cressets—the iron cages containing burning cedar knots situated just so around the perimeter, to keep mosquitoes and other pests away. After weeks of rough living under soggy canvas in the company of teamsters, sutlers, and camp followers, Anne could not help but be both enchanted and intimidated by the scene and the company.
“A moment, Captain.” Anne stopped beneath the awning of the marquee to smooth her curls, fluff her skirts, and assess the quality of the waiting company.
The three ladies in attendance were dressed in shining satin and taffeta. Two of the five men wore the blue coats of the German dragoons. The other three wore British red. With the exception of Geoffrey Pepperell, and the pretty brunette smiling at Burgoyne’s side, the men and women all wore their hair pomaded, powdered, and curled, as if dressed for presentation to the King himself.
Anne assumed the young woman with Gordon Lennox to be his wife, Lucy. The older officer speaking with Burgoyne was dressed in the uniform of the 24th Foot. This man was very familiar to Anne, though she could not place him in her memory. The presence of German officers came as a complete surprise. Fishing a handkerchief from her pocket, Anne blotted her brow and the back of her neck.
“I fear I’m underdressed…”
“Don’t be silly. You are perfect.”
“You’re kind, Captain, but I’m neither blind nor stupid.” Anne stuffed the hankie away and opened her fan to cool the flush from her cheeks. “Who is the brunette in blue?”
“Ah!That would be Fanny Loescher, the General’s… companion.” Pepperell wagged his eyebrows. “They say she is part Huron.”
Anne took heart in the fact that Burgoyne’s paramour did not bother to powder her black curls. “Miss Loescher is quite beautiful.”
“The woman is no ‘miss.’” Pepperell kept his voice low. “There is a Mr. Loescher somewhere, but it seems he and the General have come to a… a mutually beneficial arrangement for the duration.”
“Really?” Anne arched her brows. “Would you say Mrs. Loescher is the General’s ammunition wife?”
Pepperell seemed disconcerted by the phrase. “Something of that nature.”
Anne pointed toward the two men in blue. “Are those Hessian officers?”
“Brunswickers. The tall man is Colonel Friedrich Baum. The portly fellow is his commander, General von Riedesel.”
“And the tiny lady in yellow? The German general’s mistress?”
“No, she is his true wife—the
Baroness
von Riedesel. A most dedicated woman, she follows the campaign with three children in tow—her youngest yet a babe in arms.”
Tall, and very distinguished in his full Redcoat regalia, General Burgoyne noticed Geoffrey and Anne lingering on the outskirts and waved them into the circle. “Young Pepperell! Come join us!”
All eyes turned and Geoffrey offered his arm. “Come along, Mrs. Merrick, and I will make you known.”
Fingers light on Pepperell’s forearm, Anne swallowed back the tightening in her throat and resisted a strong urge to hide behind the unfurl of her fan. The quiet tone of this intimate party was a contrast to the lavish military affairs she’d attended with Edward Blankenship in New York, where it was easy to become inconspicuous in the hubbub. Here, with her plain hair and cotton dress, she was as flagrant as a sparrow in a nest of cardinals.
“How do you do?” Anne smiled and nodded as one by one she was presented to the company.
“…my commander, Brigadier General Simon Fraser of the Twenty-fourth Foot, Advance Corps,” Geoffrey completed the round of introductions. “And,last but not least, may I present Lieutenant General John Burgoyne, Commander of His Majesty’s Canada Army.”
“A pleasure,” Anne murmured, dipping an abbreviated curtsy.
Simon Fraser stepped forward with a slight bow. “Your name and visage breed familiarity, Mrs. Merrick, but I canna fathom the how or why of it…”
His controlled Scottish burr combined
“A moment, Captain.” Anne stopped beneath the awning of the marquee to smooth her curls, fluff her skirts, and assess the quality of the waiting company.
The three ladies in attendance were dressed in shining satin and taffeta. Two of the five men wore the blue coats of the German dragoons. The other three wore British red. With the exception of Geoffrey Pepperell, and the pretty brunette smiling at Burgoyne’s side, the men and women all wore their hair pomaded, powdered, and curled, as if dressed for presentation to the King himself.
Anne assumed the young woman with Gordon Lennox to be his wife, Lucy. The older officer speaking with Burgoyne was dressed in the uniform of the 24th Foot. This man was very familiar to Anne, though she could not place him in her memory. The presence of German officers came as a complete surprise. Fishing a handkerchief from her pocket, Anne blotted her brow and the back of her neck.
“I fear I’m underdressed…”
“Don’t be silly. You are perfect.”
“You’re kind, Captain, but I’m neither blind nor stupid.” Anne stuffed the hankie away and opened her fan to cool the flush from her cheeks. “Who is the brunette in blue?”
“Ah!That would be Fanny Loescher, the General’s… companion.” Pepperell wagged his eyebrows. “They say she is part Huron.”
Anne took heart in the fact that Burgoyne’s paramour did not bother to powder her black curls. “Miss Loescher is quite beautiful.”
“The woman is no ‘miss.’” Pepperell kept his voice low. “There is a Mr. Loescher somewhere, but it seems he and the General have come to a… a mutually beneficial arrangement for the duration.”
“Really?” Anne arched her brows. “Would you say Mrs. Loescher is the General’s ammunition wife?”
Pepperell seemed disconcerted by the phrase. “Something of that nature.”
Anne pointed toward the two men in blue. “Are those Hessian officers?”
“Brunswickers. The tall man is Colonel Friedrich Baum. The portly fellow is his commander, General von Riedesel.”
“And the tiny lady in yellow? The German general’s mistress?”
“No, she is his true wife—the
Baroness
von Riedesel. A most dedicated woman, she follows the campaign with three children in tow—her youngest yet a babe in arms.”
Tall, and very distinguished in his full Redcoat regalia, General Burgoyne noticed Geoffrey and Anne lingering on the outskirts and waved them into the circle. “Young Pepperell! Come join us!”
All eyes turned and Geoffrey offered his arm. “Come along, Mrs. Merrick, and I will make you known.”
Fingers light on Pepperell’s forearm, Anne swallowed back the tightening in her throat and resisted a strong urge to hide behind the unfurl of her fan. The quiet tone of this intimate party was a contrast to the lavish military affairs she’d attended with Edward Blankenship in New York, where it was easy to become inconspicuous in the hubbub. Here, with her plain hair and cotton dress, she was as flagrant as a sparrow in a nest of cardinals.
“How do you do?” Anne smiled and nodded as one by one she was presented to the company.
“…my commander, Brigadier General Simon Fraser of the Twenty-fourth Foot, Advance Corps,” Geoffrey completed the round of introductions. “And,last but not least, may I present Lieutenant General John Burgoyne, Commander of His Majesty’s Canada Army.”
“A pleasure,” Anne murmured, dipping an abbreviated curtsy.
Simon Fraser stepped forward with a slight bow. “Your name and visage breed familiarity, Mrs. Merrick, but I canna fathom the how or why of it…”
His controlled Scottish burr combined
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