The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (5 page)

At the conclusion of tea, Sheffield
crushed Clark's hand in another handshake, kissed Betsy's hand with a
gentleness that surprised her, and held up his forefinger.
 
"Before I forget.
 
You want to know about your escort back to
Augusta on the morrow."

"Stoddard heading it up
again?"
 
Clark grinned.
 
"An excellent officer, and good company
on the road."

"Er, no.
 
The lieutenant serving beneath Major Hunt
has been concluding business in Alton since his return from Havana.
 
He leaves on the morrow for an assignment in
South Carolina."

The diplomatic mask on Sheffield's
face said that he disliked Major Hunt's lieutenant every bit as much as
Stoddard did.
 
Betsy's foreboding
escalated.
 
If she wanted to keep David's
visit secret, she saw no way she could discuss her misgivings, even with her
husband.

The captain broadened his
smile.
 
"And since you're traveling
in the same direction, it's sensible for him to head your escort.
 
I assure you he's quite capable of handling
any problems that might arise on the road.
 
In fact, I have him out investigating livestock theft this afternoon
because I know he'll get to the bottom of it, if anyone can."
 
He turned to Clark.
 
"Shall I send him over to the house
tonight to meet you?"

Clark shook his head.
 
"I'll likely run into him in the Red
Rock this evening."

"Very well.
 
I shall have your escort at the house on the
morrow at seven to return you to Augusta."

"Thank you, sir.
 
But we didn't catch his name."

"Oh, of course.
 
Fairfax is the name.
 
Dunstan Fairfax."

Chapter Four

BETSY PLOPPED HER tote on the
counter beside Arriaga's package and surveyed the shop.
 
Upstairs, her aunt hollered, "I'll be
right down!"
 
Betsy sneezed,
dismayed at clutter neither Sophie nor Will would have permitted in the print
shop.
 
Susana may have kept the
newspaper going, but in what state was the ledger?

The back door whammed open, and a
flame-haired girl trudged in.
 
She
bobbed a curtsy at Betsy, the sullen tug to her mouth vanishing.
 
"I'll tell Mrs. Greeley you're here,
Miss —?"

"I'm Betsy Sheridan, Sophie
Barton's daughter."

Her scrutiny of Betsy
deepened.
 
"Ain't I met you
before?"

And so it started, recognition of
Betsy's features.
 
"I don't think
so.
 
I've not been to Alton in a number
of years."

Susana hollered again: "Mary,
get up here this instant!"
 
The
servant hurried upstairs.

Betsy picked her way around a shop
smelling of dust and mildew.
 
Within a
minute, Susana clomped downstairs, a harried twenty-nine-year-old mother of
six, dark-haired and gray-eyed like her two older siblings.
 
Delight softened her scowl, and she blazed a
trail through stacks of newspaper for an embrace.
 
"Betsy, what a pleasure to have you here!
 
You've been away much too long.
 
Let me have a look at you.
 
My goodness, not showing at all.
 
How far along are you?"

"Just over four months."

"How do you stay so tiny?
 
Just like your mama, heaven help
her."
 
Susana sighed, pulled a
handkerchief from her pocket, and dabbed her eyes.
 
"Your poor mama and uncle, captured by those Indians.
 
I'm so worried, I can scarcely eat or
sleep."
 
She blew her nose and
crammed the handkerchief back in her pocket.
 
"I hope this nightmare ends soon and everyone comes home.
 
I've kept the press going, but I'm not the
business manager your mama is."

Betsy leaned forward for a closer
look at Susana's earlobes.
 
"Aren't
those my mother's garnet earrings?"

Susana snaked lampblack-and-varnish
stained fingers to her ears and flushed.
 
"Oh, my.
 
I was dusting her
room this morning and tried them on.
 
I
was just fancying that I was somewhere else, somewhere
exciting
.
 
No harm done, eh?"
 
She tittered, removed the earrings, stuck
them in her pocket, and craned her neck about the shop.
 
"Where's Clark?"

"Visiting the tanner on
business.
 
He'll come for supper."

"Good."
 
Susana seized her hand and towed her toward
the pressroom.
 
"I've had such
trouble with the newspaper."

Composing sticks full of type and
galleys full of composing sticks cluttered the workbenches in the pressroom,
dominated by Will's big, hand-pulled press.
 
Betsy smelled lampblack and varnish, ink for the type.
 
She stepped around a bucket of filthy rags
and pushed drawers of type into their cabinets so she could squeeze past.

"Your mama arranged so much
copy on just one page and squeezed in advertisements, too.
 
I'm not that talented.
 
Do you think I should add a second
page?"

Betsy blinked at her.
 
"It's been seven years since I helped
with a print run."
 
And she hadn't
missed it at all.
 
Printing was filthy,
grueling work.
 
"A few calculations
should show whether the increase in your expenses is worth adding a second
page."
 
Her back to the window, she
glanced at the workbench near her elbow, where Susana had composed an article,
letters arranged backwards.
 
Her brain
inverted type.
 
Someone named Reverend
Gunn had authored the article.

"I'm not good at numbers.
 
Might you help me after supper?"
 
At Betsy's gesture of acquiescence, Susana
smiled and squeezed her hand.
 
In her
peripheral vision, Betsy saw a flash of scarlet uniform on the porch.
 
The relief on her aunt's face converted to a
snarl, and she lowered her voice at the sound of the shop bell jingling.
 
"Wait here while I get rid of that
ghoul
."

After she huffed from the
pressroom, Betsy read a line from the preacher's article:
Only then shall
man be at peace with his god
.

In the shop, Susana snapped,
"We're closed for the day."

The soldier responded, "I
think not, else you'd have changed the sign in the front window.
 
I shall have a look around.
 
You're acting culpable, as if you've
something to hide."

Susana's voice rose to a
whine.
 
"I have family
visiting.
 
That's why I've closed early
today.
 
I've nothing to hide.
 
Very well, look around.
 
I lost a scissors in that rat's clutter last
week.
 
Do let me know if you find
them."

With the soldier and Susana
occupied in the shop, an impish smile seized Betsy's lips.
 
She inverted a "g" and
"d" on the stick and inspected Reverend Gunn's revised message:
Only
then shall man be at peace with his dog
.
 
Animal worship.
 
Now Alton was
the exciting "somewhere" Susana longed to be.

While wiping ink off her fingers,
Betsy heard anxiety rise in Susana's voice: "Begone!
 
You've
no right
to snoop about."

"To the contrary, madam, I've
heard you express seditious sympathies.
 
My superiors are loath to imagine women acting as spies, but I'm not
handicapped by such views.
 
In light of
your family's recent activities, you'd make a perfect rebel courier."

Well, he certainly was yanking
Susana around.
 
Not that her pretentious
aunt didn't deserve a little yanking around.
 
Betsy meandered to the doorway of the pressroom, crossed arms over her
chest, and leaned against the doorjamb to watch the show.

The soldier scoured shelves, piles,
and boxes with his gaze, aware that Susana fidgeted behind him when he'd poke
in a shelf or box.
 
He'd laid his cocked
hat on the counter next to the package.
 
A plait of russet hair extended over his collar, and he sported a tan on
his hands and face.
 
Approximately
Stoddard's age and height, he moved with the confidence and solid musculature
of a man at home in his body, not like the striplings she knew in Augusta.
 
And not at all like Stoddard, either.

"How rude of you to come in
just to heckle me!"

"Just to heckle you?
 
Hardly.
 
I've a letter to post."
 
He
whipped it from his waistcoat pocket.
 
Betsy's gaze snagged on braid ornamenting his left shoulder.
 
Lieutenant.
 
So this was Fairfax, so disliked by his peers and her uncle.
 
Maybe it was his arrogance.
 
Her gaze roved his profile, and she recalled
the pimples on Stoddard's chin.
 
Not a
pimple in sight on Fairfax.

"We're closed.
 
Return at nine on the morrow for the
post."

"My dear Mrs. Greeley, I'm
charmed.
 
You've enjoyed my company
enough to detain me in Alton another day."

Betsy could almost hear her aunt's
teeth grinding.
 
She stifled a snort
while Susana rose to the bait again and snatched his letter.
 
"Then I shall post it for
you."
 
She marched around the
counter, dragged the ledger out from the shelf, and slapped it down before her,
pluming a cloud of dust into the air.

While she readied quill and inkwell
and flipped open the ledger, Fairfax laid coins on the counter.
 
His gaze strayed to the package.
 
He opened it, reached in, and seized a fistful
of the veil.
 
Betsy watched his eyes
widen with an emotion she couldn't quite fathom.
 
His lips parted, and his fingers fondled the lace like it was an
old friend, or at least an ally.
 
Cold
slithered through her stomach.

Susana completed the ledger entry
and scooped the coins into a pouch.
 
"Your letter is posted.
 
Now
begone."
 
She spied the veil in
Fairfax's hands and reached for the box.
 
"And I shall thank you to keep your hands off more of my
property."

He flung down the lace, all
expression gone from his face, and seized her wrist so hard she gasped.
 
"You've exhausted my patience with your
rebel games.
 
Shall I arrest you for
treason?"

"T-treason?
 
What have I done but record the post for
your blasted letter?
 
How is that
treason?"

He squeezed her wrist, and she
winced.
 
"The items in that box
belong to your sister.
 
She left them in
Havana.
 
How did you obtain her property
from the Spaniards?"

"I-I've never seen that
package before in my life!"

"I want the names, code names,
and nationalities of agents who made the transfer.
 
When and where is your next meeting?
 
What did they send with the parasol and veil?
 
Maps?
 
Ciphers?
 
Quickly, or I shall
haul you to jail and clap you in irons."

Choking noises issued from Susana's
throat.
 
Betsy frowned.
 
Fairfax might be a handsome enough fellow,
but he was overbearing and obnoxious.
 
She uncrossed her arms and straightened in the doorway.
 
"I'm the one who can tell you about the
package.
 
My aunt knows nothing of
it."

He released Susana and swung around
to meet her gaze with eyes the temperature of gray-green rime on the shore of
the North Sea during the Midwinter Solstice.
 
Betsy had to restrain herself from gulping and cowering as he advanced
on her.
 
Ugh.
 
The sentiments of Stoddard, Sheffield, and her aunt and uncle
weren't a mystery anymore.
 
Over his
shoulder, she saw that Susana had collapsed on a stool and begun fanning
herself.
 
Betsy lifted her chin.
 
"You must be Lieutenant Fairfax."