by Jim DeFelice
"I was just going to warm myself at the fire," said Jake. "I still feel damp."
"The dining room is quite warm, being bathed by the sun through the glass."
Jake allowed himself to be led to the room, slipping the pass inside his shirt as he walked. Alison was being waited on by Lady Patricia herself near the bank of rear windows. A full breakfast sat in silver trays and servers at the center of the small, round table used only on informal occasions. A much larger table, not quite fully extended with its leaves, dominated the rest of the room.
"I would love some more tea, thank ye, m'lady."
"I see you found your way here, Al."
"Hello, father. Lady Patricia has made us such a wonderful breakfast."
"The cook made the breakfast," announced Lady Patricia. "But it's my pleasure to serve you. My brother is a bachelor, and during these rough days there is no proper hostess besides myself. He has only the cook and his man George, besides the constant company of guards. Most of them are gone to the city with him."
"That's not necessary," said Jake as she pulled out his chair. "I think it improper to be waited on by a woman of your station."
"Oh, I shall not pour your tea for free. My son was at Princeton; I would like to know what you know of that battle."
Jake's blue eyes reflected the calmness of a summer day, but inside, he stormed. The spy had been employed to gather intelligence and had played a role in the battle; he wondered for a moment if this beautiful British woman might somehow know that.
But something in her face belied such artifice.
"Sit down, sir," she said. "Please. You are famished, and I would like the company."
She touched his sleeve gently.
"We are not entirely who we seem," he warned her, still standing. "Though I cannot give you every detail."
"I did not think you were Al's father. Stay and have breakfast. Do you want some tea?"
Coffee, if you please. Something in me is allergic to tea, and I get a choking reaction."
"You should have that examined."
"I have, and apparently the cure is too dear." Jake touched his throat apologetically, then changed the subject as she nodded for the servant to fetch a pot. "The boy is a neighbor who sometimes proves useful. Unfortunately, the story he told of his house being burned is true. His real father perished in the flames."
"And you saved him?"
"I plucked Al from the fire, but could not rescue his father."
He glanced at Alison. She had a grimace on her face, and he could see her pinching her fingers together, as if to keep from saying anything.
As for Lady Patricia, it was clear that his hints had satisfied her, at least temporarily. She knew her brother was involved in spying against the Americans for the British, and would naturally jump to the conclusion that Jake was as well.
And something more. He brushed his hand over hers gently as he sat in the chair, and saw the light, brief flick of her eyelids.
"I know almost nothing of Princeton," he said, pulling himself to the table.
It was a moment before she gave him an embarrassed smile and sat herself. "Come now, surely you know something of the rebels who slew my son."
"Why do you think he was killed?"
"I — " Her lip quivered for a brief second before she regained her control. "Even Lord Cornwallis held little hope. The rebels have not asked for an exchange."
"That does not mean anything," said Jake. "They are not so organized that they would be able to respond quickly to inquiries, let alone take the initiative."
"That is something," she said, but it was clear she would no longer allow herself to believe her son might have survived. "Are they brave, at least? However misguided?"
"I would allow as the rebels are brave," said Jake carefully. "Their leader, General Washington, is certainly a noble man."
"You are the first person here with the courage to say so." She took the fine porcelain tea cup before her and held it to her lips, sipping as delicately as a fawn licks water from a stream. The servant, meanwhile, returned and served him. The cook had come from Pennsylvania, and her skill with scrapple was unsurpassed. Despite a token effort at restraining himself, Jake greedily gobbled two slices of the crisp fried pork mush without pausing for a breath. Sage and marjoram added to the flavor, and he had to control himself to keep from reaching for the last piece left on the ornate silver platter before him.
"Pardon my asking," said Jake when he was full, "but it is rare that we are visited by a noblewoman."
"My husband is indeed a peer, but you must remember, his position is inherited. We are not one of the haughty families your papers write of."
"Still . . ."
Lady Patricia smiled. "We are of some influence, and we live comfortably," she allowed. "But you notice no train of servants, nor rich jewels at my throat."
"You sound almost like a Whig," said Jake.
"You are of the King's Party?"
"I would not think to find many rebels on these shores any more. Would you, Al?"
"Not at all, father."
"Still sticking to your original story?" Lady Patricia asked her pointedly. Alison pretended not to hear her, just as she had pretended not to hear Jake admit he was not her father. "There are many spies who show up at my brother's house," Lady Patricia added, turning to Jake. "Though I daresay few swim here."
"What makes you think I'm a spy? Just because I am not the boy's father, does not mean I am more than a wheelwright, which is my occupation."
"Come now, must I claim woman's intuition?"
"A woman as beautiful as you may claim anything she wants."
"There seems a bit of sauce in your reply, if I take your meaning one way."
"It may be taken any way you desire."
Lady Patricia picked up her napkin and dabbed gently at her mouth. She seemed to brush away her light manner with the cloth; it must be a well-practiced method of restraint, Jake thought.
"Lord Cornwallis said General Washington's army was nearly destroyed with the march," she said, "and it was only luck and desperation that made it succeed."
"It must be so, certainly," he answered. "But they are persistent. They fight for their homes and families."
"As you do."
"True enough."
Lady Patricia's hand shot out and took his so suddenly he was caught off guard.
"Do you think he is alive?" she asked.
"It is possible."
"How could I find out?"
And so, without even preparing for it, Jake found the way open to march to his goal. Was there a pang or twinge inside his heart at using this beautiful woman against her will, even for the good of the Cause?
"I would think that if you went directly to Sir William Howe immediately, the supreme commander might send personally after his status. But it would have to be done immediately."
"He is not in the city," said Lady Patricia. "Nor is his staff."
"I would go myself," said Alison. "You should go directly to General Washington and ask after your son."
This is what came of rescuing young girls from drowning, Jake thought. He loosed a glare at her that would wither an oak tree; if thoughts had any limbs, she would have been strangled in a trice.
"If he is the man they say he is," Alison said without taking notice, "he will seek out the truth immediately."
"Al, please."
"No, perhaps he is right. I would go, if I thought it would give me definite news, one way or the other."
"General Howe would have a much better chance," insisted Jake.
"A much better chance at what?" said a voice from the doorway.
Jake did not have to turn to realize he had overstayed his welcome. Lady Patricia's husband and brother were standing at the edge of the room — with a half-dozen well-armed and very red-coated soldiers right behind them.
Chapter Sixteen
Wherein, Jake and Alison exchange pleasantries with a most notorious Tory.
It would please the reader, no doubt, to hear the Tory and his English brother-in-law described as carbuncled monsters, with hair tangled into snake tails and eyes the shape of melons squashed by winter's chills.
Such was not the case. The men who stood barring the entrance to the room were both handsome and well built, not quite as tall as Jake, though still of more than average height. They were naturally well dressed in the latest London fashions; it was impossible to tell from their suits which man had recently come from England and which had spent nearly his whole adult life in America. Indeed, even their features were somewhat similar, with high eyebrows, smallish noses and chins that might have been cut from wood blocks.
The scowl on Clayton Bauer's face was quite distinctive, however. It led him through the room with the ferociousness of a boar rousted from a lair.
"What nonsense are you talking, Patricia? Going across the lines to the rebels?"
"I've just been trying to talk her out of it, sir," said Jake, standing.
"And who the devil are you? Announce yourself, man."
Jake wondered if Bauer might recognize him. They had been introduced once before, but fortunately he had been disguised at the time. Still, Jake's recent adventures might have spread his true description around, and it would not have to travel far to reach Bauer.
"Jake Stone is my name."
"Search him. And the boy."
"That won't be necessary," said Jake, Washington's pass burning a hole in his side. He reached into his belt and pulled out the Segallas, handing it to Bauer for his inspection. "This is the only weapon I carried when I escaped from Jersey. Unfortunately, it is fouled. Excuse me, Lady Patricia." Jake turned and undid his shirt to open the money belt's pouch and remove the forged letter from Franklin. "I am assigned to General Bacon. The boy is the son of another agent. He died, unfortunately, on the opposite shore, and I did not think it just to leave the lad to the mercies of the rebels. They nearly killed us in any event as we made our escape."
Bauer, who fairly winced at the mention of Bacon, grabbed the letter and read it skeptically. "This is from William Franklin, and says nothing."
"What do you wish it to say?" Jake shot back. "Should it invite General Washington to hang me?"
"Mister Washington," answered Bauer. The insult was a common one.
Jake ignored it, taking the letter back. "I thank you for your hospitality; General Bacon will no doubt be pleased."
Jake had not chosen the name idly. Bauer and Bacon were more rivals than allies and scarce exchanged pleasantries, much less information or agents. It might even occur to Bauer that Jake had been sent here by Bacon to spy on him.
On the other hand, an agent of Bacon's would know he could find at least shelter here. Bacon would be expected to provide the same to one of Bauer's men, and had done so recently.
The Tory made a motion, and the redcoat who had clamped a hand on Alison's shoulder — a very dangerous hand, given its proximity to her chest — immediately withdrew to the side of the room.
"You look familiar," Bauer said to Jake.
"I have a cousin who lives in this city," he answered. Jake gave a sign with his head to Alison that she should follow him out the door, but when he turned to go, he found the way blocked by Bauer's arm.
"Stay and finish your tea."
"Coffee," said Lady Patricia. "He is allergic to tea."
"You sound more and more like a rebel, sir."
"I know from personal experience that most rebels drink tea, given the choice," said Jake. He was indeed correct.
Lord William Buckmaster had lost interest in Jake. Going to his wife, he stroked her arm gently. "What is this about your going to Washington, dear?" he asked. Jake discerned in his manner a timid, almost wincing approach to life that confirmed the hints his wife had made. His peerage had been inherited indeed.
"If it will get us news about Thomas, I would go to the devil himself."
"An apt metaphor," spat Bauer.
Jake thought it wise to let the fresh insult to Washington pass. He gripped Alison's arm tightly, in case she had a different opinion, and once again started toward the door.
"We haven't been able to get information any other way," said Lady Patricia, tears welling in her eyes. "You were turned away again this morning, I can tell. Why else would you have returned so soon?"
"We were not turned away," said Bauer. "There was simply no one to receive us, as I predicted. Sir William's staff has all gone with him to the ships. The adjunct general and the city administration were very sympathetic."
"But of no use."
"Patricia, don't fret now." Bauer took her arm as gently as her husband had. His voice, too, had softened; clearly he doted on his younger sister. "We will call on William's cousin tonight and take him with us to the theater. There's an old Farquhar comedy; it will be a diversion. And if the engineering office can help us in any way, its entire resources will be thrown open to us."
"But he is just a child."
"They may have contacts that will be useful to us. Believe me; they have done work for me before. In any event, you deserve to take your mind off your son tonight. The theater here is quite good, despite what you've heard in London."
Lady Patricia ignored him, turning instead to Jake. "You are with General Bacon's staff. Cannot you help us?"
"I am not with his staff, merely in his service," said Jake. "I am afraid that I would not even recognize the general if I fell over him. You probably know better than I where he is."
Bauer scowled, returning to the business at hand. "And where have you escaped from? Why did you swim across the river to my house?"
"I did not swim across the river. Our boat was fired on. Only luck brought us here. Lady Patricia found us on the beach."
"Like drowned rats," she said.
"I thought Sir Henry used only Englishmen. Your accent seems native."
Jake shrugged. "There I cannot enlighten you. I have already said too much."
"If you worked for me, I would have you flogged for giving yourself away so easily. A rebel could win news of your entire mission in an hour."
"Come, Clayton, you are being much too harsh with the man," said Lord Buckmaster. "He is your guest."
"You are not used to the habits of our shores or this war, brother," said Bauer. "Please allow me to do my business, as I would allow you to do yours."
His lordship took the rebuke mildly.
"Come, Al, it is time for us to leave," said Jake, pulling her hand.
"Yes, father."
"You needn't call me father anymore."
"He, at least, knows the business," remarked Bauer.
Jake grimaced. "We will have someone return your clothes tomorrow. I thank you most kindly for them."
He bowed to Lord and Lady Buckmaster before aiming for the door. The redcoat guards gave Bauer a glance, and for a moment Jake feared he was going to order them to carry out the forgotten search, if only to show that Bacon's agents were not above his own.
But he said nothing. Jake was able to guide Alison swiftly from the room to the front door without further interruption.
"Was that close?"
"Very."
Jake and Alison had by now walked a half-mile from the mansion, entering upon Bloomingdale Road. The city was still a long way south.
"I could not tell from your face that we were ever in danger," said Alison. "You must be a very good liar."
"I assume that was meant as a compliment." Jake stopped and retrieved Washington's pass from his belt. Making sure no one was nearby, he ripped it to shreds and then kicked a few pieces into holes he dug with the heel of his borrowed shoe. He fluttered a few others in small bits on the opposite side of the road, and scattered the rest near a tree trunk.
"Washington's letter!" exclaimed Alison.
"Had they found it, we would be guests of honor at a gibbet party," said Jake. "Come on now, do you feel up to running? I'd like to put some more distance between us
and our late hosts."
"I can run as fast as you, I reckon," said Alison, dashing ahead.
They ran a good distance together, Jake trying to show her by his example that she must pace herself like a horse, aiming for a long stride and gradual progress. She was strong, there was no question about it, and energetic no matter her sex. They managed nearly a mile before losing their wind, and she did not tire until Jake did.
"Tell me about General Washington," said Alison as they sat to rest on the side of the road. "What is he like?"
"As tall as me, but much older."
"That isn't much of a description."
"He has white hair and a square face."
"But what is he like? How does he talk? How does he lead his men?"
"That is hard to say. He is like a father to us. One moment he seems kindly and gentle, the next hard and aloof. He is always pushing himself forward and cheering us."
"But I have heard —"
Jake jerked his elbow into her side to quiet her as he spotted the black helmets of British grenadiers just rounding the bend ahead. The patriots resumed walking at once, Alison grabbing her side with some discomfort.
The British soldiers took no notice of them.
"Why did you hit me?" she asked when they were once more alone.
"They would have seen if I had grabbed your mouth. You talk too loud."
"Ha! Listen to yourself."
"Come now, we are not in the clear. Remember where we are."
They proceeded mostly in silence the rest of the way to New York, passing through various patches of British encampments, many empty. Though he knew there would be considerable men at King's Bridge, and more on Long Island, Jake wondered if an attempt to regain the city might not be profitable. Its proximity to the water meant it could easily be reinforced by the British; still, there was great value in striking a blow to the enemy's morale.
These and similar thoughts occupied the patriot spy as he headed toward Rivington's coffeehouse at the very heart of what was now the Loyalist capital. As for Alison, it was obvious that she had never been in the city. She stared with wide-eyed awe at the large and grand buildings as they appeared, most especially the English church, whose walls stood with careful grace above the adjoining mall, despite the congregation's politics. The gardens, too, had been tended despite the war, and the melange of colors and smells both pleasing and noxious nearly made the girl faint.
