Loyalty

Story Disclaimer:

All characters and locations taken from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer television series, the Harry Potter books, or other sources are properties of their respective creators and distributors. Plot and original elements are properties of the story author. All are used without permission and without intent to profit. Story is for entertainment purposes only. Disclaimer ends.


Chapter One: Loyalty
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Saturday, November 9, 1776, 6:57 PM
New York City Hall
(Headquarters of General Sir William Howe)
Manhattan Island, New York
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Glancing out the carriage window at the cobblestoned street, Catherine Hawthorne saw that it was still littered with a scattering of cinders and ashes from the fire that had ravaged half of the city on the equinox, supposedly set by the retreating Continental Army to deny the city to the British. There was also the persistent smell of smoke, but since fire was the only means of lighting after dark, that was to be expected in such a large city.

"Stop fidgeting, Truth Anne." Miss Hawthorne scolded, setting one hand on the knee that was tapping the foot against the floor of the horsedrawn carriage. Her hand's presence atop the flowing ocean-blue skirt did still her companion's movement, and the hollow thumping sound on the floor of the carriage faded into the repeated clicking of the iron wheels and horseshoes against the cobblestoned street.

"I don't know if I can do this." Truth Anne Turner admitted, replacing the tapping foot with a rolling motion of her fingers against the leather-covered seat of the carriage.

Miss Hawthorne rolled her eyes in frustration, pulling her hand back to her own lap. "Of course you can. Just remember who you are... a young lady of good family, displaced by the war and looking for a potential suitor amongst the officers of the British Army." Miss Hawthorne smiled. "And I am here to support you."

The girl giggled. "Imagine if they knew..."

"Don't even think that. Not here." Miss Hawthorne interrupted, as the carriage came to a stop. The driver passed on their introduction to the footman, who was clad in the full regalia of a British grenadier, minus his musket and bayonet.

Truth Anne climbed down from the carriage, refusing the help of the grenadier and shooting a glare at Miss Hawthorne as she accepted his aid in dismounting the carriage like a proper English lady. Climbing the stone steps into what had formerly been the official residence of the city's government, Miss Hawthorne rushed up the stairs to get in front of her charge, betraying the fact that her finely carved cane was not a necessity. The great double doors opened, and the grenadier relayed their introduction to the herald, who called it out to the gathered British officers and a handful of young ladies. "Miss Truth Anne Turner of Boston, and her chaperone, Miss Catherine Hawthorne of Cambridge."

The nearest British officer was an older gentleman in a powdered wig and a red velvet coat, with several stripes of gold embroidery around the sleeves, a copious amount of white lace showing around his cuffs and collar, and shiningly polished black boots. As he bowed to them, the herald whispered, "General Sir William Howe, your host, Commander of His Majesty's Forces in New York."

Catherine Hawthorne curtseyed, using the cane to help keep her balance. Noticing that Truth Anne did not do the same, she bit her lip slightly. This may be more dangerous than I thought. "A pleasure, General, sir. May I present my niece, Miss Truth Anne Turner."

The General looked Miss Hawthorne over, from the hem of her crimson and flame brocade gown to her long red hair, braided and tied back with silver-beaded leather thongs, lingering for a moment on the carved dragon's head on her hawthorne-wood cane. Then the General shifted his gaze to the young lady beside her, clad in a bodice of midnight blue and a skirt of a somewhat lighter shade. Her sand colored hair was drawn back in a French-style braid, ornamented by a series of small polished mahogany combs that matched her warm-amber eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Hawthorne, Miss Turner. Did I hear correctly, you are from Boston, Miss Turner? A Loyalist, then?"

"What else would I be?" Truth Anne retorted, with a slight grin, almost forgetting to add, "General," until she was reminded by Catherine's subtle glare.

"Quite, quite." General Howe nodded. "Feel free to avail yourselves of my hospitality. Many of my officers are far from home, and wed or not, will be pleased to have the chance to even speak to a young lady of good family. Or even an older lady, such as yourself, Miss Hawthorne."

Catherine nodded, trying to take the General's words for the inclusive statement they were clearly intended to be, instead of the backhanded swipe at her age that it had actually sounded like. "Of course, General Sir. I would imagine it improves morale, to allow your officers to step outside their military life, if only for an evening."

General Howe raised an eyebrow. "You would be surprised how difficult that can be to explain, Miss Hawthorne. Particularly to the men's wives. I must receive half a dozen letters about it by every ship. But I explain to them that the inent is merely to allow the men a short repreive from the pressures of their duties in a faraway land."

"I must admit, I've found myself in much the same situation from time to time." Miss Hawthorne agreed.

General Howe looked somewhat unsurprised by this, and signalled to a passing steward for a glass of wine. "And how has it worked out for you, I wonder?"

"Well, one time I lost my temper and disappeared for two days. Came back ten pieces of gold richer." Miss Hawthorne smiled, as young Miss Turner glided off into the room, seeking out younger men than the General to speak with. "If you'll excuse me, General Sir, I am somewhat on duty tonight..." She waved in the direction of the blue-clad seventeen-year-old, who was at that moment claiming a glass of wine from the sideboard.

"Of course." General Howe bowed as Catherine rushed off across the room. A number of red-coated British officers tried to stop her and talk to her, but she dodged around them and rushed to Miss Turner's side, frowning at the glass of red wine that the girl had lifted to her lips.

"The last thing we need," Catherine whispered, "is you getting yourself drunk."

Truth Anne lowered the glass, rolling her eyes. "I'm just blending in. One glass of wine isn't going to hurt anyone. And this is particularly good wine."

"Of course it is, since our host is the commander-in-chief of the British army in America. Do I need to remind you of that every five minutes?" Catherine whispered. "If you're not on your best behavior..."

"I know." Truth Anne rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Any idea who the boys in blue are?" She gestured at a number of officers across the room, clad not in the red coats of British officers, but a shade of blue somewhat darker than her own dress, trimmed in black.

"Not a clue." Catherine allowed. "I take it you're planning to go find out?"

Truth Anne nodded. "Right now." She headed across the room, a confident lack of bounce in her step. Then again, that could have just been an attempt not to spill the three-quarter-full glass of wine in her hand, and Catherine saw her other hand searching at her hip. She shrugged, resigning herself to the situation, and followed her charge across the room, her high-heeled shoes clicking against the marble floor.

"I'm curious about your uniforms." Truth Anne stated, approaching a group of half a dozen of the blue-clad soldiers. "Why blue, rather than red?"

One of the younger officers stepped forward, the lapel facings on his coat reflecting gold under the candlelight. In heavily accented English, he explained, "We are not British, young lady, but Hessians. Surely you have heard of us?"

"I have not." Truth Anne allowed, lowering her wine glass almost to her hip as Catherine appeared at her elbow, her hawthorne cane tapping against the marble floor.

Catherine laid on her practiced London accent as she interrupted, "Please forgive her forwardness, she is but a young girl, and an American at that. Have you been properly introduced?"

"No, we have not," the young Hessian officer admitted, as the others stood around menacingly and stared at him, as if demanding an explanation. One in particular - the oldest, and the only one wearing a powdered wig under his brass-fronted black cap - looked particularly drunk.

"This is Miss Truth Anne Turner, of Massachusetts, and I am Catherine Hawthorne, her chaperone. I take it by your uniforms that you are the Hessians I have heard about?"

The young German raised an eyebrow. "We are. This is my regimental commander, Colonel Johann Raal." He gestured toward the drunk, powder-wigged gentleman. "I am Lieutenant Leopold Guderian, at your service." He bowed slightly, and Catherine could see that if he had bowed any deeper, his brass-fronted cap would have tumbled off his head.

Colonel Raal turned to Lieutenant Guderian, rattling off a short question at him in an irritated, slightly slurred tone, "Sprechen sie Deutsches?"

Catherine raised an eyebrow, and the Lieutenant explained, "Colonel Raal was wondering if either of you two ladies speaks German. I take it you do not?"

"No. I think you will find that a rare skill here." Catherine confirmed.

"Nein, geehrter Herr, sprechen sie es nicht." Lieutenant Guderian replied to his commander's question, stepping back as much as he could without making it obvious that he was, in fact, doing so.

This set Colonel Raal off on some sort of drunken, angry tirade, which involved some wild gestures with an empty brandy bottle that almost upset his powdered wig. "Warum nicht sprechen irgendwelche dieser Prostituierteen Deutsches? Was denkt dieser dumme General diese Sozialangelegenheit soll für uns tun, wenn wir mit diesen amerikanischen Dirnen sein sollen, denen wir nicht sogar sprechen können mit?" He pointed at Catherine, and she stepped back as Truth Anne clenched her free hand into a fist, shattering her wine glass. Lieutenant Guderian looked concerned, but was assaulted by the Colonel's next angry outburst. "Find mich eine Hure, die wie aussieht das, und Deutsches spricht, oder wann wir nach Hause kommen, werde ich zum Gerichtsvollzieher sagen, dass du ein dreimal-verdammter Feigling und ein Fahnenflüchtiger bist, und du wird dort nicht sein, deinen guten Namen zu verteidigen!" Colonel Raal added, straightening his wig before roughly shoving Catherine aside and charging across the room, into the crowded dance floor.

Ignoring the Colonel's drunken tirade for the moment, Lieutenant Guderian looked at Miss Turner's bloodied hand in concern. "Can I get you something, miss? I see one of the British doctors..."

"Never mind. I have a very firm grip." Truth Anne grinned, picking up a napkin from a nearby table and carefully picking pieces of glass out of her palm. Fortunately, the glass had broken mostly into large, dull pieces, so that she was not badly injured. Setting the glass-filled napkin aside, she took another from the table and wrapped it around the wounded hand. Looking up, she said, "I'll be fine. Where were we?"

Lieutenant Guderian leaned forward, whispering, "I think it best that you keep to the British. Colonel Raal is quite upset that you don't speak German." He pointed out the Colonel, who was now charging across the room like some sort of escaped bull, headed directly for General Howe.

Catherine's eyes went wide. "I think that's a good idea. Come on, Miss Turner."


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(note: German translations posted in reviews.)