Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  “You miss it.” ’Twas so obvious even empty-headed her would have seen it.

  “Very much.”

  “And do they miss you at Yale?”

  He chuckled, looking a bit more like the Bennet she had first met. “So say the letters from the president, who also happens to be a friend. He begs me to assure him I will return when the next school year commences.”

  The thought brought an unwelcome lump to her throat. She smiled past it. “And will you?”

  “I…” His mirth faded back into contemplation. “I cannot say. I hope so, if everything here is adequately resolved by then.”

  If Grandmother were here, Winter would be expected to make some comment about duties to one’s family and then to nudge the topic into his need for a wife.

  But Grandmother was not here, only Freeman trailing a fair distance behind. So instead she grinned up at him. “You know, Lizzie and I were reading a bit of science the other day.”

  At that his brows arched and his eyes went sharp again. “I am all amazement. You and Miss Shirley? Together?”

  “Mmm. She wanted to be able to discuss it to impress…someone.” As little attention as he had paid Winter lately, he had paid less to any other young woman. Not that any of the mothers of said young women had given up hope, given his lack of proposal to Winter. “’Twas by that being-and-thinking fellow.”

  Bennet’s lips twitched. “Ah, him. Whatever is his name?”

  At least he was playing along. It proved such a refreshing change that she nearly ruined the game with a chuckle instead of a wide-eyed stare. “Something to do with cards, I believe. He must be a terrible gambler.”

  He loosed a laugh. “Descartes may not like your inference, Miss Reeves.”

  “Ah, yes! That is his name. At any rate, we were reading about his thoughts on collisions. Small bodies and large bodies and whatnot.”

  “A popular topic with physicists, to be sure. How hard bodies react to one other, what becomes of their momentum…” He looked to be suppressing his smile again. “Did you learn anything?”

  She pasted epiphany onto her face. “Indeed I did! He said that a small body can never, under any circumstances, move a larger body. This was quite enlightening, Mr. Lane, for I would have sworn I moved my bureau last week, having put some force into it. But it is larger than I, so obviously I was mistaken.”

  “Oh, yes. Obviously.” He put his fingers over her hand on his arm, affection at last in his eyes.

  Which shouldn’t please her. Nay, she ought to chide herself for inspiring it so deliberately. Yet his smile sent a thrill of contentment through her veins.

  He gave her fingers a squeeze. “For the life of me, I cannot fathom why he printed such rot. Did the man never do an actual experiment? He should have stuck with philosophy.”

  “Oh, but surely he is right. He thinks it, therefore it must be.”

  His laughter now scared a few robins to wing. Yes, she was a fool for it—but she had missed this.

  “Why have we not had these conversations of late, Winter? It seems that…” His smile faded as his words trailed off and his brows knit. He nodded beyond her shoulder. “Is that Townsend rushing this way?”

  Robbie? She craned her head around and sucked in a breath at the distress that pulsed from him. “It is. And he looks upset.”

  “He does indeed.” Bennet was already pulling her toward her friend. “I would guess it is you he seeks in this part of town. I do hope nothing has happened to his family.”

  “As do I.” She lifted her skirt a bit so she could traverse the muddy path with a quicker step.

  Robbie’s rush had him aimed toward the house, but their movement must have caught his attention, for his stride changed abruptly, and he shifted his course toward them. The way he flicked his gaze from Winter to Bennet as they neared and then pressed his lips together made her stomach quiver. What if this were not about his family at all? What if whatever news he carried had to do with Culper business? He could hardly share that with anyone else present.

  God of all, let the road of our cause remain clear.

  “Good morning, Townsend,” Bennet said, concern in his voice.

  Robbie nodded, though his frown didn’t lessen. “And to you, Mr. Lane. My apologies. I did not mean to interrupt your outing.”

  “’Tis only a walk, given the fine weather.” Winter withdrew her hand from Bennet’s arm so she could reach for Robbie’s hands. “Robbie, whatever is wrong?”

  He glanced at Bennet again before drawing in a deep breath and blinking rapidly, shaking his head. “It is my cousin. He has been arrested.”

  In spite of the thaw in the land, something inside her froze. “Which cousin?”

  His gaze fell to their clasped hands. “James.”

  James? As in the cousin whom Robbie had tasked with finding a new route by which they could send their information to Washington? The cousin she had cautioned him not to trust with such a task? That James? “Robbie.”

  He released her hands and turned away, nearly knocking off his tricorn when he rubbed at his forehead. “He was traveling through New Jersey on his way to visit family in rebel-held territory and hoping to recruit men for the British army.”

  That was the story Robbie said they had devised for the boy, yes. Winter bit her tongue to keep from asking anything that would give away the falsehood of the claim. “Is New Jersey not heavily Loyalist?”

  “Aye, but…” He faced her again, countless emotions warring across his face. Frustration, anger, concern. “It seems he was in his cups and bragging about this goal of his a bit too loudly in the wrong place to a couple of lovely young lasses. As it turns out, the family of these girls are secretly Patriot and turned him in to the local rebel authorities as a British spy.”

  She could only stare. His cousin—a Patriot pretending, too loudly, to be a Loyalist—had been arrested by other Patriots?

  On the one hand, ’twas far better than if the British had discovered his true purpose, for it would be an easy task to trace him back to Robbie. But what must Washington have thought when he got the news that a spy by the name of Townsend had been arrested?

  “Poor Jamie,” she murmured, though she felt no sympathy for him. What had the boy been thinking by letting his tongue get so loosened by drink while out on covert business? “Had he any condemning documentation about him? Or is there a chance he will be released?”

  “He had…” Robbie cleared his throat before answering. “He had nothing condemning. Just a, ah, poem I had written.”

  It no doubt contained an invisible message as well, but that was secure. He would have written it in the stain. She pasted on a grin for his benefit. “No wonder he was arrested then, for your verse is a crime in itself.”

  The jest did nothing to lighten the shadows in his eyes. “I have hope he will soon be released. He is only a boy, after all, and was all bluster besides.”

  “I will pray.” Relentlessly, and for far more than James himself. For the situation he had brought upon them and the consequences that tormented Robbie’s gaze.

  “I know you will. ’Tis why I rushed over here.” Again, he flicked his gaze in Bennet’s direction. “Though I must reiterate how sorry I am to have interrupted your pleasant excursion with my news. It is only…he was with me not two days before his arrest. We discussed his trip and the possibility of recruiting others to join the army with him. I cannot help but feel responsible.”

  “I can imagine.” Bennet gave his head a sad shake. “Is there anything I can do? Having come from Yale, I’ve some friends with ties to Patriot circles. Perhaps one of them knows someone who could help secure your cousin’s release.”

  An offer probably unnecessary, but so very gallant. Winter looked to Robbie to see how he would parry it.

  Her childhood friend’s smile looked strained. “I do thank you, Mr. Lane. I suspect the matter will work itself out, but it is good to know you have such connections if I need them—and that you would be so
kind as to call upon them on our behalf.”

  “Of course I would.” Bennet looked sincere as could be, his brows drawn in sympathy. “Charges of espionage cannot be taken too seriously. I am sure we all remember what became of Nathan Hale in seventy-six. I would think the Patriots eager to return the favor and execute a British spy after losing their scout to us.”

  Robbie went pale, and Winter knew it was not really for fear of his cousin. Washington or Tallmadge would surely intervene before any execution could take place, but the reminder of the price of espionage sent a shiver up her spine, so it would affect Robbie even more. He cleared his throat. “Ah, but Hale was caught in the act. My cousin may have boasted of recruiting, but I daresay they shan’t charge him with espionage for such foolishness.”

  “Let us hope not. I knew Hale from our days at Yale, you know. I was very sorry to hear of his fate in spite of his sad choice in politics.”

  She could tell Robbie would flee soon. He kept shifting from foot to foot and tugging on his greatcoat. So while he answered Bennet, she turned to where Freeman stood a few strides away and made a series of quick gestures. Tell Robbie to return later.

  Freeman nodded, obviously not needing to ask why. She had questions that could not possibly be asked in front of Bennet.

  A moment later Robbie offered a quick bow and backed up a step. “That is all I wanted. Again, my apologies, and I hope you have a lovely stroll. Miss Reeves.” He met her gaze, saying far more with that action than he would with words. “Those prayers of yours are much appreciated.”

  Freeman walked with him a few steps as he strode away, which she didn’t imagine would look too odd. But to ensure Bennet paid it as little heed as possible, she looped her arm through his again and loosed a sigh so blustery it could not be ignored. “I do feel badly for the Townsends.”

  He patted her hand. “As do I. He is taking it very personally. Should I contact my friends at Yale? I know he refused, but he seems so anxious about it.”

  Again, his skills of observation could have been a bit more lacking and she wouldn’t have complained. “Robbie has always been prone to anxiousness.” ’Twas both a convenient explanation and a very inconvenient truth. “He is aware of this tendency and tries to offset it by being otherwise clever and witty, but nerves and black moods have plagued him since childhood. I daresay his words are right, however, though his countenance may disagree. Jamie will surely get out of this scrape, and Robbie will bring his nerves under control again.”

  He nodded and then his gaze arrowed into her in that way she should have had the good sense not to think she’d missed. Nor should she have found the quirk of his brow so endearing. “And what was that you did?”

  She blinked, perhaps exaggerating her confusion but not fabricating it entirely. “What was what?”

  “This”—he imitated, poorly, the signs she had made at Freeman.

  Fighting a smile, she widened her eyes. “I don’t recall doing that, Mr. Lane. I would say I must have been swatting at a bee, but I have yet to see any so far this year. Could you demonstrate it again?”

  He narrowed his eyes, though his lips curved up. “I did a poor enough job the first time, but you know of what I speak. What was it?”

  She saw no reason to lie. Admitting its purpose wouldn’t teach him the language. So she smiled. “Signs. My father’s mother was deaf, you see, so Father and Freeman developed a system of signs and gestures to communicate with her. I learned them as a child before Grandmother passed on, and the family continued to use them for the joy of it since.”

  “Fascinating.” He led her along the path again, though his eyes remained locked on her face. “I have read of such systems. Did your father base it on the Spaniard’s book? Bonet, was it?”

  “Well, now. That name does sound familiar, but then he came into possession of a French text when it was published in fifty-five. This one was written by an abbot.”

  “L’Epee?”

  “You know of him?” She was too surprised to feign stupidity.

  Bennet chuckled. “Of him, yes, though I never read his work. So what did you say to your servant?”

  She glanced at Freeman, who was now following them again. “I asked him to speak a bit more to Robbie. He did seem quite anxious, but I daresay he would not have appreciated me asking him about it in front of you.”

  “You said all that with a few gestures? A request, a comment about his anxiousness, your reasoning?”

  Looking back at him, she saw he had put on what he probably intended to be an imitation of her confused expression. She couldn’t help but laugh. “And much more besides.”

  “Astounding.” Mischief entered his gaze. “You should teach this language to me, and then we could communicate covertly.”

  She grinned in response. “Not only that, but right under the noses of my grandparents, without them ever knowing what we said.”

  His laugh thawed away the ice inside that Robbie’s news had brought with it. “That too. What say you, then? Teach me something.”

  “Very well. Let me think of something you would often have cause to say.” She tapped a finger to her chin and then grinned. “Ah, I have the perfect thing. This is ‘interesting.’” She splayed both hands over her chest, right hand above her left, and then moved them out.

  He mirrored her. “All right. ‘Interesting.’”

  “And this…” She put her palms together and then opened them as if they were pages. “This is ‘book.’”

  Though he scowled, amusement still tilted up his mouth. “And why would that particular phrase have to be said secretly?”

  She made sure to add an extra dose of innocence into her smile. “Well, good sir, you will find my grandparents disapprove of many books. No doubt at some point you will want me to know that you like one they do not.”

  He chuckled, reclaimed her hand, and then tucked it back into the crook of his arm. “And you will find, good lady, that my opinion of a book is the one thing I have no qualms sharing with any and all who care to listen, even if it involves disagreement. I love a good debate on a text.”

  “I suppose you are right.” One shoulder lifted, eyes wide, she said, “Shall I teach you a few greetings and niceties, then, for you to use in the presence of young ladies? You seem to have a few qualms about those.”

  “Cruel creature.” But still he grinned, and he pulled her a bit closer. “’Tis unforgivably rude of you to point out my awkwardness.”

  She ran her gloved fingers over the texture of his homespun cloak, which he still wore for day-to-day activities, though he donned his new, elegant one for social gatherings. Yet another thing she could never admit was her appreciation for how stubbornly he clung to the simpler ways he had known in Connecticut. ’Twould be unfashionable of her to think so, and therefore out of her supposed character. “Oh, but I find it so interesting. I have heard you say such bafflingly clever things to other gentlemen, yet you can scarcely string two words together in the presence of the fairer sex. Tell me, Mr. Lane, what is it about females that befuddles you?”

  That befuddlement showed on his face now. “I simply cannot grasp the workings of the female mind, Miss Reeves.”

  “Ah.” She forced relieved understanding into her expression. “That, then, is why you seem to have no such trouble with me. I always knew not thinking was the answer to life’s woes, in spite of what Mr. Gambler may have to say on the matter.”

  His lips twitched at her name for Descartes, but his eyes went thoughtful. “On the contrary, my dear, I believe I am comfortable with you because you, above any female I have ever met, put me in mind of my scholarly friends.”

  She halted, stared at him. “What an odd thing to say.”

  “Nay, ’tis perfectly reasonable. For you are quick tongued and of deep intellect.”

  “We have been through this.” She leaned slightly forward. “My grandparents disapprove of independent thought, and so I have given it up. I know not what you think you see, but surel
y ’tisn’t that.”

  Bennet lifted a brow. “They obviously approve of flirtation, though. Until today, it seemed the only thing to fall from those lovely lips of yours were ridiculous comments about finding one’s match and how well suited you thought yourself for life in England.”

  Arguments that always left her feeling nauseous. “And what is wrong with such talk?”

  “What is wrong with it?” Genuine frustration seeped into his tone, and he tossed his free hand into the air. “It is inane!”

  “Mr. Lane.” She blinked rapidly, as if injured by such a declaration. “How dare you? I am no lunatic. Perhaps you find flirtatious talk to be insignificant or empty, but it is hardly mad.”

  Though obviously amused at the play on insanity and inanity, he turned to face her and looked deep into her eyes, far deeper than a jest would allow. “You know what signs I would like you to teach me, Winter? Those that would allow you to share with me your real thoughts.”

  She could summon only a ghost of a smile. “What thoughts do you possibly think I have that are worth sharing?”

  “If I knew the answer to that…” He sighed, faced forward again, and set a course for Hampton Hall.

  His hopelessness echoed within her. It had been foolish to resort to the banter they both enjoyed. She ought to have known better than to torment herself, and him, so. She could not give him what he wanted; he could not offer her what she most needed…why waste any more time on each other?

  “Bennet…” Yet she couldn’t look at him as she said it, and she had to pause to keep undue emotion from clogging her thought. “We are not suited. That is so obvious even I can see it. You would do better…you ought to shift your attentions elsewhere.”

  When she glanced at him, she saw that he kept his gaze straight forward as he shook his head, jaw clenched. “I am afraid that is not feasible, Winter. You are the only young woman I have ever met to whom I can talk.”

  “But I cannot talk to you.” She didn’t dare.