Chapter Eight | A Habit Hard to Shake
The memory of Margot Risdon's kiss haunts him. Robert returns to York City early next morning and resumes the familiar routine that he has become accustomed to since leaving his father's house to make a name for himself in the world, only to find that this routine has been intrinsically altered. Every time the door of the tavern swings open, he glances up as if he's expecting to see her stride into the room, and each time, he berates himself for it. He knows better than to expect her. He was the one, after all, who had decided to cut himself from the Culper ring, and thereby remove himself from any reason he would have had to see her. The bitter disappointment of this repeated realization hardly helps. He finds himself mourning the fact that Culper is the only thing that brings them together, and that Culper is the very thing he wishes to have no part in.
His anger towards Abraham Woodhull and his smuggler friend only continues to fester each time he thinks of them. Their underhanded tactics and unapologetic reception to his discovery of them are a constant source of ire. The more he thinks of it, the more rankled he becomes, until even James Rivington has difficulty overlooking it.
"Robert, you're being summoned," Rivington hisses at him beneath his breath, nodding over to a table that houses a man Robert has been adamantly trying to ignore since he had walked into the establishment an hour ago.
General Clinton is the Commander of the British army. A more important man than he does not exist within York City. A month ago, Robert would have paid him more attention in hopes of discovering pertinent information to send to Culper, but now, he is utterly disinterested in doing such things. Well, sort of. The temptation is still there, lingering in the back of his mind – half formed plans of doing rounds and refilling cups, standing near their table so as to overhear their words – but he presses the temptation back and focuses entirely on his task. He had been succeeding, too, until Rivington interrupts his focus.
With barely concealed reluctance, Robert turns to look over his shoulder. Once his attention has been captured, Colonel Cook gestures at his empty cup and pleasantly requests, "More madeira!", in his usual cheerful tone.
The tone only makes Robert less cheerful. He turns back to puts down the pewter mug he had been polishing and purses his mouth. Rivington also turns back to his own task: regaling a lady with a story of the early days of his printshop, which Robert is quite sure had not been nearly as interesting as Rivington is making them seem. With a sigh, he reaches down behind the counter to retrieve a bottle of madeira wine, and reluctantly approaches the table he has been doing his utmost to pretend doesn't exist.
"General Clinton," he greets as he steps up to it and uncorks the bottle. "It is an honor to have you in our presence."
As he begins to refill their cups, the General musingly respond, "I intend to be back once there's something to celebrate." He glances over at Cook with a secretive smile, referring to things that Robert does not know.
"Perhaps I shall leave the bottle, gentleman, so that you will not be disturbed," Robert says, the hint of dry sarcasm in his voice remaining hidden behind the otherwise polite tone. If anything, he is hoping that he will not be disturbed. The temptation to inquire into this 'celebration' is great, and takes more effort than he cares to admit to push away. Spywork has become habitual to him; something he finds rather deplorable now that he has removed himself from it.
He sets the bottle of madeira upon the table and sends the men a polite nod before making his way back to the counter. Before he can reach it, though, Rivington stops him just as he passes and murmurs, "Townsend…my sources say big things are afoot."
Robert raises an eyebrow and dryly murmurs, "Is that so?"
Rivington smiles in a manner that is entirely self-satisfied, "Yes. You'd better stock up. Business will be booming!"
Robert nods, then abruptly says, "…That's a pity. I was thinking of traveling back to Oyster Bay to visit my father and…perhaps, James, to remain there." He looks away from the concerned and surprised expression Rivington is now sending him and nods, "I'm thinking of selling my stake."
A brief moment of silence passes between them, until Rivington gives a small laugh and says, "Thinking of finally securing yourself a wife, are you? Miss Risdon is a fine woman, to be sure!"
"That has little to do with it," Robert grumbles, though it isn't the complete truth. It would, after all, be a lie to say that the thought has never crossed his mind in recent weeks. Marriage has never drawn his attention very much. In fact, he would go so far as to say that he's always thought of himself as completely incompatible with the notion of entering it. He can't fully deny, however, that he has had glimpses of thoughts concerning what it would be like to have a wife, and if that theoretical woman happens to have Margot's face in his more recent ponderings, well, he will not admit it. Besides, it is something of a moot point now, is it not? While they're last parting had been exhilaratingly warm and had stirred within him a feeling he has never had prior to it, Robert is unsure if he will ever lay eyes upon her again.
His insistence against Rivington's coy musings only makes the man chuckle affably, and pulls out what looks like a leaflet of his newspaper, freshly printed, from his pocket. With another secretive, self-satisfied smile growing over his face, he says, "Well you'll change your tune as soon as you read Saturday's headlines – "
"I'm quite sure I won't," Robert firmly responds, not interested in seeing what the latest news is, which has yet to occur. Rivington has a habit of printing the news before it happens, based entirely on speculation and gossip derived from the officers that frequent this place. This particular headline must have something to do with the reason General Clinton has graced the tavern this afternoon to 'celebrate'. Robert does not wish to know, or the temptation will only grow worse. He has decided to step away from Culper and he can't go back on his decision now.
Besides, he does wish to return to Oyster Bay. Rebuilding the barn will have to wait for funds, but preparations still need to be made – blueprints drafted, supplies ordered, the foundation cleared, and labor secured – and the hard work would be a good distraction. Returning to Oyster Bay means less distance between himself and Setauket, and…perhaps…
The memory of Margot's kiss weeks prior returns to him once more. He can practically taste it.
Rivington doesn't appear to want him to leave, though. Robert's momentary lapse is broken when Rivington takes his arm and pulls him towards the counter with an exuberant, "But I assure you, the news will make your heart sing and your purse grow." Then, much to Robert's bewilderment, the man turns to the room at large and begins to sing a rift of Yankee Doodle, that satirical piece concocted by the redcoats to ridicule the rebels.
"Yankee Doodle came to town, for to buy a firelock, we will tar and feather him and so we will John Hancock – " and then, the rest of the tavern joins in mirthfully, and so they sing:
"When old Georgie took the field, he proved an errant coward,
He wouldn't fight the British there for fear of being devoured.
Then old Georgie grew so bold he said 'there's no man greater'
But he will sing a mournful tune when he's hanged as a traitor!"
Robert smiles and tries to sing along, but the words are ash in his mouth, and the company of the tavern suddenly seems increasingly stifling. Everywhere he looks are red coats and white wigs, and loud voices denouncing a cause that Robert has secretly been fighting towards for months now right under their very noses. He finds himself filled with a sort of inexplicable wariness as he stands there, being jostled by Rivington's arm which has been amicably draped over his shoulders. It is as if he's looking into a future full of red, with no Continental blue in sight. And he knows, in that moment, that if George Washington loses this war, there will be hell to pay for having instigated it. George across the sea will extend a hand of tyranny to his wayward colonies the likes of which they have not yet seen. The injustices and slights that have thus far been had will be of no comparison.
The thought haunts him for the rest of the day as temptation rankles at his heels, whispering at him to discover what this plot is that has Rivington in such excitement. He does nothing, though, and keeps to himself despite it all. He throws himself back into his work with a singular focus that continually shifts out of place like a clock that keeps losing the time, second by second until it is off by a minute, and then by an hour, until time cannot be had at all…
Even that evening when he has retired and is laying in his bed, the thoughts plague him until the sense of unease grows so great that he cannot possibly ignore it. The guilt crashes upon him. He has the power to change something that could potentially mean the life or death of the Continental army, and yet he is doing nothing. His neutral approach had been one he once clung to, before Abraham Woodhull appeared in his life and gave him the push he needed. And – damn him – that push meant the near destruction of his father's property and person, but it worked, did it not?
"I used to be just like you," Abe had said once, "and I hated myself for it."
"Liberty comes at a cost. It isn't free," Margot had said once, too.
At the time, he had scoffed at her words, but now he wonders if perhaps she's right. Freedom is a grace of God, but men have a habit of exploiting it. The thought of her makes him shift restlessly. It has been weeks since Thanksgiving and the fateful events surrounding it, yet as much as he has tried to put her from his mind, he has thus far been unsuccessful. Infuriating creature.
"We need you and you know it," Abe's voice whispers at him, and Robert sits up with a clenched jaw.
God help him. He strides to his desk and redresses, then makes his way to the basement that houses Rivington's printing presses to see for himself what the news is. His hopes that the news will be inconsequential are quickly squashed when he reads the headline, though:
Washington Trounced in Tryon Triumph. Rebels Massacred at Middlebrook.
And, with dread unraveling through his stomach, Robert scans the article with a pursed mouth, deciphering all that he is not yet aware of: that the Continental army is camped at Middlebrook, and that somehow the British had put two and two together and mean to stage an attack that will drive off the rebel infestation once and for all. When at last he reaches the bottom of the article, he folds the paper into his pocket and hastens to make ready for travel, his decision made.
Trouble brews in Setauket. Whenever Captain Simcoe is around, such things are inevitable.
"I swear, Margot, I haven't slept through a full night in months," Mrs. Hampton laughs as she purchases a fresh loaf of bread. With a sigh, she puts it into her basket, wrangling with the toddler in her arms as she adds, "You'd think I'd be able to make my own bread, given that I can't sleep, but this one takes up all of my time, and Gregory spends all day afield."
Margot sends her a smile and leans down to take the baby's hand. "Ah, but Little Georgiana makes up for it with her sweetness," she coos, and presses a kiss to the tiny fingers.
Mrs. Hampton smiles too, though her voice turns a shade suggestive when she murmurs, "You'd make a fine mother yourself, Margot. I wonder why you haven't settled down yet. There are many soldiers who would surely wish to make you a wife."
The reminder of her continued status as an unmarried woman makes Margot smile tightly, now feeling uncomfortable. She shifts her basket to her other arm and turns her attention to the vegetables laid out on the next table. She is somewhat past the reasonable age of singlehood. Before he died, she has used her father's poor health as an excuse to remain unmarried, but it is beginning to grow stale. She flips her cloak over her shoulder so as to reach for a squash, and responds, "I admit that I haven't had much time to think on it, Mrs. Hampton. My father – "
"Yes, I understand all that, dear," Mrs. Hampton interrupts, "but do you not yearn for motherhood?"
Margot's smile wanes. Thankfully, she is saved from the necessity of responding when the tavern door bursts open and Maarten DeJong is pushed forcefully from it, shouting, "Please, don't kill me!"
Margot turns to view the scene, clutching her basket with tight fingers as Simcoe appears behind the man. She wishes she could claim that such things are uncommon in Setauket, but unfortunately, she is not surprised so much as quietly taken aback by the brutality in which Simcoe throws DeJong to the ground.
"People of Setauket!" Simcoe loudly calls, "Pay close attention!"
When Simcoe takes an ax and begins to raise it over DeJong's neck, Margot turns her head just as many of her fellows do. Rather than sink the ax into DeJong's neck, however, Simcoe throws it into a barrel of ale next to his prone form. The tactic works: DeJong begins crying in fear, his expression pressed with horror. So is Margot's. She glances back at the scene with purses lips.
"Which of these people did Rogers command you to watch?" Simcoe demands, pointing the ax around the market and gesturing to the gathered crowd of townsfolk. When DeJong doesn't reply, Simcoe grabs a fistful of his hair and screams, "I want names!"
DeJong splutters at his own innocence, attempting to appeal to Simcoe, but Margot fears to think what Simcoe will do out of impatience. She releases a breath and turns her eyes from DeJong's figure once more, unwilling to watch him lose his dignity. It is difficult to ignore his splutters, though, until of course her eyes land on a familiar figure that is standing at the back of the crowd, watching silently behind his horse. Margot inhales sharply upon seeing him. His presence is more than unexpected.
"You poor, pathetic soul," Simcoe sighs. He walks away from DeJong and begins to round the market as he says, "I know what's troubling you: you're scared of Robert Rogers." He smiles in amusement and lightly says, "But you should be scared of me!"
He approaches Margot and sends her a small smile. She lowers her eyes, only too aware of the other gaze that looks her way from across the market.
"But whatever he's threatened you with is nothing compared to what I will do, unless those aiding and abetting him come forward," Simcoe says, and then falls silent as he waits for the townsfolk to take heed of his words. But, when no one steps forward, he smiles humorlessly and clenches the ax that is still in his hands, murmuring, "So be it." He lifts the ax and brutally yells, "I will RAISE THIS TOWN IF I MUST!", then throws the ax into the ground and walks back into the tavern.
Margot keeps her eyes trained on him until he disappears, then turns and casts a discrete glance at where Robert is standing. He is pretending to busy himself with his horse. Abe has also seen him, and is sidling towards him cautiously so as not to draw attention to himself or his acquaintanceship with Culper Jr. She wishes she was closer so that she could hear the words the two men exchange, but she is standing across the market and can only watch from the corner of her eye as Mrs. Hampton begins a tireless complaint against the horrors they have just witnessed.
Margot sees Robert nod at Abe, who turns on his heel and begins to walk in the direction of his farm. Then Robert glances towards her, and tilts his head just so after Abe, silently conveying that he means to follow. She inclines her head in a discrete nod and then turns back to the table she's standing in front of, beginning to barter with the merchant over several squashes. It's only when she sees Robert pull himself into the saddle and make after Abe that she makes any purchases, though.
"I told Mary that I'd bring some vegetables to Mr. Woodhull," she idly tells Mrs. Hampton as she hands over some coin. "She's stuck up in Whitehall with Thomas and finds it difficult to travel to the farm to cook his meals."
Mrs. Hampton huffs, "There's something off about that family, Miss Risdon, mark my words. A husband and wife, living separately!" She humphs.
Margot sends her a complacent look and replies, "I'm inclined to agree, but alas, Mary has wrangled me into assisting today."
Mrs. Hampton shakes her head at her. In a firm voice, she says, "Well I caution against letting that woman convince you to do such things again, my dear, otherwise you'll wind up as their middleman, stuck in whatever latest drama they've concocted!"
Margot smiles at her in agreement and laughs, "I fear you're quite right, Mrs. Hampton! After I bring these over to Mr. Woodhull's farm, I shall hold my ground in the future." Then, leaning towards her, Margot adds in a conspiratorial voice, "But you must admit, Mrs. Hampton, that the Woodhull's provide our town with much needed gossip. Whatever else would we discuss during our sewing circles?"
Mrs. Hampton sends Margot a laughingly exasperated look, conceding even as she waves her off.
With her basket full of squash, Margot bids her goodbye and turns down the path that will take her to Abe's farm about a mile from town, walking as quickly as she's able whilst still under the watchful eye of the other townsfolk. The moment she passes beyond their sight, however, she breaks out into a run. There's only one reason why Robert Townsend would ride all the way to Setauket when he knows full well that it isn't safe to do so. He must have news that cannot wait for the usual channels of communication.
By the time Abe's small farmhouse rises up in the distance, she's quite breathless. Her cheeks are flushed from her running, the stays of her gown tight and constricting against the flow of air. As she approaches, she sees the telltale figure of Caleb in his long coat and Abe in his knit cap, and Robert, dressed impeccably if not a little worn from his journey. She reaches the barn just in time to see him pull his fist back and send it flying into Caleb's face, and finds herself drawing to a sudden halt at the sight of the Quaker inflicting justice. A breathless laugh unspools from her and captures the attention of the men. Robert only looks slightly embarrassed to have been seen throwing a punch at Caleb; other than the slight flash of it in his eyes when he looks at her, his face is relatively unreadable as always.
Abe glances at her too, and rolls his eyes. "Margot, you shouldn't be here – "
"Shut up, Abe," she lightly responds, stooping a bit to catch her breath. "As if I could stand idly by when Culper Jr. shows up in our humble town." She sends Robert a tiny smile, breathless now from her run, and raises an eyebrow.
Abe sighs, "Robert, you need to start talking. We thought you were out."
Robert looks back at Abe and dryly responds, "I am…but this is bigger than me." He hands Abe a piece of paper, which looks like an excerpt from Rivington's Gazette, and says, "This needs to get to Washington with haste. They know where your camp is. It's only a matter of time."
Margot leans into Abe to read over his shoulder, eyes widening when she sees the headline. On Abe's other side, Caleb curses.
"…Well, I've got Robeson's boat stashed away," Caleb suggests.
"I heard," Abe mutters, "Simcoe thought he lent it to Rogers. Killed Robeson right in front of me."
Margot purses her lips.
Caleb curses again. "Well let's grab your family and get you out of here. Margot too. You'll be safer in camp, with Anna."
Margot sends him a sharp look and responds, "I'm not abandoning my home, Caleb. Besides, if I disappear, they may follow my trail back to Beatrice and I couldn't live with myself if something happened to her because of me."
Abe sighs. Several heavy beats of silence fall upon them before Abe shakes his head. "No. Look, Townsend is right. There's no time to waste, alright? You'll be faster without us."
"Woody," Caleb says, raising his voice, "I'm not leaving here without ya!"
"Look I can't go, Caleb!" Abe exclaims. "I can't go as it stands, alright? Simcoe is easy, he's chasing a ghost – I'm the one who sent him off and if I leave he will burn down Setauket – "
Caleb growls, "No, he will burn you, that is what he'll do!"
Abe stares at him in silence for a long moment, then glances over at Townsend and murmurs, "Look, this man had every reason to run, alright? But instead he ran to us, because he's the only man who could. Now if you don't get this to Washington, who will?" He turns to take Caleb's shoulders and presses, "If I don't stand up to Simcoe…who will?"
Caleb stares at him, looking as if he wants to argue. He glances over at Margot and frowns, reaching up to rub his forehead. But, after a long moment, he just sighs heavily and nods, and Robert's mouth twitches up slightly as if he's pleased.
Time is of the essence and Caleb doesn't linger. After he says a quick goodbye, tousles Margot into a hug, and sends Robert a hesitant nod, he disappears into the woods. The moment he's gone, Abe turns to the others and says, "You've both got to leave. Now, before anyone sees you here and starts asking questions."
Before he even finishes speaking, though, Robert is already striding back to his horse and untying the reins he had looped around Abe's wagon. As for Margot, she glances over at Robert before shoving her basket into Abe's arms.
"What's this?" Abe asks, bewildered.
Margot rolls her eyes at him and responds, "I told Mrs. Hampton that I was on an errand to supply you with food, on Mary's orders. You owe me three shillings."
Abe's expression fills with indignation. "Three – you – now the whole town will think I can't fend for myself!"
Margot laughs and lightly responds, "Oh Abe, the whole town already thinks that."
Behind them, Robert snorts in amusement. The sound draws Margot's attention back to him, and she leaves Abe where he's standing to approach Robert's horse, of which he's already pulling himself onto. The animal shifts as he collects the reins. She reaches out to run her hand over the horse's nose and looks up at Robert.
"…This was a one-off," Robert tells her after a brief beat of silence. "I'm still out – "
"Yes, of course," she cuts in. A tiny smile curls over her face. "I'll look for your advertisements anyway, though, shall I?"
He sends her an exasperated look, but there is a blaze of warmth in his eyes that he finds himself incapable of hiding from her. The memory of their last parting, and the feeling of her surprise kiss pressing against his mouth, shivers through him even as he dryly says, "Miss Risdon – "
"Mr. Townsend, you should get going," she says, her smile lifting slightly higher.
He looks like he'd like to argue with her, and to be honest, she'd like that too – anything to keep him here a while longer – but instead Robert just mutters, "You are an infuriating woman." And then, before she can respond, he sends her one last lingering look and presses his horse forward and trotting off.
As he goes, Abe elbows her. "You know, Marge, I never would've thought that you'd pine over a man like Townsend."
She throws him an annoyed look and elbows him back, but quickly turns her eyes back to Robert's departing figure.
"Shut up, Abraham," is all she says in return.