“I am an orphan, my lord,” she answered dryly, “not an animal.”
He ignored that. “And you can read and write. How does a street thief develop such accomplishments?”
Katie knew from experience that whenever possible, it was best to tell the truth, so one didn’t get trapped in one’s own lies. “For nearly a decade, my mother was the mistress of a wealthy gentleman. He was married but estranged from his wife, and he lived with my mother quite openly. Most of my childhood was spent in his household. My mother taught me to read and write, both English and French. She came from a good family, but she’d had the misfortune to fall in love with my father, who was a wastrel and a libertine and who refused to marry her. So she became a wealthy man’s mistress. She died when I was ten, and her protector packed me off to an orphanage.”
“You are fortunate it wasn’t the workhouse,” he commented.
That was one way of looking at it, she supposed, but she thought of Miss Prudence’s thin, cruel lips and sadistic fondness for the willow switch, and she didn’t quite see it as fortunate. She shifted her weight restlessly, unable to see the purpose of this man’s questions and comments. She didn’t know why it should matter to him that she could read and write. Whatever he planned to do to her, she wished he’d get on with it. “Why have you brought me here?”
“You’re a very good liar, you know. I think you even manage to convince yourself of your own lies. I suspected as much when I saw you making a fool of that lieutenant.”
She did not respond to that. She simply faced him in stony silence, waiting for an answer to her question.
“You are audacious,” he continued, “clever, quite pretty, and completely unscrupulous. And that, my girl, is exactly what I want from you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Danger does not seem to bother you,” he went on as if she had not spoken. “Death doesn’t seem to frighten you. I have a mission for you that involves the possibility of both.”
“Do I have a choice about this?”
“Of course. If you accomplish this mission, I will buy your indenture and set you free. I will also give you a gift of fifty pounds to start a new life. If you refuse my proposal, I will find your master and send you back to him.”
Fifty pounds was a fortune, freedom was a gift, and a choice such as this was no choice at all. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it, if you set me free.”
“It is dangerous work. You might not live long enough to enjoy your freedom.”
“I don’t care. I’d rather be dead than indentured.”
“Very well,” he said, nodding as if he had not expected her to say anything else. “But know this. If you betray me, what I do to you will make indenture seem like heaven by comparison.”
Katie looked into his dark, empty eyes and suppressed her shiver. He meant what he said. But if he was willing to free her, she didn’t care how dangerous he was. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Doubtless you have heard of the Sons of Liberty?”
“The secret society?” she murmured. “Of course I’ve heard of them.”
“Their headquarters are here in Boston, and I have just arrived from London for the purpose of arresting the ringleaders and demolishing the organization. You are going to help me do just that.”
“I?” Katie stared at him in astonishment. “You want me to find the Sons of Liberty for you?”
“I already know who they are. However, confidential information is being passed to them by someone at the highest level. It is being given to the rebel leaders through a man named John Smith.”
“Who is he?”
“We don’t know very much about him, but we do know that somehow he is receiving information from people close to the governor, and he is passing that information on to the rebel leaders.”
“Then why don’t you arrest him?”
Though his expression remained cold and aloof, there was no mistaking the anger in his voice when he replied to her question. “Our honorable governor is determined to follow English law to the letter and refuses to arrest any man without proof,” he said contemptuously. “Gage will not move to arrest even Paul Revere, and a more seditious traitor than that man never walked the earth. As for John Smith, Gage has flatly refused to investigate unless there is some evidence. Because I have only been in Boston a few days, I have only just begun to gather information about him. We suspect John Smith is an alias, but we do not know who he really is. We do know he is supposedly an unemployed longshoreman, which is odd, because he has enough money to spend many of his evenings drinking rum at various rebel taverns in North Boston.”
“You have spies in these taverns?”
Lowden’s mouth tightened to a thin line, and his dark eyes met hers. Once again, Katie felt that cold prickle of fear. She knew her question displeased him, and she was surprised when he answered it.
“Not yet. Gage has mishandled these rebels from the beginning. His attempts to place spies in the rebel taverns has failed, but I intend to succeed. I already have men watching these taverns from the outside, but since John Smith has only been seen at night and the streets are so dimly lit, it is difficult for my spies to give me a detailed description of the fellow without getting closer to him, and that has proved to be a difficult task. He is as elusive as the wind, and he has the uncanny ability to discover who our informants are long before they can learn anything useful.”
“That is why you need me,” she guessed. “You want me to spy for you.”
“Yes. Discovering who John Smith is, finding out from whom he gets his information, learning exactly how he passes his information to the ringleaders, and finding proof of his sedition that I can submit to the governor will be your tasks. Only I and my immediate subordinate, Captain Worth, will know about you.”
Katie frowned, thinking it out. “How am I to succeed where your other spies have failed?”
He shrugged. “As I said before, you are a clever young woman. You’ll think of something, I’m sure.” He walked over to his chair and sat down, then took up quill and ink. “You might find a way to become the man’s lover,” he suggested, his quill making scratching sounds against the parchment as he wrote. “Given your beauty, your mother, and your background, that should not be difficult.”
Katie wanted to grind her teeth at the viscount’s insulting words, but though several stinging replies came to mind, she did not say any of them aloud. She would not risk her chance to be free with fifty pounds in her pocket simply for the momentary satisfaction of returning insult for insult. She remained silent.
“If you don’t favor that idea,” the viscount continued, sensing her resentment, “you might find a way to work at one of the taverns he frequents—the Green Dragon, the Salutation, or the Mermaid. After that, keep your eyes and ears open.” He blew on the paper to dry the ink, then rose and walked back to her side. He handed the paper to her.
Katie ran her gaze down the list of names. “These men are the Sons of Liberty?”
“The ones we know of, yes. Memorize this list, then burn it. Your main concern will be John Smith, but my greatest lack is information, so bring me anything you discover about these men, however unimportant it may seem.”
“John Smith is not on this list.”
“No. Unlike most of his fellow rebels, he is not willing to advertise the fact that he is a Son of Liberty. Nonetheless, I believe that he has a network of spies that stretches into Governor Gage’s office. I want that web of spies destroyed. I want him tried for sedition, and I want him hanged.”
She nodded and put the list in her pocket. “How do I report to you?”
“Come to the marketplace in North Square at dawn every Saturday, and Captain Worth will find you. You will need some time to get settled in your new situation, whatever it may be. You will meet Worth a week from this Saturday. That gives you nearly a fortnight.”
Katie let out her breath in a sharp sigh. “It’s stupid for me to risk meeti
ng with one of your men unless I have something to report, and I doubt very much I’ll learn anything of significance in a fortnight.”
“Nonetheless, I want to keep an eye on you, my girl, so I will expect you to be there every Saturday. If you have information, Worth will arrange a meeting between us here, at the Stag and Steed Tavern. We shall arrange a signal between Worth and yourself. If you have any news for me, let your bonnet hang down your back.”
She gestured to her ragged clothes. “What bonnet?” she countered in a wry voice.
“With what I witnessed this morning, I’m sure you could find the money to buy one.”
“Perhaps, my lord, but it is risky. Do you want your spy arrested by the constables?”
“Fair enough.” He drew a British half crown from his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it in her hand.
“If you learn something that cannot wait for a Saturday, you may leave a message for me here with the cook, Mrs. Gibbons. But if you do come here, be careful that you are not followed.”
“I understand.”
The viscount looked at her, and his eyes narrowed. “I expect you to provide me with John Smith’s true identity and tangible proof of his sedition. If I can arrest him based on your evidence, I will have you set free, and you will get your money. If you are found out by the rebels, you’ll be tarred, feathered, beaten, and probably killed, and I will not be able to come to your aid. Should you try to play me for a fool and disappear, I will find you. When I do, I’ll use the warrant and have you arrested. You’ll be tried and hanged for the theft of Lieutenant Weston’s purse, which, for the time being, will remain in my possession as evidence of your crime.”
Katie swallowed hard, then asked one last question. “What if I do my best for you but fail to find this proof you need?”
“I’ll get another spy and return you to your master.”
Kate felt herself go cold at that uncompromising answer. Lowden sensed her reaction and the effectiveness of his threat. “I suspect that idea does not appeal to you?” he said, his voice deceptively soft.
“No,” she said. “It does not.”
“Then don’t fail me.” He waved her toward the door. “Now, go.”
Katie obeyed that order willingly. She paused by the fire in the kitchen of the tavern to appreciate its warmth before returning to the bitter cold outside, and she could not help being stunned by the abrupt turn her life had taken, a turn decidedly for the better. Her indenture paid and fifty pounds more. That was worth more money than she could ever earn by pickpocketing.
Freedom and money. She savored the idea that now she had the chance for both. If she succeeded, there would be no more looking over her shoulder, no more going hungry, no more sleeping in alleys and fields, and no threat of Willoughby in her shadow. Katie thought again of Patsy Wells and vowed that she would be successful in her mission for Lowden. She had to be.
She thought of the list in her pocket, and all her brash confidence came flooding back. Most men could be manipulated easily enough. Her task should not be too difficult.
She spread her hands before the warmth of the fire and realized that if she accomplished this mission, the money the viscount had promised her would be enough to give her coal for many long winter nights to come. She’d eat meat every day, and she’d have a roof over her head. She could start a new life. An honest life. Best of all, she would be free of Willoughby.
Free. Katie hugged herself at the exhilarating thought of freedom, and, ignoring the curious stare of the sour-faced Mrs. Gibbons, she laughed aloud with exultation.
3
The Mermaid was primarily a sailor’s tavern, but it was also one of the places where patriots met. The owner, David Munro, was a friend of Ethan’s, making the tavern an ideal place for secret meetings.
Ethan knew perfectly well that the pub was often watched by Gage’s spies, usually from within a Tory-owned house across the street, and he always had to be careful that he was not recognized. The sailor’s cap pulled low over his eyes and the crude oilskins he wore made a suitable disguise, and anyone watching him would conclude he was just another longshoreman thrown out of work by the much-hated Port Bill, out to spend his last few coins on rum. At the Mermaid, as in the other taverns Ethan frequented during the midnight hours, most people knew him only as John Smith. Only a trusted few knew his true identity as Ethan Harding.
Andrew was already there when he entered the tavern, seated at a table on the far side of the room and drinking a pint of ale with Colin Macleod. Ethan gave the men no sign of recognition. Instead, he passed their table without a glance and took a seat behind them in the darkest corner of the tavern. He ordered rum, a drink all longshoremen favored and he personally detested, then settled back to wait. It would not be long before Joseph arrived; then he and the three men at the next table would move to the private room in the back, where there was no chance of being overheard. There they could freely exchange information. Until then, Ethan preferred to remain in the taproom, where he could see any faces that came in or out of the tavern.
With the news Ethan had conveyed to Joseph, patriots had kept a close watch on Gage’s two spies. The moment Brown and De Berniere had returned to Boston, all the Worcester powder stores had been moved. If Gage sent troops to Worcester now, they would come back with nothing to show for it but a tour of the countryside.
Despite their success in keeping the Worcester stores out of Gage’s hands, powder supplies were far too low, and Ethan knew tonight they would have to discuss that situation. The plain and simple truth was that they needed more weaponry. If Gage even partly succeeded in his plans, colonists wouldn’t have enough powder and shot for any kind of a fight when war broke out. They would have to appeal to France for assistance in any case.
It was all well and good for Samuel Adams to write in the Boston Gazette and other Whig newspapers that justice would prevail, Ethan thought in frustration, but Adams was an idealist. Ethan knew that without the weapons, supplies, and powder French loans could provide, King George’s troops would pound them to dust in a matter of months. Worse, Gage knew it, too.
The idea of an alliance with France held a rather absurd irony. Ethan could still remember fighting in the colonial militia against the French when he was a very young man. Barely sixteen, he had joined the militia along with hundreds of others to help Britain gain control of all North America.
He had been quite an idealist himself back then, truly believing in king and country. Now, his father was dead at redcoat hands, and Ethan knew loyalty to a king gained a man no reward but iron-fisted tyranny, high taxes, and an untimely death. There had to be a better life than that.
Suddenly, the door to the tavern burst open, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts, and a thin, ragged girl ran inside the inn. “The Regulars are after me!” she cried, pushing back the hood of her cloak with one hand as she closed the door behind her with the other. “I have to hide! Oh, please, won’t someone help me?”
It was the pretty thief he had seen three days before in the marketplace. Ethan raised his brows in surprise at seeing her again, though after the little comedy he had witnessed in North Square, he was not surprised to find her running from soldiers. He ignored her plea for help, since the last thing he needed was a confrontation with redcoats. There were other patrons in the tavern, however, far more chivalrous than he.
Several men jumped to their feet, but it was Andrew who reached her first. Grabbing her by the elbow, he hauled her across the tavern, yanked open the door that led into the private room, and shoved her inside. He had scarcely managed to get back to his seat before three British Regulars entered the tavern.
One of the soldiers, an officer, stepped forward, and Ethan slouched in his chair, hoping the shadows of his corner hid him from view of the officers. He knew Captain Worth; he’d danced with the man’s sister less than a week ago at an officers’ ball. Given his attire, his lack of a powdered wig, and the dim light of the tavern, he doubted Worth would
even notice him, much less recognize him, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“Where is she?” Worth demanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
No one answered. The men gathered around the tables in the taproom simply stared at the hated lobsterbacks and said nothing.
The captain strode to the bar, where Munro presided over his kegs. “You there,” he said, leaning across the bar to jab one finger into the tavern owner’s shoulder. “Barkeep, we’re looking for the girl who stole my pocket watch. We saw her come in here. Where is she?”
David turned his head away, hawked, and spat into a brass spittoon on the bar before he replied. “The only woman here is my wife, Molly.” He glanced over at his wife. “Been dipping into soldiers’ pockets, Molly, my dear?”
The buxom redhead scowled. “I wouldn’t get that close to them!” she called back, setting three tankards of ale at Andrew’s table. “I might get a disease.”
At the laughter that ensued, Worth whirled around to face the crowd, his cheeks reddening with anger. “I won’t let you hide that girl. She’s a thief, and, by God, I’ll have her swinging on a rope by tomorrow. Where is she?”
After a long moment of silence, Andrew said, “We haven’t seen any girl come in here, have we, men?”
All the men in the tavern responded by shaking their heads.
“Lying rebels, all of you,” the captain said with contempt. “It is pointless to lie. We can always search the place and find her ourselves.”
At those words, every man in the tavern tensed, and some stood up, ready for the fight. Before things could get out of hand, Andrew stepped forward to address the officers. “I am afraid we cannot allow that, Captain,” he said with quiet firmness. “Governor Gage has specifically ordered the Regulars not to use force, so I suggest you leave.” He smiled politely. “Otherwise, we might have to evict you.”
The Charade Page 3