Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution

by Adair, Suzanne

  Sophie brushed past her into the humidity of the porch. "John, we've had a burglar!"

  "Oh, for god's sake," said Susana, shaking water from her mobcap out of her eyes. "Is the villain still there?"

  "No."

  John climbed into the driver's seat. "What did he steal?"

  "One of Father's books, I believe."

  Susana and John burst into laughter, and Susana added, "We're exhausted and drenched, Sophie. Report the theft to your precious redcoat on the morrow." She laughed again. "And here's an excellent caption in your newspaper. 'Book-Stealing Scoundrel Burgles Newspaper Editor's House.'"

  John snapped the reins. "Heigh! Get up!" With a jerk and a creak, the wagon rolled through the mud and off into the night.

  A puddle of water had collected beneath Mary, who looked woebegone. Sophie closed the front door and flung her hands up. "Well, don't just stand there. Get yourself into dry clothing."

  ***

  "Mrs. Barton! Wake up! Please, wake up!"

  From somewhere below, Sophie heard pounding on a door and the hounds barking. She fended Mary's hands off her shoulders and bolted upright, trying to shake the fuzzies from her head.

  Terror writhed across Mary's face by candlelight. "There's two Spaniards at the back door calling for your father. We'll be ravished and murdered! By Spaniards!"

  Spaniards. Sophie shoved the girl aside and climbed out of bed. "Take hold of your wits. Have you ever fired a pistol?"

  "Wh-what? You want me to sh-shoot them?"

  "Never mind. Just stay out of my way." Flinging a shawl over her shift, she grabbed the pistol and Mary's lantern. After verifying that Will wasn't in bed, she padded downstairs ahead of her shivering servant.

  With the pistol hid behind her, she hung the lantern beside the back door and opened it. In the yard, Achilles and Perseus growled at two Spaniards who stood shoulder-to-shoulder on her step. The men's glowers transformed into leers at the sight of her, and her fingers flexed on the butt of the pistol. "For what purpose do you interrupt our sleep?"

  The man on her right murmured to his partner, "La hija del Lobo." The daughter of the Wolf. The Wolf. Was that some sort of alias for Will?

  A lie wouldn't hurt. Her voice sliced the damp night air. "Speak English, for I understand no Spanish."

  The smile of the other man broadened. He muttered to his companion, "Es muy bonita," before addressing her. "Señora, we have urgent business with Señor Will St. James."

  "It will wait until the morrow. Begone." When she shoved the door with her foot, his hand blocked it from closing. She whipped out the pistol, cocked it fully, and leveled the barrel at his nose, hoping he couldn't see her heart pounding in her throat. Both Spaniards' eyes bulged in shock. "Away, or I'll blow someone's miserable brains from here to Madrid."

  They backed from the door, their stares on the pistol, the dogs still growling. She slammed the door shut with her foot and extinguished the lantern. "Mary, drop the bars across both doors." If Will came home, he'd have to sleep in the stable.

  Mary complied, and Sophie peeked out the dining room window, but it was too dark to see much. She strode into the shop and peered out the windows while Mary barred the front door. Nothing.

  "A-A-Are they gone?"

  Sophie sighed, certain the girl was twisting her fingers in her shift. Having an indentured servant had seemed a good option to slavery, which Sophie abhorred, but Mary possessed neither spine nor brains. "I hope so. Make sure all windows on the ground floor are closed."

  Back in the pressroom, she lit a lantern and loaded another pistol. She and Mary secured the house, and she sent the girl up to bed, forcing herself to remain awake another hour. The Spaniards didn't return, and the dogs calmed.

  Still, when she trudged up to bed at two o'clock Sunday morning, she carried the pistols with her. In the doorway of her father's bedroom, she paused to whisper, "What's become of you?"

  ***

  "Mrs. Barton! Wake up! Please, wake up!"

  Not again. Sophie moaned and rolled over in bed, opening one eye. This time, at least it was daylight.

  Mary set a towel and pitcher of water beside the washbasin. "Major Hunt is downstairs asking for you, and he brought that — that unpleasant Lieutenant Fairfax and a dozen soldiers!"

  Dread clambered over Sophie. "Inform him I'll be down in five minutes. Then help me dress." Mary curtsied and scurried out. Sophie rolled from bed, tied her hair back with a ribbon, and sloshed water in the basin. By the time Mary returned, she was already blotting off her face.

  Edward appeared to have passed the night in the same restless state she had, and his expression filled with duty when she entered the shop. Fairfax, too, had bags under his eyes, but vitality blossomed across his face at the sight of her. Outside, a sea of redcoats blocked her view of the street. She said, "May I serve you gentlemen something to drink?"

  Edward shook his head. "I would speak with your father. Where is he this morning? His horse isn't stabled."

  "I don't know where he is. He didn't come home last night."

  He extended his arm in Fairfax's direction. From a leather portfolio, Fairfax withdrew a broadside. Edward showed it to Sophie. It depicted a redcoat bayoneting a kneeling militiaman, and the caption read, "Tarleton's Quarter."

  She touched her fingers to her mouth in horror, unable to tear her gaze from the gruesome image. "Ye gods." So that's what the Committee had printed two nights before. "How horrid."

  His expression hard, Edward handed the broadside back to Fairfax. "We found ten of them posted about town. Since the print run lasted most of Friday night, there were clearly more than ten printed. Where are the rest?"

  "I've no idea. I'd nothing to do with it."

  This time Fairfax handed him a newspaper. Edward held it out for her, and she examined it. "Last Wednesday's paper."

  He nodded. "You supervised the printing?"

  "Yes." She glanced at Fairfax. His eyes glittered. His face held the rapture of a saint who has communed with angels. The ache in her belly flared like dry kindling on a banked campfire.

  Edward directed her attention to an advertisement for Zeb's dance. "Notice the crease in the lowercase 'e' of Mr. Harwick's first name."

  "Yes." Her mouth dry, she sensed what was coming.

  "Examine the broadside again. What do you see in the lowercase 'e' of Colonel Tarleton's name?"

  "A crease in the curve." She silently lambasted her father for not having been more cautious.

  "Would that not imply that these documents were printed by the same hand?"

  She lifted her chin. "Yes, but I've already told you I'd nothing to do with the production of that broadside."

  Edward returned both papers to Fairfax. "Where were you during the print run two nights ago?"

  "Asleep upstairs."

  "While eight men crowded the pressroom the night before last and printed copy after copy of a broadside, you never woke up?"

  "I sleep soundly."

  "Weren't you curious as to your father's visitors?"

  "Why should I be? His business is his own."

  "I shall ask you again. Where is your father right now?"

  "I told you I don't know."

  Fairfax stepped forward, his face angelically beautiful. "Sir, allow me a few minutes alone with her. I assure you I shall find out everything she knows about the rebel operations."

  Unable to hold Fairfax's unearthly stare of frigid green, she sought humanity in Edward's eyes. "Cease this foolish prattle. You know King George is my sovereign."

  Fairfax's nostrils twitched. "False loyals profess fidelity to His Majesty even as the noose is draped round their necks."

  Edward sounded bored. "Fairfax, as you were." The lieutenant subsided into silence, a rare hound with the intelligence to curb his barking instinct, but Sophie stayed tense. Edward scrutinized her. "Show me your lowercase e's."

  "Of course. I'll even help you find the creased letter, but it's circumstantial evidence."
Pivoting, she did her best to flounce into the pressroom, despite her fluttering heart. Edward followed and observed while she sorted through a tray of vowels. "Someone burgled my house last night while I was at the dance."

  "What was stolen?"

  "One of my father's books."

  "I believe you know far too much about the dealings of these rebels to be considered innocent."

  She barked a laugh. "My skill at deducing what's missing from my house makes me suspect. How logical. What if I said two Spaniards came banging on my door in the middle of the night?"

  "Spaniards." An edge cut his voice. "What did they want?"

  "Will St. James. My loaded pistol convinced them to conduct their business in broad daylight." Shutting the tray, she turned to him and deposited an "e" in his hand. "Here's the evidence with which I may be damned."

  His hand closed about the letter. "I hate arresting you, but you've been a passive accomplice in rebel operations."

  "He's my father. Am I supposed to betray my own blood?"

  "Your 'own blood' has vanished and allowed you to be implicated in his stead."

  She unclamped her teeth. "I presume you've arrested those who assisted my father at printing?"

  "Unfortunately not. After being questioned, they've not admitted to wrongdoing."

  And they had no circumstantial evidence against them. Enraged that culpability for rebel operations had fallen on her, she wondered if she could shift the blame where it belonged. "How may I prove my innocence?"

  He wrapped the "e" in cloth, tucked it in his waistcoat pocket, and withdrew a small piece of paper. It bore a scrawled list of numbers beginning seventeen, four, twenty-five, sixteen, forty-nine, eleven. "Does this mean anything to you?" She shook her head. "It's a cipher intended for your father."

  "How do you know that? And where did you find it?"

  He ignored her questions. "Our expert on codes has yet to break it." He handed her the paper. "Decode it within a day. Give me your word that you'll not try to escape, and I shall let you remain under house arrest while you're working on it."

  She gaped in dismay from the numbers to him. "What makes you think I can succeed where your expert failed?"

  "You know your father better than we do. Your success will convince me of your innocence and exonerate you. Otherwise, I must escort you to jail."

  "But you still haven't told me how you know the cipher was intended for my father. How do I know you aren't just sending me on a fool's errand?"

  His voice quieted. "Trust me. I'm allowing you house arrest, and that involves considerable trust on my part."

  She comprehended the risk he took. No one had made that kind of sacrifice for her. Softness unfolded in her soul. "I appreciate your trust. I shall give it my best endeavor and not attempt escape." She paused. "But don't ciphers require a key?"

  "Indeed." He motioned her to follow him back out into the shop. Along the way, she wondered how the pressroom fireplace had come to look so tidy overnight. Near Fairfax, Edward faced her. "The key to this cipher is in a book by Saint Augustine."

  Sophie's jaw dangled. "Confessions? Why, that's the very book stolen last night! If you wish me to succeed, you must find a copy of that exact edition for my use. I doubt anyone in Alton has such material. You might have luck in Augusta."

  "Lieutenant, give Mrs. Barton the book."

  Fairfax stared at Edward as if he misunderstood. "Sir?"

  Sophie stared at Edward, understanding at last. The softness in her soul withered to ash, and a dank sense of violation spilled into the void. Glancing to the base of the stairs, she spotted the strawberry boot print. She stared at Edward's boots: the same size. She could also count on the soldiers to extract any evidence the confiscated charred woodcut yielded. Why didn't they violate her house Friday night and arrest eight men in the act of sedition? Perhaps it was more convenient to arrest one woman on circumstantial evidence.

  Anger flooded her soul. How dared Edward do this to her?

  He passed her the copy of Confessions he'd removed from Will's nightstand. "Mrs. Barton is under house arrest."

  "Sir, I remind you of regulations concerning rebel spies —"

  "Thank you, Lieutenant. She has agreed to decode the message in exchange for the privilege of house arrest."

  "Sir, the regulations are clear. No privileges may be —"

  "You will select two suitable men and station them here, within the St. James home."

  "But, sir —"

  "Lieutenant, need I remind you of your role as my subordinate?"

  The volcano capped itself, and non-emotion resumed residence on the face of Fairfax. "Sir." He stood at attention.

  "Mrs. Barton requires no interruptions, no visitors."

  Sophie gripped the book, white-knuckled with fury. "What of my brother? Surely you know he has no dealings with rebels."

  "One ten-minute visitation with David St. James."

  "Sir."

  "And secure all firearms." Edward leaned closer to Fairfax and lowered his voice until she could barely distinguish his words. "El Serpiente was here last night looking for St. James." El Serpiente — alias for a Spanish spy? "The men chosen for this assignment must protect Mrs. Barton." Edward straightened and regarded her. "I leave you now in the capable hands of Lieutenant Fairfax." He glanced at the time on a watch from his waistcoat pocket. "I shall return for the deciphered message on the morrow at precisely eight-thirty." After a short bow, he exited out the front door.

  "You will surrender all firearms to me immediately."

  Sophie repressed a shudder at the thought of being in Fairfax's "capable" hands for a full twenty-four hours. Perhaps if she cooperated, he'd leave her alone, and she'd only have to deal with the two soldiers. "This way."

  Chapter Five

  SEVENTEEN, FOUR, TWENTY-FIVE, sixteen, forty-nine, eleven...Numbers in odd positions of the cipher increased, but those in even positions followed no pattern. Sophie decided she might as well assume the message began on page seventeen.

  If he fell in love with me, I might fall in love with him, too. Could she love a man who'd burgled her house and arrested her? Could she sleep with him? Did he love her? What did she want from him?

  Back to the cipher. At the desk in her bedroom, she copied the fourth word on page seventeen to a sheet of paper, and the sixteenth word on page twenty-five, and so on before realizing the scheme was too obvious. Next she copied first letters of words. Gibberish. She inverted the order of letters. More gibberish.

  Ensign Baldwin knocked on her door. "Mrs. Barton, your brother has arrived. Shall I admit him?"

  She sprang up and yanked open the door. "Yes, straight away." David trod upstairs, and she motioned him inside.

  He shut the door and sat on her bed. "News of your arrest is all over town. What the deuce is going on?"

  "I shall be jailed on the morrow if I don't decipher this." After showing him the cipher, she summarized the past twelve hours and finished with, "Did you see the broadside?"

  "Oh, yes, posted around Alton this morning, so townsfolk have seen it, too. Despite efforts to hush the affair, the broadside keeps reappearing. No one can catch the perpetrators."

  "What did you think of the broadside?"

  "Definitely not MacVie's best artwork." With a beguiling smile, he dodged her swipe at him. "Seriously, the full story has emerged from the Waxhaws incident. Colonel Buford invited massacre upon his men — first by refusing to surrender, then by continuing to fight after raising the white flag."

  "The fool."

  "No greater fool than Colonel Tarleton, who allowed his soldiers to hack men to pieces. Sanity has fled both sides. Your arrest confirms fears of Loyalists that the redcoats prey on their own. It also confirms the convictions of rebels that everyone's a patriot."

  She grimaced at the implication. "I don't fit the profile for a heroine. I complain far too much."

  "True, but you could still end up being a martyr."

  They locked gazes, a
nd a rare furrow appeared between his eyebrows, sign that he'd leaped from the happy-go-lucky wagon of his life into the carriage of concern. A lump formed in her throat before she rose and fumbled through papers on her desk. "So tell me, what do you make of this?"

  He shrugged at the numbers. "The old man is in over his head. Sit in his room awhile. Let him tell you what it means."

  "I cannot decipher it. I shall be jailed on the morrow."

  The furrow between his eyebrows deepened, and he stared through her. "Jailed? I've a hunch not."

  Baldwin rapped on her door. "Your ten minutes are up, Mr. St. James."

  "A hunch, you say?" she whispered.

  David rose, and the furrow disappeared, replaced with his familiar complacency. "A feeling I get when the cards are right. Players around the table change. Captain John Sheffield and Lieutenant Michael Stoddard arrived in town this morning. Hunt will be returning to England, and Fairfax will be transferred to the Seventeenth Light in South Carolina." He hugged her. "So chin up. You'll triumph."

  ***

  She ate dinner in the dining room while pondering the change in the garrison's command. Back up in her room, she paced and tried more decoding schemes, but they resulted in gibberish. She kept wondering whether Captain Sheffield would dispense with house arrest and jail her after Edward left town.

  Her patience grown short, her bedroom grown warm, she leaned out the window for a view of the town. Goats roamed loose pilfering neighbors' garden greens, and chickens flitted out of the way of two boys running a hoop in the dirt street. Wood smoke dulled the sky. Years of sun and rain had bleached the wood buildings to a uniform gray. How drab Alton looked. She pulled back inside and sat on the bed. Was Hampshire more colorful? Not that she need waste time wondering, for surely Edward's offer had become void.

  Conversation in the shop preceded the tramp of boots up the stairs, a rap on her door, and an unfamiliar man's voice. "Mrs. Barton, I must speak with you." Shoulders squared, she opened the door to a dark-haired British lieutenant in his mid-twenties, mild-featured despite a cluster of pimples on his chin. He stood at attention, looking beyond her. "Lieutenant Stoddard at your service, madam. I regret to inform you that your father met with foul play, we believe sometime between ten last night and two this morning. As neither your sister nor brother can be located this moment, we require your attendance at the scene to confirm identification of the body."