Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  ’Twasn’t the responsibility that weighed so heavily when he read those words. ’Twasn’t the thought of taking up Father’s so recently vacated position. Nay, ’twas the realization that the only decision he could in good conscience make would disappoint—perhaps infuriate—what family he had left. Mother would suffer a fresh devastation. Uncle would surely not understand. And Archie…

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Fairchild sighed as he lifted his mug, sipped, and eased it silently back down. “You look tired, Lane.”

  Ben snorted a laugh. “Pot and kettle, Fairchild.”

  His friend offered a crooked, halfhearted smile. “I have been kept quite busy. Still, I am sorry I have not been around more. You were there for me when André…”

  A nod seemed acknowledgment enough, and encouragement besides. He knew well Fairchild would have come had he needed anything the man could offer. And surely he conveyed that knowledge with the movement of his head. He hoped so, for it was all he could muster.

  Fairchild put a finger against his mug’s handle and twirled his cup in a slow circle. “I did come around a few times, but you were with George Knight or Miss Reeves. I figured they could do as much good as I.”

  Except when both were there together, anyway. George had been more baffled than ever by Mother’s sudden acceptance of Winter. Although, witnessing the veiled bickering between two of his favorite people had at least proven a distraction. “I am getting along. In a way I think the loss has not hit as it should, having been separated from Father so long. But then in other moments, that very fact haunts me.”

  “Understandable.” Fairchild halted, and then let his hand fall. “I hear Miss Reeves and Mrs. Hampton stayed with you a few days upon your mother’s request.”

  He wanted to smile but held it back for his friend’s sake. That had truly been the one ray of light in the week, knowing Winter was there the moment he went below stairs. “She has been a great comfort to Mother.”

  Fairchild only nodded, his face bereft of feeling.

  A lack that made discomfort wriggle in Ben’s stomach. “Fairchild, are you all right?”

  His friend’s smile took on a note of self-deprecation. “I must look terrible indeed for you to ask me that in your current state. I am well enough, Lane. Simply tired. And fresh from a distasteful meeting.”

  Ben arched a brow.

  As usual, ’twas all the invitation Fairchild needed. “A contact our new general secured to help in this task of ferreting out Washington’s spies. A lowbred, sniveling…well, let us just say he is unsavory. I wouldn’t trust the lout as far as I could throw him, but Arnold is convinced he knows on whom we must focus our attention and has hired this man to follow said person around.” The curl of his lip spoke of true disgust. “His very meeting place of choice speaks to his character. He insisted I meet him in Holy Ground, and he will be meeting the general there to report on Monday next.”

  Arnold had someone in his sights, did he? Obviously not Townsend. Ben frowned. “That seems a rather odd place to meet someone if you want privacy.” The very thought of all those crowds of women flaunting themselves, the bawdy talk…he shuddered.

  Fairchild smirked. “My thought as well. Though as it happens, during daylight hours the place is quiet. Filthy and disturbing, but quiet. We met on the edge nearest Barclay Street, so I could escape quickly.”

  “Still, I don’t envy you that meeting.”

  “And I am glad it will be Arnold meeting him next week.”

  Silence fell again, and for a long moment Ben held Fairchild’s gaze. His mind drifted back to their first meeting here, when the tall officer had waltzed in with authority and confidence. Where had that gone? These days his rival-turned-friend seemed a mere shadow of the man Ben had been sure he could never measure up to.

  His fault? Deuces, he hoped not. But then, if Ben had fallen deeper and deeper in love with Winter yet had to watch her fall for Fairchild…if he had then lost his best friend…if he found himself under the thumb of an authority he could not respect…

  ’Twas no wonder the colonel’s infernal dimples rarely flashed, that his shoulders seldom seemed square.

  Fairchild pressed his lips together for a moment. “You will ask her soon, will you not?”

  Why did such happy news have to distress so many people he liked and admired? Why did everything he wanted, everything he worked for, have to delve into the complicated? “Soon, yes. It did not seem the time, with my family in such deep mourning, but as soon as it’s appropriate.”

  The colonel nodded. “And then to England?”

  His throat went dry. “Connecticut. I don’t intend to go to England.”

  “You don’t…” Eyes wide, Fairchild leaned forward. “What do you mean? You are the heir to a sizable estate. Responsible for the lives and livelihoods of your tenants. You cannot ignore that.”

  Yes, all was so complicated. “I don’t intend to ignore it. I intend to send Archie in my place and have Uncle name him as heir instead. The estate is not entailed. He may make such a change.”

  Fairchild shook his head, his frown radiating from his eyes as much as his brows. “May perhaps, but it is simply not done. You are the eldest. You will inherit. And if you try to tell him otherwise, he will likely ignore you and force it upon you anyway, thinking—rightly—that you will step up by necessity.”

  Ben curled his hand around his cup, though the coffee had gone cold. Such may have been the case with Father, but the uncle who had never met Ben—who had met and liked Archie—was far more likely to relent.

  Especially when Ben laid out his reasoning. A task for which he had yet to find the energy.

  “If necessary, I will make the legal provisions myself when the time comes. Either way, I have no intention of leaving America. Archie will make the better master of Clefton.”

  “Your brother is a—” Fairchild cut himself off with gritted teeth. “Well, no matter my opinion of him. But I invite you to think long and hard about what it takes to be a good master of an estate like Clefton and evaluate well which of you possesses those traits. I believe we both know the answer.”

  Not when one considered that topping the list was dedication to said estate and all to which it owed its being. “I appreciate your advice. And I promise you, I will think long and hard before I make any decisions.”

  Had, in fact. For the past year, as he made the other decisions that in turn decided this for him. The decisions that dictated not only that he ought not to inherit Clefton, but that his uncle would not want him to do so. Not once Bennet admitted what he had spent these eleven months doing.

  An estate like that one would never be entrusted to a man who had soiled his hands with espionage.

  Fairchild’s breath eased out in a slow leak. “Ben, go to England and take the good name your uncle is leaving you. Marry Winter as quickly as you can manage, and depart before you cannot any longer.”

  The words were rife with warning that made Ben frown. It could not be the approaching cold weather that made such urgency shadow his friend’s tone. Did it have to do with Winter, perhaps? With Fairchild’s need to know once and for all that she was out of his reach?

  Again with the complication. All Ben could think to do was stand, nod again, and toss a coin onto the table to cover his coffee.

  And wonder, as he strode back out under the low-hanging gray clouds, whether Fairchild had any intention of ever speaking to him again once he left New York.

  Twenty-Four

  A gust of wind sent the sign creaking on its hinges. The Knight’s Arms. Winter barely glanced at it as she continued past, but the scrolling script burned into the wood remained fixed in her mind. As soon as they turned the corner, she held up so Freeman could draw even with her. “You are sure he is the only one inside?”

  Not so much as a hint of a smile softened his features. “I’m sure. Are you sure this is the best idea?”

  “Have you come up with a better one?”
>
  Freeman’s lips whitened, so hard did he press them together. “Only what you already dismissed.”

  Because stealing one of Grandfather’s guns was unthinkable—if they were caught, Grandfather wouldn’t hesitate to turn it on them. But purchasing one from George Knight…well, the worst he could do was laugh at them.

  Or tell Bennet.

  That could certainly be worse. She had every intention of confessing her loyalties to him soon, but she would rather no one else did it for her. Especially in a way that would reveal her covert involvement. Her loyalties she would make clear, but the Culper Ring’s secrets were not hers to share, just hers to protect.

  And so she must take what action she could to protect them as necessary. She could all but smell the hounds closing in, barking at her with every glance Benedict Arnold sent her way. And he had been present at far too many of the gatherings she had attended these past two weeks.

  “Here, this one.” Freeman steered her into a close, dark alley that presumably led to the back door of the Knights’ shop. Given that he had been the one to explore these dank ways earlier, and to send the false messages to get the eldest and youngest Knights to leave, Winter happily gave him the lead.

  “How far?”

  “Not very. In fact…” He motioned toward an unmarked door that looked like every other in the alley. But just beyond it the space opened up, and she recognized the smells and shapes of a forge. Definitely the Knights’.

  They had already discussed how they would enter—namely, without attracting any avoidable attention. So she forewent knocking and slid her hand around the iron ring, giving it a tug.

  Freeman sidled in as soon as he could fit, Winter following quickly and easing the heavy door shut again. Whatever room they had entered was dark, but light poured through its open threshold leading to the inside of the building. Freeman nodded his head toward it.

  She had chosen her shoes for their silence and now crept her way through the unfamiliar chamber and down the hall. At its end she paused and peered into the room beyond.

  George Knight sat at a table, bending low over a half-formed rifle and doing something with a small, pointed tool. No one else was in sight.

  Perfect. Winter took that final step inside and cleared a throat. “Do you have a moment, Mr. Knight?”

  He started, swore, and spun. She tried not to smile as his eyes went wide. “Miss Reeves? What in the world are you doing here? Are you with Ben?” His gaze went past her, so she obliged him by stepping farther into the room, thereby allowing Freeman to fill the doorway.

  Perhaps she took a grain too much pleasure in the wariness that darkened his expression when he caught sight of her companion.

  For the first time in his presence, she let her smile flash without the filter of faux Winter. “Nay, I am not with Bennet. This has nothing to do with him.”

  His eyes narrowed now. “With what, then, has it to do? We have nothing else in common.”

  “That’s not quite true.” She turned to the wall and the weapons displayed upon it. “We have at least one other person in common—Silas Beech of Long Island.”

  Silence hummed for a moment, and then another muted curse slipped from his lips. “Blast it, you bring that up now, nearly a year later? Miss Reeves, I know it was trying for you to be held hostage, even briefly—”

  “You misunderstand me.” She faced him again, unable to tamp down the beginnings of a grin. “And if you thought for half a second, you would realize I couldn’t have known his name had I been only a hostage. Mr. Knight, Silas Beech is a hand on my family’s farm. When I came with my grandparents to the city, I left him in charge.”

  She watched the thoughts click away in his eyes and snap into place. Yet he shook his head. “That cannot be. ’Tis far too great a coincidence that you would be there. And the implications…”

  Another awareness crept over his countenance too, one that made him stare at her as if he had never seen her before.

  But then, he hadn’t. Not really. Winter inclined her head. “Shall I spell it all out for you so nothing need be implied? My family is Patriot, Mr. Knight, and has always been so. I have always been so. But when my mother died, my grandparents would not allow anyone with Whig politics into their home—so they told me what I might say, how I might act, and revised any part of my history they did not like.”

  “Blast.” Still as an unwound clock, he regarded her. “Ben was right.”

  She grinned. “’Tis an annoying trait of his.”

  He breathed a laugh, picked up his slender tool, and flipped it around his fingers. “Yet I cannot think you came here simply to confess your secrets. Nor do I know why you did so.”

  “You helped my man before, which means you either care nothing for loyalties or you are inclined in the same direction I am.” She slid deeper into the room, nearer his work table. “Whichever it may be, I am here because I now need the same assistance. I need to purchase a weapon.”

  The tool clanged to the table. “Tell me you jest. Please tell me you jest. Does Ben know you are here? Nay, a stupid question. He couldn’t because he would bash me in the head if I even considered selling his sweetheart a gun.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “He would not. He would simply devise a particularly nasty chemical compound with which to threaten you.”

  Again he stared at her, agape, before loosing another breath of laughter. “Miss Reeves, surely you understand that he is my dearest friend. I will not sell a weapon to the woman he intends to marry without his knowledge. Yet given that you did not bring him with you, I must therefore assume you don’t want him to know. But I cannot keep such a thing from him.”

  She shrugged, praying the action covered her panic. “Very well, tell him. I did not come in secrecy to keep him from knowing, but rather the rest of the city. Given how my grandfather has treated me in the past, I daresay Bennet would applaud me taking a step to protect myself, if it comes to that.”

  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. D
oes 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.”