with a close-in look at his features provoked an instant thud of recognition in her chest. This man had often frequented the Crown and Quill in New York, espousing a particular fondness for Sally’s scones and peach jam.
Anne fluttered her fan, floundering for a response, when Pepperell offered, “Perhaps, sir, you’ve spied the lovely lady about the camp. Mrs. Merrick supplies the army with paper, ink, and quill, and her signboard proclaims ‘Merrick’s Stationery.’”
“Ink and quill…” Fraser repeated, eyeing her with a furrowed brow. “Aye… that must be it…”
“Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen!” Burgoyne ordered. “Dinner is served.”
John Burgoyne claimed one end of the table, and Simon Fraser the other. Anne did not want to encourage any more recollections, especially one that might link her to the British officer she left dead on the floor of the Crown and Quill. She scurried to the chair on Burgoyne’s right, as far as possible from the scrutiny of the 24th’s commanding officer.
Fanny Loescher settled languid in a chair across the table from Anne and Geoffrey. Moving together as if fastened with buttons, the three German guests sat beside Mrs. Loescher. Once Lucy and Gordon Lennox took the remaining seats beside Geoffrey, the musicians struck up an energetic
allemande
, and four red-jacketed waiters capped with feathered turbans marched out from the marquee, each carrying a green bottle swathed in white cloth.
“Oh, dear Johnny! More champagne?” Fanny squealed and clapped her hands. “I swan! You
are
aiming to see me tipsy!” Set off by the pale blue satin of her gown, the woman’s olive skin glowed in thecandlelight, and her rouged lips parted in breathless anticipation as the orderlies reached in to fill the crystal flutes.
“An excellent vintage,” Burgoyne assured his guests. “Mrs. Loescher and I sampled a glass while waiting for everyone to arrive.”
“Now, tell the truth, Johnny.” Fanny Loescher smiled and snapped open her fan. “You know very well we sampled more than one glass.”
Anne and Lucy Lennox hid their smiles behind their fans. With a roll of her eyes, the Baroness von Riedesel did not bother to conceal her disdain for the General’s paramour.
Burgoyne stood with glass raised. “I give you His Majesty, the King! God bless him!”
“The King!” The response came in a clatter of crystal, and everyone partook in a sip from his or her glass.
General von Riedesel rose and, in clipped, precise English, said, “To my patron, Charles, the Duke of Brunswick and Luneburg.”
“The Duke!”
Colonel Baum popped up to his feet in a click of boot heels, his accent heavy. “To Braunschweig—ze home auf fightink men.
Prost!
”
“To Brunswick!”
Simon Fraser rose, his glass held high. “To Caledonia—the nursery of learning, and the birthplace of heroes.”
“Caledonia!”
Geoffrey Pepperell leapt to his feet and put a diplomatic end to the nationalistic sparring. “A toast to honest men and pretty women of all nations!”
Anne raised her glass, and smiled.
To these United States.
“Hear, hear!”
The waiters returned bearing the first service—rattlesnake soup ladled into shallow, wide-rimmed bowls. Each diner was served a miniature loaf of bread along with a dish of fresh-churned butter.
“Lennox and Pepperell have provided the soup course tonight,” Burgoyne announced. “The wonderful bread is supplied by the courtesy of Baroness von Riedesel.”
“Proper wheat loaves!” Lucy Lennox marveled.
“And it’s still warm!” Anne tore her crusty roll in two. “What a special treat, Baroness.”
“I am simply the intermediary,” the young Baroness acknowledged. “A clever countrywoman of mine has contrived a portable oven from bricks she salvaged at Fort Anne. General Burgoyne supplied the flour and sponge. It is wonderful, no?”
Geoffrey and Gordon’s rattlesnake soup proved to be more of a stew—chunks of tender snake
Anne fluttered her fan, floundering for a response, when Pepperell offered, “Perhaps, sir, you’ve spied the lovely lady about the camp. Mrs. Merrick supplies the army with paper, ink, and quill, and her signboard proclaims ‘Merrick’s Stationery.’”
“Ink and quill…” Fraser repeated, eyeing her with a furrowed brow. “Aye… that must be it…”
“Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen!” Burgoyne ordered. “Dinner is served.”
John Burgoyne claimed one end of the table, and Simon Fraser the other. Anne did not want to encourage any more recollections, especially one that might link her to the British officer she left dead on the floor of the Crown and Quill. She scurried to the chair on Burgoyne’s right, as far as possible from the scrutiny of the 24th’s commanding officer.
Fanny Loescher settled languid in a chair across the table from Anne and Geoffrey. Moving together as if fastened with buttons, the three German guests sat beside Mrs. Loescher. Once Lucy and Gordon Lennox took the remaining seats beside Geoffrey, the musicians struck up an energetic
allemande
, and four red-jacketed waiters capped with feathered turbans marched out from the marquee, each carrying a green bottle swathed in white cloth.
“Oh, dear Johnny! More champagne?” Fanny squealed and clapped her hands. “I swan! You
are
aiming to see me tipsy!” Set off by the pale blue satin of her gown, the woman’s olive skin glowed in thecandlelight, and her rouged lips parted in breathless anticipation as the orderlies reached in to fill the crystal flutes.
“An excellent vintage,” Burgoyne assured his guests. “Mrs. Loescher and I sampled a glass while waiting for everyone to arrive.”
“Now, tell the truth, Johnny.” Fanny Loescher smiled and snapped open her fan. “You know very well we sampled more than one glass.”
Anne and Lucy Lennox hid their smiles behind their fans. With a roll of her eyes, the Baroness von Riedesel did not bother to conceal her disdain for the General’s paramour.
Burgoyne stood with glass raised. “I give you His Majesty, the King! God bless him!”
“The King!” The response came in a clatter of crystal, and everyone partook in a sip from his or her glass.
General von Riedesel rose and, in clipped, precise English, said, “To my patron, Charles, the Duke of Brunswick and Luneburg.”
“The Duke!”
Colonel Baum popped up to his feet in a click of boot heels, his accent heavy. “To Braunschweig—ze home auf fightink men.
Prost!
”
“To Brunswick!”
Simon Fraser rose, his glass held high. “To Caledonia—the nursery of learning, and the birthplace of heroes.”
“Caledonia!”
Geoffrey Pepperell leapt to his feet and put a diplomatic end to the nationalistic sparring. “A toast to honest men and pretty women of all nations!”
Anne raised her glass, and smiled.
To these United States.
“Hear, hear!”
The waiters returned bearing the first service—rattlesnake soup ladled into shallow, wide-rimmed bowls. Each diner was served a miniature loaf of bread along with a dish of fresh-churned butter.
“Lennox and Pepperell have provided the soup course tonight,” Burgoyne announced. “The wonderful bread is supplied by the courtesy of Baroness von Riedesel.”
“Proper wheat loaves!” Lucy Lennox marveled.
“And it’s still warm!” Anne tore her crusty roll in two. “What a special treat, Baroness.”
“I am simply the intermediary,” the young Baroness acknowledged. “A clever countrywoman of mine has contrived a portable oven from bricks she salvaged at Fort Anne. General Burgoyne supplied the flour and sponge. It is wonderful, no?”
Geoffrey and Gordon’s rattlesnake soup proved to be more of a stew—chunks of tender snake
Similar Books
