Read Online Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzanne Adair
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Badley
reopened the door, called for tea, and escorted Helen to a couch. "Let us all enjoy tea and discuss this
glorious opportunity."
Back to the
"glorious opportunity." Her
instincts reminded her that both the assignment and Fairfax were
dangerous. What feature was worth
spending weeks with him underfoot? How
important was it to Badley that she be the reporter on assignment, not
one of the men? And why?
The lieutenant
shifted to stand before the couch opposite hers. Helen, also standing, held his gaze while the maids arranged the
tea service, left the parlor, and closed the door. "Mr. Badley, I haven't yet heard Mr. Fairfax account for why
he's agreed to deceive Colonel Tarleton: participate in your scheme to plant a
journalist among the Green Dragoons."
Irritation
rippled Fairfax's expression. "How
is that deception?"
"The
colonel has an image to maintain. Journalists report facts."
The irritation
flared. "The facts are that
Colonel Tarleton is one of the finest officers His Majesty has in the field: a
brilliant tactician, revered by his men, fearless in battle, ruthless with
rebels. But he has no patience for
journalists he perceives as meddlers, distractions, reporters from magazines
with no solid political connection." Non-emotion reclaimed the annoyance on his face. "Many officers envious of his talents
seek to downplay his merits and brake his advancement. He must receive the credit he
deserves."
An ambitious
junior officer was wise to swath himself in stardust from the tail of a rising
comet. From what she'd heard of
Tarleton, she wondered how he managed all the lap dogs — not that the colonel
himself didn't practice his own version of lap-doggery. It was what made the British Army so
interesting.
Badley
applauded. "Lovely. Let's have tea."
The electricity
of sparring crackled the air between Fairfax and her. Weeks in his company could be horrendous for any reporter. And she had that mortgage to pay. Could she push Badley far enough to make the
stress and menace worth her while? "Mr. Badley, if you really want me on this assignment with him ,
I require an aggravation fee."
Badley
floundered his way back up from the couch when he realized she hadn't assumed
her seat. "Aggravation
fee?" He frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I want double
the rate you quoted me yesterday."
" What ?" Badley's frown contorted, and his face
reddened.
Fairfax's
eyebrow cocked, and his lips parted. Badley's indignation entertained him. Not two but three agendas scuffled for dominance in the parlor
that moment.
Badley swabbed
his sweaty face, handkerchief flapping the air. "That wasn't what the editor and I agreed!"
Four times her
daily rate was probably what papers like the Chronicle paid their
first-year reporters. She let out a
slow breath, feeling her way with caution, an acrobat balanced over a pit. "And I require an advance of fifty
percent."
"Advance?"
"You'll
find a way to make it happen. I'm worth
it."
While the
publisher's face ruddied further, Fairfax restrained a sneer. It would seem he shared her opinion of
Phineas Badley.
Badley worked
his mouth, pig-eyes mean. "Madam,
if I accommodate such a change, the delay to rewrite your contract will
certainly be more than Mr. Fairfax's schedule can allow."
Fairfax bared
his teeth, but Helen wasn't sure whether he meant the gesture as a smile. "By all means, sir, do not deny her
ample compensation on my account. I
shall adapt to the delay. I shouldn't
think rewriting the contract would take more than a day."
She nearly
exploded with dark humor: Badley backed into a corner. For him to even consider such a rate meant
that he was desperate for her to accept the assignment. What in blazes was he up to? By then, her curiosity far exceeded her
instincts. She simply had to know what
was driving the publisher, but she wasn't going to uncover the whole
reopened the door, called for tea, and escorted Helen to a couch. "Let us all enjoy tea and discuss this
glorious opportunity."
Back to the
"glorious opportunity." Her
instincts reminded her that both the assignment and Fairfax were
dangerous. What feature was worth
spending weeks with him underfoot? How
important was it to Badley that she be the reporter on assignment, not
one of the men? And why?
The lieutenant
shifted to stand before the couch opposite hers. Helen, also standing, held his gaze while the maids arranged the
tea service, left the parlor, and closed the door. "Mr. Badley, I haven't yet heard Mr. Fairfax account for why
he's agreed to deceive Colonel Tarleton: participate in your scheme to plant a
journalist among the Green Dragoons."
Irritation
rippled Fairfax's expression. "How
is that deception?"
"The
colonel has an image to maintain. Journalists report facts."
The irritation
flared. "The facts are that
Colonel Tarleton is one of the finest officers His Majesty has in the field: a
brilliant tactician, revered by his men, fearless in battle, ruthless with
rebels. But he has no patience for
journalists he perceives as meddlers, distractions, reporters from magazines
with no solid political connection." Non-emotion reclaimed the annoyance on his face. "Many officers envious of his talents
seek to downplay his merits and brake his advancement. He must receive the credit he
deserves."
An ambitious
junior officer was wise to swath himself in stardust from the tail of a rising
comet. From what she'd heard of
Tarleton, she wondered how he managed all the lap dogs — not that the colonel
himself didn't practice his own version of lap-doggery. It was what made the British Army so
interesting.
Badley
applauded. "Lovely. Let's have tea."
The electricity
of sparring crackled the air between Fairfax and her. Weeks in his company could be horrendous for any reporter. And she had that mortgage to pay. Could she push Badley far enough to make the
stress and menace worth her while? "Mr. Badley, if you really want me on this assignment with him ,
I require an aggravation fee."
Badley
floundered his way back up from the couch when he realized she hadn't assumed
her seat. "Aggravation
fee?" He frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I want double
the rate you quoted me yesterday."
" What ?" Badley's frown contorted, and his face
reddened.
Fairfax's
eyebrow cocked, and his lips parted. Badley's indignation entertained him. Not two but three agendas scuffled for dominance in the parlor
that moment.
Badley swabbed
his sweaty face, handkerchief flapping the air. "That wasn't what the editor and I agreed!"
Four times her
daily rate was probably what papers like the Chronicle paid their
first-year reporters. She let out a
slow breath, feeling her way with caution, an acrobat balanced over a pit. "And I require an advance of fifty
percent."
"Advance?"
"You'll
find a way to make it happen. I'm worth
it."
While the
publisher's face ruddied further, Fairfax restrained a sneer. It would seem he shared her opinion of
Phineas Badley.
Badley worked
his mouth, pig-eyes mean. "Madam,
if I accommodate such a change, the delay to rewrite your contract will
certainly be more than Mr. Fairfax's schedule can allow."
Fairfax bared
his teeth, but Helen wasn't sure whether he meant the gesture as a smile. "By all means, sir, do not deny her
ample compensation on my account. I
shall adapt to the delay. I shouldn't
think rewriting the contract would take more than a day."
She nearly
exploded with dark humor: Badley backed into a corner. For him to even consider such a rate meant
that he was desperate for her to accept the assignment. What in blazes was he up to? By then, her curiosity far exceeded her
instincts. She simply had to know what
was driving the publisher, but she wasn't going to uncover the whole
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