Ring of Secrets (21 page)

“Business.” Archie lifted a brow, but he stepped away, hands up.
“Coffee, no doubt. Well, have at it, good sirs. I surrender you both to the soporific company of the other.”

Ben waited until Archie had jogged across the street before turning to Fairchild. “My apologies for my brother, Colonel. And so you know, your company has yet to put me to sleep.”

Fairchild grinned and jerked his head toward Rivington's. “Nor yours, me. And you have no need to feel responsible for your brother. I am only grateful you are not like him.”

Nearly verbatim what Winter had said…but he wouldn't mention her again. No need to cause the colonel any more upset on the subject.

Rob paced the confines of the garden path, his stomach so twisted he felt he might double over at any moment. When he passed by the bench, Winter's hand came out, but he ignored it. He refused to look at her. He would see only pity on her face, combined with frustration, and he could not suffer that right now.

“Robbie, please.” She kept her voice low, but it was long with pleading. “Please sit. You will gain the attention of the entire household pacing around like this.”

“Well, had we been able to meet elsewhere—”

“You came to the front! It would look a bit odd if we disappeared now.”

Oh, yes. All his fault. He came to the wrong door, he employed the wrong cousin…had he ever made a sound decision? Perhaps even talking to her was a mistake. Perhaps he ought to close himself into his room and save society from his unforgivable errors.

She drew in a shuddering breath. “Please, sit. Talk to me.”

Well, he was here now. He pivoted and all but tossed himself to the wrought iron bench beside her. He still did not dare look at her face. “I have failed, Winnie. Seven-one-one—you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” Her tone was all patience, but he wasn't fooled by it. Of course she would remember their code for General Washington, and she would resent his insinuation that she did not.

Yet another thing he could never get right. “He is furious with me. Furious. The scathing letter I received from him this morning…” He had to stop and shake his head. He clasped his hands between his knees and stared at his white knuckles. “Culper Senior is angry that we were trying to bypass him, and John Bolton—” He paused but stopped himself before asking if she remembered their code name for Benjamin Tallmadge. “He is upset that my actions have made seven-one-one doubt the entire ring. I have gone from their favorite to their bane with a single misstep.”

“Robbie.” Her voice, soft as a mother's touch, soothed over him. Yet could bring no comfort. Not now. “Unfortunate as this is, it does not negate all the good you have done. Why, I have heard that Congress recalled all the new dollars based on
your
information. They will remember that.”

“Will they?” He tried to dredge up a smile, but it wobbled into a grimace. “I have my doubts about that, Winnie. This is too much.”

“Nonsense.” She scooted a touch closer and leaned in a bit more. “They will forget it with the next bit of useful information we pass along.”

He shook his head. “I cannot. I cannot continue.”

“Robbie.” Now her voice was a low pulse, incredulous and desperate. “Don't say such things. I know you are upset. 'Tis perfectly understandable, but we cannot give up after one setback.”

“A ‘setback'?” Finally he looked at her, at her perfect, earnest face. How could she not see that it was so much more than that? “Winnie, this could have been my ruin,
our
ruin. Do you not realize that? That we could, even now, be swinging from a tree had things gone differently? If my idiot cousin had not been so deeply immersed in his story, if he had shared the
truth
rather than a lie with a different set of pretty faces…how difficult would it have been to trace him back to me? Hmm?”

Her expression changed—to peaceful. She even smiled. “I thought of that. And yes, it frustrated me and then scared me. But the fact that it did not happen that way is proof that the Lord is with us. He holds us in His palm. When things could have gone in the worst possible way, He instead led your cousin to friends rather than foes. And while the consequences still come with a cost, they are far less steep than they
could have been. Perhaps…perhaps it happened to teach us caution. Or to urge us to our knees more faithfully.”

He breathed a laugh and stood again. “Or perhaps it was to tell us to get out while we still have our lives.” Seeing her distress, the objection ready to spill from her lips, he held up a hand. “At least for a while. I cannot…I cannot, Winnie. Not now. I need to lie low and let things settle. Perhaps, if they decide to trust me again enough to ask direct questions, I shall endeavor to find the answers for them. But to be out seeking intelligence randomly…” He shook his head. “I will not invite calamity. It seems all too willing to visit my door.”

She looked at him as though he had stolen the last ray of her hope. “You are making a mistake, Robbie.”

“I am not. This is best, for both of us.” Forcing down a swallow, he waved a hand at her concerns. “I know you think it your purpose, but it is coloring your decisions too much. You have enough to contemplate with your grandfather's ultimatum. This ought not factor into your decision of a mate. So I will remove it for you, and you can evaluate Fairchild on his merits rather than his loose tongue.”

She dropped her gaze to her clasped hands and seemed to be struggling for control. After a moment, all emotion fell away from her countenance. The tension left her shoulders and emptiness reigned.

He nearly broke then, seeing her slip on her mask because of him. But nay, he couldn't be swayed. 'Twas too critical.

She turned a hollow gaze on him. “What if I hear something of the utmost importance?”

He sighed. “Then obviously you ought to get word to me, but we will take no more risks.”

A nod, curt and dismissive, was all he received in response. Which was just as well. He backed up a step and tried to dig up a parting smile for her. “I will still stop by to visit. Keep you abreast of news from Oyster Bay.”

Unable to suffer seeing her without feeling for another moment, he spun and strode away. He would go home, close himself into his room with a book, and try to beat back the wings of despair.

This time, though, they seemed to smother him.

Winter watched Robbie stride away, his shoulders hunched against the beast of anxiousness. Tears surged to her eyes. She hated seeing him like this, in the claws of his dark mood, and never had she seen it quite so bad, seen him give in to it so fully. Usually he would try to jest it away. He would never indulge it in her company for more than a few moments.

She squeezed her eyes shut.
Father in heaven, pour out Your succor upon him. Help him…help me…please, Lord. I know not what to pray but “please.”

A familiar movement made her open her eyes. Freeman knelt beside her. He also followed Robbie's retreating form with his gaze. “Maybe this is for the best, Winnie. He's right that this business should not influence your decision in a husband.”

Shaking her head, Winter let a wisp of a laugh escape. “I don't seem to
have
a decision to make about a husband, Free. And now I have no purpose besides.”

His big hand settled on her shoulder, instilling decades of love and encouragement in a seconds-long touch. “Your purpose rests not with this, child, but with the Lord. We shall do what we have always done, and trust in His guidance. If He leads us to information that will not allow for silence…well, we will know then if this is still in His will.”

Intellectually, she knew he was right, and so she nodded. But her heart still bled. The tunnel of the future seemed to close in on her again, with no light at its end. Nothing but an ominous threat and choices that would leave her forsaken of what truly mattered.

No parents. No home. No friends.

No hope.

Thirteen

July 10, 1780

N
ever in her life had Winter dreaded every moment of a day as she did this one. When her father had left, the sorrow had been outweighed by pride and hope. When Mother had died, she had thought, up to the very last minute, that it would not—
could
not—happen. There had been no dread, though devastating grief followed.

But today. Each ticktock felt like a spike through her mind. Each creak of the floorboards sounded like canon fire. Each open door loomed wide and vast as the ocean.

She was out of time. And she dared not hope Grandfather would forget it, not given the dark, menacing satisfaction that had been gleaming in his eyes recently.

“Are you well, Miss Reeves?”

Bennet's voice made her jump, and the overreaction set her nerves that much more on edge. She forced a smile, though she hardly dared to look at him lest she then do something foolish, such as toss herself upon his chest and beg him to marry her. “I am quite fine, Mr. Lane. Just off in my own world today, I suppose.”

A world of shadows and devouring darkness. A world of foul stenches and painful moaning. A world of sickness and depravity.

Colonel Fairchild straightened from where he had bent at the waist to smell a yellow rose. He turned a questing gaze her way and sent it over her face. “You do look a trifle peaked. If we are taxing you, my dear, you must let us know.”

“Oh, but I am very well, Colonel. And so glad you all could come visit today.” She made sure her gaze included Dosia and Lizzie where they sat on the bench, though the girls were far too busy tittering behind their fans and batting their eyes at Major Lane and Mr. Knight to pay any attention.

It at least served as a distraction. Grandfather surely wouldn't toss her to the streets with guests present.

But later…how would she survive in Holy Ground? For surely nothing good could ever exist in that den of iniquity, no matter if the church owned the land. The stories she had heard…nothing but harlot after harlot, in their dank, disease-ridden hovels. If Grandfather took her there—oh, how she prayed he hadn't meant that threat.

Yet she dared not put any hope in that prayer.

The sun beat down with an intensity that made winter seem a decade away, though a refreshing breeze blew through the garden. Winter swished her fan and tried to focus on Bennet and Colonel Fairchild.

The former regarded her as intensely as the sunshine. Her hand betrayed the tremble it caused, so she fanned all the faster and smiled at Fairchild. “Colonel, I have not seen much of you lately. You have been dreadfully busy. I do hope no campaign is underway that will take you from New York.”

He smiled in return. “There has indeed been much afoot. I confess part of my time has been spent catching up with my friend Major André since his return to New York last month. But more, I have been assisting General Clinton in quietly mustering the forces.”

Though she kept the motion of her fan from so much as hitching, her pulse kicked up.
Life
. She had scarcely felt it in three months. She made sure her smile was only mildly curious, partially bored. As he would expect. “Oh? Has a new shipment of mustard arrived? I do hope you saved some for us, Colonel, and did not give it
all
to your soldiers.”