The Golden Flask (17 page)

"How did you fool him?" Jake asked when he had
gone.

"I am more clever than you think."

"Yes, well, see that being clever doesn't get us in
trouble."

"Should I close my eyes while you dress?"

"Can I trust you to keep them closed?" He didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Out the door with you."

"What if the servant comes back?"

"You'll just have to show again how clever you are.
Wait for me, and add nothing to our tale. When I con
fess everything downstairs, play along completely. Until
then, say as little as possible. You understand?"

Alison nodded solemnly — a bit too solemnly for him
to trust, but there was no alternative. Jake pushed her
out the door and quickly changed. The clothes the servant gave him were plain cotton breeches and shirt,
serviceable and well made. A new pair of stockings and
boots were also supplied; these were small and pinched
his feet, but overall the re-dressed spy saw little reason
to complain.

His Segallas was still in his belt, but as he had not had time to place it in the water-sealed lining of his
money belt, it was seriously fouled. He had no other
weapon, save his tongue and wit.

The pass from Washington was a liability. Ordinarily
he would have burnt it, but no fire presented itself.

Eat it?

As hungry as he was, Jake could not quite bear the thought. He had seen a fire flickering downstairs; he
decided to go immediately and warm himself, disposing
of the pass in the bargain.

Alison was not outside the door when Jake opened
it — not that he was very surprised. Cursing mildly to himself, he descended the stairs patiently, the wadded
pass in his hand. Jake turned into the large room
where the fireplace was and discovered the servant just
extinguishing it.

"M'lady is in the dining room, sir, with your son,"
said the servant. The accent on the word "son" made it
clear he, too, did not believe Alison's story.

"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