Ring of Secrets (8 page)

Lines of crates and boxes cluttered this back room. Oakham had insisted on trying out a new system of inventory, and it had resulted in one inexplicable mess. But in this particular instance, the lack of order suited him fine. His partner hadn't paid any heed to that one spare box of “medicine” that had arrived, and he would certainly not note Rob slipping some of it into a small box marked “perfume.” Nor would he know how fared their stock of perfume enough to realize he hadn't given any of that to Winter.

Even so, he must remember to take the remainder of the sympathetic stain home with him this evening. It wouldn't do for it to garner questions. Or, worse still, be put upon a shelf with the other herbals and vitriols by mistake.

He packed up the two vials for her but then hesitated. Would she try her hand at them without his advice? Quite possibly. He grabbed a scrap of paper and a pencil.

626
ycmm
298.

There. Tucking the paper in with the vials, he closed the box and carried it back into the shop in time to hear Mrs. Shirley say, “Certainly, dear, go ahead. I am still flush from the latest haul the
Royal Charlotte
brought to port.”

For a moment, Rob feared Mr. Lane would toss his stack of paper again, given the shocked bulge of his eyes. “The
Royal Charlotte
? My dear madam, is that not a pirate vessel?”

Mrs. Shirley gave him a smile that would have been deemed coquettish on a younger woman. “A privateer, if you please, good sir. Several of my friends and I have invested in her, and a fine venture she is proving to be. Our stated goal is to humble the pride and perfidy
of France and chastise the rebels of America—and a fine job we are doing too.”

Winter delivered that slow, confused blink again. “How does one humble the making of holes, Mrs. Shirley?”

The older woman stared for a long moment before shaking her head. “Not
perforate
, Miss Reeves.
Perfidy
. The betrayal of trust.”

“Ah.” As if bolstered by the explanation, Winter smiled and reached for the box in Rob's hands. “Well, I should think perforation a handy skill for a pirate vessel to have as well. It would make for the easier sinking of enemy ships.”

He held onto the stain a moment before handing it over, until she met his gaze for a fraction of a second. Long enough that she should realize he wanted her to pay attention, which would alert her to look for a note within. Then he released it into her hands with a nod. “Use it sparingly, Miss Reeves, for this particular perfume is hard to obtain.”

“But not so sparingly that I offend, correct?” Challenge quirked her brow. “For 'tis certainly easier to obtain than my grandmother's pardon.”

“Granted.” Rob said no more on the matter, not when he felt the regard of Mr. Lane, who looked from him to Winter with obvious curiosity. Blast. The man might bumble socially, but he obviously had his wits about him in most cases. Best not to raise questions whose answers could not be easily obtained by all. Rob forced a smile. “Shall I tell my sister you send your usual salutations?”

Winter's smile was large and honest. “Yes, do. How is she enjoying married life?”

Lane's shoulders relaxed. “Your families are acquainted?”

“We are from the same Long Island town.” Rob pulled out the lace he had put aside for Winter and handed that over as well. “And Sally has only good things to say about her new husband. Mary is set to wed this spring as well, and my eldest brother's family has grown yet again.”

“Send my felicitations to all.”

“Indeed I shall.” But when Oakham appeared to tally up the purchases for the other ladies, nausea churned in his stomach.

He had handed off some of the most priceless, crucial materials
the Culper Ring possessed under the very noses of British sympathizers—and Winter hadn't the good sense to look unnerved, even when no one else watched her.

'Twas enough to make perspiration bead under his collar.

Five

W
inter exited the shop before the others and let her eyes slide shut for just a moment, just a breath. The peace was short lived. A few seconds later the door opened again and the rest of her party laughed their way out onto Smith Street.

She couldn't decide if it were help or hindrance to her bid for reprieve when Mr. Lane stepped to her side and offered his arm. She wanted to return his smile, wanted to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow merrily, as any other girl would.

Wanted to run and hide to escape that delving gaze of his.

Under the jealous glares of her chaperones, who looked ready to push her away from Mr. Lane to make room for their daughters, Winter took his arm. When he held out a hand for her package, she relinquished that as well. It would have looked odd to refuse, though she could all but hear Robbie's outrage in her mind when she passed off the precious invisible ink.

Ah, well. Robbie must learn to keep his anxiousness in check if he wanted to succeed in this business while keeping up appearances.

A cold wind whipped down the street and did its best to rip Winter's hat from the pouf of her hair. She anchored it down with her free hand. If the hat came loose, it would undoubtedly pull her pins with it and leave her in total disarray.

Appealing as that sounded, her grandmother would fall into hysterics if she came home from town with her curls about her shoulders. She had scowled half the morning over Winter's insistence that she needn't powder her hair for a shopping trip with Dosia and Lizzie.

“Where are you headed now, Miss Reeves?” Mr. Lane asked.

She smiled. “Back to Hampton Hall, sir. This was our last stop.”

Mrs. Parks tugged Dosia with her to Mr. Lane's other side. “Not that we will be on foot all that way. We had luncheon with the Shirleys and walked from there, though my daughter and I shall see Miss Reeves home in our carriage. We are happy to drop you home as well, as it is on the way.”

Had he any idea how panicked he looked at that suggestion? A flush stole over his ears and into his cheeks, and his eyes went as wide as Grandmother's panniers. “I, ah…very kind of you, madam…of course I would…that is, if I hadn't…previous engagement, you see.”

Winter's hand lifted of its own accord, ready to pat his arm in reassurance. She barely checked herself, covering her blunder by settling the thoughtless appendage on her arm rather than his. “A shame, that. Then I suppose we must bid you achoo.”

Dosia's mouth fell open. “'Tis
adieu
, Winnie,” she said in a fierce whisper, as if the correction would be able to reach Winter's ears but not Mr. Lane's.

She leaned across him toward Dosia and made her volume match. “Well, I'm sure he
does
have much to do. 'Tis why I was saying goodbye!”

“No need for that quite yet.” Grinning at her, Mr. Lane shifted the stack of packages in his other arm. “I can walk with you as far as the Shirleys'.”

Her gaze stayed glued to her box. “You have too many burdens, Mr. Lane. Allow me to reclaim mine. 'Tis light enough for me to manage.”

“Nonsense. I have it.”

At this moment, perhaps, though heaven forbid they come across any other ladies who might greet him, or it could go flying. “All the same, if you were to drop it—”

“Then I would replace it.”

She sincerely doubted Robbie would give her more if anything were to happen to this batch. And Mr. Lane would need knowledge of chemistry to rival Lavoisier himself if he wanted to replace it otherwise.

But in the face of his continued boyish grin, unhindered by blush or nerves, she had little choice but to subside. With a sigh.
Giver of all, lend him Your steadiness, and see me safely home with this gift with which You have entrusted me.

As if in answer, she became aware of the coarse, comforting texture of Mr. Lane's homespun cloak under her fingers. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was Father's arm she held. Could pretend the wind was gusting through Oyster Bay rather than the City of New York. Could pretend these were the Townsend girls giggling behind her, joking with her rather than about her.

Mr. Lane led her forward, but she squeezed her eyes shut for one moment more. She could imagine him strolling along the dirt roads of her hometown. He wouldn't bumble so much in the easy society to be found there, and he would enjoy settling in around the fire of an evening and talking philosophy with Father and Freeman.

Or perhaps he would be one of the kind who came pounding on doors in the middle of the night, torch in hand. He could be one of the men who demanded that all others believe as he did or pay the price for it. He could even be the kind to hurl rocks into windows and steal family heirlooms, all because of differing politics.

Winter opened her eyes again to the crowded, crowding buildings of Smith Street and Hanover Square. Much as she hated the city, Oyster Bay had become no better since the war began. Other parts of Long Island may be given to Patriot politics, but not their town. Father and Mr. Townsend had both been abused and threatened for their views.

Robbie's father had bent his knee to the Crown to avoid further problems. Hers had taken up the colors and joined the rebel army. If he hadn't, if he had been home when Mother died…

Then she would not be here now. Would not be surrounded by these people she could never call true friends.

Would not be able to help the cause she so believed in.

“I am so glad we ran into you today, Mr. Lane,” Mrs. Parks said as they all turned the corner onto Queen Street. “I have been meaning to issue you an invitation to dinner at your earliest convenience. My husband and son would greatly enjoy your company.”

A blush crept up Mr. Lane's face again. “Your…yes. The Misters Park. I would…sometime…”

The matron batted her lashes. “I suppose it is too much to expect that you would be free on such short notice as to join us tonight?”

“Ah…”

Clearing a chuckle out of her throat, Winter figured she could spare him this embarrassment easily enough. “I am afraid my grandparents have already claimed his company for us at Hampton Hall this evening, Mrs. Parks.”

Mr. Lane nodded and pulled his arm—and therefore her—closer to his side. “Quite true. And tomorrow I have engaged with the Knights.”

Mrs. Shirley sniffed, her brows arching toward her gray-powdered widow's peak. “I have seen you with the young Mr. Knight. Given your many years away, you may be unaware that his family is, shall we say, unequal to yours. In your mother's absence, I feel compelled to bring that to your attention, Mr. Lane.”

His spine went straight, his shoulders rigid, and his arm tensed under Winter's fingers. 'Twas as if the lady's disapproval burned the nerves right out of him. “I cannot fathom what you mean, ma'am. The Knights are right respectable folk, abounding with charity and of an honest profession. Perhaps their means may not be as great as some, but who are we to judge anyone for such as that? Mine was not so great a few short months ago and could fall away again just as quickly if the tides of fortune pulled against me.”

Mrs. Shirley didn't appear chastised. “Their means are not my grounds for complaint, good sir, but rather their loyalties. 'Tis a known fact that the elder Mr. Knight was of decidedly Whiggish bent before the British won New York, and he even tried to evacuate the city when Washington fled.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked, as if he clenched his teeth hard before opening his mouth again. “I imagine I would have fled at that juncture too, Mrs. Shirley, had my primary residence burned as his did.”

“But his opinions—”

“Opinions.” He shook his head, his gaze so intent upon the matron that surely she felt it as physical force. “There is a very large difference, ma'am, between an opinion and its execution, especially an opinion several years old. Perhaps Mr. Knight would philosophize on what rebellion would mean—that does not make him a rebel. At Yale I was forced to debate both sides of many issues, occasionally even
convincing myself of a false ideal for a time—am I to be ostracized for that? Judged for what I once said, whether or not I still believe it? I say nay. And so I will not judge the Knights for what they may have thought or said before the war, but only by what they do now. And they have
done
nothing deserving of your censure. If they had, I assure you I would not be in association with them. More, I would see that their actions met justice.”

Winter felt as though she ought to applaud his eloquence, especially as it had been directed at ladies rather than gentlemen, which she had never heard him manage before. Certainly, his defense of his friend was worthy of praise.

But beneath her appreciation for his passion, her heart sank. Perhaps he saw more of her than anyone else in the city seemed to, but he must never see the truth. If his version of justice bore any resemblance to that of most other men she knew, it would land her at the end of a rope—or wishing for the mercy of one.

Mrs. Shirley gave him a tight smile. “Your loyalty is to your credit, sir. And certainly you are right. I have never heard of the Knights putting action to what they once voiced.”