He acknowledged her words with a nod. “Under a monarchy, you are absolutely right. But what if the people governed themselves?”
“Without a king? Impossible.”
“Why?” He leaned forward, his eyes burning into hers. “Why is that impossible? What if we elected our rulers, what if we could choose who governs us? Don’t you see, Katie? That would make all the difference. That would mean a better life for people of all classes.”
Katie stared at him, and for a moment, she imagined it. For a moment, she believed him. A spark of his idealistic hope flickered inside her, then died.
“It will never happen.” She grabbed the finished sheet and folded it. “Class, money, breeding, and the quality of one’s connections are what matter, and kings rule because they have the most money, the best breeding, and the highest status. Fine speeches don’t mean a thing. Talk all you want about changing the world, but it won’t change. If you weren’t born into the privileged class, you have to make your own way and do the best you can, and life isn’t fair. That’s just the way it is.”
She set down the sheet and turned away. She left the kitchen without a backward glance, despising him for making her hope, even for one tiny instant, that he might be right. Her only hope of a better life was in the hands of the viscount, a man who had more money and power than she would ever have, and she’d do well to remember that.
* * *
After a little more than a week at the Mermaid, a week of carrying firewood and scrubbing pots, a week of stoking fires and stirring stews, and only a fleeting glimpse or two of John Smith, Katie knew changes would have to be made. She’d never accomplish anything if she remained stuck in the kitchen all the time. She was supposed to meet Worth in the marketplace the following morning, and she had to find a way to get to North Square for that meeting. Not that she had anything to tell once she got there.
Katie picked up another dirty trencher and scraped the scraps of food it contained into the bucket beside her. Not too long ago, scraps like these had been her usual meal. James Willoughby had always been stingy with food and lavish with punishments. She was well away from him, but if she didn’t learn something valuable, she just might find herself on her way back to his farm in Virginia. She knew it was probably unrealistic to think she could learn anything of significance so soon, but that didn’t stop her from hoping she would.
She had to find out more. She guessed the room where they had hidden her that night a week ago was used for John Smith and his fellow spies to meet in private, because the night of her arrival at the Mermaid, she had seen him go into that room, along with Andrew Fraser and two other men. They had remained there for several hours with the door shut, pretending to be engaged in a long drinking bout. Molly had helped carry out the pretense, going in and out of there carrying trays of ale, but Katie had seen the frozen puddle of ale outside the window the next morning and had not been fooled. She suspected that John and those other men were exchanging information and plotting sedition against the king. If she could find a way into that back room, she might overhear something important. It still wasn’t the proof Lowden demanded, but any information she could glean would help her find that proof.
Persuading Munro to let her help Molly serve those men probably wouldn’t be too difficult. He’d looked at her with the wary eye of a good innkeeper the first few days and kept a close watch on his liquor supplies, but after over a week of her charm, he was putty in her hands. No, she wasn’t concerned about Munro. John Smith worried her far more.
Katie stopped scrubbing trenchers and stared out the back window of the kitchen. John Smith. He dressed like a longshoreman, but he had the manners and attitude of a gentleman. Where did he get the information he passed on to his cohorts at the Mermaid, and from whom? She had to find out, but she did not know how she could ask questions about him without arousing suspicion.
“Daydreaming isn’t part of your job, Katie.”
Molly’s amused voice broke into her thoughts, and Katie gave a start. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually daydream. It won’t happen again.”
Molly set a load of pewter tankards beside Katie to be washed. “That’s all right. I know what it’s like to wash all these dishes. Daydreaming is certainly more fun. So, what were you thinking about?”
Katie dunked a tankard into the basin of hot, soapy water. “Oh, nothing important,” she answered with a shrug. “I was—” She broke off, struck by a sudden idea, an idea that was perfect for finding out more about the enigmatic man who dominated her thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “I was thinking… that is, I was wondering… umm… about John Smith.”
Molly chuckled as she picked up a towel and began to dry the tankards Katie had washed. “Were you, now? Well, that’s understandable.”
Turning to the other woman, Katie hoped she looked slightly lovestruck and very embarrassed. “He seems like a… a very nice man.”
Molly’s chuckle turned into laughter. “John Smith might be many things, but nice isn’t one of them.”
“Well, I thought he was nice.”
Molly leaned on the table and gave her a questioning stare. “Did you?”
“Yes, I did. But he looks rather sad, I think. And lonely. Does he have any family?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s a shame,” Katie murmured. “He and Munro are very thick.”
“They are friends,” Molly agreed. “Of course, he’s known David a long time.”
“Your son worships him.”
“Aye.” Molly breathed the agreement with a resigned sigh. “And I’m not sure I’m glad of it.”
“Why not?”
“Smith is a very private man. He doesn’t get too close to anyone, and children don’t much understand the bounds of privacy. He doesn’t like to talk about himself.”
“That makes him rather mysterious, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Molly answered, and fell silent. Katie waited, but the other woman said nothing more, obviously unwilling to discuss the subject any further.
Katie, however, was not deterred by Molly’s hesitation. She persisted. “Is John coming to the Mermaid tonight?”
“Aye, a bit earlier than usual. I promised to make him some of my codfish cakes. Eth—” She broke off whatever she’d been about to say and said instead, “He loves my codfish cakes.”
“Well, I’m glad. At least he’ll get a decent meal for once. With all this coming and going at such odd hours, he can’t be eating well. I’m certain he doesn’t get enough sleep, either.”
Molly’s expression became concerned. “Now, don’t you go getting any ideas about him, Katie. He’s a handsome fellow, sure enough, but he’s not one to set your cap for, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not!” she denied with just enough heat to make the words seem like a lie. “I’m just a little worried about him, is all. And I can’t help being curious.”
“Aye, and curiosity killed the cat. Katie, heed my words. John Smith is not the steady sort that makes a good husband. He’s had many a girl thinking what you’re thinking, and it never came to anything. Don’t go setting yourself up for heartbreak. Find a nice, reliable fellow who doesn’t come and go like the wind. That’s my advice.”
Molly straightened away from the table. “I’d better return to the taproom. By the way, I’ll be going to North Square tomorrow morning to do the marketing, so you and I will need to make a list tonight.” She sighed. “I do hate going to the marketplace. I’ve never been much of a bargainer, and now, with the shortages and high prices, it’s even worse.”
A heaven-sent opportunity if ever there was one. Katie took a deep breath. “If you hate it so much, why do it?”
“If I didn’t, who would?”
“I could do it for you.”
Molly raised her eyebrows and laughed. “And why would I let a slip of a girl who has a fondness for other people’s watches do my marketin
g for me?”
“Because I could get you better prices,” Katie answered confidently. “I’m very good at negotiating.”
“Aye, and sure of yourself as well.”
Before Katie could answer that, another person entered the conversation. “She has good reason to be sure of herself,” said a wry voice behind them. Both women turned around to see John Smith in the doorway, leaning indolently against the door-jamb, arms folded across his chest. “This maid could charm King George himself. And she’s right, Moll. You’ll get better prices if you let her do the shopping. Just don’t let her go alone with your money purse, or you might never see her again.”
He always appeared out of nowhere. Katie saw the cool amusement in his eyes, and she felt her insides twist with sudden dread. He always looked at her as if he knew all about her, as if he understood every trick in her repertoire, as if he knew the truth behind every lie she told. Damn, he looked at her as if he knew she was spying on him, and the knowledge amused him.
He doesn’t really know anything about me, she told herself. He can’t possibly know. But she had the feeling that he was determined to find out, and that could jeopardize everything, including her life.
5
Molly glanced from Katie to John Smith and back again. She seemed to sense the sudden tension in the air and cleared her throat nervously. “Well,” she said, and started for the door leading into the taproom, “if you think you can get me better prices, Katie, I’ll let you do the shopping tomorrow, and we’ll see.” She looked up at the tall man, who moved out of the doorway to let her pass. “I’ll tell David you’re here,” she added, and left the kitchen.
Katie returned to her work, hoping he would leave, but he did not. She could feel his speculative gaze burning into her back. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She turned and faced him, drying her hands on her apron. “Why do you always stare at me?”
“I’m trying to make up my mind about you.”
Katie’s dread deepened. “Why? What do you want of me?”
A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.”
“Oh, really?” Katie scowled at him, knowing he was playing games with her. She did not like the feeling of being a mouse in a cat’s paws. “When you do, pray let me know.”
“I will.” He straightened away from the door-jamb, but he did not leave. “Tell me why you were asking Molly questions about me.”
“I wasn’t—” Katie drew a deep breath, exasperated. It was useless to deny that she’d been asking questions. He had obviously overheard at least part of the conversation. What was it about him that rattled her so? “I was just curious.”
“Indeed?” He began walking toward her slowly. “Why?”
Katie took an involuntary step back and immediately hit the table behind her. She watched as he came closer, and she found herself unable to resume her pretense of being interested in him for romantic reasons when he watched her so closely. Her mind raced, searching for a lie plausible enough to satisfy him, but she could think of none.
He came to a halt in front of her, so close that she could feel the heat of his body even though he was not touching her. Suddenly, she wanted to know the truth about him, not because she was a spy. No, she wanted the truth for another reason, a reason she could not define even to herself.
“Who are you, John Smith?” she whispered. “Who are you really?”
He bent his head, and the rough stubble of his unshaven face brushed her cheek. His breath was warm in her ear as he said, “If you’re curious about me, I’d be happy to answer any of your questions. I would, of course, expect something from you in return.”
The implication was clear, and Katie shivered with fear and more as his lips brushed her ear. All her senses told her she was in danger, and she had to think. But she could not think.
This man was unlike any other she had ever met. This was a man she could not manipulate with a melting glance and a few sweet words. This was a man she could not fool with a few glib lies or beguile with a few compliments. In fact, when it came to guile, she’d wager John Smith could teach her a thing or two.
He lifted his hands, slid his fingers into her short hair, and tilted her head back. She realized he was going to kiss her, and a quivering excitement began deep inside her, an excitement she had never felt at the touch of any man before. Lost in the sensation, she closed her eyes, and she forgot that this man was her enemy. She forgot that he was a traitor and she was a spy. She forgot to breathe.
His lips grazed hers lightly, brushing her mouth in a slow, maddening caress that robbed her of the ability to think. Katie leaned into him, silently pleading for more than this feather-light kiss.
“If you keep responding so sweetly,” he murmured against her mouth, “I might be able to make you forget your questions altogether, and you’ll come to know me in the truest sense of the word.”
He was laughing at her. Somewhere past her drugged senses, she could hear the amusement in his voice, and she realized that amusement was at her expense. Anger doused the excitement inside her, and Katie opened her eyes, feeling like an utter fool. She tried to pull away from him, but his arms wrapped around her, and her attempts to free herself were useless.
“What, you don’t want to take me up on my suggestion?” he asked, smiling in the face of her futile struggles. “Katie, you wound me.”
“I am very sorry to hear it,” she answered, glaring up at him. “Let go of me.”
The laughter faded from his expression, and his face hardened into uncompromising lines, but, to her surprise, he complied with her demand and let her go. “I hope we understand each other,” he said softly as he took a step back. “From now on, keep your curiosity and your questions to yourself. Stay out of my affairs.”
He turned away and left the kitchen. Katie watched him go, berating herself for losing her head in such a silly fashion. She was going to prove a poor spy indeed, if a rogue’s kiss could divert her so easily.
And he was a rogue. He was also a traitor. He was in the thick of this rebellion, yet no one seemed to know anything about him. That was very odd in itself. Most people had family, friends, a history of sorts, and were not so unwilling to talk about them. John Smith was a man who kept his own counsel very well.
Katie’s humiliation gave way to her innate stubbornness. He might be clever, but so was she. She’d lived all her life by her wits, and she intended to use them to discover the truth about John Smith. If he thought a kiss and a few orders were going to divert her from that purpose, he was sadly mistaken.
“Doesn’t that fancy chef you’ve got ever feed you?” Molly muttered under her breath, watching in good-humored exasperation as the man beside her helped himself to another heaping plateful of codfish cakes and succotash from the pots on her hearth.
“Of course,” Ethan answered, “but the poor fellow’s fallen on hard times. With the Port Bill in effect, there’s not an oyster or lobster to be got anywhere, and with butter so scarce, he can’t make his elaborate sauces. Besides, not even the fanciest chef could make better codfish cakes than you.”
“I didn’t make them. Katie did.”
His expression of surprise made her laugh. “While you were meeting with David, I gave her a cooking lesson. She knew you would be having supper here tonight, and she asked me to teach her how to make your favorite dish, so I did.” Molly gave her fish stew another stir, then straightened to give the man beside her a searching glance. “You realize the girl’s infatuated with you.”
Ethan laughed. “You think Dorothy, the barmaid over at the White Swan, is in love with me, too.”
“So she is,” Molly answered promptly. “Liberty isn’t her cause. You are.”
“Tell me something, Moll,” he said, looking at her in exasperation. “Is there any woman in Boston that you don’t believe is in love with me?”
She scowled. “Well, I’m certainly not,” she answered tartly. “And I wish you would ta
ke this seriously. The hearts of young women are easy to bruise.”
“Perhaps,” he answered skeptically. “In Katie’s case, I have my doubts.”
“She might have had a difficult life, and she might appear a bit hard on the outside, but really, I don’t think she is. You know she’s asking me questions about you.”
“Yes, and questions make me suspicious.”
“That’s nothing new,” Molly answered. “You’re always suspicious.”
“True.” Ethan pinched off the crispy edge of a codfish cake from the trencher in his hand and popped the morsel into his mouth. He added, “I confess that I see conspiracies everywhere.”
“In this case, I think your suspicions are groundless. She didn’t ask about anyone else. Just you.”
Those words caught his attention. Ethan leaned close to the woman beside him. “Pray tell me,” he murmured, “exactly what questions did she ask?”
“None of the questions a spy would ask, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Molly answered, her voice as low as his. “She didn’t ask what you discuss with the others in the back room. She didn’t ask about anyone’s political opinions. She wanted to know if you get enough sleep because you look so tired all the time. She asked about your family and your friends, saying they don’t seem to take very good care of you. That’s hardly the talk of a spy.”
“True.” He thought of how Katie had melted against him when he held her in his arms, of how sweetly she had responded to his kiss, and his instincts told him that the pleasure she had taken from that kiss had been genuine. If Molly was right, if she was infatuated with him, her questions were natural enough. Still, he could not quite believe it. That girl looked out for herself.
Molly tapped her spoon on the edge of the pot, then set it aside. “You don’t really think she’s in Gage’s pay, do you?” she asked, looking up at him. “That slip of a girl who looks like a nor’easter would blow her away?”
The Charade Page 6