The Golden Flask (50 page)

"You better keep your voice down; you'll hurt Ali
son's feelings. She's the only one left in the house."

"Her feelings are incapable of being trampled, that
much is clear," said the Dutchman. "She has the spirit of a herd of wild horses, and more energy than ten boys loosed from school for the summer."

"Speaking of Alison . . ." Van Clynne immediately increased his guttural garrumphs, pulling at his beard as if to amplify the effect. "I do not think, sir, that I should be charged with minding her. It is a task without reward."

"Now how do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Your embarrassed smile quite gives you away when you are preparing to hand over an odious mission." Van Clynne sighed deeply. "The Dutch are as fond of children as any race, but I am afraid you will find me an exception to the general rule. Children and I do not mix; we are like the proverbial cruets of water and beer."

"She's clearly not a
child
any more, Claus. She seemed to grow five years in the past few days."

"Do not let the dress sway you, sir," warned van Clynne. "Many a man has been wiled into submission by the strategic swish of a skirt."

"Granted. But I know you won't be."

Van Clynne signaled his frustration by twirling his beard around his finger. "She is at a difficult age," he warned. "Fresh on the door of adulthood."

"I'm not asking you to raise her, just to take her to Culper. He's promised to find a place for her in Westchester."

"I must point out that it is quite impossible to govern the young where love is involved."

"How do you know she's in love?"

"I would think it obvious," said van Clynne, "from the way she moons about in your presence."

"My presence?"

"Absolutely."

"Nonsense. There was a boy on Long Island she fell in love with. He is a year or two younger than she, but I think it an excellent match. They will be very happy together."

Van Clynne snorted. "I tell you solemnly, sir, it's you she's interested in."

"Impossible," said Jake.

"No it's not!" Alison burst through the door from the other room, where she had stood listening to the
entire conversation. "I'm not too young for you. Many
girls my age marry."

Never on the battlefield had Jake been taken by such
surprise. He stood stunned a full minute before reply
ing.

"That's certainly true," he admitted gently, "but in this case, I think, it's more complicated."

"I shall like to watch you wrestle yourself out of this one," declared van Clynne. "I only wish I had some of
Smith's excellent ale to assist my appreciation."

"Don't you have something to do, Claus?" asked Jake.

"No. Not at all. I have already spent a full day's exer
tion . . . but perhaps I had best be getting some fresh
air." It was not the look from Jake that changed the
Dutchman's mind, but a glance from Alison twice as
murderous.

The girl flew into Jake's arms as soon as the door shut.

"I loved you from the moment you swept me up in my father's inn," she declared. "Couldn't you tell?"

"You are beautiful and brave," said the spy, his
honey-sweet tone hinting strongly at the "but" that
would follow. Well-used to breaking hearts, Jake had
given this species of speech many times. Yet rarely had
he felt this much tenderness delivering it.

"My heart is pledged to someone else," he told her,
lightly pushing her from his chest.

"Someone older?"

"Yes."

The widow Sarah Thomas would have been greatly pleased to hear this, though she would have treated the words as someone does a clipped coin, not quite at face
value. Still, they were meant sincerely. Jake might have
made an even more eloquent case, his words rivaling
many a poet's, had he explained further that before any earthly love, his life was pledged several times over to
the cause of Freedom. But even Milton's tongue would
have had no more effect on Alison than the simple
shake of Jake's head when she asked if she might not
change his mind.

"You must go with Claus to the city," Jake ordered.
He pulled up his coat and prepared for her rebuttal and was greatly surprised when none came.

"All right," she said meekly. "You win. Let me just go and gather my things."

Jake narrowed his eyes as she left the kitchen to go
upstairs. Nonetheless, he trusted the Dutchman would
be more than a match for her. He himself had a great deal to do if he was going to finish this little puzzle.

Chapter Forty-two

Wherein, a happy coincidence procures a truce.

“
J
ake promised I could
stay with him!”

Van Clynne shook his head as violently as if he were
warding off a bee. "At least use more art in your lies.
He charged me with taking you to Culper not ten min
utes ago." The Dutchman puffed out his cheeks and
set his hands at his belt, standing in the middle of what
passed for the small house's great room. As soon as
Jake had left, Alison had run down the stairs, veering
from the front hallway when she saw it filled by van
Clynne. She had then installed herself in a wooden chair, obviously reluctant to accept the Dutchman as her guide.

"I saved his life," said Alison sharply, curling her arms against the wooden Windsor chair as if van
Clynne would try to physically pull her up. "And this is
how I am repaid?"

"I might make the same claim several times over,"
agreed the Dutchman. "Gratitude has become a lost
art. Nonetheless, you and I must attend to our mission.
The lieutenant colonel has charged us with our roles, and as he often says, an expedition has but one leader."

The phrase proved considerably more persuasive
than van Clynne had hoped, as the girl stopped sulking and nodded her head — slowly, to be sure, but nonethe
less in the direction which indicates agreement. She unfurled her arms and rose from the chair meekly, walking across the braided rug to join him.

"We must set out immediately," said van Clynne,
suspicious but nonetheless anxious to get started. "I know of a man not far from here who will take us
across the river at a quite reasonable price. Along the
way, we may be able to find ourselves a better breakfast than what we have been provided."

"I approve," said the girl so quickly you would have
thought she was offered a chance to buy Manhattan for
a bushel full of trinkets. "I had only a few bites of onions."

"Consider yourself lucky," said van Clynne, turning
toward the door.

"You didn't like my cooking?"

"There was not enough of it," he said hastily. "You
see the deprivations a soldier is treated to. You will be
much more comfortable with Culper at the coffeehouse; food will be plentiful, and you may get your
spying done between helpings of meat and potatoes, as
it were."

"You're right," said the girl. But as she reached the threshold to the hallway foyer, she put her hand to her
stomach and groaned heavily. "Oh, I think the onions are acting up."

"Are you sick?"

"No, I just — is there a chamber pot handy? Quickly!"

"Of course, child. Right in the kitchen cupboard, I
believe, empty and clean."

"I will be all right in a moment," she said. "If you will excuse me."

Van Clynne nodded but followed along back to the
kitchen. He was not so unschooled as to believe the
stomach ache would not disappear the moment he was
out of sight.

"You're not coming in to watch, I hope," she groaned, nearly bending.

It was so powerful a performance that van Clynne retreated, closing the door behind him. He returned in
an instant, however, setting a jar at the edge of a foot
stool where it would be knocked over when the door was opened. He then hurried outside to guard the room's only window.

Nearly ten minutes passed with no sign of Alison.
Worried that he had overlooked some contingency, the
squire took a peek inside the window and found the room was empty. Unsure if she had made her exit or
was merely hiding, he propped his hat at the bottom of
the window to make it appear as if he were sitting be
low. Then he ran back inside to find his stool and jar
precisely as he had placed them.

"How in God's name did you manage this, child?"
he asked aloud as he surveyed the empty room. "You
have not gone out the door, and the window is still closed fast."

Van Clynne spotted the pantry closet at the side of
the fireplace. Smiling to himself, he tiptoed forward, undid the latch as quietly as possible, then pulled the
door open with a sharp flick of his wrist.

"A-ha," he shouted to the cobwebs.

After considerable beard tugging, the Dutchman de
cided there must be some secret panel inside this cupb
oard, perhaps beneath the floorboards.

"This is what comes of teaching children letters at an
early age," he complained as he bent to examine them.
"I have no doubt her parents were indulgent, and allowed her to read poetry at will. I would not be surprised if she had been given Shakespeare in her crib."

No sooner had van Clynne uttered these words than
he heard a distinct creaking sound behind him. He
whirled and just managed to grab Alison as she tried to
spring from the pie safe out the nearby door.

"You're ripping my dress," complained Alison. "Let
go."

"You and I must reach an agreement," said the Dutchman, "whereby we are no longer enemies. Other
wise, I shall lock you in chains and have you carried
on a mule all the way to the coffeehouse."

"I won't go to the coffeehouse," she said. "They're
going to pack me off to upper Westchester, where my
only excitement will be counting robins in a nest. I shall
never be of any use to the Cause." Alison placed her hands on her hips and spoke in as plaintive a voice as
ever Athena used to calm her father Zeus's famous
rages. "How am I to stand for our enslavement by the English? Should not everyone do his or her duty ac
cording to their ability? And if their efforts are not used, will the Cause not suffer? Are not women to be
the equal of men in this new republic? Otherwise, why
fight at all?"

"Well spoken; I begin to wonder if perhaps you have
some Dutch blood in you." Van Clynne stroked his
beard thoughtfully. "But serving as a soldier would not
be a good use of your talents, even if you could pass as
a young man," he added. "You are too free-spirited for
all that drilling and standing in line."