Read Online The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzanne Adair
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your investigation reveals that Givens was a member of the Ambrose ring, this woman is an
unsuitable witness."
Ambrose ring? What the blazes was that?
Stoddard snorted. "We've examined what you call
'evidence.' A parasol and veil. Bah. No secret rebel messages hidden in those. The lady is willing to surrender the letter to Colonel Brown on
the morrow in Augusta."
He caught her eye above Fairfax's
shoulder. "I shall escort you back
now, madam." He strolled around to
face Fairfax and granted the Givens property a magnanimous wave. "Have at it if you like, sir. You've still eight hours, fifty
minutes. And were I you, I wouldn't
harass Mrs. Sheridan. She's performed
admirably as the King's witness, and Captain Sheffield thinks well of her."
***
No breeze cooled the stuffy
bedroom, even though it was near eleven o'clock. The servant, Mary, was asleep in the tiny room across from
Betsy's room, and Susana had gone home to her family, but Clark hadn't yet returned. Fretting, Betsy shoved the window open
further, undressed to her shift, and hung her clothing on pegs. Then she set her pockets and the lantern on
her mother's desk and withdrew Arriaga's letter and Clark's cipher. Blue letters and numbers reappeared on the
message from the boot when she passed it near the heat of the lantern. While its cipher faded to invisibility, she
pushed the boot message aside and opened Arriaga's letter.
Almost afraid to confirm her
suspicions, she waved the letter above the heat. A shiver scurried down her backbone, and she whispered,
"Gods." The familiar, bluish
cipher-scribble appeared between the lines of Arriaga's script, too.
What she knew of Clark barely
brushed the surface of the life he led. Even worse than her confirmation that he concealed so much was her
certainty that he was in the thick of a multinational plot. She clamped down on her fear. Without a level head, she wouldn't be able
to help her husband.
The Portuguese were supposedly
neutral in the war. Sheffield had
suggested the Portuguese captain's letter might have been intercepted before it
left Havana. After exhaling a deep
breath, she passed the letter over the heat again. The cipher portion was, indeed, written by a hand other than
Arriaga's.
Without knowing the key to the
cipher, trying to decode it was almost impossible. She studied the cipher on the letter, set it aside, and reheated
the message from the boot, searching for something in common between the two. 402. Say, hadn't that been a number from the letter, too? After she'd refreshed the letter's cipher,
she saw the number 402 written there twice. What was the significance of 402?
Clark must have kept everything
from her thus far to protect her, but she was through carrying the burden of
what she'd discovered alone. She
doubted he'd confess if she confronted him directly. No, she'd have to trick him or convince him he could trust
her. 402. She'd wait up for her husband, and perhaps she could find out
what it meant.
To pass the time, she copied
Arriaga's letter with the stationery, quill, and ink on her mother's desk. By the time she sprinkled fine sand over the
finished forgery to help dry the ink, she'd grown so sleepy she had difficulty
holding her head up. She nodded several
times, folded the cipher and both letters, slid them into her pockets, and
extinguished the lantern. She'd stretch
out on the bed for a few minutes and wake up when Clark came in.
She never remembered falling
asleep, but early Thursday, a thunderstorm trundled over Alton and awakened
her. Oblivious to the tempest, Clark
snored beside her. When had he
returned?
Rain spattered the floor beneath
the window. Fuzzy-headed, she rolled
from bed and shoved the window shut, and after using the chamberpot, lay abed
listening to the assault of rain on roof and pane. Alton needed the rain. So
did Augusta to the
unsuitable witness."
Ambrose ring? What the blazes was that?
Stoddard snorted. "We've examined what you call
'evidence.' A parasol and veil. Bah. No secret rebel messages hidden in those. The lady is willing to surrender the letter to Colonel Brown on
the morrow in Augusta."
He caught her eye above Fairfax's
shoulder. "I shall escort you back
now, madam." He strolled around to
face Fairfax and granted the Givens property a magnanimous wave. "Have at it if you like, sir. You've still eight hours, fifty
minutes. And were I you, I wouldn't
harass Mrs. Sheridan. She's performed
admirably as the King's witness, and Captain Sheffield thinks well of her."
***
No breeze cooled the stuffy
bedroom, even though it was near eleven o'clock. The servant, Mary, was asleep in the tiny room across from
Betsy's room, and Susana had gone home to her family, but Clark hadn't yet returned. Fretting, Betsy shoved the window open
further, undressed to her shift, and hung her clothing on pegs. Then she set her pockets and the lantern on
her mother's desk and withdrew Arriaga's letter and Clark's cipher. Blue letters and numbers reappeared on the
message from the boot when she passed it near the heat of the lantern. While its cipher faded to invisibility, she
pushed the boot message aside and opened Arriaga's letter.
Almost afraid to confirm her
suspicions, she waved the letter above the heat. A shiver scurried down her backbone, and she whispered,
"Gods." The familiar, bluish
cipher-scribble appeared between the lines of Arriaga's script, too.
What she knew of Clark barely
brushed the surface of the life he led. Even worse than her confirmation that he concealed so much was her
certainty that he was in the thick of a multinational plot. She clamped down on her fear. Without a level head, she wouldn't be able
to help her husband.
The Portuguese were supposedly
neutral in the war. Sheffield had
suggested the Portuguese captain's letter might have been intercepted before it
left Havana. After exhaling a deep
breath, she passed the letter over the heat again. The cipher portion was, indeed, written by a hand other than
Arriaga's.
Without knowing the key to the
cipher, trying to decode it was almost impossible. She studied the cipher on the letter, set it aside, and reheated
the message from the boot, searching for something in common between the two. 402. Say, hadn't that been a number from the letter, too? After she'd refreshed the letter's cipher,
she saw the number 402 written there twice. What was the significance of 402?
Clark must have kept everything
from her thus far to protect her, but she was through carrying the burden of
what she'd discovered alone. She
doubted he'd confess if she confronted him directly. No, she'd have to trick him or convince him he could trust
her. 402. She'd wait up for her husband, and perhaps she could find out
what it meant.
To pass the time, she copied
Arriaga's letter with the stationery, quill, and ink on her mother's desk. By the time she sprinkled fine sand over the
finished forgery to help dry the ink, she'd grown so sleepy she had difficulty
holding her head up. She nodded several
times, folded the cipher and both letters, slid them into her pockets, and
extinguished the lantern. She'd stretch
out on the bed for a few minutes and wake up when Clark came in.
She never remembered falling
asleep, but early Thursday, a thunderstorm trundled over Alton and awakened
her. Oblivious to the tempest, Clark
snored beside her. When had he
returned?
Rain spattered the floor beneath
the window. Fuzzy-headed, she rolled
from bed and shoved the window shut, and after using the chamberpot, lay abed
listening to the assault of rain on roof and pane. Alton needed the rain. So
did Augusta to the
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