The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (29 page)

Joshua waved them on.
 
"Don't just stand there.
 
See if anyone's in.
 
We shall watch the horses."

They climbed the steps, and Betsy
knocked at the door.
 
No one
answered.
 
Tom knocked loudly.
 
Still with no response from within.
 
They found the door unlocked and entered.

A lack of dust inside implied the
house hadn't gone long unoccupied.
 
She
plunged forward around furniture.
 
"Clark?
 
Clark, are you in
here?
 
It's Betsy and Tom!"

Tom slid open a drawer in the
workbench.
 
"His tools.
 
They must plan for him to occupy the
house."

"Looks that way.
 
Hello?
 
Hello, is anyone home?"
 
She
opened a drawer from the wardrobe and heaved a sigh of relief.
 
"My shifts, petticoats, jackets,
stockings."
 
After a pause, she
began lifting out each piece.
 
"I
don't know when Clark's coming back, but I need clean clothing now."

"Take it."
 
He shook out a canvas sack and handed it to
her.
 
As soon as she'd stuffed in all
her clothing and her extra pair of shoes, he walked the sack out to Joshua.

The bottom drawer still held
Clark's shirts, breeches, and waistcoats.
 
She ran her fingers over them and fancied she smelled the faint citrus
of his soap.
 
With each breath, longing
for their life in Augusta ached through her ribs.

"May I help you, madam?"

With a jump, she turned to the foot
of the stairs.
 
A heavyset, blond man in
his thirties regarded her, a huge gold ring emblazoned with a family crest
gleaming upon his right forefinger.
 
Lace at his throat and wrists failed to soften the chill in his pale
blue eyes.
 
She swallowed, shut the
drawer, and straightened her shoulders.
 
"Where did you get this furniture?"

"Perhaps I should be the one
asking the questions.
 
You have, after
all, entered my house unbidden."
 
Somewhere in that perfect English of his lurked the trace of an accent.

"We knocked.
 
Several times.
 
No one came to the door."

"Common courtesy dictates that
you return at another time when the occupant is receiving guests."
 
He twirled a silver-handled ebony walking
stick and pointed it toward the door.

She lifted her chin, aware that Tom
had returned and hovered in the doorway.
 
"I hardly need the courtesy.
 
This furniture is mine, stolen from my home in Augusta, Georgia a week
ago."

An aristocratic gust of entitlement
escaped him on a frosty smile.
 
"I
purchased it from an estate sale in Charles Town back in June."

She frowned, as much perturbed by
his arrogance as her own inability to place his origins.
 
"You may have spent your coin on it,
but I assure you a crime was committed.
 
It's my stolen furniture.
 
I found
my clothing in this drawer and that of my husband in the drawer below it.
 
His tools lie in that drawer over
there.
 
And I'm certain my grandmother's
china is somewhere in this house, along with our bed and dining room
table."

"To whom would madam report
this crime?"
 
He dabbed a perfumed
handkerchief across sweaty eyebrows.
 
"Madam wishes to see my receipt for this furniture, perhaps?"

He had her there.
 
If she told the redcoats, the entire story
would unravel.
 
She'd land in jail.
 
"Where is my husband, John Clark Sheridan?"

"I do not know such a
person."

Frustration swept her past good
manners.
 
"Pretend you're stupid, then.
 
Clark told me the Ambrose spy ring was
multinational.
 
You most certainly are
not a colonist.
 
Nor are you British,
French, or Spanish, but from your sunburn and obvious discomfort with Carolina
heat, I wager the summers are quite cool where you call home."

His eyes widened just a bit and
glittered with menace on her.
 
Angered,
she plunged on.
 
"Perhaps you know
Clark by some code name, not unlike the code names Isaac Sheridan and Samuel
Taylor.
 
Is the entire ring in hiding
now?
 
Camden's a dangerous town for you
these days.
 
After all, if assassins
from the powerful Rightful Blood can be flayed alive, you never know when one
of your own allies might be murdered."

"Camden is also a dangerous
town for those who pry where they have no business.
 
Leave this house and do not return."

Betsy glowered.
 
"Deliver a message to my husband.
 
Inform him I'm here and have grown annoyed
at chasing him around the colonies.
 
He
knows where to find me."
 
She
stomped from the house.
 
Tom exited
after her and shut the door.

Shadows of evening engulfed the
house where her belongings resided, beyond her ability to recover for the
time.
 
Damn the Ambrose spy ring.
 
Damn the British, too.
 
Camden wasn't half as colorful as it had
seemed that afternoon.

Chapter Twenty-Three

JOSHUA DISMOUNTED AND helped Betsy
off Lady May.
 
"I fancy you flung
the gauntlet back there."

"You fancy correctly.
 
He claimed he bought my furniture in Charles
Town and denied knowing Clark."

Seven blond-haired, big-boned
Jägers rode up before the Leaping Stag in a cloud of dust and bombast:
"Out aff zhe vay!"

Betsy led her horse down the
crowded hitching post with Tom and Joshua, then stared at the rosy-cheeked
Jägers, swaggering to the door of the tavern.
 
"Tom!
 
He's German!"

"Of course.
 
Jägers are German."

"No, that obnoxious macaroni
at the house.
 
Did you hear his
accent?
 
He looked and sounded like
those Jägers.
 
He's German."

"German?"
 
Joshua frowned.
 
"That makes no sense.
 
Germans are allied with the redcoats.
 
Spaniards stole your furniture."

"If a faction of Spaniards
ignores Spain's alliance with France and sends out assassins, a faction of
Germans could be working with the Continentals and the Spanish."

"Uhhhh, Betsy."
 
Tom grabbed his head as if it hurt.
 
"My head is spinning with too many plots
and intrigues."

Joshua clasped her shoulder.
 
"You're grasping at straws.
 
Slow down.
 
You may have spoken foolish words back there, at that house on King
Street."

"I don't care.
 
I want my furniture back!"
 
She bit at a quiver of impotence and loss in
her lower lip.
 
"I want my husband
back.
 
And I want my
life
back."

"I doubt you'll ever get back
the life you had in Augusta."

She gaped at him, her doubts
escalating, and squashed down panic.
 
She'd given chase because she loved Clark.
 
But at every juncture, he receded from her.

Joshua softened his tone.
 
"The answers won't come easily, I
fear.
 
The Ambrose ring is crafty.
 
Each member has at least two identities.
 
Perhaps that fellow at the house pretended a
German accent, just to keep you pondering why Germans would steal your
furniture."
 
He released her.

Tom took her hand and pulled her
around to face him.
 
"On the
morrow, I shall accept the situation with Gamble and Wade.
 
They're right off King Street.
 
It will give me the opportunity to keep an eye
on your furniture and that fellow at the house."
 
When she hung her head, he squeezed her hand.
 
"Let's not draw more attention to
ourselves.
 
It may chase the Ambrose
ring away."

"I know it's frustrating, but
listen to Tom."
 
Joshua kissed her
forehead.
 
"And listen to your
stomach, because if it sounds like mine, it's empty of trail rations and ready
for a meal."

Suspend the search.
 
Wait passively.
 
Betsy grimaced.
 
How she
hated passivity.

***

The slave placed a second
two-inch-thick filet mignon on Tom's empty plate, and he swigged red wine.
 
"I'm not a prolific letter writer.
 
I should have responded to Uncle Isaac three
months ago, when he first proposed the partnership.
 
We were so busy in Augusta, and there was that fuss over the
capture of Charles Town.
 
I didn't think
he'd move on to Cousin Edwin's in New York, just as I never dreamed my house
would burn.
 
But here we are in Camden,
and no Uncle Isaac, and no home, and Betsy's with child."

"You're with child?"
 
Emma, her face flushed from wine, smiled at
Betsy and fanned herself.
 
"How
wonderful, dear.
 
I'm envious.
 
You aren't showing yet.
 
When will the baby arrive?"

Betsy ignored the soft grunting
sounds from her right, where Emma's middle-aged husband, Abel, packed away a
third filet.
 
Where did the scrawny
fellow find room for it?
 
"By
Yule."

"Will you follow your Uncle
Isaac to New York, then?"

Tom shook his head and swallowed a
chunk of steak that would choke a mountain lion.
 
"With this war, further travel is out of the question.
 
I start work with Gamble and Wade on the
morrow."

"A prestigious firm.
 
How fortuitous."
 
From the way Tom squirmed in his chair,
Betsy realized her cousin was toying her foot with his beneath the table.
 
Emma folded her fan and leaned toward her
husband, offering him a view of her cleavage.
 
"Don't you think so, Abel dear?"

His mouth full of buttered rice and
string beans, dark-haired Abel grunted a noncommittal response.
 
Then he returned to the steak without so
much as a glance at Emma's bosom.

Because Tom had just plugged his
mouth with more steak, Betsy picked up the conversation.
 
"Naturally we cannot afford a house
yet.
 
Might you recommend a rental
arrangement?"

Emma crossed her arms on the table
and pressed forward, offering a view that neither Tom nor Joshua declined.
 
"Housing is scarce these days, with the
Army camped a mile north in Log Town.
 
Of course —"
 
She grew
thoughtful and sipped her wine.
 
"We could let you rent the room you three are sharing
tonight."
 
Her expression
enlivened.
 
She put down her goblet to
wiggle forward again, breasts bulging her bodice.
 
"I've a fabulous idea.
 
You and Tom may live in the room rent- and board-free if Betsy will help
with the business."

Hope sprang to Betsy's heart.
 
She longed to be useful.
 
"Why, of course.
 
I'm excellent with accounting, and —"

"I perform the
accounting."
 
Except for mumbled
greetings during pre-supper introductions, the words were Abel's first.

"All by yourself, sir?
 
It must be an ordeal with so robust a
business.
 
I managed all the books for
our business in Augusta, and I assure you that —"

"Perhaps you didn't understand
me, madam.
 
No one touches the books
except me."
 
His voice rose on the
"me."
 
He glared at her,
bloody beef skewered on his knife.

The stares of Tom and Joshua echoed
Betsy's astonishment.
 
Emma warbled out
a laugh and stroked her husband's forearm, and he resumed his aggression toward
his steak.
 
"There, there, dear.
 
Of course she understood.
 
She was merely trying to be
helpful."
 
Emma smiled at her
guests.
 
"Abel always has been very
protective of the finances.
 
I'm ever so
much better suited to managing the 'people' portion of the business."
 
She twitched her nostrils at Tom.
 
"We've the perfect arrangement, you
see."