The captain was well aware of the danger he faced. The Boston mobs were a soldier’s greatest fear these days. He scowled at Andrew. “You damned rebels won’t get away with this impudence much longer!” he shouted. “We’ll restore order here, the Sons of Liberty will be hanged for sedition, this little rebellion will be quashed, and British justice will once again prevail in the colonies.”
Andrew gestured toward the door. “Save the speech for your troops, Captain,” he suggested. “You’ve no audience for it here.”
The officer turned on his heel and left the tavern, his companions right behind him. Once the door closed after them, David turned to his son. “Daniel, follow those redcoats,” he ordered. “If they turn around to come back, run ahead and warn us.”
He had barely finished these instructions before the nine-year-old was out the door. Andrew then walked over to the back room and let the girl out of her hiding place.
“Thank you,” she gasped. “I thought I was done for!”
“Anyone trying to avoid King George’s troops finds a welcome here,” Andrew said, and led the girl to his table. “Did you really steal his watch?”
“He thinks I did, which would have been enough to have me arrested.” She gave him an impudent grin. “He’s an officer. He can afford to buy another.”
Andrew and the other two men at his table laughed as the girl sat down with them. She was only a few feet away from Ethan, and he took advantage of the fact, studying her.
When he had first seen her in North Square, he had thought of her as having the face of an angel. But looking at her now, he found himself revising his opinion slightly. There was skepticism in that face, and irony. It was the face of one who had lived too long on life’s hard edge, a face that knew how to lie without remorse or regret. The candlelight softened but could not hide the hollows in her cheeks that told of years of hunger. Yet there was an elusive quality of sweetness about her that went beyond mere beauty. She might steal a watch to buy food, but he’d wager she would share that food with a starving puppy.
He wondered at the coincidence that had brought her here, into the Mermaid, of all places. But was it coincidence? Ethan frowned, watching her thoughtfully over the rim of his tankard. He went over every event of the last few days in minute detail, every meager scrap of information he knew about the girl, but, try as he might, he could see no connection between a pretty street thief and Governor Gage. He finally concluded that a coincidence was exactly what it was. He would, of course, inquire about her among his sources to make certain.
Andrew shoved a tankard toward her. “Here. I’ll have Molly bring you some supper.”
She shook her head. “No, sir. I’ve no money to pay for it.”
“Not even an officer’s pocket watch?”
Ethan’s voice drew the attention of all those at the next table. The girl turned toward him and met his gaze, her eyes wide. “I didn’t steal his watch.”
Ethan did not know if she was lying or not, but he realized it didn’t matter. She had the ability to make others want to believe her, the ability to compel others to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“I almost wish I had stolen it,” she went on. “I’ve been in Boston only a few days. I’ve nowhere to stay, and ’tis bitter cold tonight.” She sighed, her expression suddenly forlorn. Now everyone was expected to feel sorry for her and offer her a place to sleep.
As if on cue, Andrew spoke up. “I’m sure Munro wouldn’t mind letting you stay the night here. There’s a shed by the alley. He keeps his cow there, but it’s clean, and there’s straw on the floor. I’ll speak with him.”
Her smile of gratitude was his reward. “Oh, thank you, sir. You’re very kind to go to so much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, my dear child.” He patted her shoulder, then stood up and started toward the bar to speak with David.
Ethan rose to follow, not missing the apprehension that flashed briefly across the girl’s face as she watched him.
“She might have stolen that watch, you know,” David was saying as Ethan joined the two men at the bar. He listened to their conversation as he held out his tankard for another measure of rum.
“She probably did steal it,” Andrew answered, “but looking at her, I can certainly see why.”
“What if she steals from me?” the tavern owner demanded.
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “What’s there to steal in the shed? It’s unlikely she’ll make off with your cow in the middle of the night.”
David hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll let her stay the night.”
“I was hoping we could do better than that,” Andrew went on. “You could give her a job.”
Ethan listened as his friend championed the girl, and he did not like it. He glanced at David, who made a sound of impatience as he poured a measure of rum into Ethan’s tankard. “A job?” The innkeeper echoed Andrew’s suggestion in disbelief. “Doing what?”
“She could sweep floors, help in the kitchen, serve the ale with Molly, that sort of thing, couldn’t she?”
“And how am I supposed to pay her?”
“Pay her in food. God knows, she could use it.”
“True enough.” David glanced toward the table where the girl sat, and Ethan turned his head in time to see her smiling shyly back at the innkeeper. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” David murmured.
Ethan heard the hint of compassion in the other man’s voice and knew he’d been right about that girl the moment he had first seen that smile of hers in North Square. She could enslave a man with that smile. He decided it was time to voice his opinion.
“Do you really think giving the girl a job is a good idea?” he asked, glancing at both his friends as he spoke. “We know nothing about her.”
“What’s there to know?” Andrew countered with a hint of irritation. “She’s on the run from Regulars, she’s obviously destitute and indigent, and you only need look at her to see she’s in desperate straits. Sometimes I think you’ve no heart left in you.”
“I don’t.” He set his tankard on the bar and turned to the man who had been his friend since childhood. “In these times, a heart is a dangerous thing to have.”
“Good Lord,” Andrew said, laughing in disbelief. “What, you think the girl’s a spy?”
“I don’t think anything yet. I just don’t see why it’s necessary to give a stranger a job.”
“Out of simple kindness. Are you so caught up in fighting the king that you’ve forgotten how to be kind to a stranger?”
That stung, and Ethan frowned at his friend. “Very well. If David wants to give the girl a job, that’s his business, but if she overhears something—”
“We meet in the back room to avoid just such a possibility,” David interjected. “I agree with Andrew. There’s no harm in giving the girl a cot and a few hot meals. And she won’t have to sleep in the shed. She can sleep by the fire in the kitchen. It’s warmer there. I’ll have Molly find her some blankets and get her something to eat.”
David went to speak with his wife, and Ethan turned to the man beside him. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about helping street urchins,” he commented. “Or perhaps you only take an interest in the pretty ones?”
Andrew actually blushed. “N-nothing of… of the sort,” he stammered in reply. “As I said, it’s just an act of kindness.”
“Kindness is fine,” Ethan told him as he straightened away from the bar, “but remember that we know nothing about her, an unfortunate circumstance which I’m going to begin remedying right now.”
There was something quite exhilarating about being a spy. It reminded Katie of her days as a street thief in London, the dizzying feeling of danger, the edgy taste of fear. There had always been true pleasure in the triumph of planning a coup with Meg, carrying it out successfully, and enjoying the spoils of the victory. She hoped she could succeed as well at spying as she had at pickpocketing.
So far, she
thought she was doing quite well. An offer of employment so soon had been far more than she could have expected, but Katie didn’t hesitate to take advantage of such a heaven-sent opportunity. She humbly accepted Mr. Munro’s offer of a job in exchange for food and lodgings, then followed his wife, Molly, out of the taproom, through a buttery, and into the tavern kitchen.
Molly walked over to the huge brick fireplace that was built into the back wall of the kitchen, and, using two heavy cloth pads, she removed a kettle from the warming oven above the fire. “There’s always baked beans kept hot around here,” she told Katie. “And plenty of brown bread. Anytime you’re hungry, just help yourself.”
Katie sat down at the long, narrow kitchen table, and Molly placed a wooden trencher of the beans and bread before her. She stared down at her simple meal and felt the sharp twist of hunger in her belly. Gripping the edges of the table, she leaned forward and closed her eyes, breathing in the enticing fragrance of hot food, a smell that made her dizzy.
“How long?”
Katie opened her eyes and found Molly watching her. “What?”
“How long since you had a hot meal?”
Katie saw the kindness and understanding in the other woman’s eyes and turned her head away sharply. “Long enough,” she answered, and picked up her spoon. Fighting back the urge to gobble her meal like an animal, she began to eat.
To her relief, Molly didn’t ask any more questions. “You can sleep here in the kitchen. We have a cot in the attic, and I’ll have David bring it down here for you to sleep on.” She pointed to a wooden chest in one corner of the room. “Blankets are in there. Tomorrow morning, we’ll start you working. Goodness knows, I could use the help.”
Molly returned to her thirsty customers in the taproom, and Katie ate her meal, thinking it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her with kindness.
Suddenly, all the exhilaration left her. She stopped eating and stared into space, realizing that she was going to be spying on people who had been kind to her, a cruel way indeed of paying back their kindness. She felt a sudden twinge of something she had not felt much of since her childhood. Guilt.
She rose to her feet, picked up her trencher, and crossed the kitchen, intending to dish up another helping of baked beans, forcing that unwelcome guilt from her mind. It was too bad, of course, but everyone in this world had to look out for themselves. If Molly foolishly told her things that ended up getting the woman into trouble, well, whose fault was that? Certainly not Katie Armstrong’s. Life was a battle, and she was fighting for her own survival. Let Molly and everyone else do the same.
She reached for the ladle that hung on the wall beside the fireplace, reminding herself of the most important lesson she had ever learned about life: Look after yourself, because no one else will.
Even Meg, who had been the only person she had trusted since her mother’s death, would never have put Katie’s needs above her own, nor would she have expected Katie to do so for her. Theirs had been a relationship of mutual necessity, and neither of them had been able to afford the luxury of putting friendship ahead of survival. Survival always came first.
Now, for the first time, Katie had the chance of a life beyond mere survival, and she wanted that chance, wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything. The hard part was done, and now all she need do was find John Smith. He might be among the men in the taproom at this very moment. Finding him was only the first step, and probably the easiest one. Getting proof of his sedition would be harder, but Katie had no doubt of her eventual success.
When she did accomplish this mission, there would be no more snatching meat pies and pocket watches. No more sleeping in stables. No more fear of prison or the gallows. No more looking over her shoulder for Willoughby.
Katie heard a sound behind her, and she jumped, dropping the ladle back into the kettle with a clang. She whirled around to find a man standing in the doorway, the man in oilskins who had mocked her in the taproom.
She tensed, waiting, wondering what he was thinking. This man wasn’t like the others. They had felt sorry for her, just as she had known they would; they had wanted to help her. This man was different.
He watched her with cool, assessing gray eyes, eyes that she suspected could see far too much. His long black hair was caught back in a queue that only served to emphasize the lean planes of his face. He was a full head taller than she, and though his clothes were the rough oilskins of the docks, he wore them with a sort of casual elegance, reminding her of the lords she used to see amusing themselves in the East End brothels of London.
Though it might be a contradiction to describe him as both incredibly weary and vibrantly alive, that was what Katie sensed when she looked at him. There was something about him akin to the restrained energy of a whip just before it lashed out. Katie prided herself on her talent for assessing a person’s character, but this was a man she could not fit into any of the usual categories. She was suddenly afraid. “Who are you?”
“There’s no need to look so frightened,” he said, his voice gentle. Somehow, that surprised her.
“I’m not frightened,” she answered. “You startled me, that’s all.”
He gestured to the pot on the hearth. “If you want a second helping, go ahead and have it. No one’s going to brand your hand for it, you know.”
Though she wore her gloves and he could not possibly see the T burned into her palm, Katie instinctively hid her hand behind her back, then silently berated herself for such a revealing gesture.
“I wasn’t stealing anything,” she said defensively. “Molly already told me I could have more if I wanted it.”
“Then get on with it, and stop looking like a guilty child,” he said, his face lighting with an unexpectedly charming smile.
Katie caught her breath, realizing for the first time that here was a very handsome man. But there was something about him that made her wary. Living on the London streets had honed her survival instincts, and she trusted them. She didn’t know how or why, but this man was dangerous.
She turned away to ladle another portion of beans into her trencher. She sliced off another helping of brown bread and turned back around to find he was still smiling at her. “Do you enjoy making fun of people?” she asked.
“No, I don’t. Forgive me.” He lifted his hands, palms facing her in a conciliatory gesture. “We seem to have gotten off to rather a bad start. Shall we begin again?”
She stared at him for a moment, suspicious and skeptical, but that smile of his seemed genuine enough, without a hint of his former mockery, and she found her tension easing slightly. “Very well.”
“Then sit back down and eat your meal before it gets cold.”
He spoke with the careless authority of one accustomed to being obeyed. He moved into the room with the languid, easy grace of a man who went where he wished and did what he pleased. He placed his tankard on the table, but he did not sit down. Instead, he waited for her to return to her seat, his gaze still fixed on her.
She frowned, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Was I staring? I apologize,” he answered in a voice of silken smoothness, but he did not look away.
Katie returned to her chair and sat down. He pushed her chair in for her, then circled the table to take the chair opposite hers. The simple courtesy startled her. From a man dressed in oilskins, it was an uncharacteristic gesture. His clothes might indicate that he was a fisherman, or perhaps a longshoreman, but if that were the case, she was a princess. “Who are you?” she asked again.
“My name is John Smith.”
Stunned, Katie stared at him, unable to reply. In one of the patriot taverns less than an hour, and she was already having a conversation with the man she had been sent to find. Triumph flooded through her at the ease of her success, but she suppressed it, careful to keep her face expressionless. She said nothing.
“What’s your name?” he asked, lifting his tankard to take
a drink as he watched her through narrowed eyes.
“Katie.”
“So, tell me, Katie, why did you take shelter here in the Mermaid after stealing that soldier’s watch?”
Denying his assertion would be pointless, and Katie did not bother to do so. She shrugged. “I’ve been in Boston only a few days, but that’s long enough to know which taverns are Tory and which are Whig. When being chased by Regulars, it seems to me a good strategy to take refuge in a Whig tavern.”
He smiled. “In other words, the enemy of my enemy is my friend? Do you really think the king’s soldiers are your enemy?”
“If they had been able to pin theft on me, they would have hanged me. I’d say they were my enemies, yes.”
There was a long silence. He took a long draught from his tankard and put it down slowly, then gave her a searching glance across the table. “I mean,” he said, his gaze meeting hers, “are you Tory or Whig?”
Katie almost said she was Whig, of course, but in the space of a heartbeat, she decided against it. She would have to walk carefully with this man, and she decided an indifferent skeptic who needed to be persuaded was her best method of approach. “I have no political convictions. The only thing I worry about is having a place to sleep and food to eat. What do I care who rules the colonies?”
“You should care about that if you care about freedom.”
She made a sound of contempt. “Freedom is a myth.”
He leaned forward, and those gray eyes darkened to silver smoke, almost as if he were angry. She sensed again the aura of danger that surrounded him. “It doesn’t have to be,” he answered. “Not if people have the courage to earn it.”
“How does disobeying the king prove courage and earn freedom?”
“What choice do people have? Should they allow themselves to submit to slavery? Should they not fight against it?”
“You speak like a rebel,” she countered. “Is it not sedition to talk this way?”
His anger disappeared, and his expression was suddenly bland. “What way? We are merely talking of slavery, and slavery is a perfectly legal trade in good King George’s colonies.”
The Charade Page 4