averted her gaze. She had to admit, it was not too far of a leap to discover the truth. Especially after he had his sights set on her involvement.
"The nuisance. The weakling. The victim. The farmer with the root cellar." Simcoe mused. He turned back to where Caleb was, and he grabbed him by the hair. Caleb's head was bobbing up and down. He was in and out of consciousness.
"I'm afraid we must part company." Simcoe said quietly. "But I must thank you, Caleb, For the names you gave me while in the twilight of pain. Woodhull will have plenty of company on the gallows."
He released him and then got to work cutting away his bonds. As soon as Caleb was released, Simcoe let him fall to the ground with a hard thud. Molly winced at the sound. Then Simcoe was in front of her, cutting her free as well.
"You're a f– bastard." She hissed.
He shrugged, "Give my regards to your fiancé."
He rose to his feet and left the room for a moment. She knew he would be back though.
Molly exhaled deeply and ran a hand through her hair. It had fallen loose during her beating, and she tried to push it out of her face now. She then tried to push herself out of her chair, but she quietly yelped in pain. The more she moved, the more everything ached. She was stiff from both the beating and from how long she had been tied to that chair.
She gritted her teeth and ended up on her hands and knees on the ground. And she crawled over to Caleb and held his head in her lap. He was still unconscious.
"Hey." She whispered, slightly out of breath now. "We're going to be okay."
She was careful not to touch any of his wounds. He was desperately in need of a doctor. She was relieved that she was going back to camp. That they were going back to camp.
But that didn't stop the new worry that was gnawing at her. Because, even though there were going to be safe, Abe was now in danger.
