Agrippa swore me to secrecy and promised me that “once I’d proved myself” I could tag along. He called it a soiree and even made a song about it, singing it softly as he stole out of the house and into the early winter darkness that descended on the Point before five and left the evenings dreary and long. I didn’t mind them at all, living in the Red House with a library at my disposal.
I’d only enjoyed one chapter from a book on Revelation when the general and Colonel Kosciuszko suddenly returned, their plans scuttled by a lame horse. Still too far from Newburgh, they’d decided to return to the Point and set out again in the morning with a new mount for the colonel.
When Kosciuszko asked the whereabouts of his aide, I played dumb but volunteered to find him posthaste. I ran through the trees to the barracks, not certain where Grippy had gone, but following the sounds of laughter until I located, without much difficulty, the secret soiree. A soldier was posted at the door, but I had only to mention Colonel Kosciuszko’s name with all the urgency I was feeling to be allowed inside.
Agrippa stood atop a stripped-down bunk that was being used as a stage and was entertaining the crowd with a very convincing, if theatrically embellished, impersonation of his fiery Polish employer. I pushed my way through the throng and grabbed his leg as he pranced past. It was covered from knee to toe with thick black paint to create the look of a black boot, and my hand left a streak across his shin.
“The colonel is back,” I shouted up at him.
He frowned down at me and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m performing, Mr. Shurtliff,” he said, still in character.
“Yes . . . I know. But the colonel is back, and he’s asking for you.”
He blanched, but didn’t immediately jump down. The crowd begged him for a little more, and he was loath to disappoint his fans. His painted legs and feet gave the costume a comical twist, and his face was shining with laughter and sweat. He doffed his tricorn and made a sweeping bow, and I turned to go.
I’d relayed the message, done my duty, and was eager to retreat. Such gatherings were not safe for me, though I had arguably the best costume of all. I pushed out of the barracks and stooped to wash my paint-covered fingers in the snow only to realize Grippy was right behind me. He hadn’t even stopped for his shoes.
He was studying my uniform, and I knew what he was thinking before the words left his mouth. I took several steps back, shaking the wet from my hands.
“No,” I said.
“Give me your coat, Bonny.”
“No!” I repeated, adamant. “You will not draw me into your mess, Mr. Hull. I have helped you. Do not repay me this way.” I began trotting back in the direction of the Red House, putting immediate distance between us.
“Wait!” He started running too, but I bolted, using all my considerable speed to fly back the way I’d come, Grippy on my heels. We raced for a hundred yards before Grippy swore and begged me to stop. I simply sped up.
“Damnation, Bonny. You’re fast,” he panted, but I sensed it was more surprise than exertion that had him gasping. The snow-covered ground beneath his bare feet could not have helped either, but he was fast too.
“Give me your coat. Just your coat,” he demanded again, and lunged for my arm. I heard something rip.
“I’ll bring you your clothes,” I yelped, skidding to a stop but warning him back, palms out. “Stay here. I’ll be back. I promise. I’ll bring them back.”
He halted too and looked at the lights glimmering from the rear of the Red House and back at me. The night was white with moonlight, and I had no trouble seeing his indecision. He was in a predicament.
“My uniform won’t fit you,” I argued. “You outweigh me by two stone, if not more. And even if it did, I can’t very well traipse back into the house without it,” I coaxed.
“I don’t know if I trust you, Bonny boy.”
He had every reason to doubt me, considering the pranks he’d pulled on me, one after the other, all week, but I was not interested in vengeance nearly as much as preservation.
“I will be back,” I promised. “I give you my word. Give me the colonel’s uniform—”
“And wait in my drawers? It’s freezing out here!”
“It will give me a reason to be in his quarters. If the colonel stops me, I will tell him you asked me to press it while I was pressing the general’s.”
Agrippa grumbled, but he began shucking off Kosciuszko’s uniform, hopping from one bare foot to the other. “I’m going to catch my death.”