“No, I don’t, Molly, not really. Gage is too compassionate to use a starving girl. He’d at least feed her enough to keep body and soul together if she were in his pay. So, stop fussing like a hen with one chick. Besides, I’ve made inquiries about that girl, and she has absolutely no connection with Gage that I can discover.”
“You investigated her background?”
“Of course I did. She is an indentured servant from Virginia, and her master has reported her as a runaway. I cannot be certain, but I believe she entered the city only a few days before she came bursting through the doors of the Mermaid with Regulars on her tail. I don’t see how she could possibly know Gage or anyone working for him, and she’s not had time to develop the contacts she would need in order to be a spy for hire.”
Molly shook her head sadly. “You have a beautiful girl infatuated with you, and the only thing you can think about is whether or not she’s a spy. Any other man would just kiss her and get on with it.”
“I did kiss her,” Ethan answered, grinning at the surprised look Molly gave him.
“You did? When?”
“Only a few hours ago.”
“Indeed?” Molly gazed at him curiously. “And how did she react?”
His grin widened. “She kissed me back but glared at me afterward as if she wanted to slap my face.”
“That proves my point,” Molly countered with triumph. “That just shows that she’s half in love with you already. I warned her off you, of course, because I knew that would be what you’d want me to do. I told her you weren’t the steady kind, but I’m afraid that only made her more curious about you. And, to be honest, I can’t say I’m all that unhappy about her feelings for you.”
Ethan gave her an exasperated look in return. “You are hopelessly romantic, Moll,” he accused. “There is no place in my life for pretty girls who have the silly idea of being in love with me, especially if they are too clever for their own good and have a penchant for other people’s watches.”
“Can you blame her for that? She needed a warm place to sleep, and you only have to look at her to know how life has treated her. Believe me, I know what it’s like to be indentured. It’s no better than slavery. Besides—”
David Munro entered the kitchen, interrupting his wife’s defense of Katie. “Andrew and Colin are finally here.”
Ethan stepped away from the hearth to follow David out of the kitchen, and the subject of Katie was forgotten. “Then, since Joseph is also here, we can begin,” he answered. “I have important news for them.”
Andrew Fraser, Colin Macleod, and Joseph Bramley were all staring at him, dismayed by the news he had brought.
Ethan leaned back in his chair and remained silent, letting the information sink into their minds.
Joseph was the first to speak. “Gage is to be supplanted by this Lowden fellow?”
“No,” Ethan answered. “Gage is still in charge, and Lowden will make a show of reporting to him. I suspect, however, that Lowden’s primary responsibility will be quite different—to report directly to London.”
“Still,” Joseph said, “Gage has always been highly regarded by the king and his ministers. Why the sudden loss of faith in him?”
“This news is not really surprising,” Ethan countered. “After all, Gage has not been particularly effective in dealing with us. I’m sure London will welcome any recommendations Lowden might have.”
Colin spoke up. “Just who is this Lowden?”
Ethan opened his mouth to answer, but a soft knock on the door kept him silent. At Andrew’s order to come in, Molly entered with fresh rum and ale. It was not until she had taken away the empty tankards on the table, left the room, and closed the door behind her that Ethan spoke again.
“Viscount Lowden,” he said in answer to Colin’s question. “Eldest son of the earl of Raven-stock. Ambitious, ruthless, and just arrived from London, eager to make a name for himself and return to England in glorious triumph. He is also said to be a more fashionable dandy than Ethan Harding.”
“But what is his true purpose here?”
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know. The official word from Province House is that he is here as a liaison between Lord North and Gage, but that is ridiculous. Why shouldn’t Gage just communicate directly with the king’s minister? I intend to find out what he’s really doing here in Boston.”
“What makes him a danger to us?”
“I am told he is quietly approaching men of influence, lawyers, merchants, and the like, who are known to be sitting on the political fence and are undecided about which side to support.”
“That makes sense,” Andrew said. “A fence-sitter is more likely to be persuaded to the Tory side. Especially if they are offered lucrative rewards direct from a representative of Lord North, who everyone knows has the king’s ear.”
Colin gave a snort of contempt. “A fence-sitter is the worst sort of coward. Let’s find ’em, and I’ll heat the tar myself.”
Ethan turned to Joseph. “You’ll need to warn Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, and Dr. Warren about this as soon as possible. I will do all I can to identify Lowden’s true purpose here, and if it poses a danger to us, we will need to take steps to deal with it.”
Joseph tilted his head to one side, eyeing Ethan across the table. “You sound confident of success.”
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t mean to imply that it will be easy. But we are usually able to find out what the Tories are up to fairly quickly.” He gave them a wry smile. “Unfortunately, they are able to do the same.”
“Not to you,” Colin said. “At least, not yet. God willing, it will stay that way.”
Ethan glanced at each man in turn. “Gentlemen, if you hear anything about the viscount through your own sources, let me know. I must know what his intentions are. In that, Ethan Harding, loyal Tory, will be of great use, I think.”
Joseph shook his head in amazement. “Sir, you have my admiration. I don’t know how you manage to maintain these two identities of yours without getting caught.”
“’Tis very simple, my friend,” Ethan answered, meeting the other man’s gaze across the table. “I don’t get caught because I never trust anyone until I am absolutely sure of their loyalty.”
Following someone was not as easy as it used to be, Katie acknowledged to herself as she pulled her cloak more tightly around her body to shield herself from the cold February wind. Far ahead of her, John Smith paused beneath the light of a street-lamp, and Katie ducked swiftly into the closest alley, afraid he would turn his head and see her behind him.
She waited, remembering the old days in London, when Meg had taught her the fine art of shadowing someone. It was a useful skill, for they would sometimes have to follow their intended target for blocks before finding an opportunity to deprive him of his purse, and Katie had become very good at it. Meg had taught her well, but it felt like a much more difficult and risky task now than it had then.
The thought of Meg was painful, but as she followed her quarry through the dark streets of Boston, she could not help remembering the other girl. They had both been eleven years old when they met, but Meg had always seemed far older. It was Meg who had taught her how to survive on the streets. It was Meg who had shown her how to dip into men’s pockets and women’s reticules. It was Meg who had taught her theft, forgery, and swindling so that she could survive without resorting to prostitution, which was the usual fate of girls in her situation.
She pushed memories of Meg out of her mind and returned her full attention to the man far ahead of her. His meeting with the others tonight at the Mermaid had lasted more than three hours, and she would give a great deal to know what they had discussed, but she had not been able to get anywhere near that back room.
Instead, when the clock struck midnight, Molly had dismissed her and sent her to bed. There on her cot in the kitchen, she had waited beneath her blanket, awake and listening for the meeting to end and the men to depart for home. John Smith had been the
last to leave, and she had slipped out to follow him, determined to find out something she could tell the viscount tomorrow.
After a few seconds, she dared a look out into the street and found that John Smith was nowhere to be seen. Cursing herself for losing him, she leaned back against the alley wall and decided it was probably best to return to the Mermaid.
But when she took another look out into the alley, she caught a brief glimpse of his black-clad figure far ahead of her. He was almost indiscernible at this distance, and Katie slipped out of the alley and continued to trail silently after him.
They passed the Old Granary Burying Ground and turned onto Beacon Street, where luxurious mansions backed up against Boston Common. When he turned onto a narrow side street, she followed as closely as she could. When he turned another corner, she was afraid she might lose him altogether, but she did not dare quicken her pace to run after him. The night was cold and silent, and her footsteps would surely be heard if she broke into a run.
When she reached the place where he had turned, Katie came to a halt and cautiously took a peek around the corner. She saw a lane of sorts, with a high wall running along one side and stables along the other. Beyond the stables lay the huge expanse of Boston Common. Fifty yards or so down the lane, she saw John Smith slip through an opening in the wall and disappear from view. The iron bars of a gate made a slight clanging sound as they closed behind him.
Katie cautiously approached the gate he had slipped through and looked between the wrought-iron bars. In the moonlight, she could see graveled paths and boxwood hedges, a gazebo and a fountain, all the accoutrements of a wealthy man’s garden.
Between the bare branches of the shrubs and trees, she could see the back wall of a redbrick mansion that rose three stories high. In one of the rooms on the ground floor, lamps were burning, and through the expensive leaded window glass, she could clearly see the luxuries within the house. Gilt mirrors, woven tapestries, lavish furnishings, a pianoforte, oil paintings. He must live here.
Katie smiled with satisfaction. She’d been right about him all along. Longshoreman indeed! Now that she knew where he lived, finding out his identity would not be difficult at all. The viscount would be well pleased with this information.
“Is your curiosity finally satisfied?”
She whirled around to find John Smith scarcely a yard behind her, one shoulder against the wall of the alley, arms folded across his chest. Katie went cold with fear.
She was quick, but he was quicker. When she tried to dart past him, his hands closed over her shoulders in a merciless grip, and she was shoved back against the wall beside the gate. His face in the moonlight gave no clue what he was thinking.
“What good will running do?” he murmured. “Where could you possibly go?”
“Anywhere as long as I’m away from you!”
“Katie, you astonish me. A short time ago, you were willing to follow me anywhere. Now you wish nothing but to be away from me.” He sighed in mock exasperation. “Women are so fickle. Can’t ever make up their minds.”
The usual ironic amusement was in his voice, but beneath it was something else, a weariness, as if he gained no pleasure from baiting her.
“You knew I was following you?”
“Not until I was inside. I could see you from my bedroom window, standing by the gate. You’re very good at shadowing someone, but may I give you some advice? If you’re going to skulk outside a man’s house and don’t want to be seen, then don’t stand in the moonlight, in plain view of the house.”
Katie silently berated herself for making such a foolish mistake. She had been so pleased with her own cleverness in managing to discover where he lived that she had forgotten caution. Now, if she could not find a way out of this mess, she would pay the price for her carelessness.
The viscount’s ominous warning came back to her. If you are found out by the rebels, you will be tarred, feathered, beaten, and probably killed.
She licked her dry lips, trying to think of a plausible reason she could give for following him, but it was for naught. She had survived most of her life by using her wits, but now at the most crucial moment, her wits chose to desert her.
John Smith had her imprisoned in his hands like an animal in a trap, and the strength of his grip brought the sickening certainty that nothing she said would make a difference now. She looked into his eyes, eyes as cold and hard as granite in the moonlight, and she had no doubt about his intentions. He was going to kill her.
6
What the hell was he going to do with her now? Ethan stared down into Katie’s pale face, and he knew what he ought to do, he knew what his safest option would be, and he was angry enough that he almost found that option appealing. Now that she knew where he lived, she could easily find out his true identity. What she did with that knowledge could jeopardize not only himself but the cause he had spent ten years fighting for.
But he had to shoulder his share of the blame. He had been so preoccupied with the matter of Viscount Lowden that he had not noticed her following him until it was too late. He didn’t often make such a careless mistake. Damn his preoccupation, and damn her curiosity.
But was it only curiosity that had led her to follow him?
He studied her in the moonlight, but he could find no answer to that question in her expression. The only thing he sensed from her was a hint of fear. He could feel her slender body trembling in his arms.
What had impelled her to follow him? She was a thief and a liar, and despite Molly’s romantic ideas, he doubted very much that she was infatuated with him. She could be a Tory spy, but he had found no connection between her and the governor. She had been in Boston less than a fortnight; his sources had already verified for him that she was a runaway.
Was she a spy? Or was she just an infatuated girl?
Ethan didn’t know, but he bloody well intended to find out. Keeping one arm wrapped securely around her, he reached into his pocket for his gate key. “Come with me,” he said, and unlocked the gate. She seemed to sense struggle would be futile, for she did not even try to escape as he hauled her across the back gardens and into his house.
Once inside, Ethan lit a lamp and took her into his study, where he pushed her into a chair. He removed his cloak and tossed it over the settee, then made a fire in the grate. He chose not to sit down. Instead, he stood with his back to the fire, thrust his hands into the pockets of his oilskin trousers, and studied her for a long time without speaking.
She pushed back the hood of her cloak and sat rigidly in the chair, lifting her head to meet his gaze straight on. “Well, now what?” she demanded.
He did not reply. There was defiance in her voice and in the blue eyes that looked back at him, but despite her attempt at bravado, it was clear that she was still badly frightened, and he knew the idea that he might put a permanent end to her curiosity had occurred to her. Good, he thought with some satisfaction. That would probably make it easier for him to find out what he wanted to know.
“Yes,” he finally said, “now what?” He stepped away from the fireplace. “Brandy, I think, would be a very good idea.”
He crossed the room to the cherry-wood liquor cabinet and poured a measure of his best brandy into a crystal tumbler. Thinking perhaps it might require more than one drink to loosen her tongue, Ethan brought both bottle and glass to her. He set the bottle on the table beside her chair and held the tumbler out to her, but she did not accept it.
“Take it,” he urged. “You are definitely in need of a drink. God knows, you look like a frightened rabbit.”
She bristled at his words, clearly not liking the comparison. “I’m not frightened of you.”
He reached for her hand. “Liar,” he said, and curled her gloved fingers around the tumbler. “You are scared to death, and well you should be. Now, drink.”
He stood beside her chair and watched as she downed the brandy in one swallow. She immediately choked, a clear indication that she was not used to spir
its. But then, he already knew that. David had already assured him that she had made no attempt to dip into the tavern’s supply of ale and rum.
“Excellent,” he said as she set the glass down on the table beside her. “Some color is coming back into your face now. For a moment, I thought you were going to faint on me, and that would have been very inconvenient.”
“I’ve never fainted in my life.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” He shifted his position so that he was standing directly in front of her. He placed one hand on each arm of her chair and bent his head until his face was only inches from her. It was a dominating position and told her he had all the advantage. “Tell me,” he murmured, looking straight into her eyes, “why this passionate desire to know all about me? Why does a runaway bondswoman have such an interest in my life?”
She tensed, and he knew she had not reckoned with the possibility that he would discover the truth about her. She leaned back as best she could within the confines of the chair and glared at him. “I am no runaway!”
He shook his head slowly. “Katie, I will have the truth from you this night if I have to beat it out of you.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“I doubt you’ve ever told the truth in your life.”
“Then why ask me any questions?” she countered, and he caught a hint of despair behind the defiance in her voice. “Why not just kill me and be done with it?”
“My dear girl,” he replied with mock astonishment, “I wouldn’t dream of killing someone with your talents. It would be such a waste.”
Her hands clenched into fists—to stop their shaking, he suspected. But he could not afford to take pity on her. There was too much at stake. He leaned even closer. “Answer my question. Why are you asking questions about me and following me?”
Ethan waited several seconds, watching her, but she stared right back at him and said nothing. Bullying her wasn’t going to work. He decided to try a different approach. He straightened away from the chair and tilted his head to one side, eyeing her speculatively. “Tell me, Katie, what do you think Mr. James Willoughby will do to you when I send you back to him?”
The Charade Page 7