Excerpt: An American Espionage (Title in Progress)

She stared a half second longer before glancing towards the side. Her satchel and some mud soaking papers were laying close by. She moved to pick them up.

“Hold it,” he said so sharply that Charlotte stopped where she was quite petrified. He didn’t need to resort to physicality; he had enough command in his low voice, a stark piercing shatter to the silence.

She dared looking back at him. “Did I say you could retrieve your bag?”

Oh she was angry now, he had no conceivable authority over her. “I beg your pardon,” Charlotte said sternly as she took another step and continued to reach for her bag with a furrowed brow of frustration. She was just about to touch it when he bent down to firmly commandeer her wrist in his hand.

“Your King demands you to desist. That is, of course, if you are truly a loyalist. Speaking of which, no loyalist woman would have such pages sprawling with numbers. Ladies are not typically taught sums. Why in God’s name are these pages filled with numbers? For, if you are, however, one of those rebel scum then by all means go ahead and take your precious espionage riddled ramblings back. I will personally deliver you to General Howe.”

Charlotte stalled considering her options. She wasn’t a loyalist, but obviously she was not about to let this arrogant, pompous bastard know that.

“Give me an answer straight girl and stop looking around as though you might bolt. You forget that I already have your wrist in my own and there is no breaking from that lest you procure a logical answer to my question.”

“Produce numbers!” Charlotte kind of said suddenly, it was half true—she often mixed her writing of produce sales, cheapest versus highest prices, in with the spy code she was taught briefly. She knew how to separate the two so that now she only saw one or the other but she only prayed it would be enough to get her out of this situation.

She continued, “My family is one of the suppliers for the immediate needs of the Royal Army. I will occasionally have to make treks to Philadelphia recording numbers for my father.”

He was just an officer, a Lieutenant Aide-de-Camp, as far as Charlotte guessed. His adornments mimicked those of Alexander Hamilton, another rebel advisor she reported to if Lafayette was occupied elsewhere. He would not necessarily know of the produce families that served the British, and certainly he should not know of her family as he would not know rebel names.

He made a sound of contemplation, but one more of skepticism rather than consideration. With his other hand he picked up a couple pages and read a couple words.

“’Miss Charlotte Brown’, is it?” he read from the top page with mild interest.

She would have preferred that her name would not have been involved but she had no other choice to agree for he would surly ask, if she was not Charlotte Brown, what she was doing with such Charlotte’s letters.

“Yes, that is my name.”

“Mhn, it seems to me Miss Brown, that you were not entirely truthful with your recent statement.”

Charlotte kept her face neutral, what did he know? How did he know?

“No Miss Brown, while the Brown family is indeed a produce bearing family—they most assuredly do not serve the British army. On the contrary, they serve the rebels especially since the encampment at Valley Forge. I knew from the moment you said ‘Valley Forge’ earlier.”

“But I’m a loyalist,” Charlotte lied again.

“Well, my dear, I have not found proof to tell me that and I cannot take your word for now it appears that indeed you very well could be a spy. I will not take any chances.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re coming with me.”