The Golden Flask ps-3

by Jim DeFelice

  "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

  Wherein, Jake and Alison exchange pleasantries with a most notorious Tory

  .

  It would please the reader, no doubt, to hear the Tory and his English brother-in-law described as carbuncled monsters, with hair tangled into snake tails and eyes the shape of melons squashed by winter's chills. Such was not the case. The men who stood barring the entrance to the room were both handsome and well built, not quite as tall as Jake, though still of more than average height. They were naturally well dressed in the latest London fashions; it was impossible to tell from their suits which man had recently come from England and which had spent nearly his whole adult life in America. Indeed, even their features were somewhat similar, with high eyebrows, smallish noses and chins that might have been cut from wood blocks.

  The scowl on Clayton Bauer's face was quite distinctive, however. It led him through the room with the ferociousness of a boar rousted from a lair.

  "What nonsense are you talking, Patricia? Going across the lines to the rebels?"

  "I've just been trying to talk her out of it, sir," said Jake, standing.

  "And who the devil are you? Announce yourself, man."

  Jake wondered if Bauer might recognize him. They had been introduced once before, but fortunately he had been disguised at the time. Still, Jake's recent adventures might have spread his true description around, and it would not have to travel far to reach Bauer.

  "Jake Stone is my name."

  "Search him. And the boy."

  "That won't be necessary," said Jake, Washington's pass burning a hole in his side. He reached into his belt and pulled out the Segallas, handing it to Bauer for his inspection. "This is the only weapon I carried when I escaped from Jersey. Unfortunately, it is fouled. Excuse me, Lady Patricia." Jake turned and undid his shirt to open the money belt's pouch and remove the forged letter from Franklin. "I am assigned to General Bacon. The boy is the son of another agent. He died, unfortunately, on the opposite shore, and I did not think it just to leave the lad to the mercies of the rebels. They nearly killed us in any event as we made our escape."

  Bauer, who fairly winced at the mention of Bacon, grabbed the letter and read it skeptically. "This is from William Franklin, and says nothing."

  "What do you wish it to say?" Jake shot back. "Should it invite General Washington to hang me?"

  "Mister

  Washington," answered Bauer. The insult was a common one.

  Jake ignored it, taking the letter back. "I thank you for your hospitality; General Bacon will no doubt be pleased."

  Jake had not chosen the name idly. Bauer and Bacon were more rivals than allies and scarce exchanged pleasantries, much less information or agents. It might even occur to Bauer that Jake had been sent here by Bacon to spy on him.

  On the other hand, an agent of Bacon's would know he could find at least shelter here. Bacon would be expected to provide the same to one of Bauer's men, and had done so recently.

  The Tory made a motion, and the redcoat who had clamped a hand on Alison's shoulder — a very dangerous hand, given its proximity to her chest — immediately withdrew to the side of the room.

  "You look familiar," Bauer said to Jake.

  "I have a cousin who lives in this city," he answered. Jake gave a sign with his head to Alison that she should follow him out the door, but when he turned to go, he found the way blocked by Bauer's arm.

  "Stay and finish your tea."

  "Coffee," said Lady Patricia. "He is allergic to tea."

  "You sound more and more like a rebel, sir."

  "I know from personal experience that most rebels drink tea, given the choice," said Jake. He was indeed correct.

  Lord William Buckmaster had lost interest in Jake. Going to his wife, he stroked her arm gently. "What is this about your going to Washington, dear?" he asked. Jake discerned in his manner a timid, almost wincing approach to life that confirmed the hints his wife had made. His peerage had been inherited indeed.

  "If it will get us news about Thomas, I would go to the devil himself."

  "An apt metaphor," spat Bauer.

  Jake thought it wise to let the fresh insult to Washington pass. He gripped Alison's arm tightly, in case she had a different opinion, and once again started toward the door.

  "We haven't been able to get information any other way," said Lady Patricia, tears welling in her eyes. "You were turned away again this morning, I can tell. Why else would you have returned so soon?"

  "We were not turned away," said Bauer. "The
re was simply no one to receive us, as I predicted. Sir William's staff has all gone with him to the ships. The adjunct general and the city administration were very sympathetic."

  "But of no use."

  "Patricia, don't fret now." Bauer took her arm as gently as her husband had. His voice, too, had softened; clearly he doted on his younger sister. "We will call on William's cousin tonight and take him with us to the theater. There's an old Farquhar comedy; it will be a diversion. And if the engineering office can help us in any way, its entire resources will be thrown open to us."

  "But he is just a child."

  "They may have contacts that will be useful to us. Believe me; they have done work for me before. In any event, you deserve to take your mind off your son tonight. The theater here is quite good, despite what you've heard in London."

  Lady Patricia ignored him, turning instead to Jake. "You are with General Bacon's staff. Cannot you help us?"

  "I am not with his staff, merely in his service," said Jake. "I am afraid that I would not even recognize the general if I fell over him. You probably know better than I where he is."

  Bauer scowled, returning to the business at hand. "And where have you escaped from? Why did you swim across the river to my house?"

  "I did not swim across the river. Our boat was fired on. Only luck brought us here. Lady Patricia found us on the beach."

  "Like drowned rats," she said.

  "I thought Sir Henry used only Englishmen. Your accent seems native."

  Jake shrugged. "There I cannot enlighten you. I have already said too much."

  "If you worked for me, I would have you flogged for giving yourself away so easily. A rebel could win news of your entire mission in an hour."

  "Come, Clayton, you are being much too harsh with the man," said Lord Buckmaster. "He is your guest."

  "You are not used to the habits of our shores or this war, brother," said Bauer. "Please allow me to do my business, as I would allow you to do yours."

  His lordship took the rebuke mildly.

  "Come, Al, it is time for us to leave," said Jake, pulling her hand.

  "Yes, father."

  "You needn't call me father anymore."

  "He, at least, knows the business," remarked Bauer.

  Jake grimaced. "We will have someone return your clothes tomorrow. I thank you most kindly for them."

  He bowed to Lord and Lady Buckmaster before aiming for the door. The redcoat guards gave Bauer a glance, and for a moment Jake feared he was going to order them to carry out the forgotten search, if only to show that Bacon's agents were not above his own.

  But he said nothing. Jake was able to guide Alison swiftly from the room to the front door without further interruption.

  "Was that close?"

  "Very."

  Jake and Alison had by now walked a half-mile from the mansion, entering upon Bloomingdale Road. The city was still a long way south.

  "I could not tell from your face that we were ever in danger," said Alison. "You must be a very good liar."

  "I assume that was meant as a compliment." Jake stopped and retrieved Washington's pass from his belt. Making sure no one was nearby, he ripped it to shreds and then kicked a few pieces into holes he dug with the heel of his borrowed shoe. He fluttered a few others in small bits on the opposite side of the road, and scattered the rest near a tree trunk.

  " Washington's letter!" exclaimed Alison.

  " Had they found it, we would be guests of honor at a gibbet party," said Jake. "Come on now, do you feel up to running? I'd like to put some more distance between us and our late hosts."

  "I can run as fast as you, I reckon," said Alison, dashing ahead.

  They ran a good distance together, Jake trying to show her by his example that she must pace herself like a horse, aiming for a long stride and gradual progress. She was strong, there was no question about it, and energetic no matter her sex. They managed nearly a mile before losing their wind, and she did not tire until Jake did.

  "Tell me about General Washington," said Alison as they sat to rest on the side of the road. "What is he like?"

  "As tall as me, but much older."

  "That isn't much of a description."

  "He has white hair and a square face."

  "But what is he like? How does he talk? How does he lead his men?"

  "That is hard to say. He is like a father to us. One moment he seems kindly and gentle, the next hard and aloof. He is always pushing himself forward and cheering us."

  "But I have heard — "

  Jake jerked his elbow into her side to quiet her as he spotted the black helmets of British grenadiers just rounding the bend ahead. The patriots resumed walking at once, Alison grabbing her side with some discomfort.

  The British soldiers took no notice of them.

  "Why did you hit me?" she asked when they were once more alone.

  "They would have seen if I had grabbed your mouth. You talk too loud."

  "Ha! Listen to yourself."

  "Come now, we are not in the clear. Remember where we are."

  They proceeded mostly in silence the rest of the way to New York, passing through various patches of British encampments, many empty. Though he knew there would be considerable men at King's Bridge, and more on Long Island, Jake wondered if an attempt to regain the city might not be profitable. Its proximity to the water meant it could easily be reinforced by the British ; still, there was great value in striking a blow to the enemy's morale.

  These and similar thoughts occupied the patriot spy as he headed toward Rivington's coffeehouse at the very heart of what was now the Loyalist capital. As for Alison, it was obvious that she had never been in the city. She stared with wide-eyed awe at the large and grand buildings as they appeared, most especially the English church, whose walls stood with careful grace above the adjoining mall, despite the congregation's politics. The gardens, too, had been tended despite the war, and the melange of colors and smells both pleasing and noxious nearly made the girl faint.

  "Here," said Jake when they finally reached the coffeehouse door. "No matter what happens, you are to keep your mouth quiet."

  "But — "

  "No matter what happens! The British will hang me, and you as well, if we are caught. You are to wait here exactly a minute, then come in. If it appears that I am in trouble, stay far away from me. There is a man named Bebeef with an apothecary shop in the First Ward. If I am captured, you are to seek him out and say I am your friend. He is a druggist and a philosopher and a great friend of mine; he will shelter you. Stay out of Canvas Town, no matter what anyone tells you. And under no circumstances — none — are you to follow me to jail. Do you understand?"

  The girl nodded soberly.

  Jake took a full breath. He never knew whether he would be recognized or not here, and what the consequences might be.

  "Take care of yourself," he said solemnly, patting Alison's shoulder as if it might be the last time he saw her. Then he pasted a smile on his face and plunged inside.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wherein, fake is accused of being a deadbeat, then asked about his German.

  Rivington, as any reader of our country's journals will know, is the notorious editor of the lying rag proclaiming King George Ill's vicious slanders against his former subjects. He is the same printer who published the infamous notes from the Westchester farmer at the beginning of hostilities, and a man who has done much to proclaim the word of tyranny throughout the continent. While it will be admitted that Rivington has also printed the occasional reply from the patriot party — including one penned by Alexander Hamilton — there are few in America and none in England who doubt his loyalty to the king.

  Yet how to explain that, in opening the coffeehouse, he has entered into a partnership with Culper? How to explain that it is one of the best gathering places for the patriot spy network, and that even as Jake entered, three different pairs of patriot eyes noted his presence?

  Some questions are
better left unanswered, at least for now. Suffice to say that Jake quickly found himself approached not by a mere waiter, but by Culper himself. The spymaster wore a reddened mask of gouty displeasure, and sailed at Jake as a crusader descending on the Saracens.

  "You, sir," he announced in a voice that scattered the pigeons nestling on the roof outside, "out of establishment this instant! We will serve none of your kind here!"

  "I always pay my bill promptly," sniffed Jake in return, not sure entirely what way the game was to be played.

  "Not so readily as you claim. Out — and take the servants' entrance. I wouldn't want people of repute to see you."

  "I resent the insult."

  "Do you deny that you owe me past ten pounds?"

  Jake glanced past Culper and saw Mark Daltoons standing near the side of the back hall. Daltoons, a young officer assigned to assist the city spies, was undoubtedly waiting to conduct him to a safer place.

  "Perhaps we could make an arrangement," Jake offered, glancing around the room. "I am to come into money soon."

  His glance had the effect of warning off a few of the more easily embarrassed patrons. "I must take the boy with me," said Jake in a whisper. "The lad in the tan vest without a hat just now coming through the door."

  "I will retrieve him," promised Culper beneath his breath. "If you have coins," he said loud enough for the room to hear, “you may meet me in the kitchen. If not, do not darken my hallway any longer."

  Jake was already heading for Daltoons. Tall and thin, with stained apron and unsmiling countenance, the fake waiter gave the most discreet of nods before disappearing into the back. Jake followed moodily; inside the hallway, he discovered an open panel and slipped through, landing uneasily on a twisting staircase.

  Closing the door behind him meant enshrouding himself in a thick, dank darkness. He descended slowly, and counted five steps when he was suddenly grabbed from behind.