Ring of Secrets (41 page)

His eyes bulged all the more, and his freckles seemed to darken as his face went pale. “You intend to shoot your grandfather?”

“What?” She looked to the ceiling and shook her head. “Don't be daft, Mr. Knight. I
intend
to shoot no one, and certainly not Grandfather. But neither do I intend to quietly fold my hands and acquiesce when my life is threatened.”

“Why would your life be…?” His voice faded away when she settled her gaze on his again and held it. “Your grandfather?”

She said nothing. But neither did she shutter the thoughts rampaging through her mind.

Without moving his eyes, Mr. Knight slowly shook his head. “You can be in no other danger. You are all but engaged to Ben, arguably the wealthiest man in the city, not to mention having enjoyed the suit of Fairchild, one of the most connected officers…” His eyes went wide again. “Nay.”

Not knowing exactly what thought he couldn't accept, she nevertheless figured it could be no more dangerous than the truth. So she again made no response.

A long exhale left him deflated. “I have no weapon suitable for a lady.”

“How fortunate, then, that I am not one. Have you anything suitable for a farm girl whose father taught her everything he would have a son?”

A corner of his mouth pulled up. “I may have a pistol that would interest you. Have you ever shot one before?”

“With better aim than my father.”

He shook his head, but he pushed up from the table and went over to a cupboard against the far wall. Withdrawing a key from his pocket, he unlocked it. “Ben is going to have an interesting future with you at his side. Here, see what you think of this one.”

She waited as he withdrew a pistol and strode across the room, holding it out to her stock first. But when she gripped it, he didn't let go.

His brows were raised. “You love him?”

How could she help but smile? “I tried my best not to. I failed miserably.”

Grinning, he released the barrel. “All right, then. Does it suit?”

Winter weighed the weapon in her hand, tried the cock, and examined the fittings. “Very nice. My father had a flintlock much like this—wait. Is this barrel rifled?”

Mr. Knight shrugged. “The British remain uninterested in the design, but I fail to see why we should eschew accuracy.”

“Amazing. The cost?” She'd been putting back pin money since she arrived, and had what silver had been left at the farm besides, stored all this time with her forbidden books and pamphlets. It would surely be enough. If not for this one, then certainly for a traditional smooth-bore barrel.

Mr. Knight sighed. “Take it.”

She halted her examination, gaze flying to him. “What?”

“You heard me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked every bit as irritated as he had upon their first introduction. “I always give a reduced price to…certain sectors. Combine that with the discount I would make Ben, and it's hardly worth drawing out your purse.”

She handed the pistol to Freeman so that she might slide over to George, push up on her toes, and place a kiss on his cheek. Then she grinned at the shade of scarlet his fair face turned. “You are a good man, George Knight.”

“Well.” He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand to the back of his neck. “I don't know about all that. I have, after all, spent nigh unto a year trying to convince Ben to forget about you.”

She chuckled and backed away until she stood beside Freeman. “Given the picture I presented you, that too speaks to your character, though I am glad he did not listen.”

He nodded, and then he cast a glance toward the door opposite the one she had come in. “My father will return soon. And while he wouldn't begrudge a fine Patriot lady her right to protection, I would rather not have to explain the situation.”

“Certainly. Thank you for your help, Mr. Knight.”

He sat upon his bench once more. “May it keep you safe, your ladyship. Or may heaven help any of us in Ben's path.”

She turned and then paused. “Mr. Knight, I'm sorry for the opinion I know you thought I held of you. It was never my own, but I regret it nonetheless.”

“Think nothing of it. I never let it bother me.” He waved a hand and picked up the would-be weapon from the table.

Winter exchanged a smile with Freeman. “Bennet said you call me ‘Lady of Oh' because of the word I dismissed you with when we first met.”

“He
told
you that?” Mr. Knight snapped his head up again, though then his face creased in a smile. “All right. Perhaps it bothered me a little. But no more. So long as you make Ben happy, my lady, we have no quarrel remaining.”

She wanted to ask what he thought Bennet might do if he discovered her secrets, wanted to ask if he thought his loyalty to the Crown might weaken, or at least if he might grow more accepting of those of them with opposite views. She wanted some assurance that the last remaining barriers between her and Bennet wouldn't crush them when they fell.

But Mr. Knight wouldn't be able to give her that. So she murmured a farewell and followed Freeman out the back entrance, down the dank
alley, and into the blustery October day. It took them only a few minutes to walk to the carriage they had left a few streets over, twenty more for him to drive her home.

Eyes shut, she let the motion of the carriage lull her, the bump of wheels wake her, and her mind drift to that place halfway between thought and dream. The place where both the greatest fears and greatest hopes seemed equally possible.

Blessed God, support me by the strength of heaven, that I may never turn back
.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and Freeman jumped down to help her out. The moment her slippers touched the ground, she spotted the familiar horse in the stable before her. Colonel Fairchild must be here.

Freeman followed her gaze and frowned. “Haven't seen much of the colonel lately. I began to think he must have resigned himself to losing you to Mr. Lane.”

“I suppose he has been too busy to call, and with me gone so much at the Lanes'…”

“Mmm.” He patted his waist, where he must have secured the flintlock. “I shall find some ammunition for this after I check on Percy. Say a prayer for the boy, Winnie. Infection has set in.”

Poor Percy. “I will. And thank you.” Having no idea how long Fairchild had already been waiting, she hurried through the house's kitchen entrance and handed her cloak to a servant. “Am I needed?”

The man offered a tight smile. “In the drawing room, Miss Reeves. The colonel only arrived a few minutes ago, however, so you needn't rush overmuch.”

She saw no reason to dawdle though, so headed toward the receiving rooms. Because the door stood open, she could see Grandmother and the colonel within. Her arrival drew the attention of both, and Fairchild surged to his feet.

“There you are, Winnie dear.” Grandmother indicated Winter's usual seat. “Now you can entertain the colonel for a few moments while I attend a pressing matter. I will return shortly.”

Winter dipped her knees a bit. “Certainly, Grandmother. And good day, Colonel.”

“Good day.” Fairchild motioned to the place beside him on the couch as Grandmother left the room. “Will you sit with me, my dear?”

“Of course.” She settled on the cushion and smoothed out her skirt. She noted that handsome Isaac Fairchild seemed to have aged a decade since she had seen him last. “Have you been unwell, Colonel? You look peaked.”

His smile came off sad. “Nay, my dear, 'tis only…everything. Here. I brought these for you.” He pulled a pot of daffodils off the table and handed it to her.

She blinked at the cheerful yellow heads and wanted to cry. Fairchild's flower gifts always reflected their meaning. These stood for unrequited love as well as bright respect. “Some of my favorites. However did you find them this time of year?”

His smile went lopsided. “A hothouse. I probably should have chosen cyclamen, but these never fail to remind me of you.”

“Cyclamen?” She lowered the pot and frowned. “Why would you be saying goodbye, Colonel? Are you going somewhere?”

His gaze fell to his clasped hands and stayed there as he drew in a long breath. “Nay. But I expect you soon will be, with Ben.”

Ben
. How strange it sounded to hear them call each other by their given names, to realize it was a testament to their unlikely friendship. It would all be so much simpler without admiration and respect. If Fairchild weren't such a genuinely good man.

He ought to have given her clematis—the flower to accuse her of artifice.

“Colonel, I…” But she knew not what to say.

He shook his head. “You needn't try to make me feel better. I at least have the comfort of knowing you will marry a good man, one who loves you with all his heart. I only wish…I only wish I had spoken earlier, before you ever met him. I cannot think why I dragged my heels, except that I was so enjoying the courtship itself.”

Twice now she had heard that sentiment, first from Robbie and now Fairchild. And how could she possibly respond? Perhaps, had it happened that way, she never would have known the love she would have missed with Bennet, but as it stood now, she could not share in their regrets. And yet she could not help but regret their pain.

“I have always enjoyed your company, Colonel.” It seemed a paltry offering, but what more could she give?

His smile went a degree brighter. “And I yours. I cannot tell you
how precious it has been to have someone that would listen, who could offer sunshine and smiles in a world otherwise gray. But there is no reason we cannot all still be amiable.”

She pasted pleasant confusion on her face. “Oh, you know I am terrible with anything requiring good aim. You surely remember that time Dosia recommended an archery competition.” It had taken all her skill to hit the hat another officer had left on a table while seeming to aim at the target. “But at any rate, we can remain friendly.”

“Indeed.” As always, his smile was indulgent. “I am blessed to have such friends. But I had better not tarry long now. I left rather pressing business. A few of the whaleboaters sympathetic to the Crown have kidnapped…well, I had better not say who, but Washington will feel the loss quite acutely.”

She stood when he did, though she made sure to pay more attention to the daffodils she set upon the table than the words pounding through her mind. “Grandmother says those whaleboaters are scoundrels, the lot of them.”

“Usually, yes, though in this case we owe them a debt of gratitude.” Fairchild picked up his hat and held it at the ready to put on. “They managed to capture a particular friend of Washington's who is known to be on an assignment that would keep him away from the general's camps for months, though certainly he didn't intend to pass the time at Fort St. George. We plan to send false information of our movements using his name, with none the wiser.”

Winter turned from the flowers to smile at Fairchild. “How clever you are.” And how she prayed that information would be enough for Washington to discern who it was they had captured. Perhaps an operation would be mounted to rescue the poor man from the Long Island fort, and at the least they would know to look suspiciously on any correspondence.

“Well.” He slid his fingers along the rim of his hat. “I will let you get on with your day. And I do expect an invitation to the wedding when the time comes.”

Again, tears threatened to well. “Of course. And I thank you, Isaac, for the faithful friend you have always been.”

He only nodded, put his hat upon his head, and strode out.

What a dreadful situation. She headed out too, toward the stable
and her room beneath it. But, oh, how she hated to send this information, even as she knew she must. Roe would be in the city again tomorrow, and though she couldn't pass along the particulars she never learned, she must share this.

Still, it felt as though a giant hand squeezed her chest. Perhaps because she knew Bennet would propose soon and they would head to Connecticut, which would mean this may be her last missive as a Culper agent. Or perhaps it was because she couldn't stand knowing how she had hurt Fairchild, all because of this.

She pushed the sensation aside as she gained the stable, checked to be sure no one watched, and descended into the darkness. Duty must be done. And if she could perhaps save a life, save a cause in the process…

Nerves jangled against nerves when she got out the stain. Would she have enough? She would just have to be concise. Because the message must be sent, and it could not possibly be done with any other ink. Not given how tight security was these days, and missives already gone missing. If she dared write anything with a heat-developed…

The idea bloomed full and brought a measure of peace. She put the stain upon the table for the message to Tallmadge. And she got out her lemon water for a second one.

Twenty-Five

N
ever in his life had Ben dreaded a meeting with a lawyer as he did this one. He glanced from the bespectacled man to the clock in the corner of what had been Father's study and willed the man to get started. He had a meeting in Holy Ground to eavesdrop on in just a few hours.