Ring of Secrets (36 page)

“Yes.” Her composure wavered for a moment, long enough to let him glimpse the fear before she replaced it with hope. “A trip to Long Island is an excellent idea. How long will you stay?”

The shake of his head felt strangely like defeat. “I don't know,
Winnie. As long as I must. You could…” He knew, even as the words formed on his tongue, that there was no use saying them. Yet he could not stop himself from making one last offer, one last attempt to remove her from this situation into which he had placed her. “You could come with me. Visit my sisters.”

Her smile reflected serenity so perfect he knew it must be a mask. Yet he could not find a crack in it through which to glimpse her true heart. “I thank you for the offer, Robbie, but I cannot.”

Pressing his lips together, he nodded. Part of him wanted to force the matter, to insist she remove herself from danger. If anything happened to her because of this, because of him—but he had always been cautious. No one else knew of her, not so much as a hint. Tallmadge thought he overheard all the useful gossip at Rivington's, at his shop, or through Mulligan.

She was safe.

“Robbie.” The mask slipped, and she frowned. “The ring, then. Is it over?”

As her question swirled through his mind, he glanced beyond her to the horizon. Marred by buildings, crowded by man's invention, yet still the sun gleamed golden. Still it warmed, in spite of the chill of autumn's wind. Peace, in spite of the change of seasons. “For now there is no other choice. Perhaps Senior and I will speak on occasion, but circumstances being what they are, I cannot fathom risking a written message. I will in fact miss my meeting with seven-two-four tomorrow evening at my store, but it will not be the first time one of us did not show up.”

She smiled, no doubt at his familiar complaint about Roe's lack of dependability. “I wish you well, Robbie. And thank you, over and again, for being the friend I needed.”

Such a final-sounding goodbye. Realization pierced. Lane would no doubt propose soon, and they would leave New York once they were wed. After such a leisurely courtship, the betrothal would not last long. She could be gone by the time he deemed it safe to return.

He took a step backward and clutched the handle of his valise. “Be happy, Winnie. Safe and happy.”

Waiting for no more than the graceful lift of her hand in a wave, he spun away. If he hoped to make the tide, he must hurry.

Twenty-Two

W
inter picked up a spool of ribbon and pretended to care as she examined the width, the shade, the texture. The two other shoppers in Robbie's store, as well as Mr. Oakham, no doubt thought her about her usual, frivolous business.

Her nerves snapped with each footfall, each ring of the bell over the door.

Would he come? Would she know him if he did?

She replaced the spool, making sure her face reflected boredom as she reached for another. Robbie would be furious if he knew she was here hoping to intercept Austin Roe. Would no doubt wax long and poetic about the stupidity of inviting danger, with an eloquent addition about how he hadn't preserved her anonymity so long to have her destroy it now.

He seemed to have forgotten about that note in the Shirleys' bureau that went missing—or perhaps he had written it off as a servant moving it. But still it niggled, still it tormented her. What if she weren't as anonymous as she thought? What if someone already suspected her?

She could hear his voice in her head.
If someone already suspects you, then you must cease all activity at once and protect yourself.

Perfectly logical. Yet now, more than ever, Washington needed
to be aware of what went on in New York, what General Arnold was doing. And she was the only Culper agent left free in the city.

If someone was watching her closely enough to discover that note, then her other actions would already be known anyway. Certainly she would be as careful as possible, but she could get no guiltier of this particular crime. And she was more concerned with answering to the ultimate Authority, who had yet to release her from her calling.

The bell jingled. Winter looked up, as did everyone else in the store, and then back to her ribbon. Her heart pounded, pulse thumping in her head. Was that Roe? She thought so—middling height, dressed as a farmer, dark hair uncovered by a wig. 'Twas the same man she had spotted coming in here back in July, and she had later verified Roe had come by that day. Too big a coincidence to be one.

With the sigh she had learned from Grandmother that said nothing met with her satisfaction, Winter put the second spool of ribbon back and turned for the door. Roe had moved off, scanning the shop with a frown. Looking for Robbie, no doubt.

Chill air swept over her when she exited. Freeman straightened from the side of the building, brows arched. Tugging her gloves back on, she only nodded and started down the street. Once she was even with the same alley in which she had spoken to Robbie, she dropped the bracelet she had tucked, unfastened, into her sleeve, and then kicked it as if by accident.

Loosing an exasperated huff, just in case anyone was close enough to hear, she chased the beads into the alley. Then ducked behind the stack of crates and waited.

A few minutes later Freeman's voice carried toward her on the wind, along with an unfamiliar one. Though tempted to peek out from behind her blind, she waited instead for them to come to her.

Her lips quirked up as she considered how she must look. Decked out in the finery of a pampered gentlewoman, hair powdered, neck encircled with pearls, and slouching against the stained, sooty bricks in a back alley ready for a tête-à-tête about espionage.

How she longed for the day when duplicity was behind her.

Freeman stepped in front of her, Roe at his side. Winter tried not to laugh at the bulge of his eyes, but a smile escaped. She straightened and held out a hand. “Mr. Roe?”

The farmer-cum-soldier fumbled a moment before taking her hand and bowing over it. “At your service, Miss…? Your servant did not give me your name but only said that we have a mutual friend.”

“Mr. Culper, yes. Junior, that is.” She offered a confident, practiced smile, but otherwise did not guard her expression. She hoped he would see in her eyes that she knew what it meant. “If it is all the same to you, sir, I would like to remain nameless, as I have not been given an assignation that may safely fall on any ear.”

After releasing her hand, Roe stared at her for a long moment. “What is it you wish to speak with me about, miss?”

Cool air gusted, and Winter drew in a long breath of it. “I grew up a neighbor to Junior, Mr. Roe. When I moved to the city as he began this business, he called upon me to provide information now and then. Which I was perfectly willing to do, considering that my father prefers the same style of coat as you.”

Roe's brows lifted. “Junior never mentioned you.”

Freeman snorted a laugh. “He has better sense than that, sir.”

“Indeed he has. Which has led him back to Long Island in these dangerous times.” Winter leaned forward a bit so she might pitch her voice low. “Fleeing is not an option for me, which means I am still here. Still privy to the information Junior would have passed along. If you think seven-one-one would still like to receive it, then I would be willing to impart it myself. Though I am running very low on the vial of medicine Junior entrusted to me.”

“He gave you…?” Roe's face went contemplative, thoughts clicking away behind the sienna of his eyes. He was without doubt considering all the details she had shared that she couldn't have without knowledge of the inner workings of the ring. Evaluating her trustworthiness. At length he released a slow breath, then nodded. “Seven-one-one has great interest in what is happening in New York with Arnold here, though he is always wary when he discovers that the Culpers have invited others into the family without allowing him to know their histories first. So I will continue his tradition of secrecy when it comes to you, if that is acceptable.”

“More than acceptable. It was going to be one of my terms.” Winter's shoulders relaxed a bit. “Junior often passed along particular information seven-one-one sought. Have you such requests?”

Roe nodded and then jerked his head toward the street when a noisy group sauntered by. Winter slouched down again to be sure the crates covered her. The courier frowned. “I have a missive I had intended for Junior, with such instruction. Have you the counter liquor?”

“I do, yes.”

He nodded but didn't turn her way again. “'Tis in my room. I will leave it in the usual location, if you know where that is.”

Was he testing her, or did the passersby make him nervous? Either way, Winter nodded. “Junior has told me of it. In the hollow of the tree, correct?”

“'Twill be there within the hour. Have a response in the same place in exactly two weeks, when I next come to the city.” Without another word, Roe repositioned his hat and headed out of the alley.

Winter turned raised brows on Freeman. Try as she might, she couldn't quite determine if that had gone as well as she had expected. He certainly hadn't welcomed her as eagerly as Robbie had—but then, he didn't know her. And the success of the ring was based entirely upon trust born of friendship. She was lucky he had accepted her history with Robbie as credentials enough.

Freeman pursed his lips and then motioned toward the street, empty once more. “Shall we?”

“Mm-hmm.” Winter brushed at her skirt to make sure she had picked up no grime from the wall and then fell in beside Freeman. “You may have to be the one to check for that item later, Free. I will barely get back in time to prepare for our evening with the Lanes as it is.”

“Of course.” He paused at the mouth of the alley and looked down at her, long and intently. “This is a new risk, Winnie girl, in a time when everyone else is shying away from taking the old ones.”

She knew well he didn't speak of the risk to him, fetching the letter. No, as always she was his concern. But there was little to do other than shrug. “Someone must take them, Free. I am the only one left.”

Despite the proud light in his eyes, his face remained sober. “That is why I fear.”

Ben drained the last drop of coffee from his mug and then glanced at his pocket watch. Blast—he had better hasten home if he intended to don appropriate attire before the Hamptons and Winter arrived for dinner. Shuffling his newsprint, papers, and books together, his mind still lingered on the theory he had just jotted down with a pencil. If only he had his laboratory at hand, he could do a quick experiment and see if the idea would prove itself.

His fingers itched for a beaker. He could all but feel the flame he would hold under it. And, oh, for that long-missed joy of watching a plume of vapor shoot from the top of a cylinder, frothing over onto his table.

How had eleven months gone by? This spy hunt was only supposed to take a few. And really, what did it matter anymore? For all he knew, the plan that brought him here had been long-since forgotten. Certainly all intentions had shifted when Arnold arrived. Who was he fooling, thinking he could do what no one else could and find the ring of spies the best military minds couldn't pinpoint?

Moreover, his prime suspect had just left town, so why bother staying himself? Ben was fairly certain Townsend was the linchpin of operations in the City of New York, but he would not be passing any more messages along for the foreseeable future.

Only one thing held him here at this point, and the thought of her made Ben smile. The obvious answer was to propose, to marry quickly, and to repair to Connecticut as soon as his house could be opened up.

Yes, indeed, that was the solution to everything. He would, in fact, speak with Mother the moment he got home and ask for one of the family rings to bestow upon Winter.

Blessed satisfaction coursing through his veins at long last, Ben slid his books into his satchel. Next came a stack of his papers. Included in them was the letter he had received from the president at Yale, begging for his return. Which, yes, was what had gotten him thinking of it, longing for it himself. And finally a few miscellaneous papers and the
Royal Gazette
.

Sliding those into his bag, though, revealed an unfamiliar envelope upon the table. Ben picked it up with a frown and glanced at the name inscribed. Well, bother. Fairchild must have left it. Ben couldn't
be entirely sure what “it” was, but someone had written “urgent” under the colonel's name.