The Golden Flask (29 page)

"But your friend is still downstairs."

"I will see to him," said Jake. "Come on."

Even hanging from the window ledge, it would be a
long jump for the girl. She looked down and hesitated.

"But, Jake, if he really is in danger?"

"I'm glad to see that you have changed your opinion
about him," Jake told her. "I will hold you out and
drop you. Roll on your feet like a cat when you hit the
ground."

"I know how to jump," she said indignantly.

"Out, then. And don't wait for me."

"But — "

"General Washington is waiting." Jake took her and
dangled her out, then watched with some satisfaction as she fell with an "oooff!" and immediately righted herself. He tossed the book down, then yelled "Go!" as she started to run toward the old creamery.

Jake's shout did not go unnoticed downstairs, though by now it was only one of a panoply of noises whose origin and meaning were a great puzzle to Alain. Van Clynne, of course, realized that his friend must have taken the warning to heart and was even now making good his escape.

Which meant that, despite the perfect moistness of the meat and the excellent — nay, superior — stout the butler had produced, it was time for him to exit as well.

"Well, my lord, I see by the clock that I must go," he said, rising with some reluctance.

"What clock? Herman, what the hell is going on up there? Where is Jennifer? Van Claus, what is your assistant doing, rogering the maid? Herman, go and see what the blasted hell is going on."

"Undoubtedly, my lord, I have overstayed my welcome." Van Clynne reached back to his plate and pocketed a healthy piece of the quail.

"You are not going anywhere," said Alain, whose voice had taken on a screeching tone. "Herman! Jennifer!"

"There is a knock on the door, sir," said the butler, shuffling forward. "Should I see to it?"

"Yes, see to it. What the hell was that thud? Was that a bird by the window?"

"I wonder," asked van Clynne, the color suddenly run from his face, "is there a back exit?"

"What?"

"Obviously, the Sons of Liberty are launching an attack," said the Dutchman hurriedly. "You secure the upstairs, and I will see to the back."

"But — "

"Quickly, sir. Young Al —"

"Yes, he is unprotected upstairs," said Alain, suddenly snapping up and dashing from the room.

* * *

J
ake ran back to the office to grab the maps. He removed the silk ribbon from his ponytail, only to find
the black cloth was not nearly long enough to hold all
the papers. He tied together what he could and ran back to the window.

He had just reached it when his lordship began
mounting the steps. The patriot spy went out in a headfirst tumble, barely managing to tuck his legs below
himself as he hit the ground.

It was a moment before he could recover sufficiently
to pick up the bundle of maps and take the pistol from his belt. Alain had either missed his jump or had gone to
attend to the maid; Jake took advantage of this reprieve to sneak to the dining room window. He reached over with his hand and flung it open, and in the next second jumped up, gun ready…

And came face to beard with van Clynne, wearing one of his more quizzical looks.

"Thank you, sir," said the Dutchman. "But I already
am armed."

"This way. Keen is on the steps outside, with Bauer
and his brother-in-law."

"The butler will be several years letting them in,"
said the Dutchman. "Lord Peter has gone upstairs. I
assume the young lady is with you?"

"She's halfway back to the infirmary by now."

"Excellent. All according to my plan. I will proceed
to the rear exit, through the kitchen."

"Hurry," said Jake, realizing the window was too
small to accommodate van Clynne's girth. "Go through
the old creamery behind the building."

"I have already made quite a study of the layout, with your friend Culper's assistance," sniffed van
Clynne. "See to your own escape, sir. Mine is as good
as done."

"Give me that case there," Jake told van Clynne,
pointing at a portfolio. He placed the maps and pistol
inside so he would appear just one more messenger on the street. "Get back in one piece, Claus," said Jake as
he snapped the window shut. He noted with some satis
faction that the Dutchman left the dining room with more than his usual alacrity, then crept to the front of the alley.

The doctor succeeded in pounding his way inside the
door just as a fresh coach pulled up beyond Keen's to
the very head of the alley. This carried Lady Patricia,
who had been detained at the dress shop. Jake crossed
to watch her alight as she stepped from the carriage
prematurely into the street, directly into the path of an oncoming wagon.

Dropping his portfolio, the patriot caught Lady Pa
tricia around the waist an instant before she plunged into the horses' path. He swept her around, ignoring the deep splatter of muck that splashed on his back. No gentleman of London or Paris bowed as neatly as
he when depositing her safely on her feet at the side of
the road.

"You!” she cried. “What are you doing here? And dressed as a
carpenter?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," said Jake. "Was that Dr. Harland Keen who just went into the
house?"

"The doctor was just looking for you," said Lady Pa
tricia.

"Indeed," said Jake. "But I think I will delay our
appointment a while longer."

"Jake — "

There was a certain note in her voice, a mixture of
affection and apprehension. Whether it came because she thought he meant to dally with her, or whether it
was intended to imply she wanted him to, was impossi
ble to tell. In any event, her brother and husband were
now coming down from the doorstep, and Jake decided
he needed some expedient to distract their attention.

At least that was his official reason for taking Lady
Patricia back into his arms and kissing her.

Her reaction differed from the maid's only in that
her lips pressed back sharply. In fact, despite the surrounding circumstances, this was quite a pleasant and
lasting kiss.

"What in hell are you doing with my sister!" thun
dered Clayton Bauer, outrage mixing with surprise as he realized the fellow before him was Bacon's agent and Keen's friend.

"Thanking her for her assistance this morning," said
Jake. "And saving her life."

Clayton's reaction was absolutely on key, but Lady
Patricia's husband had not yet registered a complaint.
Perhaps he had missed the kiss.

So naturally, Jake repeated it. This time there was
token resistance, though he could tell from the way her
hand pressed at his side that it was for appearance's sake only.

The dragoons strained from their horses to catch the
show. A few gripped the swords in their saddle sheaths,
but the bulk wore grins that betrayed admiration for
the bold young man who had so overt a manner — and
such fine taste in lips.

"Aren't you going to stop him?" Clayton demanded of his brother-in-law.

The earl was one of those men so accustomed to hiring others to do their work for them that they can
not take a stand for themselves, even when confronted
by the most vigorous insult. He mumbled some words
of shock in a soft voice.

"Stop," said Lady Patricia. It was the mildest rebuke
imaginable, but it was enough for her brother, who stepped up and grabbed Jake by the arm.

"You will leave off, sir," he said. "You will cease and
desist!"

"And who are you to order me about?"

Jake squared his shoulders as he confronted the
man. Clayton was several inches shorter, with a waist
that betrayed many second and third helpings at the feasts the British had thrown this past winter. Still, he had the fiery aspect of a self-made man, and the righteousness of his cause propelled his words.

"Do not think that because you are under His Majesty's protection that you do not have to observe the proprieties," said Clayton. "Why is everyone in Bacon's employ so damned arrogant?"

"It may be that we are arrogant," returned Jake, "but I understand now why all of your men bear a common idiocy."

The Tory's face twisted with anger and he turned to his brother. "Here, William, here is my glove. Demand satisfaction for his insult to your wife."

"I do not think — "

"No, Clayton. It was nothing." Lady Patricia's trembling voice revealed her great distress. She seemed torn by many conflicting emotions: admiration for her brother, a quiet contempt for her husband, and a definite desire for Jake.

"Then I demand satisfaction," said Clayton, slapping Jake's cheek with the fingered end of his glove, "for the family name and my sister's honor."

Jake stood still in the street for a second, playing the moment for its full drama. The entire world grew silent around him. He saw from Clayton's expression that the Tory was just now realizing the full implications of his challenge.

"You will lend me your glove, as I do not have my own," said Jake with all the dignity of a Spanish don.

The ritual proceeded quite properly. Clayton gave the place and the time: two days hence, at dawn, on the shore just north of Perth, a no man's land where the technicalities of the law would not follow.

Jake had the option of weapons and conditions. He briefly considered swords — surely this would please the Tory mentality — but changed his mind as a sharp rejoinder occurred to him.

"I choose pistols," said Jake. "I should not like your poor sister to cry over your slashed face in the coffin."

"You will supply them.

"It is only a matter of choosing which set," said Jake.

He smiled wryly, imagining the Tory spending the
whole next day practicing for a showdown which would
never come. His smile broadened to the widest grin as
he swept down in a bow and bid the company — and
especially Lady Patricia — a fond adieu. Retrieving the case with the maps and pistol, he began walking back
toward the infirmary with the air of a man who had just
snuck from under Death's nose without so much as dusting his clothes.

Chapter Twenty-six