The cook put her hands on her hips and looked at first one of them and then the other. “Miss Sally! What kind of maggot do you have in your head now? Not the lieutenant? Why, when anyone can plainly see—”
“No,” said Sally. Her clear gaze never wavered from Noel’s. And there was anger in her frown, anger and bewilderment instead of the relief he expected. “Not Nardek.”
No lie in the world, no matter how skilled, was going to convince her otherwise. And Noel didn’t intend to lie.
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not Leon Nardek.”
Chapter 6
Widening her eyes, Sally said nothing.
Hannah screamed and dropped the pitcher she was holding. White milk splashed upon the earthen floor, and both babies began to cry.
“Oh, make them hush, Hannah, do,” said Sally crossly. Her blue eyes flashed to Noel. “You’d better step outside with me and explain yourself, sir.”
“Miss Sally, don’t you dare go anywhere with that man!” said Hannah fiercely. She snatched up a broom and brandished it at Noel. “I knew you were up to no good. I—”
“Hush,” said Sally with a sharpness in her tone that caught Hannah up short. She looked at Noel again and walked outside.
He followed, with a final longing look at the pastries cooling from the oven. The bread and cheese he’d eaten earlier had been stale, and had only staved off the intense hunger brought on by traveling, not satisfied it.
The young woman ahead of him walked with an angry stride that sent her skirts flying about her ankles. She walked to the far end of the garden, out of earshot of both the house and the kitchen, and turned to face him beneath the swelling branches of a pear tree.
“Now, sir. I am Sally Crewe, mistress of this house and land,” she said curtly. “I want your name and an honest explanation of how Peterson came to be so grievously injured and in your care.”
“My name is Noel Kedran. I—”
“And your relation to Lieutenant Nardek?” she demanded. “You’re as like to him as a twin.”
“You’re pretty observant to be able to tell us apart,” said Noel. “I’ve come here looking for him. I hope you’ll be able to tell me where—”
“That will do for later, when I know you’re not a scoundrel. Thus far all I know is that you’ve come on my property under false pretenses.”
She was as prickly as she was pretty, and her high tone aroused Noel’s own irritation. He said, “Peterson is probably going to die. In trying to get him some medical attention, I didn’t see any need to stand around and tell everyone who I really was. I’ve been mistaken for Leon before.”
“Yes, and used it for your advantage, I’ll wager.”
Noel’s face heated in spite of himself. “The reverse would be truer, Miss Crewe.”
“How so? The lieutenant is Major Burton’s adjutant and an able officer. He is received everywhere and well liked. You look like a vagrant.”
As she spoke, she swept him with a contemptuous gaze. Noel glanced down at himself and realized that with his breeches muddy, his stockings torn, and his coat ripped, he couldn’t look very trustworthy.
“I’ve come a long way to find Leon,” was all he said.
“And your business with Peterson?”
He frowned. “I was minding my own business when he came along. He was being chased by a pair of soldiers.”
“Soldiers!” she said in alarm. “But—”
“I sort of, um, stepped in,” said Noel. “But his horse fell with him. He landed pretty hard. I figure he’s broken several ribs and has internal injuries. He needs—”
“Are you a doctor?” she broke in.
“No.”
“Then let us not discuss what you think he needs.”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen to me. What happened to those soldiers? What did you do?”
Noel sent her a sideways look and didn’t answer.
She began to pace back and forth, wringing her hands. “There’ll be trouble for this…retaliations. They’ll come searching. You’ve put us all in danger.”
Noel gritted his teeth, furious with her cool, callous disregard of anything but herself. “And I should have let him die in the mud?” he said angrily. “Your friend?”
She gasped. “He is not—”
“Really,” said Noel with scorn. “Not your friend, though he said your name with his last conscious breath—”
“Stop!” she cried and pressed her hands to her scarlet cheeks. Turning away, she stood for a moment in an effort to compose herself, then glanced over her shoulder. “You make me sound like a monster.”
Noel said nothing. His silence brought her around.
Her face went white with fury. “I don’t know who you are or by what reason you have come here, and I don’t wish to know. You’re a scoundrel, probably a deserter from Washington’s army. You do not belong here, and you will not be given shelter or money or whatever it is you hope to gain. You will leave my property now, or I’ll have Silas throw you off. Is that clear?”
Noel glared at her. “I told you I’m looking for Leon Nardek. If you’ll tell me where to find him, I’ll go.”
She looked right through him and held out her hand. “Why don’t you give me Peterson’s saddlebags first.”
He’d forgotten he was still carrying them. From her tone it was plain she thought him a thief on top of everything else.
Shrugging them off, he handed them to her, then did a slow burn while she opened them and checked the contents.
“I ate his lunch,” said Noel through his teeth. “I’m hungry. My last meal was a turnip.”
He saw her hand pause inside the saddlebag. Her whole body tensed, but when she looked up at him her expression was as cool as ever. “No doubt you’re planning a hearty meal indeed at the tavern when you come to it,” she said in a very angry voice. “You’ve taken all his money, haven’t you?”
Her face was still pale, making her eyes stand out bluer than ever. In spite of her anger there was a tremble in her hands and a quaver in her voice. This girl had plenty of courage and spirit, but she was badly frightened.
Noel refused to make it easy on her. “Aren’t you more concerned about some papers he was carrying?”
She drew in her breath sharply, then something gave in her face and she swayed.
He caught her, but she rallied almost at once, striking his shoulder with her fist and trying to twist free of his supporting arm. “Unhand me, you blackguard!” she cried. “How dare you—”
“Shut up,” said Noel.
He manhandled her over to a wooden bench beneath an arbor now devoid of any roses and pushed her onto it.
“You—”
“I said shut up.”
She snapped her mouth shut and glared at him a moment, then pressed her hands to her face.
“I’ve got the paper,” he said without mercy, although a part of him hated to break her spirit.
She pushed her hands down to her lap and clenched them. She was still shaking. “What do you mean to do with it?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
That seemed to surprise her more than anything. “I don’t understand you, sir, but please don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not playing a game,” he said grimly. “All I want is to find my twin. I concealed the paper because it looked dangerous.”
She shot him a swift, speculative glance before lowering her lashes. “Then you read it?”
“Maybe.”
“Why,” she asked with great care, her earlier haughtiness gone, “are you seeking the lieutenant? Will you betray Peterson?”
“He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“Peterson,” she said, swallowing hard, “is my uncle’s courier.”
“And your uncle?”
“Why, he’s John Crewe, of Philadelphia. Everyone in Pennsylvania knows him.”
“I’m not from Pennsylvania.”
She lowered
her gaze again. “He’s a member of the Continental Congress.”
“You say that as though you’re ashamed of it.”
Her eyes flashed, but she said nothing, even when he frowned at her. The haughty look that he didn’t like returned to her face. Her eyes grew defiant.
“I see,” he said finally.
“You have no business to criticize my sentiments in this stupid war,” she said angrily.
“No.”
“There are few enough here who sympathize with traitors to the king.”
“Really? Even with General Washington’s troops so close?”
Her cheeks grew pink. “Those incompetents. Most of them have starved.”
“Is that their fault?” he asked. “Or can we blame congressmen like your uncle who won’t give Washington the supplies or the support he needs?”
“You can go!”
“Not until you tell me where to find Leon.”
“Why should I tell you anything? Why should I help you?”
“You’d like to have the paper, wouldn’t you?”
Her chin lowered. The anger in her eyes came back under control. She looked at him with so much speculation he laughed.
“No schemes necessary, Miss Crewe. An even exchange. The paper in return for the information.”
She frowned at him. “And that is all you want?”
“Yes.”
“All?”
“What else do you think I should ask for?”
She jumped to her feet and glared at him. “Oh, you are impertinent, sir! If you think—”
“I don’t think anything,” he broke in, tired of her dramatics. “I’m trying to find my brother.”
“Is he your brother?” she asked. “You don’t have the same name.”
“Brothers don’t always.”
Her eyebrows swept up. “Then who was born on the wrong side of the blanket, him or you? Considering the color in your face, sir, I think I have my answer.”
“You’re wrong,” he snapped, goaded in spite of himself.
“Am I? Why, then, does Lieutenant Nardek have a commission in His Majesty’s army? Why is he an officer and a gentleman? Why is he received everywhere in society? Why is he favored among his fellow officers and friends? Why all this? As for you—”
“Little girls shouldn’t judge by appearances,” muttered Noel.
The look she shot him was all scorn. “Appearances speak plainly enough. You will find your brother billeted in town, at the home of Mr. Ezekiel Smyth. Now that paper, if you please.”
“Come with me,” said Noel.
In silence they walked to the barn. He pulled the thin packet from its hiding place in the saddle pad and handed it to her.
She took it as though amazed that it could be that easy. “Did you find it in this place? You are a clever searcher.”
“I found it in his saddlebags, along with his lunch,” said Noel. “How far to town, and in which direction?”
“I have given you all the information I agreed to.”
He glared at her a moment and met nothing but saucy defiance in her eyes. Without another word he walked out and started down the lane past the gauntlet of barking dogs and hissing geese.
He was nearly to the road before she shouted and came running after him like a little girl, with her skirts flashing up nearly to her knees. He stopped and she caught up with him in a whirl of shawl and petticoats, breathless and prettier than ever.
“You are an odd man indeed, sir,” she said, panting. “I’m sorry I did not thank you for helping Peterson. If he lives, it will be due to your kindness.”
This sudden expression of gratitude surprised him. Before he meant to, he smiled at her. “Glad to do it.”
She smiled back and pointed. “Town lies that way. It’s two miles, no farther.”
“Thank you.” He hesitated. “And there will be trouble for you. I wasn’t thinking of that at the time.”
She lifted her chin proudly. “We shall manage.”
He looked at her but there was nothing else to say. With a nod, he walked on.
“Go first to the Yellow Duck,” she called after him. “It’s a brick tavern, new and at the crossroads. The lieutenant is often there, and if not his friends will direct you.”
Noel waved and started down the road.
He had to walk briskly to keep himself nominally warm. Although the sun was bright, the wind was very cold and his breath hung in a mist about his face. He met a carriage, then a cart, then a few people on horseback. A squadron of British soldiers galloped past him, forcing him off the road altogether. Splashed with their mud, Noel waited until they were far ahead of him before returning to the road. At least they hadn’t questioned him, and he was glad of that because he didn’t have a story prepared yet.
The American Revolution had supposedly been Dr. Rugle’s specialty before she gave up history for administration. He’d always had a casual idea that Americans were banded together against the hated British, but in this prosperous little town everyone seemed on good terms. These people must be Tory sympathizers, for the most part, imagining themselves loyal subjects to their king and possibly still considering themselves to be English. Odd indeed, when he knew Washington’s men were starving and suffering only a few miles away for a cause that would give these people more freedom than they could handle.
When he entered town, he checked at the tavern Sally had mentioned, but Leon was not there. The innkeeper gave him a peculiar look, and Noel left quickly.
He went into a bun shop and bought himself lunch. When he was full and thawed, he explored the town. The houses were mostly brick or stone, well-built Georgian or Dutch structures with shutters and slate roofs. Merchants stood about, looking prosperous as they chatted with customers. The ringing bells of shop doors could be heard up and down the central street. Traffic moved at a placid pace. Children were indoors, presumably at their lessons. Boy apprentices hurried past on errands. British soldiers lounged here and there, idly playing dice or reading letters to each other or flirting with the young ladies who were walking with their chaperones. Other than the bright uniforms, war seemed to have passed this community by.
Deciding he needed new clothes, Noel stepped into a tailor’s shop. It was warm from a fire busily crackling on the hearth. The windows and wainscoting were painted a merry blue. Neat bolts of cloth were stacked on shelves. And a ready-made brown coat hung in the shop window. Noel looked at it, trying to decide if it would fit.
“Hello, sir,” said the tailor, emerging from the back with a brisk step. He faltered when he saw Noel.
“Hi,” said Noel. “I guess it’s obvious what I’m here for. My clothes have had it. Got anything that will fit me?”
The tailor went on staring at him in open consternation.
Noel was getting tired of this kind of reaction. “I have money to pay you,” he said sharply. “Can you fit me?”
“I—I daresay,” said the tailor. He made no effort to come any closer.
Soldiers marched past outside, their footsteps in cadence. The tailor stared at them through the window and wrung his hands.
“You should not be here,” he said at last, almost in a moan. “You’ll be arrested if you’re noticed.”
Noel rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m muddy and I’m cold. I’d like some decent clothes. I can pay for them. Are you going to wait on me, or not?”
The tailor stared at him with terrified eyes. “You may be willing to take the risk, but I’m not. You’d better go.”
“I’m not who you think I am—”
“Aren’t you?” said the man. “Good heavens, man, it’s obvious you’re a deserter. Look at you, ragged and desperate. But if they catch you, you’ll be shot as a spy at the very least.”
“I’m not a spy.”
“Where’s your uniform, then?”
“And if I had one on,” said Noel in exasperation, “wouldn’t that advertise—”
“Yes, indeed. I hadn’t thought o
f that. Only go, I pray you! I daren’t be caught abetting a traitor.”
Noel glared at him. “Is it against the law to sell me a coat?”
The tailor stared at him like a rabbit.
“Well?”
The tailor jumped. “Indeed, I don’t know. I don’t want the trouble. I dare not take the risk. I have a family, young children to feed. My wife is expecting another—”
“Forget it,” said Noel. He opened the door to leave and backed up as a burly soldier in a powdered wig and red uniform walked inside, brushing past him rudely.
“Marley, have you finished my order yet?” demanded the soldier. “I have been waiting all week. You know the ball is tomorrow night.”
“Lieutenant Fox,” stammered the tailor, backing up behind his counter. “Indeed, sir, I haven’t forgotten. It’s almost finished.”
“Almost! Gad, you have the slowest fingers on this earth. London tailors would have had my coat ready in a twinkling, half the time it takes you to sew on a dashed button.”
“I’m sorry. I told you it would take time to procure the buttons from Philadelphia. Such particular details—”
“Make the coat, Marley. Make the coat. Gad, you colonials and your provincial ideas.”
Yawning, the soldier leaned on the counter and let his eyes rove around the shop to where Noel still stood by the window. “And who are you?”
Marley started nervously. “Just a vagrant, sir. Nothing to signify. I’ve told him to leave. He was just going when you came in.”
“Begging is against the law,” said the soldier, looking Noel up and down with a frowning eye.
“I wasn’t begging,” said Noel.
“Impertinent too!” said the lieutenant. He straightened up and gripped Noel by the arm. His fingers were like iron. “Out you go, you rascal.”
Yanking open the door, he shoved Noel down the steps to the street. At the side of the shop between the buildings, he pushed Noel against the wall.
Not sure whether he was going to have to fight or run for it, Noel turned about and found the soldier grinning at him.
“Leon, you sly devil,” he said with delight. “I don’t know what rig Burton’s got you up to, and I don’t want to know. None of my affair if you’ve turned spy. Damned good outfit. You look like one of Washington’s scarecrows, only a little too fat.”
Turncoat Page 5
